//------------------------------// // Resistance Rising // Story: Do you believe in Ghosts? // by Material Defender //------------------------------// "Goddamn, look at the walls on that place. It's looks like the sort of thing if the States decided to take the Arizona meteor crater and build a huge fucking wall around it... only this is one really huge crater." Mendoza squinted out the small open line on the side of the supply wagon, trying to discern the shape of the towering walls approaching them. "I can see that..." Pastor said, leaning forward to get a better look for himself. "Would you look at that? And the whole thing curves around for the entire length, too. Some craftsmanship if I ever saw it." Mendoza and Pastor sat on the other side of the large bags of grain, their voices only heard through the crosscom's local comms due to their hushed tones. Talbot looked over the geographic map of the city, as Raymond sat next to him checking on his silenced sidearm: Carseract itself was a mining town, indeed, and the tiers of the city were like a spiral, circling downward towards the center of the city until the bottom, where the magistrate's palace sat. "So, what's the destination?" Raymond asked, the sounds of the pack animals pulling the wagons and the thumps of the wooden wheels covering any noise that may come from within the wagon. "Scarclaw told me that we'd be linking up with their unit in the Market District, close to the Palace District. The palace itself is permanently sealed off on Whisper's orders, so it'll be the closest we can get. On top of that, the Market District is one of the denser parts of the city, making it hard for the guards to search for the hideout." Raymond nodded. "Will we be in the dark or do we have a vantage point?" "The hideout in particular is a well-established market warehouse. The main floor's still used for grain storage, on top of having a restaurant adjoined to it that acts as a front for the loyalists. We'll be setting up in the hideout underneath the place, while the top floor has a spire where you can set yourself up, though I intend on letting Shell's D-kit pull surveillance on the outer palace grounds." "Right." There was the sound of talking outside as the caravan came to a stop. "Halt. What's your business in Carseract?" a guard asked, the boredom in his voice clearly obvious. The loyalist driving the wagon had been instructed to be as concise on their business as possible, under Scarclaw's orders, and the bags of grain had been specifically stacked so that anyone that opened the wagon doors wouldn't be able to see anything but a wall of nondescript burlap containers, which the Ghosts hid behind. "A shipment of grains for Carseract from Ardmis, sir," the driver responded. "More food, huh?" the guard said. "Got any meat in there?" "Not this time, sorry." "Ah, damn. This pit of a city's wing-deep in grains and we don't have enough of the other supplies coming in. Maybe we'll get a good caravan in from Tesseraka soon... have to just hope that our own meat rations can hold us out until then." There was silence until the sound of gears clanking could be heard. "Alright, you're clear to go through. Usual business, just head on down to the Market District." "Thanks. And sorry 'bout the meat..." "Yeah, no problem. I know Ardmis isn't much of a cattle town, anyway, don't worry about it. You farmers and your endless fields of grain... can always expect grain shipments on time if it's from a griffon farmer." They exchanged a laugh. "Hope the Tesseraka wagons come in before we all grow old. Have a nice day." "Thanks, and same to you." Raymond huffed. "Didn't even bother checking the wagon. Sloppy." "Unless they expect the Equestrians to just sneak in through a wagon, which I highly doubt, the most their security would have to worry about is a direct attack. And judging from the looks of it, they don't seem to be entirely on guard against the loyalists, either. Must have chalked it up to some minor resistance movement considering that they must think that they're the superior military force." "I disagree. We are the superior military force," Raymond said. "They just don't know it yet." "Hey, isn't that a bit weird? They didn't even check the wagon!" Mendoza echoed. "If all the guards are this lame, these guys are so screwed." "I guess this place is more of a shithole than we thought," Pastor said. "Being assigned here must be like being put on latrine duty... I guess I can understand why the troops here in general don't like being stuck at a dead-end post." "And that works for us. If they're going to be sloppy in their security, it'll make it easier for us to find and track Whisper," Talbot said. "And now, Anvil, go to operational silence. Say nothing unless it's important, and, no, Mendoza, whining about going to the bathroom does not count. We're entering enemy lines now." The wagon had