by Gordon Ryan
“General, a moment please. May I inquire as to your weapons status?” Del Valle asked.
Chidester turned back and hesitated momentarily, obviously assessing the need to advise a potential enemy regarding his weapons status. “The 82nd will assume positions locked and loaded, General Del Valle,” Chidester replied.
“Thank you, sir. My father went into Normandy with the 82nd. Despite the difficult situation, it’s an honor to meet them and their commander.”
“Yes, I know,” Chidester replied, smiling gently and confusing Del Valle somewhat. “Major Del Valle dropped twenty miles behind the beaches at Normandy with the second wave just after midnight on D-Day. A lot of good men now lie beside him in France. His name adorns the roll of honor at Fort Bragg, along with his citations.”
Del Valle’s eyebrows went up, but he remained silent.
“The JCS sent me your package, General Del Valle. Class of ‘74, battalion commander at thirty-three. I was ’79 myself, the first in the family,” Chidester continued, looking over General Del Valle’s shoulder as the first rays of morning began to break over the Capitol. “I’ll have one of those cigars now, if I may, General.”
“Certainly, sir,” Del Valle said, offering the case to Chidester.
“I pray God,” Chidester said, biting his cigar and leaning forward to accept Del Valle’s light, “that our respective leaders can find an amicable solution to this pending catastrophe, so that you and I can discuss old times over another cigar and a good glass of brandy at the ‘O’ Club.”
Both generals eyed one another for a few moments. Del Valle took one pace backward and saluted, which Chidester returned-two soldiers, once again responding to political directives, however distasteful.
“Jack,” Del Valle said to Colonel Harman as he climbed back into his vehicle and watched the 82nd commander drive up Capitol Mall, “it’s time to deploy. Locked and loaded, Colonel. Once more, warn your company commanders. No individual incidents at all costs. The ratchet’s just been cranked up a notch.”
“Right, General.”
Three news helicopters flew overhead, unmolested by the Army Cobra attack helicopters also hovering over the area. Sound trucks from the three major networks, Fox News, and CNN adorned the grounds around the Sacramento Capitol Building, cables looping throughout the various vehicles-although finding space among the hundreds of troops positioned within the forested area of the grounds had been difficult.
Both commanding officers had agreed to allow the press close access, in the hopes that a highly visible public presence would serve to deter unwanted confrontation. The sight of nearly three thousand troops facing off on American soil did not, however, dispel the televised sense of impending conflict. Across America and throughout California, people watched the standoff from their living rooms, as for years they had watched evening clips of various military confrontations played out around the world. Most found it hard to believe that it was happening in America.
John Henry Franklin sat high above the fray in his palatial San Francisco office suite, watching the developing drama on live, big-screen TV. The altercation developing before him was a means to an end, and only the evening before, he had been briefed by Jean Wolff. If Wolff’s plan came off-and Franklin had no reason to doubt that it would, given the success of the past several months-today would drive the nail into the coffin, further limiting the options of those few politicians who had the power to bring this to an end. Franklin had heard the governor’s press conference the previous day and his analogy of driving the train. Dewhirst was lucky even to be on the train, Franklin thought, much less driving it. Let him think he’s the engineer, if it pleases him, Franklin thought. It’s the master of the switchyard who determines where the train ends up.
Jean Wolff watched the show from a much closer perspective, having positioned himself on the corner of “L” Street and 8th Avenue so as to have a clear view of the Capitol steps. The six operatives in his action squad were closer still. He had determined that the best method of infiltration was the ability to blend in with the locals. The recent incorporation of the Guard and SMR units, plus the gathering of Highway Patrol officers from all parts of the state, had provided the optimum environment for such an infiltration. Few component members knew each other. Acquisition of appropriate uniforms had been the simple part, at least so far, Wolff thought. There actually had been no hard part at all. Four of his team members were dressed in SMR uniforms and two were in Highway Patrol gear.
General Del Valle had deployed his troops on a broad perimeter, covering the grassy area and preventing the 82nd from occupying Capitol grounds, thereby restricting them to surrounding streets and keeping them fully two hundred yards from any entrance to the building. None of the officers present felt that combat action would ensue, but the dance had been choreographed, and the participants ringed the ballroom floor, separated by their respective sides, much as boys and girls do at dances during their formative junior-high-school years, each too tentative to approach the other.
At three minutes to eight, the ballet began in earnest as two civilian vehicles were allowed through the 82nd Airborne barricades and approached the steps of the west end of the Capitol. Dewhirst had chosen to make his presence available outside on the steps, in full view of the press, rather than waiting for a formal deputation in his office. His brief chat with President Eastman only moments earlier had failed to convince the president to reconsider his intended course of action.
Escorted by six federal marshals, several FBI agents, and four armed 82nd airborne military police officers, Janice Shipley, U.S. attorney for the northern district of California, approached the steps. Governor Dewhirst, Lieutenant Governor Henricks, Speaker James Huntington, and General Del Valle stood partway down the steps leading into the west entrance to the Capitol.
