//------------------------------//
// 5 - The Civilian Militia 
// Story: EaW: A Republican Chick's War Chronicles 
// by CheshireTwilight 
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Government Reshuffling Amid Worst Terror Attack in Years

Not since the attacks in 986 – in the wake of being abandoned by the Skynavian Communists – has the nation reeled from such a violent assault by bandits and traitors. After the ruthless and coordinated strikes on Cloudbury, Bleakspire, Cavegrove, Windford and Lostgate two weeks ago, the nation can finally breathe a sigh of relief that the worst is over. Over 6,000 patriots have lost their lives in brutal street-to-street fighting that still rages on in some places. But while the casualties rate falls, questions remain about how such a decisive strike could have gone unnoticed.

In an address to the nation from the Republican Palace on October 19th, President Kemerskai stated that agents working to spy on several known bandit enclaves were double-agents feeding false information for several months leading up to the attack. Several officials from the Department of Intelligence – including Head of Intelligence Markus Falk – have since resigned or been forced to step down for their failure in detecting the plot. The President has since called for a political “armistice” from the National Republican Parties to suspend political infighting and join in the efforts to protect working citizens vital to the stability of the Republic and destroy the bandits as part of the newly re-assembled Citizen’s Militia. - See page 2 for more

- Headline article on the front page of the Griffonian Republic National Newspaper, Der Republifaner (3rd Week of October 1002 Edition)





October 18th, 1002 – Clawthorne Street Barricade, Cloudsbury, Griffonian Republic – Tanya POV

‘What did I do to deserve this?!’

It had been two weeks, but that was more than enough time for Tanya to be thrown into one of the hundreds of hastily-assembled militias. The “Citizen Militia” was different than ordinary ones. The dozen of regular “Republican Army Militia” divisions that had been in place since the Republic’s founding were defensive units made up of trained citizens that regularly rotated out from a reserve-like organization every few months on a volunteer basis. They were competent soldiers who worked full-time for the military and were only different from the normal infantry in their role and workload. Citizen Militia, however, were decidedly not trained soldiers. They were given a week of basic combat drills with wooden sticks instead of rifles and only a ⅓ or ¼ of them were ever given a gun, with most guns being inferior “needle” rifles which required the use of hand-rolled powder cartridges. Needless to say in a real battle, they were little better than cannon fodder.

Thankfully that lack of equipment also worked in Tanya’s favor.

‘Just like in office work, the best plan to avoid doing the terrible jobs is to be proactive and keep busy doing the less bad ones! By being the first to build a barricade or hand out food to everygriff, I’m showing I’m useful, but I’m also creating an excuse when the dangerous work comes around. “I’m too tired or busy to stay for guard duty, honest!”’

That was why instead of being stuck guarding some hastily-assembled palisade and waiting to be killed, Tanya was pushing along a cart laden with pots filled with soup down a street. Her task for the night was to deliver food to the front line fools stuck with the unenviable task of fighting bandits with hand-me-downs.

‘Still, I have to find a way to improve my own situation in some way or I really might be another in a long line of causalities. If this situation doesn’t end, I need some other way out of the Civilian Militia… but without looking like a traitor.’

It was a careful balance. Many griffons had been hanged in public in the first few days for disobeying orders, theft, or deserting from the militia. What’s worse was that the rest of the citizens cheered on their demise. It was proof that her “fellow citizens” would not empathize with her desire to survive and it was doubtful they would see her age as anything but a liability. Her age did not matter during her time in the slums and she was not going to test that now. Mob rule had set in and she was along for the ride until she could find some way out. Unfortunately, there was no legal way out of a citizen militia duty except “essential work”. With President Kemerskai’s pause on political activity, she no longer qualified. The L-NRP headquarters had been closed until further notice and even her boss – Rikard Astler – had been given a rifle and put in charge of a company of civilians.

As Tanya arrived at the barricade she was assigned to give food, she shook her head. She had a job to do and she could not be seen as being anything but a loyal and useful non-combat member of the militia. Her life depended on it!

