My planet is infested with Goblins

Colonel Alaric Veyne returned to the Caldris camp beneath a darkness broken only by fires, lanterns, and the distant glow of the Viridian position beyond the battlefield.

The men who had cheered when the goblins withdrew were quieter now. Once the immediate relief of surviving the battle had passed, exhaustion settled over the army with more weight than any armor. Soldiers sat beside their shields while healers wrapped wounds by firelight. Some ate without speaking.

Others simply lay on the ground with weapons close enough to reach. The infantry formations that had marched east as complete companies were scattered across the camp in reduced groups, their officers counting survivors and reorganizing men whose original units had lost too many soldiers to function independently.

The army remained intact, but Alaric no longer needed a written report to understand that it’s fighting strength has been greatly diminished and it could not fight tomorrow with the same strength it had possessed that morning.

He crossed through the medical area on his way toward the command tent and slowed when he saw the number of wounded. Several wagons had already been converted into makeshift treatment stations.

Men with deep spear wounds lay beside soldiers struck by Viridian ranged weapons. A cavalryman sat against a wheel while a healer cut away a blood-soaked trouser leg. Nearby, two soldiers carried a wounded crossbowman whose face had turned pale enough that Alaric doubted the man would see sunrise.

The healers had organized the injured into those who could return to duty, those who could travel with assistance, and those who required wagons to transport them back away from the front.

Captain Joren Bale was waiting inside the command tent with the surviving senior officers.

His left sleeve had been cleaned since the battle, revealing that most of the blood covering him earlier had indeed belonged to someone else, though a fresh bandage now wrapped his forearm.

A rough map of the road west had been spread across the table beside the first casualty lists.

Alaric removed his gloves.

"How bad is our situation?"

The chief company clerk looked toward the papers.

"One hundred and eighteen confirmed dead so far. We have twenty-seven still unaccounted for. Some may be among the bodies left on the field. One hundred and eighty-six wounded have been recorded."

Alaric looked at him.

"How many of those can fight?"

"Roughly half could still hold a weapon if necessary, but I would not call most of them fit for another full engagement."

"And the rest?"

"Fifty-three cannot march without assistance. Some may improve after rest, but several may need never be able to walk or function proper again."

Joren added, "We also lost sixteen cavalry horses outright. Another eleven are injured badly enough that they should not be used in another charge."

The cavalry commander stood nearby with exhaustion visible beneath his anger.

"The riders are still organized. I can field more than fifty if necessary."

Alaric nodded but did not mistake the statement for strength. The cavalry had been one of the few advantages Caldris possessed on open ground. Losing nearly a third of its effective mounted force after one day.

"What about ammunition?"

A crossbow captain answered.

"We used more than expected. We still have bolts in the wagons, but some companies are below half their starting load. We can redistribute enough for another engagement."

Another engagement.

Alaric looked around the table. That was the question everyone had gathered to answer.

Joren broke the silence first.

"The men held their lines."

"They did."

"Against fifteen hundred strong enemies."

"Approximately."

"We hurt them badly."

Alaric looked toward him.

"We did."

Joren rested both hands against the table.

"Then say what you are thinking."

Alaric had already made the decision while walking through the wounded.

"We should withdraw."

Nobody reacted immediately. Several officers clearly expected the answer, while others looked dissatisfied.

The cavalry commander spoke first.

"Tonight?"

"As soon as possible, before dawn."

One infantry officer frowned.

"We survived the first battle. Their casualties looked heavier than ours."

"They began with nearly twice our numbers."

"They also withdrew first."

"Because of the darkness as the night had arrived."

The officer opened his mouth again, but Alaric continued before he could speak.

"We committed almost every useful reserve before sunset. They were still rotating fresh formations into the line. If tomorrow begins exactly like today ended, which army do you think runs out of rested soldiers first?"

Nobody answered.

Alaric pointed toward the casualty lists.

"We marched east with around eight hundred personnel. More than one hundred are dead. Nearly two hundred are wounded. Some of those wounded can still fight, but that does not make them rested. Most of the men who remain have spent hours holding shields, thrusting spears, carrying wounded, or loading crossbows."

Joren nodded.

"The goblins suffered too."

"I am counting on it. That is why we have a chance to withdraw cleanly."

One officer looked troubled.

"Our orders were to counter their advance."

"Our orders were to locate significant goblin forces, destroy them when practical, and gather intelligence. We located them. We fought them."

Alaric leaned closer to the table.

"We came east to learn whether they could fought openly. We have the answer."

The argument ended there for most of them.

The information they carried had become more important than holding a piece of farmland.

