Schmidt drew a hesitant breath. "What happens? Well, Third Corps continues to come south to Austin, the Marines and 18th Airborne Corps to our east continue to get ready to hammer us . . . and eventually they do."
"Out west?"
Schmidt took a deep breath before answering. "Fact is, Juani, I don't know. Their commander wants them to openly side with us, I think. But politically, he just doesn't have the horses inside his own organization for that."
"Politically? In a military organization?" Juani looked extremely skeptical.
"Yes, 'politically.' Oh, I know people look at the military and see a dictatorship. But it just isn't so. Every military organization is a very delicate—and to a large degree democratic—political entity. A commander is more than a rabble-rouser and cheerleader, true. But if he didn't have some political skills, to persuade his own troops, he'd be hopeless."
"You've never explained this to me before."
"You never needed to know," Schmidt answered.
Schmidt paused momentarily, then said, "There is something you need to know though and it also has to do with our friends around El Paso."
Juani turned her hand palm up and made a "come on, give" gesture.
"The Marine part of it is based out of San Diego. There have been a couple of incidents involving, apparently, the families of some of the Marines."
"Incidents?"
Schmidt gave a disgusted sigh. "A speech that turned into a demonstration. A demonstration that turned nasty. Several break-ins. One rape. One murder. One other rape that ended in a murder. My people are trying to confirm some rumors that the PGSS," he showed a wicked smile, "or what's left of them anyway, are being sent there to take the Marines' families into protective custody."
"Hostages," announced the governor.
"Hostages," agreed Schmidt.
"What will that do to us? If they take the Marines' families hostage I mean?"
"Juani, I haven't a clue. It could mean that suddenly our western flank is open and vulnerable again. It could mean that the Marines march right back to San Diego picking up as much rope on the way as they can get their hands on. If the White House handles it just right it could mean nothing more than that the Marines stay out of play. If the White House can do it, or thinks it can do it, it could mean the Marines start to march on us again. But I can't tell you which."
"I can tell you that if the PGSS lost as many men as I think they did at Fort Worth there are going to be some pissed-off honchos . . . the kind that are not too likely to handle a delicate mission well."
"How many do you think were killed, Jack?"
"Over a thousand. Maybe over two thousand. They are going to be really, really pissed, Juani."
* * *
El Paso, Texas
"Motherfuckers haven't seen what pissed means, yet," murmured the Marine, Fulton, as he read his intelligence officer's reports of the incidents happening to his people's families back in California. "Funny how the Presidential Guard was ready to move in to 'secure things' so quickly. Yes . . . funny."
Fulton lifted his eyes from the report to shout to his driver, sitting at a makeshift desk just outside the door. "Get me the quartermaster, the division recon battalion commander, and the trans officer. Now!"
Then, very softly so that none but he might hear yet, Fulton said, "And I'll need lines to Austin and Camp Pendleton."
* * *
Camp Pendleton, California
Mrs. Fulton spoke calmly over the phone. She was certain that, whatever problems she and the other dependents at and around the camp had, her husband's problems were much, much worse. She spoke calmly, but also very carefully. The Presidential Guard officer seated opposite her seemed much too unstable—a boiling mix of anger, pain, fear, regret and something the general's wife could not quite put her finger on—to risk his displeasure.
"Yes, dear, it looked like a spontaneous thing. Someone started speaking downtown and the next thing we knew there was a crowd marching on the camp gates. Some of the crowd didn't come here, though. They fanned out over some of the nearby residential areas . . . looking for the wives, I guess. It was pretty bad . . . yes, dear, you do know some of the women that were caught up in it. You remember Captain Diaz' wife—cute little thing? She's in the hospital and it doesn't look good.
"Yes, dear, we're all safe enough now. The Presidential Guard has taken over our security and is evacuating all the dependents they can find from off the installation. Everyone is kicking in to put them up in our quarters, doubling up. The overflow is going to gyms, the theaters, anyplace we can get a roof over their heads.
"Yes, dear . . . I'm sure we'll all be fine," she lied. "You just take care of yourself and the division."
* * *
El Paso, Texas
Hanstadt had been closest. Alone, clad in civilian clothes, he had driven a commandeered rental car from San Antonio west, down the Balcones Escarpment, past the thin, amorphous Texan "front" line and to the forward trace of the 1st Marine Division.
There, at a nondescript segment of Interstate 10, he had been met by Fulton's sergeant major. After saluting and looking over Hanstadt's bona fides, the sergeant major had escorted him through the lines and onward to Division Headquarters.
At the headquarters were a number of tour busses, each with a full or nearly full load of men clad in civilian clothes. The men were so obviously Marines that Hanstadt wondered why they even bothered. Entering the headquarters, Hanstadt was unsurprised to see both the accompanying sergeant major as well as the uniformed guards at the entrance "present arms" to another civilian clad man who looked about the right age to be a somewhat youngish battalion commander.
Seeing Hanstadt's raised eyebrow the sergeant major merely said, "General Fulton will brief you on that, I imagine, sir."
"I can hardly wait, Sergeant Major."
Hanstadt was startled as a long rattle of musketry, seemingly from some miles away, shook the windows of the headquarters.
* * *
Austin, Texas
Juani stared from her office window at the gathering clouds. So many problems pressed upon her that it could not be said she was concentrating, or was even able to think clearly, upon any one of them. In a few days, she knew, the main body of the force to the north would arrive in the vicinity of Austin; the point of that dagger had long since come. To the east, Houston, cut off from open communication, was rumored to be in a state of violent anarchy. South the Navy stood poised to descend upon the coast. Further south, from Panama, she had been informed that the ruse was wearing pretty thin and that soon the gates of the Canal must be opened to pass the Marines through.
Far to the west? New Mexico was beginning, late and slowly, to imitate Texas. Nearer though, in the vicinity of El Paso, the Marines were forming up for something. Possibly to march east again. Jack had told her, though, that their supply status was said still to be terrible so perhaps if they marched, they would do so slowly. Even so, combat could not be far away; not on any front.
Besides New Mexico, not a single governor or legislature had thrown in with Texas, despite her pleas. They were sympathetic, yes. They wished her and Texas well, yes. They were "concerned" about the direction the country would take after Texas went under, yes.
They were afraid of the same treatment . . . also, yes. "Governor, if you somehow manage to survive what's coming for you then maybe we can talk."
So deep in her thoughts was she, yes—and her bitterness, that Juani didn't notice as Schmidt entered and quietly closed her office door behind him.