James Rawles - Patriots

Mike nodded.

Keane continued. “My mom had been crippled up with arthritis and was staying by herself at the cabin, while we were out playing maquisards. We heard from neighbors who lived in the mine tunnel on the adjoining claim that there wasn’t anything left of my dad’s cabin.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I envy my parents. We’ll be with them in heaven someday. If I keep that in mind, I can fight fearlessly. I fear only the righteous wrath of God. Like Paul said, when he was in chains in a Roman jail cell:‘Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: everywhere and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ That’s Phillipians 4-11 through 13. Those verses are a great comfort to me. I fear no man, and no circumstance.”

Keane gestured with his forefinger, and continued, “Getting back to the ‘denial operations’ concept, just consider this: I had a friend who was a reserve Army intelligence officer before the Crash. He often told me that the three essential abilities on the battlefield are ‘to shoot, move, and communicate.’ Without all three you are ineffective in any conflict. If you look at how the Federals are operating, they are doing everything they can to deny us all three. They’ve declared our guns contraband. They’re restricting travel with their checkpoints and internal passports, and they’ve banned private possession of radio transceivers. Very systematic. But we are beginning to do the same to them, and they can’t stop us because they can’t often locate and engage us. We are denying them ammunition and other key combat logistics by burning their depots and arsenals, we are impeding their ability to maneuver tactically and to move their logistics with our ambushes and sabotaging their vehicles. And, we are taking down the power grid and phone system faster than they can put it up, so they can’t communicate long distance or spread their propaganda. We’re going to win in the long run. It’s simple mathematics. There are a lot more of us than there are of them. It may cost us a lot of lives… but in the long term? They’re doomed.”

Mike asked quietly, “I heard Tony Washington mention that you used to be a racist, but now you are not. What’s up with that?”

“I wouldn’t say that I was a racist, per se . I equate racism with supremacism. If anything, I was a separatist, not a supremacist. And yes, frankly, I was reluctant to work with blacks. I had always kept my distance. But fighting alongside the Washingtons certainly reformed me. They were with us on the St. Maries kayak raid. Tony saved my life two different times that day. I owed him. And I owed him an apology.”

Mike cocked his head and asked, “So you’ve sworn off racism? You don’t have any animosity toward blacks?”

“Absolutely none. They’re fighting and bleeding along with the rest of us.

I’d be happy to have anyone of Tony’s caliber join the Keane Team regardless of race. I don’t care if they are white, black, or green .” Matt grinned and added, “We’re equal opportunity destroyers.”

Mike shook Keane’s hand, and looking him in the eye, declared, “You’re a good man.”

Planning the big raid took a day and a half. There were extensive discussions, and detailed analysis of maps, photographs, and floor plans. This was followed by sand-table exercises and a briefing by a reliable “turned” Federal supply sergeant who had formerly lived at the barracks. Coordinating an operation this large was difficult. It included diverse units with distinct command structures, organizations, and standard operating procedures. The planners also had to be diplomatic in dealing with the leaders of less experienced militias.

Some of them were amateurish, and several had overgrown egos.

Rather than traditional squads and platoons, the Keane Team was organized into something they called “Thomas Triads.” These were mini-squads of three guerrillas each. The philosophy behind the triads was that three men was the minimum number that could be combat effective.

A three-member guerrilla team did not present a signature that was easily spotted, except in the most open terrain. A single triad was used for reconnaissance or sabotage patrols. Two to four triads could be combined to conduct an ambush. Three to twelve triads could be combined for a raid.

In a defensive mode, or “in laager,” one member of the triad was on “guard” while the second was on “sleep,” and the third was on “support”—tending to cooking, fetching water, and/or gathering edibles. Every eight hours the roles rotated. Thus, each triad provided for its own security, and, depending on circumstances, its own sustenance.

The rule of thumb was: if more than five triads had to be combined for an operation, it was verging on conventional warfare, and that immediately following the operation, it was time to displace, disperse, and go back to low-echelon guerrilla tactics. The guerrillas spoke with dread about “going conventional.” Meeting the better-armed Federals toe-to-toe was rightly recognized as foolhardy.

The origin of Thomas Triad organization was forgotten. Keane explained, “It’s just what we were taught by another group. I don’t know who the ‘Mr. Thomas’ who dreamed this up was, but it works. Some guy in California, that’s all I heard. Maybe he’s in that Harry Wu outfit. Results are what counts, and the triads produce results, so that’s the structure we use.”

A week before the planned Moscow barracks raid, the thirty-member Keane Team and the forty-eight-member Moscow Maquis rendezvoused at a hilltop north of Troy for final coordination and to conduct rehearsals. Since their two units were the intended spearhead for the upcoming raid, rehearsals were critical. They had arranged the rendezvous with two short radio transmissions. The transmissions were under thirty seconds each, consisting of a few four-letter code groups read aloud.

At 4 a.m. the morning after they made their rendezvous, a call on a 500-milliwatt Maxon headset radio came in from the western picket triad. “We have movement. Definitely men on foot. Stand to. Will advise.”

The “stand to arms” order was quietly and rapidly passed around the defensive doughnut. Within a minute, a second call came in, “I can see them clearly through my NVGs. Most are carrying M16s. They’re all wearing Kevlars and digital pattern camos. Definitely looks like Federals, at least a platoon strength unit. With as much noise as they’re making, probably a lot bigger.”

The night watch officer radioed back to the picket, “Execute night-defense plan Alpha.” His platoon sergeant heard the command, and echoed it in whispers to the triads on either side of the command bunker. Each triad in succession passed it down the line in both directions, verbally. The watch officer muttered to himself. “Federals? Man! This is going to get ugly. Why couldn’t it be the French or Italians? The Federals must have DFed us.”

Hearing the radio command, the picket teams from the south and north immediately pulled into the main defensive doughnut, which stretched eighty-five yards along a ridge. The east picket triad stayed in place, as did the one to the west. The west pickets were not spotted as the Federals passed by their well-camouflaged foxhole, which sat under a clump of hawthorn bushes.

Under the Alpha plan, the pickets were not to fire unless fired upon. Their job was to wait until contact with the main doughnut occurred, and then to fire on the attackers from the rear, to produce confusion. The pickets generally called this role a “DIP” (Die in Place). Few expected an isolated triad to ever survive a night raid by a large enemy force.