There was no response.
Ray repeated, now shouting, “I said, you can pull the wedges now!”
Malorie shouted, “Give us a minute. We’re busy kissing.”
Ray shook his head and muttered, “Well, I guess the best man won.”
Phil and Malorie were married two days later. Phil explained that they’d put their relationship “on a wartime footing, with none of the usual engagement pretensions.” The ceremony was conducted at the home of a retired Wesleyan minister who lived near Anahim Lake. All six of them (including Stan Leaman) squeezed into Phil’s crew cab pickup for the short drive.
• • •
Running the intelligence analysis cell violated one of the basic tenets of the NLR movement: The cell had connections to some other cells, and hence the risk of their detection and location by counterguerrilla units was much higher. They recognized, however, that unless a few cells were willing to gather and analyze intelligence, the NLR would be far less effective. Following instructions that were frequently mentioned on shortwave radio and distributed along with resistance pamphlets, several NLR cells, such as Team Robinson, compiled intelligence spot reports in SALUTE format, detailing “The Five Ws.”
One of the flyers read:
Resistance Fighters: Your Battlefield Intelligence Is Crucial!
The intelligence that you provide will help win the war against our occupiers.
Please do not courier hard copies! (They are easier to find in a search, and can carry fingerprints or DNA traces.) Instead, put it on an unmarked USB memory stick (“thumb drive”) with the date of your report included in the file name and then use hand sanitizer or oil to wipe off your fingerprints. (After that, handle the USB sticks only with gloves.)
How to send intelligence reports: Use SALUTE or 5Ws formats:
S
Size (Platoon? Battalion? # of vehicles, # of persons.)
A
Activity (Convoy, checkpoint, patrol, cordon, training, interrogation, relocating/evacuating citizens, etc.)
L
Location (GPS/grid coord, address, road name/#, direction, proximity to landmarks, nearest town, etc.)
U
Unit (Domestic/foreign, police, military, branch, guard/reserve, unit designation, civ supt, volunteer, uniform, vehicle stenciled bumper numbers or license plate numbers, etc.)
T
Time & Duration (Time/date group: Yr mo date 24-hr-time e.g., 20131117 0930 Mtn/Pcfc/Zulu/etc.)
E
Equipment (Weapons, equipment, supplies, vehicles, armor, etc.)
Who
(Who are you [code name]? Did you witness this yourself? Who did? Is this person credible/reliable? Who did you speak with? Who told you this? Did you get his/her contact information?)
What
(What happened? What did you see? What did you hear? What did they say to you? What was the end result? [CREATE A TIMELINE, in chronological sequence].)
Where
(Same as L [Location] in the SALUTE report. Where did this happen/is this located? What direction? Location of first and last observation? Be as precise as possible.)
When
(Same as T [Time] in the SALUTE report. Time/date and duration.)
Why
(Explanation given for activity [yours & theirs], if any. Why were you there and why did you have access to this event/information? [Passerby, observed, participated, solicited, coerced, detained, etc.])
How/How Many
(How do you know? How did they treat you? How did you react? How were they carrying out this activity? How many people, trucks, tents, crates, trailers, antennas, backpacks, etc.)
All files should be in standard formats, such as .doc, .rtf, .jpg, or .wav.
Lastly, without compromising sources and methods or your own identity, give an honest written summary of the reliability of your source and rate it on a scale of 1 to 10.
INCLUDE DOCUMENTATION: Photos, sketches, maps, copies of documents, videos, audio interviews, radio intercepts, or interview transcripts/notes. SCAN THEM and put them on the USB stick with a related file name and matching dates. Each piece of documentation should be accompanied by a description with basic 5Ws/How (or SALUTE) information. Audio files should be in .WAV file format.
Working together, with God’s Providence, Victory is inevitable
Death to the New World Order.
They are on the run, and we are on the march!
We are the Resistance! NLR!!!
