8
CHAPTER 8 – GUARDIANS OF THE FOREST
The chilly morning breeze swept down the cobbled road as the sun continued to climb in the east. The sudden gust mussed Squall's hair, prompting him to quickly zip up his leather jacket for further warmth. He sat upon a public bench by the base of a large carved stone staircase, the apex of which bore a sizable archway reading "Timber – Balamb Line". Before him stretched the bustling city streets, splitting off from the station square to the south and forming an intertwining network of twisting roadways and narrow alleys. The domiciles that lined either side of the in-progress morning commute were not constructed primarily of wood, contrary to the municipality's given name, but rather of stone of a faded green-colored variety. The architectural style appeared of a distinctly old-world fashion not dissimilar from Dollet's own, no doubt owing itself to the lingering residual influence of centuries gone by, from an era when the continent had been united under one flag. As he eyed a squad of outfitted Galbadian soldiers directing traffic further down the road, accompanied by many more guards patrolling the sidewalks, he was reminded that such an era had come again, albeit under far more dire circumstances.
The intercontinental express had pulled into the Timber terminal right on time at 0600, Squall barely having managed to get more than an hour's worth of rest. Upon the train's arrival, Zell and Selphie had informed the medical staff of his recovery, and after a brief follow-up examination to ensure he was indeed fully functioning, the trio had gathered their belongings and made their way out onto the platform. Their forged identification cards having been professionally assembled by the Garden administration, they had bypassed station security without incident and proceeded to their designated contact point in the adjoining square. The supplementary information included in the Headmaster's envelope had specified 0700 as the meeting time. It was now almost an hour past then, and still they had yet to be approached by their elusive resistance operative.
Selphie remained stationary in her yellow overall-dress by a nearby overlook, her arms slung over the railing in boredom as she gazed out over the railroad tracks running below. The morning express bound west had rumbled on through minutes earlier, emerging from the continental-line terminals situated further down the station's expanse. Zell ambled back over into the square proper from an adjacent vending machine, a canned drink in one hand as he re-propped his back up against the light post his duffel-bag still rested beside. The blonde-haired youth appeared to have let his heated exchange with Squall the previous evening fall by the wayside. Squall understood it doubtless continued to fester inside him even now, but that he would likely keep it to himself henceforth in light of his own sudden fainting episode.
Talk about a happy accident.
Growing increasingly restless as the minutes ticked by, he turned to his own duffel-bag placed upon the remaining length of the bench, and unzipped it to rummage through the contents. Twisting his arm through the mass of tightly packed clothes, he firmly grabbed hold of the sheathed gunblade within and withdrew it into his lap. The weapon's very touch and familiar weight was comforting to him in the moment, an unwavering source of predictability in the face of such uncertainty ahead. He pulled the weapon halfway from its holster, exposing the lion's-head design engraved upon the stainless steel. The emblem had been custom-made to his specifications after passing his weapons certification test, identical in design to the pendant he wore around his neck, and the ring upon his left hand. The raw strength and power of the beast, and the pride and unwavering determination it represented had been his ultimate ideal for as long as he could remember. As he clutched the hilt tightly and closed his eyes in contentment, he could almost hear a voice from a time long gone by call to him.
You need to be brave, to have a strong heart, like a lion. Promise me. If you can do that, you'll find her again…
"Wow," a voice to his immediate left roused him from his trance. "The forests of Timber sure have changed."
Squall's eyes shot open as he turned to find a young man with a blue bandana atop his head had seemingly materialized from the ether beside him. He was outfitted in a white T-shirt topped by a tan vest and baggy green cargo pants, seeming perpetually slouched over with his arms tucked into his pockets.
"But the owls are still around," he replied bluntly, sheathing the gunblade.
"Welcome to Timber, sir!" the man lit up, extending his hand in greeting.
"You're late," Squall grumbled irritably, not making any effort to return the handshake. "The meeting time was supposed to be 0700."
"Ah," the youth sheepishly blushed as he retracted his outstretched limb, placing it back in his pocket. "Sorry, sir. I've never been good with military time."
"0700 is just seven-o'-clock. And stop calling me 'sir'."
"Uh, that's-"
"Hey!" Zell called as he and Selphie made their way across the square, their bags hoisted over their shoulders. "This the guy?"
"Yes, sir!" the young man addressed him, extending his hand once more. "My name is Watts, intel specialist. Pleasure to meet you, sir! And miss!"
