Storms of War

Spring of 1945 brought with it rains, melting snows, and conditions that made it difficult to move supplies overland via any method other than train. With trucks unable to pass boggy roads into Gryphony, large infantry battles became the norm rather than the exception. However, the growing desperation of the Gryphon Forces being forced to retreat ahead of what was now over three million angry ponies bolstered the morale of the Fighting First, who spearheaded several daring rades against the enemy.

Overhead, however, the battle for the air was decided not by ponies and Gryphons, but by the massive Airships and Bombers. On February 12th, 1945, the last significant air forces of the Crimson Alliance were swept away, allowing for the liberation of the first concentration camps.

        “Wing… you okay?” Asked Blaze for the tenth time. I nodded sullenly, my rifle cradled in my arms. We had been marching down a muddy path worn by hundreds of bots towards Featherswaste, a large enemy civilian population located near a mountain pass and mining road. The railroads made it a prime target for moving material deeper into Gryphony, and command wanted it badly to try and end this war before next winter. The OFFICIAL reason was the possibility it held undesirables and Prisoners of War. It was two days from the nearest actual road, and we had to pack all our gear on our backs and on foot. It REALLY sucked for the mortarmares and the machine gunners. Also, it was raining.

        There really are times that a particular word does not do its subject justice. Raining, even POURING does not describe what was happening. I had never even heard of rain this hard, but without pegasi and gryphons to manage the weather here things were out of control. Within ten minutes of walking we were so soaked even us pegasi were miserable. Our coats were soaked, our socks were wet rags, our boots squished with every step, and we might have been drier wading through the river at this point.

        There was another curse from Butter Bar as he slipped in the mud, only to be steadied by Fire Cracker, who patted him on the shoulder. Even our usually chipper Lieutenant was in sour spirits today. We still had nearly another six miles to go to get to the enemy positions near Featherswaste, and it was getting darker and darker out.

        It had been a few months since the surprise attack. I still remember Day Walker, choking on his blood as his sister held him. She walked to my left, eyes as cold as they had been since that day. My throat stung with pain as I looked at her… she was so much stronger than me. We had lost two squadmates, she had lost her own twin, and yet she carried on. She didn't get weepy or sad… she got angry. She got even. She had personally killed several dozen gryphons, and had gotten several medals for her bravery. She no longer cared if she lived or died… and was all the more deadly for it.

        Night Light, our Scout, had gone missing a few weeks ago. She had been acting oddly, staying by herself and drinking alot before she left. We figured she had crawled into a ditch or something. There were still times I wished I could join her. I still had work to do.

        I was never a drinker before the war. The fact I was too young, even now, to legally buy beer had little to do with it. I had never had a use for liquor… but now I felt naked and alone without my hip-flask filled with whatever hard stuff I could find. The Gryphons always had something on them.. And while others looked for Lugers or Steel Crosses, I looked for their stashes. It dulled the pain, and made my job alot easier. Center the crosshairs, pull the trigger, move to the next target. I could still see every face… including the children. But… Blaze was my friend. Maybe she would understand? I opened my mouth to speak… and stopped.

        The hairs on the back of my neck pricked. Something was wrong… and my instincts never lied. Blaze stiffened and looked around, while Iron Hoof stamped out a cigar on the ground. Around us, some soldiers paused while others kept their heads down. What was that feeling?

        As if to answer, there was a shrill whistle from above, and hundreds of curses as we all dived off to the side, seeking whatever cover we could find. My first thought was something I would never relay to my mother, followed by several vindictive musings on the properties and mating habits of their mothers as a shell split the clouds above us. That is when I remembered where we were. Six miles. We were six miles from Featherswaste…. And something was shooting at us.

        “What the all encompassing FUCK is THAT?” Screamed Radio Wave, ducking down next to me as an odd pattering sounded around us. A moment later, Blaze and Butter bar, along with Fire Cracker and Iron Hoof slid into my little sanctuary as well. Butter Bar had lost his helmet and Blaze already had a bleeding cut along her cheek. There was silence for a moment, before several more whistles sounded overhead. An explosion like the wrath of an angry god sounded overhead, before being joined by the rest of the pantheon shouting their fury.

