A State Of Disobedience Part 28

"Fundamentally, Governor, it's a political decision, not a military one. So it's up to you."

It's a political decision, Juani echoed in her mind. My decision. No one else can make it for me. "Do it, then. Tell the boys in Fort Worth I'm so sorry." And leave me with my guilt.

Was.h.i.+ngton, DC It is so very much too late for guilt, and I am not big enough for all the guilt I have. I miss old Goldsmith, mused Representative Harry Feldman. Redneck New Mexican or not. He wouldn't have rolled like I have. Maybe I wouldn't have rolled-frame job or not-if he were here to buck me up.

A great wave of self-loathing washed over the New Yorker; a wave compounded of disillusionment, disgust, and despair...along with a heavy admixture of serious personal guilt. I have no excuse. I should have known. Ross was right all along, right about the important things anyway. I have no excuse. I should have known. Ross was right all along, right about the important things anyway.

Feldman gave out a sigh that would have been audible had there been anyone else to hear it. There was not. He had found that he preferred to be alone these days; a rarity in a career politician. It was bad enough that he had to live with his own guilt and grief. Having to hide it from others, to "put on a happy face," while he was seething inside? That would have been impossible.

How did we let it get so out of hand? Everything Willi said she wanted to do for this country was right, dammit.

Feldman turned back to his speech notes. Later today he was to put on a speech in the House condemning Texas and New Mexico in no uncertain terms. Those were his orders from the White House.

Maybe-just maybe-I would rather go to prison...or would...if I weren't a coward.

Santa Fe, New Mexico Governor Garrison pulled back from the narrow window from which he had briefly glanced at the ring of federal agents surrounding the State House. His eyes wandered around the walls of the a.s.sembly to where his state police confidently manned positions to repel any a.s.sault. The thought, no cowards here no cowards here, made his chest swell with pride.

He patted the shoulder of the nearest trooper, even now returning to the position he had vacated to give Garrison a quick look. No cowards. No cowards.

Not only the men manning the state house not cowards; any fear they felt was utterly subsumed in sheer fury; fury and hot hatred. In the seventy-eight year history of the New Mexico State Police, thirty-one troopers had fallen in line of duty by murder or accident. In the thirty-odd minutes between the arrival of the SGRCP at Las Cruces that number had been more than doubled.

Garrison overheard the shotgun-gripping trooper who had resumed his place at the window mutter, sotto voce sotto voce, "Come on, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, you miserable murdering f.u.c.ks. Come on and try us."

Pecos, Texas The commander of the westernmost brigade of the forty-ninth Armored Division, plus both its tank and infantry battalion commanders, looked Schmidt square in the eye, hooked a thumb over his shoulder, and said, "All Tripp, here,"-he indicated the short and stout infantry battalion commander with the pointing thumb-"can do is try. It's over three hundred and fifty miles to Santa Fe, most of that by U.S. highways, not interstates. Between the company of tanks and the two companies of mech infantry-which is all he has left anyway with one company sitting in Fort Worth-he'll be lucky to arrive with more than about two companies. The rest will be strung out behind him and might or might not join him later. At that it will take him about a day to get there. And that a.s.sumes that we don't meet any opposition on the ground or or from the air." from the air."

The colonel continued, "We've had a couple of guys from the Marines and the Third ACR come over to us. They indicate that the supply status is still pretty poor. But they could could rape the rest of their formation to field a force big enough to stop us and they rape the rest of their formation to field a force big enough to stop us and they can can move faster in their LAVs, across a shorter distance, to block us. If they use helicopters, there's no question they can beat us there. If they beat us there, there's no question they can stop us before we get to New Mexico's state house." move faster in their LAVs, across a shorter distance, to block us. If they use helicopters, there's no question they can beat us there. If they beat us there, there's no question they can stop us before we get to New Mexico's state house."

"There's a way..." The brigade commander hesitated.