The two shook hands, Selphie following suit right after. Squall knew not what to make of the strange young man, spastic, clunky and overly formal as he appeared to be. If his demeanor were any indication of the faction they had been assigned to assist, it did not bode well for the mission to come. His patience already having worn thin from the long wait, he returned the gunblade to his luggage and re-zipped the bag; there would surely be no open-carry law in effect in a city under occupation. Despite the unnerving feeling of vulnerability it presented him, it was crucial that they make every effort to avoid unwanted attention. Should the need arise to defend himself however, he still had his Guardian Force clipped to the right side of his belt.
"Let's get moving," he declared, rising to his feet.
"My thoughts exactly, sir!" Watts responded, motioning down the adjacent street due west. "It's going to be a bit of a hike, though. Follow me!"
As the overeager rebel marched on down the sidewalk ahead of them, Squall turned to his comrades and flashed them a quizzical look.
"Not the most punctual bunch, are they?" he muttered quietly.
"Ah, it was probably just an honest mistake!" Selphie winked. "Still happens to me around the Garden."
"At least you've got an excuse, being new."
"Oh, come on," Zell protested. "Don't you think you're being a bit too quick to judge? I kinda like the guy."
Of course you do.
The trio tailed Watts through the streets of Timber for the better part of an hour, weaving their way through the numerous passersby and avoiding guard patrols when possible. The traffic upon the cobbled roads gradually began to thin as time ticked on, the last trickling dregs of the citizenry making their way to their workplaces in short order. Squall took note of the various shops and establishments along the way, running the gamut from pubs and drugstores, to a pet shop and a luxurious-looking hotel, their exteriors all crafted from the same ubiquitous stone building material. Chief among the surrounding attractions towered a building with the title 'Timber Maniacs' erected above its doors in large, bulky lettering. It was a renowned magazine publishing company whose works Squall had become quite familiar with over the years. He had specifically taken interest with the 'battle series' publications, of which the Garden library kept the entire catalogue in stock. It otherwise had gained a reputation in years past for its freelance writings and op-ed works, though had supposedly begun shifting away at Galbadia's behest for long-standing suspicion of sowing dissent among the populace.
Before long the group had trailed away from the inner city to arrive at the western outskirts, the elegant cobbled streets giving way to rough, uneven pavement beneath their feet. The roads became far narrower and less traveled, an increasing number of buildings they passed having been boarded up and left to wither, while the few not condemned showed little signs of routine maintenance. Watts led the party on a twisting and turning trek down alley after dank alley, Squall paying expert attention to his footing as they traversed over potholes and all manner of refuse.
"Man," Zell murmured, nearly tripping over a pile of gravel. "Sure doesn't look like the friendliest part of town."
"This used to be the city industrial sector way back when, sir," Watts replied, turning the corner. "Timber's big export was always our lumber, and all kinds of goods produced from it. But after Galbadia invaded, they burned most of the forests to the ground hunting down the resistance, and the whole trade went along with it."
"Wow," Selphie breathed. "That must have been awful."
"Yes, miss. The jobs-market crashed, the economy tanked, and a lot of good men and women went broke. We didn't just lose our sovereignty as a nation, we lost any kind of financial independence we ever had, and there's been no signs of it turning around. That's what we're fighting for."
The group at last emerged from the network of refuse-strewn alleys, to arrive by the side of a lengthy chain-link fence topped by razor-wire stretching far down the lane. On the other side stood a looming, rusted metallic complex, its exterior windows caked with years' worth of grime or shattered altogether. Training his eyes to peer though the gaps of the partition, Squall noticed a set of railroad tracks extending from the rear end of the facility and trailing off toward the wilderness beyond, likely intersecting with one of the main rail-lines as it wound back in the direction of the city proper. Watts strode forward, fumbled for a moment with a clearly sheared-through portion of the chain fence, and drew the iron mesh back to form an opening for the trio to pass through.
Squall took the lead, reaching through and placing his bag on the inside before navigating his frame through the makeshift hole. He ducked his head low to clear the narrow opening, attempting to keep himself perfectly central so as not to catch his jacket on a sheared piece of the metal grating. He touched down on the other side without a fuss, returning his bag to his shoulder as he cleared the way for his teammates to follow. Zell came next, followed by Selphie who nearly toppled over from failing to raise her boot high enough above the bottom lip. She righted herself swiftly with a grimace of embarrassment as Watts stepped through behind, turning back to right the fence's exterior.
"We're so hideous you can't bring us through the front?" Zell joked.
