James Rawles - Liberators

Just before dawn, after anxiously crossing the deserted highway in rushes, they reached their prearranged rendezvous point on the edge of the Anahim’s Flat Indian Reserve. There, an elderly member of the Tsilhqot’in tribe named Thomas—a committed resistance fighter—had prepared lodging for two days and nights at a secluded hunting dugout cabin that was well stocked. These traditional earth-bermed cabins were called quiggly cabins, locally. Thomas returned on the second day to tell them that the French forces were hopping mad and had been making reprisals in the town of Williams Lake.

The following day, Thomas came to tell them that their transport was ready. Before leaving the cabin, they donned the green masks from their Nemesis suits to conceal their faces. Thomas escorted them to an open-ended hay barn, where they and their gear were loaded into a four-by-four-by-eight-foot wooden crate that was in the center of an eighteen-wheel truck bed. The crate had dozens of one-inch-diameter ventilation holes bored through it, which created odd lighting for the three men once they were closed inside. A tractor then loaded the truck with large square bales. The bales, stacked four high, were strapped down, fully concealing the five exposed sides of the crate. They could just make out the sound of the tribe members, who laughed as they worked.

Two and a half hours later the truck stopped and they heard voices and another tractor starting up, to unload the hay bales. They were at a 140-ton capacity hay barn at the Squinas Indian Reserve Ranch, a few miles from Anahim Lake.

One of the Indians who was rolling up the tie-down straps that had just been removed tapped on the crate and asked, “You fellas still breathin’?”

Ray grunted in reply and swung the door on the crate open. He crawled out, cradling his Inglis Hi-Power and dragging his backpack. Phil and Stan followed him. They had their Nemesis face masks on again. One of the men there asked, “Why the masks? We’re on the same side, you know.”

Phil answered: “If you don’t know who we are then you can’t slip up, or be tortured into telling anyone, can you? That’s just good operational security.”

Another one of the men on the hay crew quipped, “Oh yeah. OPSEC. Secret agent stuff.”

They thanked the hay crew and asked them to keep quiet about what they had just seen. Ray insisted, “Don’t even tell your wives. Loose lips sink ships.”

One of the tribe members said with a chortle, “They certainly did sink ships at Bella Coola. Blub, blub, blub.”

The last few miles of their return trip to the McGregor ranch were quiet and uneventful. They walked at their now-accustomed intervals—five meters apart when under timber cover and ten to twelve meters apart when crossing open ground. They paused at the north corral and observed the ranch house with binoculars. There was no gap in the interval of clothes on the laundry lines, and the window curtains were all shut. If either of those had not been as they were, that would have signaled that there was trouble.

Details on the reprisals at Williams Lake reached the McGregor ranch via the rumor network: Two civilian employees at the Williams Lake airport had been tortured and then shot. The mayor had been tortured for two days, and then released without any explanation. Ten people of various ages were plucked off the streets of Williams Lake and interrogated for nineteen hours. They were all threatened with death and coerced by threats to their relatives. After it was apparent that none of them knew who was behind the helicopter sabotage, they were released. Most of them were physically unharmed, but all had undergone severe mental stress. One woman suffered permanent nerve damage in her hands because her handcuffs had been overtightened.

All eight helicopters were beyond repair. Only a few tail rotors and other tail section parts from three of the helicopters were useful for cannibalization. When replacement helicopters arrived for the squadron a week later—just two Gazelles—they were heavily guarded.

On a Tuesday morning, three weeks after the helicopter sabotage raid, the McGregors were surprised to hear their Dakota Alert driveway alarm go off. A quick scan with binoculars showed Alan that there were at least four vehicles rapidly approaching. The one in the lead was a white RCMP Ford crew cab pickup with the usual red, yellow, white, and blue trim stripes.

“We have multiple vehicles due in one minute. Decision time!” Alan announced.

Ray said, “If we were suspects for the Williams Lake thing, then they wouldn’t bother with the RCMP.”

After just a moment, Ray made a snap decision. “Stealth mode!” he shouted.

Following their well-rehearsed procedure, Alan’s elk rifle and Ray’s shotgun were both quickly handed to Phil, and he was ushered into the Ten Boom Room closet. Within a few seconds, he was slapping the wedges into place. Claire straightened Phil’s bed covers, and Ray hid Phil’s shaving kit.

As Ray and his parents walked into the living room, they heard footsteps on the porch. There was a loud knock on the door. A man shouted, “RCMP. We have a writ. Open the door or we will enter by force.”

Alan opened the door.

A portly RCMP sergeant with a holstered S&W 5946 and a clipboard said, “I have writ here, from UNPROFOR, formally requisitioning one Ford F-250 pickup, brown in color.”

Alan said nervously, “I see.”

“Sorry to put you to this trouble, but you’ll be compensated very generously with nine hundred dollars in LGP currency. Do you have two keys for the vehicle?”

Alan handed over the keys, acting as if he was miffed. In reality he was greatly relieved, since he had expected to be killed or arrested.

Dustin arrived at 3:00 P.M. on September 28, driving an old brown crew cab Chevy pickup with an extra-tall camper shell that Joshua had never seen before. It had CHEM-DRY CARPET CARE OF BOWLING GREEN painted on both sides, and a Chem-Dry logo painted on the back.

Obviously agitated, Dustin said, “Let’s talk inside.”

Immediately after the door had been closed, Dustin said, “A little bird told me that some MPs will be arriving in Bradfordsville sometime before noon tomorrow to put the bag on you and haul you to Fort Knox for questioning. Somehow, I don’t know how, you ended up on The List .”

Joshua, Megan, and Malorie were all wide-eyed.

As he handed Joshua an oversize Chevrolet logo key with door-lock remote buttons, he said, “I got a pickup from the county impound yard, which has rather lax paperwork. I picked it up during the lunch hour, and I didn’t sign it out. There are no security cameras there. I’d already earmarked this one because it had belonged to some looters who were planted in the Calvary Cemetery, and because there is a signed title in the glove box. Anyway, the tank is nearly full, plus I put ten full Scepter cans of gas in the back end—courtesy of Maynard Hutchings. There is also a skinny unleaded Scepter spout and a lollipop fuel-can lid wrench.”