LaVoy leaves the refuge
January 26, 2016 was a long, boring day. Nothing happened. There was field training, shit talk at the fire barrel, guard rotations and a meeting in John Day. Bravo squad pulled the “final” shift of the day, from 10 am to 6 pm. One of the first events of the day was the departure of LaVoy Finnicum, Ryan Bundy, Ammon Bundy, Shawna Cox, Ryan Paine, and Victoria Sharp. The vehicle being driven by federal informant Mark McConnell, with Ammon Bundy was in lead, and LaVoy's truck left very shortly after. As LaVoy pulled out of the refuge entrance, a man who I recognized as an “NBC Reporter” ran towards LaVoy's truck with a dark object in his hand, outstretched toward's LaVoy. As the truck came to a stop, I radioed to tower to provide overwatch and sprinted the 50 yards to the vehicle and drew down on the man, who already had a laser dot dancing between his chin and throat. I ordered him to drop the object in his hand, which he did not, but ended up being an audio recorder and notepad, both black in color. Ryan Paine motioned for me to return to post, and I did but advised tower to keep overwatch. After a few moments, LaVoy drove away and the “reporter” tore out in the opposite direction. In nearly 3 weeks on guard shifts, he had never decided to leave through what we called the “back route.” At that point, I radioed to the Bunkhouse to have my kit and rifle brought to front gate and staged them behind my barricades. The rest of the day was weird. Everyone left and had strange excuses and terrified looks on their faces. All traffic ceased after 4 p.m. The last vehicle to enter the refuge on my shift was that of the “firewood lady.” She came daily to deliver firewood, but this time she was crying, her kids were crying and her husband looked resigned. She gave Bravo squad a 12 pack of Coors Light and each one of us a giant bag of pretzels. When she left, it was dark. At 6, Corey Lequieu relieved me from my shift and I returned with my squad to the bunkhouse.
Message Received
During the walk back to bunkhouse, we passed by the machine shop where Sean and Sandy Anderson were standing in the doorway. Travis stopped to talk to Sean while Bravo 2 and I continued to the bunkhouse to get some chow. We overheard Sean tell Travis that one of the Ryans had been shot, LaVoy was dead and the rest were taken prisoner by the FBI. We sprinted the rest of the way back to the bunkhouse, where we were met by Sierra 2 and told to kit up and prepare for the raid. At that time, there was a man standing in the kitchen and we paid him no mind. When I returned from my room, I expected my squad to be waiting for me in the kitchen, but instead I was met by the man who said to me: “Bravo 4, Bravo 1 and 2 told me to tell you to meet them at Darryl's house for a meeting.” Not thinking, I went to Darryl's house and what I saw inside made me turn and run back to the bunkhouse. The man who had called himself “John Killman” was sitting at the table with Darryl and wrapping electrical tape around flares in groups of three so that they appeared as sticks of dynomite.
When I returned to the bunkhouse, the man was still standing there and Bravo 1 and 2 were just leaving their room. After conferring with Bravo squad we agreed that he was a security threat, and having identifying information on our squad despite claiming to have just arrived, that he was likely a lone wolf shooter and would shoot us in the backs if allowed to stay. At that time, I took the man into custody at gunpoint and handcuffed him, keeping him on his stomach under an armed guard while it was explained that this was not personal and for everyone's safety. Once detained and searched, I radioed for our elected militia leaders and while waiting for them searched his personal effects and interrogated him. On his person was: one 2-inch folding knife, a burner phone with two Portland area numbers saved, no call history and three minutes total talk time (ascertainted by holding the pound key), a crisp one dollar bill, a Washington ID with a birthdate of 1956, with his photo laminated onto it. This man was not older than 25 years, well under the listed weight and was wearing 5.11 brand trousers. His phone was damaged and disabled and his knife disposed of. When it was decided upon to release him and escort him to the road, I noticed that he had wet his pants. The entire time, he was calm and compliant. This takes great restraint and is not a trait that most young men (walking into a situation such as this just after the ambush and murder of an unarmed protestor) would not likely possess.
The Hill
At that time, the squads were split to better spread the talent since we had lost a squad to an advance security detail in John Day. I was given command of a three man assault team and we took up positions on the hill behind the bunkhouse and waited for the assault. The FBI flew choppers around us at great distances, while blacking out and bringing the drones in close enough that we could have shot them down with small arms. The temperature must have been hovering near zero that night because after nearly 6 hours lying prone, I was so cramped I had to be assisted to my feet by David Fry. At sometime shortly after midnight, it was announced by Duane Ehmer that the FBI had promised that anyone who left now was granted safe passage. I borrowed a phone from David Fry and called back to my CO, who played the recorded message from Ammon, ordering us to vacate the refuge and let the Bundy family fight it out in court, and called home to discuss it with my family. At that time I had decided I wasn't going to surrender the refuge and was staying and I said goodbye for what I thought was the last time. Shortly before 1 am, the 27th of January, I called a friend and he told me the message from Ammon was verified through the Bundy's and at that point, I discussed it with my team. At 1 am, I ran down the hill to the bunkhouse and discussed what I had learned with Blaine Cooper and Scotty Willingham. Blaine told me it was a choice to make and since they likely didn't know who I am that I could probably get away, but he had to stay because they weren't going to let him go. Scotty Willingham was high and couldn't even speak. I hugged him before I left with another man, telling them that I was going to try and return and break the roadblocks with reinforcements. Sadly, this never happened as we had been abandoned and the treachery by PPN left us completely exposed. The next 16 hours was spent clutching a Glock 26 under a road map, hoping that each squad car we encountered kept going so I didn't have to kill anyone. The agreement was that if we were challenged, that the vehicle would slow enough for me to get out and attack and buy him time to surrender peacably or broken arrow if peace was not possible. Luckily for everyone, we were not pursued or attacked.
Leaving Oregon
Late afternoon of the 27th, I parted ways with my unnamed brother and bought an Amtrak ticket in Klamath Falls. I spent the night hiding in shadows and crawling under moving freight cars in the train yard while the fighters and blackhawks from the nearby airbase circled and made slow loops, implying a threat to the people of Klamath Falls if I resisted. In the morning, when my train arrived, there was two Klamath Falls police officers stopping all military aged men as they boarded the train. Once they saw me, they kept their eyes on me and pretended to check the faces of the other passengers against the picture on their phone. They stopped about 20 feet from me and froze. Assuming that the end was near, I dropped my bags and drew my knife inside my jacket sleeve. The cop on the white was fat and white, the one on the left, black and skinny. The black cop turned white. They turned and walked away and I picked up my bag and boarded the train. I'm not sure what their job was, but whatever the task, they failed to take me into custody, as if it were actually possible. I switched trains in Portland, and at that point, fell asleep and did not wake up for another 25 hours. When I did wake up, the steward was checking my pulse and I nearly stabbed her, as it was dark and I could not see who was touching me. At some point, the train hit an elk and stopped at the top of a mountain on the Montana-Canada border. The lights suddenly turned off and I then noticed that the entire car was empty. Expecting a raid, I armed myself and hid, preparing to die. I tore many pages of notes and shift rotations out of my notepad and swallowed them nearly whole.
What has happened between my return in February 2016 and my arrest a year later will be released very shortly.