Gryphus

Canales departed from the rest of the company, climbing up the nameless ridge dominating the battlefield. From atop the abandoned trenches and shell craters gouged into the sandy ridge she could see down into the valley where the battle would be decided

With all squads at the top, they slunk deeper into the woods, advancing along the length of the ridge. The first crews of the machine gun company were by then scaling the steep slope.

A series of explosions made Canales look left. Black smoke and fragments of earth flew to the skies. The division’s artillery, a total of thirty-six three-inchers, pounded the two-kilometer front in a display of firepower impressive by the Griffon Army’s standards. When compared to the artillery duels of The Great War, it was downright pathetic. From her vantage point, Canales could see the fires move further away, then return closer, striking a number of targets in turn. Then she was back with her platoon.

The skirmish line advanced through the forest in two waves, griffons moving from tree to tree, maintaining a proper distance between each other under the watchful eye of their squad leaders. Thickets of spruce trees and bony white birches dripped water onto the mossy ground.

The crack of a rifle made the advance halt as the griffons ducked instinctively, trying to figure out if the shot had been aimed at them. When the bullet tore into a tree next to Canales’ head, they understood they were in danger.

The flanking maneuver had relied on the element of surprise. Although the scouts had scoured the ridge before, they had not foreseen the hastily returning patrol using a shortcut parallel to the ridge.

“Carranza!” Canales screamed over the sounds of a developing firefight. She saw the small size of the faraway enemy and realized they were not a true threat. “Take the second demi-platoon and pin the enemy! The rest will follow me!”

There was a risk in dividing her platoon, but an even greater risk was the enemy outpost having time to prepare. The Paramilitary had opened fire at the extremes of effective range, and while they had caused no casualties so far, they were too far away to be flanked, especially with the terrain not masking any move toward the enemy.

Cheering her soldiers on, Canales took the two squads for a mad dash toward the outpost. A bullet scraped the ground between a running griffon’s paws, and she paused behind a tree, leveling her rifle. The griffon fired, cycled her weapon, and fired again. One by one the griffons followed their instincts, returning fire rather than passively taking it.

The shots rang out nonstop now. Canales cursed, realizing that they were all stuck in the firefight.

Talonico advanced to the sound of the explosions. Four behind him, five some distance to his side.The machine gun section never strayed far from Captain Telesca.

They had passed by the enemy’s forward posts a few minutes ago. The first wave had overrun a few, the others had been abandoned after a few shots, having achieved their task of warning the first line. Now the enemy’s forward line was being hammered by artillery. High explosives shook the ground and snapped trees like dry twigs, while shrapnel shells burst in the sky in white clouds, the spreading cones of burning steel cutting barbed wire.

When the shelling stopped, the three platoons of the first wave dashed forth in a silent charge. Talonico did not see the results, but he heard the intense firefight, and noticed they were no longer walking forward.

“Check your gear,” he called out. Wingerni proceeded to check the magazines hanging from his webbing, making sure they were within easy reach. Bluecrest and Milan checked the cardboard pouches in their pockets, ready to fill the magazines as they emptied.

With a loud clack of steel on steel Talone cycled the bolt of her weapon, taking satisfaction in the sound and the knowledge that her action hadn’t been jammed by dirt sneaking in through the magazine’s slit.

A long burst of a machine gun told them what their task would be.

A runner returned to Telesca, and she sent the second wave forward in response. That was bad. She was committing her reserves to the first obstacle. Despite the shelling, the enemy was quick to recover.

“Greendown! A machine gun is suppressing the left flank. Get your section there and destroy the gun.”

The sergeant nodded to Telesca. “What then, ma’am?”

“Take a position to support that flank.”

Greendown nodded to the captain, who left for the skirmish line, drawing her pistol from its black holster. With the camouflage pattern painted on her helmet, she would have looked like a mustang trench raider, if not for the years visible on her weary face. The sergeant watched her go, before returning to his task. “Section, follow me.”

The section ran after Greendown. Bullets buzzed over their heads, ricochets wailing. The shelling had shifted to their left, to the second battalion’s sector, leaving them without the protection of artillery. Their run ended in a shallow ditch.

