Homeguard

by Jason Cordova

  Inside the protected area was a wide array of digital monitors. It could be easily manned by only three guards, with various hookups allowing for complete and absolute control of the prison from this single room. Andrew was impressed. El Muladar wasn’t just any prison, though he’d never really thought about it before. He guessed a few people he’d arrested over the years might have ended up here, but once convicted, he hadn’t given them another thought as he moved on to new assignments. That was part of the problem with being a deep cover operative within the DIB—he never really got closure on their cases.

  For a moment, Andrew wondered if the glass was the type that could deflect gunfire before dismissing the idea as silly. If it could stop incoming rounds, it should easily stop a prisoner trying to riot and break through. Maximum security didn’t mean skimping on expenses when it came to keeping the prisoners inside. Then again, Andrew thought as he looked back at Jack, prisons aren’t really designed to keep people out, simply in.

  “I hate killing Imperfects like this,” Jack groused quietly as his men stopped and began to search the guards for spare magazines. Andrew looked around, frowning.

  “Imperfects?” Andrew asked, surprised.

  “Regular guards, the unarmed ones?” Jack jerked his chin around the room. “Definitely Imperfects. Like the Praetorians would allow Imperfects to get their hands on a weapon that could be turned against them. No, these poor bastards were Imperfects tasked with a thankless job. Probably underpaid and unappreciated, too.”

  “Never thought of that,” Andrew admitted, forgetting for a moment who he was supposed to be. “Seems stupid, having unarmed guards in a prison full of dangerous criminals.”

  “You’re an odd duck, Senator,” Jack proclaimed.

  “I hear that a lot.” Andrew shrugged his shoulders and looked around. “So the Praetorians guard the guards who guard the prisoners? Seems like a waste of personnel and resources to me.”

  “Ah, there’s the politician.” Jack grinned. His brow furrowed slightly, and Andrew guessed he was receiving comms information through his tactical helmet. He coughed and grunted. “Copy that, Ash. Can you delay them any longer? Crap. Roger.”

  “Bad news?” Andrew asked. Jack nodded, a grim expression on his face.

  “Listen up!” he shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’ve got a bunch of Praetorians inbound right now through Admin. It’s going to get bloody out there, people. Protective priority goes to Uriah, then Senator Hastings here. Two with me, and one with the senator. The rest of you need to clear the way.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Andrew stated as one of the Seiji guards moved to a position just behind him.

  “Judging by the way you handle weapons, I don’t doubt it,” Jack said in a reassuring voice. “That still doesn’t mean I want to risk you getting hurt. You could be vital…either as a hostage, or an ally. Dead, you’re worthless.”

  “Comforting,” Andrew muttered, though he certainly couldn’t fault the rebels for their attitude. He was valuable and, given that they hadn’t known he’d fall into their lap during their rescue attempt, he was a welcome surprise. If they managed to get out of the prison and escape, perhaps he could repay their assistance somehow? It felt odd conspiring with the same people his organization had expelled from the Dominion years before.

  “From here on out, the doors are double-sealed,” Jack reminded everybody around them. Andrew couldn’t see their eyes but could tell by the tensing of jaw muscles that they were mentally preparing themselves for the next step. “Ash still has some control over the entry points, but the prison is regaining control. They beat the hack faster than we thought they could, and our entry point’s compromised. Front gate it is. Let’s do this, people. Ash, Jack. Open the C and C doors into Admin.”

  The door behind them opened, and Andrew yelled out in surprise as armed prison guards stormed the room from the Wing D entrance. He brought his firearm up and tried to pick them off as they came through the door. Ducking behind the protective glass, he watched with dismay as the man who’d been standing next to him seconds before had his brains blown out all over the wall beside them.

  “Wrong door! Wrong door!” Jack barked as he partially turned to protect his father. “Ash, close that door and seal it!”

  The person on the other end of the comms followed Jack’s orders, and the door slammed shut. A second later, the console next to the door popped and caught fire, the acrid stench of melting plastic filling the room. The fire continued to burn as the system overloaded, courtesy of Ash. Andrew would’ve celebrated, but he quickly discovered the three guards who’d made it through before the door had resealed were still alive.