"We can't afford to take any risks, sir," Watts informed him, motioning them onward to the building. "Barely anyone comes around these parts anymore, but the front gates are right on a major stretch of road. If someone sees a group of people just strolling on in and decides to report it, we're finished."
They continued on around to the back of the complex, approaching a large hangar-like extension to the rear from which the railroad tracks shot off. Watts guided them to a rusted side door, twisting the handle and forcing it open with an audible creak.
No locks? No guards? What happened to not taking any risks?
The entrance opened to the base of a dimly lit stairwell, the musky stench of mildew and corrosion washing over Squall's senses and driving him to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Beyond the rising sun to their backs creeping across the shadowy floor ahead, the only light leading to the top of the multi-tiered flight of steps came from a set of faintly powered emergency lamps. Watts strode unflinchingly into the dark, suffocating hole, starting up the steps to the second floor landing as Zell closed the door behind them, engulfing the stairwell in near pitch-black once more.
"I can barely see a thing!" Selphie complained as she fumbled to find her footing on the first step.
"Sorry, miss," Watts apologized as he doubled back to assist her. "But with the power lines cut to this place, all we've got is our own external generator to work with. We need to make the most of what we get from it, and right now it needs to go to our crew, so they can finish up preparations for the mission tomorrow."
"And what kind of preparations would those be?" Squall questioned as he gripped the railing and pulled himself upward.
"Why don't you take a look for yourself, sir?"
Slowly but surely, the foursome stumbled up to reach the landing and stepped through the doors at the top, emerging onto an elevated steel catwalk overlooking a spacious hangar. The raised platforms stretched around the perimeter of the massive room, breaking off at the fore and leading up via a constructed metal staircase toward what appeared to be a windowed office wing. A set of large bay doors sat at the rear, from which the train tracks progressed to the center of the room. On the floor below rested a heavily modified yellow and green painted locomotive, with additional twin turbines attached to either side of its rear and a bulky cooling system affixed to its top as a countermeasure to prevent overheating. The term "Raiders" had been sloppily graffitied across the back left-hand side, accompanied by a mural of a skull directly below. A red painted coach car had been strangely coupled to the front of the locomotive rather than the back, for reasons Squall could not begin to guess, upon which no less than eight technicians feverishly worked. Several bore welding irons and protective face-masks, sparks flying and crackling as they touched up and sealed the metallic paneling in place.
"Sirs!" Watts called to the rebel conglomerate on the ground level, the irons sputtering out abruptly as the technicians turned their heads and raised their masks in acknowledgment. "The SeeDs have arrived to assist us!"
Instantly a choir of hooping and hollering sprung to life, reverberating through the vast hangar. The sudden jubilation was such that Squall couldn't help but think it premature. They had yet to be informed as to the specifics of their mission, or be given a battle plan of any sort, and yet these people already seemed to be celebrating as if they had been liberated from oppression.
"Welcome to the fight!" a young dark-haired man called up from the bottom over the receding din.
He quickly climbed the adjacent metal staircase to their level, Squall noticing his face sported a goatee of the same shade as he drew closer. His attire was almost entirely comprised of blue fabric, his baggy pants a dark navy and his shirt a striking indigo, offset only by his tan colored hiking shoes which clanked on the rungs as he rose to greet them.
"Name's Zone," he extended his hand. "Leader of the Forest Owls. Happy to have you aboard."
"Squall," he accepted the handshake firmly, noting how flimsy the man's own grip seemed in his own. "I'm the squad leader. This is Zell and Selphie."
"Nice to meet'cha!" Selphie beamed, shaking his hand in turn, followed by Zell.
"We were getting a little worried that SeeD had just ignored our request," Zone admitted, withdrawing his arm. "Wouldn't be the first time, or even the fourth. So, that's one big load off our chests, now. As you can see, we're just putting the finishing touches on our train."
"And what's it all for?" Squall impatiently asked. "We're still in the dark here, so let's just get right down to it. What's the objective?"
"We'll get to the briefing shortly," Zone assured him. "We've got a whole physical diorama set up to go over it with you. But first, let's get you sorted. Watts, show them to their quarters, and after they've dropped their things off we'll assemble in the meeting room."
"What about our princess, sir?" the slouching boy addressed his superior. "Is she still napping?"
"She hasn't come down yet." Zone mused. "I've still got a few things to look over on the car first. Squall was it? Could you do me a favor and go get her? Her room's on the top level. Up those stairs over that way, turn right and head to the door at very end of the hall. Can't miss it."
