A State Of Disobedience Part 29

Colorado River, Texas A military organization-and, while the Marines were a part of the naval service, none had ever suggested they were not in every important particular a military organization-might be likened to a bizarre sort of snake. At its point there were teeth and eyes and venom. Somewhere in the middle was the fresh meal it needed and was digesting to continue on its way. What made the snake bizarre is that its tail was an enormous conglomeration of fat and flesh, muscle and machine stretching out for anywhere from tens to hundreds of miles behind it.

And the point of the beast could move little if at all faster that that fat, bloated, dragging tail.

The point of Second Marine Division (minus that brigade roasting on ships in the Gulf of Mexico) might be at the Colorado River. Its gargantuan tail was still anch.o.r.ed somewhere east of Houston.

In Houston itself that recent and future meal-rather, its pa.s.sage point-was being squeezed.

Houston, Texas From his vantage point overlooking the intersection of Interstate 10 and U.S. 59 Colonel Minh smiled happily at the vista spread below him.

It hadn't even been too very hard. Before they were shut down by federal authorities, the newspapers had waxed lyrical about the martyrdom of Victor Charlesworth and those who had gone to see him speak. Immediately following the shut down, posters had gone up on walls, flyers had been anonymously delivered. Speakers at a dozen platforms appeared, aroused a crowd, announced a rally and then disappeared.

The local police-before they, too, went on strike-seemed quite indifferent to the impromptu rallies.

Now Minh had the results he wanted at this stage. Thousands of cars blocked the intersection. Thousands more people demonstrated around the cars. Not that more than some hundreds of these intended a demonstration. Many, many more had been caught up in the blockage and simply had no good way to leave.

And mixed in with those demonstrators and unwitting demonstrators? A hundred or more of his own "troops"...his own "armed and dangerous" troops.

To either side of the blockage military convoys had been building for hours, helpless to push on either to deliver the goods or to return for more goods to deliver. This, too, was part of Minh's plan. He intended that the very people who needed federal help to clear the road block should themselves help congest that road to delay federal help.

Still, he hoped-truthfully, he completely expected-that the feds would show up eventually.

"Ah, there they are," he whispered. A mile away, plainly visible from his vantage point, the ragged lines of the Environmental Protection Police snaked around herringbone parked military trucks. "Shouldn't be long now."

Elpi watched with Minh. For the most part, and per Schmidt's instructions, he kept her in one or another of the safe houses that dotted the city. Even so, and even with some clever makeup, she would never pa.s.s scrutiny if one of the federal agents dominating the city took a careful look. For one thing, the safe houses were often in Vietnamese neighborhoods. For another, her face had become rather well known as a result of the speech she had made by Charlesworth's side.

Mostly Minh kept her off the streets. Still, for reasons more instinctive than articulable, he occasionally risked bringing her out as a witness to events.

The military vehicles had stopped well shy of the blockage, of course; soldiers were not stupid, Marines no more so, and neither soldiers nor Marines wanted to be anywhere near a potentially unruly crowd.

As the first agents of the EPP debouched into the open s.p.a.ce Minh's people began a chant, "Charlesworth! Charlesworth! Charlesworth!" Others picked it up, even among those who had only been inadvertently stuck at the rally. Soon, the volume had grown to the point where most of the demonstrators could not hear, let alone obey, the EPPs perfunctory order to disperse.

The police formed a skirmish line. Brandishing batons, they advanced. This the crowd had to notice and many shied away, shuffling backwards around the ma.s.s of misparked automobiles and further from the threatening clubs.

Not all did so, however. Minh's people, for example, did not shy away. Of course they were for the most part in cars which they could not leave. Most especially could they not leave with the rifles those cars hid.

A command rang out in Vietnamese over a loudspeaker. A hundred rifles came out of hiding. The EPP recoiled in shock as soon as these were recognized.

The shock was short lived.

