Patriots: A Novel of Survival in the Coming Collapse

CHAPTER 10 Curriculum Vitae

A call that was beginning to sound familiar came over the TA-1 late one afternoon in June. “Deliberate Front. Large group on foot—maybe ten of them.

Some armed. Coming from the west. Four-hundred-and-fifty meters.” In now typical fashion, seven group members popped out of spider holes when the party on the county road was in the middle of the kill zone. Once again, the ambush was a complete surprise. There were eleven people in the party: five men, four women, and two children. All carried backpacks. One pushed a large-wheeled baby carriage filled with supplies. When ordered to lay down their guns and packs, they did as they were told.

“Who are you, and where did you come from?” asked Mike Nelson.

A man with long hair and a beard replied. “My name’s Rasmussen. We’re from Spokane. We’re heading to Helena, Montana. I have a brother who lives near there.”

“Why did you leave Spokane?”

“Spokane is history, man. Most of it burned to a crisp last fall. Then, over the winter, the damnable convicts came, hundreds of ’em. They call themselves La Nuestra Familia. And they didn’t leave. The few people left there started running out of food this spring. We got out of town in the middle of the night while we still had the chance.”

“How much food do you have with you?”

The bearded man replied, “Only enough for another day or two. “

After quick consultation between the spider holes, the party of refugees was ordered to step back from the road and sit down with their hands on their heads. A quick search by T.K. showed that the refugees were not lying about the scarcity of their food supplies. Their packs mainly contained clothing, pots and pans, and a few mementos.

“We can give you some food, but we can’t let you stay,” Todd declared. “If you come back again, we won’t give you anything the second time. Do you understand?”Across the road, heads nodded in agreement. Mary and T.K. were sent to the house to gather food for the refugees. They came back with a sack of onions and potatoes, a five-gallon plastic bucket of hard red winter wheat, ten pounds of rice, a bottle of multivitamins, and two cans of dehydrated peanut butter powder. These foodstuffs were set down in the road next to the refugees’ packs.

“Is there anything else that you desperately need?” Todd asked.

“Yes. We have four guns but only seventeen cartridges between us. Can you spare any ammunition?”

“Which calibers?” Todd asked.

“We have two .22s, a .25-35 Winchester, and a .30-06.”

After more consultation between foxholes, Todd jogged up to the retreat house, and returned with a twenty-round box of .30-06 one-hundred-and-seventy-grain soft points, and a plastic box of one hundred CCI .22 long rifle cartridges. These, too, he set down on the road.

“Well folks, we wish you luck,” Todd said, after he had returned to his position. “We only wish that we could do more for you, but this is all that we can spare. As I said before, don’t come back. You’ll get nothing. Don’t try and come back and take anything by force, either. We are well armed and have tight security. We’d cut you down like sheep. You can now get up and very slowly pick up your packs and the supplies that we left you, and be on your way. Keep the muzzles of your guns pointed away from us. Wait until you are out of sight before you stop and open your packs to redistribute your load.”

The longhaired leader of the refugee band proclaimed, “Mister, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the Christian thing to do. Goodbye and good luck.

May God bless you and grant you safe travel.” Todd and the others waited until the band of refugees was well out of sight before they got out of their spider holes and re-covered them.

“It seems that the summer refugee season has begun,” Mary mused.

“Yep, it sure has,” Todd replied. “I’m just glad that we’re off the beaten path, rather than on a highway. If we were on a main drag, we’d be up to our elbows in refugees. Under those circumstances we wouldn’t be in any position to dole out charity.”

T.K. chimed in as they made their way up the hill, “It’s not so much the refugees that would worry me. It’s the escaped convicts that they talked about.”

Yet another ambush on the county road was called in over the field telephone a week later. As she snatched up her Remington 870, Lisa Nelson exclaimed, “Not again!” The three strangers that approached were unusual. All three were riding Giant brand mountain bikes. Two of the bicycles were towing small two-wheeled trailers. When the ambush was sprung, the bicyclists skidded to halt, completely surprised.