"Pardon my asking," Squall furrowed his brow in annoyance. "But were we hired to run errands?"
"N-no, nothing like that," Zone flinched as he backed away slightly, his previously stoic demeanor falling away at once. "You're not… angry, are you?"
The prior handshake alone had been indication enough that the man possessed little self-confidence. Having now so easily yielded to Squall's imposition, he was left with little of his own that this group could possibly prove a viable force to carry out their lofty ideals of revolution.
"Ow!" the rebel leader doubled over, clutching at his torso. "My stomach's acting up…"
Squall had heard enough genuine cries of pain in his life, whether in training or on the shores of Dollet less than two weeks earlier, to know that it was merely a performance, and an exceedingly unconvincing one at that.
If the bar for leadership is set this low, maybe I've got a shot after all.
"This is the last time for this kind of thing," he firmly declared. "Do we have an agreement?"
"Absolutely," Zone mock grunted, turning and starting back down the stairs to the bottom with haste. "Thank you."
"I'll take your bag, sir," Watts chimed in, his tone clearly less cheery than it had been earlier.
"No, you won't," Squall grumbled as he unwound the duffel-bag from his shoulder and held it out to Zell. Although it positively tore him apart to be trusting the safekeeping of his belongings and gunblade to the overly-excitable blonde, it was astoundingly the better option at the present juncture.
"Be careful with it."
Zell accepted the heavy luggage without a word, and Squall took off down the catwalk in the direction Zone had indicated to him. He climbed the metal staircase to the upper floors in silence, passing through the doorway at the top to arrive at a long corridor stretching in either direction. The faded wallpaper of the abandoned office block had long since begun to peel off, exposing the mold-covered drywall behind it at sporadic intervals. He turned right as instructed and began his short trek to the end, passing by a bulletin board with several tattered pieces of paper left still clinging to it. Most appeared to be old quarterly reports of distribution and sales figures, with the one outlier being a cut-out article from an issue of Timber Maniacs detailing an organization by the name of "Roshfall Lumber".
Many of the doors along the way hung ajar seemingly without care, their interiors entirely gutted of all but the most basic components of furniture. The company's collapse appeared to have been swift in the aftermath of the Galbadian siege, seemingly liquidated overnight and later ransacked for all it had to offer. Such was to be expected with the coming of the sudden and rampant deforestation as Watts had described. Squall could envision the burning woodlands vividly in his mind's eye, the billowing smoke soaring high into atmosphere against the midday skies. So clear was the image that he could swear he had witnessed it with his very own eyes. He finally reached the end of the corridor, approached the last door to the left-hand side, and rapped it twice.
"Come in…" a muffled and groggy moan emanated from behind.
Let's just get this over with, Squall thought as he twisted the knob and swung the door open.
His eyes instantly widened in surprise as he was struck by the sight of the ornately decorated room, the compulsion to shield his vision from its splendor a very real one. The amount of work that must have gone into renovating the former office space relative to the disheveled state of the rest of the building was simply ludicrous. The walls and ceiling had been coated in an all-encompassing dark pink, homey and romantic in the low-key lighting from the bedside table-lamp. The far side of the room to his left featured an elegant granite dressing table and a mirror, with all manner of beauty supplies strewn across its counter. Beside it stood a looming mahogany dresser, and beside that a queen-sized bed, its duvet and pillows the same shade of pink as the rest of the room.
Nestled within the covers laid a distinctly feminine figure with mussed dark hair, who slowly raised herself from the mattress as Squall stepped inside. She casually tossed the sheets off to reveal a sleeveless blue duster sweater atop a black tank top, with matching blue warmers upon her slender forearms and a black ribbon tied around her left bicep. Her bottom figure consisted of a blue denim skirt atop a pair of black spats cutting off at the mid-thighs, leaving the remainder of her toned legs bare. She placed her left hand down on the mattress to steady herself, and slowly brought her head up to meet Squall's figure. The moment her eyes met his, her previously drowsy face suddenly shot awake into an expression of surprise. Squall's breath caught in his lungs as he felt a similar look overtake his own face. He knew this girl, beyond any doubt, from the deep brown eyes, to the rounded face and the caramel highlights in her hair. It was all as he remembered.
"You…" she at last eked out, utterly stunned as she looked him up and down. "You're the one… from the ball. Does that mean…!?"
Squall finally sucked in a breath, blinking twice to return his face to its natural resting expression. It now made sense as to why he had not seen her anywhere around the Garden over the past week. It did not however make it any more believable that he in particular had been the one assigned to this mission.
