Mostly Minh kept her off the streets. Still, for reasons more instinctive than articulable, he occasionally risked bringing her out as a witness to events.
The military vehicles had stopped well shy of the blockage, of course; soldiers were not stupid, Marines no more so, and neither soldiers nor Marines wanted to be anywhere near a potentially unruly crowd.
As the first agents of the EPP debouched into the open space Minh's people began a chant, 'Charlesworth! Charlesworth! Charlesworth!' Others picked it up, even among those who had only been inadvertently stuck at the rally. Soon, the volume had grown to the point where most of the demonstrators could not hear, let alone obey, the EPPs perfunctory order to disperse.
The police formed a skirmish line. Brandishing batons, they advanced. This the crowd had to notice and many shied away, shuffling backwards around the mass of misparked automobiles and further from the threatening clubs.
Not all did so, however. Minh's people, for example, did not shy away. Of course they were for the most part in cars which they could not leave. Most especially could they not leave with the rifles those cars hid.
A command rang out in Vietnamese over a loudspeaker. A hundred rifles came out of hiding. The EPP recoiled in shock as soon as these were recognized.
The shock was short lived.
* * *
Columbus, Texas
The 3rd Infantry Division had made its forward headquarters in this small town overlooking the Colorado River. Having just finished his daily tour of selected units, the Division Sergeant Major entered the command post, pulling off uncomfortable helmet and sweaty field gear as he did so.
The first thing the sergeant major noticed was an air of shock among the denizens of the command post. He stopped a passing sergeant and inquired.
'It's Houston, sergeant major; the MSR, our main supply route. It's erupted into fighting . . . low scale as near as we can tell and they're avoiding our people and the jarheads . . . but it's enough that we are effectively cut off here.'
'Shit,' muttered the sergeant major. 'Does the old man know?'
'He's been closeted with the G-4 since we got word.'
'We should have talked to Martin,' said the sergeant major, under his breath.
'Huh?'
'Never mind, son. Before your time.'
* * *
Waco, Texas
Not far from the ruins of the Mission Dei Gloria a very worried and a very dejected Army lieutenant general likewise sat in conference with his G-2 (Intelligence), his G-4 (Logistics) and his Provost Marshall (Military Police).
'It's just not enough, sir,' announced the G-4. 'Between the wrecked bridges, the sit down strikes in and around Dallas, the limits on the engineers' ferries . . . well, I can take you to Austin. But if we have to actually fight for the place there's no way I can provide the ammunition you'll need; not for weeks at best.'
The provost marshal interjected, 'That presumes that the federal police behind us can keep the lines open at least most of the time. I'm not too sure. . . .'
'They won't be able to,' confided the G-2. 'Sir, I've sent my people back a number of times to observe. The bulk of the PGSS . . .'
'Why not just call 'em what they are?' demanded the provost. 'Either 'Rottenmuncher's Own' or just plain old 'SS'?'
The Corps commander unconsciously glanced around to ensure that his Zampolit was not in earshot. 'We can continue to call them the PGSS,' he ordered. 'We all know what we mean by it.'
'Sir,' continued the G-2. 'The PGSS and FBI are keeping the supply lines clear through and around Fort Worth and Dallas . . . but—except for the FBI, in Dallas—the way they're doing it, the way every federal agency has been doing it, is just so damned heavy-handed that they're driving even neutral folks into Governor Seguin's arms. And what's been going on in Houston? It's obvious; the Texans have a plan, a good one, and they're following it.'
'What plan?' asked the Corps commander. 'I see a plan to defend the rump of Texas.'
'No, sir. The plan's deeper than that. The defense of that rump is intended to hold
'Those sloppy, miserable, bloodthirsty excuses for police officers,' muttered the provost.
'Yes, them. Seguin intends to make it very difficult for us to move supplies forward. Then, when the federal police suppress that, the rear breaks out in something very like a revolution. Houston tells us that the forces for a revolution are probably in place everywhere behind us.'
'Leaving us stuck at the end of a nonexistent supply line?'
'Yes, sir. I think there's more to it than that, but that—from our point of view—will be enough. If the PGSS lose control of Dallas and Fort Worth we will die on the vine here.'