“Keep your hands on the handlebars!” Mike Nelson ordered. After a moment, he added, “We are not looters! We mean you no harm. Okay. Now I want you to get off the bikes one at a time, real slowly. You first, mister.” A balding, slightly chubby man dismounted. He engaged the bike’s kickstand, and raised his hands. Nelson gestured with his HK91. “Now you, ma’am.” The woman, who Mike judged to be in her fifties, dressed in blue jeans and a khaki shirt, also did as she was told. Like her husband, she raised her hands without being asked to do so. “Okay, now you, miss.” A young woman with red hair who appeared to be in her late teens joined her parents. Unlike her parents, she let her bike drop to the ground. She looked very frightened.

“Who are you, and where are you from?” Mike asked.

“My name’s Porter, Lon Porter. This is my wife Marguerite and my daughter Della. We’re from Seattle.”

“You came here directly from Seattle?”

“No. Last fall we drove our Volvo station wagon until we ran out of gas down on the Columbia River gorge, just east of Biggs Junction. We had to abandon the car and a lot of our clothes and things there. We were on our way to La Grande, Oregon, to stay with my brother’s family. We made it the rest of the way there on our bikes.

“My brother Tom has a little ranchette on the outskirts of La Grande. We stayed with his family at his house. It was a small house, so they didn’t have a spare bedroom. We slept in the living room. Everything was fine there, once Tom and I got over our nicotine fits. Neither of us was ready to quit smoking, but circumstances dictated that we went 100 percent cold turkey. Tom’s neighbors raise cattle and were generous, but it was obvious that the food was going to start running low, so we offered to move on. We didn’t want to be a burden.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Montana. I’ve heard that things are less torn up there.”

“Do you have family in Montana?”

Porter replied hesitantly, “Nn-no. Assuming that things are closer to normal there, I thought that I’d look for work. I’m a machinist.”

After a pause, Mike offered, “Again, we don’t mean you any harm, but we have to make sure that you aren’t looters. There have been some passing through the area. Cannibals, some of them. We are going to have to search you and your belongings. Once we are convinced that you are indeed whom you say you are, and that you have no hostile intentions, you’ll be free to go. Okay?”

“Okey-dokey,” said Porter.

Sounding more like a police officer now, Mike said, “Now step away from your bikes, turn your backs toward us, and put your hands on the back of your heads, fingers interlocked.”

The Porters did as they were told.

Mike spoke again. “Jeff, frisk Mr. Porter, and make it thorough.” Jeff set down his HK and approached the stranger from behind and searched him methodically. He found no weapons.

“Okay, Jeff, get back in your hole. Mary, search the women,” Nelson ordered. As soon as Trasel was back in position and had reshouldered his HK91, Mary popped out of her refrigerator hole, and frisked Mrs. Porter and her daughter.

When she began to search Della, Mary noticed that the girl was trembling.

She said in a soothing voice, “Relax, kiddo. We’re the good guys.” In searching the two women, Mary found that they were both carrying stainless steel Leatherman multipurpose pocket tools. Otherwise, she found no weapons.

Mike told the Porters that they could lower their hands, but warned them not to make any sudden movements.

Next, Mary searched the panniers on the bicycles and their trailers. The process took fifteen minutes. During the search, she called out a running inventory:“Rain gear. It’s Gore-Tex. Good quality, but awfully bright colors; a tool kit. Gosh, it’s heavy! In it we’ve got… a socket set, a big drill register… a set of taps and dies… a couple of micrometers, all kinds of stuff. I don’t even know what some of these tools are. A lot of them look custom made.” She then began delving deeper into the first trailer. “Here’s an AR-7 .22 rifle like Doug’s. But this one has a kind of brownish camouflaged stock instead of black. That’s different.” She pulled the plastic cap off the butt and extracted the gun’s receiver from its compartment. “No wonder! It’s an original Costa Mesa-marked Armalite! Dan told me that these things are pretty scarce.”

After restowing the AR-7, she continued her search. “About fifteen boxes of .22 shells. A half a box of .380 ACP Federal HydraShok hollow points. An over and under shotgun, broken down in this leather case. It’s a Ruger Red Label, twelve-gauge, a real beaut! Three boxes of twelve-gauge shells. Number seven bird shot, low base. A whole bunch of canned food. Some Mountain House freeze-dried stuff.”