  They were well-armed and wearing black armor Andrew had seen before—it was the type of battle armor marines wore in combat. The armor, though, appeared to be reinforced to limit mobility and provide extra protection. Which made sense to him, since it was used to stop prison riots and fights between prisoners.

  Their weapons were simple handguns, though he couldn’t be certain of the make and model. He also couldn’t get a clear shot at them, thanks to the circular protective barrier which extended outward from the center of the room. It created just enough room for two large individuals to walk side-by-side without having to set foot into the command/control center. While a terrific idea in the event of a prison riot, it was not ideal for a gunfight.

  This fact didn’t seem to deter the armed prison guards, who’d begun shooting at Jack and his group. Andrew pressed himself flat against the bulletproof plexiglass to make himself a smaller target. He raised his pistol but still couldn’t get a clear shot at any of the attacking guards. Glancing over at Jack, he saw the big man remained with his back toward the shooters. While the rounds being fired weren’t hitting anyone, they were definitely getting closer. Andrew estimated Jack and company had about a minute at most before the shooters would be able to get them. He had to act, and fast.

  Their focus shifted as two guards began to move around the circular protective barrier, and the remaining guard stayed put, providing cover, so Jack and the rest of the rebels couldn’t escape. However, Andrew realized he was between the rebels and the guards, and he had a chance to head them off and thwart their plan before it could come to fruition.

  Still pressed against the bulletproof plexiglass, Andrew shifted his pistol up and aimed around the slight curvature in the barrier. He inched along as best as he could manage without giving the two approaching prison guards an easy shot. He couldn’t quite get a proper sight and was forced to estimate where the pistol was pointed through the refraction in the glass. It skewed slightly to the left, apparently, so he made the appropriate adjustment.

  Through the plexiglass, the guards who’d been approaching saw he was ready and tried to follow suit, slamming against the barrier to let the curvature protect them from fire. They quickly discovered why, during the Middle Ages on Earth, kings built castles with spiraling staircases that benefited right-handed swordsmen defending higher ground. Neither of the guards was naturally left-handed, which led to them awkwardly trying to maneuver their pistols around to shoot at Andrew without exposing their bodies.

  With two spare magazines in his pocket and a fully-loaded handgun in his possession, Andrew sped up the pace as he struggled to get a bead on the two guards. They were trying their best to hit him, but shooting with their off-hands was taking a toll on their accuracy. Andrew waited until he was far enough around the bend to have a line of fire.

  His first two shots ricocheted harmlessly off the far wall, but the next struck one of the two guards square in the chest. He grunted in surprise but stayed upright, continuing to fire. Andrew put three more rounds into his chest before the guard finally fell and began to bleed out on the floor.

  The other guard began to fire quickly at Andrew, but only one shot came remotely close. Andrew took careful aim and began unloading the remainder of his rounds into the hapless man. One struck his leg, two more took him in
the chest, and the final round caused the guard’s head to snap backward as a large hole appeared between his eyes. Andrew ejected the now-empty magazine and slapped in a new one. He began to move slowly, but with purpose, around the barrier to target the final guard, who’d turned his attention away from Jack and his crew to focus on the looming threat coming from the other direction. Andrew raised his firearm and prepared to fire.

  Somehow, Jack got there first. The giant had set his father down somewhere and now had his hands free. Instead of grabbing a weapon, however, Jack simply picked the remaining guard up by his head and slammed him into the concrete wall with enough force that Andrew heard the guard’s back snap like a dry twig, despite the ringing in his ears from the gunfight. Jack held the unfortunate guard against the wall with one hand while his other giant mitt covered the guard’s face.

  He pulled the guard’s head away from the wall, then slammed it back into the concrete with so much force, even Andrew flinched. Rinse, repeat. After five blows, there wasn’t much left of the man’s head. Jack, apparently satisfied by the brutal death of the guard, let the body slide to the ground. Andrew’s eyes widened as he saw Jack had actually cracked the concrete with the guard’s head.