It was Stan’s dairy that allowed courier drop-offs and deliveries to the McGregor ranch without much chance of being noticed, even if the courier was followed. The McGregors owned their own producing dairy cow, but the milk delivery truck would still stop five days a week and exchange a full bottle of cream for an empty bottle that was left in their oversize mailbox. Hidden beneath the mailbox, a small sheetmetal box had been constructed by Ray. This spring-loaded box, only seven millimeters deep, allowed the delivery truck driver to surreptitiously drop off and pick up USB memory sticks. The tray would hold up to eleven sticks.
43
FERTILE CRESCENT
Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity.
—General George S. Patton
British Columbia—October, the Fifth Year
The resistance war in British Columbia continued, with UNPROFOR steadily losing troops and equipment. Replacements were sporadic and never brought the units back to full strength. Morale of the French troops was deteriorating. Their road patrols became less frequent, more heavily armed, and more likely to be aborted, with an early return to base (RTB). There were very few nighttime patrols. Increasingly, the ALAT and IMa troops stayed bottled up in their compounds, and their helicopter flights became less frequent.
The few convoys that ventured out were always escorted by an APC or two or more technical trucks—pickup trucks with pedestal-mounted machine guns. Ambushing the UNPROFOR convoys was a challenge at first, but eventually the resistance cells became quite adept.
Rather than the traditional L-shaped ambush formation, the resistance adopted a crescent-shaped ambush perpendicular to a road, usually in places where the ambushers had the advantage of commanding terrain. Putting troops only on the short leg of the L and claymore mines on the long leg of the L made it easier for the ambushers to withdraw in an orderly fashion. Some of the resistance cells were large, so they could field fifteen-man ambush teams. Many of their ambushes were devastating, and so complete that they were able to advance into the kill zone and quickly scavenge weapons and ammunition from the dead UNPROFOR troops. Most of the ambushes, however, were conducted in classic guerrilla style—a method that minimized casualties among the ambushers: pounce and retreat.
Team Robinson, with just five field fighters (and sometimes only four, depending on Alan’s intermittent back problems), preferred deliberate crescent ambushes, using plenty of carefully positioned improvised claymores, which were detonated simultaneously. They used “breadpan claymores,” a popular design that they heard had been developed in Idaho. Theirs used explosives salvaged from French land mines instead of dynamite.
Malorie was exhilarated by her first ambush, but seeing two running men fall after aiming her M1 Carbine at them and squeezing the trigger had a strong effect on her. It was the knowledge that she personally had snuffed out their lights that bothered her. To just be “someone shooting” in an ambush was one thing, but to see two of her particular targets go down, and one of them kicking after he fell, was troubling. The images of them falling plagued her dreams for weeks. Gradually, she became more inured to it, but in a way she was never the same person again. She was now a killer, but she still had a Christian conscience.
The resistance ambushes became so successful that UNPROFOR had to adopt the tactic of sending out any unarmored vehicles only in convoys, with a three-vehicle minimum.
Because steel cable was so ubiquitous in logging country, the resistance ce
lls often used it to block roads at ambush sites to prevent their targets from “blowing through” an ambush.
After several weeks of recon and ambush patrols, Malorie had switched to using a captured FAMAS carbine.
44
TAKING OUT THE TRASH
I believe that being despised by the despicable is as good as being admired by the admirable.
—Kurt Hoffman, in his Armed & Safe blog
Williams Lake, British Columbia—April, the Sixth Year
Terrence Billy was an enrolled member of the Secwepemc. He had been born into the T’exelc band and held a band card. He grew up on the Soda Creek Reserve near Williams Lake. He liked his job with the Central Cariboo Landfill. The job was a paid thirty-two hours a week (plus some overtime in snowy weather), had benefits, and wasn’t stressful. Four days of each week he drove the truck on regular routes. When the Crunch came, he was “made redundant,” but he had expected that. Not only was the money inflated horribly, but everyone expected diesel fuel to become scarce. Just before he was laid off, all of the litter cans, household rolling trash bins (called “Schaefer Carts” in most of British Columbia), and Dumpsters were collected, hauled to the transfer station, and stored in neat rows. It was announced that the old landfill off Frizzi Road would be available for use, but that all families and businesses would have to haul their own trash. Rather than using precious fuel to haul it, most of the locals started burning their trash in rusty open-topped fifty-five-gallon steel drums.