"Go on," encouraged Schmidt.

"General, I know you do not want this. I know we've bent over backwards to keep from killing any regulars. I even, maybe, understand and I may even, generally, approve. But if you want me to send one of my three battalions to Santa Fe I need to use the other two to tie the people facing me down where they are. This would not have been true if we had gone to Fort Worth instead.

"I need to attack-even at the c.r.a.ppy odds I'm facing-attack to buy time, attack to draw attention."

"Otherwise?" Schmidt asked.

"Otherwise, it's a gallant gesture but no more than that. Sorry, sir, but that's how I see it."

"I see. Hmmm. You said, 'a day.' Tell me exactly what you mean by that and how you arrived at it."

"Well, we can only move as fast as our slowest movers. Those are the Infantry Fighting Vehicles. Top speed is about forty-five miles an hour. At that speed figure on beating the crews half to death even on a good road. Figure on more breakdowns, too...a lot more. So I am planning no more than thirty miles an hour. Twelve driving hours for the trip, minimum. Call it fourteen to be safe. Add in rest and food breaks...oh, and at least one refueling, and we're talking more like seventeen hours.

"Speaking of refueling, we had a cache hidden near Abilene for the Fort Worth foray. There's no cache between here and Santa Fe."

Schmidt understood. "Can you send enough fuel trucks to make up the difference?"

"Barely, sir, but yes. In any case, continuing on, add a couple of hours to plan the final relief once we get close to the state house and we're up to nineteen hours. Once we're up to nineteen hours of continuous operations then we need to talk about some sleep before the actual relief."

"So, yes, General; a full day. If Tripp moves tactically rather than just doing a 'b.a.l.l.s to the wall' road march it will be more like three days. I figure it's important enough to sacrifice security to speed though...so we'll call it a day."

Schmidt thought he had an answer, rather, a part of one. "How disciplined are your troops, Colonel?"

"Normal. Nothing special. Nothing awful, either. Why?"

Schmidt answered slowly, "Well, I am willing to let you make an 'attack'...but you can't actually kill any federal troops doing it."

The colonel shuddered. "No...we're not that that disciplined. If the Marines shoot to kill, my boys will shoot back." disciplined. If the Marines shoot to kill, my boys will shoot back."

"Then attack without ammunition or make a mere demonstration. But do it this evening."

Tripp spoke up for the first time. "Then we're really going to leave my boys in the Currency Facility in the lurch, are we?"

"They're big boys, aren't they, Colonel?"

Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas Deep in the bowels of the facility's security room, four men, a major, two captains, and a sergeant major met to discuss their predicament. The lights were dimmed, the better to see the television screens lining one wall. Many of those screens were blank, however. PGSS snipers had made a point of disabling any camera they could identify.

Rubbing the left side of his face, Williams said in a low voice, "And those are our choices, gentlemen: hold fast and hope the problem gets solved elsewhere, hold fast and be destroyed, or try to escape on our own...or we could surrender."

Williams' face set with a determined grimace. "Me, I plan on staying. And with New Mexico throwing in with us I think our chances of holding the feds off long enough went way up."

"That much is true," said James. "I don't think I would surrender anyway. If they don't hang us we'll spend the rest of our lives behind bars. But we probably don't need to worry about prison because they will will hang us all." hang us all."

Davis added, "I don't see how we can escape either. There are seven thousand PGSS troopers-and now they've got their armored vehicles with them-surrounding this place. We would be lucky to get two steps from any of the doors. Sure wish we'd kept our Bradleys."

"They were needed elsewhere," Williams answered. "And we weren't planning on escaping when we took this place over."

Pendergast summed it up. "I've been talking with the boys, Major Williams. Sir, they know the score. And they want to stay and fight it out. h.e.l.l, we sent the bad guys packing once already. Who says we can't do it again? At least, that's what the boys are thinking."

"You mean none of them want to surrender, Sergeant Major?"

