A State Of Disobedience Part 16

"Tell me, how does the idea of fleeing yet again appeal to you?"

"Not much," the old man admitted, his gray and balding head nodding slightly as he did so. "Is that why you have come here? To tell me to leave?"

"No," answered Schmidt. "I came for some advice and possibly a little help."

The old Vietnamese chuckled softly. "Advice? Advice is cheap. In consideration of our...mutual...yes I suppose it was 'mutual' service, I will even give it for free. Help? Well, I am an old man. I do not think I can be of much help to anyone."

Schmidt looked upward, his jaw shifting slightly to one side. "You might be surprised. But advice will do for now. Tell me, why did my side lose the war and yours win it?"

"Oh, that is easy. We won because we fought you on every possible plane, in every possible way. You lost because you could not fight us the same way. And we only had to win on one plane, in only one way, to win-eventually-on them all.

"Consider, mon mon General, just the scope of the conflict in South Vietnam. Around the peripheries, we employed troops, regulars well trained and fully equipped. You had to match those. This left irregulars more or less free to operate behind your lines, in the bowels of the areas you meant to control, in any case. And, if you had dispersed your troops to root out the irregulars? You would quickly have discovered how long one of your isolated infantry companies could live when attacked by a full Viet Cong or North Vietnamese regiment. The lesson would have been both painful and short." General, just the scope of the conflict in South Vietnam. Around the peripheries, we employed troops, regulars well trained and fully equipped. You had to match those. This left irregulars more or less free to operate behind your lines, in the bowels of the areas you meant to control, in any case. And, if you had dispersed your troops to root out the irregulars? You would quickly have discovered how long one of your isolated infantry companies could live when attacked by a full Viet Cong or North Vietnamese regiment. The lesson would have been both painful and short."

Schmidt raised a characteristic eyebrow in skepticism.

Minh caught the motion. "You did try, remember? Your side tried at the Chu Phong ma.s.sif in 1965. You tried at other places. Sometimes that worked reasonably well for you; as when you were able to generate ma.s.sive artillery and air support for one or two ongoing battles. But multiply the number of possible targets from us from one or two to one or two hundred. Then you could not have given the kind of support on which your side relied so heavily to enough of your people engaged.

"So of course you did not do that. Your regulars and the best of South Vietnam's troops faced ours in the jungles. This led you and the South Vietnamese government to overly expand its army in order to root out the irregulars, the guerillas. But that, in turn, not only made their army diluted and weak, it robbed the south of human talent needed to run and advance their society. In fact, one aspect of this was to make their society so corrupt that decent people joined my side in hordes. And you could not do a thing about it.

"And then, of course there was the terror, especially the singling out of important people in the south to both undermine their society and government further and-and this was most most important-to cause people to start to worry about the future; their personal future. For you see, even someone who fervently believed in the continued separate existence of the Republic of-South-Vietnam would still 'buy insurance,' would still help us on the side lest his family be targeted." important-to cause people to start to worry about the future; their personal future. For you see, even someone who fervently believed in the continued separate existence of the Republic of-South-Vietnam would still 'buy insurance,' would still help us on the side lest his family be targeted."

The former colonel became silent, leaving Schmidt a moment to think. This is not exactly helpful. We will not be in the position of regulars holding down regular forces so that an insurgency can grow in security. Geometrically, our position is exactly the opposite, with us in the center and the only place for insurgency to grow being behind the wider perimeter, further away from us. Hmm. I wonder if maybe that isn't the same after all.

"But do you know what really cost you?" asked Minh. "What really cost you was trying to use soldiers to perform what was essentially a police function, population control. Not only were soldiers much more expensive, but they would never be able to get to know the people of the area they were trying to control. They would also never be able to conduct the kind of investigation that actually might have rooted out our infrastructure. Why, I remember reading a captured copy of your manual on counterinsurgency operations.

"Even today I still marvel that your brightest people could only find a use for police in the short-term supervision of displaced persons while more conventional military operations were going on. This blindness cost your side very badly, mon mon General." General."

