A short griffon sat silently at a wooden desk. The gas lamp that hung over his desk flickered each time an artillery shell exploded, and the shockwave shook the small bunker room. The griffon wore the simple drab uniform of the Zaphzan Army. The only color was the blue-collar tab with a yellow stripe and two gold stars. This griffon was Oleksander Clawkiv, a Sotnyk, or Captain, in the Kaiv Host.
Another explosion rocked the bunker, and the griffon let out a sigh. He should check on his troops. He took the final bite of his stew. They had no meat left and only contained barley and root vegetables. He grabbed his helmet before moving towards the trench line. The moon was obscured by a thick layer of clouds.
He ducked as a few mortar shells went off just by the trench. Oleksander was lightly covered in soil and debris from the blasts. “Gods above,” he groaned and continued down. He passed by various griffons and soldiers in his company. Some were older, and many were the same age as Oleksander or younger. His 100 griffon company was down to 46 griffons. They have been holding this line against the forces of Jezeragrad for almost 2 months now. Behind them was the Zaphzan town of Griffmut. They were nearly surrounded, but they knew if they broke, the forces of Lake City could move towards Kaiv. They had orders to hold, and Oleksander and his griffons would do so.
He stopped and got down as he heard the telltale whistle of incoming shells. After the explosion and dust settled, he looked up and noticed he jumped like a new recruit in front of one of the veterans, Sergeant Pytor.
Pytor was a veteran of many raids, including the final raid on the GLA, which saw the death of Hetman Bulba.
‘Of course…’ he groaned, embarrassing himself in front of a veteran.
The elder cossack relit his pipe as he watched the young officer clean himself off. “You ok there Sotnyk?” he asked with a slight chuckle.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Oleksander replied, his claws fixing his helmet. “How are the griffs?” he asked the senior NCO.
Pytor took a few puffs from his pipe, enjoying the warmth of the smoke filling his beak and throat. “Doing just fine, much better with the warm meal,” he added. “Ammo is running low” he left the worse news towards the end.
Oleksander knew this and worried his unit wouldn’t be able to hold out for long. “Yes… supply lines have been strained,” he reasoned, but that didn’t help his griffs. “I will be on watch tonight; you can get some sleep,” he informed Pytor, who nodded and began fixing a bedroll.
Oleksander turned back towards the observation post near his command post and quarters. In the position was a pair of privates. They drew the watch this night.
“Sir,” the privates said as they saluted their commander. They remained in their seats, playing cards between scanning the no-creatures land.
“Any activity?” Oleksander asked them, grabbing the binoculars to scan the front.
“The usual shells and scouting party,” one of the privates replied nonchalantly. “Simon here thinks the Jezeragradians will attack tonight,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
The urban-born university student groaned in annoyance. “It is part of a pattern. They have been picking up their barrage to 20 shells per square meter per hour over the past few days. There is a new moon, and they have been sending parties to scout our defenses multiple times a night,” he said.
Oleksander nodded, that was true, but the last few attacks were bloody for the Lakeish Army. Then again, they were running low on supplies, and the enemy’s chances of success only increased by the day. “Private Simon,” Oleksander began as he grabbed a slip of paper and pencil, writing down a message. “Take this message and relay it back to command using my radio and then get some rest.”
The private nodded and ran off, their Radio Operator died in the last attack, and outside of Oleksander, only Private Simon knew how to operate the machine. The last thing they needed was the only two griffons who knew how to use it being killed with a single shell.
Oleksander sat down in Simon’s old seat. He leaned forward and merely scanned the horizon. If there was an attack… gods above, he hopes there isn’t.
Time seemed to tick by. Oleksander only took his eyes off the front to drink water, check his watch, or check on the private next to him. War was so dull, unlike the stories of the cossacks fighting in old stories.
It was nearly four in the morning when things began to change… the artillery had slowed. Oleksander stood up, and in a flash, he covered his eyes. White flares started to descend from the sky on parachutes. This wasn’t good… this isn’t good… then was the ringing of whistles across the no-creatures land.
Oleksander rushed to get acclimated to the new light source.
