The Abattoir

The abattoir was within reach. The regiment had smashed through the last defenses in their way. The honor of taking the Abattoir belonged to the first battalion.

The battalion had stopped at the edge of the woods. A road embankment ran parallel to the firing line, and behind it opened the rye fields surrounding Mairis. It was an odd-looking thing. In the south, villages were often built of bricks, and looked like someone had taken a few city blocks and planted them in the middle of the countryside.

Mairis consisted of four clusters of wooden buildings, of which Talonico could see two.

Behind the road, the ground continued on a plateau, before sloping down into a small mirrored-L-shaped valley split by River Avide. Down at the riverbank, where Talonico could not see, was the temple to Boreas, the town hall, and the homes of the most important residents. On the right side of the valley rose two clusters of houses. One hid behind the other, where the ground once more sloped down. On the left was a row of barracks, surrounded by barbed wire.

“Talonico?” The corporal looked up to see Canales. The lieutenant was flanked by Greendown. “A moment?”

“Of course, of course,” Talonico answered. The pair sat down next to him.

“You looked like you were in some deep thought,” Greendown said, with a teasing smile and a pack of smokes extended. Talonico understood the situation was not too serious and accepted the smoke.

“I stopped walking, so my brain started moving instead. I don’t dare stop it.”

“Please don’t,” Canales said. “I need you to give your best now.”

Talonico looked at her, rubbing his chin. “The tanks are here?”

“At any moment,” Canales confirmed. “Eat what you can before that.”

Half an hour later the tanks arrived. Ten tanks prowled into view, their commanders proudly leaning out of the hatches. Two full platoons. After a moment of silence, the cheering began. Officers quickly silenced the troops, returning discipline. But there was a reason to cheer.

Griffon Medium Tanks, commonly called Vultures, were beasts meant to cut through trench lines. Eight meters in length, and nearly three in height, they were armed with an imposing six-pounder field gun and a pair of sponson-mounted machine guns. On their hulls, various slogans were written.

“Bovine Liberation Now!”

“Onwards to the North! First to the Frozen Sea!”

“Death to the Paramilitary!”

The tanks stopped and spread out into a line. Behind them, the third company set out in columns, ready to attack the enemy on the right.

Even though they were not supporting the second company, the tanks still made the morale soar. Nothing was going to stop them now.

With a whistle, the first mortar bombs fell. Explosions rocked the ground, and splinters of buildings flew high into the air. Mixed in with the explosions were smoke shells. Clouds of white smoke spread, surrounding the manor in the company’s path.

“Early,” Bluecrest hissed. “They’re too early.”

The carefully planned bombardment had started ahead of schedule. With quick corrections for fire difficult, the infantry had to fit into the schedule set by the artillery. Now, they would have to catch up.

“First wave, move. Second wave, prepare.”

Talonico stood up and gestured for the others to follow. They dashed through the field, straws quietly shuffling around them. A chain of griffons extending for nearly a hundred meters moved with silence and purpose. Talonico held back his cheer, to not let the enemy know they were coming.

The forest to their left exploded into gunfire. The first company had made contact.

A rifle cracked, and one of the scouts dropped to the ground. The others returned fire. Talonico saw flashes of light and movement, and the fight was over. Talonico jumped over the fallen scout and kept moving.

They reached the edge of the plateau.

Talonico lay down next to a tree. There was a good view. He could see the manor and the adjacent buildings. There were granaries some fifty meters away, to their right a few sheds, and to their left the manor itself, a yellow two-story building. The breeze had already blown the smokescreen away, revealing the cratered courtyard.

“Here,” he whispered. Quietly Talone snuck next to him, preparing her weapon. To her right was Wingerni, ready to reload the weapon. Everywhere squad leaders guided their squads into position.

Canales shuffled over and tapped Talonico on the shoulder. “Open fire on command. We’ll signal for others. On the manor, there’s a machine gun on the top floor. Do you see it?”

