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Evasion Survival, Alaska

   A  Mobile Survival Plan For Rural Escape & Evasion Survival  

My Fictional OPFOR

When i go a full on-tooled up- Creeping/ Patrol in the wilds I need an objective. I learned early on that going out often can get depressingly monotonous, and its quite pointless for anyone that's training like this to tool up and aimlessly meander around a training area making it up as I go. There's simply too much room for cutting yourself slack and moving the goal post if things don't go your way or it gets too tough. It simply helps having the road laid out in front of me regardless if I'm alone or with a few ppl.. To alleviate this I started making structured scenarios to offer up a bit of motivation and focus. Ive never really talked about them in the open before now, though the few times I have was when I trained with others conducting a full on creeping Training Drill. These scenario were posted at a particular discussion forum I was once a member of.

To give a bit of focus and direction to training I invented a fictitious OPFOR call "The Solja Boyz". Ive used them for years now. This is simply a mental training tool that translates into a physical training tool. This helps get and keep my head in the game. It also helps my over all attitude as well. Trainings WORK and it often SUCKS. The scenarios always included basic detailed information regarding OPFOR, EG: times and places to be, Terrain expectations, kit lists,  Enemy tactical and habits, strength and numbers. As I work to improve this page here at my site I'll go into further detail of how I set up a scenario for myself. Ill try to keep it in its simplest terms and limit military style acronyms as best I can for the average guy to understand.

The "Solja Boyz" Militia, EST: 2014 - A Fictional Chronological History

I'm awake now. Shit, Ive survived another day and my first face 2 face with the "Solja Boyz". This sucked and its gonna get worse. What I had to do wont go unanswered.

Its dead silent other then some ravens talking in the trees and the screeches from fighting Magpie in the distance. Birds acting natural is always a good sign that nature is relaxed enough to be natural. This means nothing is out there or nothing immediately apparent.. 

 I can hear my pulse in my ears. I can feel my damp breath on my hand as I lay there wrapped up and warm. All I smell is the immediate assault of the stench from stale old sweat on my nylon Web-Gear, putrid body odor because of a constant diet of wild salmon and my own bad breath bouncing back in my face. There's a hint of sweet rot in the air as well. I already know what that means, I noticed it last night when I got here.  My woodland BDUs- caked with dry and disintegrating mud- It breaks off and swishes and hisses as I roll over and it falls into the tangled and soiled bed-quilt and vinyl shower-curtain that I made into a sleep sack last night inside this derelict RV.

 I spotted this place in May. I never investigated it, as there was no need to leave sign or walk into a possible ambush, plus there was no need to disturb who was there. They weren't bothering me and it might be good to have someone relatively close if I needed. But all in all I didn't need anything that badly and I left them be. I just marked it in my GPS and put that game chip in my pocket to play another day and its payed off. But I'm here now. I made it here in the dark. The Alaska wilderness dark! I can hardly believe it. Initially it looks like no one else has been here. The door was even still tied open like it was in May so I left the door where it was to appear undisturbed if anyone was observing. But this is, after all,  Smoke Valley. No one comes into Smoke Valley. Even in the first stages of the hammer dropping no one came here. Its close enough to Anchorage but the terrain keeps refugees out. Unless you know how to get across the Sueka river, you cannot get in. I know how to get in and get out from lots of prior scout trips before the hammer dropped. This RV was the only sign any refugees made it across the river when the Russians came. They made it here before I burned that wood bridge to keep people out of my valley. Not even the "Solja Boyz" come in here. I knew those assholes were too chicken shit to follow me here and that's why I back came. For now I'm not worth the chase- I hope.

