The Supermarket at the Edge of Time: Saving My Great-Uncle's Platoon
Language: en
In the biting, howling wind, a sixteen-year-old lone soldier stared at the steaming cup of chicken noodle soup I had just made. Hugging his arms, he shivered at my door and swallowed hard. "I won't betray my platoon. This has to be an enemy trap." I pushed open the supermarket door and shouted, "Hey kid, I'll trade you five hot beef hand pies for a pack of those frozen field rations. Do we have a deal?"