A state of disobedience

Luther King and marched for truth, right, freedom and justice.

He was here, now; in Texas, now; in Austin, now; and in Governor Juanita Seguin's office, now, to help do the same . . . and to teach others.

Right now, he taught the governor.

'It is going to be hard for you, Governor. Hard and dangerous. You are going to have to stand on a lot of balconies. You are going to have to go out and lead your people. You may be shot. You may be arrested. Given the nature and character of the people who are running this country right now, if you are arrested you will probably wish you had been shot.'

'And . . .' Charlesworth hesitated, for this next advice was possibly tantamount to telling the governor to commit suicide. ' . . . and . . . you will have to travel. To open yourself up to being shot. Because Texas, alone, can't win. It can't win a civil war alone, and it can't win alone through NVCD. The states around you, as a minimum, you are going to have to visit, to see, to talk at and to. Other states too, as and when you can.'

'Oh, sure,' retorted Juanita. 'I can just see me talking to Harvard University to sell an antigovernment message. Sure.'

'Why not, Governor? I have.'

* * *

Corpus Christi, Texas

Over the tang of the sea wafted the unpleasant scent of oil seeping up through the ground. Some seabirds swooped down to catch the occasional fish; others dined off scraps and garbage left on the docks. Under Schmidt's feet, the wharf boards creaked and gave slightly.

Reaching a particular boat, shiny, well kept up, smelling slightly of fish sauce, he stopped. 'I have to see Mister Minh,' Schmidt announced to an alert-looking Vietnamese fisherman.

'Mister Minh no see anybody anymore,' answered the Viet. 'He too old, too tired.'

'He'll see me. We are old 'friends.' '

The fisherman peered intently in Schmidt's face, noted the uniform, noted the rank on the collar, noted the other insignia. Then the fisherman added one plus one plus one and came up with 1964–1972. 'I go ask,' he answered at length. 'You wait here.'

When the fisherman returned to the deck and beckoned he said, 'Mister Minh . . . ah . . . he say 'okay, come aboard.' '

Walking the plank, then descending into the ship's bowels, Schmidt followed the fisherman to an aft cabin. They stopped briefly as the fisherman knocked lightly on the cabin door.

'Come in,' said an ancient voice in slightly French-accented English.

Entering, Schmidt took in the cabin with a sweeping glance. Much to his surprise, he noticed a crucifix adorning one wall. The ancient Vietnamese man seated at the desk smiled, and explained, 'I find the religion of my fathers more comforting with each passing day.'

'That is a most unusual sentiment, Colonel Minh,' observed Schmidt. 'Most unusual for a former political officer of the Ninth Viet Cong Division,' he added, somewhat wryly.

'That was long ago; a lifetime of mistakes ago. Why, you were only a lieutenant then . . . and look at you now.'

Schmidt nodded. 'A lifetime, yes. Long ago, yes. I suppose that's why I never reported your background to the authorities, Colonel, even though I knew you were here. I thought you had paid enough; your revolution betrayed, most of your family killed, yourself forced to flee your own country forever.

'Tell me, how does the idea of fleeing yet again appeal to you?'

'Not much,' the old man admitted, his gray and balding head nodding slightly as he did so. 'Is that why you have come here? To tell me to leave?'

'No,' answered Schmidt. 'I came for some advice and possibly a little help.'

The old Vietnamese chuckled softly. 'Advice? Advice is cheap. In consideration of our . . . mutual . . . yes I suppose it was 'mutual' service, I will even give it for free. Help? Well, I am an old man. I do not think I can be of much help to anyone.'

Schmidt looked upward, his jaw shifting slightly to one side. 'You might be surprised. But advice will do for now. Tell me, why did my side lose the war and yours win it?'

'Oh, that is easy. We won because we fought you on every possible plane, in every possible way. You lost because you could not fight us the same way. And we only had to win on one plane, in only one way, to win— eventually—on them all.

'Consider, mon General, just the scope of the conflict in South Vietnam. Around the peripheries, we employed troops, regulars well trained and fully equipped. You had to match those. This left irregulars more or less free to operate behind your lines, in the bowels of the areas you meant to control, in any case. And, if you had dispersed your troops to root out the irregulars? You would quickly have discovered how long one of your isolated infantry companies could live when attacked by a full Viet Cong or North Vietnamese regiment. The lesson would have been both painful and short.'

Schmidt raised a characteristic eyebrow in skepticism.

Minh caught the motion. 'You did try, remember? Your side tried at the Chu Phong massif in 1965. You tried at other places. Sometimes that worked reasonably well for you; as when you were able to generate massive artillery and air support for one or two ongoing battles. But multiply the number of possible targets from us from one or two to one or two hundred. Then you could not have given the kind of support on which your side relied so heavily to enough of your people engaged.

'So of course you did not do that. Your regulars and the best of South Vietnam's troops faced ours in the jungles. This led you and the South Vietnamese government to overly expand its army in order to root out the