A state of disobedience

'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 crappy 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 'balls 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 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 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. Hell, 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 booby 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 massaging both his temples. 'So be it, then. We hold. Sergeant Major, send a message to Austin. . . .'

* * *

Austin, Texas