The Abattoir

The battle raged in the distance, but for the moment it had no effect on the machine gun section. Along with the first platoon, it had been sent to secure a crossroad at the regiment’s left flank. Finding their target empty, the griffons had dug in. Behind their rudimentary trench, the second squad sat. Talone stood guard in the trenches.

At first glance, one could have thought from their relaxed demeanor that there was no war. But a closer look revealed the tension, the nervous glances at every loud sound.

The soldiers used the moment to eat. Talonico stirred the food in his mess tin. Hanging from a branch above a fire burning in a pit, the mixture of water and emergency rations was forming into an approximation of porridge. Rainwater dripped steadily into the tin. The fire below sizzled and spat out clouds of ash. The sludge made Talonico miss the half-living concoctions of the field kitchen. The cans of cured fish in his backpack beckoned, but he would not open those unless there was nothing left. If nothing else, at least his last meal would taste good.

“Come here,” Wingerni’s whispered voice drew Talonico’s attention. He looked up to see Wingerni coax a redwing closer. In his palm, the young loader had ground-down bread. The bird hopped around, curious as to what the lumbering beast was doing.

“Come now, I have food. Yes, yes, come closer. No, don't go away, it's okay and there she goes.”

Talonico’s eyes followed the bird's until it disappeared into the foliage.

“The dumbest chick in the forest and you still can’t get any,” Milan mused. “What will you do with a griffon?”

“You know, I’ll just lay down a line of breadcrumbs, and they will follow it right into my home,” Wingerni answered, playing the scenario out with his claws. As an afterthought, he added. “I got the idea from Bluecrest, so thank you for that.”

Talonico snorted, and from his other side, Bluecrest muttered. “You get married and that becomes the peak of comedy. How funny is that?”

“I mean, the idea that someone married you is pretty funny.”

“You’ll be climbing that tree tail first unless you shut up,” Bluecrest growled.

“Relax,” Talonico stepped in, raising his claw in a lazy, calming gesture. “There are three married griffons in the company, Sister Livi included, so there is not much material.” To Wingerni he added. “And you can recuse that stuff only so many times until it becomes stale.”

“Like you and your VD, corporal?” Milan asked innocently. It was a joke that had started during Talonico’s basic training, long before the squad had been formed.

“Not exactly,” he answered. “And it’s diseases, plural. I have a whole collection, so there is no shortage of materials. The one about an Ibex buck is stale.”

“How so?” Milan asked. She had heard the joke once or twice.

Talonico shrugged. He had so far kept a professional distance from the squad. It felt so silly now. They were competent and did not need a drill sergeant to keep them in line.

“Back during the NCO course, actually basic, there was a joke about how I would take every chance to sleep with an Ibex buck. I have no idea where it came from, I have never even seen an Ibex. It was fun, but I heard it too many times to keep laughing.”

“But you laugh at the VDs?” Wingerni asked.

“If one disease gets stale, it’s easy to switch to a new one,” Talonico answered. “Now take your food and stop asking dumb questions.”

Not soon after they had eaten, a new arrival walked up to the squad.

Talonico bounced up to greet sergeant Carranza.

“Well Nico, good to see you,” Carranza said. “How are you feeling?”

“Wet, sergeant,” Talonico answered. Invoking the rank of the griffon seven years his senior felt natural, even in a half-joking reply.

“Wet? And this is not even infantry’s weather,” Carranza’s voice was laced with amusement. Infantry’s weather referred to a torrential downpour typical in the autumn. “Have you grown soft, corporal?”

Walking away from his squad, Talonico answered. “No softer than before. Except for feathers, they are something else.”

“Good. I think you Ibex will like that!”

Talonico blurted out a litany of curses. Deciding they were far enough from the others, Talonico spoke with more honesty. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I was too tense after the village.”

“I figured as much. You are not the only one,” Carranza said. The pair stared into the distance in silence. Rainwater flowed down to the brims of their helmets and dripped down in large droplets. On Carranza’s face a few tears mixed with the rain. It was this tenderness in the larger-than-life sergeant that had made Talonico open up.

“Do you think Canales will become a platoon leader?” Talonico asked suddenly. The lieutenant was currently on the other side of the trenches. With the first platoon’s leader dead, Canales might soon take her place.

