In the Trenches of Despair

**"In the Trenches of Despair"**is the sixth episode of *War* and the 55th episode overall.

The episode was published on January 31, 2021.

In the episode, across Cartonia, four soldiers in four nations experience firsthand the treachery of warfare.

## Appendix

Episode Title Card**A:** Map of the War, 711**B:** Leprolian Royal Family, 711**C:** Capricovian Royal Family, 711**D:** Hornhall, Capricon**E:** Verdant Cliffs, Vulpus
**A:** Note that Occupied Gallix has been stricken from the map, fully incorporated into the territories of Vulpus and Cervidium.

## The Episode

—*Diary of Lana Loudoun—*

*-December 31, 710-*

*Today marks the end of 710, and the conclusion of three full years of war. The monthlong battle promised by the initial warring states is a distant memory, and the total number of casualties eclipses even the darkest original estimates. Attrition is the big buzzword. Who can outlast the others? Who has more food? Who has more water? Where does Lady Luck aim her scepter?*

*When you look at the map of Cartonia today, Gallix and Capricon look different. First off, there is no Gallix. The chickens remain, but they are hostages in the clutches of deer and foxes. The territory has been completely annexed into Vulpus and Cervidium. Seventeen nations are still fighting each other, and over what I cannot say. I believe everyone has a different stake in the war, and the Porcinian justification is that we cannot allow the Summer Sun to take control of the continent.*

*Capricon is almost entirely under Granite Bloc control, and the question is whether they will soon surrender.*

*Psittancyna remains the Porcinian concern, a burden we share with Ursus. Phantine and Equine Isle have turned to focus on Scuridiae and Capricon. So far, all of Porcinia’s trenches remain in Psittancyna. With luck, we will be able to push our lines north until we are at the base of Mount Altum. The parrots will fall, and we can race south to help defeat Capricon.*

*This week the Vixen Queen ordered a naval invasion of Equine Isle to curtail the horse army, and Eusuchia is rushing to her aid.*

*Tomorrow is January 1, 711. If not for this war, we would have been watching on television as the Harmony Crown peacefully passed from Vulpus to Mallardia. King Swan XX would have been the next to wear the iconic symbol of peace on the continent. But there will be no Harmonious Coronation, as there is no longer a Harmony Crown.*

*The crown has not been seen since the abolition in 709. I wonder has become of it.*

—The Western Border of Simeone—

—Republic of the Monkeys—

-May 6, 711-

Tanza Cameron shivered in the trench as the rain barraged them. Her monkey fur was drenched from the storm, and her paws were buried in mud and grime. She had lost her shoes on the battlefield.

The chipmunks launched canisters of poisonous gas through the haze of rain, and Tanza was not fortunate enough to have one of the few masks in supply. She instead pressed a thick cloth to her face. She had to pull it away to take breaths of air, however. The cloth was sopping wet.

“GO!” the trench leader screamed as another canister blasted overhead. The monkeys began to scramble down the trench to the next line of defense. Their advance into Scuridian territory was evidently a failure. Tanza raced across the muddy ground for what she hoped was safety.

An explosion sounded, and a severed arm landed in the trench. Six months ago, when Tanza was drafted into this war, she would have been terrified at the sight. Now, it was simply an inconvenience as she leapt over it. Someone ahead of her fell, and Tanza bumped into the obstruction.

“Ow!” the monkey cried. Tanza heaved him to his feet.

“Come on! Hurry!” the trench leader cried from somewhere behind them.

Tanza had lost track of how many people she had seen die. It was somewhere in the hundreds. Chipmunks and monkeys, trapped in this brutal war.

A rocket shot across the sky from the Simenese camp, toward the chipmunks. It burst over their trenches, and Tanza sincerely hoped heavy casualties were inflicted.

A flash of light burst in front of her, and the impending Simenese trench exploded. She was knocked backward by the destructive energy. As the smoke cleared, she could see her fellow soldiers scrambling over the side of the trench.

“Out! Out! Run!”

Tanza obeyed, not sure what was going on. That was common, unfortunately. She hardly ever knew what was happening. She merely listened and reacted.

After scrambling out of the trench, she could see by the light of hellfire that the chipmunks were being joined by the foxes, and quickly advancing across No Man’s Land toward the Simenese trenches. Countless monkeys lay dead. Blood was everywhere. Tanza stumbled forward and broke into a sprint. She followed everyone else, though she did not where they were running. The foxes and chipmunks were all over, surrounding the battlefield.

Tanza tripped over a piece of exposed barbed wire and fell into a huge puddle. Someone cried out and plopped beside her.

“Tanza!” the familiar voice screamed. “My leg!”

Tanza’s own foot had been shredded, but she would rather lose the paw and live than die intact in this puddle.

