Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(92)

“Hold and away!” Rolleson shouted, and Glain roared it, too; she and the squad stepped back from the wall. “Cover!”

They all crouched, backs to the wall, as the ballistas fired and the shrieking Greek fire containers arced over their heads. If one of those went amiss, Glain thought, they’d all roast right here. But all the shots cleared their positions and shattered on the other side of the wall. Santi had aimed them precisely, she realized as she took her position again; he’d targeted four spots to divide the attacking forces and confuse their strategy. The ones down at the gate were now pinned in place; their explosives hadn’t opened the way for them, and the High Garda, Glain’s squad included, poured lethal fire down on top of them.

They were, of course, shooting back. She felt the impact of bullets on either side of her head where she was protected by the crenellations, and once a stunning impact to her helmet that made her see stars and blink in confusion for a solid few seconds. One of her squad—Sarven—fell and didn’t move. She yelled for a Medica without pausing in her target selection and saw from the corner of her eye that he was dragged off for treatment. Men and women of the High Garda were falling, but not nearly as many as were being slaughtered beyond those gates. The Russians had come in force, but with their explosive weapons shattered, would they keep at it? Battering against an impenetrable wall, fighting mud, a dragon, bullets, Greek fire, sphinxes? Why wouldn’t they retreat?

She found out.

A massive carrier rolled relentlessly out of the midst of the Russian forces and headed for the gates. It was covered in spikes and metal plating, rolling on linked spinning tracks that churned through the mud at a shocking rate of speed. It was the size of small warship, and as the Russian troops retreated out of its way, it went straight for the gates.

It had one of those odd metal tubes sticking from the front of it, and as she watched, something exploded out of it in a rush of fire and smoke, and she felt stone crack and heave as the gates blew apart, flinging fragments into the city and into the ballista company below. Greek fire globes shattered, consuming the whole squad guarding them. “Gods,” Glain breathed, and it was half a curse and half a prayer. She wanted to rush to their defense, but she looked to Rolleson. Rolleson looked just as anguished and conflicted, but Botha . . . Botha, and Santi beyond him, seemed unruffled. Santi gave orders she couldn’t hear, but they came clear in the relay.

One company was withdrawing to fight on the ground, but Botha’s company would stay on the wall. If they all rushed down, there was nothing to stop the Russians from regrouping and storming in behind the carrier. Santi was arranging forces to prevent them from taking advantage of a temporary victory.

The dragon landed in front of the gates where the carrier had entered and laid down a huge semicircle of fire. The Russians tried to rush forward, but automata lions leaped through the fire to take them down.

Santi reserved his vulnerable human soldiers for the next wave.

Glain aimed and fired at anyone stupid enough to try an approach. The rain droned relentlessly, and she felt her muscles beginning to ache from the strain. Chilled to the bone, hurting from constant adrenaline, and haunted by exhaustion. This would be a long night. A long fight.

She very nearly missed the attack, because it came from her side of the wall. A sphinx glided out of the darkness, and the only warning she had was the shadow cast on the wall, a moving, descending darkness that made her spin around to see what was coming.

The sphinx was gliding in talons first: a golden bird of prey about to pick off an unwary mouse.

I’m not a mouse.

She yelled, dodged, and dropped her rifle; it wouldn’t do any good unless she was a far better sharpshooter. As the sphinx’s sharp claws touched the stone and sparked, she rolled and lunged upward and beneath the biting jaws for where the switch was located. A split second later she remembered that the sphinx that had attacked them in the Necropolis had no off switch, and she realized that no one could save her if she’d just committed to the wrong plan; the other soldiers around her were backing off, confused and shocked, trying to continue firing on the Russians attacking the gate. No help. She had to do this alone.

Her fingers grazed a bump in the metal skin, and she pressed it hard as the sphinx screamed and raised both front paws to claw her from neck to legs.

It stuttered and froze, eyes dying to black.

She braced herself and kicked out, hard, sending it toppling in an uncontrolled crash over on its back. Glain stayed where she was as she gulped for breath and watched it for any sign of recovery, but it was utterly still.

That was when a shot shattered into the wall beside her head, and it took her a second to realize that the bullet hadn’t been fired from the Russian side. It had come from within the walls. She threw herself forward, hiding in the bulk of the dead automaton, and felt the metal shiver as more bullets struck it. There was a pause, and she quickly slithered forward to try to locate the threat. For the trajectory to be so flat, it had to be someone on a rooftop, and likely close by—there. She caught a glint of metal. She rolled back just as another volley of shots came at her and hit the stone floor; the grit under her palms was fresh, scraped by the sphinx’s claws. She was just able to reach her rifle, and pulled it toward her.

Whoever was shooting, they weren’t aiming at anyone else. Just her. The other soldiers continued on, not oblivious to the threat but simply occupied. This was her problem. It was up to her to solve it.