The private next to him already had his rifle. “Sir, I see ponies going over the top!” he declared.
“Scouting party?” Oleksander asked quickly.
“A big scouting party…” the private replied.
Oleksander finally got his bearings and spotted the wave… were the Lake Ponies throwing it all in this attack, he wondered. “Private, tell all not to fire until they are within 100 meters!” he ordered the young griffon.
The private ran off to spread that order. The last thing they needed was to run out of ammo. Oleksander grabbed a rifle, a single-shot breach-loading weapon. He had 6 rounds of rifle ammo and 24 pistol rounds. He quickly reloaded his revolver. The dark metal weapon was a gift from his father, a 987 Model Reichsrevolver imported from Griffenheim. It was engraved with a quote from the Acrturian Holy Book.
‘With this steel, defend thy home.’
The Lake ponies continued their advance toward the Zaphzan lines. He even spotted one pony with the Lakish flag. The ponies seemed calm, not their usual running advance. Maybe the lack of return fire from the griffons put them at ease. Only they and the gods knew.
“... 300 meters,” Oleksander yelled out.
“250 meters”
“200 Meters”
“150 Meters”
“100 meters, fire!” Oleksander yelled, the order echoing down the line.
The line erupted with rifle fire. Oleksander lined up a shot and fired. The unit’s only remaining machine gun opened fire. The ponies ducked for cover and began to use bounding tactics to cross the last 100 meters.
More fire volleys erupted from the Zaphzan lines, but the Lake ponies continued their advance. Oleksander kept up the pressure until a metallic clang filled the silence between shots. He turned, and his eyes immediately opened wide. ‘Shit, a grenade,’ he thought as he saw the metal object that landed right behind him.
Oleksander turned and ran from the post, the object exploding and peppering his rear left leg with metal shrapnel.
“Shit,” he groaned, limping towards the rest of his troops. His rear leg started to bleed, but he had more important things to do. “Keep up the pressure,” he yelled to his griffons. He noticed a few casualties, ‘gods above.’
The firing continued, Oleksander couldn’t tell how long it lasted, but soon he noticed the Lakeish ponies were now retreating.
“RUN BACK TO JEZERAGRAD!” a few cossacks taunted the ponies.
Oleksander also wanted to cheer, but he knew this was only the start. “Keep vigilant. They will be back,” he reminded his griffons. “Check the wounded, get supplies, and take time to prepare,” he turned and reloaded his revolver and checked on his saber.
“Sir, you are hit,” a female griffon said, her helmet bearing the red tritheist markings of a medic.
He looked back and saw his leg was covered in blood, and the pain finally registered as the adrenaline high faded. “Check on the others first,” he tried to order the medic.
“No sir, just let me…” she said, ignoring the order. She ripped open a packet of disinfectant powder and wrapped it in a bandage. Well, it was a few torn pieces of cloth, the best she had.
Oleksander groaned again, the pressure from the bandage helping somewhat with the pain. “Thank doc,” he sighed. He leaned against the trench wall, taking pressure off his rear leg.
This wasn’t the first attack. The Lakeish ponies would come again and again. Oleksander lost track of the number of waves. His revolver had two shots left, most of his soldiers were down to a clawfull of shots, and some even used rifles stolen from fallen Lakeish soldiers.
Oleksander was exhausted. He was in pain… and knew the next attack might be the knockout punch.
He looked to his right and then left, so many young griffons. Griffons who had families, lives, and now they were caught up in this war. He knew he might be ordering their deaths by ordering them to hold this trench. How many parents will learn they lost their sons and daughters… how many chicks will lose a parent. If we ordered a retreat, Griffmut would fall, and Kaiv will be under threat. Jezeragrad had already promised to give Kaiv the welcome it deserved. Oleksander expected the city to be looted and razed. They had to hold. They had to.
The whistles rang out again, another attack. Oleksander looked around once again at his griffs. “Brothers, sisters of Zaphzia,” he said with a cracking voice. “This has been a long night… a painful night,” he began. “The enemy is once again coming, and we must hold. Like the cossacks of old, we must hold. I shall hold this trench or die in it,” he declared. “I shall die before I allow our homes to be destroyed and occupied by any foreign power! Who is with me?”
