Claiming Treasure Ch. 36-40

Rori King's POV
Arrowhead Pack House

There would not be a lot of time before law enforcement arrived. Per our plan, Chase had called 911 as soon as we saw the wolves rushing through the trees along our southern boundary. It didn't take much longer for our cameras to pick up the groups of cars and trucks filled with armed warriors heading our way. They couldn't attack us with wolves in broad daylight, not with all the people nearby. Even the wolves were likely there only to cut off our escape routes. Since our Pack held the southern corner of a large and populated lake, the gun battle would attract a lot of attention quickly.

Chase and Ron were coordinating the defense in the security center, and there was no room left there for me. A Luna would be in the safe room with the non-combatants, but I was an Alpha, and I needed to lead. I ran up to the top of the Pack House, where the rooftop firing positions were manned by Pack Omegas. From the flat roof over the third floor, I had the best views of the attacks now coming on three sides. Chase and I had spent a lot of time with our many Omegas, training them to be expert marksmen. All of them were now deadly accurate at these ranges. We wanted to divide the warriors from their Alphas and Betas; to do that, we needed to scare them out of attacking.

The opening volley of gunfire had not been into the first lines of enemy Pack warriors charging forward in their vehicles and on foot. We didn't want a bloodbath if we could avoid it. Instead, the shots detonated pre-placed charges of Tannerite near the entrances. The two-part explosive was legal to purchase and popular with long-distance shooters; it made a lot of noise and flame when a bullet would strike it. Put enough of it together, and you could rattle the windows and leave a nice fireball. Our opening volley was, as Sheriff Buford T. Justice would say, an 'attention getter' without causing any deaths.

The approaching vehicles stopped near the vehicle barricades, while the charge of the armed intruders stopped as they all hit the ground. Chase made the announcement we planned over the loudspeakers we had on the roof and near the gates. "WE KNEW YOU WERE COMING, AND WE'RE READY FOR YOU," he said. "LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS AND SIT DOWN, AND YOU WILL LIVE."

I looked towards the front gate to see the reaction. Men continued to pour out of the cars behind the locked gate and the barricade we had in place. Chest-high landscaping boulders sat in a line between the treeline and the lake, connected by heavy black chains drilled and secured into the glacial rock. The decorative gate was of heavy steel and padlocked closed, and behind it was a reinforced steel lift bar capable of stopping a truck.

"YOU HAVE YOUR ORDERS! ATTACK," Alpha Kirk urged as he ran forward, assault rifle in hand. His men were looking at each other, but not all got up and followed him.

Our people are well-disciplined; Chase and I made clear the rules of engagement last night. We applied the legal standard in Minnesota for the use of deadly force. We would fire only in response to a threat of death or grievous bodily harm against ourselves or another. We would not shoot an unarmed man, and we would wait until they crossed the border (or fired on us) before we would fire back.

Most of his warriors were smart enough to realize that without the element of surprise, attacking a fortified defensive position with infantry was suicide. We had all the advantages in the fight; home territory, reinforced fighting positions, elevated firing points, and numbers. About half of the men at the main gate sat down, while the others followed their Alpha. They started firing at us as one of them used boltcutters to remove the padlock and open the gate. "FIRE AT WILL," Chase sent as the first men ducked under the vehicle barrier and started running towards the Pack House. "Ten coming in the back entrance, and a dozen wolves are two minutes out to the south."

I heard the women behind me opening up with their scoped rifles on the attackers at the back entrance, while I watched through the port to the front. My stomach flipped as I watched the slaughter; once past the gate, there was no cover and no mercy. The shots tore through their bodies, leaving fatal wounds behind. The bullet design was for use on big game, expanding and punching fist-sized holes out the other side. The ones who wore bulletproof vests survived the chest shots thanks to the plates, but not the head or neck shots. At less than two hundred yards, they had no chance of making it to the Pack House, and not enough time to lay siege to it. Those that sought cover in the trees lasted a little longer, but it didn't matter in the end. A minute after they passed through the gate, fifteen men lay dead or dying.

