The ground shook as the sound of a wagon trundling its way down the city streets could be faintly heard above them, echoing through the occasional grate that transmitted the noise straight from the surface down into the cold, dank tunnels that Anvil now walked through. Once in a while, the shout of an officer bestowing his orders upon his subordinates could be heard: faint catches of movement orders and assigned guard details meant that the city was far from asleep.
“That’s a lot of noise,” Mendoza said. “You think they’re expecting something?”
“Two of the generals are dead,” Raymond replied. “If I were them, I’d probably order my men on extra guard duty and make sure all my exits are covered, like right now.” He stepped in something squishy and paid it no mind as Mendoza voiced his disgust with a gag.
“Ugh, I can’t believe we’re stepping through this crap...”
“It smells like shit—literally—but it works,” Pastor said, batting away a thick hanging of cobwebs before walking through it, ducking his head to avoid any unwanted arachnids from taking refuge on his helmet. “The cold’s pretty good at keeping the smell down, though... now it just smells like misery instead.”
“Something that you’d know first-hand, I wonder?” Raymond asked, his chuckle ending abruptly as he nearly tripped over a rogue rock protrusion. “...fucking rocks.”
“Live up in the mountains enough, the smell sort of becomes the least of your worries. Assuming you can still smell after a good day out in the cold... heat fixes that pretty quickly. Unfortunately, it seems that these suits aren’t exactly as well-insulted as I thought they were.”
“Not to mention that mine’s still a bit wet.” The feel of dampened cloth could be felt underneath Raymond’s shoulders, the protective armoring eliminating the fabric’s chance to breathe in order to dry off. “Boots are still good, though. Can’t say the same for my elbows since it feels like I’m trying to move like a mummy in here. Shit, these tunnels are cramped.”
“So how long do we have to walk before we reach our target destination?” Mendoza asked, the dull blue glint of his crosscom visor darting around in the faint darkness as he looked around the tunnel. “Seems like we’ve been walking straight for a long time now.”
“Readout says that we’ll be hitting the destination in several minutes,” Talbot said. “Hang tight.” The growing sound of falling water alerted them to larger chambers nearby; the map had detailed several large chambers dotted around the city, and were used as a central area where the sewers all flowed to before funneling off to the northeast.
“Destination being...?” Mendoza was about to ask, before Talbot held up a fist, signifying a stop. The group peeled off left and right, hugging the walls as they stopped to listen to... nothing. Several moments of tense silence accentuated with the sound of flowing water followed, until Pastor took the initiative.
“What’s going on, sir?” The tunnel they were in was completely empty save for themselves, and the only other possible entry route was back from the griffon tunnels. Any outer entry into here from above would have required removing the sewer hole covers from above, and that noise would have reverberated throughout the entire network.
“The wind’s different.” He pointed forwards, at a faint gap on the right side of the tunnel, in the dark. “Air is rushing that way. No doubt flowing through there, if I’m guessing correctly. It’s another tunnel off our right, but our destination is straight ahead. Let’s keep moving.”
Plopping of boots hitting water returned, and they slowly inched their way down the tunnels, guns raised. Then twice that night, Talbot against ordered them to hold and kneeled, his squad following his crouch as they activated their camouflage.
“Lights,” Talbot answered for them. “And talking. Hold tight.” He leaned as close to the edge as possible, hearing the din of voices quarreling amongst each other approach them.
“...down here? I can’t believe this! All the eggs in his nest are all gone, I say! Poof, cracked, completely smashed! Totally out of his mind now! Can you believe him? An attack from the sewers of all places...” A pair of griffons stopped within Talbot’s view, one holding a torch as he listened to his partner ramble. “This whole system is self-contained! It smells like something died, I’m cold, and I was ordered to muster in the middle of the night for this?!”
“Relax, Pertoi. If we make it through this patrol, we can report nothing happened, and we can head back to sleep or move to somewhere warmer, at the very least.” The unnamed griffon shuddered. “I agree, though... it’s very cold. Why can’t we be on the frontlines fighting alongside our kin? The Equestrian lines have put up a greater defense than we thought, and they’re going to need every griffon for the assault!”
