//------------------------------//
// The Beginning 
// Story: Will O' the Whistle 
// by Railroad Brony 
//------------------------------//

	Electric Spark, who had been a Major in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers until the fall of Equestria, got off his bicycle and listened intently. He was on a small, country road. Apple orchards stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a very dark night but he was not, of course, using a light.
If he were found outside after the hour of curfew he would be immediately executed. A Griffon sword would decapitate him and his head would then be placed on a stake at the scene of his “criminal act of disobedience.” During his secret journey to the west he had passed a dozen such heads. Among them were the heads of children. Age was not considered when there was a breach of the laws imposed by the conquerors. Spark decided he had been unnecessarily alarmed and mounted his bicycle again. 
He rode awkwardly. Only recently, after finding a machine among a heap of junk in a shed on his father’s premises near Trottingham, had Spark taught himself to ride as a means of getting about. He had been a child at the time of the first Griffon conquest of the Western World. He could just remember how the bells rang when Equestria rose and defeated the Griffons. 
Twenty-five years later the second Griffon War had ended in a week. The invaders had smothered Equestria in “sleeping gas,” and when people awoke after two days, the Griffons had occupied the land. Their emblem, which appeared on all their banners, was a Yellow Sword. Their leader in Equestria was General Claw. Equestrians were their slaves. All this happened in the year 1993. Spark saw a flicker of light through the hedge. He dropped on to the verge. He rolled into a ditch, pulling the bike after him. A great mass of weeds engulfed him and the machine. A few moments afterwards, the strip lighting on the front of the vehicle illuminated the lane.
It was a Griffon patrol car, and, except for the swish of the wheels, made no sound. Batteries had been evolved that would provide tremendous power without running down. When less than fifty yards from Spark, the vehicle stopped. Troopers dropped off and appeared in the light. They were small creatures with flat noses, big nostrils and thick feathers, and their eyes were like slits. The troopers wore little round helmets, emblazoned with the emblem of the Yellow Sword, and drab uniforms of a shoddy, cotton material.
Their weapons were automatic carbines, to which long bayonets were fixed. There was an officer with them, a Lieutenant Fang. His uniform had yellow facings. A sword hung from his belt. Bradshaw thought that the Griffons were on to him, that they knew he was somewhere about, but they jumped a broken gate and ran into a field. A harsh shout rang out. The troopers came back. 
They had a prisoner, a gaunt, country pony. He was carrying a hare. The troopers kept him within a ring of bayonets, and brought him to Fang. The stallion’s eyes were staring, pleading, as he confronted the officer. “We have no food in the house!” he said hoarsely. “My children are starving, so I set out to catch a hare.” 
A soldier jerked the hare out of his grasp and put it in the car. He fetched out a notebook and then a pair of spectacles that he put on. “It is necessary that I take down your particulars,” he said in a thin, sing-song voice. “The last name should be stated first and followed by your other names.” 
“My name’s Apple,” the prisoner blurted out. “Braeburn Apple.” Lieutenant Fang wrote very slowly. “
I wish to know your place of residence,” he said. 
“I lives at Yew Cottage, Appleoosa,” Braeburn replied. He watched Fang writing and, appearing to think that the situation was more favorable for him, tried to be helpful. “You spells it Y-e-w, not Y-o-u,” he said. 
Fang frowned. “The manner in which I spell it is the correct manner,” he said. 
He closed the notebook and placed it in his pocket. He pointed to the ground. “Pick that up,” he said in sing-song tones. Braeburn stooped and peered down. Fang whipped out his sword. The blade hummed as he struck, and the stallion’s headless body thudded to the ground. Fang replaced the sword in its scabbard, and took off his spectacles. Troopers fetched a stake from the car and hammered it into the verge. Upon it they put Braeburn’s head. There was a nail in the stake. On this a sign was hung:—  “Contrary to Order No. 12, Sub-Section 2. He Was Out Late.” At a bored gesture from Fang, the troopers threw the corpse into the ditch.
They returned to the car. It glided forward. The Lieutenant sat by the driver, and used a toothpick. Spark crawled from the ditch. He had witnessed similar incidents previously, and had one determination, that he would not rest until Equestria had been cleansed of the yellow fiends. Spark was twenty-eight years of age, and as hard as nails. Electronics were his field and, as an engineer, he was offended by any machine that did not work. That was why he had always kept himself supremely fit. To him, the body was an intricate machine that should be maintained in perfect working order. The Griffons had been in Equestria for six months.
For five months Spark had been a member of the Nucleus—as the secret inner-council of the New Resistance Movement against the invaders in the Southern Equestria was called. He was on a special mission. Spark pushed his bike along until he reached the staked head. He leaned the machine on the verge and he took out a small flashlight and a pen. He wrote on the sign: “The murder of this pony has been noted, and will be included in the final reckoning.” Below his writing he sketched a roughly-drawn ant. It was the symbol of the Resistance Movement and the Griffons hated it. They understood its significance because they came from a country where the white ant was plentiful and destructive. 
Spark took a deep breath as he stepped back. Braeburn would be avenged. It might take years, but the resistance to the Griffons would in time reach its climax in victory. He remounted and pedaled away.  He was heading for South Appleachia. Rumors had reached the Nucleus that an Appleachian resistance group, had been formed and was operating in the remote country at the heads of the valleys. Spark had been ordered to find out if this was true, and to make contact with the leader. This leader had a strange name. The only name by which he was known was Will o’ the Whistle.