The next three days were frustrating. Because of the downed timber, they had to break up the string and lead horses individually or in pairs on some stretches. But everyone remained in high spirits, and each night Maggie entertained them with stories of what had happened in the region since the Crunch. Maggie said that she had been a horse packer for the resistance but that she had never personally engaged in any combat. She had lost three toes to frostbite while resisting the French, and had lost her left earlobe to frostbite while resisting the Chinese.
Back at Andy Cahoose Meadow, they shared a barbecue with Maggie and her husband. Like Maggie, her husband knew of the McGregors only by reputation and had not heard any details of what had happened at the ranch since the Crunch. Since they wintered at the Michel Gardens Reserve (fifty miles east of Anahim Lake), they had news only of families in their immediate vicinity.
The next morning as they prepared to head out on the forty-five miles of trail to the McGregor ranch, Jake asked Maggie’s husband what he might need from their cargo. “I could use some aught six shells, some .303 shells, and some matches.” Jake filled all of his requests, with two hundred rounds of each type of ammunition, and four large boxes of matches. He also added the bonus of a twenty-dollar-face-value roll of Canadian silver quarters.
Maggie accompanied them the next morning on her Morgan mare. The plan was that once they reached the McGregor ranch, she would lead the pack string back to Andy Cahoose Meadow by herself.
The next two days went quickly. They were now on well-maintained trails, so the going was much easier. They spent the first night in the woods near the Blackwater Meadow Reserve. Maggie explained that from here on, it would be safer to camp where there were cattle pastured to confuse “those Chinese thermal things.” They spent the next night at the Louis Squinas ranch, which was technically a First Nations reserve, but to all outward appearances was just a typical British Columbia cattle ranch. One family lived there, but the ranch was currently unoccupied because the family was running their cattle for the summer up at a place they just called “Fourteen”—their summer pasture range.
Though they were now quite close to the McGregor ranch, they stayed an extra day; they were getting closer to civilization and needed to transition to night travel to decrease the chance of being spotted by Chinese drones or patrols.
Up until now, they had been riding with handguns on their hips, but with all of their guns stowed, they asked Maggie if it was wise to break them out. She said, “No. If they attack with a gunship, then we’re all dead anyway. And if a ground patrol spots us, we’re better off trying to outrun them and ride back into the timber. From there, we can set up an ambush.”
They left the long guns stowed.
Although it was only a mile to the town of Anahim Lake, and another seven miles to the McGregor ranch, it took them all night to get there. They had to take a circuitous route around the hamlet of Anahim Lake.
They arrived at the ranch at 5:00 A.M. and were greeted by an ambush.
Phil and Malorie were up and cooking breakfast when they heard “Alert zone three.”
“Get ready to thermite all of the files and maps!” Phil shouted. Then he and Malorie rushed out of the house and ran down the north draw to reach one of their planned ambush sites. Just as they got into position, the pack string came into the far end of the kill zone. Phil flipped down the bipod legs of his MAG, quickly positioned the Bulldog bag, and clipped on its belt to the gun’s twenty-round teaser.
When the strangers were in the middle of the kill zone, Malorie shouted, “Halt! Who goes there?”
Rhiannon, on the lead horse, sharply reined her mount to a stop. She hesitated, and then answered, “Rhiannon McGregor Jeffords, and a group of friendlies.”
It took a few minutes in the early light of dawn to straighten out who was who. Phil and Malorie quickly identified themselves as “friends of Ray” and residents of the ranch.
When they reached the house, Janelle and Rhiannon were crying tears of joy as they saw their brother, Ray, for the first time in more than a decade. Their happiness, however, was quickly shattered when they learned that their parents had been killed by the PLA.
56
RECUPERATION
Tears are the silent language of grief.
The McGregor Ranch, near Anahim Lake, British Columbia—August, the Eleventh Year
After all of the panniers were unloaded and the packsaddles were stowed in the barn, they turned out all of the horses in the east corral, which was partly shaded by trees. Here, they reasoned, there was less chance of a Chinese drone operator noticing the sudden influx of livestock.
Maggie stayed for the day. Before she left that evening, she was given a captured FAMAS F1, seven spare FAMAS magazines, five hundred rounds of 5.56mm ball ammo, a custom leather scabbard for the FAMAS that had been handmade at Stan Leaman’s ranch, a cleaning kit, and a copy of Malorie’s English translation of the French army FAMAS manual. They also gave her five of their packsaddles and their panniers, with the assumption that she would get more use out of them than the McGregors would.
“I’m glad that you got here when you did,” Ray began. “The PLA administrators have announced that they’re starting a nationwide census in less than two weeks. After that, any adult who is caught without an internal passport will be subject to arrest or perhaps even summary execution.”
Rhiannon had three passports: Canadian (lapsed), Australian, and U.S. Janelle had two passports: Canadian (lapsed), and United States Peter had Australian and U.S. passports. Jake had only a lapsed U.S. passport. They decided that Rhiannon and Janelle would queue up for the Chinese passports, while Jake and Peter would try to stay “under the radar.”
Fortunately, the Chinese had very few FLIRs. But what the PLA lacked in technological sophistication, it made up for in sheer numbers.
“What we need are force multipliers—technologies or tactics that dramatically increase combat effectiveness. With modern conventional armies, these multipliers are typified by electronic communications, aerial bombardment, intelligence gathering, rapid troop transport, electronic warfare, force concentration, and the use of precision guided ‘smart’ munitions. In the context of guerrilla warfare, we’ll depend on command-detonated explosives and perhaps even toxins,” Phil said.
“When we were up against UNPROFOR, they essentially played nice, at first. They also had a relatively small force. But the situation with China is considerably different. The gloves have been off from day one, and this is truly asymmetric warfare. They’ve got a huge, highly mechanized, and largely armored force with plenty of firepower. Their targeting capability is weak, however. It’s almost like Elmer T. Fudd lugging around a big blunderbuss but not knowing where to point it.”
“And we’re those Wascally Wabbits,” Jake offered.
“Right. So we confuse Elmer. We demoralize Elmer. We starve Elmer. We freeze Elmer. We give Elmer stomach trouble. We blind Elmer. We give Elmer sleepless nights. We pour itching powder down Elmer’s shirt.”
Phil paused to take a breath, and then went on. “Just ‘think outside the box,’ folks. Arson and sabotage will be key force multipliers. Given the cold climate of the interior, two of our primary goals will be depriving the Chinese of liquid fuels and burning them out of their barracks. I intend to freeze them out of BC over the next winter or two.”