Bear Flag Revolt: A Chronicle of the Second War Between the States

By T.J. Barnes

In the November of 2020, a business tycoon was reelected as president of the United States. California responded by seceding from the United States and forming the Democratic Republic of California. Now the fledgling California government is embroiled in a domestic insurgency. The new president of California must form an army to put down the freedom fighters backed by the United States. These are the stories of the patriots, opportunists, and pacifists trying to survive the unrest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662471063

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Bear Flag Revolt

A Chronicle of the Second War Between the States

T.J. Barnes

Copyright © 2022 T. J. Barnes

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-7105-6 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7107-0 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7106-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prelude

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Part II: Boots on the Ground

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

About the Author

Prelude

Rumors of War

San Diego, California

December 2020

Special Agent Sam Tisdale helped the last of the detainees into the back of the transport van. He and his Enforcement and Removal Operations (ERO) Team had just conducted a raid on a construction site near downtown. All told they had been able to detain fifteen people on suspicion of being in the country illegally. The mission was only supposed to take an hour, but it had taken much longer than he had expected for everyone to prove their identity. Sam couldn't afford to be wrong these days. The California attorney general and the Ninth Circuit leaped at any opportunity to punish agents who wrongfully detained those suspected of being illegal. He had been forced to wait for family and friends to bring identification for several who had forgotten them at home.

Sam had been with the agency for twenty-five years. He was clocked out, counting the days and months until retirement. He typically rode a desk these days, as his sagging midsection divulged. But the team had been shorthanded today, so he had volunteered to assist. He squinted at the sun shining brightly in another typical Southern California late morning. Shit, he said, remembering that his sunglasses were on his desk back at their office downtown. No help for it now, he thought, hopefully traffic on the 805 wouldn't be too bad.

He and his wife, Karen, had reservations in Lake Havasu, Arizona, for the weekend. It would be their twenty-sixth anniversary. If he could get back and wrap up paperwork, he still might be able to leave early and beat the weekend traffic out of town.

He climbed into the back of the second SUV in the convoy and shut the door. Larry put the SUV in gear, except instead of driving away, the door alarm began dinging impatiently. Everyone except Sam opened and slammed their doors. The dinging continued, and the other three agents turned to look at Sam who sheepishly shut his door, finally halting the alarm. The much younger agents all looked at each other with disappointment. Knowing they would have to have the old man in their rig for the ride home. In unison the three black SUVs and the white transport van pulled onto the street for their journey to HQ.

As they crawled through the crowded surface streets, it seemed they were going to catch every red light between here and the office. Sam impatiently checked his watch for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and saturated his shirt underneath his tactical equipment. He shifted his MP5 submachine gun and undid the flaps of his body armor; the ungodly loud ripping sound of Velcro filled the cab.

You hot, Sam? Kevin yelled from the front seat

Just a little warm, Sam said, cracking his window, letting the cool Pacific air and street sounds fill the cab.

He absentmindedly stared out the window at the people and shops and boutiques they passed, his mind already planning his vacation. He was so lost in his thoughts, he hardly noticed Larry slam on the brakes.

What's this fucking asshole doing? Kevin exclaimed.

Sam peered around the headrest to see that a large delivery truck had pulled out in front of them blocking both lanes. Sam caught a flash of movement to his left. Looking over Larry's shoulder, he could see a Hispanic male in a blue hoodie toss something under the lead vehicle before running away. The doors on the black SUV flew open before whatever had been tossed under the fuel tank exploded, causing the entire vehicle to erupt in a fireball. All four agents were doused in flaming gasoline. Running a few feet from the conflagration, they began writhing and rolling on the ground in agony, trying in vain to put themselves out.

Before anyone had time to react, gunfire erupted to their left from across the street. Windows in the SUV exploded, and bullets began hammering the soft exterior of the SUV.

