Bug Out! Atlantic Book 6, page 10
Daan left the call, Saladin and Mateo too. Jean and Lance stayed on.
“How much trouble are we in, really?” Jean asked.
“If I could get away from this I’d do it right now,” Lance said. “We’ve been tarred with this thing. They’ll figure out we were involved. I can only imagine what kind of crap Mateo has sitting at UN Headquarters.”
Charles nodded. “We’re on the same page, Lance.”
“I’m not,” Maggie said. “You two need to grow up. It’s in our interest to make sure this operation is a success. I suggest we start working on that, instead of feeling sorry for ourselves.”
“And with that, I’m gone,” Lance said. “At least I’m doing useful things. You wouldn’t know about Simpson if not for me following it.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Jean said. “I’m getting off too. Talk to you guys later. Good luck, stay safe.”
“All right, talk to you later,” Charles said.
Maggie shut down the call, then turned to him. “I only half believe what I said.”
“I know. We’re stuck, but it’s in our interest to stay positive for now. Sorry for wavering.”
{ 8 }
Shopping
P at checked out her new M4, standing in the indoor range at the Broadstreet Boomer’s hideout, on the outskirts of Philadelphia. She slipped on the suppressor and fired off a few rounds.
“Nice shooting,” Derrick said, looking at her paper target.
“This is easier to shoot than the hunting rifle.”
Derrick nodded. “Yeah, that’s what people don’t understand about these. Hear anything from your husband about supplies?”
“He made contact, but the funder was busy with something in California, then something in New York City,” Pat said. “I’m expecting an email any time now. Where are you getting the high-tech stuff you’ve already got? I saw several more Stinger missiles in the storeroom while I was getting ammo.”
“We hijacked a truck going into the army base. Barely survived it. One of our guys was wounded… you haven’t met him yet. He’s our technical guy. Sharp as a tack. Rob.”
Pat’s phone dinged with a text. She looked at it. “Craig. We’ve got an address. Got a truck?”
“How big?”
Pat typed on her phone, then waited for a reply. “Craig suggests a bobtail if we’ve got it, or a few full-sized vans.”
“Holy crap, what all are we getting?”
“Doesn’t say,” she said. “We need to get there by midnight. Is that doable?”
Derrick nodded. “Probably.” He sent a text. Hymie and Bailey came in a moment later.
“Hey, Hymie, your brother still have that bobtail?”
“Yeah. Slate said we could use it any time, as long as we paid for damage or replacement. He wants to join too, you know.”
“He can’t shoot good enough,” Bailey said.
“There are other things he can do,” Derrick said. “Rob said he could use him.”
“Is Rob back in action?” asked Hymie.
“He’s supposed to be here later tonight,” Derrick replied, “but his right arm will be in a sling.”
Hymie smiled. “Good, we got parts for another ten M4s to put together.”
“Ask Slate to be here late afternoon with the bobtail. He can stay if he still wants too.”
“All right,” Hymie said, walking away with his phone out.
“Where’s the pickup?” Bailey asked.
Pat read the message. “Springtown. Is that close?”
“Just across the river from here,” Bailey said. “What street?”
“It’s a warehouse, Germantown Pike and Highway 202.”
“I know where that is,” Derrick said. “Thought about setting up shop there before we found this place in Bridgeport.”
“We can take 202 all the way there,” Bailey said.
Hymie walked back in. “He’ll be here in ten minutes. Rob’s with him too.”
“Perfect, two birds with one stone,” Derrick said.
“At least you didn’t say kill,” Bailey quipped, Hymie bursting into laughter.
“Well I’m gonna squeeze off a few more rounds,” Pat said, turning back towards the range and firing some more, getting the feel for the weapon. After that, she pulled out her pistol and fired that in a two-handed combat grip, Derrick watching her.
“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
Pat turned towards him. “I was raised in the country. Daddy taught us well, and Mom too. My sister Linda is about as good as I am.”
“Is she in the resistance too?”
“She does research and publication for John, probably also for Craig now.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s more important than what we’re doing.”
