bone and body tissue.
He hated the Canadian Government and had little use for the French-Canadian separatists who had sold out their Algonquian allies at the end of the war. Now they were trying to do the same thing but in a different fashion.
John stopped as he spied the Paris Tower, a large building soaring over the others around it. His targets were there. The fools spoke to prominent, separatist-leaning businessmen and certain traitorous government officials. The dreamers sought their approval of the misguided plan of gaining Chinese aid.
With his face set, John resumed his walk. He had no doubts he was doing the right thing. History and modern examples proved him right. He exhaled sharply, causing white breath to billow before his mouth.
The Chinese and South Americans invaded the U.S. The Canadian Army had helped once in Alaska, and they were preparing to help now, poised on the Canadian-U.S. border. Yes, the brigades were already in southern Saskatchewan and southern Manitoba.
John was surprised the Canadians hadn’t helped sooner, but that was because the Prime Minster was a coward. The Chinese and German Dominion leaders had cowed him by their threats. That made it strange then that the success of Chinese arms in Texas and Oklahoma should have caused the Prime Minister to change his mind. Maybe there was more to his newfound courage.
John shrugged. He didn’t really care. What the Sino-American War meant was a chance for a revived Algonquin separatism.
The Great Father has waited a long time to free my people.
John had trodden a strange path to reach this pregnant moment. After the Alaskan War, he couldn’t go back to the oil platforms, as the Chinese had taken them. He didn’t dare return to Quebec or any other part of Canada, and he didn’t want anything to do with the U.S. Therefore, he went to Europe, France in particular because he knew the language and had an affinity for its customs.
France now belonged to the German Dominion. Chancellor Kleist understood history and he understood his times. Despite the unions of Greater China, the Pan-Asian Alliance, the South American Federation and the Iranian Hegemony, people wanted their old tribal homelands back. For instance, Great Britain had eventually split into Scotland, Wales and England. Yet each of those pieces belonged to the German Dominion. The same was true of Spain, with Catalonia, Castile, Aragon and other splinter states.
The President of France wanted to help the French-Canadian separatists regain their country. John imagined that Chancellor Kleist had cleverly approved of that. Yes, Kleist had once said, “Europe for the Europeans and each country for its people.” Although he ruled the Dominion through guile and German industrial predominance, he left the various countries to mostly govern themselves. Galicia, Transylvania, Gotland in former Sweden, Normandy, Czech, Slovakia, Prussia, Bavaria, each province could follow its own laws and customs to its heart’s content. Therefore, the longings of tribalism were fulfilled, and yet, together in the giant Dominion, they had power and strength.
John Red Cloud believed the promises of the French secret service. In this, they had Chancellor Kleist’s approval. If he would do this thing—and if he survived to do others—John could win the Algonquians their only real chance at tribal freedom.
Historically, the French had always treated the North American tribes with greater respect than the British had done. It was the argument that had won him over; well, that and the chance to kill Canadian Government officials, treacherous businessmen and the Quebec separatists who had sold the movement down the river.
Using an unlocked service entrance, John entered the Paris Tower. A sympathizer had left it open so he could bypass the metal detectors. Behind him, the door shut with a whomp, and the howling wind no longer sang in John’s ears.
He climbed stairs, the workers’ path. There were plain concrete walls and concrete steps. Halfway up, he unzipped the parka. Near the twelfth floor, sweat pooled under his armpits and he debated ditching the coat.
Sweaty and hot, he reached the fourteenth floor, pulled open the door and began to walk down the carpeted hall. He unstrapped the MAC-10, ratcheted the bolt back, preparing the weapon to fire his X-cut bullets. It felt good to have a weapon in his hands again. Once more, he had a reason for existence. Even so, a pool of sadness welled up in his heart. He recalled his slain wife, his murdered children and his best friends, all butchered during the Quebec Separatist War. Others might have forgotten about