“Wingerni, check the mags,” Talonico ordered, then rolled around to look at Talone. He rarely acted like a drill sergeant, not enjoying the task, but this moment called for it. “And you. No dumb tricks today. Be smart and take cover.”

The griffoness showed no emotion, either shame for her earlier actions or annoyance that she was being called out for them. “Yes, Corp.”

Greendown returned from his visit to the pinned platoon’s lieutenant. “Right, there’s a wooden bunker over there.”

Talonico followed Greendown’s gaze, and saw the muzzle flashes in a black firing slit. The building was so well camouflaged with dirt that he would not have spotted it otherwise. “Aye, I see it.”

“We set up a base of fire here, you over by that thicket, and a squad attacks the bunker.”

“Not going to flank?” Talonico asked, trying to get a better look at the bunker’s surroundings.

“Booby traps. Now go!”

“Second squad! Follow me to the thicket!” Talonico ran, paws and claws sinking into the soft ground. Whirring stray shots passed by. The wet clothes weighed him down, but at least the adrenaline prevented him from being cold. A griffoness in a gray helmet peered over the trench, but a quick burst from Greendown’s gunner sent her back to cover.

Gracelessly Talonico plopped down in the firing position. Talone was next and immediately set up her LMG, sinking the bipod into the soil. Wingerni slipped, cursed, and joined her with a second magazine ready. Talone breathed in and out, in and out, taking the dark shape illuminated by the muzzle flashes into her sights.

Greendown’s gun fell silent as it reloaded. Talone squeezed the trigger and felt the weapon push into her shoulder. She fired a full magazine in short bursts. She didn’t see if she hit anyone, but the machine gun was now jumping from target to target, its crew clearly spooked, which allowed the pinned platoon to crawl forward meter by meter. One griffon died instantly as he was pierced by five bullets, all holes in a neat line, but the others kept going.

Greendown’s gun had fired its second magazine, and Talone again took her turn. After three rounds the weapon jammed.

“Malfunction!” Talone called out, letting Wingerni yank the magazine free, cartridges jostling about as the follower had gotten stuck, no longer holding them in place. Swearing furiously she tried to wrench the charging handle back to eject the disobeying shot. “Rat fucking, fucking cunt I’ll fuck you with a knife-” the griffoness growled, as though the LMG’s designer would somehow hear her.

Feeling the fire slacken, the same enterprising griffoness from before rose with a grenade in claw. Milan, seeing the helmet rise, had already picked up her rifle. With a single shot she killed the griffon. The grenade exploded harmlessly.

“Attagirl!” Talone cheered for Milan.

Her weapon still refused to work, and Greendown alone could not silence the bunker alone, especially from their awkward angle. And neither would he move to a better spot in the hail of bullets.

Bluecrest had come to the same conclusion. “Corp! Me and Milan can get closer!”

The white corporal thought about it for a second. “Go!”

Hearing the word, Milan rushed after Bluecrest. She hugged the ground in a half run and half crawl, cutting a path through the marshy grass. The bunker did not spot them, and after she had shot the griffon with a grenade none wanted to raise her head. A sudden, slow beat told her that Talone had cleared the gun. The rifle platoon was not slacking off either, laying down a constant barrage of fire. The crew kept firing one belt after another, but now there were short breaks as crew members fell.

“I toss the grenade, you cover the door,” Bluecrest whispered. He tried to ignore the bullets flying by, telling himself that the others would make sure to not hit him. He felt the blasts of hot gasses as the weapon fired a mere meter from him. From under his belt he pulled a hand grenade with a cardboard handle and an explosive charge in a cast iron head. He breathed in, pulled the cord and pushed the grenade inside. The griffons inside managed an alarmed yell before the grenade exploded.

Hearing the explosion, Milan jumped into the trench. She raised the rifle to her shoulder just as the bunker’s door opened, gray smoke billowing out. Seeing the dark figure stumble out, she fired. The griffon fell, instantly dead, but another was right behind. With a straight-pull rifle Milan did not have to lower the weapon to cycle the bolt. The second griffon never saw her, stumbling about in panic.