Schmidt considered. Yes...and using the army for the same thing today, here in Texas, will work no better. But then Rottemeyer has lots of police, doesn't she?

Minh continued, "But you did say you wanted my help. Before I say 'no,' why don't you tell me what kind of help it is you need?"

"I need someone who can organize certain kinds of resistance."

"Certain kinds?" Minh raised an eyebrow. "Guerilla resistance?"

"That perhaps, too," answered Schmidt. "But what I really need is someone who can make police work behind the lines a very dangerous thing to be engaged in. I need sabotage. And I might need some terror."

"I see," answered Minh. "Let me think this over carefully."

"While you think, Colonel, think about this: you might never have won your war and lost your country without the influence and actions of Rottemeyer and people like her."

Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas

"Carefully I said, G.o.ddammit! Carefully."

"Yes, First Sergeant," answered a meek Fontaine as he adjusted his hands for a better grip on the piece of a disa.s.sembled printer he had very nearly dropped.

Half the printing equipment and supplies, more or less, was staying put in the WCF. The other half was to be forwarded to San Antonio where it could continue to fund Texas even after the federal government took back the WCF.

Everyone, not least among them the facility's defenders, suspected that was just a matter of time.

And so, between fortifying the place, the guardsmen took time out to remove as much as possible of the reason for defending it.

Pendergast shook his head disgustedly and repeated, "Be careful careful with that equipment, Fontaine. The state needs it." with that equipment, Fontaine. The state needs it."

"I promise, Top. I'll be more careful."

Ah well, thought the first sergeant, wandering away. He's slow and clumsy. But the kid's heart's in the right place.

Governor's Mansion, Austin, Texas

The governor's son, Mario, sat with his care- and work-worn father in the shade of a square gazebolike structure. Some distance away-out of earshot-walked Elpidia, alone with her thoughts, hands clasped behind her, head down with sadness, circling repeatedly a small fountain and pool.

"I think her heart's in the right place, Mario. She's not a bad girl, not deep down, just a very unfortunate one. But she comes to us with a load of baggage I doubt she will ever be rid of."

"I know, Padre. But she's just so d.a.m.ned beautiful. I find I can think of little else."

"That's your youth speaking, that, and your hormones."

Mario flushed. "Oh, c'mon, Dad. No. Other girls? Girls in general? Sure. Not her. Her I do not think of talking into bed."

Seeing his father's skeptical look, Mario admitted, "Oh all right right. That, too. But not just that. I think of...I want...so much more than just that."

"Well, son, she is what we call damaged goods. Not through any fault of her own, no. But even so, the fact remains she has been damaged, and badly. I could not recommend any such girl to you."

Chapter Eleven.

From the transcript at trial: Commonwealth of Virginia v. Alvin Scheer DIRECT EXAMINATION, CONTINUEDBY MR. STENNINGS:.

Q. How did you pay for the trip, Alvin? Did you steal the money?

A. Why no, sir. I ain't no thief. Never have been. I cashed in my wife's and my life's savings for the trip; all $742 dollars worth. Then p.a.w.ned whatever else I had that was worth anything. Figured that was enough for gas and maybe a burger from time to time on the way. I planned on sleepin' in my truck.

Drivin' through Missouri, you could see folks had a lot a sympathy for what the governor was doin'. Except, funny thing, you couldn't have seen it on television.

Nope, weren't nothin' on TV that a fair man might have called fair. They were still hammerin' away on that old priest that got killed. But I knew from what I saw and was told and read before I left that there weren't but the one survivor, that little wetback girl. And I never saw her interviewed for the news I was able to catch when I stopped for gas, a meal or a beer.

So where they came up with all the stories about what that priest supposedly done with the kids? Well, I wonder if they didn't just make it up.

I'm pretty sure they did.

For one thing, I lived in Texas all my life. I know what a Tex-Mex sounds like, speakin' English or Spanish. And Puerto Ricans aren't too common back home. So why do you suppose that of all the people they interviewed on TV about the mission and the priest weren't a one of 'em that had a proper Tex-Mex accent, but a whole bunch of 'em sounded like the Puerto Ricans I'd met? In particular, they sounded like some Puerto Ricans I met once who came from New York.

