Chapter Five: Battle of Port Royal
Whomp, whomp.
Sergeant Ed Lane shot up from his seat in the briefing room as soon as the alarm went off, eyes darting automatically to his team leader.
"Team Four, hot call."
Whomp, whomp.
"Gear up, gear up."
Both men hurried out of the briefing room, the alarm and Kira's orders providing a sharp counterpoint to tension that had been humming between them all morning.
Whomp, whomp.
The blonde dispatcher glanced up to start briefing the hot call, then faltered, blue eyes widening at the sight of two Team One members joining Team Four's constables.
"What do we got?" Ed demanded, nerves jangling even louder at the look on Kira's face.
"Team Four, you're deploying to Toronto South (3), where we have a riot in progress," Commander Holleran announced, speaking over the still blaring alarm.
A stern glare silenced Lane's indignation even as the Sergeant opened his mouth.
"Lieutenant Parker is in no danger; he's in the maximum security wing, which would've gone on full lockdown as soon as the riot started." Shifting his attention to Sergeant Vio, he ordered, "Focus on the call and inform Kira if your team needs additional resources."
Ed felt his fingers curl – he knew Greg was in trouble. No matter what Commander Holleran said, there was no way Greg would've barricaded the 'team sense' like he had if he wasn't in trouble. But explaining that…
Wordy's palm landed on his shoulder, tugging him back and out of Team Four's way. Their team was down two; they'd be running on the ragged edge if it was a normal hot call, never mind a prison riot. The lean frame slumped down, because much as Ed loathed admitting it, Team Four was the better team for this hot call. They wouldn't spend half their time worrying about Greg, unjustly imprisoned for a crime he hadn't committed.
Above the two officers, the alarm continued to blare, the sound itself sending their adrenaline levels sky-high. Normally, Ed loved it – loved the thrill of the alarm, the knowledge that there were people out there in the city who needed help only the SRU could give. He loved riding the wave of adrenaline, right into the laser-focused sniper mindset that served his team best.
But thinking of Greg, trapped in the middle of a prison riot without backup, weapons, or armor… It turned all that adrenaline into a sickening, lurching curdle of dread. Sinking like a lump in his stomach, making his gorge rise as nausea pressed against his spine.
Light blue shifted, meeting Word's gray and seeing the same unspoken horror. They knew their lieutenant was in danger and there was nothing, nothing they could do to help him. All they could do was watch, wait, and hope, as hard as they could, that Team Four could save their second-in-command.
"Mordred, soon as we get on scene, you confirm Parker's location," Sergeant Troy Vio rapped out. "Report back to Kira, keep Team One off our backs."
"Copy that, Sarge."
"Remember, everyone, we go less-lethal inside the prison."
"Less-lethal?" Gwaine yelped. "It's a prison riot, Sarge!"
"And the last thing we need is a loaded gun in that mix, Gwaine," Troy replied, tone grim. "It'll blow sky-high." He took a breath, then added, "Last team to handle a prison riot was Team One; Parker ordered his guys to go less-lethal, too. Don't like it any better than you, but that's our playbook."
Leon stepped in, unhappy, but backing his Sarge. "That means tasers, rubber bullets, and gas, Gwaine."
"Copy," the roguish prankster grumbled.
"Percival, Lancelot, Elyan – once Mordred's got us a layout and we know where all our players are, need you three to take one side of the pincer movement," the team leader continued. "Gwaine, Sarge, and I will take the other side – priority is to extract any guards inside and start thinning out the opposition."
"If we gotta go less-lethal, too bad we can't get the kid Aurors to come lay 'em all out with Stunners," Gwaine opined.
"Hiding behind sorcerers now, Gwaine?" Elyan teased.
"You wanna mess with a bunch of prisoners we helped get arrested?"
"Look on the bright side," Percival remarked, waiting for his teammates to freeze in shock. "We haven't arrested as many of them as Team One has."
Groans resounded through the comm and Troy shook his head as Percival grinned from the seat next to him. The Sergeant flicked a glance towards his quiet mountain of a constable and muttered, "Tell me you didn't do that to get Gwaine to stop whining about going less-lethal."
Percival didn't respond, but the way his grin widened even further spoke volumes.
