A State Of Disobedience Part 24

The bodies of two of his men, gunned down while trying to move the wire, indicated that any further attempts would be futile...futile and b.l.o.o.d.y.

Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, the fireplug's attention was pulled away by the sound of explosions-more than a dozen, he thought-of automatic rifle fire, and the screams of struggling, dying men.

Pendergast held one finger to his lips before bending down to remove-oh, so quietly and carefully-the rubberized runner concealing the trap door. He made a motion to the belt of his combat harness while mouthing the word, "grenade." The dozen men nearest him each pulled one hand grenade from his own belt and flicked away the safety clip. Following the sergeant major's lead, a baker's dozen pins were pulled.

Pendergast motioned for two more men to stand ready with their rifles. Then he reached down and pulled up the trap door.

"Get out, get out out!" ordered the fireplug. "We can't go forward, not with what we have and we need to hurry if we're not going to lose our only way out." Hand placed firmly between a young "agent's" shoulder blades, the fireplug gave a firm shove, and then turned around for the next. Soon, the ex-Marine turned to find no more men behind him and the sound of the Texans' advance growing closer.

There was a low moan followed by the sound of s.h.i.+fting bricks. The A Company commander looked to one corner and stared into the single beady eye of a 9mm pistol. His eyes followed the pistol to the wavering hand, the hand to the arm, and the arm to the bruised, bleeding man half buried by the bricks.

"What's your name?" asked James.

"Crenshaw," answered the fireplug.

"Well, go on, Crenshaw. I never could shoot a man whose name I knew."

Chapter Fourteen.

From the transcript at trial: Commonwealth of Virginia v. Alvin Scheer

DIRECT EXAMINATION, CONTINUEDBY MR. STENNINGS:.

Q. So you did hear about the first attack on the Western Currency Facility?

A. Oh, yes, sir. And I was tickled pink, too. It was a scream, I tell you. I like to split my sides when I heard. The feds tried to take that money printin' plant at a rush and got their a.s.ses handed to 'em by my home folks.

Not that it wasn't kind of sad, too, them boys that got killed. But, I figured they took their money and they took their chances, same as anyone.

Not that the papers hereabouts took my view of it, mind you. Oh, no. I read every one I could get my hands on. That included a couple from what you might call the "lunatic fringe."

You know the kind I mean: Save the Whales-Abort the Babies Save the Whales-Abort the Babies? Marxist-Leninist Times Marxist-Leninist Times? The Anarchist The Anarchist? Hey, I'm quoting here. I ain't smart enough to think up them t.i.tles.

Anyways, real far left stuff-chock full of all kinds of words I had never heard and couldn't even find in the dictionary. You know, the kind of thing that used to make a hobby of hatin' Was.h.i.+ngton and the President of the United States?

The mildest one of those, if I can recall correctly, called for turnin' Texas into a prairie.

Guess they didn't know we already mostly were a prairie.

Anyways, I didn't see-no one saw, far as I know-that incident on TV. Don't know whether that was because there weren't any news folks there or because the scene was just too d.a.m.ned nasty.

Besides, pretty soon there was lots of bigger news.

Was.h.i.+ngton, DC

If anyone noticed the scent of musk on the President as she entered the Oval Office followed by McCreavy, no one said anything. They were broad-minded men and women, all, and not a few of them had tastes similar to the President's.

"All right, what happened at the Western Currency Facility?" demanded Rottemeyer.

Vega gave the official story. "Our people there called on the criminals inside to surrender. They lulled a large number of agents into the open then they opened fire. We attacked but were driven back by superior numbers and firepower."

McCreavy rolled her eyes. Can't even make up a good lie, too d.a.m.ned ignorant.

"How about this, Ms. Vega? You can't take a building like that, heavily fortified and defended, with less than ten to one odds. And then you can expect to lose almost everyone you throw at it."

"That's a military answer, Caroline," corrected the President. "It might even be a true one. But Jesse's answer serves our purposes better.

"There is a military answer I need, though. Are your forces ready to roll?"

"Everywhere but from New Mexico. The commander down there, a Marine," she added with a trace of disdain, "says he simply can't move anywhere much. No fuel beyond what his vehicles have in their tanks and a severe shortage of ammunition."

"Those G.o.dd.a.m.ned sit-down strikers on the highway?"

"Yes," McCreavy answered. "Per your order we were waiting for the Presidential Guard to clear out the Currency Facility, before sending them to clear the highway. Obviously, they've been delayed."

"Do they have enough to get them to El Paso or a little beyond?"

"I asked the commander down there that question. He said he could."

"Have him do that then. All your forces. I want them to roll tomorrow morning."

