This time the leader of the RCP did address somebody other than his own people. "I have instructions from the highest levels on dealing with unlawful interference by local authorities. I direct the New Mexico State Police, and any other agencies of the New Mexico State Government, likewise to disperse...or you will be fired upon."

The leader turned around, ordering, "Front rank; kneel. Rear rank; take aim."

Peters, and the troopers with him, merely stood grasping their own puny weapons the more tightly. He, really none of them, could quite believe that the SGRCP was serious. This was America, for Christ's sake; police didn't fire on police.

"Fire!"

Without any obvious hesitation, the second rank of the foremost SGRCP company scythed down Peters and all those men with him. Some of their bullets went past the troopers into the crowd. Men and women screamed, children shrieked, as red blood began to flow onto the black-topped highway before running off to soak into the New Mexico sand.

"At the double time...forward." The RCP began to wade into the crowd, adding to the flowing blood.

Nearby, a lone, uniformed and highly shocked Marine reservist simply said, "Motherf.u.c.kers..."

Sanger, Texas Clear Creek, just south of Sanger, was not so grand as the Trinity, even though farther from its sources than the Trinity had been. Two bridges-one highway, one railway-spanned it within a few miles of each other. Bernoulli's orders were to prepare both to be dropped and, on the approach of federal forces, to drop them.

It had been thought that dropping the earlier bridges, those spanning the Trinity, might delay the feds by as much as ten days. In terms of logistics capacity this had proven true; a ma.s.s of trucks had been stalled on the Trinity's northern bank, along with many combat vehicles. Others, however, whatever had been supportable by army engineer ferry, crossed quickly. And if the drivers kept a nervous eye on their fuel gauges, still they drove.

Now, with more federals approaching the Clear Creek bridges, Bernoulli didn't hesitate. A few quick pumps of his detonator, a roll of artificial thunder and a cloud of concrete dust, and the bridges settled into ruin.

I suppose a new hooker would have felt that way, too, thought Bernoulli as he calmly unhooked the wires from the contact posts of his detonator. The first one's the toughest. The first one's the toughest.

Governor's Mansion, Austin, Texas

Falling water gurgled in the fountain as Mario and Elpidia walked past. The girl's face seemed less stony, more animated, than usual. These walks had become something of a tradition. At first Elpi had walked alone. Later, Mario had merely sat nearby. Now they walked together, sometimes in silence, sometimes with talk. Today they talked.

"I hated it, Mario. From the first one to the last I just hated it."

"Then why..."

"Why did I do it?" asked Elpi. "You're so innocent," she told the older boy, a trace of wistful longing for her own lost innocence in her voice. "I had no education; I had no skills. I had a baby to support." The girl sighed, dreadfully. "It was all I had."

"Well, I won't judge you or anything you have done, Elpi," said Mario, almost-but not quite-reaching out a hand to stroke the girl's cheek. "And it is all past anyway."

" 'All past,' " she echoed. " 'All.' Even my baby is dead."

Sensing tears not far below the surface Mario started to turn towards Elpi; started and, as usual, stopped.

Elpi continued, "He brought me great difficulty, much hardship. And yet...and yet...He was my own, my very own, baby. Some people told me to abort him before he was born. But how could I do that? He was my very own flesh."

"You couldn't, Elpi." Mario considered, then asked, "Elpi, do you think you want to have more babies someday?"

"I do not know. Why bring more babies into a world that kills them? Why live in a world that will murder babies?"

"Is that why you agreed to go to Houston? I wish you would not."

She stopped and this time she she reached out a hand to a cheek. "I know. And you're sweet, too, Mario. But your mother asked...and then, too...what would your uncle have wanted?" reached out a hand to a cheek. "I know. And you're sweet, too, Mario. But your mother asked...and then, too...what would your uncle have wanted?"

Houston, Texas

It was a flashy city, in many ways; a warmer version of multicultural Toronto. Industry, automobiles, the sheer concentration of people there, all combined to foul the air and irritate the eyes and lungs. Tall gla.s.s and steel behemoths, the runaway imaginings of modern architecture, hung predatorily over more sedate structures from Houston's not-so-long past.

Ringed with highways that could not be demolished in time, Houston now found itself ringed in steel as well. Along the ring roads and the feeders, the Army's Third Infantry Division to the north, and the Second Marine Division to the south, swept out in long tentacles to embrace the city.

There had been incidents. Schmidt had attempted to bring all those actually eager eager to fight under his control, mostly to keep them from doing so on their own initiative. This had been only partially successful; some groups and individuals were simply too paranoid even to trust their state authorities. Thus, on the outskirts of the town, there was some sniping and there were at least two, failed, ambushes. to fight under his control, mostly to keep them from doing so on their own initiative. This had been only partially successful; some groups and individuals were simply too paranoid even to trust their state authorities. Thus, on the outskirts of the town, there was some sniping and there were at least two, failed, ambushes.

The federal forces had barely noticed. Rather, they noticed barely enough to induce a bit of caution, to be ever so slightly slowed in their progress.

