Patriots: A Novel of Survival in the Coming Collapse

CHAPTER 12 The Templars

Todd Gray’s group began to patrol outside the perimeter of the forty-acre retreat later the same winter that the looters attacked. They had decided to delay leaving the retreat because they were well supplied and becoming increasingly self-sufficient. They reasoned that the longer they waited, the more likely that the bands of looters would have been thinned out through attrition. They also wanted to avoid getting shot by nervous neighbors. Typically, the patrols consisted of seven group members. They were broken into two three-member fire teams, plus a patrol leader. The first few foot patrols were relatively short. They started by making contact with surrounding farms.

All of the contiguous farms had been abandoned, due to farmers relocating to “double up.” The nearest occupied farm was just over a half-mile away. It was held by the farm’s original owners, plus two other families.

The group soon set a SOP for making initial contact with farms. First, they would approach until they were just in sight of a farmhouse. Then, waving a large white flag made out of half a bedsheet, one of the patrol members would approach the house with their rifle or riotgun slung across their back. It was risky business, but with no electronic communications available, it was the only way to avoid a firefight. Generally, the contacts with the farm-strongholds went well.

The group member first making contact would inquire if any assistance was needed by the farmers. In most cases, the answer was no. In a few instances, there were requests for items like antibiotics or matches. The Group did their best to fill these requests. Todd’s general guidance on charity was to “give until it hurts.” He wanted to make it clear that the Group was there to help their neighbors, and absolutely not to bully them. Without providing a lot of details, the farmers were briefed on the existence of the Group. It was made clear that if any farm in the area came under siege by looters, the Group would do their best to respond and drive them off.

Next, the patrol got any information that the farmers could provide on the activity of looter bands in the area. Before leaving, they left word that the Group constantly monitored channel seven on the CB. The CB base station recovered from Kevin’s house was set up on the C.Q. desk for just this purpose.

As the group’s patrols made probes to the west, they began to hear farmers making references to “The Templars,” representatives of an apparently well-organized stronghold located near the town of Troy, nineteen miles west of Bovill. When pressed for additional information on these “Templars,” the farmers reported that some of their neighbors had been contacted by men dressed in camouflage uniforms and carrying “Army rifles” and riot shotguns. Like “the Group,” they had inquired if the farmers were in need of any assistance.

Only when the Group’s patrols traveled west of the hamlet of Deary did they contact a farmer who had actually come face-to-face with the Templars.

In fact, when the patrol was first spotted by the farmer, he hailed them with the words, “Hello there, Templars! Come on down the hill!” It was not until the patrol entered the man’s barnyard that he realized that they were not members of the Templar group.

When questioned, the farmer told Mike, who was leading the patrol, that the full name of the organization was the Troy Templars. They did indeed wear camouflage uniforms, and carried paramilitary weapons. The farmer said that the Templars had worn a different camouflage pattern than the patrol was wearing. When pressed, he could only describe the pattern as “not the new digital things. It’s the old style—green, brown, and black, and kinda curvy.” To add to the confusion, he said that the Templars often referred to their own organization as “the Group.”

The farmer, who had only been visited by the Templars once, could give no further details on the undefined organization. Mike then told the farmer, “If you are contacted by these Templars again, please ask them to call us up during the evening hours on CB channel seven so we can discuss some things.”

“Are you two groups in competition?” the farmer asked.

“We don’t know yet. Just ask them to give us a call.”

The farmer then asked, “Who should I say that they are calling?”

Mike was momentarily dumbfounded. He finally blurted out, “The Northwest Militia.”

That evening, as soon as Mike’s patrol had gone through the formalities of a challenge and password and had passed back into the retreat’s perimeter, he strode up the hill to consult with Todd and T.K. In a few minutes, Mike reported what he had seen and heard during the patrol. When he got to the point in his story where he had identified their group as “The Northwest Militia,” Todd asked incredulously, “The what?”

Mike shrugged his shoulders and replied, “It just popped into my head. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I knew for sure, though, that I couldn’t just say ‘the Group.’ That’s not a proper name to use with outsiders, and we have to be identifiable somehow.”

After cracking a wry smile, Todd mused, “Well, with a name like that, we’ll certainly have them guessing at our strength. Makes us sound like a small army.

By current standards, I guess we probably are a small army. Did this farmer give any indication as to the size of this Templar outfit?”

Mike shook his head. “No, the guy just said that they had come to his farm in a five-man patrol, and that when he asked how many men they had at their stronghold, that they changed the subject.”