McCreavy closed her eyes, holding in a wistful sigh. I wish it had never come to this. I wish it had never come to this. Eyes still closed she silently nodded her acceptance. Eyes still closed she silently nodded her acceptance.

Rottemeyer added, "We'll send the Surgeon General's riot control police down to New Mexico, instead of the Presidential Guard. They should be able to handle the problem."

Las Cruces, New Mexico

The Marine Corps Reserve truck driver-he was a California boy named Mendez-looked out at the sea of humanity blocking the highway before him. "Whew; I didn't think New Mexico had this many people in it."

"What you carrying, son?" asked the state trooper balancing on the truck's running board while hanging from its rearview mirror.

"I'm not sure I should say, sir." The driver looked down at the trooper's chest and read a name tag, "Peters."

The trooper-Peters-smiled grandly. "Well, you can say or we can just arrest you now; whatever's your preference."

The driver gave off a loud sigh. "Ammunition, mostly."

"Ah, I see. Well...come with me. Let's see if your truck is properly marked." The trooper stepped down.

The driver emitted another sigh as he opened his door to follow.

"It's always amazed me how often you guys hauling ammo fail to put up the signs required by federal law," commented the trooper as he ripped a "Danger-Peligro" sign from the side of the truck, folding it and tucking it in his s.h.i.+rt.

"But...but..."

"And another thing; you know how often you mix up incompatible loads of ammunition? Why, it's a national disgrace," he added while tearing off another bit of paper, this one stating in precise terms what kind of ammunition the truck was carrying.

The trooper looked the driver squarely in the eye and ordered, "Son, you are just gonna have to unload this here truck and let me inspect it."

"But, sir...it's over twenty tons of ammunition. I can't, I just can't can't; not in less than a week."

If possible the trooper's friendly smile grew broader and grander still. "I know."

La Union, New Mexico

The 1st Marine Division command post fairly crackled with energy. It crackled with radio transmissions as well. Marine Division command post fairly crackled with energy. It crackled with radio transmissions as well.

The barrel-chested, iron-jawed major general in command, one Richard Fulton, stared with disgust at the charts hanging from the tent's frame along its walls. These showed all the pertinent information on the division, from personnel to logistics. It was the last which raised Fulton's disgust.

His unit's supply status merely raised the disgust, however. The voice coming from a radio's speaker gave it force. The Division's "Zampolit"-the Russian word had gained wide currency by now-sitting in a corner, amplified it even more.

He listened to, "And so, yes, despite your logistic inconveniences, you are ordered to proceed into Texas, commencing tomorrow morning at 0400, liberate El Paso, then proceed generally east along Interstate 10 to San Antonio. As you proceed, you are to drop off adequate forces southward along the Mexican border to seal that border as you go."

Fulton clenched frustration into a balled fist. "General McCreavy...you realize, do you not, that I have the fuel to get to approximately Van Horn, Texas, before my tanks are bone dry? And that that is a.s.suming I do not have to fight the Texans on the way. They can pull back, wait for me to run out of fuel, then beat the h.e.l.l out of me. That's open country, great for tanks, not so great for infantry. And my force is mostly infantry...and the Texans-the ones facing me anyway-are mostly not." is a.s.suming I do not have to fight the Texans on the way. They can pull back, wait for me to run out of fuel, then beat the h.e.l.l out of me. That's open country, great for tanks, not so great for infantry. And my force is mostly infantry...and the Texans-the ones facing me anyway-are mostly not."

"We are working on your logistic problems from this end, General Fulton. By the time you reach the eastern edge of El Paso, you can expect a clear supply route."

"I'll believe that when I see it. But fine then...fine. I'll start moving in the morning."

Marietta, Oklahoma

n.o.body felt like singing "Garryowen" this morning.

It was a perfect time for it; the sun rising in the east, the smell of fresh diesel and motor oil on the gentle breeze, hundreds of thousands of tons of steel rolling in a long ma.s.sive pike down the highway.

Still, n.o.body felt like singing.

Third Corps was coming back. They had left at command and now they were returning at command. They had left with reluctance and now they returned with much the same feeling.

Silent and sullen, the drivers and commanders scarcely risked a glance at the protesters lining either side of the highway. Yet they did glance from time to time and they did read some of the signs the protesters carried. "Don't mess with Texas," said some. "Thou shalt not kill," said some few others, a message pretty much lost on the professional killers of the Third Corps.

"The South shall rise again," "Lee surrendered; we didn't," and "Get Was.h.i.+ngton off our backs," were sentiments many, many of the officers and men of the largely southern and largely rural corps shared fully.