“That depends on what kind of reinforcements we will get. It would also make Greendown the section leader. Do you think he’s up to it?”

Talonico blinked, surprised at the question. For a moment he thought, not so much on what to say but how to say it. “Definitely. He was just about destined for the job.”

“I thought as much,” Carranza admitted. “I already put out a good word to Sister Livi, but we’ll see what happens.”

The appearance of a combat runner interrupted Carranza. “Sergeant! The fifth squad has come across a farm not marked on the map. Corporal Tasca requests reinforcements to secure the farm.”

“I suppose that would be you,” Carranza said to Talonico. Get to the platoon CP in five minutes Canales will lead the team.”

“Yes, sergeant,” Talonico responded. He spun around and ran to his squad.

The door crashed open. Talone burst through, sweeping the hut with her machine gun.

“Empty,” she announced to the squad following after her. Talone rested her weapon on the ground and took off her helmet, revealing the pattern of black stripes underneath. “No scary grandmothers in sight.”

The hut was small and simple. A single room with a small window, and a table that could maybe fit two griffons. The squad spread out, taking a look at their surroundings. Wingerni was the first to notice what was amiss.

“This place looks untouched,” he said, gesturing at the shelves. It seemed the inhabitants had taken nothing with them as they had left, but neither did the state of the room speak of a hasty flight. Only trails left by a cart suggested that the inhabitants were gone. Every surface seemed immaculately cleaned, and drying wooden spoons hung from a hook. Wingerni touched one of them. “Dry. They didn’t leave recently.”

“Whoever left here was in no hurry,” Talonico agreed. He stopped. Through the window, he could see a partially hidden shed down the hill.

“No one checked that,” he said. The fifth squad should have done so when they secured the perimeter, but they had not mentioned having done so.

Talone clearly had the same opinion, especially regarding their corporal. “Tasca clearly didn’t do his job. It was an easy task, but not the best griffon.”

Talonico covered his snort of laughter. The guilty smile on his face was harder to cover.
After reporting to Carranza, the squad crossed the distance to the shed in no time. Built of unpainted wood, the building had no windows. The door was bolted from the outside.

Talone pulled the bolt open. The rasp of metal stirred a gasp from someone inside. In a second five weapons were pointed at the shed. With a stern voice he rarely used, Talonico ordered: “Open the door. Slowly.”

For now, there was no need to shout. With a creak, the door opened. Something towered over the griffons. Hesitantly, fully aware of the guns pointed at her, a cow stepped out.

Milan swore and lowered her rifle. Wingerni took a step back. More disciplined, Talonico and Bluecrest remained alert, and on Talone’s face, there was no emotion.

Hay hung to the cow’s coat in lumps. The coat itself, brown and white in color, was matted with dirt. A disgusting smell lingered around her.

“You are not Paramilitary?” She asked when her eyes had adjusted to the light.

“No,” Talonico said. “Was there anyone else in with you?”

“No, no,” the cow shook her head. “I was all this family had. May I come out?”

“Do so. Milan, check the shed.”

Milan peered inside. Talonico saw the disgust flash in her eyes. Seeing the question on the Corporal’s face, she confirmed: “It’s clear.”

Finally, Talonico calmed. He rested his rifle on the ground and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. The wet cloth at least cooled him. Finding the cow looking at him curiously he asked.

“Are you alright? Hungry, thirsty?”

“No, no, I had water and some grass.”

Talonico nodded. “That’s good. Ah, come with us. I think Sergeant will know better what to do. Please follow me, miss?”

“Oh I haven’t been called miss in years,” the cow giggled. “Amanda. I’m Amanda.”

The squad led the cow to where they knew sergeant Carranza to be. When she first stumbled, Wingerni and Bluecrest caught her.

“Why were you locked in there?” Wingerni asked suddenly. Ignoring the winces of the other griffons, the cow answered.

“The family here left when the fighting started. They said they would return in a week and left. Locked me in the shed so I wouldn’t flee. Left me all sorts of trash to eat so I won’t starve.”

“Corporal,” Talone said, dashing next to Taloncio. She gestured at the hut. “I should probably get her some proper food.”

