The resistance ambushes became so successful that UNPROFOR had to adopt the tactic of sending out any unarmored vehicles only in convoys, with a three-vehicle minimum.

Because steel cable was so ubiquitous in logging country, the resistance cells often used it to block roads at ambush sites to prevent their targets from “blowing through” an ambush.

After several weeks of recon and ambush patrols, Malorie had switched to using a captured FAMAS carbine.

44

TAKING OUT THE TRASH

I believe that being despised by the despicable is as good as being admired by the admirable.

—Kurt Hoffman, in his Armed & Safe blog

Williams Lake, British Columbia—April, the Sixth Year

Terrence Billy was an enrolled member of the Secwepemc. He had been born into the T’exelc band and held a band card. He grew up on the Soda Creek Reserve near Williams Lake. He liked his job with the Central Cariboo Landfill. The job was a paid thirty-two hours a week (plus some overtime in snowy weather), had benefits, and wasn’t stressful. Four days of each week he drove the truck on regular routes. When the Crunch came, he was “made redundant,” but he had expected that. Not only was the money inflated horribly, but everyone expected diesel fuel to become scarce. Just before he was laid off, all of the litter cans, household rolling trash bins (called “Schaefer Carts” in most of British Columbia), and Dumpsters were collected, hauled to the transfer station, and stored in neat rows. It was announced that the old landfill off Frizzi Road would be available for use, but that all families and businesses would have to haul their own trash. Rather than using precious fuel to haul it, most of the locals started burning their trash in rusty open-topped fifty-five-gallon steel drums.

After his layoff, Terrence got by with hunting, fishing, and gathering bitterroot, cattail root, Siberian miner’s lettuce, bilberries, and huckleberries. He traded the extra meat and hucks for other things he needed, such as salt and soap. He slipped into the Old Way fairly comfortably.

When the French arrived, they brought with them the new money and a steady stream of fuel tankers. The oil was produced north of Edmonton and refined on Refinery Row, east of Edmonton. The fuel and new “blue back” currency got the economy going again. Within just a few days after the gas and diesel tankers began runs to the coast, Terrence Billy got his old job back. But now it was just twenty hours a week and had no health benefits.

Like many others, he had a deep resentment of UNPROFOR, because he’d heard how they were treating some First Nations girls, turning them into sex slaves and keeping them locked up. One of those girls, his seventeen-year-old cousin named Katie, was kidnapped out of his own band. He heard that she and the others were being held in a hotel that had been converted into a brothel-prison. The former hotel was euphemistically called a centre d’interrogation. Terrence was also angry that public gatherings had been banned, which meant that there would be no more Secwepemc gatherings. He considered the UN’s ban an affront to his culture.

UNPROFOR soon took over the Williams Lake campus of Thompson Rivers University (TRU) on Western Avenue to use as their regional headquarters. This base covered the administrative region that stretched from the 100 Mile House to the south, Quesnel to the north, and Bella Coola to the west. The main building of the junior college—a brick structure with a graceful arched front and five pillars—had been completed in 2007. Because of the cold climate, nearly all of the college functions were integrated into that one building, with a gymnasium at the west end; offices, classrooms, labs, and a library in the center; and a cafeteria, computer lab, and trades class shops in the east end. Because it was a commuter campus, there were no dormitories.

Once the French army took over the TRU campus, there was a lot more garbage to haul. Several of the classrooms were converted into barracks rooms, and some of the faculty offices became bedrooms for officers. The cafeteria got a pair of large cooking ranges, and there were several new refrigerators and freezers installed. These appliances had been torn out of the Culinary Arts building at the TRU Kamloops campus. Trash pickups were scheduled for Tuesdays and Fridays instead of just once a week, and there were now four Dumpsters instead of two.

Terrence’s brother, John, was a fishing buddy of Stan Leaman. Before the Crunch, they often fished the Upper Dean River together. They were happy to get together and just fish with traditional spin-casting gear—without all the fancy equipment and snootiness of the local fly fishermen. Stan liked the Secwepemc (also known as the Shuswap) people. They were honest and unpretentious. And a lot of them, like John, were great fishermen and hunters.

When John and Stan were doing some ice fishing on Anahim Lake in early February, John mentioned to Stan that Terrence was looking for a way to get even with the French. So while denying any involvement of his own, Stan very discreetly replied that he had a friend who was with the resistance who was “a privacy freak,” and that he would be willing to meet Terrence only if he could wear a mask to the meeting. Through John, Stan scheduled a meeting with Terrence the following Saturday near Chilanko Forks, at a trailhead.

•   •   •

The trailhead was less than a quarter mile from the Chilanko Forks General Store. When Terrence arrived at the trail junction, he was fifteen minutes early. He sat down on a large cedar stump and rolled a cigarette. Just as he was about to light it, he heard a voice from close behind him. “State your name.”

Startled, Terrence jumped up and turned around. He said, “I’m Terrence. Are you the guy?”

A voice that seemed quite close answered, “Yes, I’m the man you’re supposed to meet.”

Terrence Billy was confused because he couldn’t determine where the voice was coming from. Then the bush fifteen feet in front of him started to move.

Ray McGregor emerged. He was wearing a shredded burlap ghillie suit, which he had borrowed from Phil.

Terrence laughed and said, “I guess I should call you ‘Mr. Tree.’”

“That name will work just fine, sir.”

As he walked forward, Ray said, “Weyt-k,” the Secwepemc word for hello.

“Weyt-k,” Terrence echoed back.

They now stood just two paces apart. Terrence couldn’t see Ray’s face through the ghillie suit’s green-mottled face net. Ray said, “I’m not of the First Nations. In fact I’m of Scots-Irish extraction, but I have respect for your people. I understand that you don’t like the French and their evil deeds.”

“You understand correctly. Fact is, you could say that I hate their guts. I want to make war on them.”

“I heard about your cousin Katie. The UNPROFOR soldiers are world-class sicko bastards.”

After a pause, Ray asked, “Are you willing to use a dump truck to deliver an explosive device somewhere? You’d set a timer and walk away.”

“Skookum. Sign me up.”

“Now, wait. You have to realize that this will be a very big device, so there could be collateral damage, and that after you do this, you definitely won’t be able to show your face in town. You may have to hide out for years, or perhaps go into exile down in the States. So do you have someplace to go, and a good network with your band that can keep you supplied?”

“Yeah. My uncle has a cabin way back in the woods, outside of Dugan Lake, that he lets me use. It’s a ‘hike-in’ cabin. You take a trail in off Horsefly Road. That cabin was grandfather-claused when the provincial forest service got set up. But a few years back, they made my uncle mad when they told him that he couldn’t build a road to it. They had a hearing at the Forest Headquarters office. He told them, ‘I’m an old man and getting crippled, and you tell me I can’t build a road to my own cabin. You are disgraceful persons.’ Anyway, he promised me the cabin after he dies. I can stay there, and I have lots of cousins that can bring me grub.”