>Well shit.
>You can see movement ahead of you, without thinking you dive into the trench previously
>occupied by the two minotaurs. A long chain of machinegun fire breaks the lip of the
>trench apart. You simply remain crouched in the trench; something’s boiling up inside you.
>It’s that same sort of feeling when you garroted the prison guard. It sort of an indescribable
>feeling, somewhere between zen and rage. Well, now’s not the time to dwell on it.
>You start drawing out grenades and pulling their chords, throwing with near recklessness.
>It doesn’t take long for them to start going off. After about five you simply tear off the >bandolier, pull all the chords and heave the thing over the lip, just hoping it makes it to the
>other side. You quickly sling the rifle and draw out the subbie, pause for a moment.
*SK-*
>You don’t hear the rest as the remaining five grenades all detonate at once. Throwing up
>a huge cloud of smoke and dirt, as if the land itself were rejecting it.
 
>You were certain that you put cotton in your ears before this, but it didn’t seem to help
>Your ears are still ringing, a piercing noise that burrows into your head, but now’s not the
>time to worry about that. You take advantage of the settling dust, and charge over the lip
>of the trench. The dust settles, and you see the barrel of the machine gun swing over to
>you. You belly flop into the trench in front of you and blindly fire over the ledge, dumping
>the whole magazine out, you bring the gun back down and toss out the mag, no point
>in keeping it. You open up the pouch and stick in a another mag, you got three left after
>this one. The earth suddenly heaves about you, a jolt that shook you to the bone.
>You quickly peek over the edge; the machinegun nest is now just a smoldering remain.
>Off over on the griffon lines you see a plume of smoke, soon followed by another shell
>landing a couple trenches up. The Griffons on the other side must have seen your antics
>and took the advantage to flank the minos.
 
>Flank, heh, you were just one untrained man. Well, let’s make the most of it.
>You sprint back out of the trench and keep moving up. You know your distraction is
>working because you can feel the rifle rounds whip pass you, you can see the chaos in front
>of you, as the minotaurs try to deal with the two fronts, even if one front is just you, but
>they don’t need to know that. You feel a round pass by your head as you duck into a trench.
>Huh, your heads wet, you take a quick moment to move your hand up to the right side of
>your head. Yep, that’s blood, yep, that’s not the normal shape of your ear. Huh, doesn’t
>hurt that much, or at all. Then again, you wouldn’t know the difference right now. You feel
>the ground shake as another shell impacts near you. You look over to your left and right.
>Right is empty trench, to your left you can see the back of a gunner’s assistant standing
>ready with a new belt as the belt fed provides plunging fire. You raise your submachine gun
>to your shoulder and depress the trigger, their bodies jerk and twitch as the rounds impact
>them. You stop and march towards their position, one of the minotaurs tries to move, you
>fire again. The pistol caliber rounds nestling into his chest. You turn and peer out over the
>belt fed, you’ve got about three more trenches to go, then no man’s land.
 
>You bend down to pick up some more subbie mags off the minotaurs, this time just
>jamming them into open pockets or your belt, no time for pouches. As your head is down,
>bullets whip over your head… from the griffon side. You take a quick peak over from
>behind the steel plate of the belt fed. The griffons seemed to have launched an infantry
>attack after their brief shelling. Griffons land in and around the trenches, armed with
>straight pull rifles and submachine guns. You decide to lend a hand, you shift the
>machinegun, and level the sights on a rather well dug in minotaur anti air emplacement.
>You depress the firing paddle, it chatters away, spewing out lead, belt, and brass. You
>manage to cut down the gun crew but not before the defending minotaur infantry can
>return fire. The rounds bounce and impact around you, one even grazes your arm, but
>they can’t get a clear shot due to both your superior firepower and position. When a round
>punches through the guns shield and embeds itself into the dirt behind you, you decide it’s
>time to leave.
 
>You drop the belt fed, letting it sag down slightly on its tripod, and turn.
>You are met with the barrel and bayonet of a straight pull rifle, on the other end is a rather
>small and young looking griffon. If she was a human she couldn’t be any older than 23. You
>see her beak move, but you’re still deaf from your five grenade toss, and artillery fire, and
>the general amount of gunfire. Needless to say the cotton in your ears was not doing it’s
>job. The griffon’s rifle is shaking, her black feathers are stand on end. Something catches her
>attention, as she slowly begins to back away out of the MG nest, rifle still shaking. It must be
>some sound your ringing ears can’t pick up. She reaches the ledge and jumps up to take
>flight. Almost immediately after she jumps a round tears through her wing. Right in the
>bone, the wing crumples into the griffon as she falls back into the ground. You take a quick
>peak over the machinegun, to get a grasp on the situation, well, that’s why the griffons are
>leaving. A veritable wall of yellow green gas. You can already smell the trace elements
>pineapple and pepper, good ole’ chlorine gas.
 