After his layoff, Terrence got by with hunting, fishing, and gathering bitterroot, cattail root, Siberian miner’s lettuce, bilberries, and huckleberries. He traded the extra meat and hucks for other things he needed, such as salt and soap. He slipped into the Old Way fairly comfortably.
When the French arrived, they brought with them the new money and a steady stream of fuel tankers. The oil was produced north of Edmonton and refined on Refinery Row, east of Edmonton. The fuel and new “blue back” currency got the economy going again. Within just a few days after the gas and diesel tankers began runs to the coast, Terrence Billy got his old job back. But now it was just twenty hours a week and had no health benefits.
Like many others, he had a deep resentment of UNPROFOR, because he’d heard how they were treating some First Nations girls, turning them into sex slaves and keeping them locked up. One of those girls, his seventeen-year-old cousin named Katie, was kidnapped out of his own band. He heard that she and the others were being held in a hotel that had been converted into a brothel-prison. The former hotel was euphemistically called a centre d’interrogation. Terrence was also angry that public gatherings had been banned, which meant that there would be no more Secwepemc gatherings. He considered the UN’s ban an affront to his culture.
UNPROFOR soon took over the Williams Lake campus of Thompson Rivers University (TRU) on Western Avenue to use as their regional headquarters. This base covered the administrative region that stretched from the 100 Mile House to the south, Quesnel to the north, and Bella Coola to the west. The main building of the junior college—a brick structure with a graceful arched front and five pillars—had been completed in 2007. Because of the cold climate, nearly all of the college functions were integrated into that one building, with a gymnasium at the west end; offices, classrooms, labs, and a library in the center; and a cafeteria, computer lab, and trades class shops in the east end. Because it was a commuter campus, there were no dormitories.
Once the French army took over the TRU campus, there was a lot more garbage to haul. Several of the classrooms were converted into barracks rooms, and some of the faculty offices became bedrooms for officers. The cafeteria got a pair of large cooking ranges, and there were several new refrigerators and freezers installed. These appliances had been torn out of the Culinary Arts building at the TRU Kamloops campus. Trash pickups were scheduled for Tuesdays and Fridays instead of just once a week, and there were now four Dumpsters instead of two.
Terrence’s brother, John, was a fishing buddy of Stan Leaman. Before the Crunch, they often fished the Upper Dean River together. They were happy to get together and just fish with traditional spin-casting gear—without all the fancy equipment and snootiness of the local fly fishermen. Stan liked the Secwepemc (also known as the Shuswap) people. They were honest and unpretentious. And a lot of them, like John, were great fishermen and hunters.
When John and Stan were doing some ice fishing on Anahim Lake in early February, John mentioned to Stan that Terrence was looking for a way to get even with the French. So while denying any involvement of his own, Stan very discreetly replied that he had a friend who was with the resistance who was “a privacy freak,” and that he would be willing to meet Terrence only if he could wear a mask to the meeting. Through John, Stan scheduled a meeting with Terrence the following Saturday near Chilanko Forks, at a trailhead.
• • •
The trailhead was less than a quarter mile from the Chilanko Forks General Store. When Terrence arrived at the trail junction, he was fifteen minutes early. He sat down on a large cedar stump and rolled a cigarette. Just as he was about to light it, he heard a voice from close behind him. “State your name.”
Startled, Terrence jumped up and turned around. He said, “I’m Terrence. Are you the guy?”
A voice that seemed quite close answered, “Yes, I’m the man you’re supposed to meet.”
Terrence Billy was confused because he couldn’t determine where the voice was coming from. Then the bush fifteen feet in front of him started to move.
Ray McGregor emerged. He was wearing a shredded burlap ghillie suit, which he had borrowed from Phil.