The “barricade” on the southern entrance to Cloudbury along Clawthorne street hardly lived up to the name. Simple wooden chairs, rocks, tree branches and other debris had been piled to block the road. It was little more than a speed bump to a modern truck or tank, but thankfully the bandits had neither. It would serve its purpose as hurdle to climb and cover to shoot from. Combined with the houses spanning in either direction, a “wall” had been formed which bandits – having few explosives and no artillery – would find difficult to overcome.

That feeling of relative safety was mitigated somewhat by the time of day. It was evening, and the food she was bringing was dinner. With their position in the time of year, the days were growing shorter and despite the 6pm meal, the sun was already setting. The chill and darkness had put everygriff on edge. It was the perfect time for an attack: just dark enough to put their illuminated city positions at a disadvantage, but not so dark that the enemy would struggle to move around without lights of their own.

Having seen her arrival, one matronly older griffon raced towards her.

“Aren’t you just a little angel, chick, thank you but I think one of us adult griffons should take care of this.”

Tanya’s smile was brittle.

‘I can’t let her do that! What if the fighting starts and they see me just standing around?’

Tanya could not return to the barracks without her cart – she would be accused of theft! – and she could not trust any of these griffons not to rat her out to the authorities if she was any less than utterly loyal. What that meant was different for every person and she was not willing to budge an inch. Grabbing possessive hold of the pots and utensils, she desperately thought of what to say.

“I’ll handle it! Please, it’s the least I can do for all you incredible patriots!”

An older griffon male nearby laughed.

“Hear that Grelda, you’re a patriot! I didn’t know they let old hens become patriots!”

Grelda huffed.

“Shut it, Frederick. You should talk a little nicer to your wife. I’ll have you know I voted once, that counts for something.”

The husband grinned.

“Ha! It counts the number of years you’ve been alive. At least 16 by my reckoning.”

They continued to bicker and Tanya was glad for the distraction. Ignoring them, she poured out ladles of soup into bowls. A line begins to form as everygriff shows themselves to be eager for a break and food from what was no doubt a miserable evening of fear and paranoia. Tanya was once again reminded she had chosen wisely to push for jobs away from the fighting. It also reminded her that she could not waste time and needed to quickly make her way back to the rear!

One of the griffons in the line yelled out across the crowd.

“What’s on the menu today?”

Grelda looked at soup.

“Looks like stewed prawns from Winghagen! Can’t say it’s my favorite, but it’s been long enough I might have changed my mind.”

Frederick nudged into his wife.

“Ha! Like you would ever pass up on free food.”

Grelda scowled.

“That’s because your cooking’s a disaster! I’d eat scraps off the street before that slop!”

Everygriff nearby laughed at the antics of the two, but Tanya was not amused. With the chit-chatter escalating, they were slow to get their food. She was not allowed to return until the pots were empty and she certainly could not head back until the crowd of hungry griffons were given every scrap she had. Not without them rioting and tearing her apart, at least.

Tanya yelled out to them.

“I know some seafood gets better cold, but I don’t think you’ll want to find out if prawns are one of them!”

That seemed to dampen the mood a little, but it did hurry the line along a little faster too. As the time went on and the line got smaller and smaller, Tanya got a little more comfortable and began to make small-talk with the others. While she certainly did not lose her razor-focus on quickly finishing the food and running away, she also knew that being silently asocial was not going to Signal the right things to them in case her survivalist mindset accidentally leaked out. She had been fearful when Grelda had stayed by her side over the past hour. Despite Tanya’s insistence that she do all the work, the elderly griffon had been hounding her to take over once she had finished with her bowl and had placed it back on the cart. While Tanya could empathize – no doubt the older griffon was desperate to do some easy work – Tanya refused to give her the one task separating her from the front lines.

Tanya turned to Grelda and Frederick who were sitting nearby.

“So, no news is good news, right? I’m sure you’re still glad for a break, though.”

Frederick grimaced.

