By the “we”, John did not mean the rest of the Quebecers. He cared little about what happened to Quebec unless it related to the Algonquin Nation.
Several days ago, John had spoken to the GD ambassador. John had reminded the Berliner of promises made to him in secret and to the Algonquin Nation.
The ambassador had been polite at first. The man checked some computer files and smiled to him afterward. The tall man from Berlin had the gall to tell him there were no such accords on record. He suggested that John must be mistaken.
John had insisted the ambassador must know about the accord. He had come to Montreal as the Nation’s representative and he wished to begin membership proceedings with the German Dominion. John had even shown the ambassador his Algonquin credentials.
After studying the credentials in detail, the annoyed ambassador had said, “I will keep these.”
“I did not give them for you to keep.”
“I’m not sure I appreciate your tone.”
“I don’t care what you appreciate. Return my credentials to me at once.”
The ambassador had pressed a button. The door opened and two thick Germans with guns had entered.
“Mr. Red Cloud,” the ambassador had said. “Let me make this perfectly clear. The Dominion allows native identities to flourish. But we will not allow any terrorist activity or a fractioning of the new nation of Quebec. The Algonquin people have our best wishes. Unfortunately, your numbers—or lack of them, should I say—does not allow us to recognize you as a country. You are part of Quebec, and Quebec is part of the German Dominion. Do I make myself clear?”
John hadn’t answered. Instead, he had stared at the ambassador, memorizing the face.
With a flick of his polished fingers, the ambassador had said, “Remove him.”
The two guards had escorted John out of the building, but not before writing down his driver’s license number. The telling moment came when one of them had called it his identity card.
John Red Cloud of the Algonquin Nation now sat on a bench in a freezing Montreal park. He endured the wind and the cold as he waited.
He had been walking the city streets these past few days. He had counted the number of armored cars with GD lettering on them. He’d observed detachments of assault rifle-armed squads patrolling the streets.
At times, he stood on a street corner and watched big GD Army trucks roar toward the highways. The number of trucks, the tank carriers—John had been on his smart phone, placing calls.
As he sat on the park bench, he did some mental arithmetic. It caused his leathery eyelids to lower into a hunter’s squint.
There had to be over two million GD soldiers in Quebec. That was more than the Germans had put in Cuba. It was more than they needed to stop an American-Canadian invasion of Quebec.
Two million GD soldiers could not defeat the Americans. Maybe they could conquer the rest of Canada—if the Americans did nothing.
Two million Germans combined with the Pan-Asian Alliance and the South American Federation could well turn the tide of the war. Yet how could the Chinese trust the Germans after what Chancellor Kleist had done to them?
John Red Cloud sighed once more. He widened his eyes and looked up at the harsh sky. There were never any good choices for the Algonquin People.
The Germans had imposed rationing laws and movement laws on the Quebecers, which meant on the Algonquians as well.
As John sat on the bench, waiting, he noticed three men crossing the park. One was tall with a heavy coat. That one walked fast. Two shorter but thicker men followed. They hunched and they kept swiveling their heads, looking about.
As they neared his bench, one of the thicker men shouted. The tall man looked up. The thick man pointed at John. The tall man said something that was lost in the wind.
The two thicker men approached John. He recognized them. He should, as he’d been waiting for them. They were the two security men and belonged to the GD ambassador, the tall man waiting behind them.
Before John had gone to see the ambassador, he had been watching and studying the man’s habits. It was good to know your enemies, but it was even better to know your friends. Or who should have been his friends.
John took off one of his mittens and partly zipped open his parka. He did it in such a way that neither of the security men witnessed his action. Old habits died hard. He was bitter, and he realized this wouldn’t help his people. That didn’t matter. The ambassador had insulted the Algonquin Nation by treating their representative as he had. John could have farmed out the payback, but that wasn’t his way. He was the representative; he would repay the insult. Then he would begin his campaign to fight in the only way a small nation could, though cunning and ruthlessness.
Beneath the parka, John gripped a gun with a suppressor screwed onto the barrel.
The two security men approached him on a slippery sidewalk. One of them walked harder than his friend did. His shoes clicked on the cement.
The Loud Walker asked, “Why are you sitting out here in the cold?”
Slowly, John turned his head to stare at them. Neither recognized him.
“I asked you a question,” the Loud Walker said.
John Red Cloud raised his suppressed pistol and shot both security men in the head. He stood quickly and turned to the ambassador. The man shouted in fear and tried to flee. The man’s feet slid out from under him due to the icy sidewalk. He fell hard.
As if at a target range, John lifted the gun and emptied the rest of the magazine into the ambassador’s body. The man twisted this way and that. Finally, the ambassador turned toward John, opened his mouth, and recognition filled his eyes.
John walked closer, putting a new magazine into the gun.
“You,” the man whispered.
John nodded.
“Help…” The ambassador licked his bloody lips, staining his tongue. “Help me…”
John holstered the gun and zipped up his parka so the metal tab touched his throat. The ambassador was as good as dead, and now he must realize the wrong of having treated the Algonquin Nation so poorly.
The ambassador worked his mouth once more.
John turned and walked away. He had just declared war on the German Dominion. He didn’t have armies at his command. Instead, he had a gun. But he only needed to kill one man: Chancellor Kleist, the lying bastard.
Why should millions of simple soldiers die? No. John had a theory about war. Kill the leaders who start them. He hunched his shoulders and strode into the icy wind. He needed to get out of Montreal and then out of Quebec.
John Red Cloud didn’t smile, but his dark eyes smoldered. The Algonquin Nation was now at war with the Germans.
The End
To the Reader: I hope you’ve enjoyed Invasion: Colorado. If you would like to see the story continue, I encourage you to write a review. Let me know how you feel and let others know what to expect.