Roll upon roll of razor wire stretched for miles in an unbroken barrier that seemed to reach into eternity. Everything it contained, everyone that lived behind it, was trapped, condemned to die, even the guards with their battle dress uniforms and sub machineguns, even the dogs, with their keen eyes and sharp teeth, were finite.

Prison Camp! Even the name itself trapped them all as effectively as the electrified razor wire, which bore the scars of previous escape attempts, or the guard towers or the guns. There were other prison camps and labor camps, but nothing quite resembling this place. It had its own mingling of light and shadow, its own sounds, its own rancid stench.

Eight thousand inmates and more arriving daily, all crammed into an area measuring ten square miles. The only sanitary facilities available to the prisoners, due to the lack of any form of structures, were wire covered, two-inch wide drainage holes scattered throughout the floor of the camp. The only food or water made available to the prisoners was airdropped three times a week, and there was never enough to go around. Needless to say, cannibalism was known to occur among the inmates, whilst rat hunts and gladiatorial events, many arranged by the camp commandant for the entertainment of visiting dignitaries, were the chief form of entertainment.

In the past year the death toll had more than trebled, from all causes. Today, however, would see that number increase once again. Today the inmates were being gathered together to witness a mass execution.

Escapes were an infrequent occurrence due to the inherent mistrust that existed among the prison population. After all one needed co-operation from his fellow captors either to provide assistance, or create a distraction large enough to draw the attention of the guards away from the actual attempt. Those who did somehow to escape usually died in the harsh surrounding desert from sever cuts sustained from the razor wire fencing. In doing so they provided an easy meal for the local coyote and mountain lion community.

They had been waiting on the parade ground, in the unseasonable cold, for the past three hours now, weak, exhausted and near freezing. The last food they had received had been almost eighteen hours ago, and, due to the escape attempt, there was no sign of any arriving within the next seventy- two to ninety-six hours. It was just starting to grow dark and everywhere huge halogen lights, similar to those found surrounding ball parks, were being switched on; perimeter lights illuminating and glinting off of the razor wire lighting up the whole parade ground. A battery of specially erected spotlight shone down of the platform at the front of the parade ground; where the executions were due to take place, as though it were some sort of Broadway stage. Guards, dressed in freshly laundered black battle dress uniforms, moved slowly among the prisoners, some carrying truncheons, some with cattle prods, all armed, waiting for someone to fall or try and slip away. If anyone fell they were beaten senseless. If they tried to break ranks they and the person either side of them, were gunned down. Nothing was to interfere with the executions.

The guards, mainly mercenary soldiers recruited to bolster the newly reformed Texas Prisons Unit, were housed in the nearby township of Mt Sherman, and patrolled both the inside and outside of the prison checking for any signs of escape. Knowing that the only real chance of escape, or security breach, was by air each guard tower now had several man-portable surface-to-air missile systems stored in them.

Shortly after the opening of the prison one such escape attempt had taken place. During a food drop a group of prisoners had managed to scramble on board a helicopter that had drifted in a little to low and tried to take control of the aircraft. Thankfully for the guards, who were Texas nationals and reluctant to fire on their fellow citizens, none of the prisoners had the knowledge required to fly the aircraft and it soon crashed into the camp, causing numerous fatalities and injuries. It was as a result of this event that the Texas Prison Board had decided to replace the current guard roster with specially trained mercenaries in all maximum- security camps.

Like their newly formed agribusinesses, Texas soon gained a reputation for being the place for the United States to send their undesirables. For a fee the Texas Prison Board would agree to incarcerate some of the nations worst criminals, first using them to build the prisons which would hold them, and then locking them up in conditions that made even the maximum security prisons of the past look like holiday camps.

Standing in the front few rows of the male prisoners, Jesse Winston, elder brother of Dallas Winston and former cell commander of the Texas- American League tried his best to ignore the hunger pangs he felt in his stomach. After all he wasn't the only one hungry. Besides, in the two years he had spent incarcerated in the camp, he'd grown used to them, they'd slowly become a part of who he was, he understood them better than he did the pain from of the almost daily fights and beatings. Above all, they meant he was alive, and for Jesse that was the most important thing.

