Washington, DC
Although not ostensibly designed to look down upon the United States, a spy satellite, given the right orbit, was as useful for that in the United States as for anywhere else. Or as useless, some would say. Thus, the head of the National Security Agency could pass on to the Director of Homeland Security satellite photographs and the analyses that accompanied them. Thus could the DHS bring the same to the President.
"There's no doubt, Madam President. None at all. Texas is mobilizing her own military forces. Even expanding them, it seems."
Rottemeyer looked toward McCreavy. "What does that mean to us, Caroline?"
McCreavy consulted her notes before replying. "They have one more or less old-fashioned armored division. Five tank battalions. Four infantry. Four artillery. Three Engineer. The usual support."
Rottemeyer caught on the phrase, "Old-fashioned? That's good for us isn't it?"
Shaking her head ruefully, McCreavy answered, "In this case, no, Willi, it isn't."
"I do not understand."
McCreavy sighed, then went on. "Well . . . let me put it this way. In our entire regular force here in the States, excluding the Marines, we have not a single tank. Nor do we have a single vehicle capable of taking on a tank in a heads-up fight. Not one. Those five tank battalions have more combat power than any one of our divisions. And they could chew even the Marines, who do have tanks, if not that many of them, to bits."
"What about our other states' National Guards?"
"Willi . . . do you trust them? I mean, do you really? You call up the Guard—which does have some other heavy forces—and you might find you're just reinforcing Texas."
Again McCreavy let out a deep sigh. "Willi . . . I am sorry but some of those states, especially those around Texas, hate you and everything you stand for. If you push, Louisiana, Oklahoma, New Mexico and Arizona . . . maybe the whole deep south and quite a bit of the Midwest might 'just say no'." Remember that red and blue map from the elections in 2000? Well, imagine the red portion in outright rebellion. It could be that bad. If you push them into it we could face a real war, and we could lose it. I can't answer for that. I won't.
"What I have done, with the Third Corps based at Fort Hood in Texas, is to put them on alert. I have also told them to prepare to withdraw, in case you agree with me that they ought to be withdrawn."
"Withdrawn? Why?"
"Willi, I have spoken with Bennigsen, the commander of Third Corps. He says the propaganda coming out of Texas' governor's office is beginning to have an effect on his entire command. He says his men are 'pissed' at what happened at the mission."
* * *
Fort Hood, Texas
Colonel (P) (for the army designated colonels who were selected to become brigadier generals as such; "P" for "promotable") Joseph E. Hanstadt took one final look at his computer monitor, sighed, punched his intercom, and called for his secretary.
"Emily, set me up an appointment with the boss for sometime today, would you?"
Without waiting for an answer, Hanstadt clicked off the intercom then turned back to his computer monitor. He stared blankly at the screen for several minutes, looking at—but no longer quite seeing—scenes of atrocity.
Forcing his eyes away, arising from his desk, Hanstadt clutched his beret in one hand. A grimace of distaste at what he called "this headgear with too many moving parts" briefly clouded his features. Walking around the oversized desk—there were a few benefits to being the Third Corps G-4, or quartermaster—Hanstadt took several steps to reach his office door.
He looked directly at his secretary, whose finger even now pressed the redial button on her own phone, and said, "Emily, if the boss will see me this afternoon that will be fine. If he needs me sooner, or will see me sooner, or you need me, I'll be at the chapel. And I'll leave my cell phone on." Again, Hanstadt grimaced with distaste, this time at the phone attached to his belt under his mottled uniform jacket. I hate those fucking things, he thought.
Hanstadt made a gimme motion at his driver, who obediently reached into his pocket and turned over the keys to the G-4 vehicle. Then, wordlessly, the colonel left the headquarters by the staff door.
The drive to the post chapel was short. Formations of troops passed here and there, marching to their duties. Preoccupied, Hanstadt barely acknowledged their presence.
At the post chapel he parked his Army issue car, a not-too-ancient GM sedan. He could have had a new one—being G-4 had other perks too—but had settled for something a bit more worn in the interests of economy. Others sometimes laughed. That was Hanstadt; skinflint cheap wherever he could save the Army and country he loved a few dollars.
There was neither priest nor minister nor rabbi nor imam at the chapel. Hanstadt entered to a lonely space packed with benches. If not so dreary—being multi-denominational—as a Catholic church might have been, neither was it so bright and airy as a typical Protestant one.
But it was multidenominational. Therefore Hanstadt found padded knee rests—just as if it were Catholic or Anglican—before the altar. He took off his "headgear with too many moving parts," walked forward, knelt before his God, cupped his hands around his face, and began to pray for guidance.
* * *
Greenville, Texas
"The guidance is that we have to do it, if it can be done at all, without hurting anybody. Not so much as a scratch."
"Shit, Jimbo," drawled Davis to James. "No way. I mean there's going to be some risk anyway." Davis shook his head repeatedly while staring at the map on the table between them.
"Then I'll have to report to higher that it can't be done. Shit. The general said this was 'important. The most critical mission of all.' " A knock came from the door frame.
"Excuse me, sirs," interjected an eavesdropping Pendergast. "But there's maybe a solution to that problem."
"Go ahead, Top."
Pendergast tucked his thumbs up under his shoulder harness, leaned over, and spit some tobacco juice into a trashcan. "Well . . . you see . . . this here company is made up of about a third cops. Third platoon is nearer to half. Now sure, those guards at the mint in Fort Worth are likely to panic if they see a couple of hundred armed men rolling up on them. If they see heavy armor they will for sure. But cops? Nice friendly cops? In patrol cars? Come to help them out of a bad situation; maybe a bomb threat or something? No way. They'll let us in right quick. And then we have them. And then we bring up the rest of the boys." Pendergast's broad, triumphant smile lit the room, igniting equal smiles in Davis, James and Williams.
Said Williams, "Did I ever mention, First Sergeant, that you have a nasty wicked mind? I admire that. For a truth I do. Why don't you send the boys to pick up their uniforms and squad cars?"
* * *
Main Chapel, Fort Hood, Texas
I have worn this uniform so long, Lord, that I do not see how I could ever fit in without it. But I have seen my country change, Lord, in ways that make me not want to wear its uniform any more. Please help me decide. Please.
Deep in prayer, Hanstadt barely startled when he felt the press of a hand on his shoulder. He recognized the press immediately. Funny how the old bastard can still sneak up on me.
"Hello, Bob," said Hanstadt, without arising. God outranked even a three-star.
"Emily said I might find you here, Joe."
Hanstadt shrugged. "And so you have. What can I do for you?"
"Joe, you have never been much of a churchgoer. What brings you here now?"