The group soon set a SOP for making initial contact with farms. First, they would approach until they were just in sight of a farmhouse. Then, waving a large white flag made out of half a bedsheet, one of the patrol members would approach the house with their rifle or riotgun slung across their back. It was risky business, but with no electronic communications available, it was the only way to avoid a firefight. Generally, the contacts with the farm-strongholds went well.
The group member first making contact would inquire if any assistance was needed by the farmers. In most cases, the answer was no. In a few instances, there were requests for items like antibiotics or matches. The Group did their best to fill these requests. Todd’s general guidance on charity was to “give until it hurts.” He wanted to make it clear that the Group was there to help their neighbors, and absolutely not to bully them. Without providing a lot of details, the farmers were briefed on the existence of the Group. It was made clear that if any farm in the area came under siege by looters, the Group would do their best to respond and drive them off.
Next, the patrol got any information that the farmers could provide on the activity of looter bands in the area. Before leaving, they left word that the Group constantly monitored channel seven on the CB. The CB base station recovered from Kevin’s house was set up on the C.Q. desk for just this purpose.
As the group’s patrols made probes to the west, they began to hear farmers making references to “The Templars,” representatives of an apparently well-organized stronghold located near the town of Troy, nineteen miles west of Bovill. When pressed for additional information on these “Templars,” the farmers reported that some of their neighbors had been contacted by men dressed in camouflage uniforms and carrying “Army rifles” and riot shotguns. Like “the Group,” they had inquired if the farmers were in need of any assistance.
Only when the Group’s patrols traveled west of the hamlet of Deary did they contact a farmer who had actually come face-to-face with the Templars.
In fact, when the patrol was first spotted by the farmer, he hailed them with the words, “Hello there, Templars! Come on down the hill!” It was not until the patrol entered the man’s barnyard that he realized that they were not members of the Templar group.
When questioned, the farmer told Mike, who was leading the patrol, that the full name of the organization was the Troy Templars. They did indeed wear camouflage uniforms, and carried paramilitary weapons. The farmer said that the Templars had worn a different camouflage pattern than the patrol was wearing. When pressed, he could only describe the pattern as “not the new digital things. It’s the old style—green, brown, and black, and kinda curvy.” To add to the confusion, he said that the Templars often referred to their own organization as “the Group.”
The farmer, who had only been visited by the Templars once, could give no further details on the undefined organization. Mike then told the farmer, “If you are contacted by these Templars again, please ask them to call us up during the evening hours on CB channel seven so we can discuss some things.”
“Are you two groups in competition?” the farmer asked.
“We don’t know yet. Just ask them to give us a call.”
The farmer then asked, “Who should I say that they are calling?”
Mike was momentarily dumbfounded. He finally blurted out, “The Northwest Militia.”
That evening, as soon as Mike’s patrol had gone through the formalities of a challenge and password and had passed back into the retreat’s perimeter, he strode up the hill to consult with Todd and T.K. In a few minutes, Mike reported what he had seen and heard during the patrol. When he got to the point in his story where he had identified their group as “The Northwest Militia,” Todd asked incredulously, “The what?”
Mike shrugged his shoulders and replied, “It just popped into my head. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I knew for sure, though, that I couldn’t just say ‘the Group.’ That’s not a proper name to use with outsiders, and we have to be identifiable somehow.”
After cracking a wry smile, Todd mused, “Well, with a name like that, we’ll certainly have them guessing at our strength. Makes us sound like a small army.
By current standards, I guess we probably are a small army. Did this farmer give any indication as to the size of this Templar outfit?”
Mike shook his head. “No, the guy just said that they had come to his farm in a five-man patrol, and that when he asked how many men they had at their stronghold, that they changed the subject.”
“Hmmm,” Todd remarked, “these Troy Templars sound cagey. They definitely sound like they were prepared before things fell apart. Most likely survivalists or militia members, although there is a chance they could be some sort of radical kooks.”
T.K. interjected, “Just what sort of name is ‘the Troy Templars,’ anyhow? It sounds like a bit of a mixed historical metaphor to me.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mike asked.
T.K. bit his lip and then queried, “Well, if they are from Troy, then properly they should be Trojans, right? But they call themselves Templars. The Knights Templar was a clerical order that first got started during the Crusades. They were in roughly the same category as the Hospitalers. The Templars’ job was to guard pilgrimagers as they traveled through the Holy Lands. They were real stud monks—you know, a cross in one hand, a sword in the other. I suppose that these new Templars chose the name in reference to the fact that they see themselves as protectors of the area. Interesting.”
After considering T.K.’s words, Todd pronounced, “As I see it, the key questions are: one, what are their intentions? Two, are they moral, ethical, and law abiding? Three, what is their manpower? Four, what, if any, are their politics?
And five, assuming that they are on the side of ‘truth, justice, and the American way,’ are they going to be friendly toward us?”
Todd’s questions went unanswered for nine days. Then, at exactly 6 p.m. on the evening of January twenty-second, a call came over the CB on channel seven:“Com 1 of the Troy Templars calling the Northwest Militia, over.”
As most of the group had just finished eating dinner, Todd was there to pick up the CB’s handset. “This is Todd Gray of the Northwest Militia, go ahead.”
“Mister Gray, this is Roger Dunlap, Com 1 of the Templars. Are you the head of your group, over?”
“I am indeed, over.”
“I understand that our patrols have started coming into contact with some of the same farms and ranches, over.”
“Yes, that appears to be the case, over,” Todd replied.
“We have heard that you are from the Bovill area, is that correct? Over.”
“Roger that. And you are from the Troy area? Over.”
“Affirmative, over.”
Todd then asked, “I hadn’t heard of your retreat’s existence before things fell apart, over.”
“Nor had we of yours. It seems we both kept a low profile, over.”
“Well, I would like to parlay with you further, but this is hardly the proper venue, if you gather my meaning, over.”
“I agree; this is hardly a secure form of comms. When and where do you want to meet?”
A meeting of two representatives from each group was scheduled for noon the next day, weather permitting. They were to meet at the cemetery on the west side of Deary, a town roughly equidistant between Bovill and Troy.
Todd and T.K. drove to the meeting in Jeff’s pickup truck. Todd decided to drive the truck for both psychological effect, and to give the ability to get out of an ambush in a hurry. Todd and T.K. were ten minutes early. They wore clean sets of their best-looking DPMs. The Templars, on horseback, arrived at two minutes before noon.