In his twenty-three years of life experience, James had certainly never felt so out of place.  He tucked his head down under the trench yet again as a smattering of machine gun fire peppered the turf above and behind him.  They were supposed to advance into this?  He looked left to his recently appointed CO, and saw the man looked about as confident and prepared as James felt, himself.  The sergeant finally raised a trembling arm forward and let out a boisterous cry, signaling the beginning of their dreaded charge.

Behind their phalanx of shields, bristling with automatic weaponry, the enemy was showing no exploitable weak points.  Only a very small gap in each shield offered the slightest hope for success at this distance, but if the charging men could get close enough and surround their target, the enemy would be forced to break formation.  Human forces held the advantage of numbers by far, but the enemy was better equipped.  As each screaming man ran over the edge of the trench, James was impressed by the bravery put forth by both his comrades and himself in his very first battle.

Even full automatic fire proved to be insufficient to the task of stemming the onslaught of human troops.  Just as the men had narrowed the distance to maybe one hundred yards, however, someone with an incredible pair of lungs shouted above the cacophony of battle, “AFFIX BAYONETS! LOOK TO THE FOREST!”  Caught in the middle of a clearing, the vast majority of charging soldiers had failed to notice the group of centaurs driving up towards their flank until they were nearly upon them.  The soldiers would most certainly be overrun before they managed to reach their target location to engage with the phalanx.  Each man was forced to hunker down with what little cover was available and begin affixing their pikes right in the face of enemy fire.

As James dug out his bayonet in a panic, he could tell this “easy victory” was turning into something well-beyond a bloodbath.  They had been completely outmaneuvered, plain and simple.  The men were forced to squat right within line of fire of the phalanx digging in their packs as they were torn up.  Blessedly the call to arms was made just in time, and the men were able to hunker into a somewhat defensive position by the time the centaur host came upon them.

So here he was, shipped over to god knows where in Europe at this point, fighting a war against an enemy he didn’t understand and with people he hardly knew.  Everyone’s concern is about launching bullets in the right places to blow each other’s brains out before the same happens to them.  For nothing he could give a rats ass about.  He couldn’t help but have a brief yet surreal flashback to life at home before being dragged back to the reality of his situation.  He raised his rifle and dug in just as one of the huge women came barreling towards him.   Was he going to die here?  He was aware of dozens being torn up just feet away, saw his comrades being skewered and trampled.  What the hell was worth this?  A man scream was cut short by a hoof coming down hard on his head, cracking through his skull.  Why are we doing this?  An unlucky centaur tried to power through a pair of men holding their bayonets up and was speared through and stopped before she could reach them.  What’s the damn point?

As the centaur woman rushed towards him, he tried to aim right into the center of her abdomen, but underestimated her size and height.  His weapon pierced into the left side of her horse half, a few inches inside from what would be her front right leg.  He didn’t have the strength to halt her momentum, however as another hoof came down on his shoulder and he became aware of the swift impact of her bulk driving straight into his forehead.  As his consciousness slipped away, he welcomed familiar images of home to his mind.

Before shipping out to join the Great War, James had grown up in rural Minnesota.  He was raised on a farm with his parents and had grown up doing various chores and tasks such as taking care of the animals and heavy hauling.  He always had a penchant for helping out in the stables, horseback riding, feeding, any and everything to do with the animals was his favorite task.  Growing older, he realized a pursuit in veterinary services was exactly the calling for him.  It was grisly yet rewarding work.  He was already well-known among the local farming community as a boy, so finding clients was never an issue.  Folks from all over the state would call him up when some pig was sick, a cow misbehaved, or a hen stopped laying.  Eventually he became familiar with all sorts of health issues with the livestock and became damn good at his job.

Then came the draft notice.  Apparently some portal had opened on the other side of the world and hordes of demonic women were pouring out, filled with bloodlust and conquering all they could.  They were great and strong, and all the world’s powers instantly quit their bickering to deal with the new common enemy.  Even the United States was quick to respond to the call for aid, despite being under no current threat.

Boot camp was uncomfortable but mercifully brief.  James had never been much of a rough-houser, though he did have some muscle on him from his farming days.  The lack of freedom was what really bothered him.  There were times when he just wanted to sit down and appreciate a sunset, or pick up a great beer and kick back on the porch.  Now his days consisted of being screamed at, running around in circles, pushups and firearms practice.  It all felt like a waste.  Hundreds of men going to bed dog tired with nothing actually getting done.  He never really felt comfortable around a gun, either.  Killing was most certainly not his game.  Too many of his bunkmates seemed to treat the thing as a toy, which also got under his skin a bit.

But before any of this could really settle in at bothering him, word came that his training unit was combat-ready.  The situation must be pretty bad, he thought, if they’re sending idiots like us out already.  They shuffled off to the east coast and put on a boat to France, pronto.  From there they headed east, how far James wasn’t even sure anymore.  Little things like what country they were in didn’t seem to matter in the face of their newfound duty.  James wondered what these demons were like.  He’d heard many stories of giants, snakes, all sorts of creatures eager to bite your head off.  And they were all women.  Curious, that.  A bunch of demonic women coming out of a portal to take over the world, huh?  He’d have to see for himself.