“Zanzi?” Tanza yelled over the chaos. “Is that you?”

“Help! Oh, Tanza, I can’t feel my leg!”

Tanza heaved Zanzi to her feet and slung her arm over her own neck. As they began moving forward, a bomb landed between them and exploded, sending Tanza flying over the puddle. She landed on her back, the pain quickly turning numb.

The life slowly drained out of her, the mud rising to swallow her shell. In the distance, the army of the foxes began playing a sinister melody.

—Western Cervidium—

—Kingdom of the Deer—

-June 6, 711-

Just over the Cervidian border, about three miles from the frontline of the trenches in Mallardia, was the Buckskin Pub. It was the only bar that was close enough for soldiers from the trenches to visit on nights off. Once a tiny drinking hole for residents had now become a haven for the Cervidian military to congregate.

The history of the pub was of no consequence to Caribou Atlas. The decorated hero of war only wanted a healthy dose of ale and lively music. He was joined at the bar by two of his army buddies. They were laughing jovially about the physical appearance of the bartender. She had abnormally shaped antlers.

“Hey, hey,” called Caribou’s friend, Sambar. “Check it. Hot does at nine o’clock.”

Caribou eagerly turned to see a herd of beautiful does mingling together. The three stags together lifted their drinks and sauntered over to them. Wearing their army uniforms was a surefire way to score with them. Three stags, three does? Caribou was hoping he’d be luckiest of them all.

“Ladies,” Sambar crooned, effortlessly sliding beside the tallest doe. Roe, their third friend, placed his arm around the shortest.

“How about some drinks?” Caribou proposed, dumping a stack of bills on the counter. The girls looked at him with desire. It must be the uniform.

“You’re in the army?” one of them asked. Her voice was flat, a hard turn-off, but Caribou didn’t think she was that pretty anyway.

“Sure am!” Roe exhaled with a flex. “We’re keeping our border safe for you gals.”

One of them threw a hoof to her heart. Her nails were painted green.

“Oh! Our *heroes!*”

Caribou beamed.

“What’s your name?”

Green Nails’ smile faltered.

“Amelia.”

Amelia was the most beautiful of all of them. Caribou gazed at her intently, so she would know he was interested, and sucked in his stomach so she would be likewise attracted to him.

“The name’s Caribou. Have you ever been to the trenches?”

Amelia turned to her friends, who shrugged.

“No,” she replied simply. This was the answer Caribou was hoping for, because now he could regale her with tales from the war.

“Have you heard of the Bombing of Lapton?” he asked cryptically. Amelia raised an eyebrow coyly.

“I have. Were you there?”

“Sure was!” Caribou declared proudly, thumping his friends on the back. “We all were! War heroes, us.

One of the other does set down her drink and crossed her legs.

“How many people died at Lapton?” she asked. Caribou shrugged.

“I don’t know. They were just ducks, anyway. The enemy. So what do you think? Any of you does…”

Amelia held up a hoof.

“I think not. I speak for me and my friends when I say that we don’t want to hear about your murders.”

Caribou recoiled. Murders?

“I ain’t a murderer,” he hissed. “I’m a soldier, doing my duty to my country.”

“If you kill someone,” Amelia snapped, “you’re a murderer.”

Caribou didn’t care for these dames at all. They were vile and inherently warped if they didn’t see the patriotic value in his actions.

“Screw you,” Sambar spat. Roe glared at them.

“Tell me,” Amelia said to Caribou, “why are you fighting this war? What’s the point?”

Caribou scrunched up his face in disgust. What an impertinent question.

“Interspecies lust,” he glowered. “The ultimate sin. Our forefathers founded these Kingdoms as nationalized, independent, perfect communes with the intent that we procreate and breed within our own race to produce a dominant and continuous bloodline. Our bodies are different, our brains are different, and we’re not supposed to mix. The borders shouldn’t even be open. We shouldn’t even be trading. Victoria Vixen and Bentley Connelly are scum of the earth and the only good thing that came out of either of their lives is this war, for now we have the opportunity to crush interspecies relationships once and for all and rise like a summer sun!”

Amelia looked amused, and even clapped when Caribou was done.

“Well, that was a speech, wasn’t it? Did you have it memorized?”

He did not reply. She went on,

“You’re an ignoramus for thinking this war is a good thing, and doubly dumb for seeing the positives in the situation. I don’t care about your war stories, and you’ll be hard pressed to find someone here who does. Our community is being destroyed by carnage, and if Cervidium is fighting to stop interspecies love, then we will assuredly fail.”

She stood and walked away from the bar with her friends. They settled over by the window in a booth. Caribou was gobsmacked. Weren’t all deer on the same side? They were united against the Granite Bloc. He couldn’t believe that there were some that didn’t believe in the war. That was unheard of.

