The Dead Fleet (Juggernaut #3)

Sixty Seven

Tila dropped to one knee and raised her staff high, holding it horizontal to block the knife strikes from two agents. She retracted the staff, rolled between them and sprang back to her feet.

The agents took a second to recover their balance and momentum. Tila could spare a second. She looked to her mother, apparently cornered by the other three. Apparently. Her position was defensive, it closed avenues of attack, reducing the effectiveness of the agent numbers. Three could only fight as two. Tila knew her mother could handle two.

But could she?

Tila retreated through the centre of the mess hall, staff at full length to hold the agents at bay. She ignored the bodies on the floor all around her. The upright bodies with knives were the threat. Everything else was a distraction.

They came at her again, first one, then two.

Tila sidestepped around and past one, keeping her face to him as he passed by. She spun, following his direction, whipping the staff around her head like a helicopter. She caught one on the back of his head, kept spinning, kept turning, missed two, but drove him back all the same.

She pressed forward, chopping the staff through the air with yells and shouts. Even if she had the finesse and skill she longed for, it was all forgotten now. Now it was about hitting them first, and harder, than they hit you.

Two dodged one strike, then another. The third he caught in his free hand. Instinctively Tila tugged hard. Two pushed as she pulled, throwing Tila off balance. He rushed in, keeping up the pressure and swung an empty fist at her head.

Tila wobbled as the staff pushed past her and fortunately fell back enough to offset the worst of the punch. It still hurt. Her head snapped round. Her cheekbone felt like it had been split in half. Momentarily oblivious, she fell sprawling over a table. Her staff rolled out of reach.

Grace fought two agents at once. Uncoordinated, and with limited options, they attacked independently, forcing her to respond in kind. She couldn't retreat any further, and the furious strikes and slashes of the agent's knives meant she had devote all her skill to blocking. The tonfa met every strike, blunting them, turning them aside, or parrying them with glancing angles that screeched sharp blades across metal.

She was tiring, but so were they. She knew she only had to old out long enough for them to change tactics.

Then the moment came. The agent to her left, stepped aside to let the agent behind him come in fresh. That was her opening. In those three seconds she turned her defensive posture offensive, and brought two weapons to bear on the agent to her right instead of one. She parried a strike with her right arm, and now free from pressure on her left, threw her whole weight onto the blade, forcing it to the wall and trapping his fingers.

She punched with her left hand, hitting his prone elbow with the tip of the tonfa like a battering ram, and shattering the joint.

He screamed and fell to his knees. Grace let him fall. The new fresh agent stepped in and suddenly found the plan had changed. Instead of two against one, it was only him and Grace.

Grace dropped the tonfa in her right hand and snatched the knife by the handle in a reverse grip before it fell.

One and two stood each side of Tila and pulled her to her feet by her arms. She blinked through the stars, realised what was happening, and dropped, lifting her arms above her head to slip through their hands. She crawled under the table. Behind her, one and two bent down to chase her. Tila kicked the table leg, knocking the table out of position. One and two brought his forehead down onto a hard plastic surface that wasn't there before. He stood up, rubbing it and kicked the table over.