“I tried to tell her that, but I don’t think she buys it.”
Derrick eyed her. “You think she wants to fight?”
Pat chuckled. “No, she’s good, but she doesn’t have the right mindset. I think she’d like to write. She ought to try, wasn’t bad in school. Better than me by a long shot.”
“Hey, I forgot to mention, we’ve got a nice crossbow in the back, if you’re interested.”
Pat grinned. “Really? I prefer my compound, but crossbows have a lot more range. Thanks, I’ll check it out.”
“Great, I’ll put it out where you can see it,” Derrick said. They heard the door open. “Oh, our friends are here. You want to tag along?”
“Yeah, with my pistol,” Pat said.
They heard footsteps approaching, and a large man appeared, looking a lot like Hymie, a smaller man with delicate features next to him, one arm in a sling.
“Pat Smetana, I presume?” said the smaller man. “I’m Rob. It’s an honor.”
“Hello,” Pat said, shaking his hand.
“I’m Slate,” the other man said. “Nice to meet you.”
Hymie came in. “Oh good, you’ve met. We ready to go?”
“Sure,” Slate said. “Know what we’re picking up?”
“Nope,” Derrick said. “Hey Bailey, you ready to go?”
“Yeah,” he said, walking out, slapping the magazine back into his pistol. “Let’s crank.”
Hymie laughed. “What is this, 1972?”
“Shut up, whipper snapper.”
Slate cracked up. “You guys will never change. Most of you will have to ride in the back.”
“No problem,” Pat said, picking up a slip of paper. “Got a pen?”
Rob handed her one, and she jotted down the address of the warehouse, handing it to Slate.
“Hell, this is close. We’ll be there in about ten minutes.”
The group piled into the truck, Slate behind the wheel, Rob in the passenger seat, the rest of them in the back.
“This will be a little bumpy,” Hymie quipped as the truck backed out of the driveway, heading for Highway 202. They rumbled down the road, going over the bridge, Pat holding onto one of the side boards inside the truck, Derrick sitting next to her.
“Why’d you desert?” Pat asked him. “Was it just one incident or the whole thing?”
“The seeds were planted by the first execution in Boston,” he said. “That really pissed me off. Got family up there, lived there for about half my life too.”
“But there was something else.”
Derrick nodded. “Yeah, they brought in UN advisers, and they seemed to be calling the shots. I’m not the only person who left, but I’m the only person I know of who joined the resistance.”
“Probably more did that we don’t know about,” Hymie said. “Wish we could contact them.”
“The less contact we have with anybody at the base, the better,” Derrick said.
“Are you being hunted?” Pat asked.
Derrick shrugged. “I don’t know, really. Leadership at the base is weak enough to let those UN slugs push them around. I think they were with the enemy from the start, although they tried pretty hard to act offended at first.”
They rode along silently for a while, slowing as they got off the highway.
Bailey was watching his phone. “We’re almost there, believe it or not.”
“You’re following along with your phone GPS?” Hymie asked, shaking his head.
“Why not? Good to be aware of your surroundings, ain’t it?”
“He’s actually right, Hymie,” Derrick said.
“Oh, I know, I’m just messing with him.”
They felt the truck slow, making a K-Turn, backing up.
“We’re here,” Bailey said. They heard the cab doors open and close, Derrick standing, rolling up the cargo door, stepping out onto a loading dock.
“Where do we go?” Slate asked. Then the rollup door at the warehouse clattered up, a man standing there with two others, next to some pallets covered with crates.
“Hello,” the man said. “I’m Art. Perfect sized truck. Let’s get this stuff loaded in a hurry. My team has other urgent things to do.”
“What is this stuff?” Slate asked.
“M19s with gimbals and remote sights,” Art said. “M60s with ammo. About forty M4s and a whole bunch of ammo. Mortars and rounds. Grenades. Stinger missiles. A few other assorted odds and ends.”
“M60s?” Derrick asked, grinning. “We were crying for those at the base. Couldn’t get those or M240s.”
“We tried to get M240s, but too hard to come by at the moment. Lots of M60s available.”