Standing up on his toes he strained to catch a glimpse of a group of female prisoners located on the far side of the parade ground. The camp was divided into two sectors by a long dividing fence, males to the east, and females to the west. They saw one another through the wire on a daily basis but the wire fence and the guards prevented any kind of physical contact. By keeping the two groups separate the camps Commandant eliminated the risks of any children being born within his walls. No news passed between the two halves of the camp. Anyone caught within two feet of the fence was shot, so the most either group could hope for was a brief moment of recognition from a distance.

Except on execution days. If it was a multiple hanging, as today's was meant to be, they bought the female prisoners onto the parade ground to watch as well. They'd stand on the far side of the parade ground, lined up in ranks like the male prisoners, and were patrolled by female guards, recruited mainly from the former Soviet Union, rumored to be even more brutal than their male counterparts. Anyone caught trying to communicate between groups would be hauled forward and added to the roster for execution. There were no exceptions.

Jesse needed to escape. For that he would need allies. But in the world of the camp such a simple commodity like trust was an unheard of luxury. He needed to escape, and do so as soon as possible. With each influx of new prisoners, or 'fresh meat' as they were know by the camp veterans, the worse the news was regarding the militia resistance. But in order to make his escape he would need to first make contact with Sarah Core, a fellow militia member and the love of his life who had been captured at the same time he was.

The two had been part of a raid on a mercenary weapons compound when the whole operation had gone to shit. Part of the initial planning and reconnaissance cadre, Jesse and Sarah had spent many a night together watching the comings and goings of the compounds security force. At first they had both had apprehensions about working together, Sarah being the daughter of a former reservist, Jesse the son of a Banker, but they soon learnt to put their differences aside and began working like a veteran team. It was always Sarah who noticed the military shortcomings of any situation, but it was Jesse who had overall operational command, and it was on his orders that the operation had been launched. The operation had been proceeding as schedule when a truck carrying reinforcements to the compound arrived. After a brief, but bloody, firefight, all but four of the militia taskforce were either dead or injured. Jesse and Sarah were quickly identified as the leaders of the operation and, after a brutal interrogation, were transferred to the Mt Sherman Maximum Security Compound.

It had now been five weeks since he had last seen Sarah, her once long strawberry-blonde hair had been cropped short and her body was pitifully thin under the orange jumpsuit all prisoners were forced to wear. She had not looked directly at him, to do so would have resulted in a severe beating from one of the female guards, but he had seen the cool look of defiance still burning in her eyes, and they had been able to use sign language to lay the initial groundwork for an escape attempt.

There had been a small uprising among the prison population in the past few days, and these hanging were the resulting consequences. The leaders had all been members of the militia. Over one hundred and fifty inmates had been gunned down, many having been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and twenty ringleaders caught and put into specially constructed isolation pits. Now, their faces bloodied and bruised, their eyes unfocussed, they were limping, wheezing and in one case being dragged by the hair to the foot of the gallows.

The door to the Commandant's office opened. Jesse watched him as he made his way to the front of the gathered prisoners and ascended the steps to the platform. He took his place with the casual ease of someone who had done this many times before. At that moment, there was movement at the front, and a guard detail dragged the condemned forward pushing them one by one up the steps toward the gallows.

The Commandant, Vladimir Kaplinsky was a former Major in the Soviet Union's infamous KGB, watched in what appeared to be amused silence as the guards literally dragged their victims up to the gallows and pulled the nooses over their heads. None of them chose to resist, to do so would only result in another beating. As the nooses were put in place a low murmuring had begun - the combined sound of male and female voices whispering prayers. Suddenly one man's voice rose above the others and began singing the Star Spangled Banner, the anthem of the United States of America. Seconds later another joined quickly followed by another. Defiantly a woman standing at the gallows joined in with men's voices.

Angered by the blatant disrespect being shown by the inmates, Kaplinsky gestured at an officer standing beside him. Moments later a burst of machinegun fire from the officer's Bison 9mm SMG rolled into the air, across the heads of those gathered on the parade ground. Several of the guards, mingling among the inmates, flicked off the safeties of their own weapons in preparation of any trouble. Though the burst of gunfire had only lasted a few seconds, when it stopped, the singing voices faltered and a terrible silence fell over the camp.

'If there any further outbursts,' he bellowed. 'The next lot of gunfire will not be fired into the air. You have my word!' His voice echoed, having been relayed throughout the camp via a system of strategically placed loudspeakers.

From his position on the parade ground Jesse half expected the Commandant to step back and order the executions to commence. Instead he remained in position behind the microphone, as though daring the inmates to partake in yet another act of defiance. During his time in the camp Jesse had seen him supervise countless executions, had watched him, on more than one occasion, as he had strangled, or shot, or bludgeoned a helpless inmate to death.

