Bonner Incident

by Thomas A. Watson

  “You should’ve been here when I started twenty-eight years ago, if you think you have rules now,” Moore said chuckling.

  “Fuck that,” Griffey said dropping down in his chair. “So, how should I deploy the search teams?”

  Giving a startle, Moore looked up at him in shock. “How many teams are we talking about?”

  “Eighty teams, each with five men can go in the field tomorrow, and another hundred the day after.”

  Looking at the map, Moore shook his head. “A thousand men searching a million acres looking for one man isn’t a needle in a haystack, it’s a grain of sand on a beach.”

  “Washington said they will have more personnel here in six days and I should be able to double that number then. But until then, where do you suggest we start?”

  “You have the roads out of the area covered?” Moore said looking at the map.

  “They will be by sundown. The Canadians are going to have mounted patrols on their side of the border.”

  Surprised, Moore looked over at Griffey, “We have mounted patrols?”

  Letting out a huff, “Only a few,” Griffey said. “People around here won’t give up their horses and Washington won’t give me the go ahead to seize them because they are afraid of backlash from the animal rights groups.”

  “So, how many is a few?”

  Leaning over and grabbing a notepad, Griffey ran his finger down the page and stopped halfway. “Three teams will be on horseback. We have fifty forestry vehicles that will be riding what few roads are in the area, but the rest of the teams will be on foot.”

  “May I?” Moore said pointing at the notepad. Griffey slid it over and Moore looked over the list of search teams. “Only Idaho State Troopers. No deputies from any department?”

  “Nope,” Griffey said leaning back in his chair. “They all said they couldn’t spare the manpower, except for that sheriff in Boundary County. I would like to lock his ass up.”

  “You only have a few local forestry service personnel on the teams, most others are from other states,” Moore said reading the list.

  “Yeah, a bunch of them quit when the regional forester fired that ranger who’d hired Mr. Anderson,” Griffey said. “We have a few departments on the coast that are going to contribute some men.”

  “How in the world are we going to get these guys in every night?” Moore asked looking up at Griffey.

  Griffey and Burrows laughed as Griffey leaned over the table. “Why in the hell would we pull them out every night? That would take tremendous resources. No, the teams will stay out for three days, then rotate back for three.”

  Moore’s eyes got wide, thinking they were about to have a shit load of search teams lost in the mountains. “Griffey, these are officers, not troops or mountain men. You know how much shit they will have to pack in to live that long? I’ll bet you money now, less than a hundred people here have hiked with a backpack in the last five years. Your own report on the murder site admitted lack of communication was a large factor to consider. Now you’re going to throw eighty teams out and this center is going to keep track of them?”

  “Every team will have a satellite phone and we are putting in relays for short range radios in some areas, but every team will also have a long range military grade radio. I asked for drones, but the earliest they’ll be here will be ten days.”

  Moore looked back at the map, then down at the list of search teams and then up at Griffey. “And we have enough personnel here to monitor that?”

  “Yes, it’s not like we are going to war Moore. We are looking for a fugitive.”

  Looking back at the map trying to figure out how to keep the teams from getting lost Moore just gave up. “Sorry Griffey, without more information to go on, I can’t even recommend a search pattern.”

  “Fine, but as soon as you’ve read what’s coming, I want your report. I’ll start teams on the eastern border and have them push west till you come up with something,” he said standing up. “Washington is demanding we do something, so they will be happy with the teams out.”

  Glad he hadn’t offered a suggestion, Moore looked at the map. He knew he could put every team they had in the five square miles off to the north of them, from the lake to Nordman road, and it would take them a month just to search that. “The shit is about to hit the fan. We are going to have to send search teams out to find other lost search teams,” he mumbled gathering up his stuff.

  Agent Moore didn’t know just how right he was, but had left out one factor: Joshua. One man that had been pushed too far and had decided to fight back, and fight back hard. Going after family is a breaking point for any man.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hearing King snort and shift his feet, Joshua sat up looking around and saw it was still dark. Letting the 1911 in his hand go, he lifted his arm and was about to push the button for the light on his watch and stopped. “Not hunting elk or deer dummy,” he said to himself and covered up with his sleeping bag and hit the button. Shaking his head seeing it was 0430, he waited until the light went off and then got out of the sleeping bag.

  It was a clear sky with a half-moon, but he was under the trees and they blocked a lot of the light. Looking off the spur he was on just north of Blacktail Mountain, he could see just fine. He looked over at King, “What did you wake me up for? I know this is late for me, but I kind of liked it.”

  Then he realized King was looking down into the valley. Going over to his gear on the ground, he dug out his night vision scope. After using Chris’, he went and bought one and a set of goggles. He chuckled when people complained that a night vision scope cost several grand. He paid that much for his regular rifle scopes. The one on his Lapua alone cost him over two grand, but he could hit an elk a mile away with no problem.

  Turning the scope on, he waited for it to warm up. That was the only thing he didn’t like about the night vision stuff, it ate batteries like a kid eats cookies and milk. He had his rechargeable batteries that he could put on his foldout solar panel, but they lasted for shit in the things. Regular batteries would give him about eight to ten hours of constant use. Rechargeable batteries, he was ecstatic if he got four hours.