Talonico pulled out his binoculars. He could see the barrel of the weapon poking out the attic window. And just barely the dark shape kneeling behind it. His stomach turned to stone. There must have been more, all playing the waiting game. Both sides waited for the other to shoot first, balancing losing the initiative with staying hidden.

“Yes,” Talonico choked out. He pointed out the target for Talone, who took aim, her finger slowly moving to the trigger.

The fighting on their left showed no signs of stopping. And more sporadic gunfire came from their right. The sharp booms of six-pounder guns joined in.

“Nico, give me your rifle,” Canales whispered. “Shoot when I shoot.”

Talonico obeyed, and the lieutenant slowly rose, aiming at something. Another bomb landed on the courtyard, blasting apart a well. Then the shelling stopped.

Canales’ finger curled around the trigger. Through the sights, she watched the window on the left of the door. Her heart hammered in her barrel. One. Two. Three.

A griffon appeared in the window. Gently, calmly, as if on a firing range, she pulled the trigger. The griffon disappeared.

A heartbeat later the attic window exploded inwards as Talone emptied her entire magazine. Talonico’s world exploded into light and noise as three platoons opened fire.

Wingerni yanked off the empty magazine and slammed a new one in, even as bullets whipped past him.

“Single shots!” Talonico shouted. “Keep it up! Aim at the window!”

Talone aimed and fired two shots. The gun crew dared not raise its head again. The rifle bucked in her claws as she fired again and again. A grim, satisfied smirk came to her face. The weapon clicked empty.

“Reload!”

Wingerni pulled the magazine off. Splinters flew into Talone’s face as a round hit a tree, and Wingerni fell with a yelp.

“Fuck, I’m okay, I’m okay!”

Talone didn’t waste a second to answer, picking up the dropped magazine and slamming it in. Talonico pressed against her, pointing a talon at something.

“There’s an MG! Shoot it!”

“I don’t see it!” Talone screamed back. Broken out of her trance, she saw that the defenders were already recovering. Firing from windows and firing slits cut in the walls. Some dashed through the trenches dug between the buildings or rose over the parapets to fire. Wherever the Paramilitary was pinned, somewhere else they rose.

“I’ll walk you. Look right of that bend in the trench. He’s reloading now”

Talone fired.

“Good, a few more,” Talonico ordered. Through his binoculars, he saw the gunner jerk back. The second burst felled them.

The machine gun in the attic fired again, kicking up dirt around the team. Ricochets whirred angrily through the air.

“Goddammit!” Canales shouted. “Right, Nico, keep that HMG pinned. Focus on nothing else.”

She tossed the rifle back to Talonico. “Full clip. Keep up the fire.”

Talonico adjusted his position and took aim. He could see the griffon inside.

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

Talonico knew he had killed before. But then there had been no thought behind his actions, merely the chaos of battle and the need to survive

He thought of Amanda.

Amanda had been lucky, and still, no one deserved her fate. The Party’s victims now had a name and a face, and this griffon, though innocent of what happened to Amanda, fought for the Paramilitary. He fought to keep things as they were.

Talonico’s talon curled around the trigger.

”You,” he thought, ”You, I will kill.”

Talonico pulled the trigger.

Around them, griffons of the second company fought. But their attack had come to a standstill.

A runner from the second company ran to major Thunderclaw.

“Sir, captain Telesca requests a second barrage on point Baker 1. The enemy is dug in, and she does not have fire superiority. She will not assault until she has that.”

Thunderclaw nodded at the runner. He had already guessed it, as he saw the second company’s firing line from his position next to a tall, dead and barkless tree. Third company he did not see, but as he had heard no fighting from their direction, he assumed they were preparing to assault their first objective. And the first company?