“It’s ‘cause they want to use all those infernal wagons that they keep bringing in from the west, Sorell. You know how Strongbeak’s been wanting to have something that could hold an offensive? Well, he got it. And now those bastards are at the forefront. They don’t even have any legion training, how the hell can they be considered soldiers?!”
Sorell shrugged, flapping his wings several times as they brushed against the walls. “Too damn cramped in here, and my wings are starting to feel sore from the cold.”
“That’s because your armor’s been put on incorrectly.”
“Huh?” Sorell checked himself, pulling on several straps and rearing up on his hind legs, letting his one free claw check the armor. “Damn, you’re right! Maybe it wasn’t the cold, after all. See, this is what happens when you throw discipline out the window and order men to assemble for patrol not ten minutes after the lights go out.”
“Yeah, well, deal with it after we get back. I want to get this patrol over with,” Pertoi whined. “Come on, this way. The damn geezer wants us to check in the central chamber before we return.” The two griffons continued down on their side of the tunnel, disappearing out of sight as the light began to fade. Talbot stood up, about to order them forward again when a scream shook the air.
“...agh, damn it!”
“It’s just a rat, Pertoi. You aren’t scared of rats, are you?”
“Damn vermin! Yes, I hate rats! Damn little buggers bite and slash at you, and they carry disease with them! And now I wish I hadn’t looked down, because I think we’re standing in shit! Can you believe this, Sorell? We are griffons of the legion, the proudest the empire has at its beck and call, and you know what we get to do? We get to wade through shit!”
“We could always request a transfer out of here, you know. Maybe join up under a different commander, or maybe a different general’s legion?” Sorel offered. “But I don’t think they’d be willing to do that until after the war is over...”
“Okay! That’s it! Enough talking, I just want this damn patrol over with! Give me that torch, I’ll lead the way! I can’t believe this...”
A small snicker came from behind Pastor, who looked over his shoulder to see Mendoza shaking his head. “I sort of feel sorry for those bastards,” he said.
“I do, too, but that’s subject to change depending on whether or not we run into them later on. Keep the camo on, maintain pace,” Talbot said, feeling the water drain out of his kneeguards as he stood up, a most frigid feeling. “Target destination is up ahead... just beyond the central chamber.”
A quick dive into the other tunnel revealed it to be a sister to the one the Ghosts had been traveling through; a parallel line of tunnels, one of which the drill had broken into as the griffon engineers had planned it to, that moved north to connect with the city center. Maps were provided and from there, they had to work their way through the dark towards their exit, located close to the fortress gates.
“Great, so these guys came from somewhere... and that somewhere has the potential to ‘accidentally’ find our entrance spot,” Pastor said. “What do we do? Leave things to chance and hope they don’t suddenly get the urge to go spelunking? I get the feeling that these guys are more thin than they think they are.”
“If they do end up finding it, the solution’s simple: we kill them,” Raymond said.
“So long as they keep up their patrol, there’s that chance.” Talbot said. “Until then, we keep an eye on them and make sure their patrol ends as boringly as possible. We make it to the central chamber and observe them until they do so, and then we can keep moving. Better for all of us if they report back that they found nothing down here.”
“So who gets to watch the back door?” Mendoza asked. Before any of them could respond, he held up a hand... and slowly pointed at Raymond. “Give the Angry Woodsman a chance to use his knife.”
“No complaints from me,” Raymond agreed. “If they so much as take a step into that hall, I’ll kill them where they stand.” He tapped his knife holster and crouched down, moving a hand to activate a sensor grenade on his belt. “And if they come down this way... I’ll know.”
“Good. The rest of us will keep moving,” Talbot said. The three continued to slog through the tunnel, as the rush of water intensified as they neared the central chamber. Over the rushing water, the griffons had split off into two directions and were circling around the chamber as they shouted their responses to each other.
“So much water down here!” Pertoi said, having obtained his own torch after swiping one off the sconce on the wall next to him. “I can hardly believe that all this sits right underneath the city!”
“Hmph. Think any of this goes up to the fortress?” Sorell asked. He waved his torch towards the wall and looked up at the small beam of moonlight shining from a tiny grate perched away in the farthest corner. Talbot ordered a split between the three of them: Mendoza broke with Pastor along the left, and himself on the right, and they trailed the griffons carefully, making sure to stay on the stone steps to prevent footprints in the random patches of dirt around them.