One by one, they replied with cheers.
“We are with you, Sotnyk! Slava Zaphzii!” the ranks cried out.
A smile grew on his beak. At least if this was his end, he would go out with his brothers and sisters. He shall go out defending his home. He turned back to check the lines and noticed a light in the distance. The sun was starting to rise, and the morning was coming. He remembered his younger days, growing up in Kaiv, a more peaceful time.
He quickly returned to the present as bullets whizzed over his head. “Conserve ammo!” he yelled, his left claw pulling out his saber. Some of his troops had their own sabers and knives ready as well.
Their machine gun only had half a belt left and would run out soon. This time the battle would be up close and personal. The ponies were quickly upon them. Oleksander would try and conserve his final two pistol rounds. He swung his saber at two ponies that landed right next to him.
“HOLD! FOR ZAPHZIA!” he jumped back and threw back a pony grenade that landed next to him. Slowly he began to move back from the first line of trenches. They would be pushed back to the second-line trenches. He didn’t know how many griffons he had left. He saw three down in the slow fighting retreat back to the second-line defenses.
There was a pause as the ponies began to secure the first line, giving the cossacks time to catch their breath. Oleksander didn’t want to waste this short reprieve. “Any ammo left?” he asked.
“No, none,” was all he got back as a reply. It was down to blades and claws. He noticed some began praying to the gods, and others simply waited silently. Oleksander also took time to pray, but his prayer was cut short. The whistle of incoming shells crescendoed into a nearby explosion nearby.
“GET DOWN!” Oleksander yelled as dirt was launched into the air and fell on the cossacks in the trench. “Are those maniacs shelling us with their troops in the splash area?” Oleksander asked no creature in particular. There was another volley coming in, but… wait… they were coming from… behind? This volley landed further away and toward the enemy.
“Sir!” came the voice of a private rushing to his side. “Those are coming from behind us,” he informed his commander.
Oleksander stepped back, so either the Lake ponies had flanked them or… they finally had support or reinforcements. As the volley continued, he rushed to the opposite trench wall. He peaked his head over the parapet. The clouds were clearing, and the sun rising into the sky. On the ground, he saw something even more beautiful. Companies of griffons rushing forward, rifles in claw, towards the front. Their support has arrived. The fresh troops poured into the trenches and pushed on to repel the Jezeragradians.
For the first time since the attacks began, Oleksander sat down, his back leaning against the trench wall. He was alive, and they had held… they held… he tilted his head back, letting his body relax. He watched as the fresh troops filed into the trenches and fighting positions. He only moved to stand once he saw a higher-ranked officer, a colonel.
The elder cossack smiled, stopping as he looked at the griffons that held his line for almost a month now. He looked to his right at the disheveled officer before him. “You must be Sotnyk Oleksander,” he stated, holding the captain’s claw tightly.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, not expecting this greeting.
“Damn fine fighting,” the Colonel said happily. “You and your griffons are all heroes to the motherland.”
Oleksander wasn’t sure how he felt about being called a hero. He was lucky enough to live, but… he wasn’t about to contradict the colonel.
“You and your company are relieved,” he informed Oleksander before moving forward.
“Company,” Oleksander began, looking at the tired, dirty, and wounded griffons before him. “We have orders to move to the rear,” he relayed. “Fix up your uniforms. We shall march from this trench as victors.”
He was smiling again. One by one, each griffon did their best to make their uniforms slightly more presentable. They got into their line formation and began to climb over the wall.
Oleksander was the last out of the trench, the tired troops marching south past fresh troops bringing up ammo, weapons, and supplies. Most stopped to watch the battered company march with pride. Oleksander marched alongside, keeping in time as he learned in training. He felt the warm rays of the sun hit his face. It was comforting.
It was a new day, another day Griffmut has held.
It was a new day, another day that Zaphzia holds on.
It was a new day for Zaphzia, and Oleksander hoped there would be more.