  Lifting the big scope up, he looked over the draw that led to the valley floor then over the valley not finding anything. “King, you woke me up for shit,” he mumbled and stopped. Tilting his head, he heard a faint noise. “What the hell?” he said and glanced up, making sure he was covered from above.

  About twenty yards from the edge of the ridge that ran along the spur, he dropped down and eased up, staying near tree trunks. He stopped by a nice Douglas fir and patted the trunk. “Man, this is some good timber,” he said like the logger he was and glanced around at the other trees near him. “I would like to log this area.”

  Thinking about that, he noticed the noise was getting louder and coming from the south-east. Without the night vision scope, he could see the logging road that ran down the valley off a ridge directly across the draw between the spur he was on. That was why he’d chosen this one to camp on.

  He lifted the scope up to the ridge and the road came over to follow along the spur opposite from him. The draw that separated them was almost a mile wide. Looking at the ridge line with the scope, he saw it would flash every once and a while. Dropping on his butt, Joshua waited to see what was coming.

  All these roads were shut down and only a few would open when all the snow was gone. The Forestry Service, Fish and Game along with the EPA had this area on lockdown because of the low land Caribou that sometimes was said to drift down from Canada. Joshua had lived here his whole life and hunted and had never seen one of the damn things. At last report, there were like thirty left, so they’d shut down half a million acres to protect what he filed away as make-believe animals that were dying off. No snowmobiles, ATV’s, cars or logging were allowed here, period. But horses were and that’s why Joshua hunted up here and had found the dugout.

  In the quiet of the mountains, the noise grew and he
knew it was a vehicle of some kind. He was at forty-three-hundred feet now and below the snowline. The only areas around him with snow were the mountain tops, and most of those in this area were only at fifty-five hundred feet. So whoever was coming in a vehicle wasn’t a civilian. Joshua was still surprised they’d let other feds drive around here. Most roads now were closed and had been reclaimed, so only a few remained.

  It wasn’t long until he saw headlights come over the ridge and follow the winding road down the spur to the valley. “One would think they would be a little more covert,” he said lifting the scope and had to turn the intensity down because of the headlights.

  Turning up the magnification, he could tell it was an SUV of some kind and looked really new as it slipped and slid over the muddy road. “I can tell they aren’t from around here, driving during the thaw without mud grips.”

  Watching the vehicle drive down the logging road, almost going over the side and crashing into the draw, Joshua was amazed they had made it this far back. He watched the SUV until it made it to the valley floor and stopped, over half a mile away and almost a thousand feet below him. He watched five people get out and move to the back and open the hatch. They pulled out packs and rifles and he could tell the rifles were AR types from the outline.

  When the group had on packs, they moved off the road heading up the valley toward Plowboy Mountain. The SUV turned around and drove off, following the road back out. Joshua got up and eased back over to his camp and patted King’s head. “Sorry, you always let me know when something is around. Who needs a dog when you have a sixteen hand horse that can do the same thing, and can beat up a bear?”

  Rolling up his sleeping bag, Joshua stuffed it in the bag and attached it to his pack. “Think it’s time for me to be covert,” he said and started stripping. He pulled out his 3D hunting outfit and put it on. Grabbing his AR and checking it, he put it down and saddled King.

  When he was done, he walked over to the mule. “Sorry, but you have to carry it and I really don’t like you being close to me,” he said grabbing the pack saddle. Yesterday, he’d moved down to a forestry service supply cabin and had broken in. It held explosives that they used during the fire season to blow fire lanes. Joshua knew about it because he and his crew had worked on fires many times.

  In all, he got two hundred pounds of linked C4 explosive that looked like sausages and a roll of det cord with caps and detonator. He wanted to call someone and complain that the forestry service had stored the caps in the same building with the explosives. At one time, he had his explosive license, but let it go because it was too much of an aggravation to renew it. But he still worked with explosives and knew how to use them.

  After the pack saddle was on, he started loading the deadly sausage links that were packed in boxes. Then he put the spool of det cord on and patted the mule’s neck. “If you don’t mind, don’t follow close,” he said and walked over to King, putting on his pack and grabbing his AR. He checked the two clip-on holsters he had on his belt that held spare magazines and his 1911 on his right side.

  “Guess I’m ready,” he said and climbed on King. He guided King down to the valley floor then across and up the slope, stopping about halfway up before he got to the ridge and then headed north up the valley.

  By the time the sun came up, Joshua was parallel to the five as they stopped half a mile below him. They hadn’t been hard to follow since the group had flashlights, moved at a snail’s pace, and he didn’t need his night vision scope to know where they were. When daylight broke, he thought they would move faster, but they really didn’t.

  It did take some effort to keep track of them during the daylight because of the trees. Joshua would have to find an area that had a sharp slope and wait there until he caught glimpses with his binoculars. Watching the group, he knew this was probably the first time they had carried backpacks. Judging by the way they were moving, those packs had to be heavy as hell.

