"Heir Unrivaled"
Chapter Twenty: The Tide of Power
The California sun burned fierce over San Francisco's bustling docks, where the Archer Western Line's newest terminus gleamed like a steel crown. Wyatt Archer stood on a pier, his Stetson shading eyes that scanned the Pacific horizon, where trade ships carried Montana gold to markets across the sea. The air was thick with salt and tar, and the shouts of dockworkers mingled with the creak of cranes loading boxcars. The Iron Circle was crumbling, Lord Reginald Harrow's syndicate exposed and bankrupt, his man Elias Thorne in chains. But a new threat rose from the waves—the Sea Kings Alliance, a cabal of Pacific trade barons led by a ruthless merchant prince, Amos Kade, aiming to seize control of San Francisco's ports and starve Wyatt's empire.
Wyatt's Colt revolver rested at his hip, its pearl handle a symbol of the Archer legacy, but his 2025 mind was his sharpest weapon—forged in battles against the Hawthornes, Drayton, and the Iron Circle's minions. The gold mines fueled his empire, the rails stretched from Montana to the Pacific, and Red Hawk's Blackfoot warriors guarded the northern lines, their alliance a pillar of strength. Savannah Blake's telegrams kept the eastern papers ablaze with Harrow's downfall, and Jedediah Cole's men patrolled the rails with unyielding grit. But Kade was a maritime predator, his wealth tied to Pacific trade routes, and his plan was to blockade Wyatt's ports and bribe California officials to lock out the Archer rails.
Jedediah Cole strode up the pier, his Winchester slung low, his bearded face weathered by salt and sun. "Rail's holdin' strong, boss," he said, his voice gruff. "Trains are runnin' from Montana to the docks, but scouts report trouble in the bay. Kade's got three gunships blockadin' our trade routes, and his man—some captain named Lyle Brody—is rallyin' forty mercenaries in the port district, aimin' to seize the customs house."
Wyatt's grin was sharp, the prodigal son's charm masking a mind already spinning. "Kade's playin' king of the sea, Jed. He wants to choke our trade before we lock in the Pacific. We'll break his blockade and take Brody's papers."
Savannah Blake emerged from a dockside office, her auburn hair glinting under a wide-brimmed hat, her gray eyes sharp as she clutched a satchel of telegrams and coastal charts. "My contacts in Nova Washington have dirt on Kade," she said, her drawl steady but urgent. "He's a shipping magnate with ties to Asian and South American markets, bribing California's governor to revoke our port licenses. Brody's his enforcer—ex-Confederate navy, ruthless. If they lock us out, our gold ships sink, and the banks foreclose."
Wyatt's jaw tightened, his 2025 instincts kicking in. Kade was a global shark, using wealth and naval power to strangle Wyatt's empire. "Then we hit him on land and sea," he said. "Savannah, wire your contacts—leak Kade's bribes to the San Francisco Chronicle and the Sacramento Union. Jed, ready a posse—thirty men, best we've got. We'll take the customs house and sink Kade's gunships."
Jed nodded, his boots thumping as he headed to rally the men. Savannah lingered, her eyes searching Wyatt's. "Kade's not like Harrow, Wyatt. He's got ships and armies of sailors. If we lose the port, the Pacific's his, and our empire's dead."
Wyatt's grin softened, but his voice was iron. "The Pacific's ours, Savannah. We've got Red Hawk, the rails, and the west in our blood. Kade wants a fight? He'll drown in it."
A low horn sounded from the north—Red Hawk's signal, carried by a rider from Montana. The chief had sent ten warriors to join Wyatt, their buffalo cloaks swaying as they rode into the city, their rifles gleaming. Red Hawk's second, a warrior named Swift Elk, approached, his eyes steady. "The chief guards the rails, Archer," he said, his voice deep. "He sent us to aid you. Your rider spoke of sea men threatening your iron snake. What is your plan?"
Wyatt clasped his forearm, the alliance a lifeline across the west. "Kade's blockadin' our ports, Swift Elk. His man Brody's in the customs house, bribin' officials and armin' mercenaries. We'll hit his base, take his papers, and sink his ships. Your warriors with us?"
Swift Elk's nod was firm. "We stand with you. The sea will not take what is ours."
By dusk, Wyatt's posse gathered in the warehouse district, a shadowed maze of crates and barrels near the customs house. Thirty rail yard guards, led by Jed, stood ready with Winchesters, their faces hardened by battles from Montana to the coast. Savannah rode beside Wyatt, her derringer holstered but her satchel packed with evidence to expose Kade's corruption. Swift Elk's warriors blended into the shadows, their rifles and tomahawks ready for a fight.
Scouts reported Brody's crew—forty mercenaries fortified in the customs house, with dynamite crates and a Gatling gun guarding the entrance. Three gunships patrolled the bay, their cannons trained on Wyatt's trade vessels. Brody was a burly man in a navy coat, his face scarred, barking orders as his men secured the port. Wyatt's mind mapped the terrain—narrow streets to the east, open docks to the west, a perfect setup for a two-pronged assault.