“Why the M19s?” Rob asked.
“Guys, start loading,” Art said to his men. “You, come here. What’s your name?”
“Rob.”
Art pulled out his phone, showing him video of the Blockbusters in action.
Rob smiled. “Heard about these, in Manhattan.”
“We’ve sent some of the details you’ll need, via Craig’s account. Should be waiting for you when you get back.”
“You’re the supplier for those in Manhattan?”
“No, but we’ve been talking to the builders,” Art said. “That’s all I can say. They’ve been very effective. You’ll have to find a source for the vehicles and the armor plating, of course.”
“Already got some ideas,” Rob said. He turned towards the others, who were almost finished loading the truck.
Derrick walked over to Art. “Can’t thank you enough.”
“I’ll pass that along,” Art said. “Someday you’ll be able to thank him personally, I hope.”
“I hope so too,” Derrick said, shaking Art’s hand.
The Broadstreet Boomers got back in their truck and took off.
***
Duffy was getting up, looking at the clock in the office. It was almost nine. Shit. Rico wasn’t in his cot, and the coffee was made. He poured himself a cup and went out into the garage, hearing voices. Rico was in the back, talking with Kenny, Chippy, Wick, and Zeke.
“Finally,” Rico said. “Not sure all that beauty sleep did much good.”
The others looked over, laughing.
“It’s too early for any of your shit,” Duffy said, walking over. “You get more drivers? Rico told you we got thirty more M19s, right?”
“That’s what we were just talking about,” Zeke said. “Well, that, and our sister tank corps.”
“Huh?” Duffy asked, sitting down on a stool.
Rico smiled. “We got a call from the Philly team. They’ve been delivered M19s, and video of our units in action. Rob is the technical lead up there. He quizzed me for a while before these guys came over.”
Duffy eyed him. “You sure he’s on the up and up?”
“Yeah,” Rico said. “Guess who I got to say hello to?”
Duffy shrugged. “The Easter Bunny?”
“Craig Smetana’s wife Pat. That’s how they got their M19s. Craig talked to Mayor Fine’s main funder.”
“Our funder?” Duffy asked.
“No, it hasn’t been him leaving these M19s at our doorstep. I don’t know who that is.”
“Got a name for Mayor Fine’s funder?” Duffy asked.
Rico shook his head. “Nobody’s saying, and that’s a good thing, man.”
“Yeah, we want these guys to stay alive,” Kenny said.
“What’s she like?” Duffy asked.
Rico looked at him blankly a moment.
“Pat Smetana.”
“Oh,” Rico said. “She is one pissed off woman, on fire for Liberty, but we already knew that. You read what she posted.”
Duffy nodded, his eyes tearing. “Yeah. Shut up about that before I start blubbering.”
“Hit me that way too,” Wick said. “What a great lady.”
“We were wondering when the next batch of blockbusters will be ready,” Kenny said.
“Well, we got the armor coming, and the next three cars are sitting at a lot in Yonkers. I know where the keys are.”
“We ain’t doing nothing, want us to go get them?” Zeke asked.
“Sure, we can get the M19s set up. We put those on before the armor goes on now. Much easier, and protects more of the hardware.”
“Mark V,” Rico said, smiling.
Duffy laughed. “Yeah, Mark V, but we ain’t gonna retrofit. Un-welding armor is too much time for not enough benefit, unless we’re all out of new units to build.”
“We’ve been offered some help,” Rico said. “Wick here is a mechanic and machinist. Chippy is a welder. Maybe we could start doing these things six at a time instead of three at a time. Could with the help.”
“I’m good with that,” Duffy said. “Should we take it up with the board?”
Kenny burst out laughing. “You guys crack me up. We’ll go get the cars, be back in a few hours. Where are the keys?”
“I’ll send you the text I got,” Duffy said.
“Good, thanks,” Kenny said. The men said goodbye and left.
“You know the bigger our operation gets, the more chance we’ll get hit, right?” Duffy asked.
“You’re the one who gives me a rasher when I say stuff like that.”
