By the time winter settled in, all of their sheep and two goats had been slaughtered and butchered. They needed the meat. The decision to gradually butcher the animals wasn’t difficult. They realized that there would be very little feed available in the valley for the winter, so they didn’t dare keep more than their three best milking does. Further, the animals were a security threat.
Their distinctive “maa” and “baa” sounds could be heard from a considerable distance. Some of the meat from each of the animals that they butchered was eaten within a few days, and the rest jerked. Once the really cold weather arrived in November, the quarters were hung high in trees in deer bags. As long as they stayed in the shade, they kept well. In early November an adult brown bear sow was attracted to the smell of two hanging sheep quarters. The next day they had four bear quarters hanging, too.
The Federals became famous for planting antipersonnel mines. They emplaced them without any regard to injuring or killing innocent civilians. Their favorite spots to lay them were on the shoulders of side roads in areas that were largely guerrilla controlled.
In mid-November, Margie Porter took a solo, unarmed reconnaissance trip to Bovill. As the recon was planned, for most of her route Margie would be shadowed by a friendly patrol to protect her. Her objectives were to see which buildings in Bovill were occupied by Federal troops, where they parked their vehicles, where they posted their sentries, and hopefully what time those sentries changed. She was still within sight of the patrol when she stepped on a large land mine, on the shoulder of the county road, just east of town. She died almost instantly. They carried her body back to Valley Forge, wrapped in ponchos. They buried her there. It was a very sad day for everyone. Little Jacob wailed. He didn’t stop crying for his “Aunt Margie” until he fell asleep that evening.
Lon and Della were grief stricken. After a few days they got on with the struggle. If anything, the loss made them even more fearless and determined. It was also a major turning point in Lon’s life. Realizing his mortality, he accepted Christ as his savior. He became a tireless fighter on patrols. For the first time, he actively asked to be the point man. He didn’t fear death, for he knew that when he died, he would join his wife in heaven. And she had meant more to him than anything else.
There were three of them, each bound hand and foot, two NCOs and a private. They were in a sitting position, lashed to three trees in a row, with their hands tied between their backs and their feet tied together. They refused to answer questions, or even give their names. One of the two NCOs spoke distinctly to the others, “Still, still! Sprechen Sie nicht!”
Lon Porter’s questions were met with silence. He was getting frustrated. He warned them, “If you don’t cooperate, you will be shot. It is that simple.”
The sergeant directly in front of him—the one who had been warning the others to be quiet—half-shouted, “That would be a violation of the Geneva Accords.”
Lon replied mockingly, “Let me tell you something, Hans, or Dieter, or Heinrich, or whatever your name is. At this point I don’t give a flying fig about the Geneva Convention, or the Hague Convention, or any other convention, for that matter. If I were in the U.S. Army, fighting in some other country, I’d play by those rules. But not here, not now. I’m not in the Army, and I’m not bound by the ‘laws of land warfare.’ All that I care about now is getting my country back. You’re the guys that marched in here and took it from me. I grew up in a Constitutional Republic, and now I’m living in a police state. Now start answering questions, or you’re fertilizer. How is it that you say that in German? Dungmittel, I think. I had only two years of German in high school and I spent some time in Switzerland, but it’s coming back to me. Dungmittel. Yeah, that’s it. Du Arsch Gieger! Sprechen mach schnell, oder du wirst Blei essen! Sprechen Sie, oder Sie werden Dungmittel sein.” He gestured with his captured Browning Hi-Power for emphasis.
The sergeant spat contemptuously, “You are bluffink.”
Porter thumbed down the safety of the Browning, put the muzzle between the sergeant’s eyes, and asked in a low tone, “You think I’m bluffing? I have nothing to lose, Dieter. Two weeks ago, my wife stepped on one of your land mines. She’s dead!You’ve taken our land, looted our house and our neighbors’ houses. Everywhere you’ve gone, you have raped, pillaged, and plundered.
Virtually all that I own in the world now fits in just one duffel bag and a backpack. Put yourself in my position, Dieter. I can assure you that I am definitely not bluffing.”
The sergeant hesitated a few seconds longer, staring at Porter’s eyes. Then he started talking, all in a rush. Lon got all of his questions answered immediately, in English. He was amused when he found out that the other NCO was named Dieter. He said with a laugh, “Wasn’t a bad guess. I just had the wrong guy.”
As he headed back to their latest temporary CP, Mike asked Lon, “You weren’t actually going to shoot him, were you?”
Porter waited a long time before replying, “Well, the thought did enter my mind, but to answer your question, no, I wouldn’t have. I guess I’m too civilized for that. Technically, my bluff could be considered a form of torture by some people. I don’t know exactly how I would categorize it. All that I know is that it worked.”
“What do you plan to do with this bunch?” Lon asked.
Nelson answered, “Well, we’ll just pump them for as much information as we can, and then brand them, take their boots, and turn them loose like the others, just before we get ready to displace.”
The resistance had no facilities and insufficient logistics to keep prisoners. There were only two acceptable options. The first, death, was normally reserved for Quislings—fellow citizens who had actively collaborated. The other, branding and release, was the preferred method for both UN and Federal soldiers. Because it was obvious that many of the soldiers were drafted and didn’t want to be in the service of the UN, it was rarely deemed appropriate to kill them. There were a few exceptions made for known war criminals.
Most, however, got the standard “I” or “T” brands with a hot iron. The “I” brand was for “Invader.” The “T” signified “Traitor.” Some militias, such as Todd Gray’s Company and Michael Nelson’s Company, branded their prisoners’ forearms. Other militias branded their prisoners’ foreheads or cheeks. All released prisoners were warned that if they were ever recaptured while bearing arms on behalf of the UN or the Federals, they would be summarily executed.
On a reconnaissance patrol late in November, Jeff, Ken, and Terry encountered a pair of individuals who were armed, but didn’t look like Federal soldiers.
From a distance, Jeff could see that they were both black. They were wearing unadorned BDUs and woodland pattern boonie hats. The one in the lead, a man, was armed with a Thompson submachinegun with a horizontal foregrip. Following ten yards behind him was a tall woman, armed with an M249 SAW.