Reverse, reverse, reverse! Kevin screamed from his front seat as he fired through the front windshield with his M4 Carbine, vainly shooting at the muzzle flashes coming from a second-story window. Their escape was quickly blocked when they violently rammed into the hood of their transport van. Sam looked over the back seat while Matt returned fire from a blown-out windshield with his sidearm.

He could see through the shattered glass of the rear window the blood and brain matter coating the windscreen of the transport van.

The van is down! he screamed.

Larry quickly looked over his shoulder to look for a way out; his eyes met Sam's for a brief instant. As Sam met Larry's frightened look, Larry's head exploded into a pile of bloody ruin, showering everyone in a coating of blood and carrion. Out of the truck! Sam yelled. He opened the door and fell out of the SUV, landing hard on his elbows. One second later, Kevin landed on top of him. Sam crawled to behind the rear tire just as Matt crashed to the ground, blood spurting profusely from under his armpit. I got this! Kevin screamed as he yanked a field dressing from a pouch on his vest and began applying it to the wound.

Sam raised his submachine gun and began shooting at the masked assailants, spraying bullets at them from behind parked cars across the street. The sounds of gunfire were interposed with the sounds of screaming civilians running to escape the onslaught. He took cover behind the now deflated tire. Keying his hand mic clipped to his shoulder, he as calmly as he could muster, said, Dispatch, this is Echo 2-4, in the vicinity of—he paused, trying to remember what road he was on—San Diego Avenue and Conde Street! We have multiple officers down! Not waiting for a response, he leaned around the bumper of the SUV just in time to see two masked attackers armed with AK-47s raise slowly moving between the now abandoned cars. Two controlled 9mm bursts to their chests from Sam dropped both criminals to the ground.

Sam looked behind the transport van and could see three agents by the last SUV. One sprawled out on the pavement was obviously dead, but two were returning fire. The tires of the last vehicle were shot out, and smoke was rising from the hood. He turned to look at Kevin firing burst after burst with his carbine, and when he turned to look down the street he saw the other agents in his team being gunned down by gang members approaching from the east. Sam emptied a magazine in their direction, causing them to take cover behind one of the many cars.

Slapping Kevin on the shoulder, he yelled while reloading over the roaring thunder of automatic rifle fire,

Team two is down! We gotta get off this fucking street! Let's get into one of these buildings and hole up until backup gets here!

Okay, I'll cover you while you get Matt inside! I'll tell you when to go! Kevin fired off two bursts from his rifle. He dropped the now-empty magazine, letting it clatter on the pavement, driving a fresh magazine into the well and slapping the side of the weapon, allowing the bolt to slam forward. He simply yelled, Go! as he rose to provide covering fire. Sam grabbed the wounded agent by the drag strap on the back of his tactical vest, and he forced himself to the front door of a shop. The glass door shattered from the flying lead as he slammed his entire body weight into the crossbar of the metal doorframe. It's fucking locked! he screamed in frustration. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the cuts caused by the shards of glass blanketing the sidewalk and began dragging Matt's limp form through the remains of the door, leaving a thick bloodstain behind him.

Kevin sprayed his last magazine across the street. He reached for the door handle. It's locked! Sam screamed over the ringing in his ears. Kevin simply took hold of the door and pulled it open, causing Sam to notice the sign on his side of the door that said push.

Shit, he said under his breath. As Kevin came through the doorway, he collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from a gunshot wound that had entered behind his neck and had exited below his throat. Knowing Kevin would soon be dead, Sam looked at his surroundings. The first thing he noticed were flowers everywhere, filling the shop from floor to ceiling. Finally, he saw what he was looking for: the prominent exit sign in the back of the store. He decided that his best plan now that he was on his own was to simply escape.

He checked Matt's pulse, selfishly hoping that he would already be dead, so he might have a chance to escape without dragging his limp body. Gratefully finding none, he sprung to his feet and ran to the back door, knocking over vases of flowers as he ran. His chest heaved, and blood thundered in his ears as he pushed the door open, reading the push sign this time. He winced as he fled the darkened shop into the bright cloudless sky. Not knowing where he was or where his attackers were, he simply began running. His still unfastened body armor slapped against his chest; he tripped over something and rolled on the ground.