Weapon smoking, Milan stood and approached the intersection in the trench. Bluecrest’s yell made her jerk back just as a rifle barked around the corner, bullet slamming into the logs reinforcing the trench. Milan fell, her ear ringing and eyes stinging from the muzzle blast. The Paramilitary griffon rounded the corner, rifle raised. His uniform was torn by shrapnel and helmet dented. In his eyes Milan saw the coldness that separated a soldier from a griffon. Before he could fire, a burst cut the griffon down.

Talone jumped into the trench, weapon smoking.

“You’re a fucking Trench Raider!” she screamed in cruel delight, giving the bodies an uncaring glance. Behind her came Talonico and Wingerni who helped her up.

“Bluecrest, secure the corner! Milan, can you stand?”

She didn’t answer at first, leaning on the trench for support. She doubted she could, but that would mean she’d have to wait and recover next to the corpse with his back torn open, tongue hanging from his open beak, weak wheezes coming out… and its eyes bulging out in a final moment of terror.

“I’ll manage, Corp.”

Canales moved next to a fallen tree that three griffons used to support their rifles, firing at the fuzzy figures in the distance. Nearby a wounded griffon was dragged to cover, crying in agony.

“Lieutenant, the Captain orders you to retreat!”

Canales turned to meet the runner that had appeared behind her. “What?!”

The firefight started by the enemy patrol had drawn everyone’s attention and reinforcements had poured in. So far they were evenly matched, but Canales’ platoon had burned through half its ammunition keeping the enemy at bay. She doubted she could carry out her mission after that.

“He’s set up two guns further away. If the enemy pursues he can flank them.”

Canales scowled. The problem with a feigned rout was that it could easily become a real one, especially when the enemy was suddenly given fire superiority. But she might have that soon in any case, with no reserves and her right flank open.

Well, if the machine-gunner’s Captain had a plan, it was more than she had.

“Tell the captain we’ll withdraw to the trenches in ten minutes!”

The runner scurried off, and Canales crawled along the firing line to inform her squad leaders of what was about to happen. Her new runner traveled the other direction. Eight minutes later she was back at the fallen three, drenched in sweat, but her message delivered.

The final seconds ticked by. Canales raised her rarely used whistle to her beak and blew a long, shrill note. The firing died out as magazines ran dry. She counted the time it took to reload and blew again. Griffons fired their fresh magazines as quickly as they could, turned around and ran.

Sergeant Carranza had once remarked that volleys caused few casualties, but turned the foreground hostile to life. He was clearly right, as the enemy ducked from the way of two hundred bullets suddenly filling the air.

Running as fast as they could, the platoon ran to the trenches, the Paramilitary pursuing them at a slower pace. A few shots flew past them harmlessly.

“Reload, everyone reload!” Canales yelled as she dropped into the trench, sand rolling down with her, sticking to her uniform. She could hear the sounds of the approaching enemy, and soon the first gray helmets rose from behind the small plateau. When the first Paramilitary squads had set up their firing line, the machine guns came to life.

Canales could not see them, but she heard the sound of two belts being emptied into the exposed line. What she did see was the puffs of blood and torn feathers, as the exposed squads were torn to pieces. She saw only two escape with their lives. After a moment, the rest of the machine gun company ran up to them, the Captain at the lead.

“Lieutenant,” he said without preamble. “I have sent a runner to the battalion. The regimental mortars will hit the outpost as soon as possible, and you will seize it immediately after. I’ll give you two machine guns for support. Can you do that?”

It was not really a question, at least Canales did not consider it one. It was an order that gave her the option of backing down and letting someone else do it.

“I can do that, yes. Where will you be, sir?”

The Captain gestured at the forested valley below them and raised his binoculars. His order also answered the Lieutenant’s question. “Set up here, range seven hundred!”

Canales raised her binoculars, and saw a long column making its way towards the outpost line, where fighting was still as fierce as before. Explosions of hand grenades echoed through the woods as sections of trenches were fought over. The detachment was not as far forward as it was supposed to and had to shoot over the heads of the rest of the battalion.

Around them four tripods were set up in a line, then the machine guns with their heavy water jackets were attached with the clatter and clinging of metal. Water cans were connected to the jackets, and the cloth belts inserted to the weapons. Ushered on by the sharp, hissed commands of NCOs, the guns were set up, sighted, and ready to fire in less than twenty seconds. The Captain raised his talon, followed by the platoon and gun leaders. He made a cutting motion, and as one the four machine guns fired. Red tracers cut through the air in a lazy arc, descending down into the forest. The belts were emptied in one go, but the ones after that were fired in shorter, better aimed bursts.