been traveling downhill for some time now. Talbot could see the daily bustling of the townsfolk and the stations of the guards through his magnetic goggles as they continued down towards the Market District. Though the city was said to be under martial law, it would appear that Strongbeak's declaration didn't seem to hold up well in actual practice. Scarclaw did say that every griffon had some sort of combat training under their belts... Guard stations appeared to be set up every dozen buildings or so, with each post manned by one or two griffon soldiers. The presence of numbers was certainly something to note... it would make direct infiltration that much harder if the night shift held as much. Given Whisper's tendencies for paranoia, however, it would be surprising if he didn't put more soldiers in for the night watch. They would have to keep an eye out for that. The wagon took a turn down a street, one bustling with lots of market stalls selling various goods, but mostly foods. Griffons mingled throughout the whole street, making travel for the wagon tediously slow as many of them seemed to enjoy the day's offerings of lunch. The restaurant and the adjoining warehouse was definitely somewhere nearby. "Big guys, left side, twelve o'clock," Mendoza said. A pair of heavily armored griffons walked by the wagon and down the busy street, as Talbot examined them on the pass-by to glean as much detail as he could. Obviously, they were far too well-equipped for standard soldiers. The best guess was that it was that they were most likely from Strongbeak's legion. "Targets of interest, unknown numbers, assume veteran training," Pastor said. "Advise avoiding close quarters combat under all situations." "Targets acknowledged," Talbot said. "Unknown armor caliber and defensive properties, suggest shots towards the head for immediate effect or legs for incapacitation. Given their probable affiliation, we may have to take one in alive." "Only need one, and our rounds should do more than enough to punch through their helmets," Raymond said. "In all other cases, recommend we take to the roofs and avoid any path of travel that could result in direct confrontation, sir." "Duly noted. Shell, take the topographic city map and plot direct and alternate routes to the magistrate's palace based upon building roof placement, assume direct access to the undercity and sewers, as well. We'll make a secondary one later if we can get information on guard positions and density." "Understood, sir, I'll get right on it," Pastor said. "What about the mines? Any information on them?" "Interesting case. We'll have to look into it and see if we can use them, but we can't assume that they'll be in any condition for traveling since they've been shut down a while back, and also account that attempts to use explosives to force entry from the mine shafts may cause unwanted seismic activity and enemy attention." "Yes, sir." "With all due respect, I'd rather avoid having the caves coming down on our head if we can avoid it." Mendoza said, bringing up the map on all their crosscoms. "Fastest way into the palace grounds is over the walls or through the doors. And if not, why use the explosives to bump open a mine shaft when we can just sneak in using sewers? A place like that's got to have some sort of shithole attached to it." "Except the part where we get caught when we walk in because we're covered in shit," Raymond said. "Ugh. Good point. Up and over it is, then?" "Remains to be seen," Talbot said. The wagon stopped just outside a warehouse, with a number of loitering griffons conversing outside a restaurant directly to its left. "Looks like we've arrived." The large double doors of the warehouse opened with a loud groan as bystanders quickly cleared out of the entranceway, amid the shouts of the workers ready to store the month's delivery of grains. "Four paths direct to palace," Pastor said, marking four routes across various rooftops leading to the bottom. The city's close-packed infrastructure made plotting multiple routes easy for the Ghosts. "As far as things go, we could practically hop over the walls from practically any direction. I'd assume Whisper is aware of this and will most likely put extra security on the walls." "Avoid, or eliminate?" Raymond whispered, carefully standing back as the sounds of the wagon doors opening alerted them to company. Though their active camouflage was already in effect due, they could never be too sure. "Alright, load the bags of grain!" they heard a worker shout. The bags blocking their exit were hauled off with a lift and dragged off towards the warehouse walls, where containers for the grain lined the length. The doors were slammed shut as workers quickly emptied the wagons under the watch of several sharply-dressed griffons as the wagon drivers retired to the restaurant for their meals. "Area clear. Exit the wagon, no