It must be a local thing. She mentioned the community, which indeed was suffering from the war just over the border. All troops had to pass through the town to reach the front. Glancing around the Buckskin Pub, Caribou saw that he and his friends were the only army personnel in the building. Everyone else was a local.

“Disgusting,” Sambar scowled. “Acting like that, saying those things…she’s bold.”

“More like stupid,” Roe added.

“We have to do something,” Caribou scowled. “We need to teach them a lesson. They’re going to keep saying shit like that until the whole town is against us.”

Sambar’s ears perked.

“We might get commendations. We’ll have stopped a rebellion. Hey, we might even get promoted!”

Caribou envisioned himself being medaled by the Stag of Cervidium at Antlerstag. The thought made him quiver with excitement.

The three spoke in hushed whispers by the bar on how they intended to exact revenge on the three treasonous does.

—

Amelia Prance was revolted by the three soldiers at the bar. She was sick of all of them, in fact. The Buckskin Pub, once a haven for her after long days of work, was now a frequent hangout for the army’s worst and dimmest. Today marked three days in a row that she had been hit on by a scoundrel in camouflage. As usual, her sarcasm was wasted on the thirsty soldier, interpreting every action as flirtation.

She clinked her green-painted nails against the edge of her glass and thought. Unlike other nights, tonight she snapped as this Caribou chap rambled on in his garrulous self-righteousness about the pitfalls of interspecies love. Personally, Amelia saw no problem with it. It was jarring to hear about Bentley Connelly and Victoria Vixen, but mostly because of how high-level they were. She never thought anyone in the government would be embroiled in a specesial infidelity scandal.

She wondered if her words against Caribou would come back to haunt her. Most of the soldiers never came back to Buckskin Pub, as they were constantly moving down the front. But with Amelia’s luck, these deer would stay for longer.

“Noella,” Amelia muttered to her friend beside her, “what do you think they’re talking about over there?”

Noella glanced at the bar, where the three soldiers were conversing quietly. Caribou looked over his shoulder, directly at Amelia.

“They’re plotting something,” Amelia mused. “He didn’t like what I said to him. We should go.”

Noella nodded, and prepared to stand, but Amelia stopped her.

“Or…we could do something.”

“Amelia,” Renette cautioned, “you must remember that we are at war now. The government is committing the entirety of Cervidium to the war effort, which means that anything that is counterproductive to that end can be construed as treason. That includes your words, and your actions.”

Amelia frowned.

“We can’t do nothing.”

Renette just shrugged.

“Just let it slide.”

Amelia was not satisfied with that answer. She was sick of this war, and knew that others felt the same. The dynamic of the war insisted on placing whole countries on one side or the other, even though the issues at hand were far more complex. It was agonizing to think that if the Granite Bloc was victorious and Cervidium was occupied, Amelia’s life might be worse despite her tending to side with their values.

“Those soldiers need only for us to idly turn our backs for them to propagate their wickedness. If they are scheming to bring punishment upon me for my words, then I must outmaneuver them. With or without your help.”

Noella clinked her glass with Amelia with a smile.

“I’m with you.”

Renette was reluctant but ultimately conceded. Amelia saw that the soldiers had stopped whispering at the bar and were now enjoying their drinks with their backs to them. Having noted down the soldiers’ names and ranks, Amelia, Renette, and Noella left the Buckskin Pub, but did not realize that Caribou, Sambar, and Roe followed them.

—

The does were heading for a walkway between the bank and the theater, both closed for the night. Amelia and the other two, walking in step. Caribou and his army buddies trailed at a distance so as not to draw attention to themselves. Once they were in the alleyway, he quickened his pace. He hurried up behind Amelia and grabbed her.

—

As soon as she felt Caribou’s hoof on her arm, Amelia screamed. His other hoof clamped violently over her mouth and she was shoved into the wall. She felt blood rolling down her cheek. Caribou grunted against her back, and yanked her back toward the town square. Caribou kept her arms pinned, and Noella was cursing wildly behind Sambar’s hoof. Renette had broken free of Roe’s hold and was savagely kicking him in the groin. Amelia wriggled in determination. Finally, a sharp jab to his ribs caused Caribou to cry out and loosen his grasp. He dug his hooves into her arms, and continued to push her forward. She saw they were heading for the stocks. The place to lock up treasonous citizens and put them on full display.

“HALT!”

Caribou’s grip relinquished, and Amelia fell to the ground. Noella was panting beside her, Sambar’s standing above her. Renette was behind them, having bolted Roe to the ground. The commanding voice that spoke belonged to the Cervidian Army General stationed in their town. Even better, the General was a doe.

“Officers,” the General gasped. “Explain yourselves.”

Caribou, Sambar, and Roe stumbled over their words, none of them coherent. Finally, Caribou’s voice rose to the forefront.

