Breakout Op

  Firven 11, 1294:

  Today, the Starklett Knights were supposed to be holding duels at the castle. I was so very anxious to go, but Father forbade me. Probably because of those recent kidnappings. So here I wait for Mother to give me more chores to do. I shall go make a cup of tea to take my mind off it.

  — From Lhinde’s Diary

  22:00. Finally.

  I waited breathlessly, eager to hear some sound of rescue . . . and there it was—the sparks. The cameras popped and crackled with electrical noises, and I knew they were out of commission. And then . . .

  Fast, light footsteps echoed from the corridor on the right. Well, light for Hellebes—most of whom weighed at least twice what I did.

  Soon, three Hellebes soldiers came into view, outfitted in stealth gear, heat blasters, long-barreled energy rifles, and . . . something similar but with a horseshoe-shaped end. I didn’t know what that was for.

  One of the men was none other than Captain Zent. He grinned at me through the cell bars and said, “Finally arrived. Thought we’d never come for you?”

  “Yes,” I said truthfully, standing up and stretching. Bones popped in a series of crunches through my back, shoulders and knuckles. I tilted my head from side to side and shook my legs out. It’d been a while since my body had seen any real use, and I was restless. “So . . . how are you going to break me out?”

  One of Zent’s men held up his horseshoe-tipped tool and pressed a trigger. Red-and-white electricity arced from between the forks, causing me to shy away.

  “Oh,” I said. “Okay, go ahead.”

  The two soldiers with Zent set about using the tools, which they called arc-blasters, to saw through the metal bars like butter. In less than a minute, they had a section two-feet-wide by four-feet-tall cut out, and the two men stepped back to let the larger Zent rip the bars off with a heave. He set them beside the hole and motioned me out. “Follow close.”

  I ducked through the gap in the steel bars, turning sideways to fit my wide-shouldered frame through. I was not nearly as large as the men, but I still wouldn’t have fit through front-ways.

  Zent introduced me briefly to his two men. “Lynchazel, this is Bddo, and this is Ccal. You might remember them from when we first met.”

  I hesitated briefly. On the island . . . Yes, I did recognize them. I nodded to each. “I’m Lynchazel. Thank you very much for coming to my rescue. Thought I’d lose my mind in that cell.”

  Zent clapped me on the shoulder with a massive hand. “We would have come sooner if we had the chance.”

  I nodded. “I understand. Thanks.”

  He removed his hand and turned. “Now, we should be going. They’ve surely raised the alarm by now.”

  Of course, I realized. With the electricity off, there are no alarms blaring here. “I’ll follow you guys,” I said. “But . . . why blow the power? Why not just jam the cameras?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Could’ve done that,” said Bddo, the lankier of the two soldiers, “But either way, these chaps are going to know something is up and immediately suspect sabotage. I mean, they’d be right.”

  Ccal, the broader, dark-haired Hellebes, grunted as we ducked down a corridor. “They’ll be coming after us pretty soon.”

  They took off, and I followed as quickly as I could. My legs felt sluggish, as though readjusting to the heavy gravity of Gaea, and my awkward gown they had me dressed in didn’t help anything. Couldn’t a body get any decent clothes around here?

  Ccal conversed with someone over his radio in short bursts as we went, probably more rebels at Red Horizon headquarters, wherever that was.

  Suddenly, footsteps sounded from up ahead, and a group of guards emerged from an adjoining hallway, dressed in thick, armored grey suits and armed with blasters. Zent and Bddo already had their own guns out and took out two of the men just as the first shouting began.

  “Get down!” Ccal hissed to me, grabbing my arm as he fired off his own shot.

  With the emergence of another guard into view, there were a total of six. As I watched, Zent took out two more with heavy blasts of his two-handed pistol. The bright shots punched straight through the enemy’s armor, seeming to melt it, though there was no knockback on impact.

  A few more shots, and six guards lay dead on the floor. I found myself struggling to take a breath, standing half crouched and watching the swift devastation unleashed by my rescuers’ weapons. “How did . . .?”

  “They’re modded,” Bddo said, hitting his long blaster on the side of the barrel and wincing. “Hot. We remove the heat triggers, among other things. Buggers’ll overheat like the dickens, but they pack a punch.”

  “C’mon, let’s move,” Ccal said, scrambling ahead.

  From here, we kept to the sides of the hallways, taking a couple more turns before hearing more shouting guardsmen. Captain Zent led us through a small door and up an access stairwell one, two, three floors above. Slowly, carefully, Zent and Bddo peeked out the door, weapons first. Bddo muttered something that might have been a curse and pulled back, yanking his captain down. “Two on the left, Cap. Comin’ this way.”

  Ccal gave me a quick shh signal. I hadn’t moved from my perch on the top stair.

  At a nod from Zent, Bddo poked his head back out and fired off a flurry of four blasts before dropping his blaster. Once again, I didn’t catch what he muttered, but it didn’t sound happy. Then he said, “They’re down. We’re clear.”

  The four of us hustled out, navigating a wide room lined with shelves and a couple of desks bearing monitors and keyboards. A few more doors led us out into what appeared to be a . . . docking bay? I was a little shaky on terminology, but the wall to the right was lined with large bay doors, and more vehicles than I could name were arrayed opposite them. Many of them were flying vehicles. The ceiling had rectangular shutters whose function I was pretty sure I could guess.

  And guards. None seemed to see us yet, but a few stood nervously near doors, though some may have been off trying to capture us . . . or they were dead now.

  “We should be able to get to the ship without alerting anyone,” Zent said, beginning to tiptoe down the flight of stairs that led from the door to the hangar floor. “Keep your eyes peeled and blasters ready.”

  I glanced around the cavernous hangar as I followed them, trying to be quiet. Not that I could make as much noise as the three hulking men in their armor even if I tried. I wasn’t sure which ship Zent had pointed out until we got closer. Plated in a silvery metal, it was a relatively small craft bearing four compact thrusters and a sleek nose, with a glass panel reaching from side to side. It rested in a landing dock with stairs leading into the two doors on its left side. Bddo opened the back door and waved me in, following after. Zent took the control seat.

  No sooner had he started the engine than a voice called out over a loudspeaker: “Halt! No craft in or out of the prison until the premises are secured.”

  Ccal, opposite the captain, hit a series of buttons on his radio. “Roger that. We’ll stand by till the all-clear.” Immediately, he switched channels and gave instructions to someone from the Red Horizon.

  “Uh . . .” I glanced around nervously as guards began to gather. Something told me Ccal’s response had not satisfied the prison guards.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout them, mate,” Bddo said nonchalantly. “Just buckle up and hold onto your seat.”

  I fumbled with my seatbelt, and he helped me to secure it. “Thanks,” I said, “but what is—”

  No sooner did I begin to speak than a large crash! sounded from above us, and an entire wall blew in. Green sparks and shrapnel flew from the ceiling as metal panels peeled inwards, creaking and snapping following the blast. Smoke gushed in from outside. Alarms wailed.

  “That’d be the boys,” said Bddo.

  “And our cue,” added Zent, engaging the thrusters.