  “Jesus…” Andrew whispered. Jack turned to look at him.

  “You shot me in the ass,” Jack growled. “I told you not to shoot me in the back or I’d get pissed off.”

  “It was a ricochet!” Andrew protested loudly. Apparently one of his earlier misses hadn’t been so harmless after all. “I was aiming for the guards!”

  “It stings,” Jack said in a calmer voice. He reached down and brought up a bloody fingertip. He licked it and gave Andrew a murderous look. “You’re lucky I have a lot of muscle in these cheeks.”

  “I’m sorry!” Andrew apologized, horrified. Nervous and on the verge of panicking, he held the pistol out to the big man. “Here, take it. You can shoot me…wait, no, just…ah shit.”

  “It’s all good, brother,” Jack said and turned away. “It’ll leave a nice scar. Chicks dig scars. It’ll give me a new excuse to drop trou for the ladies.”

  “You’re still bleeding,” Andrew told him as Jack began to limp away. There was blood seeping through the uniform and around the neat little hole in his pants, though it wasn’t nearly as much as expected. If there was any “right” area to be shot, Andrew supposed a butt cheek was a better place than most.

  “Yeah,” Jack replied. “It’ll clot in ten minutes. The coagulant in the first aid kit will stop the bleeding eventually.”

  “Uh, where’s the first aid kit?”

  “On the transport shuttle,” Jack replied. “They’ll fix it proper once we’re up on the Iroquois.”

  “The Iroquois?” Andrew murmured as he thought back on the Seiji Incident and the subsequent fight between the First Fleet and the rebels years before. “I thought we destroyed that one? Oh…you built another. Right. Jack, won’t waiting that long to take the bullet out make it more painful?”

  “The pain will be manageable,” Jack said in a solemn voice. He reached up with a bloody hand and touched his helmet. “Ash, Jack. Got the right door this time, asshole? Yeah, I know you’re sorry. It’s fine.” He glanced at Andrew. “At least you didn’t shoot me.”

  “I said I was sorry,” Andrew muttered under his breath. “Jeez.”

  “Okay, ETA to secondary extraction is ten minutes,” Jack reported. “Lock down Admin and prepare to open the doors between it and C and C on my mark.”

  “Jack,” the middle-aged man on the floor weakly called out. The giant was at his father’s side in a flash, handling him with a care that threatened to break Andrew’s internal narrative about the violent capabilities of the Seiji guard.

  “We’re almost out of here, Dad. Don’t talk, just relax,” Jack replied as he gingerly hoisted his father up off the floor. He turned and looked at Andrew. “I know I said I’d get you out, but I need someone to breach the door with Sid here. You seem capable, even if you plugged me in the ass.”

  “I used to shoot three-gun competitions before I, uh, was recognized as the legitimate heir,” Andrew stated. It was completely true, after all. He had competed within the DIB in their three-gun competitions long before he’d become an undercover Jericho agent. He offered Jack a wry smile. “I’m out of practice, but I think I can help.”

  “Take his armor,” Jack pointed to the dead man who’d come to protect Andrew. He vaguely recognized the body as Jose. Moving quickly, Andrew stripped off the ballistic cloth armor on the man’s uniform after removing the hardened outer armor. It was slightly loose, but he got the cloth armor on without too much issue. The hardened outer armor was a tad difficult. It was designed to fit snugly, so Andrew had some difficulty with the ballistic cloth bunching up under it, and it began to irritate in some of the pressure points.

  After struggling with it for a few seconds, he swore and gave up. Tossing the hardened armor on the floor, he looked over at Jack. The big man had his head turned to look at him, but Andrew still couldn’t see his eyes through the half-mask.

  “I doubt they’ll have anything that can penetrate ballistic cloth here,” Andrew explained. Jack grunted and turned away, so Andrew hurried over to the door.