"Squall Leonhart, SeeD operative," he formally introduced himself. "My squadmates and I have been dispatched to assist you and your faction."
"Yes!" she excitedly yelped as she flung herself from the bed and grappled him into a tight hug. "You came! SeeD really came!"
It took every bit of restraint Squall had in him not to instinctively knock her away, the sudden leap briefly registering as an incoming attack to his battle-hardened mind on a subconscious level. He begrudgingly allowed her to cling to him for a moment longer, her arms trembling in excitement as they remained wrapped around his figure, before he lowered his gloved hand to her bare shoulder and motioned for her to release him.
"Take it easy," he told her as she slowly unfurled her grasp.
"Sorry," she beamed up at him. "It's just that I'm so happy! I've been sending requests to Balamb Garden for more than half a year now, but I never got any response back. I'm so glad I went there and spoke to Cid in person!"
"Oh," Squall murmured, recalling her passing mention of being on the lookout for someone that evening. "So the person you were looking for at the ball was the Headmaster?"
"Well," she averted her eyes, backing up slightly and seating herself once more on the edge of the bed. "Yes and no. Do you know Seifer Almasy?"
The very utterance of the name was enough to send a pang of physical pain through Squall's gut.
"… yeah," he muttered with equal parts dread and contempt.
"I thought so," she softly noted, brushing her flowing black hair away from her face. "Seifer and I met almost a year ago now, and we really hit it off. I told him all about us and what we're fighting for, and he got really fired up about helping us out. We kept in touch via letters after that, sort of like pen-pals, I guess. I mentioned how I wasn't having any luck getting in touch with SeeD, and he swore he'd find a way to make it happen for me. About a month ago he sent me a letter telling me he could get me into the Garden as his date for the SeeD ball. Of course, I didn't realize he'd gotten put on the catering staff at the last minute."
She chuckled at the recollection, as Squall cast his memory back to that fateful night nine days earlier. He remembered his chance meeting with Seifer immediately after his induction into SeeD, and how he had appeared to be in remarkably high spirits for someone faced with so much punishment. Apparently his placement on the catering staff that evening had been a blessing in disguise, the circumstances of which he had clearly neglected to inform her of. For so-called 'pen-pals' however, the manner in which she spoke so fondly of him suggested there was something more there.
"Anyway," she continued. "I finally found him, and… he's got this scar on his face now, just like yours."
That really is going to haunt me to my grave, isn't it?
"So, are you guys, like, blood-brothers or something?"
"It's a long story," Squall brushed the comment off, resisting the urge to retch at the insinuation. "But no, nothing like that. Just… wounds from training."
"I see," she breathed with a momentary look of concern, before her features quickly regained a coy smile. "Well, at any rate, it's nice to properly meet you… 'Squall', was it? My name's Rinoa… Rinoa Heartilly."
She gracefully extended her hand to him, which he gently shook.
"I've gotta say," she slyly teased, her hand maintaining its clasp upon his for several moments longer. "I didn't realize SeeD members could dance so well."
"It's something we all practice during espionage training," he emotionlessly informed her. "Always approach your target inconspicuously at a dance party. It's one of many various skills SeeDs are expected to learn."
"Oh," she sighed as she drew her hand back. "So, it's work related. That's… disappointing."
What does she want from me?
"But, back on track, Seifer helped introduce me to Cid. I wasn't sure what to expect from the head of Balamb Garden, but he's such a nice man, isn't he? I really didn't have much hope that he'd approve a contract for a measly little group like us, but once I explained the situation, he had it drafted up for us right away! With your help, we'll finally be able to take back this city!"
"On that note," Squall cut her off abruptly. "Let's get moving. Zone asked me to come get you for the mission briefing."
"Ah, sure thing!" Rinoa replied, quickly rising to her feet and starting for the dressing mirror. "Just let me fix my hair real quick, okay? And, uh, Squall?"
She turned back to him, her face now bearing a look of apprehension as she gazed at him pleadingly.
"Is… he here, too?"
There was definitely something more there, something that Squall could not begin to understand the reasoning behind. Seifer was smug and arrogant, this girl cheery and naive; their respective personalities appeared as though they could not be further opposed to one another. And yet, somehow the two had found common ground and presumably progressed to form a relationship of some caliber. Seifer's open declaration to him in the midst of the field exam rang in his ears once more.
