6
The negotiator was on a US Air Force base miles away – another bad tactic. He spoke gently, as Bastard’s boys in the command tent shrieked and whistled. ‘No, honey, no-one is coming to kill you.’
‘You sure? The tanks are still outside . . .’
‘The tanks won’t hurt you, honey.’
Another, male voice took over in the compound. ‘Why are you letting your guys drop their pants at our women?’ He was going apeshit. ‘These are decent women in here; you know that’s not the way to go. Why should we trust you?’
Bastard roared, ‘About time them bitches saw some prime ass!’
From the sound of it, this got his boys’ vote. I bet they were mooning at the speaker.
I exchanged a glance with Tony, who’d been staring at his coffee. We both listened as the negotiator tried to come back with a reasonable response. ‘You know what these guys are like; you know the ones who fly the helicopters or drive the tanks, they haven’t got the same mindset as us. I’ll try and do something about it, OK?’
Bastard guffawed. ‘F*ck that, and f*ck you too, Mr Mindset! You just keep on talking; leave the ass-kicking to the big boys.’
There was a fresh burst of applause. I could picture the big boys shrugging off their pants again, waving their arses at the speaker.
I took a sip of my brew. Whatever the negotiator said, it didn’t look good for Koresh and his crew. The ATF had ignored his invitation to come in and inspect the place for illegal weapons and whatever else they thought the Davidians had up their sleeves, and instead had mounted a full-scale armed operation.
Maybe it was a coincidence, but it just so happened that the ATF were losing credibility in Washington right now, and it was budget time. They clearly wanted to put on a bit of a display – they’d invited the media along, and given them ringside seats. They’d even got their own cameras rolling, in case the newshounds missed any of the action.
The Branch Davidians must have known something was up when they clocked the film crews setting up shop. Their suspicions would have been confirmed when helicopters started swooping round the rear of the compound, partly to draw their attention away from the cattle trailers full of armed ATF agents headed for the front door, partly so the US public could see their tax dollars on the screen.
The Davidians returned fire, as they were entitled to do under American law. They even called 911 to tell the police they were being attacked, and begged for help.
The gun battle lasted for an hour, the longest in American law enforcement history. At the end of it, four ATF agents lay dead, with another sixteen wounded. When little brother gets his arse kicked, big brother comes to sort it out. The FBI took over. From that moment on, the Branch Davidians were doomed. This was one movie that wasn’t going to have a happy ending.
Tony took a sip of coffee and looked at me sadly as he listened to the conversation that followed.
The Davidians wanted water . . .
The negotiators said they wanted to help out, but they just couldn’t oblige. Their hands were tied.
People were starting to die of thirst here . . .
It was possible the FBI might be able to do something if some of the Davidians came out and gave themselves up, as a token of goodwill. How did that sound?
Tony was totally out of his depth here. He didn’t like the sound of the AFVs, and he didn’t like the shouting that came as part of the law enforcement package. He particularly didn’t like being so near things that went bang. He’d have given anything right now to be tucked away in that lab of his, feeding laughing gas to Roland Rat or whatever the f*ck it was they did there. He gave me a brave smile. ‘Another day, another dollar, eh?’
‘Easier said than done, mate.’ I tried to sound upbeat for him. ‘Best not to worry about what you can’t change. It’ll give you a headache.’
Tony looked away, staring sightlessly through the side of the trailer as Bastendorf’s audience got right on with enjoying the show.