No one was talking of eliminating any refugees just eliminating roving packs of thieving murderers.
Attrition works both ways. Suppose they do a hit and run on your base camp every week or two and kill 3 or 4 of your people each time. It would be much wiser to hunt them down and put a stop to it.
Here is a likely scenario excerpted from Triple Ought by James Rawles:
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…. a regular long range reconnaissance patrol (LRRP) from the retreat contacted a farmer who seemed nervous and distressed. He said, "I'm sure am glad to see you. I haven't been sleeping well for four days now. I don't have a C.B., and I was afraid to leave my wife and babies to go ask for help. There's a bunch of bikers that took over Princeton. That's less than a mile north of here. I'm afraid that once they strip those houses clean that they might come down here. What they've been doin' is just terrible. They killed most of the men, and they've been raping the women that are still left alive. I also heard that they've been torturing the little kids. A couple of houses got torched. They're a bunched of damn animals."
The man looked imploringly at Carlton and asked, "You've got those military lookin' guns and the organization, can't you do something about it?"
Doug Carlton, who was leading the patrol asked, "Do you know how many of them there are, and how they're armed?"
The farmer said, "I heard that there's at least 20, maybe 30 of that trash. Rumor has it that they got a machinegun."
"What kind of machinegun?"
"A big one, you know, with one of them ammo belts, on tripod legs." A few more minutes of questioning revealed little else, as all of the man's information was second hand.
Heeding the training that he had received in his ROTC courses, Carlton took the initiative to deal decisively with the situation. After moving the patrol 400 yards away from the farm into a dense grove of trees, Carlton consulted with the other patrol members. "Okay, here's the deal. We obviously don't have the necessary combat power in a seven member patrol to handle this problem. What I'm going to do is split the patrol in half. Three members of the patrol will go on an extended recon of Princeton, while the other four will return to the retreat. The recon patrol will consist of Jeff, Lisa, and Kevin. The rest of us will get back to the retreat A.S.A.P. and report on what we've heard…"
… The next day was spent anxiously waiting. Other than two very brief radio checks, there was no contact with the recon patrol. Most of the militia members spent the day cleaning their guns, sharpening their knives and bayonets, and reloading each of their gun's magazines, carefully examining each cartridge. Most seemed deep in thought and prayer, and there was not much talking or the usual banter and joking…
…Picking up the notebook, he read, "Strength: Total number of people observed was 24. All but two of this number were positively identified as part of the biker gang. Of these 22 individuals, 18 were men and four were women. We also saw two children running from house to house on one occasion, but could not be sure if they were local residents, or if they came with the gang. Four bodies were seen laying in the street throughout the period that we observed."
"Vehicles: We counted 18 motorcycles parked in various places. Most of them were chopped Harleys. Five of them were equipped with scabbards for long guns. We also spotted a Ford van which was accessed three or more times during the day by the bikers. This appeared to be their support vehicle. They may have other support vehicles, but it was hard to tell, as there were several other vehicles in the area. Some of these vehicles were obviously out of commission, but others looked operational, and might belong to the bikers…"
… At just after 2 p.m., a naked woman of about 50 years of age was seen running out of one of the houses. She was followed closely behind by a half clothed man carrying an M1 carbine. As soon as he got out the front door, he fired four times, hitting the woman in the back at least twice. He then walked up and shot the woman three times in the head. He was heard yelling, 'The bitch bit me!, The bitch bit me!" At that point we had to restrain ourselves from opening fire at him." The heretofore professional tone of Jeff's voice changed noticeably as he said, "I never thought that I'd ever have the gut level urge to kill anyone, but let me tell you, this guy was an inspiration…"
… Mike asked, "Did you see any evidence of guards changing at any of the houses?"
"No, we didn't. But if I was trying to secure that little town, I wouldn't be focusing my security inward."
Mike then said, "That's because you have a Marine Corps mentality rather than a biker mentality. With their mindset, the threats are from law enforcement, or possibly other gangs. In either case they'd come in by road. Under the current circumstances that security mentality is out-dated. The threats now are from people like us, on foot, playing 'Batman in the Boondocks'. They just haven't realized it yet.
Mike continued with his questioning: "What was your impression about their skill at arms?"
"From what I could observe, and I think Lisa and Kevin would agree, they don't seem to be particularly well trained or disciplined. They do have enough discipline, however, to mount a regular guard shift. I guess if I had to sum it up, I'd say that what they lacked in skills and organization, they make up for by being vicious. These guys, and their women for that matter, are some of the most ruthless thugs I've ever heard of. I saw a lot, and heard a lot when I was in the Corps, but I have never heard of anybody taking target practice at dead bodies. These guys are utterly Godless and obviously don't have a single moral or scruple left to guide them. I think they'd use force in a heart-beat."