I stopped once, in a small town in Missouri, and I bought me two papers. One was the local town's; the other was the New York Times New York Times. Funniest thing how the local town's was full of mail from readers, a good chunk of which was in favor of Texas and against the feds while the Times Times was nothin' but hate mail directed at Texas, the governor, and anything having to do with them. was nothin' but hate mail directed at Texas, the governor, and anything having to do with them.

I didn't know if that was how folks up north really felt, if it was the news making 'em feel like that, or if they were maybe...pickin' and choosin' what got into the paper. And if they were doin' that, I wondered what else they were playin' games with.

Atlanta, Georgia

The head of Global News Network didn't normally have to force himself to think of himself as a "big man." He was not only physically large; he was rich, he was powerful, he was even rather famous around the world. He had grown used to people treating him with a certain respect and deference.

He was shocked.

Somehow, the man had come to believe that Wilhelmina Rottemeyer was a kindred soul; another person whose fondest desires were an end to want, a government that cared, a respecter of the law. And yet, when he had voiced complaints to the White House about what he saw as dangerous abridgments to the First Amendment he was met with scorn.

He was very shocked.

"So you listen here, you stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d," said the unnamed man in the suit with a bulge under the left shoulder, "I don't care about your 'Freedom of the f.u.c.king Press.' The President has said the gloves are off with dealing with a.s.sholes like you. She hasn't got time to sugarcoat this c.r.a.p any more. You will broadcast what you are told to, and only what you are permitted. Is that clear enough even for a moron like you?"

Summoning his courage-the head of the network asked, "And what if I don't?"

The suit picked up the phone from the desk and dialed a number. On the other end someone answered the phone. "This is McCarthy. Put the lady of the house on the phone. She needs to have a little chat with her husband."

"What do you think you are doing? Where the h.e.l.l did you get my home number?"

The suit just smiled, beneficently, and handed the phone over with the words, "Why don't you ask your pretty new wife what she thinks you should do?"

Whatever the standards of the American press as a whole, the head of Global News was no coward. For himself, he feared essentially nothing. Yet, the color drained from his face as the head of the news agency listened to his near hysterical bride describe what had transpired at their lavish home-the knock, the forcing of the door, the manhandling of her and their young son...the slaps...her split, puffy lips. When she was finished, he returned the phone to its receiver and said, ashen faced, "I'll play along. Just don't hurt my family."

The suit's smile broadened further. "Well, then, I am glad you are going to be sensible. Not everyone is being so, you know?"

Fort Dix, New Jersey

Most of the major media didn't need the lesson administered to GNN. Leftward leaning already, they were more than happy with Rottemeyer's program. There were some few, however, who did need some sterner measures.

In this former military base turned partial federal prison those who were not being "sensible" came in by twos and threes and tens and twenties. Shorn of hair, and dignity, the dissidents were quickly and efficiently processed into the general population. Fortunately, for them, this was a fairly low security prison. They were spared the very worst that the system had to offer in the way of roommates.

What they had was bad enough, even so.

There was, however, a saving grace. In order to leave, all the a.s.sembled newscasters, editors, and writers had to do was sign a paper admitting their complicity in "treasonable activities" and promising to cooperate with federal authorities in the future.

At first, none would. Some few days later, after a particularly nasty h.o.m.os.e.xual gang rape, a few would. A week later still, and with a regular session of beatings for the recalcitrant, a few more signed and were duly released. Then the heat was turned off in the prison barracks until, as it was announced, the members of the press corps in those barracks decided to cooperate with the authorities.

At that point, the authorities stopped providing physical "corrective measures." There was no need as the freezing nonpolitical prisoners warmed their limbs through strenuous exercise. After that, some of the talking heads would need extensive prosthetic dental work before they could hope to resume their old jobs.

The number of resistors shrank daily thereafter.