“Sixth, I should have invested in an expedition-quality four-season tent. Tube tents—or even three-season tents for that matter—don’t cut the mustard. Every time it rained, part of my gear would get wet and I’d spend hours drying it out.”
Kevin chimed in, “As we often say around here, ‘hindsight is twenty-twenty.’ We planned ahead for what we could foresee and bought all that we could afford, but there’s a lot of gear that we now wish that we’d bought.”
Todd declared, “Speaking of gear, Kevin… Go gather up Doug’s gear out at the wood lot, bring it back to the barn and inventory it.” Lendel nodded his head, picked up his 870 from the ready rack, and headed out the door.
Watching Kevin go, Doug said, “You certainly have a very well-organized retreat here.”
Mary chimed in. “Yes, Cadet Carlton, you stumbled into the perimeter of a real-live survival retreat. You’re looking at the culmination of about nine years of active preparation. Nobody wanted things to fall apart, but our group was part of the minority that was ready for it.”
“Nine years?” Carlton asked.
“Yeah. Nine years ago most of us were in college, and not anywhere near the same stage of preparedness as you. We just have the advantage of having been at this a lot longer, methodically getting ourselves trained and storing up all the necessities, in quantity,” she said smugly. With her last comment, Carlton’s eyebrows raised and then a smile spread across his face.
Mike Nelson made a large batch of popcorn for everyone to share. Mike was the only one at the retreat that had yet learned the knack of making popcorn on the woodstove without burning it. As they were finishing the popcorn, Kevin returned. His report was terse: “Everything was just the way he described it, although he didn’t mention that the socks and underwear were dirty. Whew! They’re very frausty.”
Todd called for another meeting late that evening. Everyone was present, with the exception of Kevin, who was by then on picket duty. Mike listened in over the TRC-500. As the conversation developed, it became apparent that there were two avenues that could be taken. The first option was that if he was interested, Doug could be nominated for consideration for a position in the group. If he accepted, it would be with the understanding that he would be treated as a full and equal member. However, he would have to give up any ideas that he might have of being a paid employee. If anything, he would owe the group redoubled efforts, as he would be using up part of their precious food supply. The second option was that Carlton could be resupplied with food and sent on his way, with the group’s best wishes.
After being given the options, Carlton replied, “I don’t think I’m likely to encounter a better survival setup anywhere in the country. Yeah, I’d certainly like to be a member of your group!”
The next morning, Doug Carlton was voted in as a member. He was temporarily housed in the hayloft of the barn. For his first two weeks he would only be assigned C.Q. duty. Thereafter, he would be allowed and expected to pull both C.Q. and LP/OP duty. He was warned that his position was probationary. Any foul-ups, and he would be banished.
After a week at the retreat, Doug already fit in and felt like an old hand. With his military background, he became a fast friend of Jeff Trasel. His interest in guns also brought him close to Dan Fong in short order.
In an orgy of generosity, Jeff gave Doug his spare blue steel Colt Commander .45, five magazines, a UM-84 holster, a cleaning kit, and more than two hundred rounds of assorted ammunition. Dan Fong gave Doug his beloved Winchester Model 1897 riot shotgun, its bayonet, and a surplus engineer’s satchel filled with Remington number-four buckshot, twelve-gauge shells, and twenty rounds of Brenneke rifled slugs. Mike Nelson donated his spare “Trick Five Hundred” and a pair of nine-volt nickel hydride batteries to power it. Todd, who was roughly Carlton’s size, gave him a set of DPM camouflage fatigues and his spare Moss Stardome II tent.
Doug commented several times that it seemed like Christmas.
CHAPTER 10
Curriculum Vitae
“A prudent man forseeth the evil and hideth himself; but the simple pass on, and are punished.”
A call that was beginning to sound familiar came over the TA-1 late one afternoon in June. “Deliberate Front. Large group on foot—maybe ten of them.
Some armed. Coming from the west. Four-hundred-and-fifty meters.” In now typical fashion, seven group members popped out of spider holes when the party on the county road was in the middle of the kill zone. Once again, the ambush was a complete surprise. There were eleven people in the party: five men, four women, and two children. All carried backpacks. One pushed a large-wheeled baby carriage filled with supplies. When ordered to lay down their guns and packs, they did as they were told.
“Who are you, and where did you come from?” asked Mike Nelson.
A man with long hair and a beard replied. “My name’s Rasmussen. We’re from Spokane. We’re heading to Helena, Montana. I have a brother who lives near there.”
“Why did you leave Spokane?”
“Spokane is history, man. Most of it burned to a crisp last fall. Then, over the winter, the damnable convicts came, hundreds of ’em. They call themselves La Nuestra Familia. And they didn’t leave. The few people left there started running out of food this spring. We got out of town in the middle of the night while we still had the chance.”
“How much food do you have with you?”
The bearded man replied, “Only enough for another day or two. “
After quick consultation between the spider holes, the party of refugees was ordered to step back from the road and sit down with their hands on their heads. A quick search by T.K. showed that the refugees were not lying about the scarcity of their food supplies. Their packs mainly contained clothing, pots and pans, and a few mementos.
“We can give you some food, but we can’t let you stay,” Todd declared. “If you come back again, we won’t give you anything the second time. Do you understand?”Across the road, heads nodded in agreement. Mary and T.K. were sent to the house to gather food for the refugees. They came back with a sack of onions and potatoes, a five-gallon plastic bucket of hard red winter wheat, ten pounds of rice, a bottle of multivitamins, and two cans of dehydrated peanut butter powder. These foodstuffs were set down in the road next to the refugees’ packs.
“Is there anything else that you desperately need?” Todd asked.
“Yes. We have four guns but only seventeen cartridges between us. Can you spare any ammunition?”
“Which calibers?” Todd asked.
“We have two .22s, a .25-35 Winchester, and a .30-06.”
After more consultation between foxholes, Todd jogged up to the retreat house, and returned with a twenty-round box of .30-06 one-hundred-and-seventy-grain soft points, and a plastic box of one hundred CCI .22 long rifle cartridges. These, too, he set down on the road.
“Well folks, we wish you luck,” Todd said, after he had returned to his position. “We only wish that we could do more for you, but this is all that we can spare. As I said before, don’t come back. You’ll get nothing. Don’t try and come back and take anything by force, either. We are well armed and have tight security. We’d cut you down like sheep. You can now get up and very slowly pick up your packs and the supplies that we left you, and be on your way. Keep the muzzles of your guns pointed away from us. Wait until you are out of sight before you stop and open your packs to redistribute your load.”