Liberators: A Novel of the Coming Global Collapse

28 BRUSSELS CHARADES

The small meeting at the McGregors’ house started with Phil recounting the chatter that he’d heard on the shortwave radio. In addition to Alan, Claire, Ray, and Phil, there was also Stan Leaman, a twenty-three-year-old bachelor from an adjoining ranch. Stan was a descendant of one of the earliest settlers of the region. Most of Stan’s siblings had moved to Canada’s oil sands region, following opportunities with the petroleum boom. So Stan had to hire laborers to help him operate his raw-milk dairy farm.

Stan rode up to the McGregor ranch house on his big gelding one afternoon and said to Alan, “If you’re planning something to fight back against these UN clowns, then count me in.”

The five of them formed an independent resistance cell that would later be known as Team Robinson. They chose the name in memory of the FOB in Afghanistan where Ray and Phil had first met each other. Their first formal meeting was in May, just after news came to them of some mass arrests in Edmonton. Stan arrived wearing his usual green-and-black-checkered flannel jacket. After Stan had joined them in the living room, Phil adopted a businesslike tone and said, “We obviously need to do something when UNPROFOR arrives in British Columbia. But even before then, we need to train, organize—and of course cross-level equipment and ammunition. We need to cache a lot of gear. Not only will they be searching houses, but they’re also going to lock down the towns tight, with checkpoints. So we need to gather intelligence, take stock of what we have available, and pre-position some gear so that we can use it to our best advantage.

“The vast unpopulated expanses in this part of British Columbia will give us a few advantages. It will be a huge area for UNPROFOR to control and patrol. Their forces will necessarily be spread thin. The muskeg regions are ‘no go’ country for nearly all of their vehicles. With our opponents on foot, we’ll be fairly evenly matched, despite their firepower, communications, and night vision gear. And when we do engage them, the response time for them to receive any backup will be lengthy. That will give us time to beat feet, so that they’ll have great difficulty in tracking us down.”

Stan asked, “So what are you proposing?”

“I think that we can manage a few operations inside city limits—mostly very carefully targeted demolition and sabotage. Out in the boonies, we’ll probably be doing ambushes on remote stretches of road, and perhaps engaging isolated detachments. In cold country like this, simply burning down their barracks in winter months will be quite effective—both logistically and to push down their morale.

“The UNPROFOR units will likely be moving in from the east via Highway 1, and by rail. Interdiction of these routes would be possible but likely limited to delaying actions by irregular forces; the prairies are awfully wide open. Any force with decent air superiority or armor will prevail conventionally. Once the French arrive to occupy the west, things will get more sporting. Securing the highways and rail lines through the Rockies and the coastal ranges will be much more difficult than pushing across prairie. Our country here is challenging terrain to operate in summer, and winter makes conventional operations extremely difficult.

“There are three main routes that they can come west on: south through Crowsnest Pass, in the center-west of Calgary on Highway 1, and farther northwest of Edmonton on the Yellowhead Highway.”

Stan raised his hand and declared, “My family has a Mini-14, a SMLE .303 that was shortened, and a Browning A-Bolt, in .30-06 with a four-to-twelve-power variable scope. None of them have ever been registered. I don’t even have a possession and acquisition license.”

Ray laughed and said: “No PAL, but you’re a pal of mine.”

There were some groans in response to Ray’s pun, and then he asked, “Ammo?”

Stan glanced upward and then said, “I’ve got about two hundred rounds for each gun. With the bolt actions, that’s probably enough. But for the Ruger, laying down semiautomatic fire, that might only be enough for one lengthy firefight.”

Phil nodded and said, “I can help you out with some 5.56 ammo for your Mini-14. I suppose I can spare at least three hundred rounds. But after our first few engagements, I have a feeling that 5.56 ammo won’t be a problem, if we do our job right.”

Stan chuckled, and said, “Yeah, I suppose that once they stop breathing, they cease to have any need for the ammunition in their pouches.”

“Precisely.”

Ray raised his hand and asked, “What about OPSEC?”

Phil cocked his head and shot back, “Ours, or theirs?”

“Ours.”

Alan chimed in and said, “I’ve heard Ray talk about military operational security a few times over the years. It seems to me that our best OPSEC protection is absolutely no talk whatsoever about any of our activities or even of the existence of the cell to anyone, even if we know they’d be sympathetic. Leaderless resistance is most effective and impenetrable when the cells keep totally anonymous, and all of the members outwardly carry on with very mundane daily lives.”

Claire asked, “Could we, or should we, expand our cell?”

Phil answered, “No, not unless the tactical situation on the ground dictates it. For now, I can’t foresee fielding anything more than three or four people at a time for small raids, emplacing IEDs, and some sniping harassment. More people will just mean a larger signature, more chances of getting spotted, and more chances of a slipup or betrayal. And any group larger than three or four people in a vehicle or multiple vehicles convoying has ‘resistance profile’ written all over it. We want to operate in ways that don’t attract suspicion.”

Alan said firmly, “Agreed.”

Claire asked, “How long do you think it’ll take the resistance to drive them out of Canada?”

Alan answered, “It all depends on how quickly resistance builds—and a lot of that depends on the public perception of their tyranny. Perhaps as long as three, four, or five years.”

“Nah. They’re a bunch of cheese-eating surrender monkeys,” Stan retorted.

Claire giggled, remembering that phrase from an episode of The Simpsons.

Phil turned to the couch, where Ray and Alan were seated and asked, “What about the RCMP?”

Alan replied, “I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Back in the east, the Gendarmerie Royale du Canada—the GRC—are nearly all quislings. Out here, we’re policed by the RCMP’s E Division, which covers all of BC except Vancouver. In E Division they’re mostly good guys, but they have a reputation as rowdies who play by their own set of rules. The bottom line is that I predict that in a few months we’ll be able to divide the RCMP in the western provinces into four categories:

“Category one will be all the RCMP officers who quit in disgust—but probably citing some fictitious ailment or some family crisis. They’ll dutifully turn in their weapons, body armor, uniforms, and radios, and go home, feeling content that they ‘did the right thing.’ That may be a fairly sizable number. Perhaps forty percent of the force, at least in BC, Alberta, and up in the Yukon.

“Category two will be your real hard-core guys who wait for the right moment to either: a, abscond with as many weapons and as much body armor, ammo, and assorted gear as possible, and head for the hills and play Maquisards; or b, turn their weapons on the UNPROFOR while still in uniform, timing it so they can take several of the French bastards with them, before they get gunned down. But I think that this category will be very small—and nearly all of them will be unmarried RCMP officers, maybe one or two percent.

“Then there’s category three, who will just go along with the program, by kidding themselves that they still represent a legitimate government, even if it means rounding up fellow Canadian citizens and putting them into forced labor. I’m afraid that might be as much as one-third of the force in the cities, and probably a smaller percentage out in the woods. It’s almost always the freedom lovers who ask for the rural assignments.

“Lastly, there is category four. Those are the cops that are secretly wanting to resist, but who are blocked mentally from doing so, and always finding excuses that ‘it’s too soon,’ or somehow intend to do subtle sabotage to the system, without getting caught. You know, like the old ‘Hitler’s Barber’ comedy shtick.”

“The what?” Stan asked.

“An old stand-up comedy routine by Woody Allen, from the 1960s. He played the part of Friedrich Schmeed, barber to Hitler and his general staff. After the war, he justifies his actions, claiming, ‘Oh, but don’t you see that I was always plotting against Der Führer, in my own small way. Once, toward the end of the war, I did contemplate loosening the Führer’s neck-napkin and allowing some tiny hairs to get down his back, but at the last minute my nerve failed me.’”