After a considerable pause, Mike asked, "Okay, my key question is, do you think that with the help of the Templars, that we can take these hombres on--with a reasonable chance of success?"
"Danged straight we can, but we got to hit 'em hard and make them play by our ground rules."
Mike asked, "What do you suggest we do if we lose the element of surprise?"
"There would be only one good option, and that would be for everyone to beat feet out of there and link up later a good defendable rally point a couple of klicks out of town. If we were to make a frontal assault with them prepared and expecting us, we wouldn't have a chance in hell. If, however, we catch them with their pants down, we'll wax most of them before they even realize what's happening."
Mike nodded his head, and said, "Okay. Those were the only questions that I had. Anyone else?" No one raised their hands.
Todd, who had been listening quietly to the de-briefing, clucked his tongue and said, "Jeff, I'd like to congratulate you on leading such a professional and rewarding recon. I'd like you and Mike to come with me when I have my meeting with Roger Dunlap later this morning. At this point, I'd like to open the floor to suggestions on how we might go about cleaning house in Princeton."
Immediately, Dan Fong suggested that an ambush be set up outside of town. That idea was shot down for two reasons: First, the gang didn't show any signs of leaving anytime soon. Second, they could leave in two different directions. Mary then suggested that two teams be used to conduct an assault. The first team, or "support" team would set up ambushes on the road in each direction out of town, as well as any other likely avenues of escape. The second team would sweep through the town, cleaning the looters out house to house. If any of the gang managed to escape, they could be shot or captured at the ambush sites. If the assault team had to withdraw from the town, the support team would provide covering fire. …
… After prayers and yet another briefing, the militia conducted its final inspections and rehearsals. With their web gear and camouflage face paint on, the militia looked fearsome. Mike, Lisa, Todd, T.K., and Rose wore bullet proof vests and helmets. Mike walked up and down the line of raiders, shooting questions. "What is the running password? What would a red star cluster flare or six short whistle blasts indicate? What is your en route panic azimuth? On which C.B. channel will we coordinate with the Templars? What is the alternate channel? What is our call sign? What is their call sign? Can you list the chain of command?"
Next he had each member of the patrol jump up an down to check for items that might be excessively noisy. The last item of business was a final check of each patrol member's personal camouflage. Finally satisfied, Mike said, "Aw-right pilgrims, let's saddle up. Lock and load." With a few hoots and hollers, they filed out the door to two waiting pickups.
Margie, Mary, Shona, and baby Jacob were left to "hold the fort." As they watched the two trucks drive away, both women started to cry.
The drive north was relatively quiet. They parked the trucks on a logging road three miles south of Princeton. From there, they traveled on foot in "Ranger file." The raiders were in position 300 yards outside town by 3:30 a.m. There, they lay in the chill darkness, waiting. Radio silence was broken only once, at 4 a.m. Dan Fong, who was using an earphone with his C.B. heard the call, "Ready Freddie, over." He whispered the reply, "Ready Mikey, out." He rolled over to tap Mike on the shoulder, gestured to the earphone, and gave an "okay" signal. Mike nodded and patted Dan on the back.
At 5:20 a.m., Mike walked up and down the line of prone raiders, kicking them in the boots. Not surprisingly, a few of them had fallen asleep. After the adrenaline rush of their initial movement, laying down for two hours was enough to lull some of them into slumber. Mike whispered to each of them, "Quietly and slowly, stretch out and if need be, relieve yourself."
At 5:30, standing in a skirmish line, Mike gave the arm signal for "forward." Spread out at 10 yard intervals, the patrol moved forward toward the dim outline of the buildings in the half light of dawn.
The raiders were already within the confines of the town before anyone was spotted. It was Kevin who was first seen by the biker's roving guard. Two quick shot's from Lendel's riotgun dropped the guard before he even had a chance to un-sling his carbine. Immediately after he saw that the man was no longer a threat, Kevin quickly refilled his gun's tubular magazine from the elastic nylon shell holder mounted on the gun's stock.
After the first shots were fired, the rest of the raiders picked up their pace to a trot, and moved in the direction of their assigned buildings.