“We were teaching them a lesson, ma’am. They were speaking ill of the war effort. We wished to put them in the pillory stocks and report their misdeeds to you.”

The General turned to the newly-erected shame station at the center of town, designed to discourage further transgressions. It had not yet been used.

“I do not recall designating any of you with the privilege to incapacitate anyone in pillory. Who gave you this power?”

The soldiers were silent. The General glanced at Amelia and Noella.

“Did they announce to you their intention to put you in pillory, per protocol 11?”

“No,” Amelia spat. “They assaulted us.”

The General’s eyes bulged.

“Did they!”

Amelia was shaking. They had meant to report improper conduct by soldiers in the Pub, but never did she anticipate they’d be jumped and pilloried.

“General,” Caribou beseeched, “this doe here said I was a murderer for fulfilling my duty!”

The General ignored him.

“You three,” she said to Amelia, Renette, and Noella. “Stand and come here. Are you hurt?”

“Not really,” Noella muttered. “But very frightened.”

“I’m absolutely fine,” Renette said proudly, her knuckles red from beating Roe’s face.

“I’m sure,” the General sighed. “I am dreadfully sorry. I’ll arrange an escort to the hospital to ensure you’re truly alright. Regardless of what you may or may not have said, you do not deserve to receive such foul treatment from the army. From *anybody*. If I hadn’t been walking across the square…”

The General rounded on the soldiers.

“All three of you are black-barred. You’ll be deported immediately from the frontline back to your hometowns pending investigation. Your guilt is absolute. Your acts are reprehensible. I expect proper conduct at all times, even when away from the front. This is the *fourth* time I have had to address improper conduct with you especially, Caribou Atlas.”

Amelia exhaled. This man did not deserve to be a soldier of Cervidium.

“We were only acting out of loyalty to our Stag!” Sambar protested. The General cocked her head.

“By assaulting and abusing three of his citizens without legal discourse?”

Sambar’s face turned white. Noella sneered in his direction. The General lifted a radio to her mouth and gave the command for backup and an escort.

“Thank you,” Amelia whispered. The General did not reply, but only nodded. When the backup arrived and literally stripped the medals off Sambar, Caribou, and Roe, the General personally saw the does into the ambulance.

“I know you’re fine,” she said to Amelia and Noella, “but I think we’d all feel better if the doctors tended to your cuts and bruises. I’m glad that I was there to intervene. I daresay things might have…”

She heaved a sigh and looked away. After a few seconds to compose herself, she went on.

“I severely caution against earning the ire of soldiers, even if it is rightfully deserved. Some of our troops have inflated egos from this war, thinking them the universe’s gift to Cervidium. Propaganda encouraging this unwavering idolatry for the nation is coming from the top. From Antlerstag itself. The Stag has been medaling hundreds of soldiers in the capital for the simplest of patriotic acts, and everyone is vying for a shiny trinket of their own. Regardless of what you may have said to those soldiers, you must be careful. Whether we like or not, this war is here and likely to stay for some time. No side will yield until there is a victory.”

The General closed the ambulance doors and it took off into the night. Amelia slumped on the bench. They were alone back here, since they didn’t need medical attention en route. The driver and doctor up front were separated by a thick wall.

“Amelia,” Noella mumbled, “that was so scary.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I don’t know how we didn’t hear them behind us.”

Renette sniffed, wiping Roe’s blood on a rag.

“The General is right. We can’t be saying stuff against the war, or the Stag. We just have to accept what’s happening and adapt to the circumstances.”

“Oh come on!” Amelia cried. “We weren’t assaulted because of that! It was men being disgusting, as usual.”

“The war is making things worse,” Noella said. “The General brought up a good point. These soldiers think they’re invincible. They do unspeakable things everyday at the front. They act as if the law does not apply to them.”

“Agreed,” Renette said. “You saw how shocked they were the General did not take their side. They thought the town would rejoice that we were pilloried.”

The three went silent. Noella pressed her hooves together and sighed.

“The Stag can have no enemies from within. There is no such thing as free speech anymore in Cervidium. We have to be silent.”

Amelia did not protest, knowing her words from now until the end of the war must align with the nation’s mission. But she hated that, and she hated the soldiers. She respected the General but abhorred her purpose. Once indifferent toward the Stag, Amelia now despised him. There was something malicious about him, especially when paired with the Vixen Queen. In 709, she watched on live television when he murdered Henrietta Petukinau, and hardly anyone in Cervidium batted an eyelash.

It was *necessary*, people said. Everyone was trying to justify the situation. The Stag could do no harm, could never be wrong. How could a collective people justify his contemptible actions?

For now, Amelia would have to bide her time and accept the new normal. People around the nation were being bullied into submission. But Amelia was stronger than that, and was not going to watch Cartonia crumble around her if she had any power to prevent it.

