Bugout! California Part 132 – Bay Area Rampage

San Francisco was a battle zone. A battered Ford Excursion raced towards the pier.

“What are we doing on the Embarcadero?” Sanchez asked, worry on his black-bearded face. “It’s not a trap like last time, right? I’ve seen five UN vans since we left the restaurant.”

“Relax,” Joosten said. His hands were on the wheel of the SUV, his long gray hair shaggy, blowing in the wind of the open window. “We’re going to Pier 35. You really ought to be keeping track of the message boards. Hell, I’m old. You’re supposed to be more up on this crap than I am.”

“Why’d I have to come, anyway?”

“We’ve got a bunch of stuff to load into the back. Stan and Terry are following us, a couple blocks back, with their pick-up.”

“You believe this stuff too much,” Sanchez said. Joosten stared at him for a moment.

“Why are you with us?”

Sanchez was quiet for a moment. “Stan talked me into it.”

“If you don’t believe in this, don’t risk your life.”

“I’m in love with him,” Sanchez said.

“Duh. Why aren’t you riding with him, then?”

“He’s not as committed to the relationship as I am,” Sanchez said, eyes starting to tear up. “Why are you here? You’re too old to be running around with guns now.”

“I did just fine this morning,” Joosten said. “I haven’t given back enough. This country is worth fighting for.”

“This country has treated us badly,” Sanchez said.

“No, actually they haven’t. The Islamists who have been helping these globalist UN jerks like to throw us off buildings when they get control. Why do so many of us not see that as a problem? If we lose, they’ll be staying in our population, and growing in power. That’s death to people like us.”

A siren started up behind them. Sanchez turned around to look. “Police car. I thought they were all locked up.”

Joosten grinned. “Look, he’s chasing down that UN van. See it?”

“The guy in the passenger seat has his shotgun out,” Sanchez said. “Crap!”

The back door of the UN van opened, a man with an AK-47 aiming at the police cruiser. The Peacekeeper pulled the trigger, shooting the man in the passenger seat just as he fired, both men hit and killed. The vehicles swerved, the van hitting the curb and rolling into a building, the police cruiser slamming into the back of it.

“Whoa!” Joosten said, slamming on the brakes.

“What are you doing?” Sanchez yelled.

“I’m going to help,” he said, picking up his pistol from the center console. He rushed out in a crouch.

“Stay back,” the officer yelled, holding one arm. “The men in the front aren’t dead.”

“I’m armed, officer,” Joosten said as he rushed over. Sanchez got out and was heading for the area like nothing happened. Machine gun fire erupted, hitting Sanchez in the face and neck, killing him instantly.

“Dammit,” the officer said, looking back at Joosten, who had his pistol in a two-handed grip. He fired four times, hitting the UN Peacekeeper with the machine gun.

“Got the son of a bitch,” Joosten said.

“Nice,” the officer said. “Better get out of here.”

“Why?”

“Somebody tipped the UN off about the shipment. The vans are converging on the pier.”

“They going to Pier 35?”

The officer looked at him, shocked. “You’re in this.”

“Of course I’m in it,” Joosten said.

“Good,” the officer said. “Watch it. That guy’s running.”

Joosten got up, sprinting towards the police cruiser, grabbing the shot gun, and running forward. He fired twice, hitting the fleeing UN Peacekeeper before he could get behind cover.

“That can’t be all the folks in the van,” Joosten said.

“They’re cut real thin,” the officer said. “Help me to your vehicle. We need to get down to the pier.”

Joosten nodded, rushing over, helping him to his feet. The officer was six foot two, dark hair and dark eyes, pockmarked complexion.

“I’m Officer Barnett,” he said, as they rushed to the SUV, Joosten helping him into the passenger seat.

“Just a sec,” Joosten said, rushing over to the man he’d shot. He picked up his AK-47, and found two magazines in his pocket. He rushed back to the car with them, getting into the driver’s seat and setting them on Barnett’s lap. “You know how to fire these?”

“Yep,” Barnett said. “What’s your name?”

“Sorry – it’s Joosten.” He drove back onto Embarcadero, joining the traffic that was getting heavier by the minute.

“Holy crap, it’s working,” Barnett said.

“The social media campaign?”

“Yeah,” Barnett said. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

“Hell yeah. Think the shipment will really be there?”