Streams of wounded stragglers returned from the left. The first company had decimated a platoon trying to probe the battalion’s flank, before being hit with pre-sighted mortars. Just as they had planned the attack down to the last detail, the enemy had planned their defense well. Already it seemed the Paramilitary had vacated the forests in the first company’s sector, leaving them with a bloody nose for little gain. The only good news was the prisoners coming with the wounded.

“Vozza,” Thunderclaw ordered the artillery observer by his side. “Tell the mortar platoon to fire a second barrage behind point Baker 1.”

“Sir, I cannot just disrupt the prepared fire plan,” the Lieutenant said. “All tubes are already preparing for their next targets. They may not have enough ammunition for both missions.”

“Do as you are told!” Thunderclaw snapped. “The fire plan will not matter if the infantry is stopped now.”

Sufficiently cowed, the lieutenant picked up his field telephone to call. Thunderclaw gave his map a look over.

“Rubino!”

“Sir?” one of Thunderclaw’s runners asked, stepping forward.

“Fly over to the third company, and tell them to send two tanks to assist the second company.”

The courier flew off, skimming the ground. Soon the second company’s runner followed, carrying Thundercalw’s message to Telesca.

Dammit. His plan had been good, but it needed to adapt. The enemy knew to not try a static defense, instead pulling back to new lines.

But how to adapt? He had a platoon of scouts in reserve, nothing more. He was a good player, his pieces were clumsy. Three rifle companies left him without a reserve. The fourth company? Yes, the fourth company. Now spread out across the line with its machine guns, there was his reserve. Carrying machine guns cumbersome on the offense, but so vital in defense that he could not make them into a rifle company. The scouts were busy elsewhere.

No, he could not change his plan, because there was no way to change it. The tanks were the greatest concession he could give to the second. The weight of his punch was on the right, and he had just weakened that. But neither could he let the other companies be stopped, lest he risk his right talon being chopped off. He just hoped Telesca made good use of the tanks.

The rightmost outbuilding collapsed as two six-pounder shells slammed into it. Pillars of smoke and dust and pieces of logs flew into the air. Four heavy machine guns hammered the survivors climbing from the rubble.

Talonico cheered as the two tanks trundled up from the right. In a single stroke, the deadlock was broken. The tanks fired again, and two more explosions shook the ground. He could hear the whistling of bullets die down as panic set in among the defenders.

He slapped Talone on the shoulder. “Pour it on, don’t let them recover! Anything that moves, shoot it.”

To Milan and Bluecrest, who had remained in cover, filling empty magazines, he shouted: “Get in here! We need every gun.”

The two rushed up the slope, pulling out their rifles. Across the line, Griffons were emboldened by the appearance of the tanks, and the sudden lack of bullets coming their way. Mortar bombs slammed into the courtyard. In the flashes of flame, Talonico saw running griffons fall over. Rounds fell for a minute, and Talonico felt a grim satisfaction that it was not him in the middle of it.

A cheer came from the right. The sixth platoon charged through the line. Their shouts overshadowed the sound of firing. Without firing a shot, they crossed the fifty meters to the outer buildings. Immediately they started throwing grenades through the windows and firing slits.

In flashes of fire and movement, the six squads moved from building to building. The tanks meanwhile had driven behind the manor, firing into the distance. In the village center, Talonico could see explosions as the tanks fired indiscriminately into buildings.

Captain Telesca ran to them, accompanied by her runners. Silverbeak was missing from the group.

“Canales,” she said, calm and professional. “Get your section down there, and set up defensive positions.”

Canales led the section to the manor. Corpses lay in the trenches, twisted in pain. A few were in the courtyard. The yard itself was torn open. Thick acrid dust lingered in the air, and somewhere a fire crackled threateningly.

“Well fuck me,” Talone blurted out when she saw a griffon on the ground behind the manor, a heavy machine gun on her back. “That was one persistent bastard, but if she gets back from that, I will be surprised.”

Canales ordered Talonico to get in position on the right side of the yard. There, the ground rose in a small embankment. Likely the beginnings of a future wall, it now served as cover for the squad.