'You all know why you are all out here tonight. Two days ago several of your compatriots made a very stupid and futile attempt to stage a mass breakout from this facility. Due to the quick intervention of my guards they did not get very far. You must see how pointless it is to attempt escape. Tonight the leaders of this activity will be hanged as punishment for their crimes.' Kaplinsky paused briefly, his eyes roaming the crowd, seemingly stopping to stare into each inmate's eyes. 'However, I did not just bring you here to just watch the hanging. No. I brought you here to learn a valuable lesson. The lesson itself is quite simple and I intend for you all to learn it well. In the course of the rebellion, and let me make it quite clear that is exactly what this was, several of my guards were killed, and several others injured. For each man that was injured one of you shall die. For each guard killed three shall die.'

'Since they chose to defy my authority, those facing execution will also have the privilege of choosing those who will die with them. Before they are put to the gallows those responsible for the rebellion will be forced to watch with their own eyes the full consequences of their action. Each one will choose three others to join them at the gallows. One other, of my own choice, will also join them.'

With a flick of his wrist he once more gestured to the officer beside him, a tall, balding man known to Jesse only by the name of Larson. Striding up to the first of the condemned men Larson removed the noose and pushed him toward the front of the platform. The man shook hi head, refusing to cooperate with the sadistic wishes of the Commandant. Clearly angered, Larson raised his truncheon and slapped it hard into the middle of the man's back, but still he refused to choose anyone.

'I should have explained,' Kaplinsky said, once again taking his place at the microphone. 'Any refusal to cooperate with my instructions will simply result in additional and completely unnecessary bloodshed. Failure to pick those of your fellow inmates will result in my men shooting five men for each guard killed, and three for each one that had been wounded. The choice is clearly yours.'

For several seconds the man seemed to struggle, as though straining against a set of invisible bonds, then slumped forward, letting himself be led from the platform and down onto the parade ground.

Two minutes later he was brought back up the stairs, leading three men from the ranks below, from where he had been forced to make his choice. His task completed, the man was taken back to the gallows and again the noose was placed around his neck. Kaplinsky ordered that the three other men were brought before him and forced to their knees. Taking a knife from the sheath attached to his belt, he proceeded to cut each mans throat whilst the original execution victim was forced to watch. When it was done, the Commandant nodded. Understanding the unspoken instructions Larson kicked the stool from under the man leaving him dangling about a foot above the platform, the rope slowly tightening around his neck, gradually choking him to death.

With the first victim still writhing in the final throes of death, the first of three female ringleaders was being escorted into the female sector of the parade ground and set to work. Weeping, she selected the former members of her militia unit, and they were all taken together up the stairs. Standing among the male prisoners Jesse felt his heart grow cold as he watched them, straining to see their faces. Thankfully Sarah was not among them. Guiltily, he felt his chest relax, and then tighten again as the knife flashed, glinting in the artificial glow of the spotlights.

The second woman was already being lead onto the parade ground to pick her three fellow victims. Several minutes passed while she was escorted among the female prisoners to make her selection. On the gallows, her companion was writhing at the end of her rope. Jesse waited, his breath held in the hopes that Sarah was not among those chosen. However, when he looked up at the four women being led up to the platform his heart skipped, then seemed to stop mid beat. Like a lamb that knows it was about to face the butcher's knife, Sarah was the last to stumble up the stairs. He would have recognized her anywhere. She shivered in fear, and he called her name aloud.

'Sarah!!!!!'

He saw her stop on the steps of the platform. Saw her turn, searching, desperate to find him. Again he called, and tried to push his way forward, but a pair of strong hands held him in place.

When he turned to his right he saw the scarred face of Daniel Lov, one of the few remaining Texans among the camps security force, staring back at him. 'Jesse, stay where you are. Let her go. There's nothing you can do right now.'

He was about to struggle against Lov's grip when he felt something being pushed into his right hand. Unsure of what was going on Jesses looked down and saw the Glock model 18 pistol Lov had thrust into his hand, and at that moment he knew what he had to do.

'Jesse, I love you!' Sarah's voice echoed across the parade ground, drowning out all other sounds. For a moment there was absolute silence. Then Jesse looked up and saw the Commandant's head snap backwards followed seconds later by the echo of a single rifle shot reverberating over the camp.

