The muck clung to every crevice. The constant shrill clang of artillery in the distance was a grim reminder that life here was tenuous. We huddled together, hoping for solace in each other's company. The quiet between the bursts of fire was more oppressive than the chaos itself. Every sound could be an threat, every shadow a hidden killer. Survival
Sounds from the Hellholes
The muck clung to every crack. The constant deafening clang of artillery in the distance was a grim constant that life here was fragile. We huddled together, hoping for solace in each other's company. The quiet between the attacks of fire was more oppressive than the chaos itself. Every whisper could be an foe, every shadow a hidden sniper. Enduran
Calls from the Trenches
The sludge clung to every crevice. The constant piercing clang of artillery in the distance was a grim constant that life here was precarious. We huddled together, searching for comfort in each other's presence. The silence between the barrages of fire was more soul-crushing than the chaos itself. Every noise could be an threat, every shadow a hidd