“Spread out,” he ordered. “Talone, if you see anything move in front of us, give it a quick burst. Remember we have the third company on our right. And everyone takes a drink.”

Talonico felt nauseous from dehydration. There had been no time to drink during the fighting. Now the lukewarm water was the best thing in his world.

He put the canteen down and glanced at his wristwatch.

They had fought for twenty minutes for practically no gain.

“Hey Corporal,” Milan spoke. “Why do they give LMGs so much work? We must support the attack, we must rush to the defense. Often we have to charge because everybody else has a bolt action. The army should get submachine guns, and give them to those who charge.”

“I’m sure the generals have never thought of that,” Bluecrest suggested. “You should bring it up over tea.”

“If you want, I can get a hacksaw and make you a submachine gun,” Wingerni suggested, pointing his thumb at Talone.

As if on cue, Talone fired. The sound broke the relative calm.

“One of them popped from the field,” she explained, never raising her head from the sights.

“What did they do?” Talonico asked. His focus had been on the buildings across the river.

“I don’t know. I didn’t look that closely.”

The watch continued in silence. From their left, they heard no more shooting. The tanks had calmed down, conserving their ammunition. Only on their right, the sounds of fighting continued. Then a metallic cough came from behind the temple. More followed. By instinct Talonico crouched. But these rounds were not meant for them.

To their right, mortar bombs exploded on the hill, hammering the rightmost part of the village. More and more bombs fell, as though the enemy sought to break an entire company in a single barrage. But that too died down. The battle paused for a breath, preparing for the second round.

Talonico heard shuffling behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Major Thunderclaw was coming their way, Telesca one step behind him.

“The enemy has no tanks,” the Major said to Telesca. “Nor do they intend to counterattack. They would have done so now.”

“They try to dictate the battle by pulling us into one frontal attack after another,” Telesca answered. She then looked at the griffons by the embankment.

“Well, Talonico. How is it that the Battalion commander always finds you?”

The question caught the Corporal off guard. He chuckled as he spun around to greet the two officers.

“Ma’am, the same way the bullets find us. We are a priority target.”

“That you are. That was some clatter, was it not.”

A quick flurry of affirmations came the captain’s way. None seemed quite genuine, but what were they supposed to do? If a captain asked you a question, you said yes.

“Good, good,” the captain muttered as he looked into the distance. There was not much to see. Nondescript homes and tall trees. Mist hung close to the ground, swirling around the green rye stalks.

“With the tanks, we can easily cross the river. Is the first company in position?” Captain Telesca asked, now speaking only to Thunderclaw.

“They telephoned me a moment ago,” the Major reassured her. “Their scouts had just cleared the woods. Now get your company moving. We are squeezing the enemy, and I won’t waste that opportunity.”

The captain did as she was told. As heavy machine guns were dragged into the manor to provide support, the second company spread out and prepared to advance. The automatic section was shuffled to the right, to support the platoons clearing the temple. Three platoons, 4 through 6 were in the first wave as they had suffered the least casualties. The other three and the automatics in the second, ten meters behind the first.

“Advance,” Canales whispered. Talonico rose and started moving forward. In front of him was a line of griffons moving without a sound, nervous eyes scanning the field. They moved past the tanks. The vehicles’ commanders seemed just as anxious.

A few gunshots rang from the right. Then the tanks opened fire. To Talonico’s surprise, the explosions came from in front of them. Something was behind the manor. Griffons exchanged nervous glances.

“What is it?” a griffon's eyes asked.

“I don’t know,” another’s answered.

With time to think, their thoughts flew to the worst conclusions. A second line? Reinforcements. Already the company had been thinned. Would the second be as bad?

One of the scouts, moving ten meters in front of the line, suddenly stopped, and fired.

“Enemy in the field!” she screamed. More gunshots followed. Then the enemy opened fire.