noise," Talbot said, waiting for Raymond to disembark before him. "Hello?" A bifocal-wearing griffon suddenly appeared in front of the wagon, causing the Ghosts to immediately hold their position as Raymond silently leveled his sidearm at his face. "Captain?" the griffon said, leaning inwards. "Are you here?" "Snowfeather?" Talbot called from the darkness of the wagon. "What are you doing here?" "He's here with me," Scarclaw said, appearing next to Snowfeather with several armed griffons. "If we're going to start fighting back, then we need to be at the frontlines. I won't have Strongbeak start calling me out on being a chicken if I can't help it. Griffon leaders inspire their men in battle, and when things get hectic, that's exactly what I'll do. Now get your rears out here before someone else sees you." "How'd you get here?" Raymond asked. The Ghosts quickly scanned the room with their weapons, ensuring that it wasn't a set-up. "Took a wagon in, like you four," Scarclaw said. "You saw those gate guards?" He shook his head. "A good punishment and twenty--no, thirty laps around the city limits should whip them back into shape. Worst excuse for griffons if I ever did see it!" He stomped his claw into the ground, his red cloak picking up the dust from the warehouse floor, which he brushes off roughly. "Well, enough of that. If you'll follow me..." Scarclaw led the Ghosts and Snowfeather to a seemingly innocuous red-painted wooden wall, with several chairs and a small box with some liquor in front of it. The guards quickly fanned out behind them, keeping watch for any unwanted eyes, while Scarclaw quickly pulled a small switch directly inside the lamp hanging off the wall behind it, revealing a secret passageway that led into the lower areas. "And what about those huge armored ones?" Mendoza said, waving away a bit of cobweb as he entered. "Who're those guys?" "Strongbeak's soldiers," Scarclaw confirmed, picking up a small unlit torch from a box sitting by the entrance and lighting it. "The General of the Bastion has the most elite troops the Empire has to offer. It just shames me that they're all in command of a complete turd-eater like him." As the Ghosts followed Scarclaw into the passageway, they noticed that the network not only connected the underground of the warehouse and adjoining restaurant as a command post, but that there were also a number of other venues of travel. Those ones were guarded and locked, and from what they could tell from glances through the heavy doors' windows, the tunnels could easily comprise of most of Carseract's span, making it easy for the loyalists to travel undetected. "Do those tunnels lead to the palace?" Talbot asked. Scarclaw shook his head, as they rounded another corner, drawing the curious gazes of a room of loyalist soldiers as they passed by. "No. From my inside sources, Whisper has been far too paranoid about the inner infrastructure that he's essentially cordoned it off into its own little system. Our initial plans involved going in through the sewers, but he's ordered heavy steel grates to be constructed within the tunnels every few lengths, which makes sneaking in too time-consuming to be worth it." "Any direct altercations between loyalists and the army?" "None yet, but that'll be changing very soon..." Scarclaw walked up to what appeared to be yet another nondescript guarded door, giving a nod to the two guards, before he knocked. The view grate quickly opened as the soldier on the other side noticed Scarclaw, before closing it. A few clanking noises were made before the door opened into a large chamber, with a large table sitting in the center of the room with a war map on top. "Nice place you got here," Mendoza said. Most of the attention was drawn towards the gigantic mural on the far side of the room, detailing heroic acts of the griffon military in ages past, along with the large amounts of ornamental weapons and shields mounted on the wall. A huge red banner hung at the end of the room, much like the one Raymond had seen at the prison back at Ghastly Gorge. Scarclaw again nodded at the door guard, and the door was again sealed. "Right, then, on to business. It's going to take some time until we can get fully on our claws... most of the loyalists have had standing orders to wait until we call them to arms. Now is that time, and I'll immediately begin operations to across the Empire: sabotage, information gathering, you name it. But here in Carseract is where it all begins." "Have any information on the mines here?" Pastor asked. "Using the mines? Are you all crazy? Those damned holes haven't been used since the mines were shut down due to accidents, one of which resulted in the deaths of fifty-three miners. Trust me, it's not worth it, and besides, none of them go anywhere near the palace: most are located on the periphery of the city's limits. And if you need an escape