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// Wir kämpfen und sterben für dich: Freiheit! 
// Story: Death of a Dream 
// by Grainne Ni Bhroin 
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The EEF had crossed the border two days ago, two solid days of retreat for the Free Capran Forces, harassed by constant artillery and air strikes as they fell back to the northern mountains. The Greifisch Battalion had pledged to hold the line as the surviving forces regrouped. When asked how long they would hold it the only reply was “Bis zum Tod'', to the death.

Her platoon had been there from the start, one of the first groups to cross over from Grifreich in the month following the failed elections and the proclamation of the revolution. They had led the charge that liberated Kozarno, smashed the forces of the warlords who tried to rise in the chaos, hoisted the banner of a free Capra over a hundred towns. Now they stood guard over one of the passes that crossed the Buckan Mountains

They had taken up camp in the ruins of a pre-Sundown village, buildings half buried in the snow, it gave them a commanding view of the pass and a perfect position to rain fire on any approaching forces. She stood watch from a house that was mostly intact, a light machine gun resting on the windowsill, eyes scanning the darkness. Most of the them were in what had been the meeting hall, now their makeshift mess hall, except for Gordon and Coldstream who had gone off ‘on patrol’ as they claimed but everyone knew that meant they were going off to fuck.

Not that she and Guide Star were much more subtle about their own ‘exercise’ routine, which she was very much looking forward to as soon as her watch was over. Just another hour and she could go enjoy a hot meal and a hotter unicorn. It wouldn’t do to get carried away in those thoughts now though, lest she miss something in the valley below.

Out of the corner of her eye a light flared in the dark sky, the tell-tale glare of a rocket motor. Something drone launched and headed right towards them. She dashed for her comrades, shouting into her radio, “Take cover!” But there was no chance of her reaching them before the missile did. Her armored wing flared out before her as the missile streaked into the building. Her world turned to fire and shrapnel and pain, then it turned black.

Her head swam as she came to, pulled from the snow and debris by two pairs of strong talons, Gordon and Coldstream, their deep voices calling out for a medic as they carried her away. She struggled in their grip, pain flaring as her motions revealed the extent of her injuries. “Where’th Thtar?” Her mouth felt sluggish, her lisp slipping out unnoticed to her. “Where’re the retht?”

She broke free of their talons and turned back to where her squad had stood; her heart sank at the sight. The building they had set up in was now a scorched wreck. They had been in there, there was no sign they had gotten out, A talon fell on her shoulder and she heard someone talking but the words washed over her. They had been in there, they were gone, Star was gone. The talons started pulling on her, joined by a second one on her other side but she resisted. Her vision blurred, her legs burned, but none of that mattered, Star was gone. A sharp jab in her thigh pulled her from her thoughts long enough to hear “I’m sorry but we have to go” before the world faded again.

She came around again in a makeshift dressing station. Her armored wing had spared her from the worst of it, shielding her head and torso from serious injury, but her limbs were covered in burns and shrapnel wounds. And the way her head and vision still swam spoke to a concussion more than to painkillers. Her wounds had been bandaged and she’d been left on a stretcher to the side of the structure, low priority she knew, injured but not at risk of dying anytime soon. She moved to sit up but again firm talons took hold of her shoulder, not pushing but making it clear she shouldn’t try and move yet. “Hold still,” it was Coldstream’s voice, “nothing’s broken but there are some pretty bad cuts and we don’t want you reopening any of them.”

Her head turned towards the meergriff. “Coldthream? Who elthe ith left?” 

It was Gordon who responded, from her other side. “We’re… we’re all that’s left. I’m so sorry, Star is… she’s gone.”

She had cried, sworn, raged, she had torn out two stitches trying to fight her way past an orderly to go bring back Star’s body before a medic sedated her again. Her comrades had stayed by her side for hours until they were sure she wasn’t about to run off seeking a senseless death against the EEF who had taken the pass. She didn’t speak for hours more after that until Gordon set a mess tray beside her. “What’th next?” She asked, eyeing the plate. Even within the Greifisch Battalion there were enough vegetarians that her diet was no real concern but today even the sight of food sent her stomach churning, to say nothing of the now particularly unsettling smell of cooked meat on the trays of the others, even Coldstream looked a little queasy at it.

“Nothing until you’re cleared of that concussion,” he replied. “Then, then I don’t know. A lot of folks are going home, saying it’s over.”

“It can’t be over! We promithed, to the death!”

“And that was almost your’s Gráinne”

“And it wath her’th!” she shot back. “She thtayed to the end, we can’t go now.”

“And do you think she wants you joining her!” yelled Coldstream. “We’re done, the revolution is over. It’s time to go home before they cut us off from the Grifreich border, before we lose any more friends.” He looked ready to cry by now as well. “Before we have to tell your parents we got you killed too.”