  At midmorning, the group stopped in a clearing next to a stream that followed the valley floor. Four of the five had on vests like soldiers wore on TV, and those four had on a type of combat helmet he hadn’t seen before. He watched the group take off gear and collapse and he could see their chests rising up and down rapidly as they panted hard. “How in the hell are you supposed to find me if you stay on the low ground?” he wondered.

  “Holy shit,” he said and noticed that one man, standing away from the others, was wearing high-top tennis shoes like he’d bought William to play basketball. “You are stupid as hell.”

  Studying the group, he noticed the other four were paired off as they laid in the grass resting against their packs and high-top was off to the side, alone. When two stood up and picked up their black soldier vests and put them back on, Joshua saw FBI on the back in big white letters. He moved his binoculars to the other two still laying down to see if they had something on their vests, but their vests were just camouflage like he hadn’t seen before.

  High-top picked up a thing with suspenders that held magazines and put it on with the magazines at his belly. He watched them all pick up their packs and almost swore he could hear them grunt half a mile away. “What the hell are they carrying that weighs so much?” he wondered as the group started moving along the valley and back into the trees.

  Lowering the binoculars, Joshua started having doubts about what he was planning on doing. If it was guys like this coming to find him in the mountains, he didn’t have anything to worry about. “No, this may just be a dumb group,” he sighed. “Their friends and coworkers started this fight and I’m going to give it to them.”

  Moving back to King and the mule, Joshua climbed on and paralleled the group below him. By noon, the five had stopped three more times and he noticed, if they came across a clearing beside the stream, they were taking a break. Pulling out a map, Joshua shook his head, seeing the group had been moving for seven hours and only traveled three miles along a valley.

  Granted it wasn’t a flat valley, but for Idaho and the North West, it was beyond flat. The group had been moving so slow, Joshua had gotten off of King and had led him by the reins for the last two hours. Seeing the group take off their packs again, he shook his head. “I’m going ahead,” he said and climbed back on King.

  Two miles ahead, he looked down as the valley narrowed and then opened back up and spotted a small glade beside the stream and thought it looked nice. If he thought it looked nice, he knew the group would. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he’d made the two miles in thirty minutes. Dropping his hand, he sighed figuring the group would be here close to dark.

  Kicking King, Joshua started looking around for a spot that put the three in better range. It took him an hour, but he found a spot on a sharp cliff just below the ridgeline that overlooked the valley and was almost directly above the small glade.

  He got off King and dug out his laser range finder. He was guessing, but he was putting the glade at sixteen hundred yards. Crawling up, he looked at the glade and saw an old log lying parallel to the stream, fifteen yards back from the edge of the stream. Pulling up his range finder, he pressed the button, aiming at the log. “Thirteen hundred and twelve yards, damn, I messed that one up,” he said and lowered the range finder before realizing that he hadn’t taken the slope into account.

  “Five is too many, even from this distance,” he mumbled realizing the .338 would take one second to get there. A person could move out of the path of a bullet in one second, so you had to aim where they were going to be. And if he started shooting, he figured he could get three, but the other two would be able to make it to the trees.

  An idea struck him and he thought hard and slowly started to grin. “That would work,” he said with his grin turning into a smile. He walked back to King and slung his AR on the saddle. He was under no illusion, it would be just as effective to take the little 5.56 bullets out of the magazine and throw them into the valley as it would be to shoot them.

  He pulled out the Lapua from the right
scabbard then walked around and pulled out the Sharps from the left. He dug in his saddle bag for the box of shells for the Sharps and another magazine for the Lapua. “If this works, I’m registering for a record,” he said heading back to the cliff.

  Smoothing out an area, he laid down the Sharps and extended the bipod on the Lapua, then put it beside the Sharps. Putting the ammo and clips down, he walked back to King and tied him to a tree, then untied the lead rope to the mule and tied it to another tree. They had both been hunting with him for years and were gun trained, but he wasn’t taking a chance they wouldn’t run off if the group shot back.

  It would be impossible for them to fire accurately from that range, but anyone can get lucky. Joshua didn’t know how the animals would react if bullets started landing around them. They couldn’t be seen from the valley below and if you can’t see it, you can’t hit it. But bullets striking trees might scare them enough to run off and Joshua wasn’t in the mood to fight this war on foot.

  Heading back to his sniper spot, he grabbed a few bushes and laid them on the lip of the cliff. Taking off his backpack, he dropped it in front of the rifles and got down on his belly. He flipped the Vernier sight up and locked it in place. Pulling the slide knob out, he slid it up almost to the top, stopping just below thirteen hundred and locked it down. The record recorded for a Sharps rifle in battle was just over fifteen hundred yards at the second battle of Adobe Walls. When he’d shot at black powder events, Joshua could hit the fifteen hundred steel plate, and still liked to take the rifle out several times a year and shoot it.

  Moving his backpack over, he rested the gun on it, aiming at the clearing. Making adjustments until he was happy, Joshua could move the sight over the clearing by only shifting his weight. Setting the stock down and leaving the barrel on the backpack, he barely had to move over to get behind the Lapua. Taking the quilted scope cover off, he popped the hardcovers open and looked at the glade.