“What, thinking of sneaking some of that infused powder out for some giggles?” Pertoi said, snorting as he suddenly caught himself before sneezing. “Urgh... my nose...” he muttered.
Sorrel shrugged. “No... well... maybe. You know how the grifflings love them when we put them into fireworks, when the general is in a good mood. Since we’ve gone into wartime, things have been so stiff. Nothing but schooling and studying for them all day, and it’s absolutely killing the morale among the civilians here.”
“Strongbeak likes his control, no doubt about that.” A small crumbling of rock again nearly made him jump. “Eek...! Ah, damnit. Thought it was rats again.”
“You sure you’re not just scared of rats, instead of hating them?” Sorell prodded. “You know, because you’re acting awfully antsy since we’ve come down here...”
“No, I’m not...” Pertoi shuddered. “I’m just... yeah, okay, fine. I’m scared of rats. Had a bad run-in with them when I was a griffling and can’t stand the little buggers ever since.” He swung his torch around his claws, searing the cobwebs closest to him. “Not that this place is doing me any favors... let’s just finish circling around here and head back.”
“But the commander said we had to patrol the sewers,” Sorell replied.
“Correction: he told us to investigate the central chamber, not the entire sewer system. If anybody was trying to sneak through here, we would have found signs of them by now. Moved cobwebs, tracks, even lit torches if they wanted to see anything beyond their beak down here. Besides, most of this place was built for size; we can’t even fit into most of the tunnels except the main ones. What makes you think anyone else can?”
“Well, the loyalists might have already come through here and we would never have known...” Sorell reached the end of his arc and looked down the hall. “Where’s this one go?”
“Leads to the market square, I think, just a dead end,” Pertoi said, walking up behind him and looking down the darkened passage with apprehension. “Tons of cobwebs. Looks like no one’s been here in years. I mean, come on, you see how old this torch is?” He held up the hilt to Sorell’s face, putting the aging wood and cracked metal buckles on it in plain view. “No way anyone’s going to be crazy enough to move through here.”
“I suppose they didn’t count on us...” Mendoza said, as his profile on Talbot’s visor stopped and crouched down, his MR8’s tracer line pointing directly at the back of Pertoi’s head. “Hoping this doesn’t go south...”
Another line appeared from Pastor, who had taken up position behind Mendoza and was aiming over his shoulder at Sorell. “Two marked, ready to fire on your word.”
“Hold fire,” Talbot said, stopping halfway across his arc and observing the griffons as their body movement became more erratic; they waved at the passage in front of them and pointed fingers at where they’d come from.
“...come on, we should at least check,” Sorell said. “Just to make sure.”
“We’re going to be down here for another hour, you know that, right?” Pertoi said, sighing and rubbing his beak. “The chamber underneath the market square is huge! Not to mention that it’s normally supposed to be accessed from the north side of the market, not from the south residential districts.”
“Yeah, I know that. But I just want to cover all of my bases, just in case. And I’m pretty sure neither of us want to cross on the surface just to go back down. So let’s just go have a look-see and we’ll head back if there’s nothing.”
“You are being so persistent about this. If that’s the case, then you can go. I’ll stay here.”
“I bet you’re just scared of rats. Funny how much you can learn about someone during a simple patrol,” Sorell joked, patting Pertoi’s shoulderguard. “Relax. I shall go myself. You can stay here, where it’s nice and safe for someone like you. And next time, I shall ask the commander for someone with more backbone when I go on patrols.”
“You—I am not a coward! It’s not my fault that rats always scurry about like they do, hiding in the walls, and possibly breeding in such dank conditions in large numbers. If I could swing my sword at them, I would,” he said confidently, tapping the weapon at his side.
“I’ve yet to see you do that,” Sorell said. “Alright then, not-coward, let’s go see if we can’t find anything, eh?”
“Fine! I accept your challenge.” Pertoi stepped forth with conviction, only to have his confidence melt in seconds as he stopped and stared straight into the black abyss before him. “Erm... on second thought, you lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Psh, chicken,” Sorell said. “You’re supposed to be the griffon that defeated half the company in unarmed combat, and you end up like this. Come on now.” He drew his sword and began using it to part his way through the cobwebs as Pertoi did the same and immediately caught a rat right off the bat as it tried to sprint past them.