Jeff Trasel had been given the assignment of suppressing the biker's M60 machinegun position. Soon after he heard Kevin's shots, 30 yards to the west, he came in sight of the machinegun position. The machinegunner, obviously nervous, was pointing the weapon in the direction of the source of the commotion caused by Lendel. Fortunately, Jeff was approaching at a 90 degree angle to the muzzle of the weapon. Dropping to one knee, he fired four rounds from his HK-91 at the man behind the M60. Three of his four shots hit the man in the chest and head.
Taking the initiative, Jeff rushed the position. As he reached the machinegun, he lowered the muzzle of his rifle and fired two more rounds at the chest of the dying biker. Crouching down behind the gun, he reloaded his rifle from one of the magazine pouches on his web gear, and then cross-slung it across his back. By now, he could hear more firing coming from down the street in both directions.
Jeff whispered a gleeful "Oh yeah," as he picked up the M60. Lifting the gun's feed tray cover, he could see that its bolt was in the rearward position, ready to fire. He muttered to himself, "Now I get to see if you work!" He snapped the feed tray cover back down into its locked position. With a quick search of the machinegun position, Jeff found another 100-round belt of ammunition laying loose in a wooden box. Trasel unhooked the last round of this belt, and linked it back to the first round in the belt, forming a continuous loop. This he slung across his shoulder, bandoleer fashion. Trasel then hefted the 23 pound weapon, folded its bipod legs into their closed position, and flipped the trailing end of the ammunition belt across his left shoulder.
At the far end of town, Todd Gray was running into trouble. He, Lisa, and Lon were all concentrating their fire on a house that held at least two bikers. The gang members were firing steadily but randomly from the house's downstairs windows. Because of their positions, both the gang members and the raiders were having little effect. When he heard a pause in the fire coming from his side of the building, Gray made a zigzag dash across the street, firing as he ran, and flattened himself up against the side of the house. There, he quickly reloaded his HK.
Todd dropped prone and inched his way down the side of the building until he was directly below the window from which the shooting had resumed. The muzzle blast from the gun firing only two feet above his head was tremendous. Taking a grenade from his cargo pocket, Todd pulled its pin, letting its spoon fly away. Luckily, the sound of the grenade's primer and the hiss of the fuse was muffled by the noise of the shooting, which by now was continuous. After a silent two count, Todd tossed the grenade into the window. Just after he again dropped flat, the grenade went off with a roar.
With his ears ringing, Todd scrambled though the smoking window. He fired three times at the inert form of a man wearing only a pair of blue jeans. He then moved slowly and cautiously from room to room. When he reached the front of the house, he was greeted by un-aimed pistol shots coming from behind a half wall partition. Gray aimed carefully at a spot three feet below where he had seen a gun hand occasionally pop over the partition. Centering on this spot, he fired a ten shot burst in a horizontal spread. The was no more firing in reply from behind the partition.
To be certain that he had been successful, Todd lowered his muzzle to fire another horizontal burst just above the base of the partition. He did this assuming that anyone left alive there would by now be laying prone. His rifle now empty, Todd pulled his .45 automatic from its holster and thumbed down its safety. He took a peek around the corner to find the still form of a woman laying in a pool of blood. Her hand clutched a AMT long-slide stainless steel .45 automatic. Her gun was empty, its slide locked to the rear. Todd raised his own pistol and fired a one round coup de grace at the woman's head. Listening carefully, he could hear the sound of someone sobbing upstairs. Todd shouted out the shattered front window, "I cleared the downstairs, but there's still someone upstairs. I need some help in here."
Lon Porter let out a hoarse "On the way!"
Lisa followed his words with, "I'll cover from out here."
After he was in the front door, Todd shook his head twice and said to Lon, "My ears are ringing two pitches at once. For the moment, I'm practically deaf. You'd better lead off."
"Okey-Dokey, Boss," Porter said with a twisted grin.
Before they moved upstairs, the two men took turns reloading their guns. "How are you doing for ammo?," Todd inquired.
"I put almost 60 rounds through the FAL, and I haven't fired my .357 at all."
"Well, it looks like you might to get your opportunity." Gesturing toward the stairway, he said, "Lets go."
Farther down the street, Jeff was trying out his new toy. He fired first in reply to muzzle flashes coming from a second story window of a frame house. Leaning up against a wall, Jeff fired four bursts of about 10 rounds each at the window and at the wall below it. There was no more shooting from the window. After firing the M60, Jeff yelled at the top of his lungs, "This is Trasel!, This is Trasel!"