"Someday," he bellowed, pointing his gunblade directly up at him, "I'm gonna tell you about my romantic dream!"
His 'romantic dream', huh…
"No," he bluntly shot down her hopes. "He's not a SeeD. He didn't make the cut."
"He…" Rinoa started, averting her eyes once more in clear disappointment at having been deceived. "He didn't? That's… a real shame."
Her arms hung limply by her side as she turned around once more to face the mirror, reaching for a brush and quickly running it through her dark locks. She raised her hair in the back to straighten it, revealing a pair of white feathered designs in the image of angels wings sewn into the back of her duster sweater. Upon finishing, she picked up a slim chain necklace with a single silver ring entwined through it from the bureau, and threw it on over her head. She spun around toward Squall waiting in the doorway, slipped her feet into a pair of waiting black ankle-high boots, and flipped the light switch off before stepping through into the hall.
"The meeting room's on the second floor," she told him as she closed the door behind her. "Let's get going. We've got a lot to go over for tomorrow."
The two retraced the path Squall had taken down the hallway, reaching the exit leading into the hangar and stepping back onto the catwalk. The technicians continued to weld away at the red passenger car, as Rinoa led the way back down the metallic staircase to the second level. They stepped off at the bottom and passed through the neighboring doorway, framed by the large bay windows Squall had observed from his initial entry point to the right side of the room. The entrance opened to a grand office space, the blocky grid-like indents pressed into the floor indicating that the expanse had previously been occupied by row after row of cubicles. It now stood largely bereft of furniture save for roughly ten chairs evenly spaced around a sizable table propped up in the center. Zone, Watts, Zell and Selphie sat waiting around the circumference, all turning their gaze to greet them as the two stepped inside and shut the door behind them.
"That's Zell and Selphie," Squall pointed his teammates out to Rinoa as they drew closer to the table, and she moved forward to introduce herself. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries quickly as Squall took his seat beside his comrades.
He took note of the tabletop, upon which a large diorama of a wooded stretch of three parallel rail-lines had been laid out, along with two model trains seated atop. The first rested on the middle set of tracks, headed by a green locomotive, with three passenger cars coupled behind. The first and third in sequence bore a similar shade of green, while the middle car was a hideously and evidently hand-painted crimson. The second train rested on the upper most rails, just before a switch point connecting to the middle tracks. It consisted of yet another red passenger car in front, this one a proper store-made model, with a yellow locomotive to the rear. It was obviously representative of the project currently being assembled in the hangar, though the reasoning behind its backwards coupling remained unclear.
"Looks like everyone's here," Zone announced, rising from his seat at the head of the table. "So, let's get this briefing underway. To put it plainly, if we succeed with this operation, the Forest Owls will be forever known in the pages of Timber's independence!"
"That big, huh?" Zell questioned, Squall noting a hint of skepticism in his tone.
"You bet," Rinoa answered him. "It all started when we managed to get a hold of some top-secret info from Galbadia a few weeks ago."
"Gathering information is my specialty, miss!" Watts saluted, visibly chuffed by the acknowledgment of his efforts.
"The long and short of it is this," Zone steered the briefing back on track. "President Vinzer Deling will be coming into the city tomorrow morning via a private train from the capital, and we're going to kidnap him before he gets here."
"Holy shit!" Zell blurted out in awe.
"Exactly," Zone responded. "And that's why we desperately needed to hire professionals for this job."
How much money are we doing this contract for, again?
"Everyone please take a look at the diorama," he instructed, motioning to the yellow locomotive in the upper right hand corner of the display. "It's not built to scale, or representative of the exact terrain, but it should at least give you an idea of what the overall plan is."
That sure fills me with confidence.
"Pay close attention, because this might get a little confusing. The yellow train up here on the top rail is our transport, which you've seen out in the hangar. Attached to it is our own replica of the private car the president will be traveling in. Let's just call it the 'dummy car'."
"Question!" Selphie interjected. "Why is it attached to the front of the engine? Is that a mistake?"
"That's intentional," Rinoa assured her. "It looks weird, I know, but it's all part of the plan."
"Anyway," Zone continued. "The president's train on the middle rail is made up of the locomotive and three passenger cars. Deling's is the red one in the middle. The other two will have security forces on board. We'll call them the first and second escorts. Our ultimate objective is to disconnect the president's car from the rest of the train, link it up with ours, replace it with the dummy car and escape back here."
