Yair nodded. “Acknowledged.”

Yair sped back over to the Last Man’s unconscious body—enduring another hail of gunfire as he did so—and shielding June in the process while he did.

Ellia’s brow was furrowed with worry as she watched. The robot was walking jerkily—she knew he needed to be repaired, and desperately. She called, “Yair! Once your inside, stay inside! We can’t lose you!”

Yair gave her a salute as he swept the Last Man up in his arms. The Lionesses were forced to ceasefire, as they didn’t want to risk hitting him. Yair then made his way back to the fortress doors with June in tow. She pressed her hand on the reader, and they both stepped inside.

Her mind at ease now that the Last Man was safe again, Ellia turned her attention back to the enemy soldiers. Her ears were ringing with all the loud noises sounding off around her—in fact, her head was hurting badly. Nonetheless, she steadied her specially made sniper rifle on top of the sandbag and peered through the lens. She focused in on the head of one of the enemy tribeswomen and fired. The woman crumpled easily. Ellia’s gaze swept over her enemies and she saw that one of them was now aiming for her head. She quickly ducked behind the sandbag, and the beam barely missed her head.

Damn. I wish they didn’t have such a height advantage on us. She thought to herself. I want to use the grenades, but we would have to somehow throw them high enough and long enough to reach people who are thirty yards away and at least thirty feet high. Ellia thought to herself bitterly. If we ever gain enough resources, we should really build more fortresses in a different place. Maybe if I could sneak some people in the back.

Ellia scratched her chin, thinking of how to accomplish it while simultaneously ruthlessly and effortlessly targeting the head of another Lioness through her sniper rifle. She was on target as always. Ellita smiled to herself as the turret mowed down a dozen of her enemies who tried to take aim at her. Thank you, Hilargi!

But then she frowned when she heard the shrieks of pain and terror as her enemies died. Ellia had had to chastise herself dozens of times in the past for enjoying the fray a little too much, and she was doing so now, too. I need to find a way to clinch the battle faster… avoid unnecessary deaths.

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She turned to her right. To her right was one of the younger members of her tribe—a woman named Roseanna—she was very short and she was wearing a polymer suit that was sandy in color. Ellia said to Roseanna, “Roseanna, I need you to take a risk for the tribe. I need you to take Alexandria and Molly and make your way up that dune where our enemies are perched. Take the grenades with you, and wear your hood.”

Ellia handed the woman a backpack full of grenades. Roseanna nodded. “Of course. Roger.” Ellia was satisfied by the loyalty and bravery of her women. If she lives, I’ll have to reward her. Ellia suddenly launched to her feet and sprayed a sheet of bullets at her enemies—hoping to draw their attention from the fact that three of her soldiers were sneaking away. It seemed to be working—her women had already dashed out of their line of sight and were making their way up the dune--they were all wearing sandy colored suits and blended in, too.

“Ellia! What are you doing? Get down!” the women on either side of her questioned.

Ellia ignored them. She stayed on her feet as long as possible, remaining clear-headed as she kept firing beam after beam at her enemies; she killed several of them in a matter of seconds. When she saw them training their weapons on her, she hid behind the sandbags again. Ellia sighed, glad she had survived as yet another hail of gunfire flew over her head. Once it had ceased, Ellia shot to her feet again, trying to keep her enemies preoccupied as long as possible. A dozen bullets flew at her and one pierced her arm. When she had taken cover again, her women were looking at her in admiration for risking her life when she could have ordered any of them to do what she just did.

The battle dragged on and on.

Ellia would fire a few shots, and her enemies returned fire. Ellia would lose a woman, and her enemies would lose two. Ellia was as clear-minded and calm as always, but she was beginning to get tired, and the noise was wearing on her. She was covered in sweat and grime, and her shoulder—which she had wrapped in tight gauze from her back-pack—still hurt badly. She ignored the pain, however, knowing that her women needed her on the battlefield, and they needed her to be calm and collected. It will heal. What won’t heal will be the destruction of our fortress.

Ellia looked around; the sun was going down and her tribeswomen were beginning to look exhausted. She hoped that her grenadiers had circled around to the top of the dune by now. Sewing chaos in enemy ranks could only help them clinch the battle.

As if her prayers had been answered, two explosions went off in the ranks of the Lionesses, and shrill shrieks snapped through the air as a result. Some of the more poorly trained women among their ranks stood up from their safe position on the dune and began firing into the smoke caused by the grenades; Ellia took that opportunity to mow them down with quick, focused shots of her rifle, while the woman manning the turret mowed down others.