Daniel Rawlings, along with several of the governor’s aides, stood on the top steps near the doors into the building. To Dan, the scene was reminiscent of news film he had seen of Governor George Wallace of Alabama resisting the integration of state schools in the fifties and early sixties.
“Good morning, Ms. Shipley,” Governor Dewhirst said.
“And a good morning to you, Governor Dewhirst. I am here at the direction of the president of the United States to present to you an order to suspend all further rebellion and to cooperate with federal authorities in the performance of their duties.”
Dewhirst remained silent.
“Governor?” Shipley pressed.
“Go on, Ms. Shipley.”
“Is it your intention, sir, to comply with these lawfully presented orders?”
Vocalizing the thoughts that had kept him awake the entire night, Walter Dewhirst assumed the role that destiny had placed in his path.
“Ms. Shipley, the state of California is currently in the process of reorganization. There is no historical precedent for the position in which we find ourselves-notwithstanding the actions of the Confederacy. Therefore, until such time as further declaration is rendered by this government, I must claim sovereignty of the soil on which we now stand. It is the intention of this government to respect the will of its citizens as expressed in the recent public election process. Therefore, it is my duty as chief executive of this government to refuse your order and to inform you that we intend, as soon as is practicable, to establish the Republic of California, with three independent states-North California, Central California, and South California. Once a majority of those three independent states has ratified the proposed constitution of this republic, we intend to establish diplomatic relations with the United States of America, with whom we sincerely hope to remain in solidarity. I call upon the international community to immediately recognize the validity of this newly established nation and to establish diplomatic relations with us forthwith.”
Unprepared for such a broad declaration, Ms. Shipley was momentarily taken aback and mumbled something unintelligible, which neither Governor Dewhirst nor the television microphones
could pick up.
“Excuse me, Ms. Shipley?”
“I’m sorry, Governor, I. . I believe I would like the marshals to present you with the president’s instructions and to give you some time to confer, as I obviously need to do,” she added, “and then perhaps we can determine our respective positions.”
The lead marshal came forward and presented Governor Dewhirst with a large, manila envelope, stepping back as Ms. Shipley turned to leave.
The two-hundred-thirty-year-old controversy regarding who fired the first revolutionary “shots heard round the world” at Concord and Lexington has never been fully determined to both sides’ satisfaction. Both British and American participants have blamed the other. The Battle of Capital Mall provided the same confusion. Precisely where the first shot came from was later debated ad nauseum, with both sides claiming the other had fired first.
Both sides were wrong.
The first bullet struck the mass of microphones that had been placed on a riser in front of where the governor stood. General Del Valle immediately recognized the sound and grabbed Governor Dewhirst from behind, shoving him toward the rear. The second shot, seemingly from a similar quarter, struck Del Valle in the back of the neck, instantly dropping him. Governor Dewhirst stumbled to his knees, an action that saved his life. The third shot passed over his head, striking a State Military Reserve corporal standing on the steps of the Capitol, killing him instantly.
Equally confusing were the return shots from a distant location. Their fusillade was fired into the massed 82nd airborne troops who were unlucky enough to have been assigned to the western sector of the blockade. Almost as a body, they dropped prone into the street, behind cars or trees, and assumed a position to return fire. Not having received an order to engage the enemy, their fire discipline held.
In the ensuing investigation, Colonel Harman, who had given specific orders not to fire unless directed, was able to determine that it was the ragged and undisciplined outburst from the SMR that caused the most damage on this fateful morning. Despite their restraint in returning fire, multiple casualties were inflicted upon the 82nd. SMR forces suffered one dead trooper, plus General Del Valle’s neck wound. The disparity of injuries gave the appearance that the battle was a lopsided firefight, with the SMR the clear victor. The only bright side to the disastrous event was that no civilian casualties occurred.
Confusion among reporters, civilian bystanders, and legislative staffers was rampant. The only group for whom confusion was not a problem was the six-man action squad from the Shasta Brigade, assembled by Jean Wolff and Commander Jackson Shaw. Escape was a simple matter of once again blending in with the troops they impersonated. Five of the brigade squad had fired in the initial volley, quickly merging with nearby troops and feigning confusion at the source of fire. The dozen or so SMR troops who, without orders, had returned fire, did so of their own volition. The lives lost within the 82nd Airborne, plus the injured, were a direct result of SMR ineptitude and lack of fire discipline. More directly, however, the Shasta Brigade had succeeded in escalating the tenuous situation into a brief, but violent firefight from which emerged no winner.
President William Eastman, Vice President Clarene Prescott, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Air Force General Hezekiah Johnson, sat in the Oval Office, stunned as the drama unfolded before their eyes on large-screen TV.
Eastman was livid. “General Johnson, this is exactly what I did not want to happen! Get those troops out of there now! And I mean now!”
“Mr. President-”
“I said now, General. Better yet, get the commander of that unit on the phone immediately. I’ll speak to him personally.”
“Yes, sir, but I recommend that-”
Eastman stood, his voice assuming a lower tone, but his face strained, and the veins in his neck distended. “General, if you can’t or won’t carry out my orders, I’ll find someone who will. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Within three minutes, Major General David Chidester was on the line.
