Quietly, they all squatted around the small buckets of ice, scooping cups of the slush gathered at the top and outside of the ice block within the buckets, helmets, and other canisters they could find, and drinking, or cooling their heads and armour off. The Hylians didn't have to worry about the enemy seeing them... The constant sandstorm ensured that. As of then, they could hear the bombs dropping roughly a kilometre infront of them. They still had time before it was time to duck, and then get infront of the barrage and meet the Gerudo advance creeping up just behind their wall of explosions... Three things were certain on the Front; The heat, the bombs, and the ever-present alertness one had to have in order to survive the bombs and the heat, and in order to make strong attacks.

The war was going nowhere, fast. Meathos sat in the trench, unlike his company, knowing that the cold sand would stay cold, unlike their water that would boil once they had to get moving. He heard a renegade bomb explode about 30 metres from the line. Shrapnel nailed a man just above him in the throat... It wasn't the fire that killed, it was the screaming metal that spawned from the fire.

The exact range of the bombs was yet to be discovered. Depending on the way they landed, shrapnel may fly five metres, or thirty. All a man could do was get down, and hope his luck holds out. That's all a Hylian soldier had: Duty, and luck.

Crouching in his trench, Jedam held his position among the thousands of Gerudos called to arms against the advancing Hylians. In one aspect, the Gerudos were at a great disadvantage to these advancers; new weapons and 'strategies' of warfare had greatly limited their ability to fight back. The only advantage these desert people did posses -- save their sandstorm -- was their heavier population.

Now the men and women of the great desert had been brought forth into these trenches, surrounded by a rain of painful death. They found little honor in dying this way: torn apart, limb from limb, by these foreign objects. Yet, their determination had not faltered. These enemies had not only taken what was not theirs: the Zora's domain, Death Mountain... they had advanced to the Gerudo's own home, and this home's inhabitants would not allow outsiders to overtake it.

He clenched the hilt of the sword laying next to him. Soon this rain of death would end. Then the warriors of both sides would exit their trenches, rushing into to yet another form of death. It mattered not to Jedam, though. Death would be a welcome phenomenon, taking him away from this hell.

Within a few minutes, the entire Hylian force was in the bunkers and trenches, holding their ears, breath... A few minutes after that, and they found themselves flying over the top, running as fast as they could to get away from the barrage as quickly as possible. The Hellriders, as Meathos' battalion was called, consisted of many soldiers with long, two-handed swords, and no shield.

They were slightly heavier armoured, which slowed them down some, but also saved lives. The Hellriders ran into the sandstorm, swords sheathed. They threw the hoods of their cloaks up, put their square helmets on top, and pulled their masks from their packs. The Hellrider masks looked something like insects, with their bulging visor and armoured mouth/nose piece covering a cloth.

The visor was made of glass and sucked onto the face, around the eyes. the facepiece was strapped to the small 'horns', or nobs on the sides of the helmets to help keep sand and dust out. They were silver.

Meathos strapped everything on, and started running. Through the orange haze, the yellow cloud, the small, choking sun came explosive precipitation... Never taking his eyes off the bombs, Meathos tried to outrun the growing balls of death, falling to his stomach whenever he heard, or anticipated an explosion. A bomb came close. He dropped. He felt the shrapnel whiz by his head, and take a piece out of his cloak. He crawled forward. He could hear nothing but bombs and the dull background screaming. He could see nothing but the yellow sand infront of him, and the orange, flowing sky.

He was seperated from his Hellriders. He clambered into a bombshell hole, for no bomb ever hit the same place twice in one barrage... He couldn't see the other side of this hole, though. It was at least ten feet wide, but rather shallow. It must have been made of more than one crater, he thought... Then, he saw a shape, a form of a man infront of him, in the same hole. He couldn't tell who it was, or of which side it belonged to... The head was up against the side of the hole, making it impossible to see the helmet, if one was worn, because of the contrasting bright orange sky.

"Who's there?" He called. He thought of the code his battalion had, for just a situation as this. "To Hell and back and we?"

No answer...

'Love it, we ride it.' He thought. His heart pounded in his chest.

Jedam's silent meditation -- if you could call it that -- was interrupted by a voice from his right.

"Say, Jedam, " a Gerudo said. His name was Retsel, a man whom Jedam had only met an hour before while scrambling into the trench. "How long do you think this... this war... will go on for?"

He answered with silence.

"I myself, " Retsel continued, seemingly speaking to nobody. "I believe in the Hero, the one who brought peace back to Hyrule all those years ago."

"Shut up, " came another voice. "That 'Hero' you speak of is only a myth, a fairy tale told to relieve children from this hell we face."

"Don't worry... I believe the Hero will one day save me... save us all, from this war."

Restrel's potential rambling was interrupted by a short cease of explosions. With that a battlecry cut through the air, and the Gerudos were trampling over the edge of their trench. Jedam ran alongside Retsel, his sword drawn. His shield remained set on his back; it would serve no purpose against these new weapons of war.

As fast as it had let up, the rain of metal had began once again. Gerudos fell left and right, their bodies being torn apart. Hopefully, Jedam thought, this type of warfare would be seen inferior to what his people had grown accustomed to, and their advantage would be restored.

It was futile to dream, though.

"Jedam, over there! A trench!" yelled Retsel over the commotion.

As Retsel neared toward his temporary salvation, an explosion occupied the ground several feet away from him. As he left the bodily world, Jedam scrambled past him, diving forward toward the trench. The death of that one made no difference, it was a simple reality of war.

There had been no hero to save him.

As he hit the ground of the trench, the cold sand welcomed his scorched and cut face. He lay there for what felt like minutes... or hours, was it? A commotion erupted above, and the sound of a clambering suit of metal emitted through the small trench.

"Who's there? To Hell and back and we?"

He answered with silence, just as he'd done to the late Retsel. The voice carried an accent with it, one which was unfamiliar to him. An enemy? It had to be. He'd be able to tell a Gerudo from any other race without problem.

Jedam stalked forward, his blade raised and ready to fight. As soon as his fears were confirmed, he dashed forward, unhesitant to cut down whatever stood before him.

Meathos watched the man creep steadily towards him... The man had his weapon drawn, and it was not of Hylian design. Meathos dove forward without thinking, taking the man out at the hip with his shoulder, and driving him into the ground. He leaned back and slammed the Gerudo into the hard ground a second time, and then punched him across the face once before recieving the butt of the enemy's swordhilt across the helmet.

Meathos fell off the man, and scrambled for his sword... Then, his vision changed. He no longer saw the man he was fighting, but another man, yet a Gerudo all the same. One name came to mind- Halse.

He snapped to, and roled to his left. The Gerudo's sword had barely grazed him.

"Halse!"

His enemy stiffened up, and almost stumbled back. Meathos said the name again, and again had to dodge another sword.

"That's you, right? Halse?" Meathos got to his feet, and then ducked from another swing. "Stop swinging that bloody thing, or we'll both die! We need to help eachother. You have to remember. I remember you!" Another swing was dodged.

Meathos looked through blurry goggles and sand-filled air at the blurry face before him... Then, out of the orange air came two more figures, with square helmets. One hopped down into the hole, and a second later, after a thud, the Gerudo was on the ground, unconcious. Meathos then found his vision blurring as he looked at the calm face of his enemy.

When they awoke, they found themselves on the cold, stone floor of Kakariko... They were imprisoned for treason against the General Gano. That is all they knew... All they still know more than a week later.