“Ivan’s been right about everything so far,” Barnett said. “Hope the ship is there. I’ve heard that EU Destroyers were seen off the coast.”

“Really,” Joosten said, shooting him a worried glance. “If a lot of people get packed into that space and there’s no guns, we’re in trouble.”

“Tell me about it, man,” Barnett said.

“You have other officers coming?”

“Oh, yeah, pretty much the entire force has had it with the UN. There’s no elected officials in charge anywhere. The Police Commissioner has been in bed with them the entire time. Hope I get to shoot that son of a bitch.”

“What happened to your shoulder. Get shot?”

“No, that damn UN van in front of us stopped too quick, and I had my eyes on my partner for too long. Jammed myself into the steering wheel.”

“Oh,” Joosten said. “That ought to heal quick, at least.”

“Hell, chances are good neither of us will survive the night.”

Joosten glanced at him again, and shook his head in agreement.

“There’s the pier,” Barnett said. “The ship’s already there. Haul ass.”

“What, you want me to break the speed limit, officer?”

Barnett cracked up. “Damn straight.”

Joosten was already going as fast as he could, given the traffic. The area leading to the dock was clogged with cars, and people were already running away with armfuls of weapons and ammo, stuffing them into their cars and trucks, then going back for more. It was a crazy scene, people running back and forth, an occasional gun shot in the distance, then a blip of rat-a-tat-tat machine gun fire, echoing from between the buildings on Beach and North Point streets.

“What were you doing out here?” Joosten asked as they parked.

“Hunting UN vans. Hope the rest of the guys did better than we did, or this party is gonna be a blood bath.”

“Holy crap, what’s that thing?” Joosten asked, pointing at a large gun with an ammo belt hanging off it.

“Yes! They’re giving us M60s.”

“What’s that?” Joosten asked.

“Machine gun. Hell of a weapon.”

“Oh,” Joosten said. “I don’t think we can drive further. We need to get out. I got a wagon in the back.”

“Sounds good.”

“You need help out?”

“I already feel better,” Barnett said. “I’m shaking this off. We got some UN Peacekeepers to kill. I haven’t heard enough machine gun fire back there. That tells me that a lot of the UN vans got through.”

Suddenly there was a loud noise, and part of the pier 35 exploded.

“Dammit,” Barnett shouted. “C’mon.”

“You want to run towards that?”

“Yeah, before they destroy what’s left of the weapons,” Barnett said. “Look, it’s a EU Destroyer. It’s going to fire again.”

They both watched in horror as the cannons of the ship pointed towards the pier again, men on the cargo ship firing machine guns at them. The cannons fired, hitting the bridge of the ship, knocking it against the pier hard, as pieces of metal and men flew through the air.

“Dammit,” Barnett said. “Hurry. We’ve only got a couple minutes to grab weapons and hide. The UN vans will be here with reinforcements any second. This is why they weren’t here yet.”

“Hey, what’s that?” Joosten yelled, pointing at the water southeast of Pier 35. “Coming from Alameda. Is that the US Navy?”

“Wonder who’s side they’re on?” Barnett asked. Then the navy ship fired off several missiles, all of them hitting the EU ship in a split second, the boat blowing up in three places, thick black smoke coming off it as secondary explosions started.

“YES!” Joosten yelled. “They’re on our side.”

“Let’s get a couple of those M60s,” Barnett shouted, breaking into a run as the remaining crew of the cargo ship was tossing crates of weapons to the dock below, some of the boxes breaking open when they hit, others rolling and hitting the men waiting below. The scene was pandemonium. Somebody shouted “UN vans” at the top of his lungs, and suddenly there were a score of M60s pointed down the Embarcadero, firing at the UN vans and Peacekeepers on foot, causing them to flee for cover. The blood of the crowd was up, and nearly a hundred men ran down the street, ducking behind cover as the Peacekeepers fired, then returning much more fire, the M60s blowing right through cars the enemy troops were hiding behind.

“Let’s go get us some,” Barnett shouted, running as fast as he could now, M60 in both hands, AK-47 on a sling over his shoulder.

Joosten tried to keep up, then glanced down Bay Street to the right. “Officer, look, more UN vans coming down this street. Let’s nail ‘em.”

