This was not a time to be clever, this was a time for decisively striking while the opportunity presented itself. The last thing their escape needed was a surprise phalanx cutting off their retreat. 

It was, on paper, a hideously unfair rout. Vasilia, standing above the chaos with rifle leveled, directed Dolce and the others to any Ceronian making an effort to gather their weapons and stand. Any out of their reach received a bullet for their troubles. Keep the pressure on, and eventually there would be one soldier who gave up. That was the trick to dealing with Ceronians; they stood as one, and they broke as one. No in-betweens. 

Only, these soldiers did not break. Shot after shot, slash after slash, they would not yield. Their shields were broken to uselessness, their formation was a shambles, they were bruised and bleeding and cut to ribbons, yet they showed not a trace of fear or exhaustion. They rose, and kept rising, even as their ambush force tired and her rifle jammed.

Vasilia felt the sneaking suspicion that something here was terribly, terribly wrong.

[That’s a 1 + 4 + 2 = [b]7[/b] on Finish Them (with Grace) Vasilia spends her rifle’s Reload for the scene to damage Shieldwall.]