THE threat of a direct Communist attack against Phnom-Penh has lessened, but the graceful, Gallic-flavored capital still has the air of an antic Alamo. Soviet-made heavy artillery pieces stare out over the empty highways to the south. No one is allowed to enter or leave the city from dusk to dawn without special permission. Civil servants come to work in khakis, including Deputy Premier Sirik Matak, and battalions of bureaucrats spend afternoons drilling in the city parks. As they roll through the streets in their commandeered trucks and buses, Cambodian soldiers wave to the cheering populace. The martial fever is such...
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