"We hit the customs house and the ships at once," Wyatt said, crouching behind a stack of barrels. "Swift Elk, your warriors take the east streets—clear the sentries. Jed, you and twenty men hit the docks, draw their fire. Savannah, you're with me—we'll slip into the customs house and grab Brody's papers."
Jed grunted, adjusting his Winchester. "You're bait again, Archer. Don't get yourself sunk."
Savannah's lips twitched, but her eyes were steady. "Those papers are our only shot to flip the governor. We need to move fast."
The attack was swift and silent. Swift Elk's warriors moved through the east streets, their tomahawks silencing sentries with lethal precision. Jed's men charged the docks, their Winchesters cracking as they drew Brody's mercenaries from the customs house. Wyatt and Savannah slipped through a side alley, their boots silent on the cobblestones, entering the customs house through a back door.
The courtyard was a hive of activity—mercenaries stacking dynamite, Brody studying a chart by a lantern, a leather case at his side. Wyatt signaled Jed, who fired a warning shot, kicking up dust near the gate. Brody's men scrambled, grabbing rifles, but Swift Elk's warriors struck from the east, their war cries splitting the night. Jed's posse pushed from the docks, their Winchesters a thunderclap, pinning the mercenaries.
Wyatt and Savannah darted toward the dynamite, dodging gunfire. Wyatt's Colt barked, dropping a mercenary who aimed at Savannah. Her derringer cracked, wounding another, her aim deadly despite the chaos. Brody stood by the chart, clutching the leather case, his revolver blazing. "Archer!" he roared. "You're a dead man!"
Wyatt dove behind a crate, his Colt answering, grazing Brody's arm. Savannah flanked him, her derringer forcing Brody to cover. Swift Elk's warriors cleared the east, their tomahawks silencing resistance. Jed's men pushed forward, overwhelming the mercenaries.
Wyatt sprinted for the dynamite, slashing the fuses before they could be lit. Brody lunged, his revolver raised, but Wyatt was faster, tackling him into the dirt. They grappled, fists and steel flashing, until Wyatt pinned Brody's arm, his Colt at his throat. "Drop the case," Wyatt growled. "Kade's done."
Brody spat, his eyes burning, but he let the case fall. Wyatt bound his wrists, rifling through the leather case to find forged port licenses, bribe lists, and a letter from Kade ordering the blockade to starve the Archer rails. "Got you," Wyatt muttered, tucking the papers into his coat.
On the docks, Jed's men and local sailors loyal to Wyatt boarded the gunships, cutting their anchor lines and disabling their cannons. The fight was over—Brody's mercenaries surrendered, their dynamite secured. Swift Elk approached, his tomahawk bloodied but his face calm. "The sea men are broken," he said. "The spirits favor you, Archer."
Savannah wiped dust from her face, her smile triumphant. "You took down a navy captain, Wyatt. The Pacific's yours."
Jed joined them, his Winchester smoking. "Lost two men, but we got thirty prisoners. What's next, boss?"
Back at Great Falls, the autumn sun bathed the rail yard, where workers cheered as a new trade train rolled west, bound for San Francisco's open ports. Wyatt stood in the depot office, Brody's papers spread beside the ledgers of past victories. Savannah wired the evidence to the San Francisco Chronicle, her contacts promising a scandal that would bankrupt Kade and expose the Sea Kings Alliance.
Red Hawk rode in, his presence commanding. "Your rider told of your victory, Archer. The sea is open, and the rails grow stronger. Our alliance holds."
Wyatt clasped his forearm, his voice earnest. "Your warriors guarded the heartland, Chief. Half the rail jobs are yours, and the mines will fund your future. The west is ours—together."
Savannah looked up from her telegrams, her gray eyes warm. "Kade's fleeing to Asia, his alliance collapsing. The rails are funded, Wyatt. The Pacific's yours."
Jed poured coffee, his face proud. "You're the Iron Eagle, Archer. The west's yours, and the sea's next."
Wyatt's grin was soft, his eyes on the map where the Archer Western Line stretched to the Pacific. "Couldn't have done it without you three. The west was a war, but we're building a legacy."
A cheer rose outside—workers, guards, and Blackfoot warriors chanting Wyatt's name. He stepped onto the platform, the Missouri River gleaming below, a witness to his triumph. The prodigal son was gone, replaced by a legend who'd tamed the frontier. The Sea Kings were crumbling, and the rails would carry Wyatt's dream across the world.
As the sun set, Wyatt stood with Savannah, Jed, and Swift Elk, watching the trade train vanish west. "What's next?" Savannah asked, her voice warm with possibility.
Wyatt's eyes sparkled, his grin pure fire. "The world's ours."
But across the Pacific, whispers of a new rival stirred—a trade empire eyeing the west. Wyatt would be ready.
End of Chapter Twenty