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He spoke into a small microphone clipped to his collar. "Can you see, Mr. President? Can you see the madness?"
President stared fixedly at the huge monitor in the Situation Room.
"Yes, General, the transmission is coming in clearly."
He sat at the end of a long table, flanked by his closest advisors, cabinet members and two of the four Joint Chiefs of Staff. They all gazed at the incredible spectacle that was displayed in stereophonic sound and vivid color.
The fastest boats had touched shore, and their passengers quickly scrambled out. Only when the first wave was fully across and the fleet on its way back for the next passengers did the mob assemble and press forward. The few men who had crossed over were walking up and down the shore with bullhorns, encouraging and urging the women forward.
Clutching their candles and their children while chanting in the Aztec language, the women began scrambling up the bluff like an army of ants gathering around a rock in expectation of joining again on the other side.
The terror-haunted looks of the children and the determined faces of their mothers as they stared into the muzzles of the guns were shown by the cameras. Topiltzin said his divine powers would protect them, and they fervently believed him.
"Good lord!" exclaimed Doug Oates. "The entire first wave is made up of Women and little kids."
No one commented on Oates's alarming observation. The men in the Situation Room watched with growing dread as another crowd of women began to lead their children across the bridge and toward the tanks and armored cars solidly blocking their way.
"General," said the President. "Can you fire a volley over their heads?"
"Yes, sir," replied Chandler. "I've ordered my troops to load blank rounds. The risk of hitting innocent people beyond the town is too great to use live ammo."
"A sound decision," said General Metcalf of the Joint Chiefs. "Curtis knows what he's doing."
General Chandler turned to one of his aides. "Give the command to fire a blank salvo."
The aide, a major, barked into a radio receiver. "Blank salvo, fire!"
The thunderous roar spat a wall of flame into the night. The concussion came like a gust of wind, blowing out many of the candles held by the throng. The ear-splitting clap from the tank cannon and the crackle of small-arms fire reverberated throughout the valley.
Ten seconds. Ten seconds it took between the commands to "fire" and
"cease fire," and for the rumble to echo back from the low hills behind Roma.
A paralyzing silence, pierced by the pungent smell of cordite, fell over the stunned multitude.
Then the screams of the women shattered the quiet, quickly joined by the shrieks of the terrified children. Most dropped in horror to the ground while the rest remained standing, frozen in shock. A great outcry followed from the other side as the men, held back from crossing with their wives and children, feared the fallen were dead or wounded.
Pandemonium erupted, and for the next few minutes it looked as though the immigrant invasion had been stopped dead in its tracks.
Then spotlights from the Mexican shore blazed to life and were beamed to a figure standing atop a small platform supported on the shoulders of several men in white tunics.
Topiltzin stood with arms outstretched in a parody of Christ, shouting through speakers, ordering the women who were hugging the ground to rise up and press forward. Slowly the shock diminished and everyone began to realize there were no bloody, mangled bodies. Many laughed hysterically to find they were neither injured nor dead. A rolling cheer went up that turned deafening as the throng mistakenly thought Topiltzin's powers had miraculously swept aside the destruction and shielded them from harm.
"He turned it against us," said Julius
Schiller ruefully.
The President shook his head sadly. "Just as it's happened so many times in our nation's history, our humane efforts backfire."
"Chandler's in for it," said Nichols.
General Metcalf nodded very slowly. "Yes, it all falls on his shoulders now."
The time for the fateful decision had arrived. There was no dodging the agonizing issue any longer. The President, sitting safely deep in the basement of the White House, remained strangely silent. He had deftly passed the time bomb to the niiliL-uy, laying the groundwork for General Chandler to become the sacrificial scapegoat.
He was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He could not allow an army of foreigners to simply storm across the borders unhindered, but neither could he risk the downfall of his entire administration by directly ordering Chandler to slaughter children.
No President ever felt so impotent.