Canales left to join her platoon as the first raindrops fell from the gray sky.

The machine guns stopped the Paramilitary’s counterattack before it had a chance to get going. The survivors of the outposts withdrew in good order where they had stopped the Second Company, but where the attack had made it to the trenches almost all the defenders had been killed or taken prisoner. Close quarters combat was almost always lethal, and after one side had seized the initiative, very lopsided.

Its ranks a little thinner, the company reformed to continue its advance, establishing contact with its neighbor. They passed by the dead left behind, but the broken attack had taken care to evacuate all its wounded at least. Had they not been under fire, the Paramilitary would have likely taken their dead with them as well, to be returned to their hometowns or -villages. Now they were left on the soft forest floor.

The ground rose slowly, and evenly, covered with trees until about two hundred meters from the main defensive line dug into the ridge. There, every tree had been cut down creating a complex maze of intertwining branches. A scout had taken a massive risk in the days prior, diving down at night and confirming that no barbed wire had been thrown in the mix. The last fifty meters between the barrier and the trenches had been left barren. Everything about the defenses baited the attackers to take flight, and expose themselves to the enemy barrels.

“Halt,” the order traveled down the line. “The enemy has cut the branches.”

The LMG section had returned to captain Telesca. Talonico saw what the warning meant. Low hanging branches had been cut, reducing concealment available. The attack had been surprisingly fast, and they were slightly ahead of the artillery’s schedule.

A series of weak coughs rang out behind them, followed by the sounds of explosions from somewhere where Canales was. In the short moment he had to think about something other than his squad, Talonico hoped she was doing fine. Then the first enemy shells fell behind them, crushing the seized positions. Talonico lowered his head instinctively, but when he realized they were not the target he returned to a watchful stance.

Then the time came for the friendly cannons to open up. Ground shook as shells tore the ridge, throwing dirt and wood in the air and covering it in a layer of fire and dark smoke. Then the mortars fired, blanketing the ridge with thick, white smoke. With the blow of a whistle, the line advanced.

The barrage lasted for five minutes. During that time they had made it halfway through the obstacles,having to fight through the natural barrier. The explosions stopped, but more smoke shells still came. The rain, steadily growing from a drizzle to a downpour, was clearing the air of smoke faster than the new shells could create it. Bullets came through gaps in the smoke, killing careless griffons.

“Machine guns! Set up!”

Greendown and Talonico took their squads to positions. A pair of small, knee high rocks and a thick tree trunk had to provide cover for Talonico’s entire squad. They could see as the smoke cleared, no more shells falling. And the enemy could see them. The dugouts were deep underground, covered by three layers of logs and several feet of soil. Thin firing slits dug into the forward slope spat out bullets the moment the smoke cleared.

The line stopped, and moved no further.

Raindrops burst into steam as they hit the burning rifle barrels. Bullets snapped into trees and stones over the griffons’ heads. After hours of fighting, they still lay in their positions, firing non-stop. Runners moved up and down the line, bringing with them ammunition for the tiring guns.

Talonico peered over a fallen tree and fired a half aimed shot. With the enemy so well dug in, it was unlikely to hit. He dropped back to cover and cycled the action. As predicted, a bullet whirred over his head.

By his side, Talone fired a shot after another from between the two rocks. So confident in her cover that she had not once ducked from harm’s way. Talonico could see her frustration as the machine gun she was firing at refused to go down.

“Corporal!” A sharp shout pierced the chaos of battle.

Talonico crawled away from the line. Captain Telesca waited for him, crouching next to a massive, moss covered boulder. The rain had turned her greatcoat practically black, and mud clung to it in ugly clumps. Water flooded down in rivers from the edges of her helmet.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Where the hell is Greendown!?”

Talonico looked at the captain, then to his left. “Some fifty meters that way! He’s trying to hold the fourth platoon together!”

“How many are running?” Telesca asked, rising to have a better view of the platoon.

