Finally, she saw more movement. It was a single figure, well camouflaged, carrying a long gun, moving a few paces at a time, and pausing. From the LP/OP, she called in an agitated message on the TA-1:“Hasty-rear. A probable solo. Armed. Approaching slowly from the east, cross-country. Estimate four hundred and fifty meters.”
Because it was during daylight hours and most of the group members were up and about, there was time to set a hasty ambush before the stranger came into view of the house.
In low prone positions within the concealment of the wooded area north of the house, Todd, Mary, Kevin, and Dan waited for the stranger to approach. The man walked toward the waiting ambush cautiously.
The man stopped occasionally to scan his surroundings. When he saw smoke coming from the chimney of the Grays’ house, he cautiously moved inside the tree line of the wood lot. He was carrying a Springfield Armory M1A with a padded black nylon M60 sling. The rifle was slung across his chest, ready to fire quickly. He was wearing BDUs and carried a forest green Kelty backpack. As he got closer it became apparent that the stranger was also wearing camouflage face paint.
Since he had veered to enter the tree line to avoid observation from the house, the stranger passed only ten feet in front of Kevin Lendel, who lay prone, his face covered by a camouflage sniper’s veil. Just after he had passed Kevin without noticing him, approaching Mary’s position, Todd yelled, “Halt!”
Normally, Todd would have waited until a stranger was in the middle of the kill zone of the ambush, but because he had unexpectedly entered the tree line, the ambushers were in great danger of being spotted.
In a booming, no-nonsense voice, Todd warned, “There are four rifles trained on you. Just lay your rifle down, very slowly.” After a pause to look around him and confirm the number of ambushers, the stranger did as he was told. “Take three steps backward. Put your hands on top of your head. Now, drop to your knees and cross your legs.”Again, the stranger obeyed.
Todd motioned forward in a jabbing motion of his index finger to Dan Fong. From his spot at the far end of the kill zone, Dan set down his HK and rose to his feet. He quietly padded around their unexpected visitor, positioning himself on the far side of the kill zone. He then drew his .45, leveled it at the man, clicked off its safety, and said, “Okaaay, I want you to very slowly unstrap your belly band and then toss your backpack toward my friends over there.”
With a grunt, the stranger tossed the pack toward Mary. It landed only a few feet in front of her. “Okaaay. Now the same for your web gear.”With that the stranger unsnapped his belt and pulled off his LC-1 harness. It fell next to the Kelty pack. Dan thumbed up the safety of his Colt, reholstered it, and approached the intruder. He frisked him thoroughly. In the pockets of his M65 BDU field jacket he found a pair of D3A gloves and wool liners. In his shirt and pants pockets, he found a German army pocketknife, and a U.S. Army issue lensatic compass with tritium markings. Wrapped in Ziploc bags were AAA Idaho/Montana and Western States and Provinces road maps. In other pockets, he found a foil wrapped maple nut cake from an MRE, and a camouflage face paint stick. He also discovered a custom T.H. Rinaldi Sharkstooth fighting knife strapped to his left calf, under his BDU trousers. Dan commented, “Wow, a Rinaldi!You’ve got nice taste in knives… Always good to have a little backup.”
After gently tossing the Kydex-sheathed knife and the contents of the stranger’s pockets into a pile near the pack, Dan declared, “He’s clean now, Boss.” Dan walked back to his position, snapped his Bianchi holster’s retention strap closed, flopped down prone, and reshouldered his rifle.
As soon as Dan was back in position, Todd stood up. Holding his HK91 at waist level, pointing at the stranger, he proclaimed, “We’re not bandits. We are sovereign Idaho citizens. I own the land you are standing on, free and clear. We just want to ask you some questions, and then you can go.” Todd lowered the muzzle of his rifle, and then continued, “Who are you?”
“My name’s Doug Carlton.”
“Where are you headed?”
“West.”
“Where’d you come from?”
“Missoula. I went there to see if my parents were still alive. They weren’t. Half the town was burned out, including my parents’ place. I buried them in the backyard, and moved on. Not many people left there.”
“And where before Missoula?”
“Pueblo, Colorado. I’m, or was rather, a senior at the University of Southern Colorado. I was studying mechanical engineering.”
Todd clicked the push-to-talk button on his TRC-500. He spoke into the black foam-padded microphone, “Any signs of anyone else, Rose?”
From the LP/OP, Rose replied, “Nope, looks like he’s a solo rather than somebody’s point man.”
Todd replied, “Thanks. Just keep your eyes open, out.”
After adjusting the thin wire antenna of the TRC-500, Todd resumed his questioning. “You look pretty military, Doug. Are you a National Guardsman or reservist?”
“Neither. I’m an Army ROTC cadet—an MS 4—that’s a fourth-year cadet. I went to ROTC Advanced Camp last summer and Basic Camp at Fort Knox the summer before that.”
“If you’re really a cadet, then you’ll know a few things… such as:What does
‘PMS’ stand for, in the context of a ROTC department?”
“Professor of Military Science. Usually a Colonel, sometimes a Lieutenant Colonel.”
Todd nodded affirmatively, then asked, “What are the four Army staff functions?”
Carlton quickly recited, “At brigade level and lower, the S-1 shop is for personnel. S-2 is intelligence. S-3 is for training in peacetime, and operations in wartime. S-4 is logistics. The functions are the same at higher echelons, except they have G prefixes: G-1, G-2, G-3, and G4.”
“Correct. What is the maximum effective range of an excuse?”
Carlton snapped back: “Zero meters!”
Todd nodded again and grinned. “You’re a kay-dette all right. Sit down Indian-style there, and let’s talk.” Carlton sat down as ordered. Todd also sat cross-legged, fifteen feet away, the HK91 now resting crossways on his knees.
He looked the stranger in the eye, and asked, “Now where exactly were you headed?”
In a more relaxed voice, Carlton replied, “Just west into the Palouse country. Nowhere in particular. I thought I’d try to find some little town that wasn’t wiped out, and hire on as a security man. You know, sort of a Yojimbo.”
Todd cocked his head. “I’m not sure how many towns are still intact, Doug.
Besides, you’d be lucky if you were able to approach one without being shot on sight. From what I’ve heard on the CB and the shortwave, there are itchy trigger fingers all over America.” Todd paused and asked, “Why weren’t you down on the county road?”
“Roads are for people who like to get ambushed! If you’ve got to travel, you live longer traveling cross-country. I’ve learned that it’s best not to follow trails that look like they’ve been used by anything but deer.”
Todd vigorously nodded his head in agreement. He eyed the heap of Carlton’s gear on the ground. Looking back toward Doug, he pronounced, “To save us some time, give us a complete rundown on the contents of your pack, your clothing, and web gear. Be honest. We’ll check for ourselves later.”
Doug Carlton began a matter-of-fact inventory. “In the web gear I’ve got six spare magazines for the M1A: one loaded with match, one with hundred-and-fifty-grain soft nose, and the rest with ball. A Gerber multi-plier tool. Two canteens. On the outside of the pack is clipped a parachutists’ first aid kit.
Inside the pack I’ve got a cleaning kit and a few spare parts for the M1A. A Wiggy’s sleeping bag. A poncho. Several sets of socks and underwear. An extra set of BDUs. What’s left of a tube tent. Five MREs. Four cans of chili and beans. A bag of venison jerky. Some miner’s lettuce. A half dozen smoked trout.