A state of disobedience

Austin, Texas

"Jesus. Jesus! JESUS! what am I going to do, Jack?"

Juanita, agitated beyond measure, paced frantically around the governor's office. "He's my brother—I am not going to let him be killed. I . . ." She stopped because she had not the first clue as to how she was going to do anything. When she still had had control of the situation her brother had refused to listen to her and surrender. Now that that control was not oozing but pouring through her fingers?

"What am I going to do, Jack?"

Though he showed it less, Schmidt himself was seething inside. He knew that Montoya was not, could not possibly be, guilty of any real crime. "I don't know either, Juani. Jorge is . . . well . . . when he sets his mind on something you just can't change it. I know. I've tried."

* * *

Unseen—so he hoped, in the dim, green-filtered light of an early jungle morning, Sergeant Montoya's fingers gently closed the eyes of the last remaining of the ARVN rangers. "Take his soul unto you, O Lord. His name was Tri and like me, he belonged to Your Church." The Vietnamese, wounded in half a dozen places, had added a seventh wound, biting completely through his lower lip to keep silent as he died.

"Leave me, Jorge. Now. Before it is too late."

Montoya ignored his chief. It was light enough to see by now. He removed his helmet and load-bearing equipment, placed his rifle against a tree, and drew out his map and compass, using the compass to orient the map to the ground.

"We're about fifteen hundred meters from the alternate PZ"—the pickup zone . . . a place where helicopters pick up soldiers. "Since we're overdue, they should be looking for us there. I think we may have lost the VC."

"Jorge . . . if you make it back . . . Tell Juani, would you . . ."

"Don't be silly, Jack. We'll both make it. Besides, she already knows."

* * *

"But he and those children don't stand a chance."

Schmidt thought carefully before speaking further. "Ummm . . . Juani. They might stand a better chance than you . . . or anyone . . . might think."

* * *