Gryphus

October
Western Griffon Kingdom
Millbrook, south of Gryphus, Army Group South

Amanda pulled the scarf tighter around her neck as headed for the mailbox. Although the hatchlings thought her hide kept her warm, even a cow like amanda had her limits. Besides, just because she could do something did not mean she wanted to, and the scarf was comfortable.

It was the last Sunday of October, and Amanda and Miss Stela had the day for themselves. In practice that meant cleaning the school and their rooms, and preparing for the next day’s lessons. As she passed the shed of firewood, Amanda realized how empty it was. They’d need to chop more wood later.

Upon reaching the white, iron mailbox, Amanda opened it with her mouth and pulled out a neatly rolled newspaper, and a number of letters. As she pulled them all out, Amanda noticed that one of them was addressed to her. Curious, the cow opened the letter and scanned its first lines.

“To Amanda
From Igino Talonico and the squad”

Eyes widening, Amanda ran back to their house.

Miss Stela, busy with cooking, looked up as Amanda barged through the door, holding an unfolded letter in her mouth. The cow dropped the letter on the table, and blurted out in excitement. “The reply came!”

“What?” Stela answered, a little unsure of what her ward meant.

“I sent the letter, and the reply came!”

Perking up in excitement, the yellow griffoness left her knife and vegetables on the counter, taking her place next to Amanda, wrapping her in a one-winged hug.

“This is amazing! Oh dear, I’ll give you some space to read it. Just call when you are ready.”

“No!” Amanda interrupted. “No, please. I won’t mind if you stay, and I may need some help with this.”

Miss Stela nodded, and waited for Amanda to begin. The letter was written with neat claw-writing, but here and there were signs of the writer being suddenly disrupted.

“To Amanda
From Igino Talonico and the squad

Although I write this letter, I speak for us all when I say that I am happy to hear that you are safe and happy. And we are all honored that you have gone through the effort of writing to us.

Your letter left me with the impression that you are not only safe, but doing well for yourself. It is more than any of us dared hope when we first found you. You went from that to helping a teacher, so clearly nothing can hold you back. I have never heard of Millbrook before, but it seems to be close to Gryphus, so you could not have found a better place. Wingerni (the brown one, if you can remember) demands a correction: Griffonstone is better.

Unfortunately I cannot say much about where we are, as I do not want the censorship office breathing down my neck. But I can say that we are all safe now, being trained for more action. Unfortunately Milan (the one who looks like a hawk) was wounded a short while back, and cannot send her good-luck wishes with us. I have taken the liberty of sending your original letter to her as well, as I am certain her excitement will be greater than our boundless joy combined.

I am aware that my response is unfortunately short, but should you ever wish to write to us again, send the letter to the following address:

Igino Talonico, 19th Regiment, 2nd Company“

Amanda looked at the letter in front of her, processing its contents. She had not been certain that her letter would ever reach its intended target, or that the griffons would answer, but now their reply lay on the table in front of her. She couldn’t connect the names to the individuals, and their looks were a hazy memory, but the impression of the five lived strong in her mind. And one of them had been injured. She was aware that it could happen in war, and had seen scores of wounded griffons when she had been examined in a field hospital after gaining her freedom, but somehow these five had been above that in her mind.

“Amanda,” Miss Stela’s voice snapped her out of her musings. “Are you all right?”

Amanda realized she had been tearing up. Wiping her tears to her hoof, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll think of something to write back later. Oh, this also came.”

With that, Amanda handed Stela another letter, written by the same claw as the previous one, and addressed to “Miss Stela”. The teacher smiled at the last detail.

“I think that one is just for you,” Amanda said. “So, do you need my help with anything?”

“Oh, yes! I think you saw our firewood situation. Could you get the saddlebags and get some logs from Sharpclaw?”

“Sure thing.”

Sharpclaw owned the largest sawmill in Millbrook, and supposedly the village had been named after it. The cow quickly threw on a warm, thick shawl and took the saddlebags with her. Stela watched her go, before opening the message meant for her.

“Miss Stela,” it began.

“This is my personal letter to you.

I cannot thank you enough for helping Amanda. I don’t know how much Amanda told you about her life before the war, and it is not my place to tell the few details I know, but as she lived with northern griffons, it was far from nice. If it was anything like the norm, it could barely be called a life.

Finding her reminded me of the good we do when completing our duty, but that is not always enough. I believe in Bovine liberation, I would not be here otherwise, but as time went on I believed less and less in griffons.

That you have taken Amanda under your wing, out of your free will, is a reminder that good griffons exist. At times that is difficult to see, when all we face is evil, that others can do good.

Thank you.