The firing behind me slowed down as the ten coming in the back gate became two, then none. It had taken longer to drop those attackers since we were firing at long ranges, but my Omegas were relentless. It took another minute before they ran out of targets.

"Wolves approaching from the south have turned around and are heading back for the border," Chase sent to everyone. "Cameras show no remaining threats."

I could see that Alpha Matthew Kirk was no more; his brains scattered over our access road. His body lay face down on the blacktop, his rifle underneath him. "Alpha Kirk is down; does anyone have eyes on Alpha Blackledge?"

"Back entrance next to the green Jeep," Chase replied.

I moved to the other side of the roof. "Let me see," I said to Ophelia. She quickly handed me her rifle. All Arrowhead sniper rifles are the same, simplifying training and maintenance. The bolt-action Remington 700P rifles in .308 Winchester, similar to those used by SWAT teams and military snipers around the world. The aftermarket stocks accepted 10-round detachable magazines and bipods. On top were 4.5-14x50mm Leupold scopes that cost more than the rifles, and at fourteen times magnification were suited to long-range shooting. Highly accurate and hard-hitting, in the hands of a trained shooter, they were effective out to a thousand yards. The front entrance was only two hundred yards away from the Pack House, an easy shot, while the back entrance was closer to five hundred yards. My Omegas were deadly out that far, as the Katahdin Pack warriors quickly realized.

I rested the stock on top of the steel plating that protected the firing position and looked out through the scope. I quickly located Alpha Paxton Blackledge walking among the seated men, out by the parked vehicles. "You seeing this, Chase?"

"Yeah. Paxton's not too happy with the boys sitting down."

I watched for another fifteen or twenty seconds as he yelled at his men on the ground, but when he leveled his pistol at one, I had to act. I knew exactly how much bullet drop there was at 492 yards, and I held two dots left for wind before I sent the round downrange.

It hit Blackledge in the center of his back just before his pistol fired. He dropped like a puppet with his strings cut, and the man he was about to shoot looked my way. He bowed his head in thanks. "My shot, my responsibility," I said to the Pack. It would be the only shot at someone outside our territory, making it more difficult to justify. Shooting him in the back didn't help either.

"Law enforcement will be here soon," Chase said.

"It's over. Let the warriors take their dead back home. All Betas, report to Alpha Chase with status and injuries."

Chase got on the loudspeakers again. "RETRIEVE THEM AND GO HOME. IT'S OVER," he said. The men relaxed as they realized they would survive the day. They rose from their sitting positions and used the cease-fire to walk unarmed into our territory. Their Pack mates were picked up and carried back to their vehicles, their weapons left on the ground. None of them would challenge our goodwill by appearing to be a threat again.

It didn't take long for them to load the dead into the backs of pickups and SUVs, covering them as they drove away. They were out of sight as we heard the first sirens; I would need to meet them as they arrived. I started walking for the staircase. "Two dead Alphas and all those men," I sent to Chase. "What do we do now?"

"We let a new Council figure it out. We're out of Nygaards," he replied. "I'm glad we followed your idea to give them a chance to survive. The mercy we showed them today will keep the new leadership from holding a grudge." If all had attacked, they would all be dead, and we'd have more people wanting vengeance.

Still, I was sick to my stomach about the waste of life that had just taken place here. Good men died because they followed bad leadership. There would be widows and orphans to deal with, and two Packs were changed forever. The dead Alphas were stubborn, pushing forward even when they had neither surprise nor superiority. None of the men got close enough to the Pack House to do any damage, and we had no injuries or deaths on our side. "Nobody goes outside, leave the weapons where they are. Unload and safe your weapon. If you fired a shot, remain at your post. If you didn't fire it, return your rifle to the Armory before gathering in the dining hall. Everyone not in the safe room will speak to our lawyer before giving any statement to the Sheriff's Department or other investigators. We defended our Pack with skill and honor; we gave them every chance to walk away."

I went down the stairs and to the front door, calling Vic to my side as a bodyguard. "Leave your pistol by the door, we're going to meet the Sheriff." The first two patrol cars had arrived at the blocked-off access road. They looked confused; they could see the weapons scattered on the ground, the blood, and the smell of burnt powder, but they couldn't see any bad guys. They were standing outside their cruisers with their patrol rifles, one talking on the radio, as we walked up with our hands in the air. "I'm Rori King; I own this land. It's over, deputies. They took their dead and injured and left."