Galvanized into action, Jesse brought the Glock up into a weaver- stance firing position and squeezed the trigger. From a distance of two meters, and traveling at a muzzle velocity in the range of eleven hundred feet per second, the single 9mm round slammed into the temple of the nearest guard and exited the other side in an explosive burst of blood, bone fragments and brain matter. Despite the confusion among the ranks of inmates around him, Jesse thrust the Glock into his waistband, crouched next to the dead guard and began searching him for extra magazines for the Glock and the Heckler and Koch MP-5K SMG he had also been carrying.

Up on the platform Sarah was using the pandemonium caused by the gunfire to her own advantage. No sooner had the Commandants body crashed to the ground; Sarah was on her feet, captured knife in hand, looking for a target which she found in the female guard that had accompanied the third hanging victim onto the parade ground. With a roar of pent up anger and frustration, she spun on the balls of her feet, the knife now is her left hand, flashing in an arc, the razor sharp blade slicing through the guard's throat in a deluge of arterial blood. Then. With the momentum she had built up, she swung a vicious roundhouse kick that slammed into the temple of a second male guard, sending him crashing off the platform to the ground below, where the former inmates set upon him.

Larson was the first of the guards, which had been assigned to the security of the platform during the executions, to recover from the initial shock of the gunfire. At the sound of the first gunshot he had grabbed one of the condemned prisoners to use as a human shield. And sought cover behind one of the gallows's upright supports. From that position he watched as one of the female prisoners, now armed with the Commandant's knife and a Glock 17 semi-automatic pistol taken from one of the now dead guards, cutting down those prisoners still garnered to the gallows. He had watched as she had first slashed one guard's throat and then as she kicked another guard off the platform into the mass of prisoners below.

He was just stepping away from cover, having broken the neck of his human shield, the Bison SMG swinging up into a firing position when she detected his approach. She had just finished cutting down another of the condemned prisoners when she had spotted Larson's black battle dress uniform out of the corner of her eye. Armed only with the knife, and realizing she didn't have time to draw the captured Glock from her waistband; Sarah dropped into a crouch and rolled to her right, just as Larson fired a final three round burst. Coming out of the roll Sarah hurled the captured knife in Larson's direction, more as a distraction than anything else, and retrieved the pistol from her waistband.

Forgetting completely that he had fired the air burst earlier in the night Larson looked down at his weapon in surprise as the bolt stayed open and the firing mechanism clicked on an empty chamber. He was in the middle of inserting a fresh sixty-four round helical magazine into the weapon when the knife, thrown from a distance of seven meters, buried itself up to the hilt in his chest. The knife, honed to razor sharpness at the request of the now dead Commandant, slipped through a small gap in the Kevlar paneling that lined Larson's vest, penetrating his chest between the sixth and seventh rib opening a tear in the pulmonary artery.

Because of the chaos going on all around her, Sarah still acted in a strict military manner. With the Glock held at the ready in front of her she slowly approached Larson's now prone body. When she had thrown the knife she had only meant it as a distraction until she could get her hands on the stolen handgun, but now, as she covered the final few feet towards her victim, she could see the thick, almost blackish arterial blood pumping up through the wound.

'Finish it,' Larson gasped, blood spluttering from his lips in a pinkish froth as he spoke. 'Please. Finish it!'

As she stood over Larson's body, she remembered all the times he had taken female inmates to the Commandant's office for his pleasure an enjoyment. As tempted as she was to let him suffer, just as she and her fellow inmates had suffered, she realized that by doing so she would be no better than those that had held her captive. Raising the gun, and lining up the sights, she fired a single round into the middle of Larson's face. Kneeling over the body, she quickly retrieved the Bison and any additional magazines Larson had been carrying. She then retrieved the sheath for the Commandant's knife, and taking any weapons and ammunition she could find made her way to the rear of the platform to wait for Jesse.

On the parade ground Jesse and Lov were trying desperately to fight their way through the crowds of inmates. Some were using the confusion to settle old scores with fellow inmates, whilst others were taking the opportunity to take out their anger on their former captors. With Lov using his size and strength to barge a path the two men quickly approached the bottom of the gallows steps. They arrived just in time to see Sarah put Larson to death. After a brief embrace Lov lead the two reunited militia members down the rear steps of the platform and through a secret access tunnel, thought to have been known only to the Commandant and his highest ranking guards, and out to freedom.