“No news is normally bad news, actually. The bandits might not be organized, but they don’t hit the same places twice. A small engagement is the best relief. It means you won’t be attacked for a while. This barricade hasn’t been hit since we put it up so-”

He was smacked in the back of the head by his wife.

“Damn it Fred! You don’t need to say that to a chick. Don’t worry about him, deary. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about-”

The sharp crack of a gunshot rang out. A griffon manning the “wall” had shot their rifle into the distance. In response a dozen rifles returned fire, their shots echoing off the poor masonry of the houses nearby as they impacted.

“We’re under attack!”

In an instant, the camaraderie was gone and the crowd of griffons rushed to-and-fro colliding into one another or stumbling to the ground in their desperation to get back to their positions. In their panic, the cart and its pots were thrown over, the remains of its contents spilling on the ground.

Despite the desperate situation, Tanya was internally glad in a small way. With the panic and the empty pots, she can return with news of the attack without looking like a coward. She just needed to get the pots put away and-

Grelda and Frederick grabbed a couple of the pots and placed them on the cart with her. The old hen smiled.

“Don’t worry chick. We’ll clean this up. You get going, you don’t need to stick around here!”

Tanya looked back in shock. She knew a trap when she heard it.

‘No… that was her goal all along, wasn’t it?! Trying to help with the food, sticking around this whole time, she saw a weak little chick – a mark – and she took the opportunity. To the crowd, Glenda and her husband might look to be a pair of old fools willing to help out a chick out of the “goodness of her heart”, but the truth is obvious! If they take the pots and pans back and warn of the attack, they can just say the “traitorous chick” handing out food broke ranks and fled the moment fighting started! A convenient excuse that gets her away from the fighting all without any risk to herself! Had I really been the age I look, I would have fallen for it too.’

Tanya considered just following them back with the food and telling her side of the story… but she needed to only glance at the rifles on the backs of the two elderly griffons’ backs. Nothing would stop them going down a dark alley out-of-sight and removing any unflattering witnesses. Had they been a little less insistent on helping her, it might have been a gamble worth taking considering the alternative, but she grew up in the local slums her entire life. She knew the people that lived here; none of those griffons would be that generous without some sort of ulterior motive.

With Plan A out of the question now, she had to resort to Plan B.

In an instant, her view of the situation shifted. She could not flee the battlefield anymore, instead she had to minimize risk using the Griffon Resources at her disposal. Looking to her meatshields “allies” nearby, she was not impressed. Despite the battle having started over a minute earlier, the initial chaos had hardly abated.

‘Damn it! Hardly anygriff is doing their job! Half of the militia is cowering in fear and can barely hold their rifles straight! The other half is completely ignoring their training! They’re doing nothing to suppress the enemy and are just taking occasional pot-shots and taking their sweet time to reload! Is this the same group that I saw go through the combat courses in record time?!’

Part of the reason she had not deserted despite the risks was that the militia had seemed so competent in training. It was clear that practice and the real thing were completely different. At this rate, the position would be overrun and her along with it.

First she needed to set the record straight with Grelda and her husband. The last thing she needed was them shooting her in the back as they fled.

“I’m not a coward! I’m not going to run away while patriots are risking their lives!”

She did not wait for a response – they would not dare to risk silencing her with all the witnesses around – but turned around and rushed to one of the meatshields militia cowering in a nearby alleyway. The teenager’s rifle had been left on the ground and he was covering his ears with his claws to ignore the sounds of gunfire. It had been one of the griffons she noticed had taken a little longer than necessary “enjoying” his food and staying off the picket line on the wall. Tanya looked down in disgust and grabbed at the griffon’s claws. With them away from his ears, he would have no trouble hearing what she had to say.

“Damn it! Are you a chicken?! The enemy’s going to kill all the friends you just made today! Are you going to just let that happen?!”

The griffon’s tear-streaked face looked up in fear.

“B-but the bandits… what can I do to-”

Tanya did not let the whimpering idiot prattle on and slammed his rifle’s butt into his stomach, causing him to double-over.