route, we have plenty of those here in the old tunnel network that lead directly outside of the city." "Well, it was worth checking," Pastor shrugged. "Sewer's blocked, mines are a deathtrap... at this rate, the only way in is over the walls or through the gates." "Going in through the gates could be arranged, but it's going to be a bit tricky considering that the palace guards work directly for Whisper and aren't just some second-rate gate guard, and we have to assume that Strongbeak's given him some of his soldiers for protection." Scarclaw walked around the table, before taking up a large wooden chair at the head, and began examining the map. Talbot sat down in a chair opposite of him. "I thought Whisper wasn't exactly keen on keeping others around." "Oh, he isn't, trust me. But if it's Strongbeak offering, he'll most likely take it. He's a bit of a thinker, and he'll see that the protection that the elite griffon soldiers can offer him to far outweigh the cons of being swindled." "So confrontation with them is to be expected, then?" "Most likely, but I have a plan in mind for them. If it goes down correctly, I'll force Whisper to play his hand before he intends to, and leave him hanging in the open for you to deal with him, while my soldiers go toe-to-toe with them." "You sure that's a good idea? Going against the best of the best doesn't seem like a good plan if you plan on retiring, that is..." "Hah! I've retired, and now I'm un-retired. No feathers off my wings, it was getting too boring out there, anyway. And don't worry about it: most of the soldiers I'm bringing in from Ardmis are former elites themselves. They know how they train, work, and operate. The armor's mostly to fight off lessers who think they can stand up to some real griffon steel, but if you've worn those things before, you know all the chinks in the armor. It'll only work against them when we strike." "So how will we get in, then?" "That's something to worry about later. I'll try to set something up according to the plan, and have you move inside right when we start our attack, distracting the guards and leaving Whisper himself up to you. No doubt he'll have an escape plan, but that's where we'll get him: he'll most likely try to effect an escape without us knowing about it amdist the chaos, using his own guards and anything or anyone to deter any possible pursuers." "You said you had sources inside," Pastor said. "How trustworthy are they?" "Very. A lot of my informants were already in their position since long before the coup happened. They contacted me of their own accord through my soldiers, and from that, an agreement was reached. They're mostly above suspicion since many of them have airtight alibis, and we trade information using a variety of methods to avoid consistency. Whisper always checks for patterns." "And what of your own soldiers here? No offense to them," Mendoza said, looking at the door guards, "but how can we be sure that one of them won't just walk up to Whisper or Strongbeak with a list of every single loyalist or information on us?" "Because it's more than just an honor thing, son. This is the future of the Empire we're talking about here, and a lot of us don't want a damn warmongering tyrant to end up in control of our home. Not to mention that a lot of us actually enjoy having peaceful relations with the ponies... the Ardmis farmer folk were actually a nice bunch, and then we had to send them packing because of the whole coup." He shook his head. "I'm parched! Get some drinks in here!" The guard at the door nodded and opened the grate and whispered something outside, before closing it and returning to his post. Within a moment, there was a knock at the door, and the guards quickly let in the servant, who nearly dropped his tray at the sight of the heavily-armed Ghosts, their matte black uniforms and ethereal blue visors giving them an otherworldly appearance. He quickly left the drinks on the table before scurrying out the door again. "Nice to know that we can still make people crap their pants by sight alone," Raymond laughed. Talbot ignored it, instead taking a sniff of the drink, detecting a waft of fruity scent. Though the Equestrians had edible foodstuffs, he wasn't entirely sure on griffon drinks, though their food seemed to be fine. "What's in this?" Scarclaw took a long drink. "Just some local liquor, made from fruit from the farmlands a little ways north. It's all good stuff, though." He looked at the bottom of his cup. "Ah, damn, I should have asked for a pitcher." "Don't worry, boss, I got this," Mendoza said. He moseyed over to the table, pulling his balaclava off over his mouth, before downing the whole drink in a single gulp. "Ah!" He slammed the cup on the table. "Not bad, that's some pretty good stuff, though I could probably go for some with more kick myself." "Hah! A kid after my own stomach. You humans are just