—Hornhall, Capricon—

—Kingdom of the Goats—

-July 6, 711-

Capricon was one of the largest countries in Cartonia by landmass, but had a much lower population than one would think due to the widely deforested landscape that sometimes gave to a harsh climate. The most populous areas were around the Cartonian river, such as the capital of Baahaa.

The sparsely populated nation was fracturing under the weight of the Granite Bloc pushing in from all sides. Only a series of strongholds remained unconquered on the final push toward the capital.

Askari Juu was an elephant soldier from Phantine, drafted at the onset of the war. She was almost at the end of her draft-eligible age, but could not imagine returning to the private sector. The war had already traumatized her so much that she almost hoped she would die serving her country so she wouldn’t have to face the trauma in the postwar world.

Her unit was traveling over the empty fields of western Capricon toward an ancient castle perched on a hill. Surrounding it were camps of the Granite Bloc. The siege of Hornhall Castle had been ongoing for months. The current units were being swapped out so they could get some much-earned rest. It was Askari’s unit’s turn.

They were not all elephants marching in step. She was joined by mice, ducks, and horses. They once had a handful of crocodiles with them but they were called back to Eusuchia as the Vixen Queen launched another naval battle.

Askari could see the castle was smoldering, its walls battered from the cannonballs fired at it. Most fortresses in Cartonia were impregnable, and Hornhall was no exception. Her commander had briefed the team on its history. Hornhall was a stronghold of the royal goat Hornover family, and currently home to King William X’s fourth son Ralph Hornover. He was the Lord of the Castle and the one who would have to surrender before the siege was lifted.

Surrender, or die.

Askari had little sympathy for the goats in general, as she was told they were licentious and lustful creatures with no regard for others. She never had a strong opinion about goats before the war, even though they were Phantine’s neighbor. The war put a lot of things in perspective. She also didn’t like how the goat Kingdom used male-exclusive royal inheritance, prohibiting women from taking any titles or lands. It was a primitive practice, and the only nation to do so in Cartonia. Vulpus did the opposite, limiting women to the crown, which Askari didn’t care for either. Phantine allowed men and women to do anything, and she much preferred equality.

The unit reached the edges of the siege camp and headed for their post.

“Finally,” a gaunt cow cried when he saw Askari’s commander. “Took you a bloody while. They’re probably going to surrender today or tomorrow, if I’m perfectly frank. Goody for you; you’ll get to take all the credit.”

Askari’s commander merely shrugged.

“I think everyone will know your achievements here far outweigh mine.”

“Right. Well. Have fun in hell. We’re out.”

The purely Bovish unit marched off the site in the direction of Bovo, probably heading back to the homefront after months at siege. Askari noticed how exhausted they all looked. Their backs were hunched, and the spots on their skin were fading. From the sun?

The other units present for the siege were still launching whatever they could at the castle. All eyes were on the flagpole, which would raise a white banner when surrender was announced. Askari was put to work manning one of the catapults. She had grown quite adept at using one after aiding in the Sack of Góte last fall.

The siege continued for the rest of the day and into the night. Askari was relieved from her catapult so she could get some sleep, but she hardly ever slept nowadays. The constant chatter of the voices of the dead haunted her. She would usually doze off, wake from a terrible nightmare, then lie awake until she dozed again.

The following morning, she was fully cognizant when the trumpets blared and the gathered troops cheered. Askari lumbered out of the communal sleeping tent to see the white flag waving above Hornhall. At last, the goats were surrendering the stronghold.

The official surrender ceremony, which Askari never ceased to find hilarious, took place around three in the afternoon. All the soldiers conglomerated in a huge circle around the leaders of the siege, where they received Prince Ralph Hornover, the castle’s master, and all of his allies. Askari was fortunately close enough to the altar where Ralph Hornover kneeled to hear his words.

“General Oldman,” Ralph gasped shamefully to the leader of the siege, Prince Glaucous Oldman of Leprolia, “I petition you accept my unconditional surrender of Hornhall to the Granite Bloc.”

His head was bowed, and he would not look into Glaucous’s eyes. The older rabbit appeared triumphant in an ornate chair, resembling a throne. Askari didn’t know much about Leprolian politics but she was pretty sure Glaucous was third or fourth in their line of succession. According to Askari’s fellow soldiers, Glaucous had been the constant leader of the siege since it began five months ago. That was a long time to sit here in this field.

“I accept your surrender,” Glaucous Oldman boomed, loud enough for all to hear. Ralph lowered even further at the humiliation. “The conditions include permanent imprisonment in Hornhall until the war’s end, liquidation of all your castle’s assets, and perpetual occupation of Hornhall by forces of the Granite Bloc.”