Jeff then moved further down the street. His second target of opportunity was two men armed with handguns running out of town down a side street. Jeff dropped to the ground, swung out the gun's bipod legs, and lined up on his targets. By now, the two men were more than 300 yards away. Five short bursts sent the men kicking in the dust. He again yelled, "This is Trasel!," because, as he was to explain later, he didn't want anyone thinking that the M60 was still in unfriendly hands.
At the east end of Princeton, four Harleys roared to life and sped out of town. Della fired half a dozen rounds at the retreating forms without success. Her targets, four hundred yards away, rounded a bend in the road, and were out of sight. Across the street, she heard Doug say, "Save your ammo, they're out of range. The Templars will take care of them." Seconds later, they heard an explosion and the ripple of gunfire down the road. Raising her hand, Della gave Doug an "okay" symbol. Just then, they heard the sound a shotgun barking from a nearby brick house. In a sing song voice, Della yelled, the familiar saying from their countless training sessions: "Okay Joe, I'll fire, you move!"
Carlton sprinted from car to car, and then toward the house, approaching it from around the corner from which the shots were coming. He then said, "Okay Joe, I'll fire, you move." As Della got up, Carlton started firing his M1A at one-second to two-second intervals to keep the man with the shotgun pinned down. At the side of the building, Doug and Della held a quick consultation and reloaded their rifles. Della resumed firing at the window while Doug went around to enter the house from the front. Only occasionally did the man with the shotgun return her fire.
Just as Della was firing the last rounds from her second 30 round magazine, she heard a grenade explosion inside the house. She waited anxiously for a couple of minutes until her husband emerged again from the front of the house. As he padded up to her, Doug smiled and said, "End of story."
After finding his assigned house empty, T.K. made his way down the main street, and then back up the alley that ran parallel to it to the north. He came under fire twice. On the first occasion, a man firing a bolt-action rifle from the roof of a mobile home sent a round whizzing by his ear. T.K. turned toward the source of the shooting, and dropped into a crouch. He lined up his sights and fired two shots in rapid succession. The first of the 62 grain Sierra match bullets hit the man in the neck and the second hit him in the left eye. The back of his skull disintegrated in a cloud of pink vapor.
As he moved farther down the street, Kennedy came under fire from behind by a man shooting an M1 carbine from the concealment of a porch. T.K. was struck in the back by two bullets, and sent tumbling to the ground. He was momentarily breathless. Once he realized that his bulletproof vest had stopped the rounds, he rolled over and returned fire with his AR-15 in four quick double taps. His assailant was stitched by half a dozen bullets and lay gurgling on the porch. T.K. stood up and moved on, unconsciously swapping magazines and searching for new targets.
Holding his Smith and Wesson 686 revolver in a low ready position, Lon began his slow ascent of the stairway, hugging the left hand wall. From below, Todd covered the doorway at the top of the stairs. Once he was at the landing at the top of the stairs, Lon gestured for Todd to follow him. Gray then advanced up the stairs and crouched at the landing while Lon searched the upstairs rooms. After he had entered the second bedroom, Todd heard Lon fire three times in rapid succession, and then after a pause, a fourth shot. Next, Gray heard the tinkle of empty pistol cartridges hitting the hardwood floor as Porter reloaded his 686 using a speed loader. The last room was unoccupied.
Walking back to the stairwell to stand near Todd, Lon said, "There was a young woman in the middle bedroom. All she was wearing was a tank top. She was sitting there crying when I walked in. Then I noticed that she had the tattoo of a rose and a skull on her shoulder. She got up and started toward me fast with a big sheath knife. That's when I shot her. She was only a few feet away. I never want to have to do something like that again."
Mike, Dan, Kevin, and Rose did most of the house clearing. They linked together as an ad hoc team, kicking in doors and moving from room to room, eliminating resistance. It was usually Mike who led the way on these assaults. His bulletproof vest saved his life twice that morning.
In one of the building entries, Dan Fong was slightly wounded by a pistol shot that grazed his upper arm. Soon after he applied a Carlysle battle dressing, the wound stopped bleeding.
After twenty minutes of house to house and room to room fighting, the shooting died down and finally came to a stop. In plain view, Mike jogged up and down the street, checking on the raiders. Once it was clear that there was no more resistance, he walked to the doorway of the service bay of the gas station. He tooted long blasts on his whistle for thirty seconds and then gave the call: "Okay pilgrims, rally on me! Rally on me!"