"No, sir. They know-just like Captain James said-surrender is either a quick ticket to prison or a quick ticket to a rope. They'd rather fight it out, sir. All of them willing to talk about it, anyway.

"And sir, I know you would rather let any go that want to...but you can't. Every man here knows just about every b.o.o.by trap and trick we've laid on. Don't think for a minute the feds won't get it out of them either. And every man knows that every other one knows. They'd shoot anyone that tried to desert themselves."

Williams began ma.s.saging both his temples. "So be it, then. We hold. Sergeant Major, send a message to Austin...."

Austin, Texas Schmidt read aloud, " 'To the people of Texas and to all Americans: We are besieged by over seven thousand federal troops; none of them, so far as we can tell, of the United States Army or Marine Corps. We are under continuous sniper and machine-gun fire, though casualties-so far-have been light.

" 'We will never surrender or retreat. If there are neither reinforcements nor relief to come to our aid we will still never surrender or retreat. If the enemy a.s.sault us, we will still never surrender or retreat and will, by G.o.d's grace, exact a terrible price for every forward step they may attempt. Hurrah for Texas and hurrah for Governor Seguin.' "

"I told told you they understood, Juani...though I surely do wish we could get them out. They're too good a group of men to let die." you they understood, Juani...though I surely do wish we could get them out. They're too good a group of men to let die."

Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas Every time Sawyers looked at the building he liked what he saw less and less. Open, no cover, clear fields of fire from positions inside he couldn't see much less hope to effectively engage. He had a battalion's worth of armored vehicles now-and didn't the army b.i.t.c.h over the costs in fuel of getting them here? But as to whether that would help or just give the guardsmen inside more profitable targets for the ant.i.tank weapons he was certain that they had...well, he just didn't know.

All in all he had misjudged the defenders very badly to date. Worse, he knew he had. He had never imagined that the Texans would attack to relieve that miserable old priest's mission. He had a.s.sumed that-faced with the prospect of a real attack to take back the Western Currency Facility-respect for the law would cause them to fold. Even when they had answered his demand for surrender with a defiant, and remarkably well-placed shot, he had still a.s.sumed that a real attack would break them.

He'd been so very wrong. And his men had paid the price for it.

Sawyers, it was fair to say, had suffered something of a crisis of confidence.

He had asked for air support; a couple of fighters to drop a couple of large bombs each. He'd asked and been told, in no uncertain terms, "No."

His superior at Treasury had explained, a bit. "No, the President has outright refused to drop bombs on American soil. Bad PR, you know."

Sawyers didn't buy it. He'd gone over her head to her boss. Similar story.

He'd pressed. Finally, it came out. "Commander, you can't have any air support because we do not trust them not to drop the bombs on you before flying off to San Antonio to join the Texans. It's not on the news but there have been a couple of cases of that; pilots stealing their planes and defecting. More of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are faking sick to avoid flying, and the President is furious about that too. Unfortunately, she can't do much. So you're on your own."

El Paso, Texas The fires were out at least. That much Fulton could be thankful for. There was still a G.o.dawful stench from Juarez, when the wind was just right, or just wrong. But over that the Marine Corps had no control.

Fulton made his headquarters in a now abandoned restaurant just off of Interstate 10. There, at least, he didn't have to see the sullen bitter looks the people of El Paso cast at him and his Marines.

There came a knock on his door that Fulton answered with, "Enter."

"Sir, Corporal Mendez reports."

Fulton, the commander of the 1st Marine Division returned the corporal's salute and then spent a few seconds studying him. He saw the beginnings of a paunch, but that was nothing unusual in a reservist. The salute had been snappy. The driver's uniform was as clean as circ.u.mstances allowed. In all, the kid made a favorable impression. Marine Division returned the corporal's salute and then spent a few seconds studying him. He saw the beginnings of a paunch, but that was nothing unusual in a reservist. The salute had been snappy. The driver's uniform was as clean as circ.u.mstances allowed. In all, the kid made a favorable impression.