“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Duffy said. “That a box of donuts over there?”
“Yeah, Kenny and the guys brought them.”
“Those guys are all right,” Duffy said, shuffling over to grab one.
***
The Superstore was busy, people enjoying the cool air conditioning, glad to be out of the hot muggy Boston sunshine. Angel had just arrived at work, and was putting on her vest in the locker room, when she heard screams outside. Several hosts rushed in, shutting the door.
“What’s going on?” Angel asked.
A young man whirled around in a panic, with a nametag saying Kevin on his vest. “Oh, Angel, it’s you. UN Peacekeepers arrived, and they’re coming in, rounding people up. Help me barricade the door.”
“I’ll help,” said a heavy-set man named Paul. The third host, a terrified woman named Francis, jumped in, and they started moving one of the locker bays. Angel helped.
“Good, that ought to hold them for a few minutes,” Paul said. “I’m posting to the web page.” He pulled out his phone and typed. “We’ll get the citizens here in a jiffy.”
“They’re going to kill us all,” Francis said.
“It’s time to be quiet,” Kevin whispered. “Why tell them where we are?”
There were more screams, sounds of footsteps shuffling, and two gunshots outside, all of them jumping at the sound, and then the door moved.
“Open up now,” shouted a man in a French accent.
Paul put his finger to his lips, then turned his phone screen to the others, showing his message in a growing list of replies saying help was on the way. “Somebody already tipped them off, before me,” he whispered.
“Open this now,” shouted the UN Peacekeeper. After a moment the door moved again, several people pushing from the outside.
“C’mon, let’s push from our side,” whispered Paul, moving towards the locker bay, pushing it, shoving it back until the door shut again.
“You will all be put under arrest,” the man said.
“Shove it, UN scum, we’ll see all of you hang,” Paul said, the others looking at him in shock. He shrugged. “What? The Eurotrash knows we’re in here now.”
Shots were fired through the door, one hitting Paul in the abdomen, and he fell, in shock right away, his heavy body adding to the dead weight behind the door, the others pushing against the door once again, more UN Peacekeepers pushing from the outside, Kevin noticing a box cutter knife on the shelf next to him, grabbing it, putting it into his pocket as the door opened further. Finally the door was opened enough, the UN Peacekeepers rushing in, grabbing the two women, looking down at Paul, then going for Kevin.
“We’re going outside with the others,” the French UN Peacekeeper said, struggling with the two women, grabbing Kevin, who slashed with the boxcutter, slicing open the Frenchman’s throat, blood spurting across the room, another UN Peacekeeper firing his FN, hitting Kevin in the chest, the women screaming at the top of their lungs as they were dragged out to the front doors, shoved through to other UN Peacekeepers outside, who were lining employees and customers against the wall, all of them fighting back, the UN commander firing his pistol in the air, the noise not stopping the violent scuffle, semi-truck trailers in the parking lot opening, about forty UN Peacekeepers double-timing it towards the citizens, their FN guns out, some of them firing, others forming a firing squad line, and then the commander got on his bull horn.
“When will the citizens of Boston understand? You killed many UN Peacekeepers during the past two days. Now you will pay dearly for those attacks. Prepare to die.”
Then a shot rang out, splitting the commanders head open, as the other Peacekeepers turned in terror towards the roofs of surrounding buildings, a massive barrage of gunfire going off, UN Peacekeepers falling, some trying to run back to the semi-trucks, armed citizens in the backs of pickup trucks flying into the parking lot, letting the Peacekeepers have it with everything from double-barreled shotguns to fully auto M4s, the citizens rushing past the frightened Peacekeepers into the store, shutting and locking the doors as the battle ramped up, an Apache helicopter flying in, firing its weapon, hitting a pickup truck full of citizens, then exploding, a man in the parking setting down his Stinger missile launcher and firing his M4 at the fleeing UN Peacekeepers, many shooting video with their phones. A moment later the gunfire was over, the parking lot littered with bodies, mostly UN Peacekeepers but also citizens, friends crying over their bodies, the doors of the store opening, citizens and employees coming out slowly, looking at the carnage, thanking the citizens, police sirens approaching.
