It was spring of last year when I had the privilege to make the acquaintance of some unique soldiers of France. I was on a hunting trip when, during a sudden stampede of a huge herd of Ruumet Breehr, I became separated from my party. After wandering the Martian deserts for a week with no food or water, my trusty gashant "Cromwell" finally gave out, but I staggered on. Time seemed to stand still, interrupted only by several hallucinations (I rather enjoyed the one that included a large reptile named "Herbie" manning a fish and chips wagon), and I finally fell upon the baked Martian soil to die. Slowly my eyes closed, and I said good-bye (or so I thought) to the world.
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