Between Lions and Men

28: but refused to let him come safely out of the fight

Menoetius

The battle rages, inches from the ships. But, however slowly, we begin to gain ground. The tide has truly turned with the entrance of our forces. Aias, though he has no weapons, fights on. I have a rifle, but the bayonet is all it is good for. I avoid the front lines, instead mustering our troops on, and ensuring that the enemy does see my name and rank. Or rather his.

Ithaca is proven correct. They do aim for rank. I take more than one stray bullet and arrow to the jacket, which they fly off of harmlessly. We leave Ithaca at the ships, working our way, with fresh troops, around the front and forcing them back towards the city walls from whence they came.

"Run, you can take the city," a soldier calls out behind me, he's one of our own but easily as tall as Aias. He's battering them to the ground barehanded.

"We may not have a choice," I say, mostly to myself. The surge of the battle is carrying us dangerously close to the city walls. And even as the faint streaks of dawn appear in the sky, I'm well aware that nearing the city means nearing fresh troops of their own. And while we are several hundred strong, we have fought all night and are desperately out manned. The tide is turning, but it surges on.

"You will never breach the city walls," I feel a heel of a hand on my forehead and my eyes flash with light. I fall backward. I struggle to stand and move forward only to be shoved back down again. I catch sight of a man, not in military dress. He wields a golden bow and fires at our troops, mercilessly.

"Phobeus Apollo," I whisper. He flashes me a smile then vanishes into the morning light. I look around. No others noted him. I assume he wants it that way. "FALL BACK, KEEP TIGHT AROUND THE SHIPS."

I start driving our troops backward, keeping the line tight as we force them to choose between our battle line and the raging river Scamander. They are choosing our lines but not willingly.

I run through the line, back towards the village streets where the battle rages on street corners.

"They still have a tank," Aias shouts to me, as he smashes two enemy soldier's heads together.

"Challenge accepted," I laugh, "Where?"

He gestures, "One street over. Where is Ithaca?"

"Holding them off the ships, he got his hands on a bow and the others are left with bayonets," I say.

"Is it you and I then?" he means of the main command.

"Yes, Diomedes was wounded an hour ago, can you handle the rest here that follow the tank?"

"Yes, go now, before it breaks our line."

I obey, running down an alley and pausing only to find a large, jagged rock. Then I climb up a gutter to hop upon a rooftop. Perfect.

The tank is going, but not well or quickly. Sure enough, a private pokes his head out to steer, as our petty troops have long since smeared mud on the windows.

I throw the rock, and it sings home, smacking the boy directly at the bridge of his nose, with such force his eyeballs drop from his skull which is entirely caves in. He falls to the ground outside the tank, head first, splattering into his own spiled blood.

"Shame that you had no audience, nor river beneath you for such a fantastic fall," I sneer, leaping over his body and onto the tank to tug out the next man who is coming. We box for a moment, then I succeed in getting his head beneath the wheel of the still moving tank, crushing him.

"Get in—steer the thing," I shout, to a couple of our men who run to obey. We had acquired one of their tanks (never mind how) a month ago and taught the men how to steer it.