Chips of adobe and brick flew away from the mission walls in two places as they bulged inward, buckled and crumbled. The tanks had struck them to create a pair of breaches in the adobe for the infantry to pour through.

In further aid of the assault, the tanks had been slightly modified. Their main cannon were partially plugged to allow the projection of CS gas from high pressure dispensers. Fanning back and forth, the tanks spewed a cloud of lachrymatory gas to subdue the defenders.

* * *

Montoya already had his mask on, one of those provided by Schmidt in his care package. Montoya's boys likewise had donned theirs with a speed that would have done credit to a regular as soon as they had seen the first white clouds spew from the tanks' muzzles.

With a shout of 'follow me,' the shout distorted by the mask's 'voicemitter,' Montoya led a team of three boys forward a few short steps and on to the southernmost of the two breaches. To his left charged four more boys under Miguel's successor, Ramon. All sprinted in a low crouch to avoid possible sniper fire.

The teams reached the undamaged wall between the breaches, then split north and south. Reaching the tanks, the boys threw clear glass bottles full of liquid to impact on the rear hulls and turrets.

* * *

'What's that, chief?' sniffed the driver of Montoya's target as the first faint whiff of ammonia passed easily through the filtration system and on into the crew and driver compartments.

Before the commander of the vehicle could make an answer the ammonia hit him full strength. It was sudden as an unexpected blow. Eyes streaming, throat closing and choking, gorge rising, he clawed at the hatch over his head, one thought on his mind: Escape!

He might have made it out quicker had his gunner not also been trying to crawl through him to escape the overpowering chemical stench.

Montoya calmly shot the driver whose easy escape had been blocked by the tank's cannon, directly overhead. Then the emerging loader took two rounds through the belly before flopping bonelessly back downwards into the tank's bowels. When two heads appeared simultaneously in the commander's hatch he shot them as well, bone and brains and blood flying away. Father forgive me.

'Padre, here!' shouted a boy as he passed over a homemade satchel charge. The priest took it with a muttered 'thanks,' pulled the igniter and leaning around a corner tossed the charge under the tank's right tread. The burning fuse left a curly cue arc of narrow but dense smoke as it corkscrewed through the air.

'Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole! FIRE IN THE HOOOLLE!' shouted the priest as he led and herded his boys back to cover. Even as he himself leapt to safety the charge went off like a kick in the pants, knocking him head over heels to go tumbling along the ground.

* * *

Austin, Texas

'That's my boy, Jorge,' muttered Schmidt as he, the governor, and her 'war cabinet' listened in to reports coming uncensored from the scene. Half the words used were expletives and obscenities.

'Fucking gas isn't working. Motherfuckers took out both tanks . . . Jesus-Fucking-Christ they shot down the crews like dogs . . . Where the fuck are those goddamned helicopters? . . . What in the fuck are the snipers doing? . . . My God . . . they've got guns . . . machine guns . . . Explosives . . . Jesus . . .'

Juanita looked piercingly at Schmidt. 'Where . . . where, General, did my brother get machine guns? Where did he get explosives?'

A tiny flicker of a smile. 'Jorge always was a resourceful sort, Governor. You know that.' Then Schmidt's face lit again in his broadest, brightest flash. 'You really want to know? Fine. I gave them to him. I'll be damned if my best friend and your brother was going to be taken without a good fight. They . . . you . . . can do what the hell you want with me. But Jorge Montoya was not going to lack the tools he needed! And can you hear, Juani? Can you hear?' Schmidt pointed at the radio, still sputtering with federal outrage. 'He's holding them; beating them.'

Softly, 'I wish I were there. I wish I were there.

'Do you know why I am not, Governor? Because I still hope to talk some sense into you. I still think that the girl I . . . voted for . . . hasn't got it in her to see her brother cut down by wolves in suits and ties.'

Fiercely now, 'Let me roll my division, Juani. Send Nagy there to arrest them, too. Save your brother Juani . . . save those children, Governor.'

Juanita's mouth set as if concrete, hard, unyielding. 'Do it.'

With a triumphant shout, Schmidt headed for the door. 'You coming with me, Nagy? We can take my helicopter.'

* * *

Dei Gloria Mission, Waco, Texas

The press of numbers was too great. It had always been too great. Yet Montoya had hoped that, if he put up a good fight, the feds might just back off to reconsider.

'Dumb bastards don't even know enough to know we're a losing proposition.'

'What was that, Father?'

The priest shook his head. 'Nothing, Ramon.'

The defenders, what were left of them, had been forced back to the chapel. Only Elpidia, wounded and helpless in the small infirmary, the children cowering in the storm shelter, and Julio, waiting for that perfect shot, remained outside of this last ditch. A baker's dozen of the boys and girls of the Mission lay sprawled in death outside, victims

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