“How much trouble are we in, really?” Jean asked.
“If I could get away from this I’d do it right now,” Lance said. “We’ve been tarred with this thing. They’ll figure out we were involved. I can only imagine what kind of crap Mateo has sitting at UN Headquarters.”
Charles nodded. “We’re on the same page, Lance.”
“I’m not,” Maggie said. “You two need to grow up. It’s in our interest to make sure this operation is a success. I suggest we start working on that, instead of feeling sorry for ourselves.”
“And with that, I’m gone,” Lance said. “At least I’m doing useful things. You wouldn’t know about Simpson if not for me following it.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Jean said. “I’m getting off too. Talk to you guys later. Good luck, stay safe.”
“All right, talk to you later,” Charles said.
Maggie shut down the call, then turned to him. “I only half believe what I said.”
“I know. We’re stuck, but it’s in our interest to stay positive for now. Sorry for wavering.”
{ 8 }
Shopping
P at checked out her new M4, standing in the indoor range at the Broadstreet Boomer’s hideout, on the outskirts of Philadelphia. She slipped on the suppressor and fired off a few rounds.
“Nice shooting,” Derrick said, looking at her paper target.
“This is easier to shoot than the hunting rifle.”
Derrick nodded. “Yeah, that’s what people don’t understand about these. Hear anything from your husband about supplies?”
“He made contact, but the funder was busy with something in California, then something in New York City,” Pat said. “I’m expecting an email any time now. Where are you getting the high-tech stuff you’ve already got? I saw several more Stinger missiles in the storeroom while I was getting ammo.”
“We hijacked a truck going into the army base. Barely survived it. One of our guys was wounded… you haven’t met him yet. He’s our technical guy. Sharp as a tack. Rob.”
Pat’s phone dinged with a text. She looked at it. “Craig. We’ve got an address. Got a truck?”
“How big?”
Pat typed on her phone, then waited for a reply. “Craig suggests a bobtail if we’ve got it, or a few full-sized vans.”
“Holy crap, what all are we getting?”
“Doesn’t say,” she said. “We need to get there by midnight. Is that doable?”
Derrick nodded. “Probably.” He sent a text. Hymie and Bailey came in a moment later.
“Hey, Hymie, your brother still have that bobtail?”
“Yeah. Slate said we could use it any time, as long as we paid for damage or replacement. He wants to join too, you know.”
“He can’t shoot good enough,” Bailey said.
“There are other things he can do,” Derrick said. “Rob said he could use him.”
“Is Rob back in action?” asked Hymie.
“He’s supposed to be here later tonight,” Derrick replied, “but his right arm will be in a sling.”
Hymie smiled. “Good, we got parts for another ten M4s to put together.”
“Ask Slate to be here late afternoon with the bobtail. He can stay if he still wants too.”
“All right,” Hymie said, walking away with his phone out.
“Where’s the pickup?” Bailey asked.
Pat read the message. “Springtown. Is that close?”
“Just across the river from here,” Bailey said. “What street?”
“It’s a warehouse, Germantown Pike and Highway 202.”
“I know where that is,” Derrick said. “Thought about setting up shop there before we found this place in Bridgeport.”
“We can take 202 all the way there,” Bailey said.
Hymie walked back in. “He’ll be here in ten minutes. Rob’s with him too.”
“Perfect, two birds with one stone,” Derrick said.
“At least you didn’t say kill,” Bailey quipped, Hymie bursting into laughter.
“Well I’m gonna squeeze off a few more rounds,” Pat said, turning back towards the range and firing some more, getting the feel for the weapon. After that, she pulled out her pistol and fired that in a two-handed combat grip, Derrick watching her.
“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
Pat turned towards him. “I was raised in the country. Daddy taught us well, and Mom too. My sister Linda is about as good as I am.”
“Is she in the resistance too?”
“She does research and publication for John, probably also for Craig now.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s more important than what we’re doing.”
“I tried to tell her that, but I don’t think she buys it.”
