The Abattoir

The cannons fired again. Two thuds came from behind and left of the company, followed by explosions from the front. Canales had thought a pair of guns was harassing the enemy, while the rest of the battery prepared for a proper barrage.

The battalion had been ordered to advance north towards Mairis and its Abattoir. Though no clear landmarks stood in their way, it was obvious that the Paramilitary would oppose them along the way. Scouts cleared the road for the first three kilometers, allowing them easy passage.

After the captain’s speech, the company had set out on a snaking dirt road. The rising sun was hidden behind a thin cloud cover. A steady drizzle was its gift to the soldiers.

Some time later they passed by a captured checkpoint. A pair of scouts watched over the trio of defenders taken prisoner. The rest of the Paramilitary lay at the side of the road, covered with their greatcoats. Next to the checkpoint stood an armored car, painted green and marked with the armored brigade’s closed fist. There had been talk of changing the insignia before the first friendly fire incident, but so far the fist would remain.

Two hours after setting out, the battalion headed off the road. To their right, they could hear the second battalion’s vanguard engage the enemy. Engines growled and cannons fired. There were tanks there.

The battalion split. The first company covered the left side of the road, and the second the right side. The third remained in reserve. The heavy machine guns were split evenly between the companies.

Talonico watched the first platoon move out ahead of the company. Between each soldier was a gap of some five meters, and all looked around with almost exaggerated caution. A minute later three more platoons moved out, each squad a long column. Two more waited in the reserve, along with the machine gun section.

Talonico slowly drummed the stock of his rifle with his talon, awaiting the order to move out. He could barely breathe, and even thinking felt difficult. He clutched his rifle, a simple and reliable bolt action, a little tighter, and forced himself to breathe out. It would be nothing he couldn’t handle. Nothing they couldn’t handle. The second squad sat behind him, just as anxious as him. In addition to their normal gear, they carried pouches filled with extra ammunition. Talonico felt he should say something.

“Well,” the word left his dry throat. “Are you ready to go at it?”

“Of course. It’s hunting season,” Talone boasted. The others responded with pained smiles.

“As long as you don’t underestimate them,” Talonico warned. “The Paramilitary are former soldiers, and even if their discipline is poor, they are good shots. Most are experienced hunters.”

“Corporal, I don’t think any hunter can deal with that,” Milan responded, pointing at Talone’s light machine gun. It was a rather ugly thing, designed hastily when the Kingdom had realized that it had no light machine guns. Heavy recoil and a top-mounted magazine made aiming difficult and rendered its fully automatic fire almost useless, but somehow Talone managed.

“I don’t think any of us can. That’s why Talone gets it. Nobody else likes that thing.”

A few tense chuckles rewarded Talonico.

“You see how she handles that thing,” Wingerni added. “She should be a wrestler.”

“Reserve, in columns of squad, march.”

The rest of the company moved forwards. They trailed the paths left by the first two waves. The forest floor was mostly dry and covered by a patchy blanket of heather. A few times the troops stopped as the first company lagged behind, and a few times the first had to wait for them.

The unreleased tension tore at their frayed nerves. Every time a twig snapped it echoed like a gunshot. When crossing through a blueberry-covered glade a griffon stumbled and fell. For a frightening second everyone thought a sniper had shot him. Abashed he jumped up. A root had caught his paw. The advance continued. To their right, the second battalion pushed the enemy’s vanguard. Artillery still boomed occasionally.

Ahead of them, a rifle barked. Talonico threw himself down and pulled out his rifle. A second after the first shot a dozen more followed as the first platoon returned fire. Then the intensity lowered to the occasional shots as the initial frenzy gave way to proper marksmanship.

Talonico looked to the left. He could see Canales lying on the ground. She had not drawn her pistol and was instead looking ahead with her binoculars as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the fighting. Then an explosion hit their ears.

Talonico flinched. The shooting stopped. The enemy outpost had been destroyed with a grenade.

The order to continue was given.

Wingerni chuckled, even as his brown eyes darted about. “That was a lot of noise for one outpost.”

