We Damned Fools.

Stone awoke as the sun was cresting the horizon, he could feel the turf of the ocean on his side, tickling him awake. He scanned his body, no major damage, his shirt was ripped, a few cuts and bruises. He looked where he sat the night before, a crater had formed only a few feet from where he was lying, opening his foxhole and throwing him into the surf. Around him he saw more bodies, only they didn’t appear so lucky. The storm had passed, and now the sun shone above him. He could see the rifle, sitting in a broken heap in the sand, no stock, receiver dented and mangled. He slowly got out of the surf and began moving back toward the city.

As he moved through the trenches he entered and open area where they had a command post set up. A flaming wreck now sat in the corner of the open box. He clutched his side as he approached it, still aching from the night before.

He heard a shuffle behind him, something moved. As he began to turn a force slammed into him. The griffon was atop him trying savagely to choke him to death. His eyes were intense, shadowed by a black paint. His hair was dark and well trimmed, but was now disheveled and wild as his expression. Stone gagged as the griffon forced upon his windpipe. Grabbing savagely around him for anything to aid him in escaping he grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it into the griffons eyes. The griffon recoiled and fell from Stone. Stone, gripped his windpipe and coughed before leaping after the griffon and beating him. Right, left, right, left he punched at the man's face, his body, anything.

The griffon grabbed at Stones shirt, pulling him in and head butting. Stone fell backward, the griffon scrambled to his feet and began violently fighting with the holster on his side. He aimed his revolver at Stone’s head. Stone put his hands slowly into the air, before delivering a hard kick into the man’s right knee cap. A sickening pop was heard as he fell, he pulled the trigger, the bullet impacting next to Stone’s head. Stone threw himself onto the griffon pilot. He grabbed his hand and beat it against the sand, trying desperately to remove the piece from his hand. Stone pulled his hand up and dug his teeth into the griffons wrist, the griffon screamed loudly and released the revolver. Stone grabbed it and bashed the butt of the handle against the man’s face. Stone aimed at the griffons face, pulling the trigger again and again until the gun only clicked.

Below him was a bloody pulp, a mangled mess that was once a man. Stone fell backward, still clutching the revolver with white knuckles. He heard footsteps from near-by. He panickedly began to search the man’s body for more ammunition. Finding a speed loader he threw open the cylinder and began to frantically mash the rounds in. Once he got the rounds into the revolver he aimed for the direction of the noise, firing a round once it got to the edge of the former bunker. Equestrian soldiers fell to their bellies as they reached the edge of the hole.

He signed relief as they appeared. “You alright down there? We heard the gunfire and came to see what was going on.” Stone began to laugh, for no other reason than he was alive. The soldiers pulled him out of the hole and began to help him back to their lines. “We abandoned the beach after they raided last night, couldn’t fight ‘em off from there. Once we got back to the city limits the Ack-ack guns light up, but they mostly retreated once they saw we were leaving the beach front. They haven’t made any moves today, but we’re still watching.”

Stone awoke to lantern light, the building he was in had the door open, it was night outside. The doctor walked in. “Well, look who’s awake. You feeling alright young man?” Stone nodded. “Good, you must be very happy.” Stone looked confused. “Check your cutie mark.” Sure enough, on Stone’s chest was revolver crossed with a bloody knife. “Looks like you’re a fighter young man, good on you, we’ll need that talent in this war.”

Stone began to feel nauseous. Killing was his special talent, as if once wasn’t bad enough. He threw up over the side of his bed, thankfully into a trash can. A siren sounded somewhere in the city. “ARTILLERY!” A great boom could be heard in the distance, silence, then the earth shook explosions rang about the city.

A low horn could be heard, gunfire began, they were attacking once more. Stone looked around, the doctor was not in the room anymore. Beside his bed was a fresh uniform, some boots, and the revolver he took from the pilot. He was sore, but he managed to get out of the bed without falling. He got dressed and began to walk from the room, he stopped, he had left the revolver behind. Picking it up he started back toward the beach.

Once he reached the stockade he saw what was going on. The ack-ack was atop the buildings firing into the night sky, on the horizon were brief flashes of light, showing the outline of the ships. The whirring of the planes above them could be heard zooming past. An explosion past the barricade, a bomb. Machine guns were mounted behind the barricades of sand bags, aiming for the shore, prepared for them.

In the pale light of the moon it could be seen, the boats filled with troops heading for the shore. Once they landed the MG’s opened up, mowing down anything that moved, The griffons moved swiftly, running directly for the trenches the Equestrains once inhabited. They knew exactly where to go, the raid before had only been a scouting mission. The MG’s quieted down, they watched the trench lines, waiting for movement.

Suddenly the lines before the barricade exploded, the griffons had thrown grenades, opening holes in the lines for them to run through. Stone’s ears rang, he couldn’t make heads or tales of where he was at. Looking up he could see the gunner with a hole in his face, thrown backward from the gun. Stone rushed forward, grabbing the gunners assistant from his daze, he motioned toward the gun. Grabbing the handles he pulled the trigger as the griffons began to emerge from the trench line, determined to overtake them. He mowed down wave after wave, alternating between firing on the trenches and the freshly arrived troops on the shore. They arrived en masse, wave after wave.

Once more the front of the barricade exploded, throwing Stone backward from the gun. The gun was mangled, he looked toward the beach, they had reached the barricade. Crawling he scrambled for the nearest corner. Firing madly into the wall of soldiers he spent three rounds before reaching the corner. Peering back around the corner he could see they had formed ranks and were marching toward the inner city. Standing he began running down the street he was on, back toward the field hospital he had awoken in. Down the road he could see more griffons rounding the corner. The golden buttons on their blue grey uniforms twinkled in the darkness. They turned in his direction, they took to the knee and began to take aim upon him. He scrambled to the nearest doorway as they fired, bullets whizzing past him. Throwing open the door he ran through the empty rooms.

Reaching the rear of the building he threw open the door into an alley, then went through the next building, he reached the next road, a slew of rifles were trained on him. “You ain’t a griffon.”

“Neither are you.” He retorted to the troops before him. “They’re coming up the road now, we’ve gotta hurry and set up defe-”

“Slow down, we already engaged them, they’re entrenched a street down from here, but you do raise a good point, these houses are really easy to get through.” The soldier before him blew a whistle, sounding it in bouts and stops. A reply from another whistle. Soldiers fall back and begin to take up residence inside the buildings.

The line had been drawn in the sand, now they would have to hold it.