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Haudenosaunnee
by Don Atkinson; co-published with Pearald Books
228 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0080; ISBN 1-55212-681-1; US$23.00, C$25.95, EUR19.00, £13.50
Having grown impatient with the slow settlement of their land claims and self-government demands, Canada's First Nations establish a powerful guerilla group - the Haudenosaunnee Brigade. This secret army proceeds to wreak havoc on first the country's infrastructure, then its citizens.
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About the BookFor over three hundred years the peoples of the First Nations have tried to live peaceably with the white man. But by the beginning of the new millennium, after many generations have seen their lands, their resources--indeed their very ability to govern themselves--evaporate before their eyes, a new breed of aboriginal decides enough is enough. A well-trained and deadly clandestine warrior group--the Haudenosaunnee Brigade--is launched and proceeds to wreak havoc across the country. The pressure on the government to do something comes to rest on the shoulders of RCMP Chief Superintendent Kevin Mowry and his Counter Terrorist Branch. As events race toward their explosive climax, Mowry is faced with nagging doubts about the loyalty of his good friend, Gerry McNight, who heads up counter terrorist operations at the Canadian Security Intelligence Service and on whom Mowry depends for essential information about his adversary. McNight is half Mohawk. |
About the AuthorAfter a long career with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Canada Customs & Excise Don Atkinson formed his own security consulting business. One of his contracts brought him back to work with the government as a member of its task force on counter terrorism. In the mid-1970s Atkinson began writing short stories and media articles. In 1995 his first novel, Nations Within, was published in Ottawa by Centurion Publishing & Marketing. In 1997 one of his stories, "Rapture," was included in Winning Shorts, an anthology published by General Store Publishing House. The author currently lives in Alliston, Ontario with his wife, an accomplished artist. Click here to visit the author's web site and read about NATIONS WITHIN |
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Sample Excerpt
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When Joe Callihoo dropped out of the belly of the Cessna into the empty black sky, his mind had not been free of doubts and fear. He'd done many parachute drops before and of course he was a good hang glider pilot but this was the first time he'd ever been dumped into the open sky fastened to a glider that was folded up like a suitcase. No matter what he'd been told, he had no guarantee the thing would work like it was supposed to. But just as he'd begun to wonder if it would ever stop falling, like a giant, black moth popping out of its cocoon, it spread its wings. Slung beneath it with his hands on the controls, he banked to the left, heading the craft east toward Cold Lake. He'd been dropped at fifteen hundred and forty metres and with the wind on his tail, he knew he'd have no difficulty reaching his target. There was no moon, but the night was cloudless, so the lights of Cold Lake shone twenty kilometres away, like a cluster of stars in an inverted sky. By the time Joe Callihoo had come to within five kilometres of CFB Cold Lake he was down to three hundred metres. Flight conditions had been perfect and he was dead on schedule. His targetp;p;twelve CF-18s -- were parked ahead of him and to his right. Dropping to thirty metres, he drifted past them on the left and banked into the wind. He landed only a few meters from the first plane in the lineup and shed his harness. Before leaving the glider, he flicked a switch on the controls, then trotted off toward the first jet, removing a backpack as he ran. As he reached the fighter he had the first package of C-4 plastic out of the pack and immediately stuck it under the fuselage, then on to the next in line. He looked at his watch. He'd been on the ground one minute. Three more minutes to finish the job, then five minutes to run a thousand meters to the perimeter of the base. The plan was for the helicopter to come in at a good distance from the guards to improve its chances of getting away before becoming a target. As Joe Callihoo approached the security fence he heard the whump-whump of the chopper. As Albert Minde brought the machine in, it hovered just inside the wire enclosure while the warrior scrambled aboard and they were off, hugging the ground and rising only high enough to skim the tree tops. As the two men looked back, the night suddenly erupted with thirteen explosions that transformed twelve fighter aircraft and a hang glider into one magnificent fireball. At considerable risk to both warriors and their machine, Albert Minde hedge-hopped all the way to Heart Lake. If the air force gave chase, they were unaware of it. But even if they'd been followed, the mat-black helicopter, flying without lights, hugging the dark ground on a moonless night would probably have been invisible to any chase party. At 2:55 a.m., the two landed safely beside the hangar at Heart Lake and joined the others, who had flown directly back to the air strip after launching Callihoo on his journey of destruction. "So that's about it," said Joe Callihoo, as he finished his debriefing. "As the white man likes to say, 'a piece of cake.'" |
