Chapter 4 - The Winter Siege
At 3:45 a.m., the snowstorm reached its peak, blanketing the eighteen-acre Cross estate in white noise and six inches of fresh powder. The wind howled through the pine trees surrounding the northern perimeter, masking the soft crunch of tactical boots stepping over the low stone wall.
Mercer led the primary strike team of twenty men. They moved in a tight tactical wedge, wearing white snow-camo suits and thermal goggles. Their weapons were short-barreled submachine guns fitted with heavy suppressors.
"Thermal sensors are clear," Mercer whispered into his throat mic, checking his wrist monitor. "Perimeter guards are inside the guardhouses to stay out of the storm. Amateurs."
They advanced toward the eastern courtyard—the known blind spot where no automated turrets were installed due to Phantom’s free-roaming protocol.
"Remember," Mercer reminded his men through the radio. "The dog is in the courtyard. Fire on sight. Aim for center mass."
They reached the heavy iron gates of the courtyard. The gate was standing slightly ajar, swinging gently in the wind with a low, rusting creak.
Mercer halted his team, his instincts tingling. "Hold. Why is the gate open?"
He raised his tactical flashlight, sweeping the narrow beam across the courtyard stones. The snow in the center was untouched, smooth as silk. But at the far end of the courtyard, sitting right on the steps leading into the main mansion, was a single object.
It was Phantom’s heavy leather collar, lying unbuckled in the snow.
"Where is the animal?" a mercenary whispered, his rifle barrel sweeping left and right.
Before Mercer could order a retreat, a dark figure stepped out from the swirling snow behind them.
It was Holden Cross. He wore a long charcoal wool coat, no gloves, and carried no visible weapon.
"You're five minutes early, Mercer," Holden said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the howl of the wind.
Mercer spun around, raising his weapon. "Drop him!"
Before any mercenary could pull a trigger, a massive shadow detached itself from the high stone wall above the courtyard entrance.
Phantom didn't bark. He fell from the ten-foot wall like a black thunderbolt, landing directly on the lead point-man. The impact shattered the man's ribs, sending him crashing into the snow as Phantom’s jaws clamped around the second mercenary’s forearm with terrifying power.
The courtyard erupted into violence.
Holden moved with lethal precision. He stepped inside the guard's field of fire, catching the weapon barrel with his left hand, wrenching it upward, and driving a short, devastating palm-strike into the soldier’s throat. Before the man hit the ground, Holden unholstered his Kimber .45 and fired three rapid shots through the snowstorm.
Each bullet found its mark.
Mercer scrambled backward, firing wildly into the dark as Phantom tore through the tactical unit like a phantom in the blizzard. The dog moved with terrifying agility, using the low visibility and his jet-black coat to strike from the shadows, dragging men down into the snow before they could acquire a target.
"Retreat! Fall back to the wall!" Mercer screamed into his radio, his confidence completely shattered.
"There is nowhere to fall back to, Mercer," a voice called out behind him.
Vance and ten Cross enforcers stepped out from the pine tree tree-line, their heavy shotguns trained straight on Mercer’s chest.
Within six minutes, the northern strike team was entirely neutralized. Eleven men lay unconscious or disabled in the snow; Mercer was pinned to the icy wall by Holden’s heavy hand locked around his collar.
Holden leaned in close, his face inches from Mercer’s night-vision goggles.
"Tell Falco," Holden whispered softly, "that if he wants my daughter, he shouldn't send boys. Tell him to come himself. I'll be waiting at the harbor."
Holden released his grip, letting Mercer collapse into the snowdrift.
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Phantom trotted over to Holden’s side, his chest heaving, his mouth dripping with red-stained foam, but his eyes calm and clear. Holden reached down, running his bare hand over the dog’s broad head, wiping away the snow.
"Good boy, Orestes," Holden murmured. "Now let's go protect our girl."
