Texans.'
'Oh, my God. What's this going to do to us? And what's a 'parlementaire'?'
'A
Open-mouthed and wide-eyed, Rottemeyer exhaled forcefully. 'Why?'
'I don't know. There're nothing but rumors. But it might be because of the way the Surgeon General's police freed up the supply lines to the Marines that ran through Las Cruces. They were pretty heavy-handed, Willi.'
'Well they had to be,' the President retorted. 'The Marines themselves needed that highway opened.'
'Yes, the Marines needed the roads opened. And maybe the SGRCP did have to play rough,' McCreavy admitted. 'But the effect has not been good. Willi, I am worried about 2nd
'Yes?'
'There was an armored cavalry regiment with the 1st
Tossing away the bedclothes, Rottemeyer arose to throw on a bathrobe. 'Get me my cabinet.'
* * *
Dallas, Texas
It was almost a northern city, in many ways. Like Atlanta and a few other places in the old south, the old Confederacy, Dallas was filled with northerners and flush with northern, and urban, attitudes and values. While a Texas—or Georgia—Democrat was likely to be more to the right than a Massachusetts—or New York—Republican, a Texan or Georgian Democrat from Atlanta or Dallas was equally likely to be only somewhat to the right of Marx or Engels. That was, of course, considerably to the right of a Massachusetts Democrat, many of whom stood considerably to the left of Marx and Engels.
Support, therefore, for Governor Seguin was far more muted in Dallas than it was in, say, neighboring Fort Worth. Indeed, that support was sometimes hardly in evidence at all.
And, however much federal law enforcement agencies had expanded and rotted under the Rottemeyer administration, some had done so less than others.
The premier agency, in fact, had—excepting some newer and much expanded sub-groups like the Hostage Rescue Team—hardly rotted at all. Although in the shadow of a pile of filth, and affected by the stench of it, the FBI—the core of a fine old organization—still retained some measure of its old dignity, restraint and purpose.
So, although there had been some incidents in Dallas—the FBI's area of responsibility for rear area security, those incidents had been few and not one had escalated into the type of random viciousness which were making the name of the United States government a stench in the nostrils of Texans, and others, elsewhere.
In Fort Worth, however, things were different.
* * *
Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas
'Well, this is certainly fucking different,' muttered Pendergast into his protective mask. Another incoming shell slammed into the brick, causing him to duck behind the sand bags of the interior bunker he occupied. Bits of shattered brick and the odd piece of razor-sharp shell casing pattered the sand bags and bounced off of the concrete floor. Distantly and from behind him Pendergast heard someone cry out, 'I'm hit, goddamit, I'm hit.'
Pendergast turned around. Already a team of medics was carrying off the wounded trooper, leaking a trail of blood onto the concrete floor. He nodded approvingly.
A body flopped into the bunker next to Pendergast.
'Afternoon, SMaj,' said Williams through his mask's 'voicemitter.'
'Sir.'
'Have you noticed if the shelling has lightened up on this end?'
'They're firing a low rate, sir. Hard to tell if it's four guns firing really slow or two guns firing a bit faster. Why?'
'They've started blowing holes in two of the other walls, too.'
'Casualties?' asked Pendergast.
'Not bad. Couple dead, half dozen wounded.'
'Damn good thing we let the engineers talk us into these interior bunkers, no?'
'Oh, yes,' Williams agreed.
'What's your guess, sir? Think they're going to try to hit all four walls at once?'
'Dunno. But that's what we have to prepare for.'
* * *
Sawyers grunted with a grim satisfaction as a shower of displaced brick fell in a semicircle about the point of impact.