Ralph mumbled something, and Glaucous bellowed, “The Lord of Hornhall has accepted the terms of surrender!”

Prince Ralph Hornover raised his head and gazed at Glaucous.

“Your Grace,” he stated, “I beseech you spare the survivors of the siege. Hardly any of us are active duty in the military. Indeed, most within Hornhall are unfit to serve.”

Glaucous Oldman considered the offer, then nodded. Ralph sighed in relief.

“Escort the Prince and his followers back to Hornhall,” Glaucous commanded to his troops. A band of rabbits hastened to comply. Once Ralph and the other goats were out of earshot, Glaucous stepped toward the center of the circle so he could address the troops.

“Loyal soldiers of the Granite Bloc!” he cried, sweeping his cape behind him with regality. “We have spent half a year on this wretched field laying siege to the sacrilegious sanctum of the Capricovian prostitution empire! The Lord of Hornhall, Prince Ralph, had every opportunity to surrender in the siege’s initial days but he held out, refused to surrender despite it being righteous, and caused the deaths of hundreds of besiegers. Never forget the outbreak of camp fever two months ago that claimed most lives. Prince Ralph wants us to spare him and his allies and move on, leaving them here to spin their webs and their plots.”

Askari felt her heart quicken. He had lied to the Prince.

“We will attack Hornhall tonight!” Oldman shouted. “We will ransack the castle and take no prisoners. Prince Ralph says the goats within its walls are not fit for active duty, but that’s because they are prostitutes and clients. Hornhall is a glorified brothel, well known throughout Capricon. This licentious country will turn every building into a sex house.”

Askari was horrified. She had no idea! The myths about the great prostitution houses in Capricon had persisted even before the war. Prostitution was illegal in every nation except Capricon, but Askari had never imagined it was to this extent. Worse was the realization that many of the women—it was mostly women—embroiled in the trade had to be liberated from the brothels that soldiers encountered.

“Take no prisoners!” a general called, which Askari knew to mean that everyone in Hornhall would be dead by night’s end. Glaucous went on to insist that this was essential for the war as the Granite Bloc’s leaders turned their attention toward the Jewel, the royal seat of the Hornover Kings in Baahaa.

And so Askari and her fellow soldiers prepared to ransack the castle. They proceeded in the dark of night along the edges of the field, through no-man’s-land, up the hill, and to the gates. The goats were unsuspecting of this backstab, and were quickly overpowered. Askari passed into the main hall, gun raised, but did not see prostitutes at all. At last, none of them appeared to be sex workers. Most were middle-aged women and their children. Mothers.

“Take no prisoners!” a soldier near her yelled. As if a reminder.

And Askari obeyed.

—Capet, Mallardia—

—Kingdom of the Ducks—

-August 6, 711-

Matthew Palmer’s draft notice came on the first of March this year, handed directly to him by Martial Klaus Redgar.

“Ah, young page,” the Martial had droned, “you are most fortunate. You may pursue a career of glory with this summons.”

Matthew did not remember responding, simply taking the notice and screaming internally. The Vixen Queen did not care that a member of her staff had been drafted, and maybe even ordered it herself. The safety of the Rook of Vulpus, as horrible as it was, would be far preferable to serving in the trenches. Matthew was immediately shipped out to the frontlines in Capet, a region of southern Mallardia. He knew that this area was where the famous Emmeline of Capet lived before her marriage to the King of Mallardia. She was still alive, living as a Grand Dowager Queen in the capital. Matthew would have once loved the opportunity to meet her, but not like this. He hoped sincerely that the foxes never reached Anatoidea, and the ducks never fell.

This was a war of conquest, plain and simple. The foxes under the crushing command of the Vixen Queen were being lied to and fanatically misled into seeing the merits of the war. It was clear to Matthew that the Vixen Queen, Stag of Cervidium, Chequer of Scuridiae, Macaw of Psittancyna, King of Capricon, and Queen of Felexa were part of a grand conspiracy to divide up the Cartonian Kingdoms into realms of occupation, to be permanently held. They had already succeeded in doing so with Gallix, and attempted the same with Simeone when they murdered Queen Ana III.

Serving in the army was anathema to Matthew. It was perpetrating the evil he had wanted so much to prevent. He hated that his destiny was to be swept up in the madness after Victoria Vixen’s murder. He wished he could defect and run over the border into Mallardia, begging for refuge in Beakfield Manor. But all Granite Bloc citizens would only see a fox, and assume automatically that he was with the Summer Sun.

So he had no choice but to sit here in the trenches as Private Matthew Palmer and try to figure a way out. The trenches were disgusting and poorly managed. Most of his fellow soldiers kept their spirits aflame with the fire of obsequious loyalty to the Vixen Queen.

“Ten days,” one of them gushed as she checked her calendar. “The Vixen Queen’s next rally is so close!”