He quickly recovered and began his escape again. He stayed in the alleyway; his run had now slowed to a jog. He halted, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. As he watched the drops of sweat pour from his nose to the dirty concrete below, a loud blast reinforced by a painful blow to his chest caught him in his side. He landed on the ground stunned; he rolled over to look at his wound. Seeing blood pooling beneath him, he reached for the pistol strapped to his leg. A foot enclosed in black canvas shoes landed on his hand, pinning it to the ground. He followed the foot up the skinny frame all the way to the tattooed face of a young Hispanic male. He looked into his cold, angry eyes, and Sam realized there would be no mercy. He calmly laid his head back, taking in the warm sun now resting on his face. He thought of his wife and kids, hoping he would see them again. He prayed for God to absolve him of his sins and look after his family after he was gone as the shotgun was pressed to his cheek. This time there was no pain as he heard the gunshot, his world simply fading into blackness.

Chapter 1

Josh Swasey

January 2021 near Palo Cedro, California

The big rig's engine roared as it slowly climbed the hill on his delivery route. The bright morning sun deceptively hid the bitter cold outside the cab. Inside the cab was warm, causing Josh to scrape the fleece cap off his head. The familiar talk radio host was livid. Last month there had been an ambush of an ICE unit in San Diego. All had been killed, there had been no arrests, and California continued to uphold their sanctuary policies. Six months ago, a Republican congressman was killed in Arizona. He had been meeting constituents in Scottsdale when a lone gunman opened fire with a rifle. Killing the congressman, wounding several others, and before being killed himself by police. This was the second assassination of a sitting congressman in the last four years. There had been two other attempts previously, one in Virginia and another in Ohio.

The radio host was launching into his routine diatribe about the leftist mainstream media and fake news. Josh considered himself a conservative libertarian. He had been raised a strict conservative growing up but now considered himself a social liberal and fiscal conservative. He didn't care about gay marriage or drug use, despite being personally against those things because of his religious upbringing. His parents had both been civil servants. They had since retired, but he distinctly remembered their constant gripes about the inefficiency of bureaucracy, which coupled with his own involvement in government. Being with both the army and the Fire Service had led him to have a strong distrust of government overall. He was twenty-nine years old, and he had been out of the army for five years. He had served six years in the Fourth Infantry and 101st Airborne divisions. He had been an infantry staff sergeant when he ETS'd. He had served a year in Iraq and a year in Afghanistan. He now worked as a seasonal firefighter in the summer and drove a gasoline delivery truck in the winter. He was six feet tall with an athletic build; he sported a short salt-and-pepper beard and a military haircut. His once boyish face was now hardened and lined by years exposed to the searing Iraq heat and the biting cold wind of the Korengal Mountains.

Josh was wrestling with his own internal conflict. He logically knew that a war would be bad. But in his heart, he longed for the excitement of battle he had experienced in Afghanistan. Clayton Ramsey was a Texas Oil billionaire. He had won popular support in the election from Middle Americans who felt that they had been forgotten by the government in Washington. It hadn't been a landslide despite his claims, but he had solidly carried the Electoral College both times despite numerous reports that he had no chance of winning. His administration had been under a dark cloud almost from the beginning. There were claims of collusion with foreign powers and having been labeled as racist, homophobic, and corrupt. Within his first six months, there had been articles published in the mainstream media calling for his impeachment and execution. Broadway plays had depicted his assassination, and Hollywood celebrities had posed holding a model of his severed head. There had been numerous clashes between the Antifa leftists and the alt-right in places like Berkley and Portland, Oregon. The first assassination attempt against Republicans at a congressional charity event taking place in Virginia came just five months after his election. Over the last four years, there had been targeted attacks on police officers and off-duty military. Many local politicians had received death threats or had been physically assaulted at campaign events. Conservative and alt-right media outlets had received bomb threats, and one even had ricin attempted to be mailed to its office but fortunately had been discovered by a postal employee before it had been opened.