so damn interesting," Scarclaw said. "Anyway, the point of the matter is: you guys are our guillotine. It'll take a while before we can set Whisper up nice and properly, and then you come in and kill him all in one swoop. That means... that, uh, I know you all being soldiers and all, that this isn't going to come nicely to you... you'll probably have to sit tight for a week or two." "Aw, come on!" Mendoza said. "We just got here, totally ready to kick some ass and take names, and then we get sidelined again?" Scarclaw held up a... well, claw. "Now, don't get me wrong. I'm going to try to see if I can squeeze you in for anything we do that'll involve some espionage or otherwise. But I don't want Whisper knowing about you all under any circumstances if we can help it." "Very well," Talbot said. "Can we just allocate a single one of ours for field work, then?" "Sure. Who did you have in mind?" "Shell, you're up," Talbot said. "You've got the training; you can do the intel gathering better than any of us can. Scope can set up in the building's spire, and Mendoza... you... don't make any trouble." "How come I always get benched?" Mendoza whined. "Agh, fine, do whatever. I'll just go toy with my explosives or something. Where do we sleep?" "We have residence halls just outside the door, down the hallway to the left. Ask the guards over there and they can direct you to your rooms." Mendoza left without a word, nearly slamming the door with force, but then stopped himself and closed it with a quiet thunk. "Hmm. Even when he's angry, he can't hurt a fly," Raymond said. "Well, unless there's a boom involved in there somewhere..." "Fuse has always been a little bit antsy when in downtime, sir," Pastor said. "Was that really such a good idea?" "Don't sweat yourself," Talbot said, taking a sip from his own cup. "The moment I give him the green light to use those rocket pods, he'll be like a kid at Christmas again. And I expect some explosive action once we hit Castshot's territories, or even Red Talon's. Aside from that, he's not the kind that goes AWOL. He's too disciplined for that." "And with that, I think I'll go join him," Raymond said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm all Angry Woodsman here, but this rifle isn't getting any lighter. With any due luck, the accommodations here are as nice as they were back at Ardmis." He saluted, and left the room just as the same servant re-entered with a pitcher, having been called in by the outer guards on Scarclaw's off comment, followed by several shouts of surprise as some of the newly-arrived guards noticed Raymond walking down the hall. "So..." Scarclaw said, looking to Pastor. "Any ideas in mind?" "Deploy him on any intelligence gathering operations you have in mind. The Lieutenant here is well-versed in information gathering, and is the only one among my squad who has served with an intelligence bureau as an agent... blacker than black operations, of course." "Oh, so he's one of those sorts of shades, huh?" "Shades?" Pastor said, not sure whether to take it as an insult or a compliment. "It's griffon military slang for those involved in such things... originally meant as an insult, but it stuck. So, your boy's got some real top-notch stuff under his belt, on top of some training to withstand interrogation and torture. And I've seen that fancy mirror magic that you all use... I can definitely work something in for him. Maybe all of you, once in a while, I know how stale it can get when you don't spread your wings every now and then. How's that sound?" "That can work," Talbot said, standing as the meeting came to a close. "Very well, then. Now, best you all get along now, there's a lot of planning to be done here." Talbot nodded, and exited the room, Pastor following, as Scarclaw redirected his attention. "Snowfeather! I can't believe you've been standing there this whole time stiffer than a log and quieter than a funeral procession! Go do something else! If I wanted a statue in here, I'd have ordered Sergeant Blinkframe in here a long time ago!" "But, uncle, I--" "No 'buts'! The library's just beyond the residence halls, go knock yourself out. Your father trusted me to keep you safe, and that's what I'm going to do, and before you say anything, boy, you're safest here near me, not at Ardmis. They might have sent guards that way and I'm sure they would have recognized you. Now get!" Snowfeather nodded before the outer door guard entered. "Blinkframe, alert my officers and get them here now, on the double! There's work to be done!" "And that's... that." The D-kit chirped with a small beep, as the view before them glistened with a small shakedown scan from the green box. The profiles of several dozen targets appeared, with some coming and going as the targets within the palace grounds traveled back and forth. Pastor sat back as Raymond simply stood by, taking in the view on