        To this day, I remember only that not a single shell hit the ground. I later learned that they were on some sort of timed fuse that caused them to explode above us. Why would somepony make a bullet that would never hit it's target? The answer came in the form of hundreds of millions of tiny bits of metal, most jagged and red hot, ripping into the exposed troops under them. With the first barrage, half of my entire company was dead or disabled, and everypony else was trying to flee the blast zone. We still had no idea how they were hitting us this far away! Aerial recon had shown that the nearest artillery guns were being unloaded from a train in Featherswaste.

        “Blaze! Get your ass up and locate some better cover! Radio, find me SOMEONE with a bird on their collar to talk to! Hell, see if you can get the major on the horn! We need to move!” As Butter Bar gave his orders, we all hunkered down. The shelling lasted ten minutes before stopping, and once it did, we got our orders to move again.

        We made it a mile before it started up again, and this time they shelled us at least twice an hour the rest of the way. It took us nearly two days to make the last six miles under near constant bombardment, and no sleep.

        Out of four thousand sent to begin preparations to assault Featherswaste, less than two hundred of us made it there. Reinforcements were trying to roll some armor through the countryside, but it would be another day and a half before they caught up with us as they had to build a crude road the entire way, reportedly under the same impossible range as we were facing. What the hell were we up against?

        Featherswaste was in sight. We had dug nearly half a mile of trenches around it to hide from their guns, but their super long range cannons seemed to be unable to hit us this close to them. Whatever it was, we only had to worry about their longer 206s and 188s, both of which were unrelenting in their attacks. The enemy had yet to show their own feathered beaks, and I could not get a shot past these new airbursting shells. We had taken to calling them ‘iron rain’ at this point, and the prevailing tone was of disgust.

        It was night out, and those of us forward of the trenches, a mere hundred yards from the chain-link fence around the enemy town, were hunkered down in single or double-pony foxholes. Blaze sat across from me, and we had a tarp pulled over the top to keep the rain out while I stirred some coffee over a small burner. Blaze looked up from her nap at me once she smelled it finish.

        Without a word between us, I reached down between her legs to the mess kit she kept on the bottom of her now-shredded backpack. Constant artillery and pouring rain had removed all ideas of personal space, and we trusted each other beyond doubt. Pulling out the tin cup, I filled it with coffee and handed it over.

        Another crack of thunder or artillery sounded, but I ignored it as I pulled out my diary and began to write by the light of the tiny flame on my oil burner. In it were two letters I had yet to send to my mother, and one that would be sent only if I was never to see her again. At this point, death seemed more like an inevitability than a probability. We all knew it. We had all seen somepony die. Finally, Blaze broke the silence.

        “Wing… you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” she asked, sipping her coffee. “Don't say nothing. You’re not fine. We call all smell the booze on you, but Butter Bar is covering.”

        I shrugged. “Nothing is wrong. I shot a few gryphons. So have you. What else is to say? I don't ask how you feel all the time.”

        She narrowed her eyes. “Bullcrap. If we were at home, I might let you off the hook. We’re friends, and more importantly, squadmates. I care about you, Butter Bar cares. Hell, the Major likes you, and she hardly likes anypony. What’s wrong? Wing, tell me… Please.”

        Her words blurred to me, and a hard knot rose in my throat.

Her eyes, wide with terror and visible clearly from the oil lamps. Her blood all over the wall and her husband. Her terrified children… before I ended their poor little lives.

        My stomach churned, and my eyes teared up. A moment later, I was dry-heaving as Blaze swore and patted me on the back. My wings twitched, and a moment later she leaned back and looked at me. “What the hay happened to you on that mission? What did you do with the pathfinders?”

        For the second time, I was stopped from spilling my horrid secret by enemy action. There was a squawk, curses in two languages, and everything went dark as the falling tarp and an inch of dirt and several gallons of rainwater extinguished my little burner. Scalding coffee fell across my lap and there was an agonizing pain in my leg as something stabbed me.