Once the team arrived at the prison, they made their way to the central control area. Mordred hustled ahead, quickly finding a place to set up his laptop. The prison warden wrote down every password used by the internal network and handed them off to the constable; in less than five minutes, the computer tech was bringing up live images of the ongoing riot on the huge monitors mounted to the walls. Fingers danced on the keyboard as he continued to work; a map of the prison appeared on a free screen close to the control room's exit and color filled in the layout, highlighting all the areas that the inmates had overrun in red. Green marked totally safe zones and blue appeared in contested spots, where the guards were pushing back against the rioters.
"Good work, Mordred. Start pulling profiles on anyone we can identify; let's see if we can get a bead on whoever's running the show here."
"Copy," the constable acknowledged. He flicked a glance back at their Sergeant, earning a nod in reply. Mischief danced as the computer tech turned back to his laptop, ever so briefly diverting off the hot call to run a very specific search.
From the opposite side of the room, Gwaine smirked at how much fun his rookie was having, then shifted towards Leon and Percival to start planning out their pincer attack once they had the situation sussed out.
"Sarge?" Mordred asked, hesitant in a way that put every single one of his teammates on edge. "Could you come here a moment?"
Gwaine turned his head, free hand clenching an instant before he forced the fingers to relax. He believed in Mordred – trusted the other man to have his back come hell, high water, or the end of the world. Unless Morgana or that Druid woman turned up again. He hated himself for that caveat, but deep inside was a Camelotean knight who'd been crushed by Mordred's betrayal, Eira's (4) betrayal, and his own torturous death at Morgana's hands.
Shaking off the ancient memories, the curly-haired constable flicked his eyes to Leon, arching a brow in question as he tapped his belt where several flash bangs hung. Leon frowned, considering, but finally shook his head. Huffing, Gwaine gave a short nod and began to take them off.
"What?" Sarge blurted, pulling the whole of Team Four around. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, Sarge," Mordred replied, pointing to his laptop screen. "Looks like they temporarily reassigned this other guy to the med wing this morning."
The other constables stiffened as their Sergeant straightened to his full height and slowly turned to face the warden. Dark eyes blazed with fury so great that Gwaine fleetingly wondered why the prison warden didn't combust on the spot.
"I'm going to ask once." Level, even, with emotion so tightly controlled that the tension in the room shot up based on that alone. "Where is Lieutenant Parker?"
The bottom dropped out of Gwaine's stomach.
"He's not in Solitary?" Elyan demanded, pushing past the warden to look over Mordred's shoulder himself. The black man stared at the screen and inhaled, blacksmith muscles bulging beneath his uniform as he whirled to face the prison warden. "You put a veteran officer in General Population?"
"Are you insane?" Gwaine burst out before Elyan could say just that.
"He hasn't even had a trial yet," Lancelot hissed; Gwaine flicked his eyes towards the lean knight-constable, unsurprised to see he was even angrier than their Sergeant at the revelation that the SRU's second-in-command was anything but safe in the middle of a prison riot.
"Mordred, get Kira on the line," Sarge ordered. "Parker is not in Solitary; whereabouts currently unknown. All hands on deck; pull from the Special Division if you have to."
"Now wait just a minute," the warden protested.
"Tell me where my lieutenant is and I'll rescind the order," Sarge replied, icy cold in his burning, raging fury.
The warden blinked, caught off guard. "Your lieutenant? He's Team One; everyone knows that."
"He was Team One," Leon corrected. "Now he belongs to all of us." The lean team leader stepped forward, Percival a looming, glaring mountain at his back. "Lieutenant Parker is a man any of us would follow right into the depths of hell, sir. You have no idea what you've done by putting him in jeopardy."
"And if he dies," Gwaine added, every word a poisonous hiss, "Team One can have you."
"Sir?" Kira said, looking up at where her commander stood on the office side of the dispatcher desk. On the opposite side, close to the workout room and the briefing room, the whole of Team One maintained an anxious vigil, not a single one of them willing to leave until their lieutenant's status was confirmed.
"Yes, Kira?" Holleran asked, though he frowned at her fearful tone.
The blonde dispatcher pulled in a deep breath, bracing herself. "Sergeant Vio is requesting immediate backup, sir. All hands on deck." Another breath. "Lieutenant Parker is not, I repeat, not in Solitary."
"They put him in General?" Sam blurted.