Its morning. FUK! I'm so tired.  The kinda of tired that makes me physically nauseated. Nearly 3 days on the move evading those assholes took it all out of me but I'm relatively safe for now. The sun is just starting to creep over the mountains. As I lay there on the floor in my improvised bed-sheet and shower curtain cocoon I feel the warm, and I welcome the suns rays on my face as they cut across the jagged edges of the busted glass in this rear sleep area. The warm light streams through the high hung spruce boughs like a warm river of floating lava in the air. I reach my arm up from inside my improvised sleep sack and move the bill of my ball cap to the side to soak it all in on my face. My eyes burn from dryness as I strain to open them and focus on the light of the new day. I scraped the eyeball crust from the corners of my eyes and massaged them open with my dirty knuckles. Feels good. As I lay there I wake up but I feel a tide of lazy apathy creeping in. It wants to make my mind wonder to better days but I wont let it. Well maybe a little: In the morning 6-7 months ago Id be making coffee and clicking on my computer to see what new bullshit the media world wanted to deliver to the masses. Now, well now its just the basics of surviving with a daily routine and staying on the move. None of that easy life exists anymore, or really ever did out here before the hammer dropped. Reality is a gift Alaska has given me. I took full advantage of it before the collapse. It was smart to come here to this RV and not to one of my shelters..

Ive got to get up and get moving. There's thing to do now. New things besides laying low and going from base camp to base camp hunting/gathering like a demented Nomad. Still on the floor in the rear sleep area I bent my head back to look forward so I can look around the leaky and dripping cabin of this RV. I can see the green mossy soot has covered windshield and driver seat with the window still rolled down. There's a faded, water ruined family picture taped to the dash board and some tourist junk hanging from the rear view mirror.  A few kids toys scattered about the floor and moldy clothing everywhere. The entire place reeks like mold and mildew. I let out a deep breath in disgust as my mind bounces back to reality...
Now its morning, so 1st things 1st. I need to stand the fuk up. I pull back the folded over layers of my improvised sleep sack and I look down at my mud smeared M4 that I hold shallowly inside the sleep sack cradled close to my chest. I check to make sure the safety is still on and I haven't moved it in my sleep. Still engaged, good. Its pointed towards the other end of the RV for easy of use and a quick reply If anyone or anything comes in, it will be in that direction.  No one is coming here though. I move the muzzle to the side, clear from my face and scoot the bolt back to be sure a round is chambered, then I fold the port cover back over, snapping it into place. I push the dry mud out of the front sight post and make sure the flash hider isn't clogged too. I blew the muzzle cap off shooting at some Solja Boyz. I inspect my entire weapon to be sure no dry mud will effect its function. I couldn't see what was what in the twilight last night. I also put some 556 in my D-60 to top it off. I only fired 12 rounds. I also check my Glock. Its was already clean as a whistle because I keep it inside a protective flap covered holster. The earth and elements couldn't get to it. After inspecting it I put it back to rest in its holster. Then i checked my water. All the while listening to see if anyone was trying to exploit the little noise I was making to creep up on me. I heard nothing though..I leaned up against the wall but kept low and took the time to sip and absorb an entire quart and saved the other quart for later. I still had 1 of the 2 quart canteens full in my ruck that I stashed close by in the forest I'll retrieve later.


I lay my head back down and with the weapon raised above me as if i was bench pressing it, I looked it over from end to end one last time staying low. I'm still laying on the floor with and half my muddy body covered in my improvised sleep sack just taking my time.. Its apparent that my M4 has taken a beating over the past months. But she is holding well. The black from the aluminum oxide finish is starting to show through the camo paint. I look at the crack on the hand-guard and wonder how and when that got there? I think back to the last three days with the "Solja Boyz" on my ass. Well they weren't really on my ass. Mostly they were bouncing around Warthog Valley like confused school boys looking for me. They just got lucky blocking both my egress routes. It was evident they had 0 comms ability in their party unless you count screaming to one another as a form of reliable comms. But who knows when that crack happened. I put the weapon on my lap and sat up. I decide i needed to to stand. Careful not to expose myself to any shots from the outside or betray my location with a visual signature to the outside  I step and veer to the center of the RV to hide myself . Just as I stand a torrent of dry mud clumps and sand shower onto the floor and into the shower-curtain in a thumping hissing orchestra that reminded me of my mom pouring sugar from one of those paper sacks into a sugar bowl she use to use. Wiggling my feet free from the sleep sack I decide to investigate whats in this RV. But first I just wanted to listened, so I just stood and I listened a while. I finished off the last few gulps of my canteen and stood there till I felt a piss coming on. That was long enough, I suspect.  I was as certain as certain can be that there's no one was out there but I wanted to wait and listen and watch from a concealed spot that offered a deep shadow to hide in and with a good field of view. I waited about 45 minutes. Nothing changed. The birds were still manufacturing their madness and the ravens were still carrying on like Ravens. When i saw a moose stroll by I figured I could move around a bit more.

