A state of disobedience

Greenville, Texas

"The guidance is that we have to do it, if it can be done at all, without hurting anybody. Not so much as a scratch."

"Shit, Jimbo," drawled Davis to James. "No way. I mean there's going to be some risk anyway." Davis shook his head repeatedly while staring at the map on the table between them.

"Then I'll have to report to higher that it can't be done. Shit. The general said this was 'important. The most critical mission of all.' " A knock came from the door frame.

"Excuse me, sirs," interjected an eavesdropping Pendergast. "But there's maybe a solution to that problem."

"Go ahead, Top."

Pendergast tucked his thumbs up under his shoulder harness, leaned over, and spit some tobacco juice into a trashcan. "Well . . . you see . . . this here company is made up of about a third cops. Third platoon is nearer to half. Now sure, those guards at the mint in Fort Worth are likely to panic if they see a couple of hundred armed men rolling up on them. If they see heavy armor they will for sure. But cops? Nice friendly cops? In patrol cars? Come to help them out of a bad situation; maybe a bomb threat or something? No way. They'll let us in right quick. And then we have them. And then we bring up the rest of the boys." Pendergast's broad, triumphant smile lit the room, igniting equal smiles in Davis, James and Williams.

Said Williams, "Did I ever mention, First Sergeant, that you have a nasty wicked mind? I admire that. For a truth I do. Why don't you send the boys to pick up their uniforms and squad cars?"

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