She examined the bikes themselves. All three were made by the Giant company, and were in good repair. Della’s had a slightly smaller frame than the other two. There was a glaring difference between the two adult-sized bikes.

They were both the Sedona model, but Mrs. Porter’s was equipped with a large spring-loaded motor casing. It was connected by a pair of wires to a large black rectangular nylon case, which was cradled in a piece of black sheet metal. The sheet metal was bolted to the bottom tube of the frame. Mary eyed the system curiously. Looking toward Marguerite, she asked, “What is this thing, some sort of generator?”

More relaxed now, Mrs. Porter answered, “An E.R.O.S. motor unit, actually. They’re made by a company called Omni Instruments, down in California. The motor is powered by a pair of gel cells there in that black case. The batteries are almost dead right now, though. When you swing the lever on the handlebar shaft, it drops the motor into contact with the rear wheel of the bike. Then, when you push the little switch on the right handlebar, it engages the motor. When it is fully charged, it will motor you along at twelve miles an hour on level ground. It has about an eight-mile range. I mainly use it to help climb hills. It also does what is called regenerative braking. When you go downhill, you can drop the motor down and it acts as a generator and partly recharges the batteries. It also helps keep the bike from picking up too much speed on the down grades.”

Mary unzipped the battery case and examined the tops of the sealed gel cells. “Wow, this is a pretty neat set-up.” She then shifted her attention to the large handlebar bag on Lon’s bike. “Several road maps. A two cell Kel Lite. And… aha!, an automatic pistol. I’ve never seen this type. Has anyone here ever heard of an ‘Ortgies?’” Removing the gun’s magazine, she announced, “It looks like a Three-Eighty.” After slapping the magazine back into the pistol’s grip and stowing it back in the bag, Mary continued with her inventory. “Two spare magazines for the pistol. Both are loaded with hollow points. A hot patch tire repair kit; a coil of wire; a bike chain-link tool; some duct tape; and a pair of pliers. That’s all for this bag.”

After a few more minutes of searching in silence she declared, “Not much worth mentioning in the other trailer and the saddle bags. Mostly clothes.

There’s a 117-volt power cube here, and a power cord with a cigarette lighter type plug. They must be for charging up the batteries for the motor unit.” Mrs. Porter nodded in agreement. “There’s also a photo album, a King James Bible, and a pretty well-stocked first aid kit. Nothing else worth mentioning.”

With that, Mary returned to her position. After a pause, Lon Porter asked expectantly, “Well?” Drumming his fingers on the redwood lip of his spider hole, Mike asked, “Where did you work in Seattle, and for how long?”

“I worked at Boeing for seventeen years. I’m a master machinist.” There was another pause.

“Do you know how to weld?” Mike asked.

Porter replied, “Of course. T.I.G., M.I.G., oxyacetylene, you name it. Boeing even sent me all-expenses-paid to take a special two-month course with Escher Wyss over in Zurich, Switzerland. That was in ’93. Welding isn’t my specialty now, though. I specialize in prototype machining.”

“How about sheet metal fabricating?”

“Of course.”

“Are you familiar with automobile mechanics?” Mike asked.

“Yes, indeedy. I’ve rebuilt I don’t know how many car and truck engines in my spare time. Kind of a hobby of mine. About the only thing that I’m not well versed on is the newer cars with electronic ignitions or the other computerized doodads.”

“And tool making? Lathes, milling machines?”

“Sure. I’ve worked with all the major brands—both traditional machines and the later computer-controlled ones.”

After yet another pause, Mike said, “Okay Mister Porter, I’d like you and your wife and daughter to sit down on the far side of the road there for a while. Please be patient, but there is something that I have to discuss with my boss up the hill at the house.” Turning to his side, he commanded, “Mary, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

As Mike got out of his hole, the Porters sat down in the grass by the side of the road. They now wore expressions that were more curious than anxious. A few minutes later, Mike trotted back down the hill, with Todd following five yards behind.