“You can do something! You went through the combat training, you can hold a rifle, what’s stopping you?! You think when the peasants charged the imperial Palace, that they ever questioned what they could do?! They fought soldiers with pitchforks and you’re cowering away with your rifle because of a couple bandits?!”

The griffon was recovering from the hit and looked up at her with rage. But just as quickly as it came, it went. The griffon balled up a clawed fist.

“D-Damn it, damn it! You … you don’t need to tell me that! I- I’m not a coward!”

Grabbing his rifle, he rushed back to the wall and Tanya nodded at his retreating form.

‘I’m glad that the feeling of self-preservation is just as strong with griffons as it was with humans. Now, what other idiots can I find…’





Over the next half-hour she busied herself with whipping the cowards and idiots into the meatshields militia they were supposed to be. She was paradoxically happy with many failures she found. They were risking her life, but they also kept her busy – and off the front line – while the battle intensified. But casualty rate began to mount as the bandits came closer and closer, and with greater numbers. First 10, then 100, then more. The 300-or-so militia and the simple cover of the barricade only worked so well. While few were actually dying, the moans of the injured and the cries of panic started to rise. It looked like a losing battle and her efforts were not having as much impact as she needed if the wall was going to hold out much longer.

The worst was the sight of a griffon shaking while she tried and failed to load a stripper-clip into their Hinterladerbüchse Model 98 rifle. While most of the army was still using beat-up needle-guns and paper cartridges that were a half-century old, here was a griffon with the latest rifle fresh from the armory and fumbling with it like a newborn. Tanya grabbed the thing of her hands and jammed the clip in. With a cycle of the bolt action, she threw it back with frustration.

“You’re a patriot! Trust in each other and you can survive a thousand battles. “The Peoples’ Power is Unity”, isn’t that right! You’ve got the best rifle in the army in your claws, what’s there to fear?”

The griffon straightened up.

“Right!”

As she started marching down the line, she was noticing that the griffons manning the barricade were keeping their heads down amid the shots coming their way. The rounds whizzed by, colliding with the barricade or the buildings behind them. Most of the militia was no longer firing back and it was clear that the few which were still in the fight were no longer effective in keeping the bandits pinned down. Through small gaps in the wall, she could see that the bandit dead were no longer in the distant treeline but in the open field. It would only take one determined charge to overrun their lines.

Tanya yelled out after them.

“What are you doing with your heads down?! The bandits are running towards you through a killing field right now! Should I mark on your tombstones that your commitment to protecting your homes was less than a ragtag group of bandits?!”

The words were not getting through. While several took a few more shots at her words, they were quick to go back to cowering in fear; a fear that was spreading. Tanya knew that more brow-beating was not going to do any good. She needed to change up her tactics, but she could not think of what to do.

‘How do you get through to idiots with no self-preservation? No reward could possibly be better than staying alive, so what could I give them that would motivate them any further? No punishment would be greater than the risk of death either… so what…’

She looked around for inspiration. The street – which had once seen the merry crowd of griffons line up for food – had now been turned into a makeshift field hospital. Griffons were laid out on the ground and were just waiting until the bandits were defeated or a military unit relieved their position. Without that, nogriff had the time to cart them back to a hospital to be treated, not when the position was on the brink of collapse. Instead their wounds were hastily tended to with strips of cloth…

‘Strips of cloth… I remember that from somewhere. A war movie about a last stand…’

She had a glimpse of inspiration and she quickly rolled with it. Rushing down the street, she barged into one of the empty homes and ripped out a pair of orange curtains keeping the light out of a nearby window. She then looked around an found a corpse on the wall with a yellow jacket. Carefully pretending to pull the griffon off the lines like a casualty to be treated, Tanya dragged the body into a nearby alleyway and – once she was out of view of their compatriots – took the jacket off. She did not want anygriff thinking she was planning to steal it!

With the cloth and her experience mending and washing clothes from her odd jobs, she took out a needle and thread and haphazardly stitched the jacket to the curtains. It did not look pretty, but from what she remembered from the film, it did not need to look good. Part of the point was that the flag needed to look as worn and haphazard as possible. For some reason, the critics raved that it added “power” and “authenticity” to the scene, although she did not understand why.