“I see them,” Barnett shouted. They both got into position and opened fire, lead smashing into the front windshields of the vans, men trying to get out and save themselves. Others from the pier saw what was going on and joined in, running down the street, firing M60s, M4s, and other weapons. Somebody tossed a grenade at several vans flying down the street towards them, catching the first two, the last hit by fire from half a dozen guns.

“Nailed their asses,” Joosten said. “This is almost fun.”

Barnett looked at him and smiled, then buckled to the ground as he was hit by fire from a window above.

“NO!!” shouted Joosten, rolling out of the way and aiming the heavy machine gun, firing through the window, others joining in, Peacekeepers falling from the windows.

Joosten rushed to Barnett’s side. “Where’re you hit?”

“All over,” Barnett whispered. “Go. Fight well. Show them what we’re made of.”

“Oh, no,” Joosten said, petting his forehead as he lost consciousness.

“Look, more coming north on Kearney Street,” somebody shouted.

Joosten kissed Barnett’s forehead, then took his ammo belt and the AK-47 and ran towards Kearney Street, his anger and passion taking him as he rejoined the battle, not stopping until the people had destroyed the enemy.

***

The phone dinged. Jules woke up startled, next to Shelly, their bodies sweaty against each other.

“What time is it?” Shelly asked as Jules looked at his phone.

“Nine thirty,” he said. “Text from Ivan. He says big action in San Francisco and Oakland. Enemy resources moving from Folsom to shore up Sacramento and Bay Area. He wants to hit prison in two hours.”

“Then we’d better get our butts moving,” Shelly said, reaching for her phone. “I’ll send out the text.”

“Do that,” Jules said. He replied to Ivan, then asked for more details. Ivan called him.

“Yes, boss?” Jules said. “On speaker.”

“Thought this would be faster than texting it,” Ivan said. “I trust you found the accommodations suitable.”

“They’re great,” Jules said. “We coming back here after?”

“Yes, probably, unless somebody gets followed there. We’ve had a wild evening.”

“What happened?”

“Ben Dover got the social media team up and running. We coordinated a shipment of weapons to Pier 35 in San Francisco, and a similar shipment into Oakland. People were already fighting in both places, but with inferior weapons.”

“How’d you get ship in there?”

Ivan chuckled. “We hijacked cargo ships. The EU Navy got wise, and followed. They attacked Pier 35, almost sunk the cargo ship at the dock. Lots of patriots died, I’m afraid.”

“But weapons transfer worked?”

“We had unexpected help,” Ivan said.

“Who?”

“US Navy ship from Alameda. Fired missiles, sank the EU Navy cruiser. They’re now guarding the area as our people attack. San Francisco is going to fall in a hurry. We’ve already taken north of I-80 and east of Fillmore Street.”

“That’s a quarter of the town,” Shelly said.

Ivan chuckled. “Yes. You know San Francisco, Milk Maid?”

“I do,” Shelly said, shooting a smirk at Jules, who shrugged back at her.

“It’s not quite a quarter, but we got the Financial District and City Hall. Large bunkers under City Hall held enemy offices. We could tell that it was vacated in a hurry. They didn’t expect an attack of this size.”

“But they did expect an attack?” Shelly asked.

“They sent a bunch of UN vans and a fair number of Peacekeepers on foot into the pier area, but they’d been fighting a smaller uprising between the Castro and Mission Districts. Their forces were tired and nearly out of ammo, and many had been shot in the earlier battle.”

“You think Daan’s headquarters were under City Hall?” Jules asked.

Ivan laughed. “We can’t tell yet. If so, that means he was only about five blocks from where I was.”

Jules cracked up. “That rich, boss.”

“Oh yeah, it is,” Ivan said. “But hey, back to business. We start some low-level trouble in Sacramento to draw forces from Folsom. We’re assembling a huge force near Sutter’s Landing along the American River, thanks to Ben Dover’s team again. Last number I saw was forty thousand citizens. We managed to get a large number of weapons into the area. Our forces should be getting them any minute now. We’ll start a small skirmish with part of the group in Midtown, just to make sure the slugs send a lot of Peacekeepers there.”

“You give nasty surprise, no?”

“You got it,” Ivan said. “We’ve had people watching Highway 50. There are forces already leaving the Folsom area. Since we took San Francisco City Hall and are storming Oakland City Hall as we speak, they’ll see any activity near the State Capitol area as an imminent threat. We expect them to send most of their forces from Folsom to help out.”