“Hmmm,” Todd remarked, “these Troy Templars sound cagey. They definitely sound like they were prepared before things fell apart. Most likely survivalists or militia members, although there is a chance they could be some sort of radical kooks.”

T.K. interjected, “Just what sort of name is ‘the Troy Templars,’ anyhow? It sounds like a bit of a mixed historical metaphor to me.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mike asked.

T.K. bit his lip and then queried, “Well, if they are from Troy, then properly they should be Trojans, right? But they call themselves Templars. The Knights Templar was a clerical order that first got started during the Crusades. They were in roughly the same category as the Hospitalers. The Templars’ job was to guard pilgrimagers as they traveled through the Holy Lands. They were real stud monks—you know, a cross in one hand, a sword in the other. I suppose that these new Templars chose the name in reference to the fact that they see themselves as protectors of the area. Interesting.”

After considering T.K.’s words, Todd pronounced, “As I see it, the key questions are: one, what are their intentions? Two, are they moral, ethical, and law abiding? Three, what is their manpower? Four, what, if any, are their politics?

And five, assuming that they are on the side of ‘truth, justice, and the American way,’ are they going to be friendly toward us?”

Todd’s questions went unanswered for nine days. Then, at exactly 6 p.m. on the evening of January twenty-second, a call came over the CB on channel seven:“Com 1 of the Troy Templars calling the Northwest Militia, over.”

As most of the group had just finished eating dinner, Todd was there to pick up the CB’s handset. “This is Todd Gray of the Northwest Militia, go ahead.”

“Mister Gray, this is Roger Dunlap, Com 1 of the Templars. Are you the head of your group, over?”

“I am indeed, over.”

“I understand that our patrols have started coming into contact with some of the same farms and ranches, over.”

“Yes, that appears to be the case, over,” Todd replied.

“We have heard that you are from the Bovill area, is that correct? Over.”

“Roger that. And you are from the Troy area? Over.”

“Affirmative, over.”

Todd then asked, “I hadn’t heard of your retreat’s existence before things fell apart, over.”

“Nor had we of yours. It seems we both kept a low profile, over.”

“Well, I would like to parlay with you further, but this is hardly the proper venue, if you gather my meaning, over.”

“I agree; this is hardly a secure form of comms. When and where do you want to meet?”

A meeting of two representatives from each group was scheduled for noon the next day, weather permitting. They were to meet at the cemetery on the west side of Deary, a town roughly equidistant between Bovill and Troy.

Todd and T.K. drove to the meeting in Jeff’s pickup truck. Todd decided to drive the truck for both psychological effect, and to give the ability to get out of an ambush in a hurry. Todd and T.K. were ten minutes early. They wore clean sets of their best-looking DPMs. The Templars, on horseback, arrived at two minutes before noon.

As the two Templars approached, Todd could see that they were wearing BDU uniforms and woodland pattern pile caps. Their clothing, too, was clean.

The two men both carried M1A rifles, and wore standard Army issue LC-1 harnesses. Both also carried Beretta Model 92 pistols in Army issue olive drab nylon Bianchi hip holsters.

The older of the two men, about forty-five, with thin features and balding gray hair, greeted Todd and T.K. with the words, “Hello, my name’s Dunlap, which one of you is Mister Gray?”

“I am,” Todd answered. “A pleasure meeting you, sir.”

“And you. This is Ted Wallach. He’s our Com 2—the security coordinator.”

Not knowing what to say next, Todd said, “Nice horse.”

Dunlap crossed his arms and replied, “Nice truck.”

They stared at each other for a few moments. It was Todd who spoke next.

“It seems that we have a lot in common. Tell me, just what sort of survivalist are you?”

Dunlap considered his question, and replied, “I’m basically of the Mel Tappan school, with a little Bruce Clayton and Kurt Saxon mixed in.” Todd nodded his head and echoed, “Tappan was my main influence too, with an admixture of Dean Ing, Rick Fines, Jeff Cooper, Mike Carney, Bill Cooper, and a dash of Ayn Rand.”

Dunlap gave a chuckle. “Your friends are my friends. I guess that puts us on the same team.”

“Perhaps,” Todd intoned, trying to sound ambiguous. He added, “Are you Christians?”

“Of course we are. We have all repented and committed ourselves to Christ. There has been quite a revival at our retreat since the collapse.” Dunlap folded his hands and looked Todd in the eye. He asked, “Now what are the intentions of your ‘Northwest Militia?’”

“Oh, I would assume something very much like the Troy Templars.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Dunlap asked.