"And how the heck does that work!?" Zell wondered aloud as he stared in bewilderment at the setup before him. Squall silently concurred. It would be one thing if the president's car were affixed to the very end of the train, but its positioning squarely in the middle appeared to make such a plan impossible.
"Allow me to demonstrate. Our first matter of business is getting you three on top of the car itself. The route the train will be taking from up around Obel Lake runs through a small tunnel in the side of a mountain. The openings on either side feature a concrete support frame jutting out from above that's climbable. We'll drop you off beforehand to give you enough time to ready yourselves."
"You're saying we have to jump on top of a moving train as it passes below!?" Selphie shot up. "There's gotta be a better way than that!"
"There isn't," Zone bluntly told her.
"Well, answer me this," Zell posed. "Even if we do land safely on top, aren't the guards going to notice three huge thuds suddenly slamming down on the roof?"
"Uh…"
Zone quickly shared a sideways glance with Watts, and then he with Rinoa, their faces all at once flush with embarrassment. Squall could feel his left eye twitch in disbelief as the deafening silence swathed the table. For all of their brazen confidence in this plan of theirs – or perhaps it was foolishness – that they had failed to account for such a critical oversight was telling. Fortunately for them, there was indeed a viable method for the trio to slow their momentum upon impact that Zell had neglected to consider, no doubt due to his own lack of aptitude with regard to the given realm of spellcraft.
"There's a way," Squall addressed him as he unclipped the silver metallic sphere from his belt and brought it up for all to see.
"Yeah!" Selphie chimed. "I was just about to bring that up, too! Great minds think alike, huh?"
"Man," Zell moaned. "You know I can't pull that trick off!"
"Then I guess you'll just have to piggyback on Squall!" Selphie teased him.
Why you can do it is the real mystery here.
"Okay," Rinoa jumped in to steer the conversation back on track and attempt to salvage their professional image. "So, we've figured it all out? Let's get on with it, Zone."
"Right," he started up again, motioning to the enemy train. "So, once you're on board, you'll proceed across to the first escort car, and uncouple it from the president's car to the rear. Watts has procured a set of rappel cables for you to use, and it goes without saying that you'll have to make sure no one on board sees you. We have it on authority that Deling can't stand being constantly surrounded by his guards, and traditionally keeps to himself on his personal car, so that's in our favor at least."
Zone reached over onto the diorama and moved the train along to the first switch point where the upper rail joined with the middle. He separated the front two cars from the back, leaving a gaping opening between the two halves of the dissected train.
"Once the cars are disconnected," Rinoa took over, grabbing hold of the yellow train and dummy car on the upper rail. "We'll move in and link our train in place with theirs."
She guided the two cars down the adjacent switch-point and into the gap on the middle set of tracks, connecting the front of the dummy car with the first escort, and the back of the yellow locomotive to the president's car. All six cars now stood linked together on the single stretch of railway.
"You have got to be joking!" Zell threw his arms up in disbelief. "Do you realize just how exact you'd have to get the timing on the decoupling for this to work?"
"O-our tech specialist, Blitz has done all the calculations," Zone informed him with an audible shake in his voice, stepping back slightly in the face of the outburst. "He's determined the exact point along the route where we need to detach the cars, so that the back half will naturally slow down from the rails' friction, and give us just the right amount of leeway to squeeze in and reconnect. We've prepared these for you to use."
He dipped beneath the table momentarily, sliding a drawer open and bringing up a set of digital stopwatches, each with an elongated strap to allow the device to be hung around one's neck. He worked his way around the table, handing one to each of the SeeD operatives. Squall accepted it, cradling it in his hand as he read the display: 2:24.87.
"Taking into account the speed of a standard Galbadian express-line and the distance to the switch point, if you start the timer as soon as the train exits the tunnel, it should theoretically hit zero the instant you need to perform the disconnection. We've tested it with our own engine and the dummy car before we started remodeling it, and it gave us just the right gap."
"You're really hedging your bet on the speed of the train, though." Zell reminded him with concern. "If it's off by even a little bit, your whole plan goes up in smoke. Literally, since you'll end up slamming right into it."
"Then so be it," Rinoa firmly declared. "We've put too much planning into this to pull out now. You three just perform your roles like we tell you, and leave the rest to us. We'll make it work."
It's only our lives you're toying with.
"Well, excuse me, princess!" Zell shot back.
"Once the connection is established," Zone interrupted, reaching over to further fiddle with the exhibit. "We'll have to decouple the dummy car and the second escort at the same time to make our getaway. Luckily, the timing on that one won't be so tight, and we'll be able to send some guys up to assist. We'll pull out at the next switch point further down the line and escape with the president's car in tow."
