Chapters Liza paced across the kitchen floor of a mid-sized house in the southernmost portion of Griffenheim; she did not have much else to occupy her time: her youngest son, Eric, kept himself busy playing by himself in the living room, not yet old enough to fully comprehend the current situation; the house was nigh-spotless from three-days-worth of incessant cleaning, and with lifeless state of her abode producing no more dirt, no more was needed; neither could she go anywhere outside the house due to the government-imposed lockdown, put in effect in an effort to minimize chaos in the coming battle without having to coordinate an evacuation of over three million griffons.
Her husband, Markus, and eldest son, Felix, had both been conscripted to bolster the struggling Imperial military, now preparing for a desperate defence of the city. The war had dragged on for nearly twenty years now - almost half of her forty years of life - but the threat to the capital still seemed so sudden in her eyes. Markus had been drafted five years ago, when the Republicans were half-way to the Imperial heartlands; Felix, however, had been conscripted only a year ago, having only just turned old enough to meet the age requirement - now at seventeen. To have them both gone for such an extended period of time was immensely unsettling, a feeling exacerbated by the lack of any way to know whether or not they were all right.
She walked to the living room to check on Eric; he was currently sitting on the floor, doing nothing. He looked up at her as she walked in, and though she knew that he did not understand the danger that his father and brother, and the whole city, were in, the look in his yes betrayed a subconscious knowledge that something was seriously wrong.
She had always avoided bringing up the subject of the sudden disappearances of two of his closest relatives, and why he could no longer visit his friends, or play outside, giving vague excuses any time he questioned her, wanting neither to lie to him nor frighten him.
He asked, suddenly:
"Do you think dad and Felix will be home for my birthday this year?"
She thought for several seconds on how to respond; she did not want to instill in him false hope regarding things she could in no way guarantee, but at the same time, this battle would likely bring about an end to the war, and if the Empire was able to hold, then perhaps there was genuine hope after all.
So, perhaps to reassure herself as much as her son, she said:
"I'm sure they'll be home just in time."
Grover VI sat at a sizable square table, accompanied by his generals and various advisors, most of whom were finalizing the plans and preparations for the defence of Griffenheim. A debate had just begun on whether it would be wiser to position their forces along the city's northernmost edge to attempt to defend it in its entirety, or on the south bank of the Griffking river, which flowed through the city's center, as it would be an easier position to hold, perhaps worth abandoning half of the city to the oncoming threat. The debate wore on for some time, as those present showed themselves quite divided on the matter. With no clear decision in sight, he listened a short while longer, and, having made up his own mind on the subject, decided to interject; but before he could speak a word, a noise, seemingly insignificant, managed to catch his attention: clawsteps; audible over the many voices - though only just - and approaching rapidly. Several variations of the same general phrase he knew was inevitably on its way played through his head as he heard the steps halt abruptly at the door, watched the handle hastily turn, and saw a panting messenger stumble into the room and puff out:
"They've reached Griffenheim."
The words silenced the whole room; they were the precise reason that they were there, but none had expected them so soon; all had hoped that they would never come at all. Now they were faced with the harsh reality of their situation: the Republicans had reached Griffenheim at last, after a war that had lasted eighteen years and that had claimed the lives of over twenty-five million Imperial griffons. In the few moments of stunned silence, he thought back tohis eighteenth birthday in the year 1021; the war had only just been declared by Archon Eros, who had previously led the Empire to victory against both Aquilea and Karthin, the year prior. When he came of age, and Eros ended the regency, coronating Grover VI as the next Emperor of Griffonia, leadership of the Empire, along with the ongoing war, passed to him. Witnesses of their past successes, he and his officers had been confident at the time that the war would not last beyond 1023; they had expected the Republicans, an allegedly small band in an empty, frozen land, to be easy to sweep up, before pivoting their gaze of conquest east. They proved themselves otherwise, and not even the most skeptical general in the Empire could have predicted that they would be able to hold in their fortline so stubbornly.