“We got anyone inside?” Shelly asked.

“Yeah, some guards, who’ve been reduced to working in the kitchen and outside the prison since the UN Peacekeepers took over. Those they didn’t kill, of course.”

“Bastards,” Jules said.

“Yes,” Ivan said. “Do you anticipate any problems with leaving in the next half hour?”

“Get responses back?” Jules asked Shelly.

“Yep, all the principals replied, and a whole lot of the off-roader team. Are we bringing all of them?”

“Might as well,” Ivan said. “Use the M19s to break into the building, on the off-roaders and the battle wagons.”

“We be assault team at prison too?” Jules asked.

“Part of it,” Ivan said. “Mr. White and Mr. Black will be there with their commandos.”

“Excellent,” Jules said. “I admire their work. Anything else?”

“If you can’t make it there within two hours for any reason, text me right away. Got it?”

“I got, chief,” Jules said. “Talk soon.”

The call ended.

“We’d better get dressed,” Shelly said.

“Yes,” Jules said. They could hear people outside rushing about. “You tell what Ivan said in text?”

“Enough of it to get them going,” Shelly said, as she pulled on her shirt.

***

Saladin woke up to workmen rushing around outside of his chambers. He got up and checked the time, on the way out into Daan’s living space. It was just after midnight.

“What’s going on?” Saladin asked one of the workers, who was boxing up the bar.

“Boss said we leave,” the man said in a Belgian accent. “He says tell you to pack stuff.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say. In next room. Be back in moment.”

Saladin paced the room, then ducked into his chambers and put his few personal items into a carry-on suitcase. Daan was back when he rolled it out.

“What’s happening?” Saladin asked.

“We’re in the process of losing San Francisco, and Oakland is under a massive attack. It’s starting to spread into Berkley to the north and Hayward to the south.”

“Who? Ivan’s people?” Saladin asked.

“Citizens,” Daan said.

“You giving up? Because I’m not. I’ll crush the infidel. We’ve got a lot of capability. We’ll have I-8 open again soon.”

“I’m not giving up,” Daan said, “but I know when it’s time to regroup and re-prioritize.”

“Where’s all these UN Peacekeepers who were supposed to show up?”

“There’s three ships on the way, but it’s only sixty thousand men. Not enough compared to the number of citizens who are in the fight now.”

“That’s a good number. I could do a lot with that many men. I could control this puny peninsula, for example.”

Daan chuckled. “You don’t get it. There are more than half a million armed citizens in the Bay Area battle. We’re not landing the UN Peacekeepers here. We’re taking them further north.”

Saladin laughed. “These folks just have hunting guns, don’t they? You can’t take them on with military weapons and tactics?”

“Somebody is flooding the area with real weapons. M60s and M4 variants. RPGs. Grenade launchers. Hell, even TOW Missiles.”

“Ivan?” Saladin asked.

“Well, if it’s Ivan, he’s got a hell of a lot of rich friends,” Daan said.

“We’ve got two hundred thousand Islamic Fighters heading south right now. Want me to recall them?”

“No, I want you to get I-8 and the other roads down there opened up, so the seven hundred thousand fighters in Mexico can come in and help. That’s your task. Think you can handle it?”

“Yes, Daan, I can handle it,” Saladin said. “What about Capitol Reef? What about General Hogan’s forces?”

“Later. We can’t write off California. Not yet, anyway.”

Daan picked up a packet of papers and headed for the door. “My people will get you out of here. There’s a chopper coming. You’ll get onto the building next door – roof pickup.”

“Are you going that way too?”

“No, I’m getting onto a ship, taking it up to Oregon. Then I’ll be meeting with the EU leadership, so I’ll be out of the country for a while.”

“You’re going back to Belgium?”

“Just for the meeting,” Daan said. “The UN wants to pull out of California and still retain EU funding. I’m going there to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

Saladin laughed. “Then your job is probably more difficult than mine. Good luck to you. Thanks for the hospitality.”

Daan nodded and rushed out the door. Saladin sat down and pulled his cellphone out. Where are my forces now? He checked his command and control app. They were just south of Fresno, heading south on Highway 99.

To be continued…

 

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