A state of disobedience

Washington, DC

"Hah!" exclaimed a jubilant Wilhelmina Rottemeyer when she was given the news. "Hah!" she repeated, "let's see that wetback wench stop us now! And her precious national guard is running like scared rabbits. Maybe we took all this too seriously."

"They're not running, Madam President," corrected McCreavy. "They're under orders not to shoot to kill; to warn and withdraw. I'm actually kind of amazed that they're following those orders, to tell the truth. It requires a level of discipline somewhat higher than one would expect in a reserve formation."

"Bah," answered Rottemeyer with a contemptuous snort. "They're folding, crumbling."

Exasperated, McCreavy ran fingers through close cropped hair. "I don't know how to make you see this . . . but they're really not. All my commanders report the same. Professionally prepared demolitions, in the hands of people willing to use them, covered by forces that buy them some time and then withdraw . . . rather well, too. And we took some prisoners from the Texans. . . ."

"I want those men to put on trial," insisted Vega.

McCreavy ignored her. "We took some prisoners," she repeated. "They—the ones who would talk anyway—insist that their orders not to shoot are temporary and that at some point Texas will fight. They likely would have fought along the Colorado River and the Balcones Escarpment. But with things having swung our way faster than they might have liked or anticipated, my guess is that they might fight to hold Houston. And that would eat the 2^nd Marine and 3^rd Infantry Divisions alive. We need to approach that city very carefully."

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