I recognized Deputy Parker, who was one of the first to arrive a previous time our Pack House got attacked. He was staring at the battlefield. "Rori, what the fuck happened here?"

"Armed force of thirty-plus men in a coordinated attack on the east and west entrances. We had enough of a warning that we were ready for them. We have no casualties and need no assistance."

"Jesus," the younger Deputy said. "I haven't seen the aftermath of a battle like this since Afghanistan." He looked around. "We had 911 calls about multiple explosions."

"Tannerite placed near the entrances. We tried a little shock and awe to convince them to give up on the attack, but we only got half of them to listen. The ones that crossed onto our property with guns, we took them out. We have women and children inside to protect."

Parker was counting rifles. "Where are they?"

"When the attack was over, the others came in and retrieved them. We don't shoot unarmed men under a white flag, and we can't arrest them from on top of our buildings either. They took off a few minutes before you arrived. You'll have to check the surveillance video to see if you can get license plates." The 'guard shack' near the entrance had a camera with a self-contained low-definition camera and a lens that wasn't that clean. They could take that video along with the one at the back gate. We had a lot more cameras, but we didn't record those, and we weren't about to let law enforcement into our Security Center.

I could tell they were a little upset at having no victims. As a Werewolf, it was an easy decision to let them go. If bodies were here for the cops, it would lead to the Packs, and our people couldn't have that. I didn't need the humans thinking we were bloodthirsty or prone to violence. "We got an anonymous call about five minutes before they showed up. It said that people were coming to kill us. After all the other shit we've been through, we were ready for them this time."

"Good thing you called 911 before this started," he said. "They overloaded the call center after the shooting started. Every law enforcement officer within a hundred miles is heading this way."

"It's over here now except the cleanup. Can you call off the dogs? I've got a lot of nervous people inside that I should be reassuring." More sirens were coming fast.

Deputy Parker updated the situation on the radio as more cruisers arrived. "You know the drill, Rori. This whole area is now a crime scene." The younger Deputy was already putting up police tape, and one of the cars stopped to do crowd control at the turnoff from the main road. A television crew pulled in across the street from them and started to set up.

"I'm gathering the residents in the dining hall now. Make sure you send cars to the other side of the lake too." I watched as more and more cars pulled in, including the Sheriff. "Chase, we need to get the Feds involved."

"I've already called Frank and Colletta. They will talk to the FBI director personally. The attackers were mercenaries, probably hired by surviving Sons or the drug cartel to take you out. As long as the Pack members don't get caught on the way home, they'll never know. Cascade is too remote to draw attention."

"Are we still broadcasting to the videoconference?" When the attack had started, we routed our security camera feed to the conference so the others could watch the attack live.

"I just ended it. You'll have to see it to believe what happened at Cascade," Chase said.

I had hours and hours of crap to deal with before then.

Ch. 37

Alpha John Coffey's POV
Cascade Pack Main Entrance

It was only a few minutes until go time at noon, and everyone was tensed up.

Alpha Robertson was with me in the middle vehicle of the three-SUV convoy that was almost to the main gate of the Cascade Pack. The lead and trail vehicles held armed Enforcers, while the personal guards for Alan and I were in the front seat. As soon as we reached their guard, we would state our business, and everyone would race for the Pack House, cutting off escape routes. If it went well, Alpha Carson, his human friend, and Doctor Myers would surrender themselves. If not? Well, it was death to harbor a Council fugitive. Our men were more than enough to enforce that.

"Alpha, there's a sign at the border," my Beta sent. "It says 'To Enter is to Die. Go Home Banff and Denali."

"Ignore it. We're almost to the gate."

Alpha Robertson finished linking with his warriors, and he looked a little shocked. "They know we are coming; there was a warning sign at the border."

"I heard. It probably looks like that one." There was a sign across the road we were traveling down, hung from the vehicle gate. "Ram the gate, full speed to the Pack House. All warriors attack!"

