As for the Fourth Reich, it was dust, from politics to history in twenty-four hours. After his elite team had taken out the high-ranking officers and key NCOs the Parisians had slaughtered the Black Hundreds, flooding to the battered, rubble-strewn outskirts of the city, driven by sudden patriotism and the thought of all that horsemeat. The Americans had done the rest, flying in UN battalions as soon as Langley confirmed that a ‘dote definitely existed and it was up for licence. But that came later, two days later, which was how long Langley took to process the General’s message that, actually, he and not the Prince Imperial knew the formula for the ‘dote. He didn’t, of course. Only old men inside the shrine knew the formula but he wasn’t going to tell Langley that.

Making the fight for Paris about horsemeat was Lady Clare’s idea, and like most of her ideas it was a good one. She was worth every bit of the twenty per cent holding in the Dam which the General had helped her hide behind shell companies. And that was before she became Princess Imperial. Now she’d want more... and he’d pay it, eventually. General Que smiled, teeth drawn back over yellowing fangs. It was going to be an interesting few years.