  “Okay, it’s your funeral,” Jack shrugged his shoulders as he spoke in a quiet tone. Shifting to free his arm, he tapped his helmet. “Ash, Jack. Standby…and, mark.”

  The proper door slid open this time, and Andrew, on the left side of the door, let Sid breach first from the other side. Sid swung left and started down the small passage, so Andrew went right. Shaped similarly to the command/control room, Administration seemed to have drywall offices built into the middle of the room, with two long hallways going around the edge. Andrew figured both halls eventually reconnected on the other side. From what he could remember, the way he was facing also led to the entrance to Wing A, which was the minimum-security zone of the prison.

  Jack went left with the remaining survivors, and Andrew suddenly felt very alone as he began to slowly walk backward to follow. The door leading into C and C closed as he passed, nearly causing him to shoot it. He hadn’t felt this on-edge since the blown op with his deceased partner, Buckley, years before. Even his time stuck on the bridge of the smuggler ship the security detail had stolen to get him off Trono del Terra hadn’t been this harrowing.

  “What was the name of that ship, anyway?” Andrew whispered as he thought back to when Elias Brown and his security team had smuggled him off Trono del Terra. His mind drifted further. There was the faint hope that Dame Hastings hadn’t been harmed, though he was still slightly bitter toward her for putting him in his current situation. I hope Dun Hastings is still standing. That would make one hell of a place to hide, with armed guards and that amazing shower…

  “Ma Deuce!” Sid suddenly cried out from somewhere behind him, breaking him from his reverie.

  “Get down!” Jack roared. Andrew reacted without thinking and landed hard on the floor. A moment later, fist-sized holes began to tear through the drywall as someone from near the main entrance unloaded on the escaping rebels with a fully-automatic weapon. The loud, echoing booms, which seemed to come on top of one another, told Andrew all he needed to know: somebody was playing for keeps.

  “Grenade?” Andrew called out, his ears ringing again. Wishing for a moment he’d snagged the tactical helmet Jose had been wearing to help with hearing protection, it dawned on him that he would also have been wearing the rebel’s brains. The helmet would’ve been beyond worthless; if it hadn’t prevented Jose from being shot in the face, it wouldn’t have done squat to protect his hearing. Especially since there was a rather large exit hole in the back of it.

  Andrew spotted a small alcove on his left. Hiding behind a large metal cabinet and tucked into the impossibly small space were Jack and his father. Jack motioned for him to join them, and Andrew, not needing further encouragement, managed to squeeze into the small space with them. This made the already tight fit
almost unbearable. He leaned closer to Jack and repeated his earlier question.

  “Grenades? You got any?”

  “Of course I got grenades,” the big man replied as he set his father against the steel cabinet. He gave Andrew a strange look. “Why the hell would anyone go on a jailbreak without grenades?”

  “I don’t know,” Andrew admitted as the firing paused for a moment. “I’ve never done a jailbreak before.”

  “Ah, first time, eh?” Jack chuckled darkly as he reached for his belt and pulled off five small, rectangular items. They were grenades, but of a design Andrew had never seen before.

  “I thought round grenades bounced better?” he asked.

  “These little bastards stick to whatever they hit when thrown,” Jack clarified as he shaped one of them into a ball. “They’re also malleable, so they can bounce if molded right. Once the pin’s pulled, though, the entire thing goes rigid. Ex-girlfriend of mine calls it the Money Shot. Can’t argue with that. These though…think of a Claymore anti-personnel mine crossed with a grenade. Good boom, good shrapnel. Our tech is a little more advanced than yours.”

  “No shit,” Andrew muttered. He wanted to risk a peek out into the hall but decided against it. “Where’d Sid go?”

  “I think he dove into cover in the warden’s office,” Jack explained as he continued to shape the grenades into the form he desired. “I hope he’s all right.”

  “Good friend?”

  “Not really,” Jack admitted. “I’m on more familiar terms with his sister.”

  “Is that the ex you talked about?”

  “Naw,” Jack said as he finished shaping the grenades. He carefully handed them to Andrew. “That was another one. Well, no, it might be one of the other exes. I lost track.”