October 1944, the Pacific theater. The Second Platoon has one order: take Hill Number 2, a ninety-meter rise defended by a reduced Japanese garrison. It should be an afternoon's work.
It isn't.
The defenders fight as if they cannot retreat - because they can't. Beneath the hill lies a network of tunnels far older than any fortification, dug by something no map can explain, something that remembers everyone who has ever passed through it: their voices, their guilt, their unspoken lies.
When a tropical storm cuts the platoon off for six nights, Sergeant Walt Corbin discovers that the real battle was never for the summit. It's for staying yourself while the hill gives back, night after night, everything each man has always kept silent - even from himself.
A war horror novel that weaves the real trauma of combat with a supernatural dread that never fully explains itself, and never promises to let you go.