“Aha!” Pertoi shouted triumphantly, jabbing his blade at the small shape’s unmoving body. “I have to admit that they looked a lot scarier in my nightmares...”
“Everything looks scarier in nightmares,” Sorell deadpanned. “At least something good might come of this night, after all.”
“Moving up...” Mendoza said, he and Pastor tiptoeing in after the pair from a distance as they held their sights trained on the back of their heads. Talbot followed in after them and checked his map: the market square was their destination, and they were set to exit just a stone’s throw away from the fortress gates.
From there, they were supposed to infiltrate while the base was on low alert. The fortress required its gates to be open for several cases, including fire emergencies and supply transfers; that was their key in, and it wouldn’t be too hard to achieve. The difficult part was reaching the inner fortress: unlike Aerocem, whose base had standard security and the difficulty lay in reaching it, Kruvem’s fortress was a labyrinth of halls and doors, and it was safe to assume that security would be more substantial than something as lofty as an airbase.
“Destination up ahead?” Mendoza whispered.
“Right up ahead, just northeast of the market square chamber,” Talbot said. “We’re on the right track.”
“Good to know.” Without Talbot’s visor telling him otherwise, their camouflage did a good job of blending them in, even with the griffons’ torchlight. The faded colors of the dim blaze only allowed their profiles to blend in with the walls.
“These bricks have a lot of history in them,” Sorell said. “I can only imagine what it was like when they first built Kruvem... er, you doing okay back there?”
Pertroi looked at him with wide eyes, holding the torch in one claw and his sword in the other with death grips, as he balanced himself on his two hind legs. “What? I’m fine. Never been better. Just looking for more rats to kill.”
“Hmm,” Sorell said, raising an eyebrow at him. “I guess you really do need sleep, after all.”
Pertoi shook his head. “I’m fine... just... kind of tired. You know that feeling when you’re so tired that you just feel too awake? Kind of like that.”
“I’m kind of worried that you’ll be swinging that blade at me if I let this go on long enough. These tunnels are so small... would have been easier if we could fly through them.” Sorell kicked away a clumping of web, eventually stopping himself as he realized that they were already in the market square chamber. “Huh. That was quick.”
“Let’s just finish up here so we can head back,” Pertoi said.
“Spread out and check for anything suspicious.” The market square chamber didn’t contain a large pool in its center, so the patrol path was more erratic as they meandered about the room, checking the barren room for any signs of living or entry.
Pertoi yawned as he sheathed his sword and scratched the tuft on his chin. “Got nothing here, Sorell.. Anything on your end?”
“Just some dust and rocks for me. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for ages.”
“See, what did I tell you?” Pertoi continued on his diagonal path towards the northwest corner and nearly jumped back when a sea of glittering eyes stared back at him. “Sweet ancestors defend me!” He drew his sword and began hacking away at the ground as Sorell turned around to look at him.
“What are you doin—oh. Found a pack of rats, eh? Shouldn’t be surprising... they must frequent the market stalls when no one is around,” Sorell said, spectating Pertoi as he chased them around the room. “Alright, looks like there’s nothing here... we can head back now.”
“And... got him!” Pertoi immediately responded, sheathing his sword and walking back towards their entrance tunnel, letting the remainder of the rat pack scurry away into the other tunnels. “Yeah, now let’s get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps.”
“Scope, they’re on their way back. Keep an eye out for them,” Talbot whispered into his comm. The light from the torches faded away as the griffons left, and after several seconds in the dark, a trio of faint clicks could be barely heard as their nightvision began to kick in.
“Roger. I can spot their torches from where I’m at. Will move to your position after I make sure they’ve left the area.”
“Good. Fuse, Shell, we’re moving forward,” Talbot said. “Look for the heavy door hanging off the right side of the wall when we enter the northeastern tunnel. The ladder inside is our exit.”
“Oh, so now they use ladders,” Mendoza said.
“You built a place as cramped as this and you don’t really have any room for stairways unless you want to tear something down,” Pastor said. “Those guys were right: this place is old... they might not have built the sewers until after the city was laid down.”