his visor. The lieutenant merely tapped Raymond on the shoulder as he headed back downstairs. "It's all yours now. Don't stay up here too long, don't forget to eat, sleep and crap, all that jazz. You get me, Scope?" "Yes, sir," Raymond said, already calculating trajectories for eliminating wall guards with the advanced information provided by the D-kit. He'd actually thought about asking Pastor where he'd accrued such a device, but found it simply best not to ask. Perhaps it was just an extra that the brass thought they might needed, since knowing where all the guards were while assaulting a jungle compound would be extremely useful. "Good. Have an enjoyable evening. And let us know if you think there's anything out of place." Pastor exited down the tall curving stairs from the spire. Griffons couldn't use ladders, so they just merely accommodated their buildings to use flight, or for the flight-impaired, a rather narrow stair system. There wouldn't be too many problems, considering that the spire actually blended in quite well with the surrounding buildings, as well as being one of many other spires within the large crater slum-city. Unless one knew exactly what they were looking for, and where to find it, any chance of detection within the warehouse spire was nearly zero. That 'nearly' was brought down to a complete zero with the active camouflage, however: with that, it was as if no one was even there. His mirage form sat down next to the D-kit taking in the whole of the workers and staff coming in and out of the palace itself. How many of those were loyalists? How many swore their fealty to Strongbeak? And within that seemingly small square block of a palace, just where the hell exactly was Whisper? The D-kit thankfully had high magnification optics, much more stronger than the visor's standard binoculars. With this, he could actually see the small details, like guards conversing casually near a parked wagon, or another guard nearly keeling over from fatigue at the front gate, or even the one on the wall actually doing his job. Raymond's sights with the D-kit shifted to the palace windows, where he noticed several rooms with bookshelves, most likely studies, along with a ground floor kitchen and a dining room. The number of windows alone indicated that it must not have been a large building. Then--and praise be to DARPA and their inventions--he noticed within one of the studies, a bookshelf swinging open and revealing what appeared to be a hidden passageway much like the one that the loyalists through in their city network. Out appeared a griffon, clad in posh red garb, who merely closed the bookshelf lazily before returning to the desk within the room, picking up a goblet and drinking out of it. "Well, shit..." Raymond said to himself. He keyed the local comm for squad transmissions. "Talon, you're going to want to see this. Does this damn box have playback on it?" "Go ahead, Scope," Talbot said, the noise of various happenings in the hideout's dining hall below in the background. "Shell tells me that it has direct playback functionality. Show me what you've got." Raymond keyed a few buttons on the D-kit's integrated system UI, as he quickly rewinded the footage and began it right as the bookshelf opened and the target of interest exited. "Interesting. I'll have to notify Scarclaw about this." "Think it might be Whisper?" The griffon official was now writing something on his study desk, most likely some sort of new edict or decree. Perhaps one influenced by Whisper to maintain his control over the city itself... domestically, of course. Militarily, it was a complete mess. "Hard to tell. It might just be the local magistrate... that sounds like the kind of person that Whisper would want to keep in line. Are there any traces of Strongbeak's elites nearby?" "No, at least as far as I can tell. They might just be standing outside his office, but I can't tell from this point." "Understood. According to intel, though, I very much highly doubt that would be Whisper, since he's sitting at a location where he can be observed. If anything... he's down in that little hidey-hole of his. Sounds a lot like our line of work if we have to go in and deal with him ourselves." "Right. Will keep an eye out until then. Scope out." Unfortunately, not much else happened in the days that followed aside from standard overwatch missions that the Ghosts were deployed on to ensure the safety of Scarclaw's soldiers; it would seem that Whisper was too reluctant to put himself in a position that would incriminate himself. The martial law, however, was further enforced as newer soldiers from up north were sent in to replace the lazy and incompetent guards already in place at Whisper's request. The red-robed griffon, now confirmed to be the magistrate by Scarclaw, had a huge hand in passing the transfer orders. With that, the city effectively turned into