“Mister Porter, is it? My name is Todd Gray. I’m in charge of this operation. My friend Mister Nelson tells me that you are a master machinist with no certain destination, who is ‘seeking after employment,’ as they say. If you’d care to join me up at the house, I’d like to explain our situation here, interview the three of you, and possibly make you an offer.”

The debate on whether or not to take in the Porters was brief. With summer approaching, it was clear that the retreat would be shorthanded, especially with all of the gardening tasks that needed to be done. Mary summed up “the bottom line”: Without additional help, they could either have a secure retreat, and quietly starve, or plant a large garden, and have less than full round-the-clock security.

The other key factors were Lon’s skills. Because it now appeared highly unlikely that Ken and Terry Layton would show up, there was a perceived need for someone who knew the intricacies of cars and trucks. In addition, Marguerite, or Margie as she was commonly called, had grown up on a farm in Woodburn, Oregon. This gave her a wealth of practical farming and cooking skills. The Porters were voted in unanimously.

After rearranging the basement, one end was partitioned off with wall lockers and hanging blankets to form a bedroom for the Porters. Unfortunately, the only beds available were three Army surplus folding cots. The Porters didn’t object. Soon after their sleeping arrangements were taken care of, Mike was given the task of getting the Porters set up logistically. Uniforms were not a major problem. Jeff Trasel gave up a set of DPMs for Lon, and Mike gave Margie a set. Because Margie was “big boned” but not overweight, they turned out to fit well. Mary gave two of her five sets of DPMs to Della. They too were about the same size.

The next, and more difficult, task was getting the Porters properly armed.

Dan Fong’s large gun collection saved the day. Although they were not group standard guns, Dan agreed to “indefinitely loan” his FN/FAL and his Portuguese contract Armalite AR-10 to the Porters. Both guns were chambered in 7.62mm NATO. Lon would use the FN, while Margie would use the much lighter AR-10. Dan had eleven magazines for the FN, but only two for the AR-10. This presented a problem, as two twenty-round magazines would not suffice for a firefight of any duration.

Lon went to work in Todd’s shop the next day. First, after disassembling it, he used a dial micrometer to take a complete set of dimensions from one of the AR-10 magazines. He compared the AR-10 magazine with the magazines of other assault rifles chambered for the same cartridge, and came to the conclusion that their dimensional differences were too great to attempt to adapt any other type of .308 magazine to fit the AR-10. Next, he looked through Todd’s collection of sheet metal for stock that would have the equivalent strength of the aluminum used in the original magazines.

The process of making the magazines took two days. The magazine bodies were bent from sheet steel. Their springs came from extra HK magazines. Their followers were cast from scrap aluminum, using the lost wax method. Once they were fully assembled, the magazines all functioned flawlessly. With the permission of Mike Nelson, the AR-10 was test fired and re-zeroed to suit Margie’s preference. Using the new magazines, the rifle functioned without a stutter.

Jeff, who had been serving picket duty, came down the hill after he was relieved. He asked Dan, “What was all the shooting about?”

Fong replied, “We were testing the new AR-10 mags. They work great.”

Jeff had missed seeing most of the magazine manufacturing process because he had LP/OP duty for two successive days. He asked, “Were they hard to make?”

“Nope,” Dan answered. “If I had been doing the work, I probably would have made several prototypes before I got one that would finally fit and function properly. Old man Porter just whipped out all five at once. He went straight from concept to finished product. The guy is incredible. I can see that I’ll be learning a lot from him. He’s a far cry from Ian Doyle.”

Jeff stroked his mustache and asked, “Doyle? Hey, wasn’t he that Air Force cadet that you and Todd used to hang out with in college?”

Dan smiled. “Ah, so you do remember Ian. Yep, that’s the guy. Todd and I kept up with him after college, mainly by e-mail. In fact, I had a chat with him on the phone just a couple of months before the Crunch. At the time he was flying F-16s down at Luke Air Force Base in Arizona. Hard to believe, but he was a Major-Select when we talked. He was married and had a daughter, too.

She must be close to ten years old now. Seems like yesterday that we were in college. When we were living in the dorms, I helped him weld up and part together an Ingram M10 and a Sten gun in his parents’ garage. He had Sionics type suppressers for both of them. The dude was very low key, but he had a secret life as a major gun nut. His motto was ‘Cut to size, file to fit, and paint to match.’ I wonder whatever happened to him, once the Schumer hit the fan.”