Kira swallowed hard and nodded. "Current whereabouts are unknown," she whispered, but they all heard her.
Most of the officers in the SRU considered their commander to be a mild-mannered man; an officer who'd worked his way up from the streets to command and knew what they faced, yet mild and canny enough to play the city's game of politics without offending the bigwigs. There were even a few who wondered what the commander might do if push came to shove, though his staunch defense of Parker during the latter's undercover assignment had quieted most of those fears.
Any remaining doubts had just been laid to rest as Commander Holleran straightened to his full height, a deadly expression on his face and brown eyes snapping behind wire frames – even his close-cut black and white peppered hair seemed to bristle with outrage.
"Team One, gear up," he ordered. "Kira, get Team Three rolling as well. Special Division on standby, but ready to go if any on-scene Sergeant requests it." Brown shifted to Team One as they hovered, wanting to run, but waiting for any further orders. He gave them. "Your priority is Lieutenant Parker. Find him and extract him – he does not leave your custody once you've secured him, no matter what the prison says."
"Copy that," Ed acknowledged, nodding sharply to his commander. "Team, let's move." Adrenaline flowed as he followed his teammates, calculating every single step that needed to come before they could launch their hunt for their lieutenant – and bring him home again.
Years as a commander allowed Norm Holleran to bring the worst of his temper to heel while Kira called in Team Three and he evaluated every possible action he could take.
Officially, Teams Two and Three were off, leaving One and Four on-rotation, but with Team One down to five, the remaining teams had been quietly ensuring that there were always two full teams available during Team One's shifts. Though Roenick's cooperation was grudging at best, once he'd agreed, he and his team pulled every ounce of their weight in upholding the unofficial arrangement.
Within thirty minutes of Kira's call, Team Three converged on the barn, changing rapidly into their uniforms. As soon as they were fully geared and ready to roll, Commander Holleran gave them a rapid briefing, covering only the high points. Riot at Toronto South, Teams One and Four onsite. Team Three was to work with Team Four to rescue the prison guards and contain the riot while Team One went in to extract the SRU's lieutenant from General Population. The officers cried out instinctively, appalled by the news that one of their own had been put in General without so much as a trial.
"Gentlemen," Holleran interceded. "I have no intention of allowing this travesty to stand, but I need you to stay on point. The sooner we get this riot under control, the more leverage we have against whoever targeted our lieutenant." He nodded as they quieted. "Any questions?"
"Just one, sir," Sergeant Cooper replied for his team, giving them a preemptive quelling glare. "Team Four has the lead?"
"They do; either myself or Commander Locksley will coordinate between your two teams if necessary." Holleran gestured to the dispatcher desk. "As always, Kira will be your link to the barn; don't hesitate to request additional backup if necessary."
"Yes, sir," Cooper said, saluting. Shifting towards his team, he ordered, "Let's roll!"
Norm waited for them to leave before pulling out his phone. Unlocking it with a brief press, he flicked to his contacts and located his target. Tapping the name, he lifted the device to his ear, impatience vibrating, but he had to do this right. Had to ensure that nothing was left to chance.
"Commander Locksley speaking."
"Anne, need you down here at the dispatcher desk," Holleran rumbled. "We have an ongoing prison riot and I need you to coordinate between the teams."
"What about you?" Locksley asked, though he heard her moving in the background.
Brown eyes hardened and narrowed behind his glasses. "I have an Internal Affairs detective to interrogate concerning his role in placing my officer in General."
The witch gasped. "Parker is in there?" she cried, aghast.
Holleran allowed his eyes to close and rubbed his forehead. "Anne, if I'm right, then it's no coincidence that this riot happened the day after our local media decided to out Lieutenant Parker as Italian mob boss Carl Elias."
"Merlin help us," Locksley whispered. "I'll be right there, Norm."
Most of Team Four had deployed into the prison by the time Team One arrived, but Vlachos was still in the prison control room. Stepping inside, Ed spied the computer tech working at his laptop and swallowed down a lump. The hair was darker, longer, and curly – the constable's build larger and broader than Spike's, but the posture… It was the same and it hurt, knowing they were in the field without their bomb tech. No Spike, no Greg – inside, his stomach heaved as he struggled to keep from imagining just how bad Greg was going to be when they found him. When, not if, because not finding him was simply not an option.