Grabbing her makeshift Griffonian Republic flag, she attached it to a nearby branch that had fallen from the barricade. Raising the banner up, she marched out of the alleyway and waved it in the air. She ran up and down the line, yet despite the fact that several of the griffons could see it, they did not seem to be any more motivated than before.

‘Damn it! What am I doing wrong? Just showing the flag alone should have been enough, right? That’s what they did in the movie!’

If she understood why emotional nationalists and idiots enjoyed those scenes, she could have made corrections and adjusted her scheme, but this was about as far away from her understanding as she could get. Her first life had been filled with peace and her second one filled with refugees with little love for their nation. She was trying to be a cheerleader, but the “crowd” was not enjoying her “performance”-

‘That’s it! If I think of this like a stage act, I’m showing all the right visuals, but I’m missing the audio!’

Thankfully, she did not have to think much on what to say. The Republican Party Anthem was as close to a perfect fit as she could get, so she sang it at the top of her lungs:

“Then raise our golden standard high.
Within its shade we’ll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We’ll keep the tricolor flyin’ here!”

Everygriff was either too busy fighting or in pain on the ground to respond and she felt her face burn up in humiliation. It was certainly not the type of song she would think was very motivating, but what did she know? She remembered a number of propaganda war movies having similar scenes of utterly embarrassing or uncomfortable dialog too, and most of them had done well at the box office.

She had to stake her life on the plan working! She rushed up to the wall and began frantically waving the banner for everygriff to see.

“The people’s flag: orange and yellow,
It shrouded oft our patriot fellow,
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold,
Their beaks still match it’s ev’ry fold!”

It was a quiet murmur at first, but whether by genuine desire to sing the song or just rote instinct of having been forced to sing it dozens of times at various political rallies, the griffons started to sing.

““Then raise our golden standard high.
Within its shade we’ll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We’ll keep the tricolor flyin’ here.””

A bullet whizzed by and hit the flag. A hole had formed near one of the seams and half of the thing had come undone. Tanya could feel her plan coming apart along with it, but she had to commit now. She could feel her eyes sting with tears as her body instinctively fought to get her out of the dangerous situation. Still she pressed on. If her meatshields allies did not somehow buy into the patriotic nonsense, she would be out of ideas! She would only be able to run and hope any witnesses died before she did.

‘Work, damn it, work!’

“Look ‘round, Hertzlanders love the hue,
Cloudburians sing its praises too,
On Weter’s shores its status soars,
It can’t help but cause a couple wars!”

A chuckle – whether out of manic fear or genuine amusement – broke out among some of the fighters. While they still had a look of fear on them, the few still huddling behind cover were no longer shaking. What surprised Tanya, however, was that some of the wounded began to sit up on their blankets thrown on the ground. Perhaps they had some understanding of her scheme and their survival instinct from their wounds were kicking in? Despite the wounds, they loudly yelled out.

““Then raise our golden standard high.
Within its shade we’ll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We’ll keep the tricolor flyin’ here!””

Tanya’s face loosened as a broad smile came across it. Her plan was working! She frantically waved the flag in the air to the point that one-third of the stitches were almost completely undone and was barely hanging by a thread. The griffons fighting on the wall were starting to look more serious now and no longer remained huddled in the safety of their cover.

““It well recalls the triumphs past,
It gives the hope of peace at last;
The banner bright, no symbols mar,
Griffonian freedom near and far!””

Tanya’s smile soon faltered when she saw a griffon fleeing down a nearby alleyway. It looked like the right flank was collapsing and a few of the militia were fleeing! A bandit broke through the lines and turned her way. In a panic she dropped the flag and looked around. She quickly spotted a rifle and grabbed it.

*BANG*

She felt blood and was glad when the bandit’s shot went wide and hit a nearby militiagriff instead of her! With shaky claws, she spun around on the approaching griffon raider and shot a hole through them center mass.

““Then raise our golden standard high.
Within its shade we’ll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We’ll keep the tricolor flyin’ here!””