“He probably has his own private little empire set up somewhere by now,” Trasel said with a chuckle.

The diminutive Della, or “Little Dell” as Lon called her, also needed to be armed. After Rose was given T.K.’s CAR-15, there were no more spare .223 rifles or carbines available. A special meeting was held on the subject. After much arguing, the group finally voted to give Della the Ruger Mini-14 and accessories that was captured from the looters. For a handgun she was given Mary’s spare blue steel Gold Cup. At roughly the same time, Lon “traded” his Ortgies .380 for Dan’s long barreled Model 686 .357 magnum revolver.

Although it was hardly an equal trade, Dan went ahead with it, knowing that the gun would be more useful in the hands of Lon than sitting in the back of Dan’s wall locker. Margie traded most of the Porters’ small cache of U.S. and Canadian silver coins for Dan’s Beretta nine-millimeter pistol. This too was a lopsided trade, but the same logic applied, so Dan consented.

Because she had never done much shooting before, Della was given extensive target and combat shooting training over the course of the next few weeks. Doing this much shooting was judged an acceptable risk by Mike Nelson. As he explained his logic, the advantage of having another trained shooter outweighed the risks associated with making a lot of noise. Della had several instructors, starting with Rose, who spent several days teaching her the basics of marksmanship and shooting positions, using a Ruger 10/22. Next, she learned the functioning of her Mini-14 and how to field strip it, by Dan Fong.

Then she was taught how to shoot the weapon accurately by T.K., using the techniques he had learned at the Front Sight Firearms Training Institute, and drawing on his many years of high-power competition experience.

Tom Kennedy, as “the marksmanship guru,” insisted that she memorize the tables for bullet drop at different distances, and for bullet drift with varying crosswinds, and uphill/downhill compensation. After a few weeks practicing with different shooting stances and firing deliberately, Della developed into an accurate shooter. Eventually, she was hitting man-sized targets with regularity at ranges out to four hundred yards. Considering that she was shooting a .223 Remington, which was never known as a good long-range cartridge, her performance was commendable.

Her next phase of instruction, which she shared with Rose, Lon, and Margie, involved pistol shooting. They had two instructors: Mike and Todd.

This training took eight days. On the first four days, the four students used bull barreled Ruger Mark II .22 target pistols that belonged to the Grays and Nelsons. Together, they fired nearly two thousand rounds of .22 ammunition.

During the last four days of their training, they graduated to their full-power “carry” pistols. Through these, they fired almost eight hundred rounds of .45 ACP, .38 Special, .357 magnum, and nine-millimeter Parabellum.

In addition to deliberate target practice, they also practiced speed draws, combat stances, barricade shooting, tactical and emergency reloading, and low light shooting. Their “final exam” was a combat course on the run over a distance of five hundred yards, shooting at targets as close as five feet, and as far as one hundred yards. It was a demanding course, but all four did fairly well.

Following their pistol training, the four inductees were given instruction in tactics, patrolling, and combat rifle shooting. Mike Nelson, Jeff Trasel, and Doug Carlton served as the instructors.

Lon’s mechanical ingenuity soon made itself evident. After his first shift of C.Q. duty, Lon suggested to Todd that he modify the hand crank generator to increase its efficiency. Mary had already expressed her worries of “repetitive stress” injuries. After Todd heard Porter’s idea, he agreed enthusiastically. Lon started out by fabricating a metal stand to support Mary’s old bicycle. Because it had large “outriggers” that extended outward for three feet, the stand firmly held the bicycle in position without fear of it tipping over.

With the rear wheel removed, and the bike mounted firmly in the stand, Lon made a mounting bracket for the hand crank generator. After taking some dimensions and doing rough calculations on gear ratios and crank speeds, Lon cut a piece of square bar stock to fit one of the two slots for the hand cranks.

