He was very surprised to see and hear a single blast from one of the Guard's main guns, followed by the near disintegration of a PGSS LAV that had been attempting to escape.
* * *
Schmidt had his helicopter set down in the middle of the smoking compound, despite protestations from his chief pilot. Alighting from the bird with two armed guards, he immediately set out for what he instinctively knew would be his friend's last refuge, the chapel.
He announced himself, "Jorge? It's me. Jack. It's over; you can come out now. Jorge?"
No answer. Jack decided to take his chances. Jorge wouldn't shoot him by mistake. Still continuously announcing himself, Schmidt pounded the barred door with his shoulder, only after much effort to be rewarded by a sprung hinge and a—barely open path.
Inside was a scene from a nightmare. Schmidt knew it was because he had had that very nightmare repeatedly of late. Under the altar rested the remains of Father Flores, whom Schmidt recognized only by his vestments. Not far from there lay Father Montoya, bleeding from a score of wounds. Around him and by the walls lay the boys who had followed their priest into death.
Schmidt collapsed to his knees, hung his head, and wept for his dead friend.
* * *
Even as the ashes of the mission were cooling, the first book—surreptitiously subsidized by the White House—hit the bookstores: Father of Pain: The True Story of the Deadly Fanatic Catholic Fundamentalist Cult of Texas.
Interlude:
From: Lone Star Rebellion: A Study in Asymmetric Revolutionary Warfare, Copyright 2078, Colonel Jonathan Hightower, Parameters
* * *
From the beginning the governor of Texas was faced with a seemingly insurmountable problem. On the face of it, her state was outnumbered by a factor of about twelve in both economic and population terms. The federal government had de facto, if not de jure, control over the media, thus over what common people thought across the country. That same government was also firmly in the hands of a cabal not merely hostile to Texas and Governor Seguin, but one imbued with a hatred bordering on—in some cases crossing over to—the fanatical. That government also had economic clout never in history equaled, let alone surpassed. And it, with its entire armed force's mustered perhaps twenty to twenty-four times the power of Texas' own National Guard, exclusive of nuclear weapons.
Moreover, the fronts on which this campaign would come to be waged were varied, amorphous and vast. Texas would have to meet—not necessarily defeat but "meet"—the federal government on no less than seven of these "fronts." These were: economic, military, propaganda, legal, domestic political, Texan political and civil disobedience.
Only in the last did Texas have any obvious advantage.
Chapter Seven
From the transcript at triaclass="underline" Commonwealth of
Virginia v. Alvin Scheer
* * *
DIRECT EXAMINATION, CONTINUED
BY MR. STENNINGS:
Q. Keep going, Alvin. Tell the judge what you saw and how you felt about it.
A. I saw the thing on TV. After the fighting was over, you know? When the National Guard and the Department of Public Safety folks started uncovering the bodies? God, it was awful. Poor little charred, shrunken things being lifted up out of that hole in the ground, some alone, some clutching onto one another. One case stuck in my mind; stayed there for weeks. It was a little girl—I think it was a girl but she was so bad it was hard to tell, no hair, clothes turned black—sorta wrapped around what was left of a baby. That one put my wife to throwin' up.
And one old man, looked like my grandfather from what I remember of him, just standing there, crying and crying.
Then the TV cut off and we didn't get no more news about the mission for a while. . . .
* * *
Washington, DC
"Shut it off, shut it off for Christ's sake!"
Obediently, Jesse Vega, the Attorney General for the United States, flicked the President's television away from GNN's live coverage of the mission.
Willi Rottemeyer stormed and fumed, drumming a small fist furiously against the top of her ornate desk. "How dare those bastards put this on the air? How dare they?"
Vega put down the remote control and shrugged. "I've already put out the word to shut that broadcast down. And sent a few people to have a little chat with someone in Atlanta who thinks he's important. But there's going to be some fallout from this, Willi. Serious fallout. I think they'll actually try Friedberg. It's Texas, too, so they just might kill her . . . execute her."
Rottemeyer was completely a political animal. Her mind immediately began sorting out the forms in which that "fallout" might materialize. Nearly as quickly she began reviewing plans to limit it. One such plan involved the expression "sacrificial lamb." Then she thought, no, with Friedberg in Texas Ranger custody I need Vega to get through this. Shit! Who would ever have thought that prissy little wetback twat Seguin would have it in her? Bitch!
Rottemeyer hit a button on her intercom. "Get me Governor Seguin on the phone." To Vega she said, "Get me my Cabinet."
* * *
Austin, Texas
"It's the President for you, Governor."
Juanita's mouth made a small moue of distaste . . . and not a little outright loathing. She thought briefly before announcing, "Tell the President that 'The governor is busy with the crisis.' I think she'll understand that."
Leaning back in a leather conference chair, Schmidt gave off a loud guffaw. Now this is the Juani I almost asked to marry me. Would have too, if it weren't for what happened to her brother. Maybe even then, if she hadn't gone into politics. Well, no matter. She picked a good man and I'm glad for it.
"It isn't funny, Jack," the governor insisted.
Schmidt raised an eyebrow. "On the contrary, Governor, that was the only funny thing about this mess, since it all began."
"Fine then; funny to you. Me? I want to get my hands on that bitch's neck and squeeze til her eyes pop out. What she did to Jorge? What she did to those kids. She's not my President anymore either, Jack."
"No?" Schmidt asked, rhetorically. "Well, if we don't do something, and quick, she's going to keep on being our president. And she's not going to stop until she's crushed us like a softboiled egg."
Silently, Juanita nodded. Then she asked, "But what can we do? Secession? Not a chance, Jack. That silly myth that we alone can legally secede? It's just that, a myth, a legend."
"No," Schmidt agreed, a mixture of desire and reluctance clouding his voice. "But we have to do something."
Spanish eyes flashed, dark and determined. "Give Friedberg and her people back? I won't do it. They committed murder of Texans on Texas soil and I am going to see them tried. I am going to think of Jorge and those little kids and I am going to smile when I sign the death warrants."
Juanita sighed. "But I won't have the chance to do that, will I, Jack? Just as you said, she's going to crush us. She's already moved to cut off our side of the story from the rest of the country."
Schmidt buried his nose into shallowly cupped hands; thinking, calculating. Okay . . . secession is out. And even if we could do it, why should we give up a weapon in the enemy's camp? How much good might we get out of a filibustering senator? Maybe quite a bit. And if we did it anyway? The rest of the states would have to either join us and split the country or force us back . . . because they can't tolerate having a democratic majority in both houses forever; which losing Texas' votes would cause.