Terrence laughed and said, “I guess I should call you ‘Mr. Tree.’”
“That name will work just fine, sir.”
As he walked forward, Ray said, “Weyt-k,” the Secwepemc word for hello.
“Weyt-k,” Terrence echoed back.
They now stood just two paces apart. Terrence couldn’t see Ray’s face through the ghillie suit’s green-mottled face net. Ray said, “I’m not of the First Nations. In fact I’m of Scots-Irish extraction, but I have respect for your people. I understand that you don’t like the French and their evil deeds.”
“You understand correctly. Fact is, you could say that I hate their guts. I want to make war on them.”
“I heard about your cousin Katie. The UNPROFOR soldiers are world-class sicko bastards.”
After a pause, Ray asked, “Are you willing to use a dump truck to deliver an explosive device somewhere? You’d set a timer and walk away.”
“Skookum. Sign me up.”
“Now, wait. You have to realize that this will be a very big device, so there could be collateral damage, and that after you do this, you definitely won’t be able to show your face in town. You may have to hide out for years, or perhaps go into exile down in the States. So do you have someplace to go, and a good network with your band that can keep you supplied?”
“Yeah. My uncle has a cabin way back in the woods, outside of Dugan Lake, that he lets me use. It’s a ‘hike-in’ cabin. You take a trail in off Horsefly Road. That cabin was grandfather-claused when the provincial forest service got set up. But a few years back, they made my uncle mad when they told him that he couldn’t build a road to it. They had a hearing at the Forest Headquarters office. He told them, ‘I’m an old man and getting crippled, and you tell me I can’t build a road to my own cabin. You are disgraceful persons.’ Anyway, he promised me the cabin after he dies. I can stay there, and I have lots of cousins that can bring me grub.”
“Then I guess we can work together. But you are never to know my name—except as ‘Mr. Tree’—or see my face.”
Terrence laughed again, and said, “You NLR guys sure have a flair for drama.”
Ray snorted and said, “Pardon my elaborate precautions. Oh, and by the way, you can call yourself NLR now, too. We are the resistance.”
• • •
The truck was a 2012 Peterbilt New
Way front-end loader Dumpster rig, with a forty-yard capacity. It was painted white with Central Cariboo logos on the sides. It had a Cummins 320 horsepower engine and a hauling capacity of fifteen tons, with a twenty-ton front axle and forty-six-ton tandem rear axles. The Mammoth brand front-end loader had been factory installed. Since the truck was fairly new, the forks were the only part of the truck that looked rusty and well-worn.
To gain the use of the truck, all that Terrence had to do was loosen a hydraulic line coupling slightly, just before he finished his route on Friday. The tremendous pressure generated by the hydraulic pump quickly made a mess of that side of the truck, spraying red hydraulic fluid around copiously behind the cab. When he got back to the transfer station, Terrence pointed to the truck and told his manager: “We got a leaky hose, just like the off truck used to get. I can drop it off at Haynes Machinery tonight, and they’ll have someone drop me back here so I can get my car. They can fabricate a new hose for it since they’re open on Saturdays. Do we have an account with them?”
“Yeah, we’ve got an open account,” his manager replied.
Terrence gave an exaggerated nod. “Okay, no sweat, boss. I’ll handle everything and head out from their shop directly to my route on Monday morning. And don’t worry, I won’t try to log overtime.”
His manager snorted. “What overtime? The UN contract says no overtime will be paid, period.”
Terrence parked the truck at a prearranged position, a quarter mile short of Haynes Machinery, and left the key under the floor mat. Before he walked away, he used a wrench to retighten the loose hydraulic line.
The truck never went to Haynes Machinery. Instead, at eleven o’clock that night, wearing a ski mask, Phil Adams climbed into the truck and drove it to a large shop with an RV door near the end of Western Avenue. The property had been abandoned after the owners had driven their diesel pusher RV to Montana, just as the Crunch began. Once the truck had been backed into the cavernous shop, they rolled down the door and got to work.
Liberators Page 32
