I remember … a voice. Soft and low, it beckoned me from my sleep. My eyes were reluctant. Soft and low, then a hint of discord – the voice reached, the beat of its language growing more insistent. I reasoned with my eyes, my limbs … perhaps a little stretch. “Mueller – wake the hell up. Dammit, they’re here.” Heat pricked my skin before I felt the concussion, and my eyes snapped open just as a shroud of dirt flashed over my body from the impact.
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