Mendoza reached the corner first, leaning around the corner to see if there was anything down the way; when he reported it clear, Talbot and Pastor continued forwards, easily catching the doorframe of their exit near the end of the tunnel. Their advance was considerably slower as the area had been riddled with even larger quantities of webs than usual.
“Lot of webs down here...” Mendoza said, looking over his shoulder every few seconds as he followed Pastor. “Talking colorful ponies, actual griffons, magic... might as well throw in some giant spiders or fire-breathing dragons to make this authentic, right?”
“Stack up,” Talbot ordered. They lined up next to the door: Pastor on one side and Talbot and Mendoza on the other. With a quick check to see that the door’s handle was still intact, Pastor nodded to Talbot to give the ready to move in. “Go.”
In the span of several seconds, Pastor flung the door wide open and stepped back as Talbot and Mendoza rushed inside... only for Talbot to meet a faceful of wall and ladder rungs, and Mendoza the back of his commanding officer’s helmet. It was not a room, but rather a simple passageway that went straight up into the heart of the city.
“They cleared out of here pretty quickly,” Raymond reported in. “Moving to meet up with you guys now.”
“Affirmative.” Talbot looked at his two squadmates, then pointed up. “Let’s move topside.”
“Looks like we’re inside someone’s basement,” Raymond said, pulling himself out of the hole in the ground and sliding the cover shut. “And... crosscom’s picking up tons of tangos. Great.”
“Not a basement. There’s light coming from behind that shelf over there,” Talbot said, moving over to the window and taking a look beyond. Glum city streets with a lamppost off in the distance providing what little light it could from its flickering bulb onto the wet streets as the rain continued to fall from above. The sky was a hazy dark grey as a small rumble of thunder in the distance gave signs that it wasn’t going to cease anytime soon.
And directly off that street was a stone arch with a pair of guards wearing familiar golden armor standing on guard, spears held at their sides as they maintained their vigil underneath small checkpoint awnings, safe from the rain.
Talbot turned back to the squad and judged their current position. They were in some sort of utility shack, as tools strewn about and hanging on the walls certainly gave no other impression. He checked the door to his far left to see if there was a lock: with a grip on the door handle and a slight push that didn’t give way, he assumed it was locked from the outside, and the windows were fixed.
Not as if that stood in their way. He put his MR8’s barrel up against the flimsy wood where the lock would have been, and pulled the trigger. The bullet found purchase and pierced through with a ping, undetectable in the torrent outside, and the resulting force slowly pushed the door open.
“Smooth,” Mendoza said.
Talbot stuck his head out and was greeted with the stench of what he usually acquainted with alleys: trash, rot, and something worse, only made worse by the humidity that hung around in the air. And just off to the right at the end of the alley was the street: and a chunk of the slope could be seen gradually inclining up beyond a wall.
“Pastor, you’re with me. We move in twos,” Talbot said. “Don’t want to end up getting all offed at once if we get spotted.”
“Assuming that they even know how to react,” Mendoza said humorously. “Maybe their wonder at seeing their first human will last long enough for us to pull a flash or a smoke and make a getaway.”
“Or kill them,” Raymond said.
“Yeah, but that’s messy. And ops always go off better when we’re not leaving a trail of dead bodies in our wake. That whole Raven’s Rock incident left a pretty bad taste in my mouth... I mean, come on, it’s kind of hard to use plausible deniability if we’re dropping everyone like flies around here.”
“Just stay down and don’t make any noise,” Pastor said. “We get in, get inside, and bag the target. Easy in, easy out. If we make good time, we’ll have it all done before the attack even starts, which is in...” He checked his wrist PDA. “...roughly two hours, give or take a couple since they’re going to be hitting the place at dawn.”
“Then we’d best get moving,” Raymond said. Pastor formed up behind Talbot and they both moved outside, shuffling down the alley and then across the street, taking up cover at the corner of the wall, where they could see the guards. The walls had been lined with jagged fencing at the top with considerable length, preventing them from using their exo-skeletons to bound over.
“So... only one way in?” Pastor asked.
“Only way there is, it seems. Enclosure’s wrapped around the base of the hill, with that gate being the only way through. Unless one of you guys brought something that can cut through metal rods quickly and quietly, we’re going to have to sneak past those guards.”