The scout had stumbled onto a lone straggler. When she had opened fire, the enemy had seen the muzzle flash. To their front left, on top of the valley’s left slope, six machine guns opened fire as one. Griffons fell screaming.

Driven by instinct, many opened fire. The enemy in the Temple, and those pressed against the riverbanks took aim and fired. More griffons dropped dead. Caught in a crossfire, the second company stopped. The only thing saving them from a disaster were the crops hiding them, and that they were not in a proper enfilade. The bullets did not pass through the entire line.

Captain Telesca watched the situation with concern. The first wave was paralyzed. She had already stopped the second, which had traded shots with the enemy on the ridge for several minutes to no effect. She had thought they had received machine gun fire earlier, but with it being so ineffective, she had written it off. Most likely just exceptionally heavy rifle fire. She had been wrong.

From the muzzle flashes, she counted a full machine gun company. Tracers flew her way at even intervals. While scary, the fire had been largely ineffective, and now they were firing blindly. In fact, most rounds flew over their targets. The field was not completely flat, and her griffons had found some dead ground. But if she tried to move the company, the enemy was sure to correct their aim.

As she watched she also saw the first company engage the machine guns. The tanks fired, and one of the machine gun nests disappeared. She could not see the results, but from an explosion that close, the weapon had to be out of action.

That made the rifles in front of her the greater threat. The worst was over. Now she just had to get her company back in motion.

She called Canales over. She was to move forward, and clear the enemy from the dead ground created by the river. The rest of the company would follow soon after. As the second lieutenant ran off, Telesca ordered Silverbeak to bring up the second wave once the first had reached its objective.

And where to start the rallying? There, the sixth platoon seemed to waver the worst. She walked over to the platoon, as if silently ignoring the bullets flying past her, and with that mockery of death seeking to inspire the company.

“Where is your platoon leader?” she asked the closest griffon. He had been firing without aiming, a clear sign of rising panic. The blue griffon looked up, and had the decency to look ashamed.

“Dead,” he responded. “The MG got her, took off half her head.”

Well, without a leader to inspire them, no wonder the platoon had stopped. Since all other platoon leaders were busy with their own platoons, it fell to Telesca to take control. She just needed the right moment.

“Greendown, Talonico!” Canales called the two squad leaders. “We will get up to the river, you see where it turns. There is some dead ground there, and a flanking position. Do you have grenades to clear the bend?”

“Yes,” Greendown answered, his face serious. Talonico also replied in the affirmative.

Without a delay, Canales led the section to its target. Forced to move carefully, and to stop at every sound, their movement was slow. They could not afford to stumble into a straggler. Crossing the distance took almost five minutes of crawling which left them exhausted.

“Get your ammo bearers to watch the flank,” Canales whispered as they drew near. “We’ll throw grenades and get to the bend.”

Talonico quickly passed on the message. He pulled a grenade from his belt. It was a peculiar-looking thing, with a long, cardboard shaft and a heavy, round head filled with pellets.

The river was ten meters away. Talonico grabbed the grenade's pull cord. Wingerni also prepared his grenade. Greendown made eye contact with Talonico. Yellow eyes met red ones. Both could see each other’s fears.

Greendown raised all three talons. He prepared his grenade and nodded once. Twice. Thrice.

Four grenades sailed through the air, landing on the riverbank. Talonico heard an alarmed yell that was cut short by a series of explosions. Mud and water flew in the air. Before the last droplets fell Talonico rushed to the riverbank. The river made a sharp turn, running parallel to the company, before turning away from them where Talonico was. Their right side was clear and screened from the temple by apple trees. The bank facing the company was steep, and a row of griffons leaned against the side, firing into the field. They were still recovering from the sudden explosions.

Talone landed next to him, aimed, and fired.

Two bursts cut into the Paramilitary. Dead griffons rolled down into the river, or lay where they were shot. An officer fired her pistol empty. Talonico shot her. The officer fell into the dark waters and did not rise.

