Page 77 of Wolf Roulette

Ouch.That shit stung.

I didn’t wait for Luthers to start up the ropes again. “Big Red. Initiate phase two. Over.”

One by one, the ropes were cut. There were pack members on the first two levels now, but that was inevitable.

I scanned the lake. “Damn.”

They’d discovered a section of cliff not covered in the lubricant.

Sascha howled.

Spread out and search,Booker translated.

I brought my walkie to my mouth. “Big Red. Prepare Operation Wet T-shirt. Over.”

The pack spread out to search for better routes. I gripped the barrier of the observation tower.

You knew they’d figure it out,Booker said.

Soon, Luthers ascended the cliff faces with ease. My gaze shot to the wet T-shirt stewards hidden behind mounds of iron ore that we asked quarry workers to form yesterday.

I licked my dry lips. “Big Red. Initiate Operation Wet T-shirt. Over.”

The stewards leaped out from their hiding places.

Within seconds, water roared from ten huge cannons I’d agreed to splurge on this week. The water slammed into the faces of the top Luthers.

“Illegal shift,” Pascal called out. “And another.”

Those able to resist the shift were still panicking as I’d once done. The climbing pack members lost their grip, toppling back to the red lake.

But the cannons had a major weakness, and Sascha would find it in short duration. Five more minutes could mean the difference though.

Some pack members on the tiers were engaged with stewards higher up. We could handle them while the cannons were still working.

“Big Red. Reindeer, direct close members of your team to aid west. Over.”

“Reindeer. Roger that. Over.”

One of the water cannons cut off.

Fucker!

The cannons were fed via pipes from the lake. Something Sascha figured out faster than was ideal. We’d painted the pipes the same colour as the iron ore, but that was all we could manage at short notice.

Another cannon stopped working. The wet T-shirt steward manning it raised his tranquiliser gun.

I checked the time.

Twenty minutes left.

“What’s the score?” I had to know.

Pascal didn’t stop her frantic scanning and tapping. “Unconfirmed score is sixty-five to eleven.”

The pack would never reach the levels where most of the tribe shot from. Not enough of them to make a big difference.

Good.

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