“Do it. But don’t take too long.”

They passed the cow to sergeant Carranza. Soon after the detachment returned to their trenches, escorting her to safety. In the distance, the roar of cannons grew louder. At sunset, a pair of griffons escorted the cow to safety.

The messenger interrupted Major Thunderclaw’s breakfast.

Hiding from the rain under his greatcoat, he read his orders.

Once resupplied, his battalion was to march out through the marshes to the regiment’s left and flank around the enemy’s defensive line. The rest of the regiment would then attack, and force the enemy from their positions. Thunderclaw’s task was to make sure they could not retreat to the Abattoir.

Thunderclaw summoned his company commanders and began preparations.

The moss squelched where Talonico’s talons sunk into it. Moisture crept up the sleeves of his uniform, weighing them just a little more.

One step after another, he forced his body to move. The rest of the squad stumbled on behind him. The ground had changed from dirt to a soft marsh. Fallen and living trees formed a maze where every branch seemed to reach out at the griffons, intent on snagging into their uniforms or equipment.

Talonico glanced behind, confirming his squad was still in contact with him, and then scanned the woods to his right. Tall grass and shrubs intermingled with the trees, blanketing the ground for as far as the eye could see. Although a scout platoon was moving ahead of the battalion, there was no excuse for carelessness. Every other soldier scanned the marsh to their right, every other to the left. Platoon leaders watched the skies.

Talonico knew he was not truly that exhausted, his mind merely claimed otherwise. They had not marched for that long. The lack of landmarks simply gave the illusion that they were not moving at all. Mind breaks before the body, he reminded himself and forced another step.

“Stop. Break, five minutes.” the griffon in front of Talonico said. She was one of Greendown’s ammo bearers.

Talonico passed the message and dropped his backpack onto the mossy ground. He sat on the backpack and stared into the distance. He gripped the polished wood of his rifle tightly. Around him, the battalion, marching in a single file, disappeared into the grass.

With slow, deliberate movements Wingerni pulled out a piece of bread from his pockets. He ground it down between his talons, before extending his claw, palm open. A small bird stopped on a branch, watching him curiously.

“Oh yes, you are quite the beauty,” Wingerni cooed. “You don’t know fear at all, do you? Such a brave little birdie. Or maybe you just are hungry. I’m with you there.”

The bird did not respond, merely watching the griffon. Deeming shelter more important than the peculiar creature, it flew off and disappeared into the rain. Wingerni smiled after it.
The forest swallowed the distant sounds of fighting. For a moment the world was beautiful. Birds chirped as they bounced from branch to branch. Far away, a crane called. Insects buzzed about, uncaring of the concerns of the griffons around them. Life carried on its way.

Five minutes passed. Grass shifted as the griffons rose, and continued their march. Life carried on, but at their side walked death.

Private Izzo cursed as the engine failed to start. He was happy about the new trucks. They meant the griffons in the supply train no longer had to physically drag their supply wagon. The problem was that the little beasts were far less reliable.

Pulling away from the engine, Izzo let out another litany of curses. If the truck was alive, he knew it would be laughing at him. Breaking down on a dirt road? He had just and just managed to drive into the woods, momentum carrying him the last few meters.

He took a deep breath. He needed to take a drink. There was nothing he could do until another truck came from the Abattoir. His webbing was on the other side of the truck. He had left it there after the thing had begun chafing at his shoulders. It was just unnecessary weight for the drivers. His rifle kept it company, having gotten in his way one too many times. The fighting had begun anew, but it was far away.

He had not yet noticed that some shots were coming from much closer than the last time.

Izzo walked around the truck and froze.

Emerging from the woods was a line of griffons. As he watched, more and more became visible. They moved with wary steps, careful not to be caught off guard.

Izzo’s rifle was within arm’s reach. They had not spotted him yet.

If he fought he would die.

If he did not fight, they would march right up to the battalion commander.

He did not want to die. He did not want his friends to die.

The matter was decided for him when one griffon pointed their rifle at him. They would shoot before Izzo could do anything, and they would not miss. Stunned, Izzo raised his claws in surrender.

As his wings were bound, Izzo watched the advancing soldiers helplessly.