In response to Clayton Ramsey's reelection, the California legislature had voted overwhelmingly to name California a sovereign nation. A ballot initiative to name California an independent nation had passed with 52 percent. New gerrymandering of the districts, and ballots cast by illegal immigrants, had ensured that the few representatives in the north were elected by voters living in metropolitan areas. Districts that had once voted consistently Republican were now swinging solid blue.

Josh felt like the country was going to fall apart. It was then and there on that hill in rural Northern California where he resolved to himself that he wouldn't sit on the sidelines waiting for something to happen.

Modoc County, California, January 2021

The sounds of war echoed across the valley. Keep up suppressing fire until Bravo gives the signal! Two hundred meters away, a flare arched into the early-morning light. Shift fire! Josh screamed over the sound of semiautomatic weapons. He could see Bravo Team crossing the berm to the enemy observation post. Another bright-red flare flew into the sky before reaching its apex and hurtling toward the ground like a falling star. Lift fire! Josh yelled again, and the order was repeated down the line and the firing ceased.

Alpha team, let's move! The five men in a menagerie of camouflage patterns and an assortment of gear stood up in unison and ran in line to the OP. As they reached the flank of Bravo team, the two men at the closest ends began yelling LOA until they met and they were in a wedge formation facing the direction of attack. The team leader checked their men for wounds and ammo, and then conducted their search of the killed and wounded enemies, which in this case happened to be three plywood human silhouettes.

Good job, guys, that looked pretty good on my end. Except we need to make sure we keep alternating rates of fire when suppressing the enemy. Bravo team, you guys need to make sure you're bounding even after you begin flanking. Anyone else got anything?

Yeah, Mitch Kuskov began with a smile. Smitty ate shit on that patch of ice by the trees over there.

I think I broke my ass! Smith said, laughing.

Well, let's police up the brass and go warm up by the fire Josh replied over the laughter. With his adrenaline wearing off and the sweat soaking through his shirt, he was now feeling the effects of the almost freezing high desert spring. The snow clung to the ground in patches that had melted and refrozen into patches of hard ice. His boots were damp from the frost on the dead grass, adding one more layer of discomfort.

This was the second training event they had done together. Each of the eight other men assembled had military experience. Doug was a former machine-gun corporal from the corps, and Greg was an army-designated marksman. Zach was an army indirect-fire infantryman, and his best friend Mitch had been an army infantry sergeant assigned to a battalion recon section. The other four had been support positions. Nick had been an air force medic and was now a paramedic with a city fire department. Brad had been a marine mechanic, Smitty had been a navy gunner's mate, and Ryan had been an army MP. Mitch and Doug were the team leaders of this currently unnamed squad with the balance being divided equally among both teams.

As they sat warming themselves around the crackling fire, Josh began running through the tasks for the upcoming week.

They passed a can around, filling it to the brim with money they would use to buy supplies and discussed their current preparation levels.

They had ten thousand rounds of ammo for their rifles and several thousand rounds of assorted pistol ammo; they had a decent medical bag and several 4x4 trucks and jeeps they could utilize. But they were painfully short of food and fuel right now.

They agreed they should use this week's fund to purchase food and batteries. They agreed to meet at their favorite bar next week to discuss their next training event.

Two days later, Josh strolled the aisles of the dollar store. He had already been to several grocery stores today. It was much the same. Every grocery store was inundated with flooded parking lots and barren shelves. It reminded him of his time stationed in the South when a hurricane would blow in and panic would set upon the entire community. There was a storm brewing now, but this one was being created by man.

The next day it was announced that the United Nations would recognize an independent California. The worldwide media coverage showed huge celebrations in the streets of Los Angeles and San Francisco. But what was only a footnote in the congratulatory media broadcasts, all over California many state and local government buildings had their California flags ripped down in protest.

