One Thousand Tears

You cannot talk or reason with a machine gun or rifle. It will not listen to your words or pleas of mercy. It just laughs at your futile attempt to take a trench with words made of hot lead. These days it seems to be the same cycle of us attacking their trench, and then they attack ours. Just to even the score we attack their trench once more.

With every attack on the lines I see more of my soldiers die as I see to the death of the enemy. Their bones still litter the ground. Some are never seen again. The price we pay for a unified kingdom is not in Bits, but in the lives of young griffons. Thousands of feet have marched with dreams of glory on the battlefield only to be blown to pieces.

What will my soldiers get in return for their service in the restoration of my crown? Some of these soldiers do not have a home as they were destroyed by the Gilda Clique Army. The night before, a raiding party had captured Gilda's second-in-command, Greta. We were able to settle for terms, and we had her returned unharmed to her troops.

Still the cycle goes on. I was in my quarters at the trench we captured a week ago. Outside the shells fell like the summer rains. I checked my pistol, and readied myself as I came out of my quarters. Gabby was their waiting with a ready rifle. I touched her on the crown of her helmet, and walked through the trench to meet up our soldiers.

"This is it, lads and ladies, we have the Gilda Clique on the run, that means they will put up heavier resistance on the forward lines, I am sad to say that casualties will be high, many of you may not make it home, we are going to rebuild this kingdom stone by stone, but it all starts with the gun and bullet...fix bayonets!" I ordered my troops.

I checked my pocket watch, and pulled back the receiver on my Walther. I soon gave the order, "Attack!"

The machine guns were covering us, and moving behind us. The artillery was constant, but still we attack. Many fell to the onslaught of machine gun fire from a Vickers gun. One of my corporals was trying to move a squad until a sixty-pounder shell hit it's mark directly on him. In an explosion of blackened earth and a puff of smoke, he was gone.

The cries of the wounded echoed in the air which smelled of gunpowder, and burning flesh. I moved the squad of soldiers to an area of raised earth to give them some cover while shooting at the enemy. I got two of them with my pistol, and dodged a grenade. With my back to the mound, I saw Gretchen and Gabby tending to a wounded soldier.

She had her knee blown off by a shell. I was about to throw a grenade into a machine gun nest when I felt something tug at my belt. It was a wounded soldier. His lower half was gone, and his intestines were dragging on the ground as he pulled himself up to my eyes, "Shoot me...," he muttered, and with that I remember his last word, "mother,"

Before I could even pull the trigger, his eyes closed and he died clutching my belt. I will never forget that. I gently took his hand off my belt, and continued the assault. I had no time to grieve. I threw a grenade into the lines, and took out the Vickers gun. We got to the trench. The fighting got more brutal and personal. I had my trench club ready.

I shot one in the head with my Model 6, and hit an enemy in the side of the head with my mace. A spurt of blood hit me in the beak. Victoria was leading half the troops to the right while I led the other half to the left to take care of any more resistance. Little did I know that there was a Lewis Gun in the trench that mowed down soldier after soldier.

Amid a pile of bodies, I was able to kill the gunner and the loader, "Forward!" I called out as I paved the way for the others.

We took the trench in a matter of hours. Lieutenant Von Lowe met with me as she holstered her pistol, "Let us collect the dead," She said, and I nodded lightly. Stretcher-bearers and medics were covering and collecting the bodies of the dead. Some had been shot, a clean death, others were missing limbs or headless. Such savage butchery.

I helped pull the bodies away from the Lewis Gun. For a young soldier with the blue eyes. I did her the honor of closing her eyes, and helped the body onto a stretcher along with the others. The final tally was appalling. Out of twenty-five hundred troops, we lost five hundred in a single attack. I went to see to those that managed to survive.

Gabby was being tended to by Gretchen. She had stopped a bayonet with a talon, and had a small head wound from a piece of stone, "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine," Gabby reassured me as I touched her soft, round cheek. I saw that her trench club was stained with blood, as was Gretchen's sharpened spade. Very brave soldiers they are.

Even Gunther survived with bullet wound in his left front talon just above shoulder, "Umm...Colonel," He said, pointing to his beak, and I nodded to him as he noticed the blood. I wiped it off with a handkerchief from my pocket. I went to the communications bunker where troops were setting up radio and telephones to direct the artillery corps.

We only had one telephone and one radio now. A few of them were destroyed in the shelling by the Gilda Clique and their operators were killed as a result. I looked out at the battlefield with the Lieutenant, "So many lives lost...and to think they follow my orders without any question," I said to her, she put a hand on my shoulder and lightly smiled.

"Colonel...they fight not just for you, they fight for your crown, for our land...they fight the armies of hell, and so will I," said Victoria with the utmost seriousness.

"Come, we have had enough fighting, let us find some food," said Victoria. Gunther had made a stew of smoked sausage, beans, lentils, chicken, and leftover ham hock. The food is good. A small comfort amid battle's roar. Some troops wrote home to loved ones or talked about their families. Gabby is to take their letters tomorrow in the morning.

We got communications up with the artillery corps whom were now shelling the positions of the Gilda Clique Army. After dinner I went to look over the trench at the shelling to see if they shells were hitting their mark. Gretchen was watching as well looking down the sight of her M95 rifle, "Do you think anyone can survive that?" she asked me softly.

"We are one hundred miles from Griffonstone, the enemy is going to dig in and make their stand," I replied, patting her lightly on the shoulder to keep her spirits up. I went to the bunker to telephone in the coordinates of the next salvo. Under the curtain of artillery, the only thing we can do is attack, yet I know Gilda will not give up without a fight.