Talonico nodded in response. Soon the squad saw a corpse for the first time.

A pair of griffons armed with the same bolt action rifles as their southern counterparts. They wore the familiar green uniforms, but the piping was red instead of the familiar blue. Both wore simple, steel gray helmets with a small visor bolted on, now as mangled as their owners.

“Well,” thought Milan out loud. “Nothing special for corpses.”

“They make you feel nothing?” asked Bluecrest. His face was twisted into a disgusted grimace.

“You see one, you've seen them all. I’m not doctory enough to appreciate the differences.”

Talonico interrupted the whispered conversation. “Enough, keep moving. That must have been their picket.”

A ripping sound split the air.

“DOWN!” Talonico screamed, and for the second time in ten minutes threw himself to the ground.

The first mortar bomb landed on the main line. The sound it made was a sharp crack. More followed. Each explosion ripped pieces off the forest floor and threw them in the air. Shrapnel whirred angrily through the forest. Griffons pressed themselves tighter against the ground in helpless terror. Branches rained down on them. The barrage stopped. No one could have believed it had lasted only a minute.

“Keep moving!” Captain Telesca shouted. “Pass the word, keep moving. They must have the spot pre-plotted. Keep moving.”

The griffons picked themselves up and carried on. All but one. As they passed through where the first shell had landed. Next to the crater sat a wounded griffon, staring at a dead one lying on the ground. The bomb had torn the griffoness in two. Blood stained her uniform. Her claws still clutched to her rifle like flotsam in a storm. This time no one stopped to marvel.

Far away in Griffonstone, a picture of Desideria Donati sat on her mother's table. She looked so proud in her spotless dress uniform.

Mere minutes after the shelling, engine sounds came from their right. Captain Telesca looked at the map in confusion, then concern. A small path led from Mairis to a gap between the two battalions. The path could no doubt support vehicles. She called the platoon leaders to prepare a defense.

Talonico perked up when he spotted movement. Slapping his thigh, he alerted the rest of the squad. Alarms were whispered around the line. Around them, griffons slowly emerged from their foxholes. With little time to prepare, their foxholes were uncomfortably shallow.

A line of rifles funneled the attackers to a pair of belt-fed machine guns. The LMG section meanwhile reinforced the open right flank.

It was good that they were there. From what he saw, Talonico guessed at least a platoon was coming their way.

“Hold steady,” Canales whispered from his left. A large tree masked her pit from the enemy. “Let them get close.”

Talonico slid his rifle out and positioned himself behind the sights.

A scout marched some fifty meters ahead of the main line. He was for the rifles. Talonico moved his aim to the main line, where a griffon was gesturing wildly, and the formation changed accordingly.

Talonico’s talons threatened to wrench the weapon away from his target. He forced his sights back to the griffon’s barrel.

The scout crossed an invisible line.

“Fire,” Canales whispered.

The Paramilitary dropped out of sight. By Army Group South’s standards, they were poorly disciplined. On the parade ground, they could barely stand in formation. But they were no worse soldiers than their opponents.

Talonico ducked when a bullet snapped to the lip of his foxhole. He bounced up and returned fire where he saw a muzzle flash.

The Paramilitary held their ground. In short dashes, they extended their firing line. Rifles barked on both sides, joined by short bursts of the LMGs. Both sides tried to desperately win fire superiority. The Paramilitary had taken the first hits, but they outnumbered the defenders.

“Talone!” Talonico yelled, pointing out targets, “Fire right, by the rocks!”

The griffones obeyed, a savage grin on her face as the weapon kicked against her shoulder. She saw a griffon slump over. With a second burst, she finished them off.

The Paramilitary was not advancing. The reason became clear when they heard a familiar shriek.

Talonico made himself as small as he could. Fire and steel filled the air, shaking the ground beneath him. Cannons and mortars exploded among the trees, raining earth and wooden splinters into the foxholes. Cries of the wounded mixed with screams of shrapnel.

The cacophony stopped. Talonico bounced up and aimed. A volley of fire forced him down. So quickly they had lost the initiative.