I grab my M4 and headed to what was left of the kitchen. My web-gear barely clearing the width of the short, narrow hall way as it rubbed the walls the entire way through. I open the door to what use to be the toilet to give back to nature the water I just consumed and I saw a man standing there looking back at me. Who the fuk are you???? A skinny, dirty, wrinkly faced, red bearded man dressed in old school woodland camo. He was holding a weapon. With dirt so thorough it was hard to tell where his gear started and clothing ended. It was sight- I didn't even recognize myself in that mirror.  I brushed off the shock of seeing the new me, shook my head and had my piss. I continued back into the kitchen area. I sat my m4 on the table in arms reach, just behind me. I decide to inspect the only cabinet still intact and hanging on the wall. I carefully used a 24 inch grill spatula from the counter to ease the door open. It starts to make a evil retching squeal. FUK THATS LOUD! In normal times this would be ignored but out here in the silence and danger it sounds like what my mind interprets as a locomotive whistle that can be heard clear to Anchorage! I quickly flip it open to get it over with. I could hardly believe my eyes. Had I struck easy street? Inside I see some oats in a 2qt ziplock bag that the mice and mold have not gotten yet, a few cans of Ensure protein drinks, 1/2 bottle of Tylenol, half a box of Little Debbie oatmeal Cream pies, 4 cans of tuna, a small jar of Miracle Whip and a stack of army MRE crackers. I honestly couldn't believe what I was seeing and for a moment, I truly at that moment questioned reality.  Suddenly the dried salmon and blueberries in my butt-pack I was about to eat seemed irrelevant and something to be snotty towards. I feasted.


As i ate I recounted the past three days and how I ended up at this old RV again. I mean besides the obvious reasons. Its was pretty simple and purely by chance I happened upon the group from the Solja Boyz Militia 3 days ago. I was checking out some base camps and supply caches on the west side of my routes and they were headed right into my frontier. I suspect they are running out of food and expanding their hunting grounds as they consume resources close to whats left of Anchorage. Well that's about all I can assume from what little information I gathered from that encounter. The SBM are the filth of humanity. They are a mix of mostly Russians, some prior U.S. Military from Ft Richardson, Anchorage Police and organized criminals and useful refugees/collaborators with applicable skill sets that have found a home with the filth. The groups leaders as a whole were all lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time when the last ships arrived at the port. The word was kept quiet by Occupational Russian Government Officials and local collaborators that no more supplies were coming do to the Russians losing the new Sino-Russian war and the Chinese Navy blockade so they all formed a pact with one another to control the remaining resources. In fact the last I heard was that they took that last ship and use that as their headquarters now. It makes sense, the port of Anchorage was a fortress before the invasion and after the invasion and looks to remains so after the collapse. A ship's basically a castle with a mote in these times. So its a castle within a fortress. Ive known of the Solja Boyz since things went really bad and the riots and mass shootings started. It went outright Gulag crazy bad when the Chinese blockade was destroyed by Russia but not before the Chi-Coms launched an attack on Anchorage. Their shitty Chi-Com missiles weren't very accurate and obliterated all of Mid-Town and South Anchorage. The SBM also somehow controlled all local radio transmissions. Blasting their propaganda over the airwaves for anyone that had a radio to hear. They have what's left of the city wrapped up tight but nothing in the surrounding mountains and forests... But this is mostly second hand information I gain from a few refugees I encountered who managed to escape south.





The SBM is total filth. I observed them on the Seward Highway at one of their "welfare" check points. The things I saw them do would be familiar in a third world collapse. Pure savagery. Those mother fukers. They're real tough strong arming unarmed, ruined and destitute refugees to take what little they'll ever have, but put a few bullets in one of their faces and they somehow take it personal. This wont wash, but I need to deal with this and I need to find out more. Are the expanding out of Warthog Valley or was that just a chance encounter with a hunting party? Will they even bother to expend resources to come back out here?