        “The HA-AUUGH!” screamed Blaze. After a moment, I realized that not one, but three gryphons had fallen into our hidden foxhole. There were other cries all around us from other foxholes, and a few gunshots as the enemies surprise attack was thwarted by a fluke tactical maneuver. There was a slash across my face, and with a blinding flash of rage, I yanked my sidearm and pressed it against the first feathers I felt.

        The brief illumination revealed two beaked faces and Blaze soaked in blood with another pecking at her shoulder. An Imperial Soldier fell back, surprise on his face as he slumped against the dirt, staring at the hole in his belly. The other grabbed me and slammed me against the side of the foxhole.

        Finally, with a curse, Blaze finished her opponent by burying his bayonet into his throat and yanked my assailant off. Without hesitation, I sank my fist into his stomach while she held him back. For a few seconds, the scene would’ve looked more at home in a schoolyard bully scene than a battlefield as I yelled. My throat was raw when he stopped moving, finally beaten to death by foot and fist.

        “Blaze! You okay?” I shot at her, grabbing her arm and looking at the wound. She looked at me and cursed. “The HELL did he do to your face? Crap! ATTACK! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK! ATTACK IN CHARLIE FOUR!” she screamed.

        I swore loudly before standing up. There was a sudden flash, before a red glow lit up the field. There was a flare overhead, slowly floating down on its parachute. What it showed me was not what I wanted to see.

        Ponies were climbing out of foxholes, some being shot before they even picked their rifle up. There was an explosion, and a tank ripped through the trees towards us, firing past the line and at the HQ Tent. The strangest thing was the lack of gunfire we were returning towards the enemy. It only took a few moments for me to pick out the enemy line… and determine the reason for our lack of fire. The long line of advancing troops were not wearing Imperial uniforms.

        They wore prison rags. Many looked like walking skeletons. Most wore chains, while some were tied with rope.

        “CEASE FIRE! HOLD FIRE! DAMNIT! DON’T SHOOT, DAMN YOUR-”

        I whirled at the familiar voice as it ended in a gurgle. Butter Bar stood there, shock on his face as he looked down at his chest. Four red blooms were widening on his uniform, stark in the pale red glow from ahead.

        Everything slowed down as we heard the most terrifying thing every to be known on a battlefield.

        Laughter.

        As our beloved officer fell, his eyes going vacant, the Gryphons were laughing at us, shooting with impunity behind a line of Prisoners of War. They knew we would not shoot. They knew we COULD not shoot.

        It was four minutes of hell before Major Maple Leaf did the only thing she could.

        It was only one more after that before a white flag went up, and the order to surrender went out.

        It was ten minutes before the Gryphons stopped shooting and bothered to accept it.

Dear Mother,

I have no assurance that this letter will reach you. I, along with most of my platoon, have been taken as prisoner by the Imperial Gryphon Army. Though they promise to obey the Letter of the Articles of War, the starved state of the ponies and gryphons unfortunate enough to be here speak otherwise. There is little food, and little water. Of hope, there is none at all for escape. It has been two months now, but I refuse to give in as so many others have. I gave this letter to a sympathetic young Gryphon soldier who promised to smuggle it out in exchange for me teaching him Chess, although I am not sure if he will keep his word.

If I do not make it home, I wanted you to know that I was not afraid of the Last Battle. Every soldier puts on a uniform, and in a time of war, knows that he must be buried in it. Some are lucky enough to make it home, while others lie in silent vigil over the fields they fought on. I pray that we win this war, and that what we did here does not go to waste. I tried as hard as I could.

You remember Ms. Blaze? She is doing well, although she keeps getting in trouble. They have taken to using her to teach Hand to Hand combat, as she keeps knocking out any guard that lays a claw on her. I fear that her temper will not serve her well in this Camp, but as long as she does not kill anybirdy, the Gryphons have strict orders not to kill us. They say that we will be used to gain better terms should they lose the war, although the official line is that we are proof that they will accept surrenders, and hopefully inspire others to surrender rather than die fighting.

I miss you, and I miss those few of my squadmates that may have gotten away. Please do not be sad, mother, but instead keep going on. I hope to see you again.

Cpl Steel Wing

Big Red One

Camp Featherswaste