He then centered and welded a gear onto the end of the bar stock. Next, Porter bolted the generator onto the stand and connected the bicycle’s chain and adjusted the tension. The new bicycle generator worked perfectly. With the increased efficiency of the generator, group members assigned C.Q. duty only had to operate it for forty-five minutes of each shift to generate the same amount of power that had previously taken three hours. This made everyone at the retreat happy. Cranking the generator was still not a fun job, but at least it was no longer an onerous task.

The Porters quickly integrated themselves into the day-to-day working of the retreat. All three pulled C.Q. and LP/OP duty. This provided the man-hours necessary for many of the more labor-intensive tasks, including gardening. Margie soon corrected one glaring defect that she had noticed. All of the men at the retreat had shabby looking haircuts. As there had been no one trained in how to give a proper haircut, the standard practice had been to wait until hair began to interfere with proper vision, and then proceed to hack it off unevenly. Some of the results were less than flattering. Margie, who had been giving haircuts as a hobby for two decades, soon set up shop. After giving all of the men fresh haircuts, she started working on the coiffures of the ladies.

Three weeks after the Porters arrived, Todd noticed that Della Porter was deeply engaged in conversation with Doug as he sat at the C.Q. desk. They were looking directly into each other’s eyes. Della was smiling—a lot. Todd brought up his suspicions with Mary. She asked with disbelief, “What, didn’t you notice before? Those two gravitated together more than a week ago.”

A look of amazement spread across Todd’s face. “But Della is only seventeen, isn’t she?”

“Yes, hon, she won’t turn eighteen until a few weeks from now. However, under the current state of affairs, I don’t think that Doug is liable to be prosecuted. Besides, I don’t think that anything has happened. Doug and Della are good Christians. They’ll wait until they’re married.”

Todd scratched his chin. “Well, I don’t want any fornicating or even ‘bundling’ going on under my roof. I guess that T.K. ought to have a talk with Doug, and determine his intentions. Then, I suppose it’ll probably be time for Doug to ask Lon for permission to marry his daughter.”

Mary smiled. “Yes, that’s the thing a young man traditionally does, isn’t it? Don’t you remember your conversation with grouchy old Mr. Krause?”

“Are you kidding? That conversation with your dad is permanently etched in my memory.” In a gravely voice, Todd quoted Mary’s father:“‘What exactly are your prospects, Todd?’”

One morning early in August, as they were dressing, Mary told Todd, “Honey, I’ve got something to tell you. I missed my last period, and I’ve been feeling really nauseated the last few days.”

“You mean… you mean….” Todd stammered.

“Yes, you big oversexed stud, you got me pregnant.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Todd asked, “You didn’t intentionally…?”

Mary scowled. “No, of course not. But, like I briefed everyone in the group years ago, condoms are not the most efficient form of birth control. I should have insisted that all the ladies got fitted for cervical caps, since they’re the best.”

Todd put on a crooked grin and joked, “Personally, I think that you covertly put some pinholes in our supply of rubbers.”

Mary slugged Todd in the shoulder and shouted, “Todd Gray! How could you say a thing like that? I swear, you have the biggest ego on the planet. I’ll bet that you think that I just couldn’t wait to become the mother of your first child,‘oh great tribal chieftain.’”

“No, darling.I just think that you are the most wonderful woman that any man could ever ask for. You have made me very, very proud. I love you very much.”

Following the installation of the water and power systems, soon after they bought their Bovill property, Todd selected a site and built the listening post/observation post (LP/OP) for the retreat. The site that Todd selected was fifty yards above the spring. It had a commanding view of the entire property, and a good view of the county road in both directions. He resisted the urge to put the LP/OP at the very peak of the hill. Using knowledge gleaned years before from Jeff Trasel, Todd instead put the LP/OP five yards below the hill’s crest at the hill’s “military crest.” By positioning the LP/OP on the military crest, it eliminated the risk of LP/OP sentries “sky-lining” themselves when they walked to and from their posts. This would eventually make it much easier to keep the location and existence of the LP/OP a secret.

The design for the LP/OP itself came straight out of one the Army field manuals in Todd’s collection. The foxhole was dug armpit deep and eight feet long. It was lined with pressure-treated plywood to prevent the walls from crumbling. A stairway leading into the position was dug immediately to the rear.