Derrick eyed her. “You think she wants to fight?”
Pat chuckled. “No, she’s good, but she doesn’t have the right mindset. I think she’d like to write. She ought to try, wasn’t bad in school. Better than me by a long shot.”
“Hey, I forgot to mention, we’ve got a nice crossbow in the back, if you’re interested.”
Pat grinned. “Really? I prefer my compound, but crossbows have a lot more range. Thanks, I’ll check it out.”
“Great, I’ll put it out where you can see it,” Derrick said. They heard the door open. “Oh, our friends are here. You want to tag along?”
“Yeah, with my pistol,” Pat said.
They heard footsteps approaching, and a large man appeared, looking a lot like Hymie, a smaller man with delicate features next to him, one arm in a sling.
“Pat Smetana, I presume?” said the smaller man. “I’m Rob. It’s an honor.”
“Hello,” Pat said, shaking his hand.
“I’m Slate,” the other man said. “Nice to meet you.”
Hymie came in. “Oh good, you’ve met. We ready to go?”
“Sure,” Slate said. “Know what we’re picking up?”
“Nope,” Derrick said. “Hey Bailey, you ready to go?”
“Yeah,” he said, walking out, slapping the magazine back into his pistol. “Let’s crank.”
Hymie laughed. “What is this, 1972?”
“Shut up, whipper snapper.”
Slate cracked up. “You guys will never change. Most of you will have to ride in the back.”
“No problem,” Pat said, picking up a slip of paper. “Got a pen?”
Rob handed her one, and she jotted down the address of the warehouse, handing it to Slate.
“Hell, this is close. We’ll be there in about ten minutes.”
The group piled into the truck, Slate behind the wheel, Rob in the passenger seat, the rest of them in the back.
“This will be a little bumpy,” Hymie quipped as the truck backed out of the driveway, heading for Highway 202. They rumbled down the road, going over the bridge, Pat holding onto one of the side boards inside the truck, Derrick sitting next to her.
“Why’d you desert?” Pat asked him. “Was it just one incident or the whole thing?”
“The seeds were planted by the first execution in Boston,” he said. “That really pissed me off. Got family up there, lived there for about half my life too.”
“But there was something else.”
Derrick nodded. “Yeah, they brought in UN advisers, and they seemed to be calling the shots. I’m not the only person who left, but I’m the only person I know of who joined the resistance.”
“Probably more did that we don’t know about,” Hymie said. “Wish we could contact them.”
“The less contact we have with anybody at the base, the better,” Derrick said.
“Are you being hunted?” Pat asked.
Derrick shrugged. “I don’t know, really. Leadership at the base is weak enough to let those UN slugs push them around. I think they were with the enemy from the start, although they tried pretty hard to act offended at first.”
They rode along silently for a while, slowing as they got off the highway.
Bailey was watching his phone. “We’re almost there, believe it or not.”
“You’re following along with your phone GPS?” Hymie asked, shaking his head.
“Why not? Good to be aware of your surroundings, ain’t it?”
“He’s actually right, Hymie,” Derrick said.
“Oh, I know, I’m just messing with him.”
They felt the truck slow, making a K-Turn, backing up.
“We’re here,” Bailey said. They heard the cab doors open and close, Derrick standing, rolling up the cargo door, stepping out onto a loading dock.
“Where do we go?” Slate asked. Then the rollup door at the warehouse clattered up, a man standing there with two others, next to some pallets covered with crates.
“Hello,” the man said. “I’m Art. Perfect sized truck. Let’s get this stuff loaded in a hurry. My team has other urgent things to do.”
“What is this stuff?” Slate asked.
“M19s with gimbals and remote sights,” Art said. “M60s with ammo. About forty M4s and a whole bunch of ammo. Mortars and rounds. Grenades. Stinger missiles. A few other assorted odds and ends.”
“M60s?” Derrick asked, grinning. “We were crying for those at the base. Couldn’t get those or M240s.”
“We tried to get M240s, but too hard to come by at the moment. Lots of M60s available.”
“Why the M19s?” Rob asked.