“In plain sight? With respect, sir, this camo’s not that good.”
“The other alternatives would be to wrap our way around to the middle of the lane that leads up to the fortress, and we sneak in through there instead of going right in front of them, or we hop on top of their little checkpoints and hop in that way instead,” Talbot said. The current options didn’t leave much for distance.
“We have some large boxes here in the shack, about as big as we are,” Mendoza said. “Think we could use those?”
“Sounds good. Shell and I will provide overwatch while you and Scope set them up. Agreed?”
“Better than meeting those guards up close,” Mendoza said. “Come on, dude, let’s get these boxes moving... up and at ‘em... alright, first box is on its way...” he continued with after a few grunts of exertion.
Mendoza’s profile became visible as he exited the shack, the front of the box carried behind him on his hands as Raymond took up the role of supporting the object on the other side. They creeped towards the corner before stopped looking around for make sure any curious eyes wouldn’t see a giant treasure chest of a box being carried by shimmering ghost people..
“Are we clear?” Mendoza asked.
“Clear as can be. Get over here,” Talbot said.
“Alrighty, turn and... drop.” Mendoza and Raymond lined up their payload against the wall, and slowly crouched and let it fall onto the ground with a short crunch. The box was as high as their waistline, but the wall was far higher than that. “Uh, right... more boxes,” Mendoza said. “Kind of funny, you know? It’s like a video game, trying to stack all these boxes so we can jump over the fence to get into the enemy compound...”
“You going to help me with this or what?” Raymond interrupted, already back across the street and heading into the shack.
“Shell, check that box. I need to know it can handle our weight.”
“No problem.” Pastor moved to the top of the box, giving a small hop. The box managed to hold out quite well, making almost no noise aside from the thumps of his boots hitting the cover. “My guess is that if it can hold an armored griffon, it can probably hold us. At least they make these things to last.”
“Box delivery, coming through,” Mendoza said, Pastor jumping off as they dropped another smaller box on top of it. “Think this’ll do it? ‘Cause, you know, I’d rather not have my legs get caught on those wall spikes on top.”
“Clearance for our exos is roughly twice our normal jump height, space permitting. If you don’t trust it, we can always head around the other way” Pastor said, jabbing a thumb towards Talbot’s corner.. “This is our better bet... assuming it works, that is.”
“So that’s...” Mendoza stepped forward, using his own height as a judge for the jump. “Yeah. Both boxes together matches my height. Let’s give this a try.”
“Going first?” Pastor asked.
Mendoza shrugged. “My idea. Might as well, right?” He climbed on top of their makeshift lift, and with a heave and the creaking of the boxes themselves, hopped over the fence and landed on the other side. “Ugh, there’s mud all over the place on this side. Watch your step.”
“Clear for go, then,” Raymond said, taking his turn next and jumping the fence, getting good clearance above the spikes. “I’m in. Holding position.”
“You’re up, Shell,” Talbot ordered. He leaned his head around the corner and down the length of the wall’s face to see that the guards still stood oblivious to their security breach. “Still unaware. Feel free to make the jump.”
“Yes, sir. Up and over...” Pastor disappeared over the fence and Talbot took up the slack and was on the box before Pastor landed on the other side. “Make room, guys, the boss still has to jump over.”
“Clear out,” Talbot warned, waiting for several seconds before making his own jump. Bounding over the stone walls and narrowly missing the spikes as they passed by his feet, he landed straight into the puddle of mud that Mendoza warned them about, kicking it up around him and catching it on his boots.
Looking up, the area immediately past the arch wasn’t anything impressive: a small security bunkhouse sat on the other side with no lights in its windows, and a small clumping of bushes sat between them and the road that led up to the fortress.
“Clear run up to the fortress now, huh?” Mendoza said, moving to the edge of the bushes to get a clear look up the incline to the fortress’s massive gates. “Well, doors are still open, at least.”
“No other obstacles to our way in,” Pastor said, activating his camouflage as he took up the lead. “I wish all our infiltrations were as easy as just jumping over a wall.”
“Then enjoy this little reprieve while we still have the chance,” Talbot said, following behind them as they headed up the hill, four blurry forms, mud washing off of their boots in the rain as the early morning’s twilight was muted by the clouds. Large barrels protruding from the walls caught his attention: even at their distance, the size of the weapons was plain to see. No doubt that any shot fired from that out into the plains would cause some devastating damage.