“More grenades!” Greendown shouted. Another grenade landed in the dirt. Its explosion ripped the paw off an unlucky griffon. A moment later Talonico’s grenade landed on a trio operating an automatic rifle.

Panic setting in, the Paramilitary did the worst thing they could have done. They ran.

Talonico snatched up his rifle, and aimed. His shot dropped a griffon rising from his hiding spot in the reeds. A bullet hit the wall, spraying pieces of rock at Talonico’s brown face. More bullets hammered into the rocks, forcing him to hunker down.

“Grenade!” Milan shouted a warning. The explosive hit the wall and plopped down on the wrong side. The ground shook. Talonico’s ears rang as he bounced up. The griffon who had thrown the grenade was slower. A gray helmet rose from the reeds right into Talonico’s sights. His rifle kicked, and the head disappeared.

Talonico reached for his belt. Two grenades left. He tossed one and was rewarded with alarmed yells, followed by an explosion.

“Into the river,” Canales ordered. Talonico hauled himself over the wall. His paws landed on soft soil, and instinctively he spread his wings. With a clumsy glide, he crossed the river and took aim.

Telesca saw the explosions and sensed the fire lessening. The machine guns were no longer an issue. Now was the time.

She was not an approachable leader. Many in the ranks found her scary, even to some who had known her for years. But they respected her, and here that respect was all that mattered.

She pulled out her service pistol, and with a shrill, piercing voice cried. “The path is open! Sixth platoon, follow me! Second company, follow your Captain!”

Unflinching, she marched, even as the company hesitated. But she could not look back, because she could not hesitate. And then it happened.

A few squad leaders stood up. Then their squads. And with that, the spell of fear was broken.

Cheering, the second company charged. Rifles dropped a few. But this time they did not stop.

With grenades and bayonets, they cleared the Temple. Corpses were sprawled on the sacred grounds and wounded leaned against walls, where the blood ran down the yellow wood. Behind the temple, they found the remains of a mortar battery.

Talonico aimed at the commander, but she was faster. He fell holding his wrist. Talone gunned the officer down in return. She emptied her entire magazine into the shaking corpse.

A Paramilitary captain, finding himself in command of little more than a hundred griffons, ordered a retreat rather than commit to a last stand.

The exhausted battalion had taken Mairis. 27 prisoners they had taken to be marveled at. The enemy’s estimated body count approached three hundred dead and wounded.

As Major Thunderclaw watched the third battalion march past his troops, he felt little joy at the success. Across the field, 89 of his griffons lay dead. A similar number was wounded, waiting for evacuation.

Fifteen percent of his battalion had disappeared in less than an hour.

Such was their first real battle.

Talonico was surrounded by his squad. A bandage had been wrapped around his wounded claw, which he had shoved into his coat. Moving with three limbs made for a tough balancing act, but it kept the limb immobile until a medic could take a look.

They had gone to see the lieutenant that had shot him. Something in her called to him. A morbid, intense curiosity that demanded to know who she had been. Or the desire to focus on the most intact corpse. The tanks had devastated the mortars, leaving wrecked weapons and mangled bodies around smoking craters.

The lieutenant lay on her stomach, head rolled to the side. She might have looked alive, were it not for her pained grimace. It was something nobody alive could make.

“So this is the one I stitched?” Talone asked. The griffoness was leaning against her machine gun, a cigarette hanging from her beak.

“Yes, it is,” Talonico said. He too was smoking. It had stopped his claws from trembling.

“Good. I’m taking the first bits.” Without warning, Talone reached for the corpse. She pulled her pockets open and rummaged through their contents.

“Letters, letters,” she muttered. She glimpsed at the contents of one letter and laughed. “Holy shit, she was a romantic.”

“Is that necessary?” Milan asked. “Come on, desecration is a bit much.”