Lifting his chin, the Sergeant strode forward, pointedly ignoring the prison warden as he focused in on Mordred. "What do we got?"
"A mess," Mordred replied, glancing up from his computer. "You guys catch that news special last night?"
"Who didn't?" Sam groused, though fresh worry shone as he rubbed a hand through his hair.
Mordred's expression dropped even farther. "Apparently, it was quite the hit around here; guards pulled Parker out of General and put him in Solitary overnight."
"They did?" Jules asked, brows rising.
"Why'd they put him back?" Lou questioned, scowling.
The dark-haired constable sighed, shoulders dropping a hair. "Parker's file has a tag on it; somebody red-flagged him. Guards had enough leeway to pull him out last night and change his cell assignment this morning, but that was as far as they could go." The shoulders slumped down further. "The last note in here is that he requested to stay in his cell and not go to the exercise yard today, but that's against prison regs unless an inmate's on punishment."
Fury boiled within Lane, but he forced himself to nod and step over, leaning over Mordred's shoulder to examine the screen. "Why the cell change?"
In response, Mordred brought up two rap sheets on his screen. The bald Sergeant's brows rose as he read through them. Then he nodded and let his chin drop. Everything in him wanted to be raging furious. To rip apart the prison warden and the prison guards for not protecting his best friend. But… Truth was, this wasn't the prison's fault. Not entirely. They'd known – how could they not – that what was happening was wrong, but not everyone had the mental fortitude to go against authority, real or perceived. At least some of the guards had tried, within their limited means, to defend the unjustly imprisoned SRU cop.
Light blue flicked sideways and Wordy tipped his head a hair, accepting the handoff. "What about the riot? We know where he was when it started?"
"Exercise yard," Mordred replied, tapping at his keyboard. A moment later, one of the live images winked out and was replaced by a grainy image of the exercise yard.
Ed stepped back, head rising and gaze fixing on a familiar figure working his way to the center of the camera's field of vision. Greg knew where the camera was – he was deliberately staying in view even as he angled for a clear area. The middle of the exercise yard left him exposed on all sides, but it also served as the ideal alibi; if he was on camera, then it was evidence that he hadn't incited the riot. But this was before the riot…
"He knew it was coming," Jules announced, frowning at her own conclusion.
"Who's that?" Sam asked before anyone else could speak, pointing to another part of the screen; Ed swung his head towards the new player, eyes narrowing.
"Dietrich Hassler," the prison warden replied, though he quailed at the universal hostile glares he received from the SRU officers.
"And that is?" Ed questioned, still glaring, but lifting one eyebrow as he stared his target down.
"Castor Troy's best lieutenant," Mordred announced. "Arrested by Team Two in a joint raid between them and, um…"
"Team One," Wordy finished, scowling.
A new voice broke in over the comm. "If you're done yappin' like idiots, we got a lead for you."
Indignation curled and Ed shoved it away, lifting a hand to his comm. "Go ahead, Macken."
"Found a couple guards locked in different cells," the Team Four constable reported. "They're all sayin' it was Parker."
Percival picked up as Gwaine took a breath. "Got a couple inmates down, too; most of 'em are still out, but one admitted Parker took 'em down."
Ed nodded. "Copy that, we're coming to you."
"Lane, there's something else," Vio cut in, grim. "Both the guards and the inmates claim Parker's eyes were red and he wasn't acting human if you know what I mean."
The Sergeant's heart stuttered in his chest. The gryphon was loose? But how was that even possible – Greg's magical core was fixed. No taint, no demonic twisting – Queenscove had checked him from head to toe after his psyche been ripped in two by Morgause and Morgana, only to pronounce him as whole – and sane – as a person could be.
None of that mattered, though. Ed swallowed hard and levered words he hated out of his gut. "Copy that, Troy. Your team have tranqs on you?"
"Tranqs? Maybe in our special gear, but…"
"No buts. Get 'em out, have 'em ready. You find him first, try 'n' talk him down, but if he doesn't respond, you use them." Ed turned, including his horrified teammates and Team Three in his next order. "All SRU on site; Lieutenant Parker is to be considered mentally incapacitated and threat level red. Keep your tranqs handy; rubber bullets won't stop 'im, but he'd never forgive himself if he hurt any of us.
"Troy, hold your position; if Parker's corralling the guards, he could still be active in your sector."
