by Robert Boren
Officer Sanchez looked up from his phone. “Do you want to go in behind them off Cuyamaca, or do you want to insert ourselves in front of their advance?”
“In front of their advance, so we can dig in and take them on,” Officer Roberts replied. “I don’t want them taking us out four or five at a time in these squad cars. We need to be on foot with our new weapons.”
“Okay, then make the left on Cuyamaca, then another left on Partridge Avenue. Go down to Eastside Road and make a right. That’ll put us about a block behind the school.”
“Hey, Roberts, some of the citizens are fighting back,” Kowalski said from the back seat.
“How do you know that?” Officer Roberts asked him.
“It’s all over social media.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Officer Sanchez said. “There’s your left. I sent out a text with the info to the others.”
Officer Roberts nodded, making the turn, the other squad cars following. Partridge Avenue was less than a block down, and they were on it in a flash, the sounds of gunfire filling the air to the northeast.
“Park either side of Heron Avenue,” Officer Sanchez said. “Then we can get out and move through the neighborhood.”
“Sounds like a lot of hunting rifles and shotguns going off in between the AK-47 fire,” Kowalski said.
“You can tell the difference?” Officer Sanchez asked.
“Hell yeah, I was in Syria, remember? All the slugs had AKs.”
“I thought UN Peacekeepers used something else,” Officer Roberts said.
“Actually, they might be using several different weapons,” Kowalski said. “I’ve seen them with old M16s, newer M4s, AKs, and several other European weapons, also some Asian weapons.”
“Since these creeps were allied with the Islamists, makes sense to me that they’d use AK-47s,” Officer Sanchez said. “That way they can pool ammo and parts.”
“Whoa, they just blew up a house,” Officer Roberts said, pointing out the windshield towards the north. “I’m pulling over here.”
“Go past Heron or we won’t all fit on the street,” Officer Sanchez said, still looking at his phone. A bullet hit the front of the cruiser, the engine sputtering to a stop.
“Shit,” Officer Roberts shouted. “Bail out of this sucker and grab your weapons!”
They did that, Officer Roberts rushing around to the trunk and popping it open, the men there to grab their M60s and M240s, Kowalski taking his X15 flame thrower.
“You really gonna take that thing?” Officer Sanchez asked as they ran for cover.
“Hell yeah, but I’ve got my M4 too,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get up there. I smell a target-rich environment.”
“Yeah, you and Custer,” Officer Roberts quipped. They ran across Eastside Road in a crouch, the other squad cars emptying now, fanning out, rushing towards the northeast.
“We need to get onto Finch and attack the school,” Officer Sanchez yelled after they took cover, bullets flying in their direction now, coming from enemy fighters hiding between buildings at the school. “There, we can go between those two houses.”
“Looks as good as anywhere,” Officer Roberts said, heading between the two larger houses. An old man slipped out of the house as the police were massing in his back yard, ready to hop the back fence.
“Hey, what are you guys doing?”
“Stay in your house,” Officer Sanchez said to him. “In an inside room if possible. It’s gonna get crazy here.”
“Already is,” the old man said. “I’m Stu.
“Hey, honey, Ivan the Butcher is coming on TV,” shouted an old woman’s voice from inside the house.
“Want to check it out?” Stu asked.
Officer Roberts thought about it for a second. “Okay, I’ll go in. Sanchez, direct the rest of the officers through this way. Get onto Finch and attack. I’ll be right there.” He trotted over to Stu and they went through the sliding glass door into his living room. They stood in front of the TV as Ivan appeared on the screen in full gangster get-up.
Fellow patriots, it’s Ivan the Butcher, and we’ve got a problem. UN Peacekeepers are leaving their giant base in El Cajon, attacking civilians in the neighborhood to the west of Cuyamaca Street, between Billy Mitchell Drive to the north and Fletcher Parkway to the south. This is a diversion, to pull our forces from the battle front in Bonita. We aren’t taking the bait. Police officers are arriving now to help, but they won’t be enough. Any citizens who have weapons should load them and get ready. It’s going to take a combined effort of police forces and citizens to stop the enemy attack. You’ve seen what the good people of California have done in repelling the enemy over the past months. We need you again. If you don’t have weapons, either leave the area or barricade yourselves in your homes.