The locked gate got knocked aside by the brush guard on the lead Suburban, and we saw no guards in the gatehouse. "My men are across the border," Alan said as we bounced about in the seat belts. Carson didn't spend enough money on road maintenance.

"FUCK," my guard shouted as he stood on the brakes, sending the big Suburban into a sideways slide and off the road. The trail vehicle didn't brake fast enough, and the impact combined with the dropoff and soft ground started us rolling. We stopped when we slammed into the trees, the driver's side on the bottom. All of the airbags had deployed, leaving me trapped between the inflated pads and the crumpled ceiling. "Everyone all right," the driver asked as he shut the ignition off.

"I'll heal," I said. I unbuckled my seatbelt and tried moving, just as Alpha Robertson cut his way free and his feet swung down onto me. "DAMMIT! You couldn't wait?"

"Gas," he said. "Let's get the fuck out of this thing." He climbed up and punched his shattered back window out, then hauled himself up onto the door. Reaching in, he helped pull me out before helping the other two.

The warriors piled out of the trail vehicle, which had stayed upright. "Oh, Luna," one of them shouted as he looked in the lead vehicle. He turned away, throwing up into the grass. The lead Suburban looked like a convertible with a smashed front. It lay steaming against the trees where it had come to rest, the smell of blood heavy in the air.

"FUCKERS," another man said. "FUCKING FUCKERS, I'LL KILL THEM ALL."

As we got closer, we could see what happened. There was a thick steel cable tensioned across the road; the driver hadn't seen it until it was too late. It was just above hood height for the Suburban, and it had cut through the truck like a knife through butter. The six men, two from each Pack, along with two Enforcers, had been decapitated in a moment. Car-sized boulders along the road kept us from getting around it. With the cable size and the big concrete blocks holding it, we weren't getting past it without heavy equipment. "Leave your weapons and shift," I ordered. "No arrests and no mercy. Kill the males, but leave the Alphas to us."

The men let out a howl, pulling their clothes off and shifting into their wolves. Alan and I led them in a sprint down the road, hearing my Pack warriors closing in on each side. We reached the clearing where the Pack House and other buildings were, our warriors spread in a line a hundred yards wide. Howls from the other side of the clearing told me the Denali wolves were with us.

The Pack House was on top of a small rise, and as we ran closer, I could see the high stone veneer and barricaded windows that were in place. It smelled like a fish fry, and I shook my head as I spotted my prey. Alpha Carson was standing at the top of the stairs, and a dozen others were spaced ten feet apart, spaced along the wide front porch.

I let out a war howl as I got closer, answered by men of both Packs. I ran ahead of my men, Alpha Robertson at my side, and gathered myself to leap the stairs and into Carson's body.

He raised something in his hand, and then I was on fire.

Alpha Carson's POV

We'd done a lot of landscaping in the past week based on a suggestion from Sawyer.

All of the shrubbery and foundation plants had been removed from around the Pack House, as it created a fire hazard. We excavated the topsoil, then backfilled with dump truck after dump truck of small, sharp-edged rocks that averaged one to two feet across. "Anklebreakers" is what he called them, and I could see why. The random rocks were at all angles, and crevices that could catch feet or paws abounded. The riprap extended a good thirty feet from the foundation on all sides. With it in place, attackers would have to slow down and think about where to place their feet. It also made jumping the wall or using ladders difficult.

It was especially dangerous when we sprayed the rocks with a thin coating of vegetable oil, as we had done when we learned of the impending attack.

Vegetable oil was flammable, as every restaurant knew. It could easily ignite from the roof by dropping a flare or Molotov cocktail down on the rocks below. The sixteen-foot rock wall and insulated solid concrete foundation would easily withstand the resulting flames, and the vegetable oil would not ruin the soil.

That led to the second idea. It was like a pressure washer, but better. We had installed a thousand-gallon tank of the vegetable oil in a remote outbuilding. A hydraulic pump and accumulator supplied the header running along the front of the covered porch and entrance with five hundred pounds per square inch of pressure. Connection points allowed us to attach nozzles like you might use on a pressure washer, equipped with propane igniters at the tip, able to spray liquid death forty feet.