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// The Punishment Machine 
// Story: Will O' the Whistle 
// by Railroad Brony 
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Two afternoons later, after covering long distances on foot, Spark crouched in the shadow of a crumbling wall on hearing the muffled purring of an aircraft motor. He had just climbed a steep, bare slope and reached the ruins of a row of miners’ houses built on a terrace when the sound reached his ears.
Far below, in a valley bottom, was a pit head and the roofs of a small town. South Wales was unknown country to him. He knew Herdiff, Swansea and some of the coastal towns, but the rugged inland was unknown and surprising. From the time he had approached the heads of the valleys he had entered a region that seemed remote and cut off from the world. In the valleys, separated by the mountains, were the mines, the quarries and the steel mills. 
On the lower slopes the ponies had lived in their terraced houses clinging to the hillsides. Then the bare slopes rose to the distant ridges. He caught sight of a large helicopter. It was hovering about a mile away over the valley. The sky was grey. The helicopter moved. Its rotors whirled. It climbed and drew nearer. Then it hovered again. It was painted red. The emblem of the Yellow Sword showed on the fuselage. Spark had very keen sight. He was able to read an inscription on the aircraft. The words were sinister.  "Punishment Machine Number 7.”
The helicopter was actually below Spark’s observation post and the valley floor was six or seven hundred feet under the aircraft. A door in the fuselage opened and he saw figures in Griffon uniform pushing out a plank. He bit his lip hard. He could scarcely bear to watch. 
A prisoner, with his hands bound, was lifted out of the helicopter on to the plank. He teetered a few inches. A Griffon jabbed at him with a long lance. The victim yelled something in Appleachian and then fell off the plank. He spun over and over in space and then his figure dwindled to a dot as he plunged towards the valley floor. A younger stallion was lifted on to the plank. He turned. With a sudden kick he lashed his foot into the face of a Griffon in the doorway and then toppled backwards into space. 
Six prisoners in all were dropped from the Punishment Machine before the door was closed. The helicopter started to move in forward flight. The pilot kept close to the slope. It was going to pass fifty feet or so below Spark. It was more than likely that the Griffons were on the look out for people like himself who were in a “Forbidden Region.” 
His eyes became calculating. He picked up four bricks that had fallen from the wall and were still held together by the crumbling mortar. He stood up straight. He carried the brick over his head almost like a quarterback about to throw a football. With a massive heave he, hurled the bricks into the air. Simultaneously he was seen. 
He had a glimpse of the helicopter’s pilot pointing up at him. Then with a loud crash, the bricks fell among the spinning blades of the main rotor. The helicopter dropped on to the hillside with a huge crunch and, breaking up as it moved, rolled over and over down the slope, making scars in the thin turf.
“That’s put an end to some of the vermin, but there’s plenty more!” Spark muttered. Up to the time of the invasion some of the most modern coal mines had been working. Now, except for two or three to the west, all were shut down.
The Griffon High Command had decided that, as the valleys and the mountains of South Appleachia were too wild and lonely for easy control, the entire area should be evacuated. The people had been driven from their homes like cattle and since then it was forbidden for anyone to enter the region, the penalty being death. 
Spark was about to move when he had a feeling he was not alone. He whipped around. Two ponies, one with a shotgun under his arm, rose from behind a wall of a partly demolished house. He had nothing to fear. There were smiles on their gaunt faces as they emerged from the house. 
“We couldn’t at first make our minds up about you, friend,” said the stallion with the gun. “The Griffons have been known to use ponies as spies. But we made our minds up quickly when we saw you throw that brick at the chopper! 
"Yes we did!” exclaimed the younger one. They shook hands. Introductions were made. The man with the gun was Big Macintosh, a former farmer, and his companion was Greasy Wrench, who had been a mechanic in the Royal Equestrian Air Force. 
“I belong to the New Resistance Movement,” Spark confided in them. “I'm trying to make contact with the Appleachian leader who is known as Will o’ the Whistle.” 
“We're also on our way to join him,” answered Macintosh “We know nothing about him but we have been told to go to the former railway station at Marefod and wait there.” 
“I’ll come with you,” said Spark. “Is it far?” Macintosh pointed to a ridge. “It’s on the other side of the mountain,” he replied.