“Wow, those are some big guns,” Mendoza said, as they reached the top of the hill and took cover in an alcove next to the first set of outer gates.
“Let’s just hope they don’t end up firing the damn things when the attack starts...” Pastor said, activating his sensor grenade. The resulting ping brought up nothing around them, but did reveal several dozen signatures in the wall directly above them. “Walls are manned. No surprise there.”
The fortress was rather straightforward, or at least that’s how it appeared to Talbot from the outside. The plans had shown that there were three entrances into it: the main gates on the current ground floor, a second entrance on the second floor gathering area, and a third servants’ entrance in the side of the fortress, along a small alley from their right side up against the wall.
“See that break in the wall on the right side?” Talbot said, marking the location on their visors. “Entrance is in through that way, through the side there. It leads through the servants’ quarters, but we’ll have less of a chance of detection that way.”
“Sure. Looks like a clear run from here to there,” Pastor said, pulling out his binoculars to scan the walls on the side of the courtyard. “I don’t see many guards. They must be taking shelter from the rain.”
“Whoa, hey... get a load of that.” Mendoza pointed to the other corner on the north side, where an unoccupied battle wagon sat as a pair of griffon mechanics were tinkering with it. “I wonder if we can drive it.”
“On your own time, Fuse, not ours,” Talbot said. “Chances of detection, Shell?”
Pastor nodded and stored his binoculars away. “Clear run, not many eyes, fuzzy weather... yeah, I think we have a chance of making it across, so long as we stay spaced out. Ready to move.”
“Go.”
They carefully moved forward, leaving a five-second gap in between each of their advances, and began to move across the courtyard as the rain began to let up. As Raymond made it past the second and last set of outer gates, however, bells began to ring, and griffons started to gather on the walls and outside the keep.
“What the hell’s going on?” Raymond asked.
“Attack! We’re under attack!” a griffon answered from the walls. “This is not a drill! Loyalists are attacking the city! They’ve dug up into the center of the city and are pushing out now! Report to your commanders for orders!”
“Uh... yeah...” Mendoza said. “I think now would be a good time to get inside.”
“Already there,” Pastor said, being the first one to make it into the alley and moved to stack on the door. “So, what’s the—ugh!” he began, as the door suddenly burst open and knocked him back, camouflage failing, into the wall as a group of griffons charged out.
“Move it, you idiots! This is the real thing!” the leader of the group shouted, fumbling with his own helmet as his griffons marched fully armored behind him. Talbot and Raymond quickly moved aside and joined Mendoza in hugging the wall, right behind a pair of barrels as they charged past. “As soon as we get our orders, they’re shutting the gates, so make sure you keep up!”
“Yes, sir!” his subordinates said in unison.
Talbot and his group sat silent for a few moments, eyes glued on the open door to see if any new arrivals would catch them off guard. None did, so Talbot tapped Mendoza on the shoulder and pointed towards Pastor, who laid flat on the ground on his back, unmoving. His vitals read perfectly fine, though, which alleviated any concerns that he had.
Mendoza tiptoed across and behind the open door, patting Pastor on the cheek. “Yo... Shell, wake up, man. We got a job to do. You alright?”
“...shit, these griffons can slam a door with some serious force...” Pastor muttered, grabbing Mendoza’s hand and getting to his feet. “I’d hate to see what a sword hit from them could do to me.”
“Me, too, dude. Your head still on straight?” Mendoza asked, as Talbot came up behind him, Raymond immediately peeling off left and entering the building.
“Nothing too bad... just felt like I ran into a wall, that’s all.”
“Good,” Talbot said. “Now let’s go get Castshot.”
Mendoza and Pastor both nodded, breaking back into crouch and camouflage as they headed past him, and into the fortress depths. Talbot followed them inside, turning around to grab the door handle when he paused to look up into the skies. Dozens of V-formation units of griffon air cavalry were now on alert and heading for the city to fight against the loyalists.
He shut the door, cutting them off from the ringing bells of the outside. That was the loyalists’ mission: to distract the garrison, and buy them time. Now all they had to do was theirs.