Austin, Texas
Schmidt fumed and raged. 'Murderers! Butchers! Goddamit, Juani, this has gone far enough!'
Nagy just shook his head while staring at the television. 'My man Akers,' he announced, 'told me your brother's folks did
'Then what happened?' demanded the governor.
'Akers didn't know; not the whole story. But he was definite that the first shot came from the feds. The second—the one that killed the nun—came from the feds. That the third came from the feds and that there was not a fourth.'
'Then what's all that shooting sound they put on the TV?'
Schmidt answered, 'They dubbed it in, Juani. Afterwards.'
He turned to Nagy, 'How'd your man get away?'
'He said there was a ditch by the gate. That he jumped into that and waited for nightfall. Said he wasn't too worried about being shot by the mission folks, but that he wouldn't be too surprised if the feds took a shot at him. Oh, he was in a fine rage . . . and Sergeant Akers is
'In a ditch, was he?' Jack mused.
* * *
Qui Nhon Province, Republic of Vietnam, 1966
* * *
Jack reached a sudden decision—sudden, although its nature and implications had been torturing him for days. 'Juani, let me roll my division. I've got over three hundred tanks and a like number of other armored vehicles. And they're manned by Texans, Juani. They won't let your brother go down.'
Spanish eyes flared. 'You want to start a civil war, Jack? We
Schmidt smiled. His multi great-grandfather, the captain, and the governor's, the sergeant, had fought side by side in that lost cause, members of Hood's Texas Brigade. His eyes turned and looked over the governor's bookshelves. He walked over to one and selected from it an old, red leather-bound volume. He checked the index and then opened to a page.
A nod; it was the right page. Schmidt's eyes scanned briefly before he began to read aloud. ' 'There is no retreat but in submission and slavery. Our chains are forged . . . The war is inevitable—and let it come. I repeat it, sir, let it come.'
'Patrick Henry said that, Governor.' Schmidt closed the book slowly, reluctantly.
'Jack, I just don't know.'
'Juani,' Schmidt persisted, 'we
He didn't need to open the book again to say, ' 'The battle is not to the strong alone. It is to the vigilant, the active, the brave.' '
* * *
Dei Gloria Mission, Waco, Texas
The children had kept vigil over the dead; all but Elpidia. She, bandaged, alone and doped to deaden horrifying pain both physical and mental, lay in the mission's tiny infirmary.
Slowly, reluctantly, Father Montoya closed the Bible on the last Mass he ever expected to say on mission grounds. It was a combination Mass and funeral service for Miguel, who lay, eyes closed in eternal slumber, on a table in the chapel. Miguel's body and ruined cranium lay under a black shroud.