“Not if there is a purpose. And if you don’t want to watch, you can go keep Whitefeather company,” with the last word, Talone’s voice gained a triumphant tone. She pulled out a dozen coins, inspecting them. “Fifty Idols? Bitch was rich.”

With the invisible barrier crossed, the squad descended upon the corpse. From her haversack, they found a loaf of hard rye bread. Bluecrest pocketed it. Touching a corpse had been a disgusting thought mere moments ago, but now those thoughts were in the past.

Lieutenant Gilda Silvia was left on the field, her pockets empty. Her rank insignia was torn off, and would later be used to buy coffee grounds from rear-area troops.

Talonico lay on the grass next to a farmhouse, leaning on his backpack. A Paramilitary propaganda poster was nailed to the wall above his head.

"Are you a predator or prey?" the poster asked.

He was not going to fall asleep, he was far too tense for that, but it helped him relax. He believed they would soon continue their advance, and wanted to use every available second to rest.

Two sets of paws and talons appeared at his side. It was Wingerni and Milan.

“Ah, Corporal,” Wingerni began. “Lads from the third platoon said that the field kitchen is bogged down. Do you mind if we go and scour the place for food?”

Talonico watched the two, considering if he should give them permission. The pair of innocent faces brought his sister to mind, looking at him with her ruby eyes shining.

Killing was its purpose, but looting was where the Army drew a line. Something in the thought made Talonico smile.

“Well, it is not exactly allowed, but as long as you only take from the dead, I'll look the other way. It is a small sin, all things considered. And Wingerni?”

"Corporal?"

Talonico pointed at the poster. Imitating Silverbeak he asked: "are you, a predator, or prey?"

"Corporal, I am the finest rumor-hunter of this regiment, and it is a tragedy I have not been rewarded for it."

The pair left. Soon Greendown replaced them. “Again you are just thinking," he said. "You should be sleeping. You never know when you next have a chance.”

“I don’t know how to stop thinking,” Talonico answered. “If I do, then I’ll start thinking all sorts of bad things. Like should we do this?”

Talonico gestured at a trail of blood staining the cobblestone yard. Private Whitefeather had fallen there. Talonico remembered how during one winter his rifle had frozen stuck. The burly private had wrenched the bolt hard enough to shatter the ice and to pull the bolt from the rifle. Baffled, Talonico and Greendown had passed the information up to the lieutenant running the exercise.

The lieutenant had laughed herself silly, and remarked that Whitefeather was no scout material. A machine gun had killed her that day. Whitefeather had been blinded by shrapnel.

“Do you think Boreas would want us to kill griffons? Is that why Grover united us?”

Greendown did not answer, staring vacantly into the distance. An ocean of emotions swelled in his eyes as he looked at the dead, threatening to spill over the facade of a strong leader. He blinked, and with that, the ocean was covered with a thin layer of steel.

“I’ll leave the spiritual to the priests. But if Boreas did not want war, he didn’t do much to stop it. Better we don’t think of it.”

“Exactly,” Talonico said. Then, wrenching the conversation to a more comfortable subject, he blurted out. “Say, Quartermaster. You know how ponies say Celestia moves the Sun and the Moon? Do you think they are bullshitting us on a species level?”

“If you can’t stop thinking, I can help with that,” Greendown said, brandishing the butt of his rifle. “But no, you can’t get a whole species across three continents to get on that kind of prank.”

Talonico rose from the grass and picked up his helmet. “I don’t know. The Paramilitary must be shitting us with everything. And that’s half of all griffons on board.”

Greendown shook his head. “I suppose you can figure that out at the hospital. I heard you were hit in the bone.”

“Yes. My left talon is fucked.” Talonico’s happy look was replaced by a somber one. He had seen the approaching ambulance. “So, say hi to everyone for me, and tell them to not worry.”

Talonico left the front on a carriage pulled by a griffon and a rescued bull.

The rest of the battalion carried on with its war. The battle of Mairis Abattoir was over. The first three days of what would be six years of war.