The singing paused after the chorus as they saw that a bandit was within their own lines! Tanya was filled with dread.

‘This is it! They’re going to collapse! Damn it! Why didn’t I think of this sooner! I just needed a little more time and they could have lasted longer…’

But it was no use. She could see that the song was not restarting and many of the griffons that should have been manning the walls were staring at her in silence. Once of them yelled out through he din of gunfire and pointed into the distance with his rifle. Tanya recognized him as one of the teenagers she had whipped back into shape earlier.

“Our little bannergriff just killed a bandit! You just gonna let her do all the work for you?! We can’t let any more of them get through! FOR THE REPUBLIC!”

““FOR THE REPUBLIC!””

---

October 18th, 1002 – Clawthorne Street Barricade, Cloudbury, Griffonian Republic – Rüdiger POV

In the twilight of evening, hundreds of griffons were flying north towards Cloudbury. Each was armed with a rifle and laden down with enough ammunition for three. There was no need for other supplies where they were going. Either the citizens they save would feed them or his unit would starve. One way or another, they would get what they deserve.

Major Rüdiger Ravenbeak was a dour griffon at the best of times; he would argue that it was just that sort of war he was fighting. With his black feathers, brown eyes, name and demeanor, he had been jokingly referred to as a “One Griffon Funeral” by his colleagues after a round of drinks. He did not let it get to him; he knew his flaws and focused on practical things instead. His cold exterior allowed his rare few words of praise or encouragement to be more meaningful; his few impassioned protests of an order taken more seriously. The lack of social interaction also allowed him more time to focus on planning and developing tactics and strategies, although at the expense of having the charisma to use his brilliant tactics to raise in the racks. It was fine. He did not need accolades or optimism, he just needed to get the job done.

News he had heard over an hour prior was enough to make him wonder if his outlook was wrong: Cloudbury was hit hard by a massive attack and militia all across the city were collapsing!

This would be worse than the attack that started this whole situation off two weeks ago. At that time, the city’s barracks was housing three Infantry Divisions – 18,000 of the Republic’s best equipped forces – and while the surprise had allowed the bandits to escape with few casualties, the attack had also been brief and with little damage beyond the loss of supplies. It would have been suicide for them to stay.

However, as the weeks went on and all across the nation, bandit attacks died down, the focus had shifted. It made sense. The bandits were disorganized and would have had significant difficulty handling the logistics to attack the more sparsely-defended south where most of the “wealth” they were searching for was located. With their surprise attack, they would need to regroup back in the north. It had been his job – and the job of every officer in the Republican Army – to keep them there; isolated and fighting in the north where the raids would be of lower value for the bandits. That sacrificed the already worn-down northerners to more attacks, but there was a cold logic to it. If the bandits realized they were fighting and dying for just a trickle of well-defended “plunder”, what little organization they had to maintain these aggressive attacks would collapse back into the sporadic fighting the nation was used to.

‘But the rest of the command didn’t see the things I was seeing. The bandits were planning something. More and more were caught sneaking aboard trains and boats. Raiding caravans and taking carts and wagons. Somehow they kept finding ways down south to gather and prepare. Just like the whole thing that started this, they’d all assumed that a lull in the fighting meant that they were failing, when in reality they were just planning their next decisive assault!’

With news of the attack, his 1000-griffon Battalion in the 9th Infantry Division was the closest to relieve the city; just as he had planned. He had no idea the strike would be in Cloudbury, but he used the excuse that his unit was still recovering from the initial assault two weeks ago to prepare a position that would be close to the major cities of Cloudbury, Winghagen or Kloborg. With fresh reinforcements and supplies, nogriff in the unit was anything less than eager to repay the bandits a hundredfold and his planning gave them a short train-ride and march to reach their objective.