“Well, that was short and to the point,” Stu said. “Time to lock and load, gentlemen.”
“Stu, don’t run off doing something crazy,” his wife said.
“I’m going on the balcony with my good rifles,” he replied. “Those scopes are sighted in, and I know how to shoot. I can see the school from there.”
Officer Roberts smiled. “You do that, but leave a shotgun down here with your wife just in case. Anybody else in the house?”
“Nope, we’re empty nesters,” Stu said. “Good luck, officer.”
“Same to you,” Officer Roberts said, leaving his house.
“What was it?” Sanchez asked, standing by the back fence as officers were sneaking over it.
“Hail Mary. He’s talking about this battle right here, and telling citizens to get their guns out and join the fight. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Worked before,” Officer Sanchez said. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” He climbed over the fence behind Sanchez, and they trotted between the houses, getting behind a small wall with a good view of Finch Street, across from the Elementary School. “Hope there aren’t any kids in there.”
“There aren’t, from what I can see,” Kowalski said, adjusting the straps on his X15 tanks so they rode higher on his back. “Wish I would’ve had more time to adjust this setup before we had to hit the pavement.”
“If that’s a waste, ditch it quick and go to your M4, or grab one of the M60s,” Officer Roberts said.
“Don’t worry, I get it. Hey, look, coming through that walkway between buildings at the school. Good opportunity to try this.” Before Officer Roberts could say anything, he was trotting across the street, others covering him as gunfire started up.
“That guy is frigging crazy,” Officer Sanchez said. “If he takes a bullet in one of those tanks, he won’t know what hit him.”
“I see what he’s doing,” Officer Roberts said, watching him sneak through the planters, the UN Peacekeepers behind some shrubs in front of the school office. “He’s gonna need some cover right now.”
Several officers close by heard, and turned their M60s and M240s in that direction, spewing lead into the front of the school as Kowalski stuck the flamethrower around the corner of the building and pulled the trigger, the flames covering a large group of UN Peacekeepers, forcing them into the open, some of them on fire, others running for their lives, only to be mowed down by automatic fire from the police.
“Now we’re talking,” Officer Sanchez shouted, running across the street, diving behind cover and firing at fleeing Peacekeepers with his M60. Then Kowalski snuck close to him and opened up with the X15 again, turning the area between buildings into a living hell, Peacekeepers screaming for their lives as they tried to escape.
“Watch it,” Officer Sanchez yelled, as several UN vans roared into the parking lot of the school from the east side of the campus. Kowalski saw them, hitting the vans with the flamethrower, the first one exploding after a moment, the other vans trying to back up, police officers from either side up and running with their weapons now, firing as fast as they could. One of the vans stopped, driver and passenger killed, the side door sliding open, Peaceke
epers trying to flee, most of them hit with machine gun fire before they got more than a few steps from the vehicle. One of the vans escaped behind a structure to the south, and then there was the sound of sporting weapons, as citizens rushed in with everything from shotguns to old M-1 Carbines, leaving the Peacekeepers with nowhere to go.
“We got trouble, Sanchez yelled, diving for cover as hundreds of Peacekeepers showed themselves, running in from several directions, taking down the first row of police officers. Kowalski got there, opening up with the flamethrower again, stopping their advance until somebody shot the X15 tanks, creating a huge fireball, pieces of Kowalski flying in all directions.
“Dammit!” shouted Officer Roberts, rushing for another covered position and opening fire with his M60. More citizens were rushing in from the west side of the neighborhood now, some of them picking up the military weapons dropped by fighters on both sides and opening up on the huge group of Peacekeepers, who were spreading out, trying to get out of the line of fire.
“Hey, listen,” Officer Sanchez shouted. “Vehicles coming in.”
