Schmidt raised a characteristic eyebrow in skepticism.
Minh caught the motion. "You did try, remember? Your side tried at the Chu Phong massif in 1965. You tried at other places. Sometimes that worked reasonably well for you; as when you were able to generate massive artillery and air support for one or two ongoing battles. But multiply the number of possible targets from us from one or two to one or two hundred. Then you could not have given the kind of support on which your side relied so heavily to enough of your people engaged.
"So of course you did not do that. Your regulars and the best of South Vietnam's troops faced ours in the jungles. This led you and the South Vietnamese government to overly expand its army in order to root out the irregulars, the guerillas. But that, in turn, not only made their army diluted and weak, it robbed the south of human talent needed to run and advance their society. In fact, one aspect of this was to make their society so corrupt that decent people joined my side in hordes. And you could not do a thing about it.
"And then, of course there was the terror, especially the singling out of important people in the south to both undermine their society and government further and—and this was most important—to cause people to start to worry about the future; their personal future. For you see, even someone who fervently believed in the continued separate existence of the Republic of—South—Vietnam would still 'buy insurance,' would still help us on the side lest his family be targeted."
The former colonel became silent, leaving Schmidt a moment to think. This is not exactly helpful. We will not be in the position of regulars holding down regular forces so that an insurgency can grow in security. Geometrically, our position is exactly the opposite, with us in the center and the only place for insurgency to grow being behind the wider perimeter, further away from us. Hmm. I wonder if maybe that isn't the same after all.
"But do you know what really cost you?" asked Minh. "What really cost you was trying to use soldiers to perform what was essentially a police function, population control. Not only were soldiers much more expensive, but they would never be able to get to know the people of the area they were trying to control. They would also never be able to conduct the kind of investigation that actually might have rooted out our infrastructure. Why, I remember reading a captured copy of your manual on counterinsurgency operations.
"Even today I still marvel that your brightest people could only find a use for police in the short-term supervision of displaced persons while more conventional military operations were going on. This blindness cost your side very badly, mon General."
Schmidt considered. Yes . . . and using the army for the same thing today, here in Texas, will work no better. But then Rottemeyer has lots of police, doesn't she?
Minh continued, "But you did say you wanted my help. Before I say 'no,' why don't you tell me what kind of help it is you need?"
"I need someone who can organize certain kinds of resistance."
"Certain kinds?" Minh raised an eyebrow. "Guerilla resistance?"
"That perhaps, too," answered Schmidt. "But what I really need is someone who can make police work behind the lines a very dangerous thing to be engaged in. I need sabotage. And I might need some terror."
"I see," answered Minh. "Let me think this over carefully."
"While you think, Colonel, think about this: you might never have won your war and lost your country without the influence and actions of Rottemeyer and people like her."
* * *
Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas
"Carefully I said, goddammit! Carefully."
"Yes, First Sergeant," answered a meek Fontaine as he adjusted his hands for a better grip on the piece of a disassembled printer he had very nearly dropped.
Half the printing equipment and supplies, more or less, was staying put in the WCF. The other half was to be forwarded to San Antonio where it could continue to fund Texas even after the federal government took back the WCF.
Everyone, not least among them the facility's defenders, suspected that was just a matter of time.
And so, between fortifying the place, the guardsmen took time out to remove as much as possible of the reason for defending it.
Pendergast shook his head disgustedly and repeated, "Be careful with that equipment, Fontaine. The state needs it."
"I promise, Top. I'll be more careful."
Ah well, thought the first sergeant, wandering away. He's slow and clumsy. But the kid's heart's in the right place.
* * *
Governor's Mansion, Austin, Texas
The governor's son, Mario, sat with his care- and work-worn father in the shade of a square gazebolike structure. Some distance away—out of earshot—walked Elpidia, alone with her thoughts, hands clasped behind her, head down with sadness, circling repeatedly a small fountain and pool.
"I think her heart's in the right place, Mario. She's not a bad girl, not deep down, just a very unfortunate one. But she comes to us with a load of baggage I doubt she will ever be rid of."
"I know, Padre. But she's just so damned beautiful. I find I can think of little else."
"That's your youth speaking, that, and your hormones."
Mario flushed. "Oh, c'mon, Dad. No. Other girls? Girls in general? Sure. Not her. Her I do not think of talking into bed."
Seeing his father's skeptical look, Mario admitted, "Oh all right. That, too. But not just that. I think of . . . I want . . . so much more than just that."
"Well, son, she is what we call damaged goods. Not through any fault of her own, no. But even so, the fact remains she has been damaged, and badly. I could not recommend any such girl to you."
Chapter Eleven
From the transcript at triaclass="underline" Commonwealth of
Virginia v. Alvin Scheer
DIRECT EXAMINATION, CONTINUED
BY MR. STENNINGS:
Q. How did you pay for the trip, Alvin? Did you steal the money?
A. Why no, sir. I ain't no thief. Never have been. I cashed in my wife's and my life's savings for the trip; all $742 dollars worth. Then pawned whatever else I had that was worth anything. Figured that was enough for gas and maybe a burger from time to time on the way. I planned on sleepin' in my truck.
Drivin' through Missouri, you could see folks had a lot a sympathy for what the governor was doin'. Except, funny thing, you couldn't have seen it on television.
Nope, weren't nothin' on TV that a fair man might have called fair. They were still hammerin' away on that old priest that got killed. But I knew from what I saw and was told and read before I left that there weren't but the one survivor, that little wetback girl. And I never saw her interviewed for the news I was able to catch when I stopped for gas, a meal or a beer.
So where they came up with all the stories about what that priest supposedly done with the kids? Well, I wonder if they didn't just make it up.
I'm pretty sure they did.