“At least ten from what I saw. Captain, we are running out of ammunition. We have three magazines left, and the rifles are down to two clips.”

There was a wet snap, followed by an agonized wail. Another wounded griffon was dragged from the line. The casualties had been light so far, but each one tore at the frayed nerves of the troops. The battle had become one of endurance, a question of whose spirit and ammunition lasted longer.

“There is more ammo coming. Just hold your position!”

Captain Telesca left to rally the wavering platoon. Wherever she went, she moved in defiance of death, spreading her confidence to those around her. But she couldn’t be everywhere at once. Little by little the company started cracking.

A riflegriff slumped over her rifle. Her body was unceremoniously rolled out of the way, and another assumed her position. Corporal Flocco, enraged by his squad’s refusal to move, stood up to give them an example. A bullet tore his throat open. Talone cheered as her shot killed a northern griff rushing to aid his wounded twin.

Artillery from both sides joined the fray. Shrapnel and shell fragments tore into the flesh of the living and the dead. Grenades savaged the ancient forest, bringing down trees that had proudly stood long before the first griffon had drawn breath. 8-inch grenades slammed into the Paramilitary’s trenches, kicking up geysers of earth and broken bodies that rose far above the treetops. The griffons fought, and bled, and couldn’t take a step forward.

Darkness had fallen an hour ago, bringing an end to the fight. Talonico was drenched and freezing and miserable, but at least he was still alive, like the rest of his squad. The dice hadn’t landed on them.

He knew he should have given the order to dig in, as was the norm, but he didn’t. Something about their situation bothered him. The blackness and the roar of rain isolated them, reducing their world into a tiny bubble. In that bubble, everything was all right, but at its edges lurked a danger he couldn’t spot. Bluecrest could.

Talonico felt Bluecrest tap his shoulder. The brown griffon leaned close, and whispered so quietly that the rain almost swallowed the sound. “Corp, do you hear anything?”

Talonico didn’t answer at first. He racked his brain, trying to see what the other meant. And then he understood. Digging foxholes was noisy, and they should have heard the shovels scraping the earth or biting into wood.

“No,” Talonico whispered back, his heart stopping as he realized something had gone terribly wrong.

Steps.

Talonico could hear griffons move around them, whispering orders. They were approaching from the wrong direction.

“Form a ring,” he ordered. “And prepare the grenades.”

As quietly as they could, the squad arranged itself into a ring, covering each other’s backs. Grenades were pulled from belts and set down within reach. They could have tried running, but where? They had no Idea where the company had disappeared to.

Movement surrounded them, coming so close that Talonico could hear the ruffling of feathers under greatcoats. He did not want to fire the first shot. Once they were spotted, it would be the end.

He was going to die. The realization didn’t scare Talonico as much as he thought it would. He would never see his mothers and sister again, but they would understand, wouldn’t they? A sense of calm pushed away his fear as Death laid a talon on his shoulder. In silence, she promised him a blissful oblivion.

They waited.

The machine gun company had taken its dead with it, the company commander included. Canales had seen him take a bullet through the beak. The Paramilitary’s counterattack had been slowed by the Scout Company, allowing them to withdraw at the nick of time. The captain had led the rearguard action, dying a few moments before complete darkness fell.

The slow, careful march took them back to the company’s assembly area. As Canales went to report to Telesca, she saw the Captain in a heated, whispered conversation with Greendown.

“Captain, the first platoon has returned,” she said when Captain Telesca noticed her. “We’ve taken our spot in the perimeter.”

“Thank you, lieutenant.” The captain acknowledged. She listened to her brief report on casualties and remaining ammunition. Her face was hidden under the visor of her helmet, but Canales could see the tension in her pose and expression. Canales could not stop the question from leaving her beak.

“What’s the problem?”

Greendown looked at captain Telesca.

“Talonico’s squad is missing,” the Captain explained.

Canales’ blood froze. She cared for her former section and did not want to see them abandoned. “Are they dead?”

“Didn’t see them dead, but the runner didn’t find them, so they didn’t get the order to withdraw.”

“Which is why the Sergeant wishes to go look for him.”

“Ma’am, I know exactly where they were,” Greendown almost hissed. “I can go get them.”