"And what about the second escort?" Zell asked again. "It's not going to be able to catch back up with the rest of the train on its own."
"Not our problem," Rinoa calmly replied. "By the time it slows down enough for the guards to notice, we'll be long gone."
"If they don't notice you right away," Squall finally spoke up. "These passenger cars have windows, don't they?"
"Sure, they do. We haven't included it in the diorama, but there's still a decent enough amount of foliage between the tracks along this route to keep us obscured."
"And what about the dummy car? What if someone decides to check on the president?"
"Not an issue, sir!" Watts cut in. "I managed to get some photos, and we've had the rest of the guys hard at work remodeling the car inside and out to match the real deal. We've even installed a voice-activated recording in the car's bathroom; when someone near it speaks, it'll play a clip of spliced audio telling them to leave him in peace."
"You really think the guards are going to be dim-witted enough to fall for something like that?" Zell questioned with a raised eyebrow.
Maybe if that idiot from my dreams were the one on duty.
"As long as we get in and get out quickly, it'll all be fine," Zone assured him. "Any other questions?"
"Yeah," Selphie opened her mouth. "It's not really an important one, but… I was just thinking, this diorama looks pretty good overall, but why does the president's car look so shabby?"
Squall had taken notice of the amateurish paint job immediately upon sitting down at the table, but had entirely disregarded it in light of having learned of the borderline suicide mission they were to be charged with carrying out. That Selphie had the temerity to ask such an insignificant question in spite of that was unthinkable. Or rather, it would have been for almost anyone else he had ever known.
"Yes, Rinoa made that one herself, miss," Watts revealed. "We bought everything else at a gift store."
"Ha," Zell laughed. "I thought some little kid made it."
"Oh, shut up!" Rinoa snapped at him. "I made it look that way on purpose! It's… it's supposed to be symbolic of my hatred towards Deling and everything he stands for!"
"Wow," Selphie sarcastically quipped. "You must really hate him, then."
"Obviously. Let's just wrap this up. We'll review everything later with the rest of the gang at dinner. We're rolling out of here at 5:30 in the morning, so make sure you all get enough rest tonight. Tomorrow's the day we finally end Deling's reign of terror, once and for all!"
"Hear, hear!" Zone boasted.
At least they've got the courage and determination, for whatever that's worth.
"Meeting adjourned!" Rinoa declared, the Forest Owls promptly rising from their seats in near unison and making their way out into the hangar once more, leaving the three SeeDs to ponder over their newly assigned mission.
"Still think I was being too quick to judge?" Squall directed his ire at Zell, the blonde youth slumped over in consternation.
"I… I just thought they'd have a lot of this stuff planned out better," he muttered.
"What can we do?" Selphie asked rhetorically, tilting her head back in her seat to face the ceiling. "We've gotta follow whatever orders they give us. To uphold the Garden's reputation and all."
"Once the operation is finished, I'm going to ask to have a look at their copy of the contract," Squall affirmed. "There's no way any of this was part of the original agreement."
"Good thinking," Zell agreed. "So, wanna see our quarters? It's what you'd expect living in a dump like this, but they've got bedrolls for us, at least."
Squall's mind was still fatigued beyond belief from his lack of real sleep aboard the train from Balamb. While a glimpse at his watch display showed him it had yet to reach noon, he was so exhausted that should he fall asleep now, he imagined that he may not actually wake up until that very next morning. And at that moment, such a scenario was perhaps the best thing for him.
"Sure," he rose to his feet, setting his watch's alarm as a precaution. He followed his squadmates down the adjoining corridor from the meeting room, his mind still processing his reunion with the very girl he had danced with that night, and the unbelievably ill-conceived mission she had now ordered him to execute.
Stubborn, overly-ambitious… maybe they're not so different after all…
The boy stood slumped against the cold of the great stone pillar, the white noise of the pouring rain the only constant to keep him grounded in reality. The great torrent drenched his tattered jeans, soaked his t-shirt, and matted his dark locks to his forehead. He remained immobile and seemingly numb to the presence of the raging storm, as still more water streamed down his cheeks from his puffy and blurry eyes. There was no one that could comfort him now, nothing that could take away the pain that ate at his very soul. He was alone. She was gone.
"Sis..." he sniffled, his young voice broken and whimpering. "Why… why did you leave me? Where did you go? I miss you… so much…"