"Copy," the other Sergeant acknowledged. "We got a trail from the exercise yard to where we are now; figure you can chase the rest of it down the rabbit hole?"
"That's the plan," Ed agreed. "See you in five."
Sam swallowed back bile as he crouched next to a small pool of blood and two unconscious inmates. The scent of blood stung his nose, alluring and repulsive, both at the same time. One inmate still had a shiv clutched in his hand, but there was another shiv laying a meter or so away from the blood. Gingerly, he reached out, touching the blood; mostly dry. No help there. But…the sniper braced himself, then sniffed. Blue widened; he glanced back and up at Jules. She moved in next to him, a faint grimace appearing as she sniffed the air herself. Then she looked down at Sam and nodded.
"Got something?" Wordy asked, keeping his voice low.
"That way," Sam replied, pointing down the corridor. "Figure they had a guard down and Sarge hit 'em from behind."
"The guard's bleeding," Jules put in. "Not much, but enough to track."
The team leader nodded, knowing the wolf and jaguar Animagi could track by blood and scent alone if they had to. There was a faint air of discomfort – his inner stallion instinctively shuddering – but the team was taking every advantage they could get.
Lou took the lead – although his senses weren't quite as attuned to blood and scent as Sam or Jules, foxes were predators in their own right. Slim, agile, and excellent at catching small, speedy prey. Sam hovered to his teammate's left, sniffing the air every so often to make sure they were still on track; Jules stayed in the middle of the group, right in front of Ed and Wordy.
When they reached the next intersection, Lou frowned, glancing left. Just as Sam was pointing to the right, the tan-skinned constable held up a hand and pointed. The blond turned back with a frown, only to blink – there was a puddle of gooey vomit several meters away from them, right of center in the corridor. The wolf Animagus made a face and hastily tugged at his enhanced senses, pulling them back as much as possible.
Bunching up, the officers made their way forward, weapons up and ready for any stray inmates, but not a soul disturbed them as they reached their latest clue. Ed waved for Lou to inspect their find for any hints; before the constable could obey, they heard a sound and snapped on full alert.
A man stumbled out of a nearby guard post, unarmed; his uniform was streaked with grim and several stains that looked suspiciously like blood. "You here for Parker?" he called.
"We are," Ed confirmed, moving towards the dirty-blond guard; Sam noted the older man's shoulders were sagging, exhaustion and pain carving unaccustomed lines of stress on his face.
"Better have tranqs on ya," the guard advised.
Sam stiffened, eyes widening in shock. "How do you know that?" he blurted.
Deep blue gazed back, weighed down by sorrow. " 'e tol' me," the guard replied. "Nuttier than a nut, but 'e got me out. E'en stopped when I tol' him ta."
He waved back where the team had come from and Sam sucked in a breath, realizing the two inmates owed their lives to their would-be victim.
"Was'n till we got 'way that 'e came outta it; guess mebbe it was me talkin' to 'im."
The constable swallowed down bile, seeing the same horror on his teammates' faces; if Sarge had killed to survive, to protect the guards, and then come back to himself…
"Where'd he go?" Wordy rasped.
The guard slumped against the wall. "Asked me 'ow many guards were left in 'ere. Tol' him there should be four more. Mebbe less if they go' out." He pointed past them, back towards the corridor that Sam had first identified. "Went tha' way. Can give ya the patrol routes if'n you wan'."
"Please," Lou said, emotion trembling.
"Was he okay when you saw him?" the Boss asked as their contact nodded and started digging in his uniform for his smartphone.
"Was'n hurt," the guard replied. "Just ain't all there."
Deep inside, his inner wolf snarled outrage at the slander against his Alpha, but Sam throttled the emotion, breathing slow and steady to keep himself in check. If Sarge was slipping back and forth between himself and the gryphon, then the guard was right. Even if it was the very devil to admit it.
The next guard they found had good news. More than one piece of it, for a nice change of pace. According to their latest informant, there was only one other guard left to find. Even better, he described his rescuer as a stocky, half-bald graying brunet, with hazel eyes and very sane.
The whole team breathed an internal sigh of relief at the last – whatever was going on with Sarge, if he could keep it together just a little longer, they'd be able to reach him and get him out safely. Then they could figure out what was wrong this time and fix it.
