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"Fire the 12-pounders, 24-pounders, and the 48-pounders!" the artillery commander roared, veins bulging in his neck and nerves pulsing in his forehead.
"Hit them with everything you’ve got!" His shout, spittle flying everywhere, finally snapped the men out of their momentary stupor. Their hands began to move again, quickly regaining the silky-smooth rhythm they had practised countless times.
"Take this, you infidels!"
"Damn bastards, you’re not going to win th ...
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