“Bluecret’s hit!” Milan yelled from the neighboring foxhole.

“Help him then!” Talonico yelled back and rose. He had seen the Paramilitary come dangerously close. He shot a griffon mere thirty meters away. But emerging from behind the infantry was a new threat.

An armored car, painted white and decorated with garish purple highlights, rolled up the dirt path. The guards of Mairis abattoir loved their car but had never expected to wield it against an enemy force. Its turret moved from side to side, a machine gun firing long bursts.

A heavy machine gun could punch through its armor, a light one could not.

“Fuck,” Wingerni blurted out. “Corporal?”

“Leave that for the AT teams,” Talonico answered. “Keep up the fire!”

Talone obeyed without hesitation. She fired once. Twice. The weapon jammed.

“Jam!” Talone called out a warning. She wrenched the magazine off and cranked the bolt handle. It refused to budge.

The weapon’s designers had thought to put a slit at the side of the magazine, to allow the gunners to keep track of the remaining ammunition. The slit also worked as an open invitation for dirt. Dirt jammed the magazine spring, which in turn could mess up the feed.

Talone pressed herself tightly against the dirt and started disassembling the weapon. Through the firing, Talonico heard a frustrated “Fucking sideways!?”

With one of the LMGs out of action, the Paramilitary advanced again. The armored car pushed back the defenders in its way. Talonico threw a grenade at a cluster of grey-helmed griffons. One of them rushed forward, diving for Talonico’s pit with a bloodthirsty look. Talonico rose to meet the charge. The two collided as the grenade detonated, stumbling off into a depression behind the line.

After two cartwheels Talonico stumbled into a precarious crouch. His opponent stood a meter away. There was no time to aim. Both fired at the same time and both missed their targets. In a split second, Talonico decided there was no time to chamber a new round.

Talonico had entered the military four years ago when bayonets were still considered an important weapon. He did not have one affixed, but the barrel of his rifle was still a solid piece of metal, and the movements were the same as before.

With a yell, Talonico lunged, thrusting with his rifle. His opponent swatted the thrust away, but Talonico followed it with a swing with the butt. The Northerner pulled back in the nick of time, but could not dodge the follow-up jab. Wooden stock collided with a yellow beak, and the Paramilitary staggered back. Again Talonico swung, this time slamming the barrel into their neck. His opponent fell to the ground.

The griffon looked up with pleading, blue eyes. Shifting his grip, Talonico brought his weapon down in a mighty overhead swing. The butt slammed into the steel helmet, and the griffon fell unconscious.

“Holy shit!” Exclaimed Milan, sliding down the slope. Bluecrest was right by her, the crest of his helmet cut. The rest of the squad was behind them.

“What now?” Talonico asked. For a moment he feared they were fleeing.

“Bounding withdrawal!” Bluecrest answered.

The platoon was pushed back. Though the griffons withdrew in good order they were still losing. The full force of the enemy attack was coming their way, and once they had given enough ground, the Paramilitary could rush through the gaps into the company’s rear.

Sergeant Carranza and lieutenant Canales moved across the line, shouting encouragements to the wavering griffons. The platoon leader was stuck on the other side of the car.

“Carranza!” Canales yelled. “We have to get rid of the car.”

“Their infantry sticks to it like glue!” Carranza yelled back. “We can’t assault it before that!”

Canales looked around. A dry boreal forest was monotone, with pines for as far as the eye could see. Very little undergrowth.

“I can take my section and clear some room,” Canales suggested. “If you deal with the car.”

Carranza considered it for a second, before agreeing. “I’ll gather a team and send it over. Keep infantry away from them.”

Talonico was informed of the plan when Canales ran next to him, ordering him to fire at anything around the car. A burst from Talone’s rifle forced those closest to the vehicle to take cover.

Talonico saw as the team of three closed in on the car. They dashed from tree to tree, closing into grenade range. Then closer. The throw had to be accurate. The lead griffon rose, a grenade bundle ready.

The griffon stilled and fell. The others dove away, expecting an explosion that didn’t come. The griffon had been killed before priming the grenade. The other two had left their cover and were now pinned.