“Did you hear Yosef has front-row tickets? I don’t how he managed to snag those.”

“Probably paid handsomely.”

“Or unseemly.”

Matthew tuned out the conversations. Pretending to be as devout as they were was impossible. He had developed a reputation for being “pensively zealous,” which meant he mostly spent his days sitting and thinking; when asked about what, he always said “the war.” The answer was fitting enough, apparently.

“MAIL!”

Matthew stood to attention as the trench courier began passing out letters and packages. Matthew often received letters from his parents, or his friends in Vista. It was everything to keep him sane. Today, he had one from his mother. He read it over in seconds, then grabbed his gun and set off for his captain’s quarters.

“Palmer?” the captain said in surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here. What is it?”

He was right; Matthew never saw a reason to approach the captain. He obeyed his orders so as not to threaten his position, and never complained. Most of the soldiers here lodged a groundless complaint about another soldier’s loyalty about once a week.

“I have received a letter from my mother. She’s taken ill with the vulpavirus and I’m requesting a furlough to visit her. She has only my father to care for her, but he too has health problems and I’m concerned he’ll catch the virus.”

The captain immediately acquiesced.

“Of course, Palmer. Your request is granted. I know you live far away, so please report back to the frontline in five weeks.”

Matthew took his leave papers and left, thankful that his chosen demeanor of passive acceptance had worked in his favor. If he was one of the others, constantly complaining and fighting for glory, his request may have been denied.

It would take about four days to reach his mother’s village on the sea, sapping up over a week of his leave time. He would utilize the train journey to think about ways he could dismantle Vulpus from the inside and ensure its defeat. That could very well mean a life worse for him and his family, but it would spare thousands of Cartonians from a worse fate: life under the tyranny of the Vixen Queen.

—Verdant Cliffs, Vulpus—

-August 11, 711-

Matthew’s hometown was perched on the edge of sandstone cliffs overlooking the Gulf of Cartoon. Trees and shrubbery sprouted from within the stone, giving the crags a green shade from the sea, hence the name of the town. It was a quaint seaside village, far from the intrigue and debauchery of the royal court. Matthew loved growing up here, and was partially sad to leave when he was called away to serve at Victoria Vixen’s side upon her elevation to the position of Crown Princess. On the other hand, his duty was to Victoria and he willingly accompanied her to the capital.

The only way into town was walking by road. Cars could park in a lot atop the cliffs, and then one would have to traverse on foot over a narrow bridge into the community. It was purely idyllic. There was one inn with a trail down to the beach that had near-constant business. At least it did before the war. As Matthew passed it, he could see it was shuddered.

303 people exactly lived here. The population was marked down in Town Hall after Matthew officially moved to Vista. He would have to change his address again now that he was in the military so if he died, it would be recorded as a loss for Verdant Cliffs and not for Vista.

“Matthew!” a villager cried out in joy. “Welcome home!”

She regarded his army uniform with a slight frown but ultimately bowed her head and kept sweeping her front path. Matthew took the long way around town to his parents’ house, the place where he grew up. Today, only his parents lived there, the two other bedrooms now empty.

Dad was outside on the porch, his paws on his hips.

“Well, well!” he called as Matthew came into earshot. “Here’s my army boy, home at last.”

Matthew was pulled into a tight embrace, and the warmth of fond family memories washed over him.

“How’s Mom?”

“Ah,” Dad said with a grin, “much better now. She basically recovered as soon as the word came that you were en route. The doctor says she’ll be fully healed by the end of the week.”

For that, Matthew was immensely grateful. Vulpavirus was once extraordinarily deadly, but an effective new treatment reduced the fatalities significantly. No one knew how it was spread, or where it originated, solidifying the disease as a formidable foe.

“Matty!” Mom swooned as her son hurried to her side. She was reading in a chair by the fireplace. It was too hot to be lit, but the wood was still stacked inside as if someone planned on lighting a fire.

“Tell us of the war, son,” Dad requested, pouring three glasses of fresh juice for them all.

“It’s grim,” Matthew said truthfully. “Deaths are omnipresent, as is the fanaticism of the troops. No one sees the futility of this conflict, and all would sooner die for the Vixen Queen than resist her despotism. Thus, Vulpus is drowning in the trenches of despair, both physically and ideologically.”

It felt good to say these things, especially here in the quietude of Verdant Cliffs. Mom and Dad nodded gravely, understanding.

“Do you make these opinions known to your compatriots?” Mom asked. Matthew fervidly shook his head.

“Of course not! They would turn me in, and I’d be executed.”

Matthew continued to fill them in on the developments from the front. News was a slow trickle to Verdant Cliffs. Only seven residents had televisions—the Palmers included—and the town’s newspaper had to rely on days-old information from neighboring communities.