A few minutes later, ten of the raiders were clustered around him in the back of the gas station. Just inside the door to the garage, Tom Kennedy sat with his rifle at the ready, watching the street. Mike said, "Okay, now that we've cleared all of the houses, we're going to go back through again in buddy teams, just to make sure that we didn't miss anyone. I want every single room of each house thoroughly searched. I don't care how long it takes. Also, make sure that every one of these 'One Percenters' that we shot are one-hundred percent dead. It's the ones that you think are dead that get up and shoot you."
The final clearing process went relatively smoothly. One biker was found hiding under a bed. After he was ordered out from his hiding place, he made a leap for a window. Kevin Lendel fired his riotgun three times, leaving him in a heap beneath the window sill.
In the back of the former tractor shop, T.K. and Lisa found a ten year old boy trapped in a wall locker that had been secured with a twisted piece of coat hanger wire in its latch. He was the only surviving resident of the town. The boy's hands were wrapped in bloodstained rags. When Lisa removed the rags, she found that both of the boy's little fingers had been cut off. Lisa asked, "Who did this to you?"
The boy mumbled something unintelligible in reply.
Lisa repeated her question twice more.
Finally, the boy gave a trembling reply: "It was Greasy. He said that he was going to cut off one finger a day until they were all gone."
"Why did he do this to you?"
"Because... because I wouldn't do what he wanted me to do. Greasy wanted me to use my mouth to, to..." With that, the boy's voice trailed off and he began to cry.
Lisa moved to hug the boy, but he pushed her away with a grunt. "You poor dear. Do you want some water?," Lisa asked.
"Yes please, ma'am."
Lisa pulled her canteen out of its pouch and handed it to the boy. He drank nearly all of it with loud gulps.
The Templars had set up two three man ambushes in both directions on the road through Princeton. Each of these ambushes employed two Claymores apiece. Seven other individuals set up one man ambushes along likely paths of egress from town. Each of these ambushers set up a single Claymore mine.
Only three of the Templars' ambushes were sprung. The first was initiated by a Claymore mine and followed by rifle fire. This ambush killed the four gang members who attempted to flee on their motorcycles.
The second ambush was sprung by a fourteen year old girl. Two men, both armed and one of them naked, were running down the trail directly toward her. Once she saw that they were in the fan of effect of her Claymore, she ducked behind the cover of a downed tree, and touched the bare pair of WD-1 wires to the terminals of a 9 volt battery. To her inexperienced ears, the sound of the explosion was startling. When she popped up with her AR-180 carbine to shoot anything still moving, she found there wasn't anyone alive left to shoot.
The third Templar ambush was sprung by their communications expert, a 74 year old retired Navy signalman. Situated at an ambush at a trail junction, he spotted a man wearing a black leather jacket and armed with an inexpensive Maverick riot shotgun running toward him. Not wanting to waste his Claymore, he took careful aim with his M1A and shot the man twice at a range of sixty yards.
Two hours after the shooting stopped, the Templars began to file into town singly or in pairs. They gaped at the bodies lying in the street and at the bodies of the bikers that were being dragged into a growing heap by the Northwest Militia.
One of the women Templars recognized the boy who had been found in the wall locker. She said that he was the son of her hairdresser before the onset of The Crunch. She asked, "Where's your mommy and daddy, Timmy?"
The boy gave her a vacant stare. After a long pause, the boy said, "They shot my dad when they first came. My mom's dead, too. Greasy stabbed her. I saw him do it."
With tears in her eyes, the woman asked, "Would you like to come and live with us? We live near Troy. Its safe there. There's no bad men there."
Still sullen, the boy said, "Sure, I guess so, Molly. But first I want to see Greasy. I want to see him dead." After a few minutes of walking from corpse to corpse, Timmy pointed out the body of the biker called Greasy. He walked over to the corpse and spit on it. Then he walked back to stand under the arm of Molly.
Taking the boy by the hand and leading him away from the corpses, Molly said, "Don't worry. Its over now." The boy looked up at her and gave her a painful look of disbelief.
After posting a perimeter of security, Todd, Mike, Roger Dunlap, and Ted Wallach sat down for a quick meeting in the back of the gas station. First, they compared notes on the number of gang members that they had killed. Todd said matter-of-factly: "We killed 16. Captured zero."
Dunlap nodded and said, "We got seven in our ambushes. That adds up to 23, which squares nicely with the figure that your man Trasel gave in his recon report. At most, one or two might have slipped away." …
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Those were excerpts from an earlier e-version of Patriots: A Novel of Survival in the Coming Collapse by James Wesley Rawles. You can by the latest version here
http://www.rawles.to/patriots.htm