Igino Talonico”

Stela smiled softly at the text. She had never thought of her actions that way, but the words on the paper warmed her heart. Rescued bovines had simply needed a home, and she had opened her doors. But maybe the soldier was right, and that was all the more reason to keep doing the same.

As she approached the village center, Amanda noticed the distant cloud of white smoke billowing from an approaching train, the smoke bleeding into the sky full of gray, patchy clouds. Her eyes followed the tracks, and she saw a crowd gathered at the train station. Picking up the pace, the cow changed her course.

The train was faster, and Amanda reached the station a few minutes after it had come to a halt. The stone platform was filled to the brim with griffons, but Amanda found a bench to stand on, managing to just raise her head above the crowd.

Griffons dressed in warm coats were piling out of the train carts, each of them marked with an orange band on their right sleeve and carrying a rifle. They were in an animated discussion with the closest griffons around them.

“What’s going on?” Amanda asked a nearby elderly griffon.

He looked up at her. “Our hatchlings are coming home.”

The Millbrook militia company had spent two weeks at the front near the capital, and now a different unit had taken their place. As the varied group of griffons cut their way through the crowd, embracing their loved ones, one among their numbers spotted Amanda and made for her.

“Hey, you’re the one living at the school, right?”

“Yes? Why?”

The griffon shuffled with discomfort. “We were supposed to pick up some bovines smuggled across the frontline, but they never showed up. Saw you and thought they might’ve come with someone else.”

“Oh,” Amanda muttered and shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen any.”

“Aye, unfortunate.” The griffon appeared uncertain what to say, and proceeded to simply nod and leave. Amanda watched him disappear into the crowd, and hoped that the bovines meant to come with them were safe.

October
Eastern Griffon Kingdom
Camp Boreas, 19th Regiment, Army Group South

For the Second Company the day after the parade began with a session in the battalion’s classroom. Located on the first floor of a two story building, the classroom could fit an entire company, if only barely.

First the rank-and-file piled in, followed by NCOs and finally the officers. Windows were opened in spite of the cool weather to let at least some fresh air in by some corporal. Normally they would have done it as they piled against the back wall, but this time there were too many empty seats. The griffons were given a few moments for an animated conversation, when Lieutenant Silverbeak’s voice interrupted them.

“Classroom! Up!”

Every griffon leapt from their seats, facing the gray officer standing next to the doorway. Silverbeak stepped to the side, allowing a pony to enter the room.

Most were able to hide their gasps, but they were all curious at the sight, seeing a pony for the first time.

Much shorter than a griffon, the mare, from her rounder features Talonico guessed she was a mare, had a coat the color of rusting iron, and a yellow mane. She wore a blueish gray uniform, featureless except for the square, red collar patches and the white numbers on their upper edges.

“Presenting,” Silverbeak continued. “Teacher for the lesson, Captain Arc Weld. Captain, I give the class to you, with the strength of two hundred and forty-five enlisted, and four officers.”

“Thank you,” the pony answered, her voice rough and smokey. After Silverbeak left, she turned to face the class. “Sit down.”

Chairs squeaked as the griffons took their seats.

“Up!”

The griffons bounced up.

“Sit down. Up!”

After the last command the pony jumped on the table in front of one private, slowly strolling from one table to the next, surveying the classroom and all the confused griffons. As she moved, the griffons shuffled awkwardly to keep her in front of them. Talonico spotted a diamond shaped, slightly off-white stripe on the pony’s muzzle, and realized that she was a mustang.

“Good, you’re all awake,” the Captain remarked, and jumped down. “Sit down, at ease,” her commands flowed lazily together as she took her place at the front of the class. She spoke fluent but heavily accented Griffish.

“First, introductions. I am captain Arc Weld. Served in the Trade Union forces against Equestria from oh-nine until this spring. Started as a platoon leader, then led a trench raider company. Now I’m here to teach you about more modern infantry tactics.”

The impromptu workout had shaken everyone from the shock of seeing a live mustang, and everyone listened to the captain’s words intently, watching as she drew something on the black chalkboard behind her.

“Now, we’ll start with the basics, some of which might sound familiar. We’ve both learned through trial and error, but the goal is to skip that and get you to the finish line.” Arc Weld’s lecture continued, interrupted once in a while when she paused to receive questions.

They continued for hours, going through everything from half-squad fire and maneuver, to simple platoon drills. The officers and NCOs kept writing down notes, as did most of the enlisted, filling the room with the scratching of pen on paper. Looking at the simple drawings on the chalkboard, Talonico suddenly realized that although the mustang had called them simple, they involved far more moving parts than anything they had done before. The platoons were being broken from a single block to four squads more nimble than what had existed before. From now on it wouldn’t be enough for a platoon to advance as a wave, and every squad had to know their objective.