Thus, the west side of the city, in that area where the Texas National Guard still reigned, the federal forces had not yet taken.

In that hollow s.p.a.ce in the federal net, a lone helicopter flew.

"Mr. Charlesworth? I am Colonel Minh. General Schmidt asked me to meet you, to a.s.sist, and to observe."

"What did you say? I can't hear a thing," said Charlesworth, cupping a hand to his right ear.

Minh made a "come with me" gesture to lead the old but still towering actor away from the helicopter and the sound and turbine-propelled stench it produced. As Charlesworth followed Minh, three un-uniformed National Guardsmen and two equally plainclothed Texas Rangers unloaded the public address system. A skinny, pretty, dark-skinned girl stood uncertainly nearby.

When they were far enough away for normal conversation to be heard, Minh repeated, "I am Colonel Minh. General Schmidt asked me to meet you, a.s.sist, and observe."

"Yes, thank you, Colonel. The General told me to expect you. Is everything ready?"

" 'Ready' is an interesting concept, Mr. Charlesworth. You served in the army, I believe. You know, then, that nothing is ever entirely ready. We are ready for this much: after you and these people with you and those who come to hear you speak are utterly crushed, we will exact a price for that crushing. We are also ready to provide the crowd you will speak to and the video cameras that will film the crushing."

Minh's eyes narrowed as he bit his lower lip lightly. "It is a brave thing that you and these people with you are about to do. Unfortunately, that bravery would go unnoticed but for the cynicism of myself and my people who will amplify your bravery and self-sacrifice to a useful level."

"Just who are are your people, Colonel?" your people, Colonel?"

"Oh, we are a mix. A mix, that is, of former Vietcong and soldiers of the ARVN, the Army of the Republic of Vietnam. And their sons and daughters, too, of course."

"Old enemies, plotting together as friends?"

Minh cast a glance heavenward, wriggling fingers dismissively. "Well, so far from our first home such little political differences as we once had seem trivial now. And we do do share certain skills." share certain skills."

Charlesworth knew the rule: "They'll talk to Martin because they don't want to talk to me." The skills of which Minh spoke were the skills of mayhem. And that was the purpose of this entire exercise: to get an overreaction from the federals for propaganda's sake; then to give them an almost equally nasty reaction in return. NonViolent Civil Disobedience depended on this mantra: Listen to us...or listen to the sound of the guns. The skills of which Minh spoke were the skills of mayhem. And that was the purpose of this entire exercise: to get an overreaction from the federals for propaganda's sake; then to give them an almost equally nasty reaction in return. NonViolent Civil Disobedience depended on this mantra: Listen to us...or listen to the sound of the guns.

Anthony, Texas

It was a ballet; a noisy, stinky, dry, dusty, and miserable ballet. With Mexico on its right, a flank hanging in open air to the left, the Army's Third Armored Cavalry regiment-generally referred to as "the Cav" danced tentatively forward.

It was was a dance; two unequal partners moving in time together. Ahead of the Cav, two task-organized battalions of the 49 a dance; two unequal partners moving in time together. Ahead of the Cav, two task-organized battalions of the 49th Armored Division fired to miss, then fell back to the next set of sand dunes or strip development. Fire and fall back; fire, make the Cav Armored Division fired to miss, then fell back to the next set of sand dunes or strip development. Fire and fall back; fire, make the Cav deploy deploy, and fall back. Miss just close enough to frighten. Hit the occasional landmark-building or sign post-often enough to let the Cav know that the misses were deliberate. Hit very close once the day's acceptable limits of retreat had been reached.

And the Cavalry danced forward in time with the pirouetting Guard.

McKinney, Texas

"I am getting as sick of this dance as I am of blowing bridges," murmured Bernoulli as the point of Third Corps approached the latest. One handed, with now very practiced ease, he squeezed and another multimillion-dollar structure shuddered, crumpled and began to collapse.

Bernoulli concentrated, no mean feat amidst the roar of thousands of tons of falling concrete, to pick out the sound of the western, Lewisville, bridge demolition. He listened for several minutes before uttering his first, "Oh, s.h.i.t."

Even as he reached for his radio, the radio crackled into life. "Sir, the demo failed. I don't know why...maybe somebody crossed up a couple of pieces of det cord. But only about one in ten of the charges went off. That wasn't enough."

"Do you have time to reset them?" the lieutenant asked.

"Sir...Third Corps is already swarming the bridge. No way."

"Oh, s.h.i.t." Bernoulli reached a quick decision. "Fall back."

Houston, Texas

There had been a day when Charlesworth might well have been able to speak to the crowd even without a PA set. Those days were fallen far behind him. Now, aged beyond anything he had ever expected to see outside of a biblical film role, his voice was weaker even though his heart-in the twin senses of both that which pumped blood and that which defined his spirit-was as strong as ever.

The crowd, about twenty thousand of Houston's more than four million, filled an area of not more than a couple of acres in the city's Galleria area. For this, the PA set was more than adequate.