The floor was “stair-cased” to three different heights to accommodate sentries of differing heights. At five-feet-two-inches, Mary was used as the model for the shorter LP/OP pickets. Next, the floor of the foxhole was covered with the same type of plywood used on the wall, and then industrial open weave rubber floor mats were added to provide a quiet, non-slip surface.

After the experience of the first winter, Todd eventually built wooden steps to replace the earthen steps, and cut up floor mat material to nail on each step.

Another later addition was a roof for the LP/OP, something that Jeff Trasel would have referred to as “overhead cover.” After building up banks on both ends of the LP/OP trench, Todd laid down a row of six-by-eight-inch treated timbers, parallel to the trench. On top of the timbers, he glued and nailed two-by-six-inch tongue and groove boards cross-wise to the support timbers. Next, Todd laid down four thicknesses of ten-mil black sheet plastic. This sheet plastic extended well beyond just the roof, so it would provide better drainage for rainwater. Finally, he covered the whole works with six inches of earth and then the squares of sod that he had originally dug up and set aside when he first started the hole for the trench. Within a few months, this sod grew back in a healthy coat of grass, all but obscuring the LP/OP. From the front, sides, or down the hill, it was practically invisible. Its vision slots were detectable only if someone knew where to look.

There were then just a few finishing touches on the LP/OP. First, Todd and Mary buried two strands of WD-1 field telephone wire that ran between the house and the LP/OP. Todd also made a few modifications to make the LP/OP more livable. First, he cut a few slots in the walls, and inset-mounted ammunition cans to act as shelves. The way they were arranged, the cans could be pulled out and their lids replaced. In this way, the rubber gasket lids would protect the contents of the boxes when they were not in use. Next, Todd bought a comfortable wooden desk chair at a secondhand store in St. Maries.

He modified the chair by fitting a foam cushion, and then bolting on wooden extensions for its legs. With the extensions in place, the eye level of whoever was sitting in it would be virtually the same as if they were standing.

In addition to a TA-1 sound powered field telephone, Todd selected a variety of gear with which to equip the LP/OP. This gear included two angle head flashlights each with two thicknesses of red lens filters, a pair of rubber-armored Bushnell binoculars, a large spiral-bound note pad and pen to use for a duty log, a compressed-air powered boat horn for use as a backup alarm signal, four surplus white star parachute flares, and Todd’s spare Remington 870 riot shotgun and a satchel of number-four buckshot rounds.

Unlike his other riotgun, this particular shotgun was customized for close-in night fighting. It had an eight-round extension magazine installed, as well as a Pachmayr rubber pistol grip. Using a special fore end mount built by SureFire, there was a flashlight mounted below the barrel. A momentary on/off switch was built into the SureFire mount. Todd figured that it would make a good weapon to have handy if whoever was manning the LP/OP got jumped at close range. All of the gear for the LP/OP was packed in an olive drab footlocker. Mary later used a hot glue gun to install thick foam padding inside the footlocker to protect its contents. To put the LP/OP in operation, everything was in one handy “strack box” that could be carried up the hill.

Next, again based on his training by Jeff Trasel, Todd made a range card and sector sketch for the LP/OP. Using a hundred-foot measuring tape, he and Mary took measurements from the LP/OP to each significant landmark on the retreat. Then Todd drew a sketch, with the distances written beside them.

Thus, LP/OP pickets would be able to know the exact distances to various points, something that might come in very handy in the future. With her artistic talent, Mary later improved on the sector sketches with a diagram that she hand-painted on a piece of scrap plywood. This was later mounted on the wall of the LP/OP with wood screws. Todd liked her creation so much that he asked her to make similar “range paintings” for each of the windows of the house. If the house eventually had to be defended with their rifles, Todd didn’t want anyone guessing at the range to any particular target.

The last of the stored toilet paper was exhausted the month after the Porter family arrived. The small packets of toilet paper that members of the group had saved from MREs was henceforth set aside for patrolling. At the retreat, the group switched to using paper from phone books. Mary had secured a tall stack of Chicago phone books years before, for just this purpose. Everyone realized that even this paper would be expended eventually, so it was used sparingly. The prospect of someday using leaves was not appealing.