Todd now knew that the ball was placed firmly in his court. He answered resoundingly, “To restore order and the primacy of constitutional law, and to protect free trade and travel.”

“Now we’re talking! We used very similar words when we wrote the bylaws of the Templars.” Both men smiled.

“Just how large is your group, Mr. Dunlap?”

“We have twenty-six members. They range in age from five to seventy-three.

We had twenty-seven, but one of our men died of appendicitis. And yours?”

“We have twelve members. No children—not yet at least. All of the militia members are trained in weapons and tactics, and our oldest member just turned fifty-two. They are all trained and able-bodied.”

“Meaning…?” Dunlap asked.

“Meaning that we can field all twelve members for combat, if need be.”

After pausing and staring at the ground, Dunlap looked up. “I think it might be possible for your group to be integrated into the Templar organization.”

Todd slowly shook his head from side to side. “That isn’t what I came here for. I had assumed that we would be talking as equals. I had cooperation, not consolidation in mind.”

“But our group is more than twice the size of yours. We undoubtedly have a larger pool of useful skills available. We are also on excellent footing, logistically. You see, I was independently wealthy before things fell apart. This gave us the wherewithal to put away a substantial stock of food, weapons, tools, and medical supplies. It only stands to reason that you should come under the wing of a larger, better supplied group.”

Todd frowned. “In the first place, the total size of your group may be larger, but in terms of your actual ability to police a given area, it is probably no greater than ours. As I mentioned before, we can field all twelve of our members. In terms of fit and trained combatants, I would expect that your strength is essentially comparable or perhaps only slightly greater. Also, keep in mind that we’re pretty well squared away logistically, ourselves. We didn’t have the benefit of a ‘Sugar Daddy,’ but we spent every dime we could spare for nearly ten years, preparing.”

Roger Dunlap looked as if he did not like what he had heard. “Look, I’ve made a reasonable proposal, and you haven’t even taken the time to fully consider it.”

“I didn’t consider it because it is totally out the question, Mister Dunlap.

Our militia has its own bylaws, and its own leadership. Granted, our two groups have similar philosophies and goals, but there’s no way that we are going to just ‘come under your wing.’”

“But you’d be part of our organization, with full voting rights.”

“No matter how you cut it, we’d still be relinquishing an independent organization to yours. Furthermore, we’d constitute a minority when votes were taken. I find your proposal unacceptable. I’d rather propose another arrangement.”

“Which is?”

“That our groups retain their independence, but that we form an alliance.”

“I came prepared today only to offer you a part in our organization, Mister Gray. Our group would have to take another vote before we entered into any alliance.”

“Well then, I guess that marks the end of our conversation,” Todd retorted.

Dunlap sighed and said, “What do you say that we meet three hundred yards west of here at noon on the day after tomorrow, under the same conditions?”

“Very well. Please come prepared to discuss the parameters of an alliance.”

“I can’t promise you anything until I consult with the rest of the Templars.”

Todd looked Dunlap squarely in the eye, and enunciated, “When you brief your group about our conversation, please pass on the following message: ‘You will find that the Northwest Militia will be either the most valuable, loyal, God-fearing, and trustworthy of allies, or… if you try to coerce us—the worst of enemies. The choice is yours.’”

“I’ll pass along your message. Goodbye, Mister Gray.”

“Goodbye, Mister Dunlap.”

The two then shook hands, but neither of them managed more than half a smile. With that, they turned and walked away from each other.

As T.K. shut the door on the passenger side of the truck, he asked, “What do you make of them, Todd?”

Todd didn’t answer Kennedy’s question until after he had started the engine of the pickup, and turned it around to get back on the road to Bovill. After this interval, he replied, “That’s hard to say, T.K. That Dunlap character is hard to read. He has a real poker face. At least we found out how large their group is.”

T.K. cocked his head and asserted, “That is if he was telling us the truth.”

“On that particular point, I think that he was. If he wasn’t, I don’t think that he would have mentioned the age composition of his group in the same breath,” Todd said.

After driving for a few minutes in silence, T.K. asked, “So, do you think that they’ll agree to an alliance?”

With a grave voice, Todd replied, “I hope so. If they don’t, things could get real nasty. I tried to make it clear where we stood without sounding too brash, but I wanted to be firm. Like that line from the second Buckaroo Banzai movie: ‘Treat us good and we’ll treat you better. Treat us bad and we’ll treat you worse.’”

After they got back to the retreat, Todd called for a meeting after dinner.