Sacramento

January 2021

Josh had braved the cold January drizzle to go to a protest in Sacramento condemning the actions of California. Josh was surprised to see several people he knew from town at an alt-right rally. There was a wide cross section of political ideologies mingling on the lawn. The spectrum ranged from white nationalist, all the way to libertarians like Josh. He didn't agree with the white nationalists on much, but they supported Ramsey, the Second Amendment, and border security. Some of the most principal issues to Josh. Josh had supported the most libertarian candidate on the Republican side. He'd gritted his teeth and voted for Ramsey in November, but since then he had been pleasantly surprised at his overall performance. The economy was great, ISIS was on the run, and illegal immigration was significantly down across the nation. Everywhere that was except for California, which had been actively enticing illegals to settle in the state to increase the representatives in Congress.

On the capitol grounds several hundred loyalists had gathered to protest the States' frivolous lawsuit against the federal government. Just across the sidewalk and beyond the police barricade were the counterdemonstrators who were more than happy to see the president receive another black eye from California. Many held the mass-produced signs sardonically referring to the president by his nickname the Pharaoh. The nightly local news was there to interview the elated crowd; their report was quickly spread through social media. The tension in the air was palpable, with both sides squaring off in long lines like a Revolutionary War battle painting. State, local, and county law enforcement had been called and dispatched to keep the peace, but only a few were on scene at the time.

You couldn't tell by the sweat conspicuously beading on the foreheads of those assembled but the night was damp and cold, the mercury resting in the midthirties, a cold night in the Central Valley. As Josh looked into the faces of those around him, all he saw were the darting wild eyes of frightened animals. The crowd churned and surged like an angry ocean that broke against the rocks of the police line. The secessionist rally had doubled in this time and had now surpassed the crowd of patriots. The local organizer for the State of Jefferson was attempting to speak at the base of the flagpole. Suddenly, amid the shouts and jeers of the agitators, a brick thrown from the antifascists soared over the crowd, striking a decorative bank of lights on the ground and blanketing the protesters in darkness. Josh felt his heart stop, and for a moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity, all was quiet. Then with a single banshee scream rising from a hundred voices, both sides charged each other. From his position, Josh was pushed and dragged into the fray, and in the dark it was impossible to tell who was who. As he turned to try to retreat from the chaotic melee, Josh caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively raised his arm over his head to block the assault. Pain shot up and down his arm as the padlock tied to a handkerchief slammed into the meat of his forearm. His assailant was wearing the quasi uniform of the Antifa and black block rioters, a black hoodie with black face mask.

Josh turned to face the attacker. The padlock came down again, and this time Josh stepped into the attack, grabbing the weapon hand with his left hand. He simultaneously kicked his attacker's right leg out from under him and gripped the punk's neck, following him all the way to the ground. He straddled the dirt ball's chest, and wresting the padlock from the hands of his enemy, he held it by the bolt with the lock protruding beneath his clenched fist, repeatedly striking the kid's pockmarked face. Bone cracked, and blood splattered under the assault. At that moment, Josh was no longer in control of himself.

A boot caught Josh in the face, and two officers in riot gear began dragging him to the ground.

Chapter 2

Josh winced as he touched his swollen black eye. The swelling was finally going down, but the gray and purple bruise still clung to his face. He was nursing a beer at his favorite bar on California street in Redding. He stared at his battered reflection at the mirror behind the bar as he raised his beer to his lips. Except for a few bruises, he had gotten off lucky. After the cops and knocked him to the ground, two guys he knew from around town had pushed the cops out of the way, and all three had managed to disappear into the chaos. Dozens had been arrested, and several had been admitted to the hospital. But no one had died, so the local police weren't too interested in pursuing those who had gotten away.

Someone slapped him on the back, almost causing Josh to spill his beer.

There he is! J. T. Rawles exclaimed.

Josh swiveled on his barstool. What's up, J. T., Dave? he said politely. To the two men that had more or less rescued him from arrest.

Not much, man! Just going to grab some food, some beers, and celebrate the death of this state!

"Good shit, man.