“Guys, start loading,” Art said to his men. “You, come here. What’s your name?”
“Rob.”
Art pulled out his phone, showing him video of the Blockbusters in action.
Rob smiled. “Heard about these, in Manhattan.”
“We’ve sent some of the details you’ll need, via Craig’s account. Should be waiting for you when you get back.”
“You’re the supplier for those in Manhattan?”
“No, but we’ve been talking to the builders,” Art said. “That’s all I can say. They’ve been very effective. You’ll have to find a source for the vehicles and the armor plating, of course.”
“Already got some ideas,” Rob said. He turned towards the others, who were almost finished loading the truck.
Derrick walked over to Art. “Can’t thank you enough.”
“I’ll pass that along,” Art said. “Someday you’ll be able to thank him personally, I hope.”
“I hope so too,” Derrick said, shaking Art’s hand.
The Broadstreet Boomers got back in their truck and took off.
***
Duffy was getting up, looking at the clock in the office. It was almost nine. Shit. Rico wasn’t in his cot, and the coffee was made. He poured himself a cup and went out into the garage, hearing voices. Rico was in the back, talking with Kenny, Chippy, Wick, and Zeke.
“Finally,” Rico said. “Not sure all that beauty sleep did much good.”
The others looked over, laughing.
“It’s too early for any of your shit,” Duffy said, walking over. “You get more drivers? Rico told you we got thirty more M19s, right?”
“That’s what we were just talking about,” Zeke said. “Well, that, and our sister tank corps.”
“Huh?” Duffy asked, sitting down on a stool.
Rico smiled. “We got a call from the Philly team. They’ve been delivered M19s, and video of our units in action. Rob is the technical lead up there. He quizzed me for a while before these guys came over.”
Duffy eyed him. “You sure he’s on the up and up?”
“Yeah,” Rico said. “Guess who I got to say hello to?”
Duffy shrugged. “The Easter Bunny?”
“Craig Smetana’s wife Pat. That’s how they got their M19s. Craig talked to Mayor Fine’s main funder.”
“Our funder?” Duffy asked.
“No, it hasn’t been him leaving these M19s at our doorstep. I don’t know who that is.”
“Got a name for Mayor Fine’s funder?” Duffy asked.
Rico shook his head. “Nobody’s saying, and that’s a good thing, man.”
“Yeah, we want these guys to stay alive,” Kenny said.
“What’s she like?” Duffy asked.
Rico looked at him blankly a moment.
“Pat Smetana.”
“Oh,” Rico said. “She is one pissed off woman, on fire for Liberty, but we already knew that. You read what she posted.”
Duffy nodded, his eyes tearing. “Yeah. Shut up about that before I start blubbering.”
“Hit me that way too,” Wick said. “What a great lady.”
“We were wondering when the next batch of blockbusters will be ready,” Kenny said.
“Well, we got the armor coming, and the next three cars are sitting at a lot in Yonkers. I know where the keys are.”
“We ain’t doing nothing, want us to go get them?” Zeke asked.
“Sure, we can get the M19s set up. We put those on before the armor goes on now. Much easier, and protects more of the hardware.”
“Mark V,” Rico said, smiling.
Duffy laughed. “Yeah, Mark V, but we ain’t gonna retrofit. Un-welding armor is too much time for not enough benefit, unless we’re all out of new units to build.”
“We’ve been offered some help,” Rico said. “Wick here is a mechanic and machinist. Chippy is a welder. Maybe we could start doing these things six at a time instead of three at a time. Could with the help.”
“I’m good with that,” Duffy said. “Should we take it up with the board?”
Kenny burst out laughing. “You guys crack me up. We’ll go get the cars, be back in a few hours. Where are the keys?”
“I’ll send you the text I got,” Duffy said.
“Good, thanks,” Kenny said. The men said goodbye and left.
“You know the bigger our operation gets, the more chance we’ll get hit, right?” Duffy asked.
“You’re the one who gives me a rasher when I say stuff like that.”
“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Duffy said. “That a box of donuts over there?”
“Yeah, Kenny and the guys brought them.”