>You’ve read enough WW1 stories back on earth to know that the griffons are trying to
>prevent a counter attack. You also know enough to know that chlorine is water soluble,
>and neutralized by urea. You take out your trusty bandana, unzip your pants, and begin
>pissing on it. It’s amazing how much you actually have in you considering the circumstances.
>You tie the bandana to your face, surely the taste and smell of your own urine is better
>than your lungs bleeding and drowning on your own blood. You head back out of the MG
>nest, the griffon from before is affixing a rather primitive mask of her own. She notices you
>and makes a lunge for her rifle, you step down on it. She slowly backs off, you spare a quick
>peak over the edge, the minotaurs have cleared out he trenches and are making retreats,
>and abandoning their positions as the wave of gas approaches. If you’re going to make it to
>griffon lines you’re going to need to use this opportunity, even if it means going straight
>through the chlorine. You pull your head back down and look down at the griffon, she’s
>fading fast, but her mask seems to be staying secure around her beak.
 
>You scoop up the griffon into a firemans carry, it’s not difficult considering she weighs little
>more than a pony. Her position is such a way that you can pressure her wound with your
>hand while carrying her. Your hand doesn’t stop the bleeding, but it does assuage it.
>You don’t run, but rather walk, trying to regulate your breathing.
>The minotaurs have all but left, only the wounded remain, pleading for someone to take
>them. You still can’t hear what they’re saying, but you can see their mouths moving, and
>their broken bodies trying to pull themselves to salvation. You jump over the first trench
>sparing a quick look down, dead and dying minotaurs and griffons line the floor, some
>stacked on top of each other. Most are face down, showing you the deep red and irregular
>exit wounds. Faces staved in by rifle butts or minotaur fists, bodies torn and opened by
>griffon talons or minotaur hand shovels. You hit the gas before you reach the next trench,
>it’s highly concentrated chlorine, fortunately you stand tall enough to keep you and the
>griffon out of the worst of it. It doesn’t matter, your eyes burn and water, and your
>wounds sear and cry in agony at you.
 
>You reach the second trench, again, you leap over. Like last time you spare a glance down.
>More corpses, but these ones have a few that died due to the gas. Their membranes have
>burst, lines of blood running out of their noses. Eyes, red and dilated from pain. Mouths
>filled with the yellow red remains of what used to be lungs. You keep pressing forwards,
>your eyes tear up more and begin to mentally cry in pain, but you have to press forwards.
>You have to know if your friends made it safely to the griffon lines.
>You have to find Twilight and Pinky.
>You have to get this griffon back to her lines.
>A though crosses your mind, you are at home here, more so than you were with the
>ponies. Sure they accepted and befriended you, but there’s contentment for you here.
>By the time you reach the third trench you don’t bother looking down; you already
>know what it holds. Once you enter no man’s land you have passed the cloud of gas you
>may not be able to see the yellow green wall of death, but you keep your piss rag on just in
>case. Craters and remains of razor wire surround you; you keep a calm pace out of
>prudence for the gas.
 
>The griffons lines are in sight now, you can see a couple of griffons keeping their weapons
>trained on you as you walk up to their lines. They probably haven’t shot you since you are
>carrying one of their own. They let you approach, but slowly back away from you once you
>enter their trench. A couple of griffons with a stretcher come by and relive you of the black
>griffon you’ve been carrying. None of the griffons here are wearing any masks, so you
>reach behind your head to untie yours. The griffons begin to talk amongst themselves.
>Once again, you can’t hear them, but you can see their beaks moving. Not knowing what
>else to do you put your hands on your head. A griffon steps forward and relives you of your
>weapons. The griffons seem to relax at this, one steps forward and crooks his talon at you
>to follow him, you comply. Following him into the network of trenches, followed by
>another two griffons who never let go of their weapons.
 
>Eventually you are lead out of the trenches and down a small hill. At the bottom of the hill
>is a rather large camp, you can see the howitzer batteries that provided the fire support, a
>couple of medical tents, and right on the edge of camp entrance you can see Gerard.
>His gut is wrapped in a bandage with a faint red splotch on the right side of it. He catches
>sight of you, tan feathers giving a slight ruffle as he waves at you. You give a small smile
>and wave back. He flaps over to you and converses with the griffons escorting you,
>eventually he rolls his eyes and shows them a small slip of paper with some sort of stamp
>on it and a photo of you, Rarity, AJ, Flutters, and Dash. The griffons look at the paper, shrug,
>and begin to walk back to the trenches ignoring you. Gerard starts animatedly talking to
>you, so  raise a hand and point to your ears. He seems to understand, says some more
>things that you don’t understand, laughs to himself, and leads you into the tent city.
 
>You are led through the rather busy camp and to a medical tent, the griffon medics eyes
>widen as you bend down to enter the tent, but otherwise he gives you a green triage card.
>You are show to an area to wait in before you can receive treatment, trains of wounded
>and bandaged griffons mill about you. You settle down, taking a seat against a crate, and
>pull down your cap to sleep. It’s light and restless, you open your eyes, knowing that not
>more than 30 minutes passed. The first thing you notice is that your hearing has returned,
>everything sounds muffled and the ringing is still there, but you can hear some of the
>louder noises. You lift your cap off of your face. AJ and Dash are sitting in front of you,
>conversing about something or other.