𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓! [pjo]

VI; winning battles

───frank's pov

.・゜゜・───・゜゜・．

The battle was pure chaos. The four of them fought and sliced and stabbed and kicked and punched (the kicking and punching was mostly Cal) their way through the enemies. The First and Second Cohorts crumpled like tin-foil, having never had to truly defend their forts. Frank thought the true reasons they were winning was Percy and Cal.

    Percy fought like a demon, slashing instead of stabbing, whirling through the ranks in a very un-Roman way. Cal was just as bad, if not worse. She spun through the air, dancing with her twin blades, whacking and punching and kicking and flipping. Multiple times she and Percy would end up side by side or back to back, and all he would do was lean down and she would flip over his back and annihilate their enemies. They were causing mass hysteria, and  Frank couldn't blame their opponents for running. He was just thankful they were on his side.

    Meanwhile, Hazel climbed onto Hannibal's back. She charged toward the center of the fort, grinning down at her friends. "Let's go, slowpokes!"

Gods of Olympus, she's beautiful, Frank thought.

They ran to the center of the base. The inner keep was virtually unguarded. Obviously, the defenders never dreamed an assault would get this far. Hannibal busted down the huge doors. Inside, the First and Second Cohort standard-bearers were sitting around a table playing Mythomagic with cards and figurines. The cohort's emblems were propped carelessly against one wall. Hazel and Hannibal rode straight into the room, and the standard-bearers fell backward out of their chairs. Hannibal stepped on the table, and game pieces scattered. By the time the rest of the cohort caught up with them, Percy, Frank, and Cal had disarmed the enemies, grabbed the banners, and climbed onto Hannibal's back with Hazel. Cal was grinning ear-to-ear, breathless. They marched out of the keep triumphantly with the enemy colors. The Fifth Cohort formed ranks around them. Together they paraded out of the fort, past stunned enemies and lines of equally mystified allies.

Reyna circled low overhead on her pegasus. "The game is won!" She sounded as if she were trying not to laugh. "Assemble for honors!" Slowly the campers regrouped on the Field of Mars. Frank was exhilarated. This was what winning felt like. It felt good. He slid off the elephant. His comrades swarmed him, pounding him on the back and complimenting him. Frank wondered if he was dreaming. It was the best night of his life —until he saw Gwen.

"Help!" somebody yelled.

A couple of campers rushed out of the fortress, carrying a girl on a stretcher. They set her down, and other kids started running over. Even from a distance, Frank could tell it was Gwen. She was in bad shape. She lay on her side on the stretcher with a pilum sticking out of her armor—almost like she was holding it between her chest and her arm, but there was too much blood.

Frank shook his head in disbelief. "No, no, no..." he muttered as he ran to her side.

The medics barked at everyone to stand back and give her air. The whole legion fell silent as the healers worked—trying to get gauze and powdered unicorn horn under Gwen's armor to stop the bleeding, trying to force some nectar into her mouth. Gwen didn't move. Her face was ashen gray.

Finally, one of the medics looked up at Reyna and shook his head.

For a moment, there was no sound except water from the ruined cannons trickling down the walls of the fort. Hannibal nuzzled Gwen's hair with his trunk. Reyna surveyed the campers from her pegasus.

Her expression was as hard and dark as iron. "There will be an investigation. Whoever did this, you cost the legion a good officer. Honorable death is one thing, but this ... "