“Those guys are all right,” Duffy said, shuffling over to grab one.
***
The Superstore was busy, people enjoying the cool air conditioning, glad to be out of the hot muggy Boston sunshine. Angel had just arrived at work, and was putting on her vest in the locker room, when she heard screams outside. Several hosts rushed in, shutting the door.
“What’s going on?” Angel asked.
A young man whirled around in a panic, with a nametag saying Kevin on his vest. “Oh, Angel, it’s you. UN Peacekeepers arrived, and they’re coming in, rounding people up. Help me barricade the door.”
“I’ll help,” said a heavy-set man named Paul. The third host, a terrified woman named Francis, jumped in, and they started moving one of the locker bays. Angel helped.
“Good, that ought to hold them for a few minutes,” Paul said. “I’m posting to the web page.” He pulled out his phone and typed. “We’ll get the citizens here in a jiffy.”
“They’re going to kill us all,” Francis said.
“It’s time to be quiet,” Kevin whispered. “Why tell them where we are?”
There were more screams, sounds of footsteps shuffling, and two gunshots outside, all of them jumping at the sound, and then the door moved.
“Open up now,” shouted a man in a French accent.
Paul put his finger to his lips, then turned his phone screen to the others, showing his message in a growing list of replies saying help was on the way. “Somebody already tipped them off, before me,” he whispered.
“Open this now,” shouted the UN Peacekeeper. After a moment the door moved again, several people pushing from the outside.
“C’mon, let’s push from our side,” whispered Paul, moving towards the locker bay, pushing it, shoving it back until the door shut again.
“You will all be put under arrest,” the man said.
“Shove it, UN scum, we’ll see all of you hang,” Paul said, the others looking at him in shock. He shrugged. “What? The Eurotrash knows we’re in here now.”
Shots were fired through the door, one hitting Paul in the abdomen, and he fell, in shock right away, his heavy body adding to the dead weight behind the door, the others pushing against the door once again, more UN Peacekeepers pushing from the outside, Kevin noticing a box cutter knife on the shelf next to him, grabbing it, putting it into his pocket as the door opened further. Finally the door was opened enough, the UN Peacekeepers rushing in, grabbing the two women, looking down at Paul, then going for Kevin.
“We’re going outside with the others,” the French UN Peacekeeper said, struggling with the two women, grabbing Kevin, who slashed with the boxcutter, slicing open the Frenchman’s throat, blood spurting across the room, another UN Peacekeeper firing his FN, hitting Kevin in the chest, the women screaming at the top of their lungs as they were dragged out to the front doors, shoved through to other UN Peacekeepers outside, who were lining employees and customers against the wall, all of them fighting back, the UN commander firing his pistol in the air, the noise not stopping the violent scuffle, semi-truck trailers in the parking lot opening, about forty UN Peacekeepers double-timing it towards the citizens, their FN guns out, some of them firing, others forming a firing squad line, and then the commander got on his bull horn.
“When will the citizens of Boston understand? You killed many UN Peacekeepers during the past two days. Now you will pay dearly for those attacks. Prepare to die.”
Then a shot rang out, splitting the commanders head open, as the other Peacekeepers turned in terror towards the roofs of surrounding buildings, a massive barrage of gunfire going off, UN Peacekeepers falling, some trying to run back to the semi-trucks, armed citizens in the backs of pickup trucks flying into the parking lot, letting the Peacekeepers have it with everything from double-barreled shotguns to fully auto M4s, the citizens rushing past the frightened Peacekeepers into the store, shutting and locking the doors as the battle ramped up, an Apache helicopter flying in, firing its weapon, hitting a pickup truck full of citizens, then exploding, a man in the parking setting down his Stinger missile launcher and firing his M4 at the fleeing UN Peacekeepers, many shooting video with their phones. A moment later the gunfire was over, the parking lot littered with bodies, mostly UN Peacekeepers but also citizens, friends crying over their bodies, the doors of the store opening, citizens and employees coming out slowly, looking at the carnage, thanking the citizens, police sirens approaching.