Officer Roberts turned to see a multitude of civilian cars rushing in, stopping in the middle of the streets, armed citizens rushing out and getting into the fight, gunfire ramping up to a fever pitch.
“See that, Roberts?” Sanchez yelled.
“Yeah,” he replied, getting up to change position. “We might just live through this.” He trotted forward to some new cover, getting ready to fire when several shots rang out, hitting him in the head and neck.
“Roberts!” shouted Sanchez, horrified, as more police officers around him fell. “Pull back to cover, dammit.”
The officers were taking losses as they found cover, the battle turning into a standoff. Sanchez found a good place, several other officers getting next to him.
“Where’s Roberts?” one of them asked.
“Bought it,” Sanchez said. “We need to move away from here and try to get a better position.”
“We’re gonna run out of ammo if we aren’t careful,” the man said.
“Yep, don’t be shooting at anybody you can’t see,” Sanchez said. “We’ve got more police coming, and citizens too I suspect. Try to find a good position to stop the advance.”
***
Willard and his team were waiting, listening to the gunfire on Highway 94 ramping up, their phone apps buzzing again as the second semi-truck was breached, RFID hits spreading out, many no longer moving as they hit the buzz saw of civilian rifles from either side of the road.
“One of them trucks is still coming,” Willard said, slipping on his Bluetooth headset. “You there, Garrett?”
“Yeah. You ready? One of those trucks is still rolling. They must have put some armor in the sides of the cab. I saw how much fire that cab took. They should be dead.”
“You start fighting them yet?”
“Naw, we’re hanging out in the trees, waiting for them to get onto the property. We’ll set up a nice kill-zone.”
“How many of your riders have modern weapons now?” Willard asked.
“Nearly half. Gotta ride. You’re gonna be up to bat, you old codger, so do some damage.”
“You got it,” Willard said. He turned to his men. “Get ready to fire. Let’s blow that first semi all over the damn pasture.”
His men nodded, eyes focused on the gate, and then the cab of the first truck appeared.
“Fire!” Willard yelled, and all four cannons went off, three of them hitting the cab of the truck, smashing it to bits as the last cannon hit the trailer, knocking it on it’s side, Islamists scrambling to escape just as the cavalry revealed themselves, a mixture of black powder and modern guns going off at once, Islamists dropping fast. Then the second semi tried to push its way past the wreckage of the first, cannon balls ripping into it, killing the driver and passenger in the cab instantly, the cannons re-loading frantically, then firing at the semi-trailers, peeling sheet metal off with each shot, gunfire from the citizens on Highway 94 ramping up again from both directions.
“Keep on them,” Garrett said over the Bluetooth headset. “Lots of bad guys escaped those trucks, and they’re trying to make it to the woods next to the pasture again, like they did before. We’d better root them out before they can set up any mortars.”
“Think we can hit them with the cannon?” Willard asked.
“Yeah, give it more elevation, try to hit just past Highway 94. There’s some trying to regroup there before they cross the street and get into the woods.”
“You heard the man,” Willard said, working with his men to adjust the cannon.
“These things ain’t made for this, you know,” one of Willard’s men said.
“I’ll take it under advisement. Get ready to fire!”
“Ready on this one, Willard,” said another on his team. “I marked where we are, so we can keep track, since we can’t load these with the barrels pointing up.”
“Now you’re using the old bean,” Willard quipped. “Fire, dammit!”
The first cannon went off, the ball whistling as it flew, coming down in the midst of the enemy, screams coming from their ranks as the second cannon fired, just past the main group, but hitting some Islamists trying to flee.
“Nice shooting,” Garrett said, his breath coming hard, sound of his horse’s hoofs pounding in the background. “Another group further to the south trying to set up mortars. We better stop them, men. Whatever it takes. If they hit those battle wagons, our intel team will go dark.”
There was a pop, the pasture exploding as an enemy mortar round fell.
“Crap, that’s from another group,” Garrett said.
