One Thousand Tears

The most comforting thing a soldier can have on the frontlines is a letter from home. I maybe a soldier, but that doesn't stop me from fulfilling my duty. I'm Gabriella but you can call me 'Gabby'. I am still a mail-delivery griffon, and I am also a sergeant in the Royalist Army. On these battlefields, ranks are never given, you have to earn them.

I look around the trenches and observe soldiers in their foxholes, and you see them doing all manner of things. Some are cleaning their weapons or sharpening their knives and bayonets. Others are sharing rations and cigarettes. The most often thing you will see a soldier do when the guns fall silent is write a letter home to family or a loved one.

You look at the letters these soldiers write to. Some write to fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters while others write to friends, girlfriends, wives, and lovers. There is one soldier in our ranks who has a male lover waiting for him to come home. That is very sweet. If he was in the Gilda Clique Army, that griffon would be executed by firing squad.

He is a very good soldier, and the best sniper in our ranks. I remember when he told my older cousin that he is gay, and the words my cousin gave to him. She put a taloned hand on his shoulder and said: 'It does not matter who you are or where you are in your life, to me you are a brother-in-arms, my only advice to you is do not get captured'

The hardest thing about being a mail-delivery griffon in these terrible times of war is that it is my responsibility to inform the families that their loved one has been killed in battle. It really pains me to tell the family that their loved one is dead as it does for the family. Someone has to tell the families the news. I am what I am, someone has to be.

There is one rule to being a mail-delivery griffon: 'Don't Fly'. Too many times have we sent griffons to fly and send letters only to have them shot out of the sky. I have to rely on the mountain trails, and tracking skills. On these long excursions to get letters home to families, my aching talons are not easy to ignore. You have to think about others.

When I go on a mail delivery, I always carry my Walther pistol and my trench knife. Gilda Clique soldiers patrol the trails leading to many of the villages. If you hear footsteps or the sound of a rifle, you keep off the trail and keep quiet. This is why I run my routes at night. My grey feathers and my feldgrau or 'field gray' uniform provide camouflage.

I made it through the trail unseen and unharmed to the villages on my route. There are times I have been compromised, and I had to find other ways of getting back to camp. One time I had to dive off a big cliff and swim back to camp. Luckily, my mailbag was empty. When you're in my paws, you have to go above and beyond to get the job done.

Many families were relieved to get letters from their loved ones at the front knowing they are alive. Others cried tears of sorrow at the news that their loved ones were killed. I am only the messenger. I bring the families the news be it good or bad. It is like my cousin says: 'Achieving physical immortality is impossible, but your name will live forever'

When I came back, I received a salute from Gretchen and Monika followed by hugs from them. They are my best friends, and Gretchen is my acting second-in-command, "Job well done, Sargeant, other than Gunther, you have one of the biggest responsibilities in this army, and you run your routes without fail, I am proud of you," said the Colonel.

I saluted my older cousin, and gave her a hug soon after. I am the only family she has left so our relationship is very close with added teasing to boot between the two of us. I call her Big Butt, and she calls me Cookie Face. I run this mail route at least once a month, and let me tell you that my task is very dangerous. It is not for the faint of heart.

Monika rolled into my foxhole. The sky is so gray it was hard to tell at times if it was day or night, "Do you have any matches? Gretchen's out," said Monika, I sighed and shook my head, and handed her mine which were in a small brass tube. Suddenly, there came a whistle and Von Lowe calling out 'short shell!' that almost hit her, "shit-fuck,"

It has been a day since we arrived at our position. There was no trench this time. We were in foxholes, and using anything around for cover. The artillery was positioned about a mile behind us. At night you can hear the roar of the guns, shelling the defenses at Griffonstone. It makes me wonder at times if there will be a city left standing in the end?

The ground is so littered with shell-holes that one would think we were not in the Griffon Kingdom anymore. I felt like I was on another planet like in those science-fiction dime novels I would read at the apothecary when I was a hatchling. No matter how ugly and disfigured the war has made our land, I will stand and fight for it like the others.

I slung my Luger Rifle behind my back, and went to my cousin. She is all black from beak to tail. It makes it hard at time to see her at night if the trench is not lit. I found her in her foxhole looking through her binoculars as artillery shelled the defenses. She gave the binoculars so I can take a look, "I do not doubt their resilience, Gabby," she said,

"Neither do I, yet I wonder if there will even be a city left after all this," I replied, Galiana nodded seeing the point I made. When I looked through the binoculars, I saw what was ahead of us. There are concrete bunkers, machine gun nests, barbed wire, mortars, artillery, and Celestia knows how many rifles. It's the deep breath before the plunge.

"Still in the end, we will rebuild, such is the price of war, war can only destroy yet we can rebuild from the ruins, there will be a kingdom, Gabby, a great kingdom filled with friendship and harmony, it is a shame it has to be built by the gun," said Galiana, ever the wise one. She will be a great queen. I am sure Uncle Guto will be very proud of her.

"I wish there was a better way, violence doesn't solve everything," I replied, so many have died in this war whether it be from sickness to combat. I am sure the enemy on the other side suffer as much as we do, and want to see the end of this war. Many of our soldiers are writing letters home. I am guessing many of them maybe their last ones.