After five years of stalemate, and multiple futile attempts to break the fortline, the Republicans finally broke the silence. Concentrating their outnumbered air force, the Republic executed the first nuclear strike in history on a vital airfield in the Whitetail mountains; being used to ream and refuel thousands of Imperial aircraft, its destruction force much of the Empire's air force in the north to be grounded due to lack of fuel, and without air support, Imperial forces in the Northern Regions could not withstand the sudden counter-attack from the Republic's mechanized spearhead. The Republicans rode their momentum from then on, and the scrambling Imperial army could only do its best to slow them down as they pushed all across the line. The Empire's scattered troops fought admirably, toning down the severity of the oncoming tide to some small degree, but it was still not enough, and now, sixty years since the initial revolution in 978, the Republicans were about to enter Griffenheim for a second time.
The battle that was about to take place would decide the fate of the Empire as a whole. The Republicans had previously been unwilling to accept anything save unconditional surrender, but with the recent passing of Kemerskai leading to reports of infighting within the Republic's political structure from Imperial spies, and the exhaustion both sides felt from nearly two decades of war, he hoped that if they could at least hold the city, and grind the Republic's advance to a halt, an agreement could finally be reached. The years of memories were over in a moment, and Grover gave the final say in how to execute the defence.
It was about six in the morning; the sun was just beginning to emerge over the buildings; Felix stood at an open window of one of the many in Griffenheim that overlooked the Griffking river, his rifle resting on the sill. He, along with almost all of the Imperial forces in the city, were in position on the south side of the river, leaving the northern city unguarded in favor of forcing the Republicans into a bloody assault across the Griffking. Most of the bridges had already been demolished, and most that remained were rigged with explosives waiting to be detonated whenever the Republic's forces attempted to cross; and it did not take them long to get there. It was mid-morning when their forces could be seen advancing down the streets on the other side of the river, and as soon as they came into view, the Imperials open fired.
Felix had, admittedly, never used a rifle before then, or handled any variety of firearm; he had intended to follow his father into the field of electronics research, not join the military, and had never had much interest in weapons or warfare, but he ended up not having a choice in the matter. The rifle he wielded currently, as he had been told, was a Vinnin, now outdated by over two decades, as modern rifles were much more difficult to produce this late in the war, so most conscripts, such as himself, were equipped with outdated spares and afforded only the most basic training in their usage in order to more swiftly reinforce the line.
He, and the fourteen others with him - situated six griffons each on the second two floor, with three more crewing a machine gun on the fourth - in the building, took aim at the Republican troops and unleashed their own hail of lead upon them, and though he had never thought himself a military griff, nor that he would become on, he felt quite at home in a firefight. In front of him soldier after soldier fell to the torrent, but under the cover of their tank, the Republicans were able to push up to the river. As two of the tanks, accompanied by several infantry, made it to a bridge that he was overlooking, the explosives were detonated, sending them all into the water.
The Republicans kept up their assault, and by now had been able to move their own griffons into position in buildings on the opposite side to provide fire support for those still in the streets. This forced Felix and his squadmates into cover much more frequently, interrupting their continuous hail of bullets, and he saw the griffon across the room from him take a shot to the chest and fall to the floor; the medic that was present immediately ran over to the fallen soldier, but did not remain there long; there was nothing he could do for a dead griffon.
Felix risked a quick few shots out the window after reloading, and had peeked out just in time to see a rocket knock out another tank, as well as another wave of Republicans flying full speed over the river toward them; he managed a few well-placed shots, sending three of them back to the ground, but many still made it across, and the return fire sent him back to cover. He heard the gunshots and shouting from the upper floor double in volume only moments later, indicating that enemy troops had landed on their roof and made their way inside. No longer able to utilize the window effectively at this point, he crouched low, motioning his intention to his squadmates, and ran for the stairs, followed close behind by a comrade. Without much thought, they bolted up and burst through the door into the ongoing fight. A fellow Imperial lay dead on the floor, with the other two presumably in cover in an adjacent room, pinned by the Republicans; one of them was trained on the door, but Felix's sudden entry still caught him off guard long enough for him to put two rounds into him before he could return fire.