Columbus, Texas The 3rd Infantry Division had made its forward headquarters in this small town overlooking the Colorado River. Having just finished his daily tour of selected units, the Division Sergeant Major entered the command post, pulling off uncomfortable helmet and sweaty field gear as he did so. Infantry Division had made its forward headquarters in this small town overlooking the Colorado River. Having just finished his daily tour of selected units, the Division Sergeant Major entered the command post, pulling off uncomfortable helmet and sweaty field gear as he did so.

The first thing the sergeant major noticed was an air of shock among the denizens of the command post. He stopped a pa.s.sing sergeant and inquired.

"It's Houston, sergeant major; the MSR, our main supply route. It's erupted into fighting...low scale as near as we can tell and they're avoiding our people and the jarheads... but it's enough that we are effectively cut off here."

"s.h.i.t," muttered the sergeant major. "Does the old man know?"

"He's been closeted with the G-4 since we got word."

"We should have talked to Martin," said the sergeant major, under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Never mind, son. Before your time."

Waco, Texas Not far from the ruins of the Mission Dei Gloria a very worried and a very dejected Army lieutenant general likewise sat in conference with his G-2 (Intelligence), his G-4 (Logistics) and his Provost Marshall (Military Police).

"It's just not enough, sir," announced the G-4. "Between the wrecked bridges, the sit down strikes in and around Dallas, the limits on the engineers' ferries...well, I can take you to Austin. But if we have to actually fight for the place there's no way I can provide the ammunition you'll need; not for weeks at best."

The provost marshal interjected, "That presumes that the federal police behind us can keep the lines open at least most of the time. I'm not too sure...."

"They won't be able to," confided the G-2. "Sir, I've sent my people back a number of times to observe. The bulk of the PGSS..."

"Why not just call 'em what they are?" demanded the provost. "Either 'Rottenmuncher's Own' or just plain old 'SS'?"

The Corps commander unconsciously glanced around to ensure that his Zampolit was not in earshot. "We can continue to call them the PGSS," he ordered. "We all know what we mean by it."

"Sir," continued the G-2. "The PGSS and FBI are keeping the supply lines clear through and around Fort Worth and Dallas...but-except for the FBI, in Dallas-the way they're doing it, the way every federal agency has been doing it, is just so d.a.m.ned heavy-handed that they're driving even neutral folks into Governor Seguin's arms. And what's been going on in Houston? It's obvious; the Texans have a plan, a good one, and they're following it."

"What plan?" asked the Corps commander. "I see a plan to defend the rump of Texas."

"No, sir. The plan's deeper than that. The defense of that rump is intended to hold us us up, to take us out of the main theater. The plan is to eat up the main theater, our rear. While we're stuck forward leaving those..." up, to take us out of the main theater. The plan is to eat up the main theater, our rear. While we're stuck forward leaving those..."

"Those sloppy, miserable, bloodthirsty excuses for police officers," muttered the provost.

"Yes, them. Seguin intends to make it very difficult for us to move supplies forward. Then, when the federal police suppress that, the rear breaks out in something very like a revolution. Houston tells us that the forces for a revolution are probably in place everywhere behind us."

"Leaving us stuck at the end of a nonexistent supply line?"

"Yes, sir. I think there's more to it than that, but that-from our point of view-will be enough. If the PGSS lose control of Dallas and Fort Worth we will die on the vine here."

Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas We could just leave them to die on the vine, thought Sawyers. They're not blocking anything. The facility is not that important really, not anymore. It's just a symbol. They can't have food for more than a few more weeks.

But, though Sawyers had tried to have the a.s.sault called off, he had been refused at the very highest levels just as he had been refused air support. He had had managed to browbeat the Regular Army into giving him a half battery of self-propelled artillery. managed to browbeat the Regular Army into giving him a half battery of self-propelled artillery.

He really didn't trust them though.

Thus it was that, with heavy heart, Sawyers greeted his subordinates as they filed into his command post for their final orders; orders certain to be final for many of them.

Pecos, Texas Tripp asked, simply, "Any final questions?" Seeing that there might be, he added, "And no, I don't mean questions like, 'Why aren't we going to rescue Major Williams and B Company?' That subject is already closed."