“General, this is William Eastman, president of the United States. Do you recognize my voice, and are you willing to recognize my authority?”
“Yes, sir. I recognize your voice and am under your authority, Mr. President.”
“Good. I want you to approach the commander of the California troops, whatever they’re calling themselves, and personally advise him that you are immediately commencing withdrawal of your troops. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“General,” Eastman said, his voice softening, “how many casualties do you have?”
“Mr. President, all reports are not in yet, but I am advised of six dead and eight wounded.” He paused and added, “But I only have reports from the 82nd, Mr. President.”
“I understand, General. Get those wounded troops immediate care.” Eastman paused. “General Chidester, I do understand. I know you’ll take care of your troops, and I don’t mean to interfere with that aspect of your duties, but I will not preside over the opening shots of the Second Civil War. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Mr. President. I’ll act immediately.”
“Thank you. . and General,” Eastman again paused, “my sincere condolences on the loss of those in your command.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
Four hours later, the only remaining semblances of military activity were the deep gouges in the lawn of the Capitol, left by M1A1 Abrams main battle tanks, unused in the melee other than to protect certain members of the regular forces who had remained inside during the firefight and reporters who had taken cover behind their bulk.
General Chidester had personally explained the president’s orders to Colonel Harman, who had assumed command in General Del Valle’s absence. As quickly as it had been lost, order was restored.
General Robert Del Valle had undergone surgery and was expected to recover. General Chidester’s evening visit to Del Valle’s hospital room went unnoticed until days later, when hospital staff remembered to advise Del Valle of the courtesy shown by his counterpart, with whom he had earned the honor of commanding what the press had dubbed the Battle of Capital Mall.
Casualties among the 82nd Airborne included seven dead and eleven wounded, two requiring medical retirement. California’s casualties totaled one dead, Corporal Anthony Gambino, and one wounded-Major General Robert Del Valle.
The only positive event of the day was the eventual result-that of returning control of the situation to political leadership intent on diplomacy as opposed to the option of military action.
Having watched the developments throughout most of the morning, John Henry Franklin focused primarily on Governor Dewhirst’s statement to Ms. Shipley. He picked up his telephone, pressed a speed dial number, and waited.
“Si,” a male voice answered.
“General Valdez. John Henry here. Have you been watching the events of the day?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Now it’s time for your visit to President Jalisco. I think he’ll need to appoint a new ambassador, don’t you think?”
“I do. An ambassador from the Republic of Mexico to the new Republic of California, I think.”
“It’s time for phase two, Emil.”
“Good, John Henry. Very good.”
Jack’s funeral was a small family affair. But the memorial earlier in the day had been anything but small. The moment Governor Dewhirst had learned of Jack’s death, and knowing that Daniel Rawlings would be involved in the gubernatorial strategy session prior to the press conference and unable to assist his mother, Dewhirst had assigned two of his staff to assist Mrs. Rawlings in the preparations. Even so, immediately following the press conference, the governor had told Dan to go home and attend to family business. Dan learned of the governor’s thoughtful action from his mother over the weekend.
Despite his grief, Dan could not shake his thoughts about the disastrous military confrontation
on Friday, which perhaps was a blessing in disguise, since it allowed Dan to defer his mourning to a more private time. The funeral had been planned for Tuesday, but no one had fully anticipated the military turn of events that had taken place in Sacramento.
Notwithstanding the speed with which the opposing military forces had disengaged, the growing civil unrest and violence in major urban centers brought the governor to the necessity of declaring martial law. In Los Angeles, San Francisco, Fresno, and several other communities throughout the state, federal installations and buildings had become the target of siege by citizens who were inflamed by the Battle of Capital Mall. Emboldened by the erroneous information that the casualties in the 82nd Airborne Division came as a result of SMR strength-these feelings having been stimulated by a few well-placed militia instigators-public fervor had brought these communities to riot conditions. The race war flared again, and the basic criminal element surfaced to take advantage of chaos in the light of the inability of local law enforcement to maintain order. Curfew had been placed in effect from dusk to dawn.
Colonel Harman, acting in General Del Valle’s stead, directed the SMR and Highway Patrol to concentrate in troubled areas, trying his best to bring order out of chaos. But riots continued through the weekend, and it quickly became apparent that order intended to resist birth, and chaos had no intention of accepting Last Rites.
Tuesday morning at ten o’ clock, a public viewing of Jack Rumsey’s remains was held in the lobby of the Yolo County courthouse by request of the governor and with the approval of the Yolo County Board of Supervisors, where Jack had once served two terms before being elected to the state legislature.
Dan had once read that the older one was when death came, the fewer associates remained alive to attend the funeral. Jack Rumsey, however, had apparently made an impact on the next generation as well, as hundreds of Woodland residents came to offer their condolences. Matilda Westegaard stood with Dan and Mrs. Rawlings for a few moments, and Dan had occasion, once again, to see a tear in her eye. Notwithstanding the immediacy of state affairs, even Governor Dewhirst came to pay his respects to Dan and his mother, appearing without protocol and saying nothing publicly. He stayed only for a few minutes before immediately returning the twenty-five miles to the Capital.