There, he and T.K. briefed everyone on what had transpired. Although all of the group members agreed with Todd’s refusal of the Templars’ offer, there was some criticism. Mary, now eight months pregnant and looking very plump, said forthrightly, “You should have found more in common and established a better rapport before you talked turkey.”

Mike agreed with Mary’s assessment. He commented, “If Terry Layton were here, she’d probably say that it was a case of two warriors having a discussion that should have been handled by people with a different personality type. Someone more diplomatic.”

Todd flushed. He implored, “What are you saying, that I blew it?”

Mike shook his head. “No, what I’m saying is…. What I’m saying is that ‘a beginning is a very delicate time.’ I don’t differ one iota in the substance of what you told Dunlap, but I think that you could have acted friendlier.”

“You weren’t there, Mike. If you had been, I think that you would have said the same things, and used the same tone of voice. I wasn’t about to play the weak sister. I was trying to negotiate from a position of strength. As near as I can tell, these Templars aren’t quite as altruistically motivated as we are. They seem to want to exert some power at the same time they do good works like doling out charity.”

“Do you think they’ve been corrupted?” Mike asked.

“Corrupted in the sense of Lord Acton? As in,‘Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely?’ Probably not yet, to any great extent, but there is definitely the potential there. You know we’ve discussed that at so many group meetings. Everyone in our situation has to be on guard for that. It’s not just the Templars. Neither group is immune. We’re all sinners. The building blocks for tyranny are right here in this house. Look at our situation compared to most of our neighbors. We’ve got real organization, superior arms, above average tactical skills, and plenty of beans and bullets. In today’s economy, a deep larder and a big pile of ammunition is the equivalent of a millionaire’s bank account. We can’t let all that go to our heads. It would be all too easy for us to declare ourselves petty dictators over the region.”

Todd interlaced his fingers and clicked his thumbnails together. “We’ve got to show restraint, heed our conscience, and always remember that we are Christians. Instead of playing ‘lifeboat captain’ and just plain taking or ‘requisitioning’ what we want or need, we have always got to engage in fair barter.

When those in need don’t have anything that they can spare to barter, we’ve got to do our very best to dispense copious charity. To quote Matthew Chapter 8:‘Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.’ I believe in salvation solely by Grace, but I don’t believe in faith without good works. It’s our duty as Christians….” Todd glanced at Kevin Lendel, and quipped, “Sorry, no offense intended with that New Testament stuff, Kevin.”

Lendel replied, “No offense taken. My God is the same God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I subscribe to the same code of ethics. I just don’t eat pork.”

Everyone laughed.

Todd waited for the laughter to die down, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his DPM trousers. He said, “Enough of my lecturing. Now, getting back to the issue of image we want to put forward. What do you folks think we should do next?”

Mary spoke up. “I’d suggest that the next time you go back to talk to Dunlap one of the women goes with you to soften our image. We can’t come across as being entirely militant. We’ve got to show that we are human, and that we’ve got compassion and balance.”

Todd’s shoulders slumped. “I think that you’re right.” When a series of votes were taken later in the evening, it was decided that Lisa should go with Todd to the next meeting, and that she should attempt to intervene if Todd and Roger Dunlap started to show any friction. There was general agreement among the group members that it was important to have the militia patrol a large territory. In the short term, it would be a burden to patrol the area and give critical aid to the territory’s inhabitants. In the long term, however, as a more stable situation developed, a large territory would mean a larger base of population with more resources available to barter, and most importantly, a large pool of manpower to form a network of militias to defend against well-organized hostiles. T.K. predicted a situation “somewhat akin to the city states of Italy during the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance.”

Mike brought out a large map that had been assembled from nine USGS topographical maps and mounted on a piece of plywood. The map was covered with heavy clear “combat” acetate so that it could be marked with water-based fine point felt tip markers. The acetate was already extensively marked with property lines and the surnames of landowners. Mike often used the map board when briefing and debriefing patrols. Following the discussion of how much territory they could handle, it was decided that a north-south line near Deary should mark the dividing point for the two groups’ areas of responsibility for providing aid and security.

At the end of the meeting, T.K. led the group in a Bible study in 1st Kings, studying Solomon’s alliances with Hiram and Egypt, and Asa and Ahab’s alliances with Ben-Hadad. Then they prayed that God would give them wisdom and strength. They also prayed that God would allow the two groups to reach an understanding and form a lasting, equitable alliance.