In the greasy and soiled garage turned into an ad hoc command post, Tripps' officers and his sergeant major shifted uncomfortably. They were no happier about leaving Williams and company in the lurch than Tripp was. They had no better answer, no better than Tripp, than to follow their orders and leave the guilt-if guilt it was-to others.

The silence, not so much sullen as sorrowful, built for a full minute before one of the staff captains, the quartermaster, asked, "Am I to be allowed to commandeer any supplies we might need on the way? Could help, sir."

"Take what you need. Give them a receipt."

"Yes, sir."

Tripp had a platoon of air defense artillery attached to his battalion. "Sir, can we get any easing of 'Weapons Tight'? My Rolands are good systems, but they need some some time-at least to engage." time-at least to engage."

"No, son. Higher authority thinks the Air Force won't engage and the brigade commander thinks he can suck up the Marine's air onto the rest of the brigade. 'Weapons Tight,' it stays."

The lieutenant raised his eyebrows, lowered his eyes and made a small, annoyed symbol of his mouth. But he answered only, "Sir."

Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas "And the condemned ate a hearty last meal," joked Davis as he and the other officers feasted on such rare and costly delicacies as packaged bread, undifferentiated meat, nuked potatoes, and squeezie cheese.

Almost all chuckled though the humor was plainly forced. James alone did not chuckle. He was sick; the doc had diagnosed pneumonia brought on by damage to his lungs during the first attack. James picked at the food with little interest or appet.i.te. His color was pale and he seemed to have lost weight.

Suddenly, seized by a fit of coughing, James put down his plastic fork.

"You okay, bubba?" asked Davis.

"I'll be fine," he answered, without conviction.

Davis exchanged a look with Williams. No, he won't be fine. No, he won't be fine.

"Captain James, I think maybe you ought to exchange places with the engineer; take over the command post and let him handle the south wall."

Recovering with difficulty from the fit of coughing, James could only nod his head reluctantly. "If you say so, boss."

"I'll leave a good engineer with him," volunteered Davis.

"He ought to be in the aid station," insisted the doctor. "But then again..."

"Doesn't make a whole h.e.l.luva lot of difference, does it, Doc?" countered James.

Chapter Sixteen.

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

Q. So it pleased you, did it, Alvin, that Texas wasn't alone anymore?

A. Oh, yessir. Not that I thought New Mexico added much. But I figured it might be important that the governor didn't look so much like some sort of lone wolf like they was trying to paint her.

Q. Sure. I understand how that might be so. So what did you see next, Alvin?

A. Next? Well, next on the TV was the a.s.sault on the currency facility. And those poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds...pardon my language...they were sure enough alone. I didn't have no TV, like I said before, so I watched it on the TV at a bar near where I was staying. Well, that is I got to see the outside of it anyway. I had to buy more beer, a lot more, than I really like to drink to stay and watch it through to the end.

Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas From the heavily sandbagged lookout position on the roof, the sun had not yet begun to peek over the horizon. Down below, to an e+ven greater degree, all was plunged in gloom.

The sentry on duty, Fontaine, heard the sound of diesel engines roaring in the darkness. This was nothing new; since the PGSS had been linked up with their LAVs they had made a habit of moving them frequently at night.

The sound Fontaine heard was a little different though; deeper and fuller. He decided to risk a look. Straining his eyes to make out the indistinct silhouettes he concentrated...

"Holy s.h.i.t!"

In a flash Fontaine had ripped the field telephone from its cradle. He began frantically twisting the crank that caused a buzzer on a similar phone deep within the building to come to life.

"Major Williams, here."

Fontaine exclaimed, with panic straining his voice, "Holy f.u.c.king s.h.i.t, sir, the PGSS have a battery of self-propelled artillery and they're taking up firing positions across from the south wall now!"

Even as Fontaine replaced the handset on the cradle a blossom of fire erupted from the centermost gun.