Part 36 (1/2)

All present turned their eyes to the television screen where Juanita Seguin was just finis.h.i.+ng up her speech.

”She's a.s.sembling a ma.s.s of people to march against 3rd Corps,” announced Carroll for those present who had missed that part. ”And we don't have any law enforcement people right with that Corps.” Corps,” announced Carroll for those present who had missed that part. ”And we don't have any law enforcement people right with that Corps.”

”None?” asked Rottemeyer.

”None. The force we would have had there, the Presidential Guard, is scattered to the winds. One group, the one we sent to Camp Pendleton in California is effectively destroyed. The others are in bad shape after taking back the currency facility. Most of the rest are tied down policing the supply routes and controlling the major cities. The Environmental Protection Police are knee-deep in alligators in Houston. The SGRPC are for the most part incarcerated and awaiting trial in New Mexico. The FBI was stretched just to provide a force for Dallas.

”Third Corps is on its own. And, given events, I don't know if you can trust them.”

Rottemeyer pushed a b.u.t.ton on her desk intercom. ”I need to speak with Harold Forsythe.”

State House, Austin, Texas ”The President for you, sir,” announced a flunky.

Forsythe took the cell phone, answering happily, ”Forsythe here, Madam President...ah, yes, we've heard rumors to that effect...no, Willi, I haven't seen a television lately...Yes, yes...I'll certainly talk to the military commander here, Madam President....”

Handing the cell phone back to his flunky, Forsythe pondered the information he had just received from Rottemeyer. A ma.s.s march? Here? Against the Army's guns? What could they hope to prove by it? A ma.s.s march? Here? Against the Army's guns? What could they hope to prove by it?

The Texas Rangers had been the first to arrive at the rally point, an intersection of First Street, SW, and Oltorf. They first cleared the immediate neighboring buildings and then radioed for the Public Address people to bring in the microphones and loudspeakers. Juanita and Jack showed up just as the last connection was being made between microphone, amplifiers, and speakers.

The people began to a.s.semble to hear the governor moments later. Businesses had closed in antic.i.p.ation of the coming occupation. There were many people available, from all stations and walks of life. Of those available, many came. They came from poor barrios where spoken English was a rarity. They came from upper-crust mansions along the river. They came from everywhere in between as well.

Juanita had never said what she wanted them for. All that her recent TV and radio broadcast had conveyed was that she wanted to speak to them. Many a.s.sumed it was to lay down her mantle as governor. Some came, indeed, as a last gesture of respect for what Juanita had tried to do, even if she had, as she apparently had, failed.

The crowd was solemn. Solemnly, the recently widowed Juanita Seguin mounted some steps to address them.

Before beginning to speak, Juanita looked to the north, trying vainly to discern the thin pillar of smoke that she knew arose above the ashes of her husband, her son and many of her friends, aides and co-workers. The crowd followed the governor's gaze as if they knew what she was thinking and for what she was looking. Some of them may have known what she was thinking. All knew, in their hearts, what she was feeling.

”My husband is up there,” Juanita began, pointing north across Town Lake. ”My son, Mario, as well. I intend to go there now, whatever or whoever bars my way, and see to their bodies.”

”The Rangers are coming with me.” Juanita glanced over at Nagy, who nodded a firm agreement. ”The Forty-ninth Division is coming with me.” Schmidt scowled but ultimately agreed.

”I'd like you all here to come with me, too.

”You think we have lost? I've lost the larger and better part of my family but I haven't 'lost.' Texas seems better than half occupied but we haven't lost either.

”Even as I stand here speaking to you now the Marines between here and El Paso are trading cigarettes and stories with our own National Guard troops that were facing them. General Schmidt tells me that as soon as we can refuel the Marines and the soldiers with them, we will have three new brigades to defend ourselves with.

”Houston is still fighting. And the soldiers and marines between here and Houston have said 'enough.' They will not act against us on behalf of that woman in the White House any longer.

”All that remains is the force to our north, the force that is sitting on the bodies of my family. Do you think they are sitting on those bodies because they want to? Because they believe in and support a government that kills helpless people without reason or even warning?

”No. Those uniformed men and women up there are our friends. They do not want to be here. They do not want to support our enemies or the enemies of the country and Const.i.tution that were ours.

”Now come with me; come with me to recover the bodies of my family; come with me so I can show you that-while we have enemies, enemies of liberty-we have friends too.”

And with that, Juani offered her right arm to Schmidt, her left to Nagy, and stepped off into the street.

It was the second largest-capitol building in the United States, second only to the national capitol in Was.h.i.+ngton, as a matter of fact. Even more, Texas' legislative building was the taller of the two by fifteen feet.

From the front steps Forsythe looked down the central walkway, the walkway flanked by greenery and monuments, the greenery being flanked in turn by a driveway to each side. To his right front arose a faint trace of smoke from the charred ruins of the Governor's Mansion.

Pity, he thought. I had hoped to move in there myself.

The driveways in front of Forsythe linked just before the main gate, a wrought iron screen held up by reddish stone pillars. On the other side of the gate, and the low stone wall that surrounded the capitol area and fronted on Eleventh Street, soldiers armed and with bayonets fixed stood in unwavering lines.

Rangers and guardsmen joined the arm-linked, walking wall as Juanita pa.s.sed. Some, lacking faith in the result, did so only because they had faith in her. Schmidt had faith in neither, but was determined to see things through with Juani, wherever events might lead them.

Behind the line of arm-linked men and women, civilians, some with children, fell in behind.

Inevitably, an old black woman, certainly spurred by memories of an earlier struggle, began to sing in a high, weak voice. The words were simple and well known. In seconds, so it seemed, the crowd had drowned out the older woman.

The lyrics, when he first sensed-more than heard-them, touched a note with Forsythe. He, too, had once been young and idealistic. He, too, had once sung the simple song.

He pushed the feeling away, brutally.

Juani and her leading rank turned half right on Barton Springs. Keeping to a slow and stately pace, they crossed Riverside. At South Congress the point turned north again to cross the bridge over Town Lake. With each turn and each pa.s.sing step a few more people, sometimes a few hundred more, added their weight to the procession.

By the time the lead reached Tenth Street the crowd had swollen to nearly 100,000 people.

The song had grown to be very loud by that point.

The Capitol was where the action was, where the threat was, and perhaps most importantly where his Zampolit, Forsythe, was. Thus, accompanied by his sergeant major, the commander of Third Corps made sure it was also where he he was. was.

The troops along Eleventh Street had their faces turned away from him toward the approaching crowd. It didn't matter; the faces of his officers told the general everything he needed to know.

The boys just do not want to be here; do not want to be doing what they're doing.

This was followed by a more ominous thought: And they can't be relied on to do it, either. And they can't be relied on to do it, either.

Forsythe approached. ”What are you going to do about this riot, General?” he asked, a trace of personal fear in his voice.

”What riot?”