Just before noon on the twenty-fifth, with a light snow falling, Todd and Lisa arrived at the Deary cemetery, again driving Jeff’s Power Wagon. As Todd pulled the pickup to a halt, they could see Dunlap and a woman standing next to two horses that were tied up to the fence that surrounded the graveyard.

Lisa observed quietly, “Looks like the Templars decided to soften their image as well.”

Todd let out a faint chuckle in reply. When they stepped out of the cab, they felt a cold blast. The weather had deteriorated considerably since their last meeting. Carrying only their holstered .45s, Todd and Lisa approached Dunlap and the woman.

“Hello!” Dunlap half-shouted.

“Hail and well met,” Gray replied.

As they approached to within a few steps of each other, Todd said, “Roger, I’d like you to meet Lisa Nelson. She’s our logistician, and the wife of our tactical coordinator.”

Dunlap smiled and replied, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. This is my wife Teresa, she’s our group counselor.”

Todd tipped the brim of his boonie hat, and let out a quiet “Ma’am.”After a pause, Todd suggested, “It’s pretty cold today. If you’d like, we can talk in the back end of our rig. We’ve got a kerosene heater and a thermos full of hot tea.”

Roger Dunlap and his wife exchanged glances, then nods. “Sure, that sounds great,” Roger said.

Carrying their rifles with them, the Dunlaps crunched through the snow, following Todd and Lisa. Once they were inside the camper shell, Todd shut the tailgate and the back window, propping it open a crack with a scrap block of two-by-four for ventilation. Nobody spoke as Lisa lit the Kerosun kerosene heater-cooker. The four sat cross-legged on the carpet that covered the bed of the pickup, staring at the light of the heater that sat between them. The Dunlaps took off their gloves and wool glove liners and warmed their hands. Again without speaking, Lisa poured tea into four heavy porcelain coffee mugs.

Finally, after taking a sip of tea, Roger spoke. “Earl Grey—my favorite.”

Next, everyone tried to speak at once, then laughed.

After a few pleasantries and talk about the weather, they proceeded to talk business. Roger reported, “We took several votes in the course of two meetings of the Templars. We are prepared to talk terms of an alliance.”

Todd beamed. “Excellent. What scope for the alliance did you have in mind?”

After a pause, Roger answered, “We want to set up a mutual aid and security pact. We would each be assigned a geographical area to patrol and secure.”

Todd beamed. “That’s exactly what we had in mind. However, we also wanted to clearly set our priorities for providing charity—with no strings attached—both to local residents and bands of legitimate refugees.”

“Agreed,” Dunlap said.

“Also, one important point: If a lawless band should threaten the region, and if it is too big for either group to handle on their own, then our treaty would commit both groups to provide assistance, even if it means the risk of loss of life.”

Roger turned up one corner of his mouth and said, “I guess that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed. That’s the bottom line,” Todd echoed.

Dunlap and his wife again exchanged glances. Roger stated, “We agree. We’re willing to covenant on that.”

For the next fifteen minutes, the two hammered out their differences in terminology and concepts. Lisa and Teresa occasionally made comments and suggestions, but it was mainly Todd and Roger who did the talking. In all, their conversation was much friendlier. The only time that there was any hint of hostility came when the two men discussed where the dividing line between the two groups’ “Areas of Operations” or “A.O.s” should be drawn. Dunlap wanted the line three miles east of Deary. Gray wanted it one mile west of Deary. They eventually reached an agreement after Lisa spoke up and suggested that the residents of Deary would have the benefit of being able to call on the aid of either group if the line was drawn right through the center of town. Pulling out an Idaho road map, Dunlap traced a line for the Templars’ A.O.

“Very well then. Our common boundary will be this line running north-south through Deary. Our line will then run back west to Kendrick. Then it will run north just to the east side of Moscow, and then back east along a line centering on Potlatch. There’s no need for us to cover Moscow itself. As I’m sure you heard, most of it went up in flames early last year. The residents that were left soon afterward set up a ‘committee of vigilance’ as they call it, complete with roadblocks. We’ve already made a treaty with them, and everything’s copacetic.”

Todd spoke next. “Those boundaries are perfectly agreeable to us. I’d like the boundaries of the Northwest Militia to run as follows: From this ‘Mason-Dixon’ line north to where it meets the Palouse River, east to Hemlock Butte, due south on a line passing just east of Elk City, and then west to a point four miles south of Deary. Agreed?”

Roger nodded. “I have no problem with those boundaries.” After the boundaries had been sketched onto a copy of the map for each group, the two men shook hands.

The next item of business was coordination between the groups. “Do you have access to a single sideband CB?” Todd asked.