“Going alone into the darkness is a sure way to die.”

“Ma’am,” Canales interrupted. “I can go with him. We’ll watch each others’ backs.”

“And if you die?”

“Then Carranza will get to be an excellent platoon leader.”

The captain looked at Canales, who met her gaze. Finally she cracked a smile. “I see the Sergeant is a bad influence to you. Go, you have thirty minutes before the company moves out.”

The patrols hadn’t spotted the squad in the darkness, but it was only a matter of time. Milan gripped her rifle nervously, hunched over and looking around for the inevitable death. She knew they would not go down without a fight, but it would only be a symbolic gesture.

The voices moved around them, picking ammo from the dead, moving from one corpse to another.

She didn’t notice her breath had hitched until a palm suddenly rested on her shoulder, and she failed to gasp in surprise. Talone gave her shoulder a few comforting pats. She seemed calm, accepting of her death. And Milan did not believe it was the fearlessness born from the knowledge of inevitable.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she saw a dark shape moving towards them, shouldering her rifle. The fuzzy figure came a little clearer, giving her a target.

“Hey, you guys AGS?”

“Yes?” Milan blurted out in confusion. “Sergeant Greendown?”

The sergeant crept right up to the circle, looking for Talonico. “Get moving, we’re in a hurry.”

“You heard him, leave everything.”

Everything they had taken from their pockets they left behind, moving in a clustered file. Greendown took the lead, guiding them through the relatively safe path he had found, while Talonico watched the rear. Every second their surroundings became a little less oppressive as safety beckoned. Then a shadow moved, vaulting over a trunk in search of loot, crashing into Greendown, who instinctively pulled the trigger.

The gunshot shattered the silence.

Milan saw another griffon illuminated by the flash, and fired a hasty shot, before breaking into a run after Greendown. Shouts and alarmed cries followed them, but no shots. Then with a whoosh the night became day as a burning flare rose to the sky.

There was no purpose hiding. They ran from golden light to shadows stretched by the nighttime sun and back to the light. The forest behind them rattled with gunfire.

Milan screamed as pain flashed along her right rear leg and she crashed onto the soft soil. Breath slammed out of her lungs and stars filled her vision. She felt claws wrap around her leather webbing and pick her up, and struggled to raise her ringing head to see what was happening.

She recognized the pounding beat of Talone’s weapon as she covered them. Milan blinked, and they were deeper in the woods, the enemy not to be seen. She raised her paw, and pain flared across her hind leg. She opened her mouth to scream, but Talone slammed her beak shut before she could.

Around the other griffoness she could see Talonico bandaging the wound. Her green uniform was blackened with blood. Milan’s eyes widened and her breath quickened, but Talone’s secure grip prevented her from screaming.

“Take it easy,” Talone whispered. “Come on big girl, you got it. Just hold on.”

She nodded, and grimaced as she felt the Corporal working on her wound. She didn’t know how long the pain lasted, focusing on Talone’s claws holding her down, grounding herself. She did notice when he stopped.

“The bleeding stopped, we have to get going.”

Milan felt herself be hoisted on the Corporal’s back. The enemy patrols did not come this far, and they were able to reach the company in time. In a flurry of movement Milan was put on the ground, and then on a makeshift stretcher made of thick branches and gun slings.

“Sorry, got to take these,” she heard Talone say, and then her magazine pouches were empty. She did not hear her friend say goodbye, blissful unconsciousness having claimed her.

Talonico and Greendown looked at her from a short distance away.

“She’ll make it fine,” Greendown reassured the younger griffon.

“She will,” Talonico agreed, nodding absently. He was exhausted from carrying her the whole way, and shaken by the sight of her being wounded. “Yeah. Thank you for coming for us.”

“Thank the Captain for letting me come. And Canales for persuading her.”

There was a brief silence. Then the company left. Greendown and Wingerni were the first stretcher bearers, doing their best to make the ride comfortable for their wounded comrade. Walking in front of them, Talonico whispered to Talone. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” the striped griffon answered without hesitation. When she saw that Talonico was not satisfied, she added. “I just don’t like losing.”

Far away a flare rose to the sky, and the scout company opened fire on their pursuers, reminding them that the war was still going on.