Blood. It coated the floor and the walls and the limp body that lay out in the open, head twisted at an unnatural angle. Sweat and fear and desperation stung their sensitive noses – even Wordy could smell it. Lou, in the lead, scrambled forward to the body, only to heave a sigh of relief – it wasn't the Sarge.
Jules, in the middle as she'd been for most of their trek, stared around at their surroundings in horror. Someone had fought here – more than one someone. Her eyes drifted to the body and shuddered. Someone had died here. Internally, she shook herself and yanked her attention back to inspecting the area. Sarge had been here, she knew it in her bones. He must've gone somewhere after he'd been here, too.
A flash of brown caught her eye and her heart rose into her throat as she moved towards that hint of color. A second body – no, no, no. Not him, please not him. It wasn't until she reached the dead man that she realized he was much too young. Clean-shaven, wearing only a pair of briefs – why was he…
Fresh bile rose and Jules's hand rose to her mouth as she whimpered. Her teammates whipped towards her and she turned away from the fallen man. "They took the guard's uniform."
"No way Greg knew," Ed breathed and she nodded.
In their ears, the comm crackled and Mordred's voice came through. "Team One, just got a report from the unis on the perimeter. They found a hole in the fence surrounding the prison; no idea how long it's been there."
"We've got subjects in the wind?" Lou demanded.
"Looks like it, Lou," Mordred replied. "My team and Team Three have got most of the inmates corralled and under control. Should get the last couple down soon – you find Parker yet?"
"Negative," their Sergeant rasped. "We've got a dead guard, a dead inmate, and a heck of a lot of blood." He turned, glaring at the nearby wall. "How close are we to that hole in the fence?"
There was silence, as if Mordred was checking on his computer. Then he came back on the line. "Got an exit 'bout two corridors away. Usually secured, but our rioters managed to get ahold of a couple guard keys. Hole in the fence is right across from that exit." More clicking. "The spot you're in doesn't have a camera, but I got some camera stills from about twenty minutes ago. Looks like about nine, ten, maybe eleven inmates in that exact area; already workin' on getting them IDed."
"Were they carrying anyone?" Wordy asked, an awful hope in his voice.
"No, sorry," Mordred apologized. Then there was a startled intake of breath and a sound like the young constable had just sat straight up in his seat. "What in the name of Arawn (5)?"
"What, what do you got?" Ed cried, despair and desperation weaving together into pure agony.
"Got somebody comin' in," Mordred reported. "Looks like at least four, maybe five, but soon as they got close, they spray-painted the camera."
More frantic clicking came through the line as the computer tech fought to get them something, anything. Jules closed her eyes, murmuring a prayer under her breath.
At last, Mordred gave his verdict. "I got nothing," he admitted, anguish wrenching his voice. "They sprayed every camera in their path; I'd bet my whole salary they took Parker, but I cannot confirm."
Ed dropped his chin, closing his eyes in defeat. "We got no choice then. Add Lieutenant Parker to the BOLOs you're putting together, Mordred."
"Copy, Sergeant Lane. Want me to send EMS your way?"
"Negative; all we got here is bodies."
Jules shuddered at that truth, gazing down at the young guard who'd never had a chance. The guard whose clothing had been stolen to trick Sarge. And seeing his sightless eyes, glazed over, but clearly only a shade or two darker than Sarge's…
Oh, Sarge, where are you?
[3] Toronto South Detention Centre
[4] Eira was an ally of Morgana le Fay who tricked Sir Gwaine into trusting her during the final days of Camelot. She was captured and executed as a spy, but not before she'd won Gwaine's heart and passed crucial information on Camelot's forces to Morgana.
[5] Celtic god of the Underworld, Terror, Revenge, and War
Author Note: A very happy Friday to one and all. As ever, I hope you enjoyed and I welcome any/all reviews.
On a Real Life note, I got my developmental edit back last Friday. Lots to work through, understand, and apply to Small Beginnings. Your support and prayers have meant so much to me and I am determined to persevere until the end of this journey.
I extend prayers to any of my readers who live in the areas affected by Hurricane Helene. I cannot imagine what you are going through right now. May the Lord and His Angels be with you as you work to recover from the storm's devastation. And for those who have lost loved ones, may the Lord shelter you beneath His Wings as you grieve.
May the Lord Bless each and every one of you - and your families - on the other side of the screen.