The icy wind whipped through the barren, frosted treetops as Feldhofer trudged through the deep snow, his fur-lined boots crunching the crystallized ice with each heavy step. The once lush, verdant forests of Europa now stretched out before him as a desolate, frozen wasteland - a bleak expanse of skeletal branches and glittering, icy undergrowth beneath a slate-gray sky. The dinosaurs had returned, but the land they sought to reclaim was scarcely recognizable from the epoch they once called home. Feldhofer adjusted the heavy ammunition pack strapped to his broad, muscular back, the metal frames digging into his calloused skin. As a human, he was spared the necessity of fighting on the frontlines, instead relegated to the menial task of hauling the lifeblood of war - the bullets and shells that would be fed greedily into the maws of the squad's weapons. The birds and their proto kin could not abide the weight of such encumbrances, preferring the freedom of soaring through the frigid air, raining death upon the foes below.
A cacophony of squawks, screeches, and the occasional hiss echoed from behind Feldhofer as his squad caught up to him. He could hear them chattering and preening, their feathers shimmering faintly in the dim light filtering through the snow-laden canopy. His breath came out in visible puffs, white clouds dissipating into the frozen air. The cold didn't bother him much—humans were built for endurance, after all—but the monotony of trudging through endless white was starting to wear on his nerves.
Schnabel, the sleek paravian leading the group, stretched her wings with a satisfying crack. "Ahh, it feels good to fly again after being cooped up in that cramped transport," her melodic voice trilled, carrying easily across the distance.
"I agree entirely," Taube chimed in, her more robust form bobbing slightly as she spoke. "Aye, and it's a right good thing command stuck us with our own pack animal. Wouldn't want to be hauling all this gear ourselves, now would we?" She shot a sidelong glance at Feldhofer, amusement dancing in her molten amber eyes. "But let's not forget, girls..."
Gretchen cut through the conversation with her sharp, authoritative tone. "All of you, keep a close eye on our little human friend here. Wouldn't want him getting any funny ideas about abandoning us, now would we?"
The other birds erupted into a chorus of trilled laughter. Meise called from the back, "Speaking of our pint-sized porter, where is she anyway? Shouldn't she be helping the big lug with all that ammo?"
Gretchen turned and fixed Meise with a withering glare. "Worry not, little bird. I'm sure our dear Kinder is just... taking a moment to appreciate the scenery. I've seen how she looks at him when she thinks no one sees." There was a hint of disdain in Gretchen's voice, as if the thought of the raptor favoring the human was the height of silliness.
The other girls burst into a chorus of trilled laughs and cackles, their voices echoing through the forest. "Well, as long as she doesn't eat him first," taunted another bird, Fokker, with a wicked glint in her eye.
Gretchen waved a dismissive hand. "Hush now, you silly things. The boy's got a job, and that's helping us win this war. So let's focus on the task at hand and stop gossiping like a bunch of toves, eh?"
Before Feldhofer could respond, a familiar form emerged from between the skeletal trees. Sokolov trudged up to the group, her iridescent scales glinting in the dappled forest light. She was a mix of colors - soft pinks, greys, and creams, with hints of shimmering blue and green. "I am sorry, I got lost following that stream and lost track of time," she explained, her voice a unique blend of accents, heavy with Siberian intonation. "Ugh, how do you lot not get tired? And why are we not having a snack break already?" the troodon complained. "I swear, even the human is keeping up better than I am. I'm so hungry, I've resorted to eating bugs off logs. Blegh!" she shuddered, picking a small beetle from her snout and flicking it aside.
"Ah, Feldhofer," came a melodic voice from Jinguofortis, the slender Chinese proto-bird. "I think the missile is too heavy for me to carry on my own. You should keep this pistol close by, okay? The war is not kind to our kind, and I need to keep my hands free for my sonic attacks. You are much stronger than us birds, so please, help me out?" Her request was polite, but there was an underlying neediness to her tone. The other birds had stopped their chattering, watching to see how the human would respond to the request.
The group stood in a small clearing, snow crunching beneath their feet as they waited. The wind continued its relentless assault on their forms, trying to steal away what little warmth they had. In the distance, the sounds of the war echoed faintly—distant explosions, the occasional screech of raptors in combat, the crack of rifles. But here, in this moment, they were just a collection of warriors doing their best to survive another day in this frozen hell.
Feldhofer shifted the heavy ammunition pack, the weight a constant reminder of his role. He could feel the birds watching him—suspicious, testing, curious. They needed him, despite their protests and teasing. And he needed them just as much, despite their condescension and occasional cruelty. In this world, survival meant alliances, no matter how uneasy.
He reached for the pistol that Jinguofortis had indicated, taking the weapon with both hands. The metal was cold against his palms, the familiar weight grounding him in this surreal landscape. "Let's keep moving," he said finally, his voice rough from the cold. "We're losing daylight, and I'm not dying because you lot wanted to gossip about my love life."
The birds erupted into renewed laughter, but they fell in behind him, resuming their march through the frozen forest. The mission continued, indifferent to their petty dramas and personal conflicts. War waited for no one, and the ammunition would not carry itself.