Roger nodded, saying, “Yes, one of our base stations is a forty-channel S.S.B. rig.”

“Okay then, what I’d like to do is set channel one, upper side band, as our main line of communications for coordination between the two groups. We won’t publicize the fact that we use that freq. I’d also suggest that channel seven, full band, be our regional frequency, on which any of the locals can get in touch with either retreat. Normally I’d say channel nine, the old civilian emergency channel, would be the most logical choice, but it still has a lot of garbage traffic. So channel seven it will be. We’ll both monitor it around the clock. When we need to talk privately, we’ll come up on channel seven, make contact, and then use the code phrase ‘Okay, I’ll meet you in Coeur D’Alene, goodbye,’ as the cue to switch to channel one, USB.”

Dunlap considered Todd’s words, and commented, “That all sounds great.

However, there’s just one problem. We both have plenty of power, but only a few of the locals still have power sources for their CBs. As people started running out of gasoline, they couldn’t maintain the charges in their car and truck batteries.”

Lisa chimed in, “I’ve got an idea. We’ve got those small Sovonics photovoltaic panels for each of our vehicles. We normally leave them on the dashboards to keep the batteries maxed up. They put out about a hundred mil-amps in full sunlight. We aren’t using all of our vehicles now, so we could distribute most of these little panels to the locals who have CBs. They could use them to trickle-charge twelve-volt car batteries. That would give them enough power for occasional emergency use of their CBs.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “That’s an outstanding idea. We have about five or six of those little ‘Car Pal’ PV panels too, and we’re only using one of them.

We have a big Jacobs wind generator and racks of Arco Solar panels for both of our stronghold houses, so we really don’t need the small panels. Since our two groups only have a limited number, we’ll just have to be very selective about whom we give the panels to. Logically, those on the main roads, and at the farthest reach of our territory, should get the highest priority. That way we can get early warning of any looters coming into the area.”

Todd said, “Okay then, that’s agreed. Now for short-range tactical communications, our militia uses Radio Shack TRC-500 headset radios. There’s no way that we could have interoperable communications, though, because we use specially made crystals cut to an odd frequency. If we need to communicate between patrols for a joint operation, we’ll have to use portable CBs set to the same channel. Normally, we’ll use channel seven. For individual operations we’ll agree on another channel and an alternate freq.”

“That sounds fine, we have two handheld CBs and a boatload of ni-cad and nickel metal hydride batteries. Let’s both put out orders to our groups that at least one CB walkie-talkie will be carried by each of our security patrols.”

Next, Lisa asked Dunlap if his group had any critical logistic needs. He answered no, then asked the same question of her. She also replied to the negative.

“Then I suppose that anything we can spare will continue go to refugees and/or the local farmers,” Dunlap said. After this exchange, the conversation once again degenerated into small talk.

After more tea and nearly an hour of exchanging stories about their recent experiences, Teresa said, “Well, I guess we had better be on our way if we are going to get back to Bovill before dark.” The four then exchanged smiles and handshakes. After brushing the snow off of their saddles, the Dunlaps mounted their horses, waved, and rode into the timber. Todd was glad to see that they didn’t use the road. He mentioned, “We’re going to have to get ourselves some horses.” Then, as he got into the cab of the pickup, he quoted Doug Carlton’s words:“Roads are for people who like to get ambushed.”

As they drove back to the retreat, Lisa said, “When you two were talking over the map, I couldn’t help but be reminded of something I read about the conference that was held in Yalta at the end of World War II. As the story goes, Roosevelt, who was quite ill at the time, and Stalin sat down with a map that was torn out of an issue of National Geographic. Over the objections of Church-ill, they decided right then and there how they would carve up eastern Europe after the war. Incredible. Two men with a pen and a map decided the fate of millions of people and more than a dozen sovereign states. It boggles the mind when you think of the significance of that one event: the cold war, the Berlin airlift, the Berlin wall, the absorption of Balkan states. I don’t know why historians have glossed over the Yalta conference. I think that if more people paid attention to it, Roosevelt wouldn’t have such a positive reputation. That bastard gave away half of Europe to Uncle Joe Stalin.”

A sad expression spread across Todd’s face, and then he breathed, “Well… our little treaty that we made today will affect the fate of only a few hundred people, not millions, and hopefully all for the better. One thing is for sure; I feel a lot more comfortable having a big security buffer on our west side. That’s undoubtedly the main approach route for trouble coming into our A.O. The bad guys will probably have to get past the Templars first.”