Storming the room together, Felix and his comrade were able to clear the five remaining hostiles; not before his compatriot took a bullet to his back leg, though - a non-fatal wound, but it did elicit several expletives from the griffon. One of the Imperials they had just rescued ventured a glance out the door after the gunshots had ceased, and then he and the other with him joined Felix and his wounded companion; one of them was Dietrich, the officer in charge of Felix's squad, and the only griffon whose name he had managed to learn after his hasty reassignment and shuffling toward the frontline - no doubt something that had occurred with many of the conscripts. Their injured comrade's shouts of pain proved to be the only words they would be able to make time for, however; fighting broke out on a lower floor, and more Republicans came in from the roof. The griffon who had survived with Dietrich, the assistant gunner for the machine gun on that floor, had kept his eyes on the stairs, and put several bullets into the first unfortunate Republican to appear in the doorway. Any more that were following him, rather wisely, were hesitant to join him.
With the shots and screeches from below growing closer, likely their fellows being killed or forced upward, Dietrich waved for everyone to take cover in the room he had just left, the assistant gunner keeping his submachine gun aimed at the stairs as they filed in. A few more enemy griffons made an attempt to enter from the roof, but each joined the first in death. None ever came up from the lower floor; Felix assumed the others were holding successfully. With the stairs covered, he moved to the window and peeked out. Several wrecked tanks were strewn about the opposite bank, and countless bodies lined both sides; what was most striking to him, though, was the significant decrease in movement on the Republican line. The battle had raged for hours; hours which Felix only just realized had passed, seeing that the sun was now setting - it had felt to him as if the Republicans had been able to cross and engage them in their own buildings after only minutes. He returned his attention to his immediate surroundings at a shout from the officer, who was now ordering them to rejoin their squad downstairs, as there was still no sign of hostiles from the roof, with the goal being to assist whoever was left, and perhaps get their still-bleeding comrade to a medic - assuming one was still alive of the two that had been present in the building. Moving toward the stairs then down, they emerged into a surprising scene: most of the squad had managed to group together on that floor and hold against their attackers, with only one loss being apparent. Both medics were still standing, currently tending to another griffon who had taken two shots through his right wing; one came over to help the leg-wounded griff as soon as he noticed him. This would mark the end of the close-quarters carnage they had experienced so far.
With their situation stabilized, and two soldiers assigned to watch the exits, the rest could use the ammunition that remained to retake their original positions at the windows and fire upon the Republic's forces that remained. No more attacks were made by their foes, and Felix and his squad held their position for the next six hours - along with the rest of the Imperial forces on the south side of the river - until the last Republican soldier could just barely be made out fleeing over the river in the now-moonlit night.
After eighteen years of conflict, from 1020 to 1038, the outcome of the Imperial-Republican war was finally determined in a battle that lasted eighteen hours. Despite their impressive ability to hold, and the nuclear fire that the Republic unleashed mid-war, time was ultimately harsher toward them than the Empire. Kemerskai had grown old and died in the later years of the war, and in the wake of his demise infighting broke out in the political sector of the Republic. Momentum was all that kept them going, and with a casualty count that totaled over thirty million across both sides, the war became highly unpopular everywhere. With the Republic's siege of Griffenheim halted completely, their leadership was finally willing to accept a conditional peace with the Empire. Following a three-day negotiation, it was decided to simply allow both nations to keep what they still held, leaving the Republic with much of Northern Griffonia, and the Empire with much of the south. Both sides had been devastated during the war, and it would take much time and effort for either of them to restore the stability and order that had been so utterly shattered.