The Abattoir

Undergrowth rustled as the squad rushed up the slope. In the distance, they could hear the approaching sounds of battle.

"Here," Talonico ordered, hitting the dirt at a slight depression. A black and brown griffoness pulled the machine gun from her shoulders and set it next to the Corporal. Immediately more orders followed: "Milan, tell the lieutenant the second is in position."

The young griffon rushed to obey, seeking the section's leader a short distance away.

Meanwhile, Talonico kept giving more orders. "Talone, see that mossy boulder? Distance is a little above fifty meters. Check through your sights. It will be your point of reference."

Talone adjusted her grip. Her large claws handled the weapon with ease. Taking a comfortable position behind the machine gun, she said. "I have a good view."

"And position?"

"I could be like this for weeks."

"Good," Talonico answered. In fifteen seconds, they had prepared their position, Talonico on the left, the loader, private Wingerni in the center, and Talone at the right. If there had been more time, they would have taken their shovels and started digging in. "Now, don't shoot when friendlies come, so easy on the trigger. And both of you, take a sip while you can."

They were all crusted with dirt and panting from the exertion. The team's position offered them minimal protection from the sun or curious eyes above. Talonico looked up and saw nothing. Only a few ragged clouds floated in the sky.

Talonico heard someone approach from behind them. Three officers, all looking rather old, were leisurely strolling through the forest. From the glimpses of their conversation Talonico could hear, they seemed to be talking about his company. A playful thought tingled at the back of his mind. How close would they get before spotting him, if they spotted him at all? Intently he watched them move while hushing his squad with a slow gesture of his claw.

At ten meters away, the officers spotted the machine gun. "Now, these are some interesting berries that grow here," said an old griffon wearing a tailor-made, form-fitting uniform. In his helmet, two golden wings glimmered in the sunlight. The golden star of a major was pinned to his collar. "Second Company, Corporal?"

Talonico shot up. By instinct, his claw rose for a salute.

"Do not salute me, boy!" Snapped Major Thunderclaw, the battalion's commander. Talonico had seen him close up only once before. The Major was completely average-looking griffon, without any exceptional features and light brown in color. "Unless you intend to search the area for snipers, you will not salute anyone in the field."

"Yes, Sir!" Talonico answered. Talking to senior officers always left him a little shaken. It felt like a single mistake on his part would result in a public dressing down.

"Well then, Corporal," the Major carried on as if nothing had happened. "Is this all of your squad? Three soldiers?"

"One is currently looking for the section leader. And my second should return from leave any time now. We make do with what we have." The section was at a little over half its nominal strength.

"That needs to change," Thunderclaw said. "How can you wage war if you don't have enough soldiers?" With a shake of his head, he cleared his thoughts and returned to the present. "What are you doing here?"

"Sir, we're training for a delaying battle. Two platoons delay the enemy while the rest of the company sets up a proper defense." As he spoke, his voice regained some of his confidence. This was something he understood.

"And is the enemy coming from the front?"

"Left, sir. The first platoon pulls them in, and we'll get them in a crossfire."

The Major nodded appreciatively. He wanted to test every soldier he encountered to see if they understood what was happening around them or just obeyed orders. The first type would manage even if their superiors were killed.

"And you, gunner? Do you know where the rest of your platoon is?"

"Sir Major, the platoon is mostly to our right. If you look closely, you can see the skirmish line. One squad is on our left to secure the flank," Talone said.

"Good, good. Did you tell her that, Corporal? Good, always make sure your squad knows the situation. That way, they can pick up the slack if something happens to you."

Right then, Milan returned, second lieutenant Canales in tow. She was of a smaller size. Her feathers were black as soot, with ashen gray around her beak and eyes. She carried a service pistol and a pair of binoculars on her chest. Accompanying the rank insignia on her collar was the republican flag.

She had joined the army a year before Talonico and Greendown and was soon sent to the Royal Cadet School. She emerged as a second lieutenant and became Talonico's section leader. Behind the unassuming brown eyes hid an intelligent mind, and soon it felt weird to think of it as anything but 'her' section.

"Sirs," she saluted. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Thunderclaw listened to the fighting coming ever closer.

"I don't think you have the time, lieutenant. But I will observe..."

A rumbling sound came from the sky. Looking up, Talonico could barely see the silhouette of a plane.

"AIR ALARM!"

The officers practically disappeared into cover. The message traveled down the line.

Talonico and Canales pulled out their binoculars. More details became visible: the square wingtips, the landing gear, and the engine—the purple markings on the tail.

"Not ours!" Canales shouted. "That is an enemy."

Technically the Paramilitary plane did not belong to an enemy. There was no war yet. But silently, Canales wondered if the pilot was marking their camp for artillery.

Lance Corporal Bluecrest returned to the camp at eight in the evening. After receiving instructions from the sentry standing by the road, he gave the griffon a remark about being too visible. He then headed for Captain Telesca's tent to report his return.

Ten minutes later, Bluecrest burst into the section's tent, his field cap slightly askew. "Love the party you've set up," he said. "Mind making some room for me?."

Griffons shuffled around. There was plenty of room to spare. The tent was supposed to house twenty griffons, and they had only half of that. A lantern hanging from the ceiling lit the tent. A pile of firewood and the first squad were on one side of the doorway. On the other side was Talonico and the second. At the far end of the tent, space was reserved for lieutenant Canales.