“I see where they are,” Tyler said. “I’m on top of the hill, over the mine, near the access hole. Aim those cannons to the north about ten degrees, same distance.”
“Got it,” Willard said. Then he froze, a grin washing over his face. “Hear that? Off-roaders.”
“Yeah, we’re pulling them out here from the back,” Garrett said. “Nobody showing up back there in the drone video.”
The raspy snarl of microguns erupted, AK-47s firing, Islamists trying to hold them off, but not having any luck against the fast-moving vehicles.
“Should we fire?” Willard asked. “Can’t see what’s going on.”
“No, let the off-roaders handle it. They’ve got them on the run now. Enemy fighters left their mortars behind. Some of our guys are getting there now, turning them around to fire on the fleeing Islamists.”
“We’re gonna win this,” Willard said to his men. “Keep your eyes open. Everybody’s reloaded, right?”
“Yep,” one of his guys said.
“Hey, all, Clem here. We got that inside generator up and running now.”
“Excellent,” Garrett said. “That means the most important thing we can protect now is the cell tower. Everybody got that?”
“We got it,” Willard said. “We still need those battle wagons, though, don’t we?”
“Yeah,” Clem said. “The new generator is un-touchable, but it’s only about a third of the capacity we need. It’ll be enough to keep the intel team going in a pinch, but we need the rest of the capacity.”
“This is Elmer. I’d still protect those battle wagons with everything you got. If they get destroyed, that leaves us with a single generator and no backup.”
“We’re on that,” Tyler said. “My warriors are guarding them and the access passage way.”
“Yeah, we’re on it,” Ed said. “Don’t worry.”
The gunfire slowed.
“We got them beat?” Willard asked. “Can’t see jack from here.”
“They’re on the run, but I can’t say how many are still alive,” Garrett said. “All it would take is a few mortar shots to do us real damage, so let’s secure the area. Use your apps. None of the Islamists are shielded now, and I didn’t see any UN Peacekeepers in this attack.”
Willard smiled, then pulled a small cigar out of his pocket and lit it u
p. “Translation. We won, but keep your eyes open.”
***
Mr. Black was almost finished with his burger when his phone dinged. He picked it up off the table and looked at the screen. “Dodge City attacked.”
“Oh no,” Erica said, looking at Sam with her brow furrowed. “We have to go back there.”
“No,” Mr. Black said. “Battle nearly over, enemy defeated. This was diversion.”
Sam pulled his phone out and loaded the long-range app, navigating to Dulzura, his eyes getting wide. “Nearly 500 hits. Geez, must have been another lined semi-truck.”
“It was two,” Mr. Black said. “Not worry. Battle over. No more on way.”
“How do we know if they’re shielded?” Erica asked.
“Satellite and drone video show no more traffic on way,” Mr. Black said. “Why so worried?”
“Our daughter is there,” Erica said.
“She’s in the mine,” Sam said, looking Erica in the eye. “We knew this was a possibility, and we were watching. They’ll be okay. Let’s focus on the task at hand.”
Erica was silent for a moment, but nodded in agreement.
Sid’s phone dinged. “It’s Clem. Battle over. Nobody got killed, except for Islamists. No UN this time, either. All but the men in the cabs of those two semi-trucks had RFID chips. They’re doing cleanup. Oh, and that generator inside the mine is up and running now, too.”
“Good, I was worried about that generator,” Yvonne said. “It’d be too easy to blow up those battle wagons and blind our intel team.”
“Everybody is counting on Intel team,” Mr. White said. “Good to have redundancy.” His phone dinged when it was still in his hand.
“Grand Central,” Sid quipped.
Mr. White smiled. “Trawler in sight of harbor.”
“Finish eating, then we go,” Mr. Black said, still working on his French fries. The group was getting up a moment later. They noticed people gathered around the bar staring at the TV when they were on their way out.
“Shit, that’s Ivan,” Sid whispered. They stopped to look.
“Any of you know about this?” Sam asked as they paused, looking at the screen, which was showing a still of Ivan, the reporter talking about him.