Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

The day of the execution, a prison guard asked him for his last meal. He thought it over for a while. He was somewhat put off by the Southerners trying to kill him, so he figured he'd try to inconvenience the cooks by asking for something for an odd dish. The best he could think up of was haggis and some Moxie. This mission started over Moxie, after all.

He ate slowly. The guards, being oddly merciful, let him. He didn't really like haggis, but was nonetheless surprised by how bad the cooks mangled it when he bit into something very hard and metallic tasting. He looked at, and found it was his Derringer.

Odd. Whatever would a firearm be doing in a Scottish delicacy? Shadrach pocketed it. It would be funny if they found it on his corpse. Heh.

Meanwhile, down on the main floor, there was a commotion. A black fellow, wearing the brown and black of the Sons of John Brown had burst into the prison, with a young woman he had taken hostage. The man ranted and ranted and didn't give any demands. Of course, Shadrach didn't see any of this. The man didn't even tell the guards to put their guns down. So, as soon as the man had his back turned to rant at some little old lady behind a desk, the two guards rushed him. The man wheeled around, and took his arm away from the girl's neck. He had his gun aimed at one of the guards. Oddly enough, so did the girl, with a wicked grin. The guards were caught flat-footed, and didn't even react when the two went to render them unconscious. The little old lady fainted. The terrorist and the hostage separated and shook hands.

"No time for self-congratulations now!" commented a cranky, slightly Swedish-accented voice. The prison cook emerged, also armed for some reason. If anyone remained conscious in the room, they would've found this markedly odd. "You two make sure no-one comes in. I'll get Shadrach," said the old man. With that, he headed for the capital inmates row.

Shadrach had finished his haggis and Moxie, and the guards unlocked his cell. This was it, or so he thought, until he heard the distinctive pinging of a silenced weapon, and the thud of one of the guards hitting the floor. Old Sven rounded the corner into the corridor, Thompson blazing. Shadrach leaped out of the way. Three of the guards returned Sven's fire, and one was about to wheel in Shadrach's direction. Shadrach fumbled into his pockets for the Derringer. He got the drop on the guard and grinned. "Come on soldier. You're coming with me."

Using the prison guard as a hostage, Sven and Shadrach made their way down to the main office, where Lillian and David stood, having just recently wrecked the surveillance cameras. He was free. Who says the government doesn't care?

Of course, it was time to get out of Baton Rouge. They already had their stuff packed up, and they headed back north. Shadrach was disappointed at the failure of his mission. He figured if he wasn't sacked, he'd be posted back to France. Back to the hellhole. Ick.

Sven was driving when the announcement was made. Suddenly, Jesse Helms was on the radio.

"In response to the New England government's coddling of such groups as the Sons of John Brown and the Weather Underground, I, with the power invested in me as Generalissimo of the Southern People's Republic, declare a state of war exists between the Southern People's Republic and New England."

And that was the end of the transmission. At least now I'm not going to France, thought Shadrach.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V