‘Of course… even with all these advantages we’re never going to make it in time. 3 hours. 3 hours they would be holding against an all-out assault on the city with only 6,000 regular militia and 24,000 civilian militia to hold out. No artillery, no trenches. It sounds like a lot of forces… but the bandits would know that too. They wouldn’t commit to an attack unless they thought they could win, or win enough and escape intact. It would be block-to-block fighting of the worst kind. I’d seen it before: in Griffenheim, in Wurtenrest, in Vinnin and Cloudbury. Once the city periphery was breached, it comes down to brutal fighting at close-range where only grit and skill mattered. The peasants that had been conscripted into the army on either side… it was something that could aptly called “butchery”.’

He shook away his thoughts. He could not be distracted if he wanted to save the lives of his countrygriffs. He was only minutes away now and could see the city and hear the gunfire. With a wave of his wings and a series of signs of his claws, he signaled his forces to quickly descend and get ready for battle. It would not do them any good to engage while in the sky, especially this close to night where the sky was still illuminated but the ground was not.

When he landed, he waited a few minutes for the rest of his unit to get ready but every moment felt like hours. With the enemy already engaged with their attack, his assault would come as a shock and he needed the full weight to be felt for it to achieve the best results. Once he established a vitally important bridgehead in the city he could split his company up as needed to minimize the causalities as quickly as possible.

With the company all landed and over half of them ready, he did not waste any more time.

“1st, 2nd and 3rd Company will engage in a frontal attack. Rush in with machine-guns and mortar at the start to really shake them up, but check your targets once you reach the city limits. I do not need to tell you that friendly fire on civilians is not tolerated, am I understood?”

The captains of the platoons quickly saluted.

“”Yes, sir!””

With them gone, he turned to the rest of the captains and continued.

“4th Company will be in medical reserve. You have the best medical supplies of the Battalion so you’ll handle setting up the field hospital tent once we’ve gotten hold of part of the city and handling triage. Priority casevac will be given for any civilians with minor wounds that can’t be treated in the field, but don’t be hesitant to get as many out to the field hospital as possible. We… probably won’t have time for medevac until most of the city is secured, I… trust you will do your best to ensure that as many civilians are saved as possible.”

Casevac – casualty evacuation – meant getting the griffons that could live with their injuries for a couple hours or days in a tent and given the basic dressings, medicine to prevent infection or fever from turning their condition to something fatal, or removing limbs if the wounds were bad enough. While he had heard of new medical breakthroughs like “Penicillin” which limited the necessity of simple "cure-all amputations", the Republic was far from being in a state to have enough of it to make a difference to the average griffon.

Medevac – medical evacuation – meant getting somegriff who’s wounds would not last them more than an hour or two to a hospital for emergency treatment. Given that the hospital might not even be under control or that a path to the hospital might take hours to clear… there was a lot of griffons with otherwise treatable wounds that would never make it in time. It was something the Republic had learned the hard way and regularly drilled into them. Yet it was one thing to turn away a mortally wounded soldier that had volunteered and knew what they were getting into when they joined, it was another thing to see a wounded chick and let them die because there would not be enough time or supplies; not when the morphine and surgery could be used to save somegriff more likely to live.

The captains nodded slowly with hard looks, he did not need to say any more and the Captain of the 4th Company saluted and left. He focused on the remaining officers.

“5th Company will be the true reserve; fill the gaps in the other Companies unless I say otherwise. 6th Company will wait for my orders. With the city in a mess like it is, there should be plenty of opportunities to exploit. When I see it, I’ll have you crash into these godless griffons like Maar’s own.”

Just as the final officers nodded, he was interrupted by the Captain of the 1st Company rushing back to him in a breathless state. The Major grabbed the Captain by the withers and leaned into him.

“What in Arcturius’ name has you back already?! Your unit needs you and you have an aide if you need to clarify-”

Having caught his breath a little, the Captain grabbed hold of him in return.

“Damn it… Major! The bandits… have already… routed! We have… a foothold…!”

“What?!”

Grabbing a nearby set of binoculars, the Major leaped into the sky with a beat of his wings and he looked into the distance. The situation was exactly as the Captain said! The bandits on the southern edge of the city had never penetrated! The Republican flag was still waving over the barricades and the bandits were fleeing now that they had to contend with the better equipped regulars of his unit on open ground.