However, Talonico noticed that his section’s role was not mentioned. It seemed Greendown had also noticed it, because when the time came for the last round of questions, he raised his fist.

“Sergeant.”

Greendown was about to stand up, but the mustang waved him down. Remaining seated he asked: “Ma’am, what’s the light machine guns’ role in this?”

“Ah, very good. The same principles apply to your section, just scaled down. However, until the Army gets more heavy weapons, your role in the company will stay about the same. You’ll see tomorrow with your Sister Livi.”

The casual address for captain Telesca resulted in a wave of choking laughter. Everyone called her either that, or Grandma Liviana, but never when the captain could hear. Although she was an officer, Arc Weld was clearly not too interested in protocol.

“But for the afternoon,” Arc Weld continued as though nothing had happened, checking the clock. “Go eat lunch, and get to the parade ground at one PM, full combat gear, we’ll put theory to practice there. Class dismissed.”

As they filed out, Bluecrest spoke up. “Sergeant, Corp, think she’s onto something?”

“I don’t know,” Greendown answered. “She’s more experienced than us, so she should know what she’s talking about.” Talonico nodded in agreement.

“Maybe we don’t understand her because she’s ten steps ahead,” Wingerni laughed. “And we’re the ones lagging behind.”

Following their lunch the company made its way to the parade ground and got to drilling. As he watched the maneuvers made by platoons and squads, Talonico started to understand what the mustang had meant. Internally he was looking at the situation from a machine gunner’s perspective, and realized that spotting a few second dash, and then firing a burst in time would be difficult. And all the time the leapfrog movement of the half-squads brought the entire platoon closer and closer to their target.

Still, all did not go right, and Arc Weld had to frequently call for the griffons to keep enough distance between each other. But the drills, from leapfrogging to a flanking attack by two squads, were all simple and easy to understand. By the end of the day every squad and platoon could make a passing attempt at any of the drills.

Captain Telesca had also joined to watch, and was in an animated discussion with Arc Weld about something, stopping when the LMG section ran the third drill. After they had crossed the parade ground she nodded approvingly. It might have warmed Talonico inside had his muscles not already been burning.

“Well, think you can do these tomorrow?” Captain Telesca asked, as the section passed the pair of officers.

“Yes ma’am!” Answered Greendown automatically.

“Excellent. You won’t be doing that though. We have something special planned for you.”

October
Western Griffon Kingdom
Gryphus, Army Group South

Engine rumbling, the armored car made its way out of the depot built into the barn of an abandoned farmstead. A peculiar design with no roof and a trio of machine guns, the car’s armored hull carried four griffons within itself. All wore simple but warm civilian clothes, but were clearly not civilians. All had steel helmets and were marked by red armbands sewn to their sleeves. On each armband was written G:us V.A

Gryphus, Fifth, Automobile company.

The Fifth Regiment was composed of equalist militias formed in the factories of Gryphus at the outbreak of the Civil War, and the automobile company was one of the largest concentrations of armored cars in the kingdom, patrolling the areas around the city in an eccentric mix of vehicles.

Leaning over the side the vehicle commander, a middle-aged griff named Jorge, watched the safety of the depot and friendly guards disappear as the lone vehicle traveled down one of the few paved roads in the kingdom. Here any griffon would run into hard ground after digging only a few inches. Jorge had heard it was caused by erosion from before when the mighty Grafburn River had been redirected.

He didn’t know much about that, but he knew it meant that no trenches could be dug in the area, and therefore it had to be constantly patrolled.

“Hey, some griffons ahead,” said the gunner to Jorge’s left, peering over her gun’s large, square shield.

Jorge turned to look and saw the orderly ranks of a dozen griffons marching in the same direction as them. All had peaked caps with massive crowns. Jorge clicked his beak in amusement. Monarchists.

As they drove past the group, he could see their spotless uniforms, and the smooth feathers on their faces that twisted into disgusted or condescending grimaces as they saw him.

“Enjoying the walk lads!?” He yelled.

“If it gets us away from you,” answered some sergeant.

“Yeah, because you can’t drive anymore! You have to walk like the rest of us mortals. So fuck youuuu!”

His final shout was stretched out as the car suddenly picked up speed. A combination of a downward slope and the driver’s lead paw placed some distance between the monarchists and equalists.

Jorge broke into a laugh. He didn’t hate the monarchists, not really. He just found them useless, idiotic, and downright ridiculous. But he did not hate them as long as they were not in the same room with him. Calming down, he resumed watch.

The surface of Grafburn glimmered with the cold light of the setting Sun peeking through the cloud cover.