Night Trench Locked Down

Cold darkness drops into the open tackle chest. Night wind shrieks outside. Marching halts! Time to fortify and hold ground. In the far corner of the tin tray sits a heavy iron bait knife sheath, bolted flat with copper rivets. Impenetrable bulwark! I do not seek soft cloth. I lower my shoulder and slam full mass into the leathered iron flank. SKRRT! It shudders, wedging tight against the cedar bulkhead with a gritty rasp. I kick three heavy lead sinkers into the front seam to seal the gap. I drop flat onto my armor plates in the hollow, resting my clawed gauntlet on the iron rim. Perimeter locked down. Sleep now!