Todd’s conversation with Dunlap over the CB was brief. After going through the prearranged change to an upper sideband frequency, Todd spoke into the handset, “Roger, a security matter of extreme importance and sensitivity has come up, and I’d like to meet with you to discuss it at the usual spot at 11 a.m. on the day after tomorrow.”
Dunlap replied, “Wilco, out.”
After he had radioed his message to Dunlap, Todd asked Mike if he could talk with him privately. They stepped outside the front door. Although it was dark, it was still pleasantly warm. Shona padded up to Todd and put her muzzle under his hand, imploring him to pet her. Todd obliged. “Mike, I need your advice. Even with the help of the Templars, are we going to be able to overcome that many people?” Without giving Mike a chance to reply, Todd said, “I mean, I can remember reading military tactics manuals where they say that the normal ratio of attackers to defenders is something like three-to-one. We won’t even be meeting them one-to-one.”
Mike looked in Todd’s direction, unable to make out the features of his face in the darkness. “The figure you cite is correct, but that applies only to military units engaging other military units that are dug in and expecting an attack. I think that as long as we maintain surprise, we can pull it off. Hopefully, we might even do it without taking any casualties. The main problem will be coordination. Obviously, we can’t mix our forces together with the Templars. That would be a nightmare from a command and control standpoint. We haven’t trained together. Probably the best thing to do is use them for a support team, while we assault the buildings, or vice versa.”
Todd threw in, “I was thinking the same thing.”After a long interval he added, “Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that we do run an assault op on Princeton. We’re talking about a whole bunch of buildings. What’s to stop most of the bikers from slipping away while we are clearing the area house to house?”
“The Templars,” Mike answered.
“You’ve seen Princeton recently, haven’t you, Mike? Most of the houses are strung out for about three or four hundred yards. The Templars would have to be spread out at pretty wide intervals. If all the bikers poured out of town at one spot, they could just overrun the one or two guys who had line-of-sight to them. You know the old hammer and anvil technique that Jeff always talks about. If we are going to be the hammer, we’re going to have to have a big anvil. Do you see what I mean?”
After a few moments’ consideration, Mike replied, “Yes, I see exactly what you mean. What you are telling me is that it would take fifty or sixty men to properly secure the possible escape routes out of town. Orrrrrrr, how about making ten people fight like sixty—give them the same combat power.”
Todd tilted his head to the side and asked, “How, pray tell, does one do that?”
Mike joked, “The same way that one guy can catch more fish than ten guys combined, if he carries the right fishing tackle.”
“I… I still don’t get your drift,” Todd breathed, sounding bewildered.
“I’m talking about my favorite kind of fishing, and my favorite fishing lure—‘The Dupont Spinner.’”
“Oh ho! Now I get it. Dynamite fishing, right?”
Mike laughed and said in a descending pitch, “Riiiiight. I think we can fab-up some improvised Claymore mines that should do the trick.”
Todd slapped Mike on the shoulder and commanded, “‘Make it so,’ Mike.
You’re welcome to every stray body you can scarf up to help you out. Even if these bikers get away before we can pull this off, some homemade Claymores could always come in handy.”
The next day was spent anxiously waiting. Other than two very brief radio checks, there was no contact with the recon patrol. Most of the militia members spent the day cleaning their guns, sharpening their knives and bayonets, and reloading each of their gun’s magazines, carefully examining each cartridge. Most seemed deep in thought and prayer, and there was not much talking or the usual banter and joking.
For much of the day Mike used the services of Doug, Rose, Dan, Lon, and Marguerite in making the Claymore mines. Mike shanghaied Lon and Margie away from their plans to make a large pot of stew. He tapped Lon on the shoulder and ordered, “You two come with me. I’ve got a high-priority project for you to help me with. Todd said I could commandeer anybody I thought that I might need.”
Margie asked, “But what about the stew?”
“We’ve got some bread to bake instead. Come with me out to the garage.”
First, in consultation with Doug, Mike built a prototype. The others watched this process with curiosity. Next, Mike directed his crew as they set up the Claymore and an array of paper targets near the east property line. Mike yelled “Test Fire!” three times. They wore both earplugs and muffs. Taking cover behind a large deadfall log forty feet behind the prototype, they detonated it using a nine-volt transistor radio battery. It worked wonderfully. Each man-sized target set up at distances between five and twenty yards was pierced by at least five pellets. Mike decided it was time to set up their assembly line.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Mike told his crew. “The shell for each Claymore will be a standard bread baking pan. We’ve got stacks of them on hand because Mary thought that they’d make a great barter item. They’ll be even handier for our purposes.” He then turned to look at Lon Porter. “Lon, you’re in charge of the first step of the process. Your job is to tack weld four eight-inch timber spikes onto the corners of one side of each pan. The pan, of course, will be lying on its side once it is set up, with its mouth facing toward the bad guys. The spikes will act as legs to hold up the mine. To use them, all we’ll have to do is point the mine in the proper direction, and press the legs into the ground. Then we press down on the front or rear legs to adjust the angle of the pan. Simple.”
“The next step in the process will be handled by me. I’ll drill two holes for blasting caps in each pan. Next, Rose will measure out and mold three quarters of a pound of C4 plastique into the back of each pan. She hands them to Doug, who measures out and pours one pound of number-four buckshot over the top, and scrunches it into place. Next, Margie, since your arm is not yet fully back in shape, I’m giving you an easy task. Your job is to cut the cardboard filler pieces and lids for each pan, and tape them on with duct tape.”
“Once we get all twenty mines done to this stage, we’ll finish them piece-by-piece. All that will remain to be done is covering them with a piece of this black ten-mil sheet plastic and taping it in place with this brown pressure-sensitive packing tape. That will semi-waterproof them. Next, they get a blast of olive drab spray paint to camouflage them.Voila, instant Claymores! To use them, all we’ll have to do is poke holes in the C4 through the holes that I drilled in the pans and insert a blasting cap or a loop of det cord, as needed. For safety’s sake, however, priming will wait until they’re set up wherever we plan to use them. Okay, let’s get to work.”
Just before three a.m. the next morning, the patrol was spotted coming back into the perimeter by Dan, who was at the LP/OP. By SOP, the patrol crossed into the perimeter just to the south of and below the LP/OP. When they were fifty feet away, Dan challenged, “Halt, who is there?”
Jeff responded, “Jeff Trasel and two other militia members.”
Dan whispered, “Advance to be recognized.” Jeff walked up to within ten feet of the LP/OP bunker. Now in a whisper, Dan queried, “Fence post.”
Also in a whisper, Jeff replied, “Chevrolet.”
“Password for the day is correct. You may proceed. Positively identify the faces of the two other members of your patrol as they pass my post.” The patrol was again identified by challenge and password at the front door by Della, who was serving C.Q. duty. She unbolted the door and let them in. After rebolting the door, she went to wake everyone up for the debriefing.