Though weaker, Charlesworth's speaking voice had lost none of its inner power. Electric amplifiers added whatever time had stolen.

"Almost two centuries ago, and just about two hundred and fifty miles from here, a group of Texans stood up for what was right at a little Spanish mission called the Alamo. Just as far away in s.p.a.ce, but so recently that it still makes the headlines-makes them, that is, anywhere that headlines are permitted to speak the truth-another group of Texans stood up for the right at another mission, the Dei Gloria in Waco.

"In both cases, the defenders of the truth and the right paid with their lives. They fought a hopeless fight for principle. In the first case, whatever the short-term end, we know today that the defenders won after all. In the second case, the Dei Gloria Mission, boys and girls and an old Catholic priest lost their own fight...but they may just have arranged for us to win ours.

"There were several survivors of Santa Ana's tyrannical attack. There was but one from the Dei Gloria. Her name is Elpi-she is a very nice young lady-and she'd like to say a few words to you...."

They'd had words before, the Commander of 18th Airborne Corps and the suited chief of the EPA's Environmental Protection Police-his personal "Zampolit." Much of this had been trivial. More had been hostile. The EPP simply abhorred roughing it and the Army and their attached Marines took a perverse glee in seeing that they had to do so. This was not the only point of disagreement, be it noted. Airborne Corps and the suited chief of the EPA's Environmental Protection Police-his personal "Zampolit." Much of this had been trivial. More had been hostile. The EPP simply abhorred roughing it and the Army and their attached Marines took a perverse glee in seeing that they had to do so. This was not the only point of disagreement, be it noted.

One of the more notable aspects of the many new police which the Rottemeyer Administration had put on America's "streets" was the extremely "issue oriented" nature of those police. A precise breakdown would, of course, be impossible as some of these "police" fell into the secret variety.

But of those which were not secret? Their organizations, parent organizations and missions read as a litany of left leaning and outright leftist causes. Besides the Surgeon General's Riot Control Police-the mission of which was to make profits safe for abortionists-there were the Animal Rights Police, existing to make the world unsafe for purveyors of female cosmetics, the Internal Revenue Service's "Enforcement Arm"-for when the courts took a dim view of legalized extortion, and-notably-the "Raid Command" of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms-whose mission needed no restatement. Then there were the Environmental Protection Police which, within a couple of years of Rottemeyer's election, made it clear to would-be polluters that one could either follow the government's stringent environmental policies...or contribute heavily to the Democratic National Committee.

It went almost without saying that the PGSS, whose mission was the protection of Rottemeyer and the enforcement of her precise will, had a leftist cause all their own.

The one thing each of these agencies shared was that none of them were composed, strictly speaking, of police officers, of the simple constables of the peace that made civilized life possible. Snipers there were aplenty. Riot control trained thugs were in no shortage. But of men and women who could make a bad situation better, deal with people-sometimes angry ones-temper justice with a trace of mercy? These were vanishingly rare.

The people with whom they dealt generally despised them as police as much as the armed forces tended to despise them in their manifestation as soldiers.

"You people aren't soldiers and you aren't much as far as being cops goes. So stay the h.e.l.l out of our people's way while we move into the city." Those were the last words the Commander of the 18th Airborne had given to the Chief of the EPP before his soldiers began to fan out into Houston. Airborne had given to the Chief of the EPP before his soldiers began to fan out into Houston.

Perhaps it was because a hooker had no time to be shy. Perhaps it was that her loss was too profound even for a shy girl to keep hidden. Whatever it was, the girl soon had the crowd eating out of her hand. She wept? Then they wept too. She showed her pain and her anger? The crowd growled with their own. She was such a success that Charlesworth was moved to whisper, "When this is over, Elpi, remind me to link you up with my agency."

Elpi had just finished speaking-Charlesworth had coached the untrained girl very thoroughly-when the first of the 3rd Infantry Divisions armored vehicles were spotted turning a corner into the Galleria. A thrill of anxious worry ran through the crowd. Infantry Divisions armored vehicles were spotted turning a corner into the Galleria. A thrill of anxious worry ran through the crowd.

As Charlesworth pulled Elpi to one side, the side where Minh stood by to help her escape when the time came, he said, "Be calm, my friends, be calm. These are just our soldiers. At heart, most of them are on our side. They feel about Washington as most of us do." A soldier-a sergeant with a nametag that read "Soult"-standing upright in a pa.s.sing armored vehicle looked at Charlesworth and gave a soft thumbs up. He was not alone.

"Elpidia here has told you of what it was like from her point of view at the Dei Gloria. Now I want to remind you that there is yet another group, a third Alamo, if you will, making their stand up in Fort Worth...."

Western Currency Facility, Fort Worth, Texas The damage from the first fight had mostly been cleared; cleared, that is, to the extent it hadn't been added to in the interests of defense.

From one of the twin rectangular projections atop the main building, Major Williams gazed through binoculars eastward to Interstate 35.