"Relax, son. The G-4 told me I ought to see you; that you had something important to say. So spill it."

Mendez didn't relax, not quite. Instead he a.s.sumed a stiff parade rest, eyes focused somewhere above and about one thousand yards past the general's back. He kept that position, and that focus, while relating every detail he could recall about the actions of the Surgeon General's police at Las Cruces, New Mexico.

Fulton's face kept a neutral expression throughout. When Mendez finished he asked a few questions, made a few notes on a yellow pad.

Finally he asked, "So what do you think we should do about it, Corporal?"

Mendez looked directly at Fulton for the first time since entering his office. "Sir, I wouldn't presume to tell the General..."

Fulton wriggled his fingers, dismissing the difference in rank. Still Mendez remained silent.

Ohh, thought the general, suddenly understanding. He's afraid to tell me because if he told me what he was thinking it could be construed as mutiny.

"Let me rephrase that question, Corporal. Are you happy to be here, with us, on this operation."

"No, sir," Mendez answered without a moment's hesitation.

"I see. Let me ask another one. Who do you hope wins this little confrontation?"

Mendez did hesitate over answering that one. He didn't know much about military law and wasn't certain he should answer it.

"Scout's honor, Corporal. Nothing you say is going out of this room."

"Okay, then, sir. I think we ought to ask the Texans for some gas, turn around, and march back through New Mexico arresting or shooting every federal agent we can find on the way. But that's just me...."

Wardroom, USS Peleliu Peleliu, Gatun Lake, Republic of Panama "Is it just me or does anyone here agree we never should have given this place back?"

The speaker's comments were greeted with snorts of a.s.sent and louder snorts of derision at the local "hosts." No one in the Navy, and few if any in the other services, had thought that giving the Panama Ca.n.a.l Zone back to Panama had been a very good idea. The knowledge was made all the more bitter, especially among the more senior officers and chiefs that the return of the Zone had never been necessary. Rather, so they perceived it, it had been the mistaken decision of a past-be it noted, Democratic-President also widely considered within the military to have been a national mistake. It had been carried through fruition by a man convinced beyond contradiction of his convictions and ignorant beyond ignorance of his limitations.

Now the price had to be paid, ironically by another Democrat President. Three amphibious warfare s.h.i.+ps, carrying the better part of a brigade of Marines, had entered the Ca.n.a.l from the Pacific. Other s.h.i.+ps-some carrying troops and others carrying equipment and supplies-had a.s.sembled off of Venado Beach and in the bay of Panama on Panama's Pacific side in antic.i.p.ation of making the pa.s.sage.

Then, with the bulk of the force sitting in the fresh water of Gatun Lake the Ca.n.a.l had experienced its first stoppage since 1989 and only the second one in its history as thousands of Ca.n.a.l workers went on strike simultaneously.

The strike was as spontaneous as a man named Patricio could make it.

The Marines were not going anywhere soon.

In the warm blue waters of the Pacific, and the steamy brown waters of Gatun Lake, mixed in among the Marines' transports were merchant s.h.i.+ps registered around the world. Among these were several registered with and owned by the People's Republic of China.

Those s.h.i.+ps carried arms once destined for Texas and now traded to an international arms dealer...but of those the Marines and Navy knew little and cared less.

The captain of the Peleliu Peleliu likewise knew little of the Chinese arms. He did, however, know better than any one else in his marooned s.h.i.+p just how stuck they were. Even if he attempted to use the Marines his s.h.i.+p carried, not one of them had the first clue about operating the Ca.n.a.l. likewise knew little of the Chinese arms. He did, however, know better than any one else in his marooned s.h.i.+p just how stuck they were. Even if he attempted to use the Marines his s.h.i.+p carried, not one of them had the first clue about operating the Ca.n.a.l.

The Marines were not going to be able to break this foreign strike.