“Can you believe this, Tom?” Mom asked her husband. “All this to have been caused by Victoria’s murder.”

Dad exhaled.

“Oh, I believe it, Sunny. And Matthew here is our witness to it.”

Matthew chewed his lip.

“I have to do something,” he asserted. “I have to thwart the Vixen Queen from within, and do what I can to erode the war effort. If the Summer Sun achieves victory over the Granite Bloc, whom I believe to be a conglomeration of just and upstanding nations, I cannot trust the Vixen Queen to treat the losing parties with respect or decency.”

“I agree,” Dad sighed, “though I cannot even begin to fathom how you would manage something like that on your own. The amount of time it could take you to rise to a position of power may outlast the length of this war.”

Matthew shrugged with a coy smile.

“I may have a few ideas.”

Mom eyed him skeptically.

“Does that box have anything to do with them?”

Matthew froze.

“What box?” he replied instinctively. Dad laughed.

“That big metal box you brought home last time. It’s since gone.”

Matthew tried to act natural.

“That was just laundry. I brought the box back with me to Vista.”

Mom and Dad dropped the subject, but it was all Matthew could think about for the rest of the day. He waited until after dinner, after three rounds of cards, after his parents had gone to sleep. Then, he snuck out of bed. He paused outside the other closed bedroom door upstairs, unopened for many years. He wondered if Mom and Dad ever went inside, to look around and remember their dead daughter. Matthew tiptoed down the stairs and through the front door.

Wrapping a dark cloak around his body, he hastened through the shadows of the village to its cemetery. The undertaker’s shed was unlocked, and he retrieved a shovel. Using the key he filched from mom’s key ring, he entered the Palmer family’s mausoleum. Only one body was buried here, with many spaces available. Most vacancies were for cremation urns, but there also five burial plots. Checking again to make sure he was not followed, Matthew dug up one of the supposedly empty plots in the dim light of a lit candle. His shovel struck what he hoped sincerely to find. Heaving it from the ground, he relished in the sight of the metal box that his parents had seen him struggle to carry into the house years ago. It had traveled a long journey from the capital, surreptitiously hidden from prying eyes.

It was a splendid box with intricate ironwork and a latticed design. There was no lock or clasp, merely a lid. Taking the sides with both paws, he raised the top.

Inside, nested upon a bed of plush red velvet was the bronze and gold bejeweled majesty of the missing Harmony Crown.

## Production

### Continuity and Story Arcs

January 1, 711, would have been the date of the Harmonious Coronation of Swan XX as representative of Mallardia. However, due to its abolition in “The Lamps Are Going Out,” there was no ceremony and no transfer of power.

Western Gallix was annexed into Cervidium, including the former capital of Kurinoye Selo. Eastern Gallix was annexed into Vulpus. The fallen Galligasque Kingdom was previously "under occupation," but is now considered legal land of the respective conquerors.

The prostitution empires of Capricon were first mentioned in the season 2 episode “Aftershock.”

Matthew Palmer was drafted into the war, serving in Mallardia despite his wishes.

After its disappearance in “The Lamps Are Going Out,” the Harmony Crown was revealed to have been stolen by Matthew Palmer, who hid it in a graveyard in his hometown.

### References

The Vulpine Ballad of War is indirectly mentioned at the end of the scene with Tanza Cameron. This melody played a central role in the *Chipper* disaster in “Wistful Oceans.”

No Man's Land in Simeone was based on the real No Man's Land between trenches in World War I.

Hornhall in Capricon is a reference to Harrenhal from *Game of Thrones*.

## Trivia

* The title of this episode is an original quote, modeled after the season 2 episode title "In the Sanctum of Hell."
	+ The line was quoted by Matthew Palmer: "Thus, Vulpus is drowning **in the trenches of despair**."
	+ The 21st episode of *War*, "In the Meadows of Sorrow" will follow a similar written format as this episode.
* Each of the four scenes in this episode take place on the sixth day of sequential months (May 6, June 6, July 6, August 6). This is because this is the sixth episode of the season.
* Tanza Cameron is named after the nation of Tanzania. Her fellow soldier, Zanzi, takes her name from Zanzibar.
* Caribou Atlas, Sambar, and Roe’s names all reference types of deer.
* Amelia Prance’s surname is a nod to the reindeer Prancer.
* The capital of Baahaa, Capricon, is supposed to sound like “bah,” the noise a goat makes.
* Askari Juu’s name comes from Swahili. It literally means “soldiers on.” An askari was an East African local serving in the armies of the colonial powers.
* Capricon is the only nation to use agnatic (male-only) inheritance. Vulpus uses female-only.
* The Hornover royal family is named after the British/German House of Hanover, which ruled Great Britain from 1714-1901.