Canales looked at the grenade handle sticking out. It was close. She could make it.

“MG section! Cover me!” She yelled. Without waiting to see if she had been heard, Canales ran. Angrily buzzing bullets flew past her. Stray shots made disgusting snaps as they struck bark from trees or burrowed into the soil.

Ten meters from the grenade, Canales ducked. Canales crawled the last meters as fast as she could. She dropped her pistol from her death grip and took the grenade bundle.

It was a like standard grenade with a cardboard handle. The only difference was the additional explosives wrapped around the round head, held in place by a canvas cover.

Canales prepared her grip on the grenade and peered over the dead griffon’s corpse. The car was close. She could see its turret pointing away from her, firing to its left. She pulled the cord and threw the bomb.

It flew in an awkward trajectory, landing in front of the car. The heavy head did not bounce. Canales ducked, and the world jumped under her.

There was a flash, a bang, and a cloud of smoke. Pieces of metal flew to the sky. Dirt landed on Canales’ head. The gunner attempted to climb out of the armored car, where a fire was spreading from the engine. Talone killed them with a single shot. The body rolled off of the turret and landed unceremoniously on the ground.

Canales slowly became aware of her surroundings. Her section was standing around her.

“How long did I nap?” she asked. A foul taste filled her mouth. “And give me some water.”

After taking a sip, Canales stood up. She had been unconscious for a minute, but dizzy for almost ten. Finding all her limbs still in working order, she came back to business.

“Greendown, what’s the situation?”

“We are currently in the reserve,” Greendown answered. “After you popped the car, we drove the infantry off. They didn’t have much fight in them. We are currently in the clear.”

“That’s nice. What were our casualties?”

“Eight dead, as many wounded.” Greendown looked uncomfortable with the thought. He clacked his beak and sighed. “The lieutenant is among the wounded. Shot in the palm. Carranza leads the platoon for now.”

“Damn. Ah, well, return to formation.”

As the griffons turned to leave, Talone extended a pair of brass chevrons to Canales.

“I took these from the car’s gunner. These are pretty rare, so I thought you might want them.”

Canales accepted the gift and Talone ran to join her squad.

The attack stopped soon after. The third company passed through the second, but no more fighting could be heard.

They stopped at the edge of a small clearing and dug down. As the Sun began its descent, the field kitchen rolled in, giving each soldier half a ladle of soup.

“Well I am going to dine like a Queen,” Talone remarked to the corporal in charge of the kitchen. “Shall we receive exotic fruits with this feast?”

“Careful Talone, tomorrow we will get just flavored water.” Milan seemed chipper. Her fear had been buried by excitement.

Talonico fought down the grin that threatened to appear on his face. His job included not complaining about anything, no matter how he would have liked to join in on the fun.

“Miss, no one is forcing you to eat anything,” the cook corporal responded. Mocking rear-line troops was fun until you angered the griffons responsible for feeding you. The line moved along, and Talonico presented the staff with two mess tins.

“For our guard,” he explained. The cook muttered that the sentry should get their own food, but nevertheless poured half a ladle into both tins.

The squad set up a small fire to keep Wingerni’s porridge warm and gathered around it to talk.

“Well, it was a show,” Talonico began. “Needless to say, I am proud of you. How is everyone holding up?”

“Are you doing mushy stuff, Corp?” Bluecrest answered, raising his eyebrow.

“If you want to call it that. I take it your paw didn’t turn to mush.”

Bluecrest looked down. The puttees on his right paw were torn. “This? No, but it was close. Dinked my helmet as well.”

“Didn’t make your head any worse,” Milan laughed. Bluecrest tossed a pinecone at her in response.

“Well, you are clearly healthy and acting your age,” Talonico muttered. “The rest of you?”

Talone nodded and flexed her claw. “Honestly, Corporal, I enjoyed myself.”

If she was honest, Talonico was concerned. Hating the Paramilitary was one thing. Enjoying killing them was another.

“Well, as long as you are fine. Be ready to set up the tent when it comes. This night we can sleep in peace.”