Bluecrest stepped over Talonico, careful not to hit the hot stove or stovepipe, and plopped down at Talonico's side.

"How's it going, Corp?"

Talonico put down his rifle and extended a talon greased by gun oil. "Everything is shit, except for piss. How does it feel to be a father?"

A barrage of congratulations from the others followed.

"It feels amazing!" Bluecrest accepted the talonshake. "Wish my leave would've lasted longer. At least it is shared misery. The higher-ups canceled every leave in the Army Group. I came to the barracks and was immediately put on a train here. No small trouble we've landed ourselves in."

Talonico nodded along. When it became clear Bluecrest was not about to say anything more, he picked up his bolt and explained the situation: "Nothing small, no. We have a full light and noise discipline in effect. The closest enemy is some three kilometers away. So no smoking when it's dark. However, you don't smoke anyways. If an alarm comes, our positions are up the hill. We have marked the path. Ask the next guard to show you."

Bluecrest lay down, resting his head against his backpack and staring at the ceiling. His gray eyes tracked the holes in the roof and the little pinpricks of moonlight shining through.

"What do you think? Will it be war?"

"I fucking wish," Talone answered. "It's about time someone did something about the Feast party. A genocide to cure a famine. Fucking animals."

Milan bounced in, her beak twisted in a grin: "I mean, I joined to fight, not to jump as a drill sergeant orders. I was too young to fight in the Volunteer Corp, but I am not sitting this one out."

"You two are a bit too eager," interrupted Wingerni. "But when was the last time an ultimatum didn't end in a fight? And the supply train spotted some tanks with the second battalion."

"All they saw was a field kitchen. All the tanks will be fighting around Gryphus, mark my words." Bluecrest said.

"You'd think the supply train knows what a field kitchen is," Wingerni spoke up.

"You'd think that, but no. When have you seen them touch the thing? With the shit they keep feeding us, you can tell it has not been through a kitchen. Speaking of..."

The army's dry rations were of questionable quality at best. Therefore the soldiers put plenty of effort into keeping their personal stocks full. From his backpack, Bluecrest pulled out several cans of dried food.

"You can sort out what is whose," he said. Then, when the thought returned to his head, Bluecrest asked Talonico. "Hey, Corp, what do you think?"

Talonico, who had by now finished cleaning his rifle and was putting it back together, let out an inaudible sigh at being dragged into the conversation. He had hoped not to think about the matter too much.

"Well," he muttered. "If they are mobilizing the whole regiment, it's not for a game. And after all the griffons the Paramilitary shot, there is no way Command will back off."

"So you think it's decided?"

"I do."

Talone and Milan smiled, if for different reasons. Through the thin veil of anxiety, one could spot glimpses of Bluecrest's and Wingerni's excitement. Talonico hid his out of some sense that as a leader, he should remain rational and not get excited about the possibility of a war. But none of them had seen war firsthand. They knew it was hell; they had read about the events of the Great War with interest. But they had not been there, so the thoughts of glory still lingered. Fortunately, there was a cure.

The guard woke them up in the morning. With his face pale, he said. "It's begun."

In the distance, artillery boomed.

After breaking camp, the company gathered in parade formation. Uncertain, the soldiers took refuge in the familiar routine.

Captain Liviana Telesca marched to the front of the company and, with a sharp shout of "Attention!" took control of the situation.

Three hundred griffons snapped into attention, still as statues. Relations between officers and enlisted varied between units and individuals. With captain Telesca, it was one of mixed fear and respect. Not fear of punishment, but of the aura of authority the Captain exuded. They did not admire or hate her because they knew so little of her. Married she was, and a little over 30 years in age, despite looking closer to fifty.

"Second Company, at ease!" She began her speech. "Last night, the Gryphus government declared war on Army Group South. We have been branded traitors to the Kingdom. It is a bold claim from those who took power via a coup. But let us be traitors!" Her eyes roved the ranks. "This government, this Feast party, is one of genocide. They believe those not fortunate enough to be born griffons are only fit to be food. And as long as the party is allowed to exist, I am ashamed to be a griffon. Are you, Company?"

"Yes, Captain!" The company shouted back, letting their disgust and hate fill their voices.

"Good. Then let us feel shame no longer. We are at war with the Feast party, and we will bring an end to them."

The short Captain looked through the ranks, allowing herself to feel little satisfaction.

"Sergeant Carranza has a few words for you before we leave. Emil."

Emil Carranza walked up to the Captain. The first platoon's platoon sergeant, he had trained many of the company's NCOs. Short, but lean, he had a constantly weary look upon him. Even his smile could not hide his tiredness. After serving as a volunteer during the Great War, he was one of the few griffons in the company with combat experience.

"Well, what is there to say that you haven't heard before?" Carranza asked. "Follow orders, and remember your training. Don't fear before there is something to be afraid of, otherwise, you can't do a thing. And remember that we are here to kill, not to die."

With a quiet thank you, Telesca sent Carranza back to the formation.

"The Company will be ready to march in one hour. And take off the wings from your helmets. We are no longer the King's soldiers."