And so it came to pass that he was assigned to a part of a larger combat unit, and sent to the front lines.  With new U.S. troops on the front, morale seemed to be high.  The new troops bolstered numbers to the extent that an offensive was being planned on some recently lost territories.  Enemy forces were indeed strong, but it was decided that the time to strike back was now or never.

And so it was that James found himself finally rising to consciousness as the glare of a morning sun fell over his face.  He was immediately made aware of a multitude of facts pertaining to his newfound situation: 1) It stank like shit.  2) There was a large horse woman covering his legs and some of his upper body.  3) Said upper body was in incredible pain, notably around the right shoulder.
He tried wiggling it a bit, see if he could shove this woman off him.  A shot of pain made it clear that this was a mistake.  He gritted his teeth and leaned his head back for a moment.  It was then that he looked back at his assailant.  She had fallen right onto him, her horse half lying right on his legs and turning into a human half sort of draped over his own torso.  Her head lolled over his right shoulder, facing away from him.  There was some blood pooled on the ground near where he remembered piercing her, though less than he might expect.  The force of her impact had snapped the bayonet attachment off of the rifle, and it still stuck into her flesh.  Not a pretty sight indeed.

He tested the rest of his limbs.  His legs, while numb as hell, surprisingly seemed to be in order.  His left side had had the better of it, his arm feeling just fine and his leg seeming like it might actually be free soon if he worked at it.  His other leg was trapped under more bulk, and his right arm felt like it was going to be useless for a while even if he managed to free himself.  It seemed he wasn’t harmed other than that, apart from some impressive bruising all over his body, most notably the front and back of his skull after being caught between her and the ground.

As he began to squirm to the left, he was suddenly startled.  Was that…?  No.  It couldn’t be.  He looked at her horse area closely.  Sure enough, she was occasionally drawing short, shallow breaths.  He cursed inwardly.  What could he do if she awoke while he was pinned?  He’d have to escape before that happened.  Just as he renewed attempts to slide out from underneath her, his worst fears were realized.  Lying on her belly, rolled slightly to her right, her feet jerked a bit underneath her.  She pushed out with her arms a bit to raise her human torso off of him, but didn’t seem immediately able to right her lower body.  Leaning back, her eyes immediately met his.

For the briefest instant, both seemed to be paralyzed.

“Err…” James started.  She responded with something that seemed a mixture of a growl and a gurgle.  Fortunately, her thrashing about momentarily lifted her weight off of his, such that he was able to slide out from underneath.  Just as he attempted to flip over to his front and crawl to a safe distance, however, she grabbed his right forearm with both of her hands.

James screamed in pain, even the slight tug and pressure that she applied was enough to stab needles into him.  He looked back at her intense stare.  Both panting from their minimal exertion, he could tell they were in no shape to seriously grapple.  Holding him in place seemed to be all she had energy for, and he certainly wasn’t going anywhere with her wrapped around his wounded arm.  She could tell he was hurting there, and kept pressure on.

The result was the two of them lying there, grimly staring into the other’s enraged expression.  This could only go on for so long before James had to relax a bit and let out a sigh.  He wasn’t getting out of this one by force, that much was for sure.  Slowly but surely, he raised his left hand up, level with his head in an open palm.  Speaking slowly and softly,
“I won’t hurt you.  Please let me go.”

She responded by attempting to shout some strange words he’d never heard before.  Of course.  Why the hell would they speak English?  Idiot.  What she said almost sounded Russian to him, of course, it had to be something completely different.  Body language it would be, then.

He looked her over a bit.  She had shoulder length brown hair, tied back behind her head.  Her intense green eyes continued to stare at him angrily.  Her face smeared with blood and dirt, she was a fearsome sight indeed.  Didn’t help that she undoubtedly wanted to rip him to shreds.  He looked down at her horse half.  It certainly didn’t look any different from any horses he had grown up with, until where the neck should start that is.  Nothing he knew about horse anatomy permitted the existence of this thing, yet there it was before him.

He looked at the wound he had instilled in her flesh.  It was immediately apparent that while her other three legs would kick around, this one hung lamely.  The blade had pierced several inches into her at least, based on how much he could still see sticking out.
His observations were interrupted by a loud rumbling from his stomach.  Judging by the sun, he’d certainly been out for several hours, so that made sense.  Twisting his head around he spied his pack sitting just a foot behind him.  Reaching back with his left arm he was able to hook a finger around a strap.  As his captor noticed this, she decided now would be a good time to put more effort into yanking on him.  He gave out another yelp but managed to drag the bag up alongside him on the left, within his own reach but out of hers.

“I’m just going for some food, dammit!”

More unintelligible yelling.

He unzipped the bag, trying to remember it’s contents.  It wasn’t until he dug his hand inside that he realized why she would even have a reason to be distressed.  The unmistakably hard barrel of his sidearm was within it’s usual compartment.  Of course he’d remember the food but forget such an important item at the same time.   He thought for a moment.  Protocol was to keep it unloaded, and he couldn’t well sit here loading up the thing with her on top of him.  A bluff was the only option that felt realistic.  But would that get her to follow his demands, or would backing her into a corner only make things worse?

Only one way to find out.