a fortress, as increased military presence and the accompanying brutality became common. Word quickly spread that Carseract was to become a staging ground for the beginning steps of invasion into Equestrian territory, but through official channels, many of the other generals, including Strongbeak, were reluctant to use Carseract as a rallying point, most notably due to its easily breakable defense (the walls, while sturdy, proved to be too stretched to mount an invasion defense properly without allocating thousands just to the walls themselves), and instead voted to mobilize at Aerocem instead, which had the safety of Stratus Highbase and griffon air cavalry. However, Whisper was still permitted to use Carseract as a base for information gathering on the Equestrians, and many reports coming in through the city were intercepted by loyalist forces were misdirected or altered to provide false information. With this, the griffons now thought that Equestrian numbers were actually far greater than previously thought, while simultaneously thinking that their training had been too lax in general, save for the royal guards, and that it would be easy to trump the Equestrian military with no resistance, which would help the ponies in their defense as the griffons would charge headfirst into battle expecting an easy victory. Much to Mendoza's amusement, more detailed plans for the battle wagons came in. On the spur of the moment, many of the newer models of the wagon had less armor since the first initial construction due to dwindling resources, making them much easier to destroy with weapons of lesser caliber or even basic explosives, which the corporal was very happy to hear. This information was immediately relayed back to the Equestrian war front, where the officers in charge of planning, in turn, intended to use this to devastating effect. Underground, however, the numbers of the loyalists began to swell. For security reasons, many of them operated in their own units across the city, while the primary command hideout was protected. Raymond actually sparred with several of the loyalists elites and found them a handful to deal with in close combat. It was with that revelation that Talbot declared that close-quarters combat with griffon soldiers was to be avoided at all costs. The civilian population's disposition had quickly soured within those few days, and though many still frequented their daily stops, the wary looks towards the steel-eyed guards, especially those from Strongbeak's legion, increased. The guards did not tolerate any infraction, and lots of innocent griffons were unjustly jailed on barely suspect evidence. Some were even executed, much to the horror and rage of the populace, resulting in several small riots. The seeds of dissent had been planted, and the soldiers had to take care to avoid bringing down the tense and barely-veiled malice of the population down upon them. Finally, through several botched operations, the loyalists and the Ghosts learned that Whisper operated using doubles. Rarely ever did he actually appear in public at all: any rumor that he would be going outside was only another well-dressed suit with a specific set of orders, clueless to their origins. Research and intelligence eventually led to the conclusion that any one of the griffons within the magistrate's palace could be Whisper himself, and trying to move on such circumstantial evidence would only lead to his escape. The whole plan seemed to be at a dead end, until a single officer came forth: a griffon commander who claimed that he could deliver a picture of who the elusive general actually was at a dead drop, in return for a method of escape and protection. Even more interesting was that he was also on Whisper's suspected turncoats list: the second part of the bundle involved capturing one of Whisper's agents alive, and perhaps glean even more intelligence from him. The message sent by the turncoat commander indicated that the agents never worked alone, but in groups, to prevent any one of them from failing, and to terminate any captured agents to prevent breach of security. The informant wouldn't allow the dead drop to happen unless Scarclaw was absolutely sure he could be protected. The old general had to concede that not many of his current soldiers, even the elites, were well-trained enough to deal with such a sensitive mission, but the clock was ticking and the window of opportunity slowly began to close, as Scarclaw was quickly swamped with other matters. The drop would have gone unnoticed, as the most important information to Whisper's identity would have disappeared with the eventual capture and execution of the commander, and Whisper would have eventually escaped, setting the plans back to square one as the war would go on unobstructed. 'Would have', of course... until Snowfeather brought the matter to the attention of the Ghosts.