He wasted no time and had his Captains follow him into the city. With the situation so completely changed, he had to rethink his entire strategy.

““Then raise our golden standard high.
Within its shade we’ll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We’ll keep OUR tricolor flyin’ here!””

As he approached, he could hear the citizens singing the party anthem. While the Republic technically did not have a national anthem – what with the lack of elections and bandits making any national unity a difficult pill to swallow for most – it was as close as most anthems got, but it was not well-received. His ordinary opinion of the song was that it was a little trite and bloodthirsty. Most soldiers he knew were not in the mood for more fighting and dying and otherwise thought the fervor of the melody in very poor taste. It sounded great the first time one heard it, but by the twentieth…

Today, it was the best damn song he had ever heard.

As he and his men landed among the cheering crowd, he noticed them all holding up a chick in their claws. While it had appeared to be that the chick was waving the flag when he saw them at a distance, now that he had come up-close, he could see that it looked more like she had little choice and looked desperate to be put back down.

The Major addressed the crowd.

“What happened?”

The crowd settled down and they spoke out with loud Cloudburian cries.

“We thought we’d all die, but the bannergriff kept us together!”
“She put the fear of Maar in me!”
“I told her to run, but she stuck around, called us patriots!”
“Never thought I’d fight for you Herzlanders, but I couldn’t let anygriff down, not with her at my back!”
“She fed us, then she kept us going!”

On and on it went. While he could not understand what most of the Cloudburians were saying – being a Hertzlander himself – he had picked up enough of the language to get the gist of it. Turning to the chick herself, the Major was surprised to hear her respond in his own language.

“I fought! I killed one of them. I might have not been on the front lines the whole time, but I helped! I swear!”

He was not normally one to get emotional – one could argue it was something wholly out-of-character for him to do so – but he found himself tearing up at her words.

‘Here’s a chick – a civilian that I failed to rescue in time – telling me she only regrets is that she wasn’t on the front lines more. That she was only able to unite the citizens and fend off the bandit attack, but even that was not enough.’

He did not need to look far to understand why she felt that way. Dozens of causalities; wounded and killed on sheets laid out in the middle of the road. He understood her immediately. He could stop every single bandit and save hundreds of lives today, but it would not be enough. He would have regrets about this day, but this chick had saved him from feeling more.

He turned to his soldiers.

“Clear the wounded and set up the damn field hospital! Get the 1st through 3rd Platoons into the city and linking up with the rest of the militia! We still have the element of surprise and I won’t squander this valuable opportunity these brave patriots made today!”

Turning back to the citizens, he smiled. It was an expression he was ill used to, but for once, optimism felt as natural to him as breathing.

“And get a band together! I want the party anthem sung from here to the Republican Palace! You griffons will get a front-row seat to the liberation of the city right next to me!”

The cheer went out, but he was acutely aware that the chick did not join them, instead she could barely hide the shock and anger. He knew what she was thinking, it was his own thoughts after all.

‘I can’t be on the front-lines, fighting to save the citizens like I had during the Revolution. I can’t be that lowly-corporal again, personally rescuing peasants from their tyrannical overlords and the very precipice of despair… but we all have our places. The strategies I make will save more lives than if I fought as a grunt, and the song of unity and strength this chick can sing will uplift the spirits of the citizens far more than her rifle-work ever could.’

The chick would learn her role as he had. He only hoped that when the patriotic little chick found her place in the military some day, that she would stick to the rear… but he had a feeling Arcturius had a greater role for her to play than that. What she had done today should have been impossible, but she must have had the War God’s favor. For the first time in a long time, he hoped; he was optimistic for a future that would last long enough for the “little bannergriffs” of the nation to grow up and fortify the hearts of the nation into a solid unity once more.

That this new generation would recapture that moment he felt back during the storming of the Imperial Palace; when those invincible Imperial Knights fell to the farmer’s pitchfork and the blacksmith’s hammer. That moment when he knew the people could do anything and nothing was impossible.