Caldris now knew that the goblins possessed professional field formations, organized reserves, ranged units capable of coordinated volleys, anti-cavalry responses, battlefield signals, healers, and officers capable of rotating units under pressure. The provincial government needed those facts before it sent another force east expecting to hunt scattered raiders.

Joren traced the western road.

"If we are leaving, why wait?"

"Because leaving now isbtoo obvious as they’reconstantly monitoring our movements."

Alaric pointed toward the distant edge of their camp.

"They have scouts. We know that. If the entire camp begins collapsing into wagons before midnight, they will see movement, and an exhausted army stretched along a road is easier to destroy than an army behind a ridge."

The infantry officer nodded slowly.

"So the camp stays normal."

"As normal as possible."

Fires would continue burning. Sentries would remain in their current positions. Tents would stay standing until the final preparation. Men would be told that units were reorganizing for the morning rather than announcing a retreat throughout the camp. Alaric did not want rumor turning a controlled withdrawal into panic.

He began assigning the order of movement.

"The wounded leave first. Every wagon that can carry men instead of cargo will do so."

The quartermaster objected immediately.

"We have food, spare bolts, tools, and captured goblin equipment in those wagons."

"Unload anything replaceable."

"We cannot carry everything if we do that."

"We are not carrying everything."

The quartermaster looked unhappy.

Alaric continued.

"Food first. Medical supplies. Ammunition. Water. Then anything required to keep the column moving. If a crate of equipment costs us enough speed to lose ten soldiers, leave the crate."

Professional soldiers could not be replaced as easily as tools or sacks of grain. Eastwatch would need experienced men more than it needed every item the column had carried east.

The wounded capable of walking would travel with the central group. Those who could not would be placed in wagons. Infantry escorts would surround them. The supply train would follow, while the remaining cavalry and mounted scouts protected the flanks.

Alaric looked toward Joren.

"You command the rear guard."

Joren nodded once.

"How many?"

"One hundred and fifty of the strongest infantry we have left, plus crossbowmen. Enough to delay pursuit."

"I will need cavalry support if they press hard."

"You will have a small mounted group until the road narrows. After that they move ahead."

The cavalry commander started to object, but Joren waved him off.

"He is right. If the goblins force us into a rear-guard fight in darkness, horses will only become another problem."

Alaric returned to the map.

The route west had several defensible points. A narrow bridge lay several miles away. Farther west, the road climbed between two low ridges that could support another defensive stand if pursuit became serious. Alaric wanted every officer aware of those positions before the column moved.

Then he pointed toward a stack of papers beside the casualty reports.

"These go first."

The documents contained rough sketches made during the battle, descriptions of goblin formations, estimates of numbers, notes on their response to cavalry, and observations about how their infantry rotated through the line. Several officers had also recovered weapons and insignia from dead Viridian soldiers near the Caldris position.

"Once we are safely moving, two mounted messengers take copies west separately."

Joren understood.

"So even if the column does not reach Eastwatch, the report does."

"Yes."

Alaric did not say how possible that outcome had become.

The goblins had already demonstrated an ability to hunt patrols, attack roads, and strike supply movement. If the retreat turned into a running battle, preserving the information might become the only useful result of the entire counteroffensive.

The cavalry commander glanced toward the eastern darkness.

"What do you think they are doing?"

Alaric followed his gaze toward the distant Viridian fires visible beyond the ridge.

"Treating wounded. Reorganizing. Counting losses."

"Preparing for tomorrow?"

"Probably."

The answer came too quickly, and Alaric corrected himself.

"Possibly."

Joren looked toward him.

"You think they might move tonight?"

"I think assuming anything about them has already killed enough soldiers."

Alaric ordered the sentries doubled. Mounted patrols would not travel far enough to be isolated, but they would watch the northern and southern approaches. Every company had to keep a portion of its men awake until the withdrawal started.

One officer sighed.

"The men need sleep."

"They need to sleep to live more."

No one argued.

The meeting continued while the camp quietly changed around them. Quartermasters began unloading heavy crates from wagons and replacing them with wounded soldiers. Healers prepared patients for travel. Crossbow captains redistributed bolts so the rear guard would not discover halfway through a fight that one company had ammunition while another did not. Cavalrymen saddled horses that had barely finished being watered.

The activity was deliberately spread throughout the camp rather than concentrated near the road. To anyone watching from a distant ridge, it could still look like an army preparing for another day.

Joren remained after several officers departed to carry out their orders.

"When Eastwatch hears that we withdrew, some of them will call this a defeat."

Alaric sat down for the first time since entering the tent.

"We marched east to push the goblins back. We are going west without doing it. They will not be entirely wrong."

Joren looked at him.

"You think we failed?"

"I think we discovered that this province is fighting an army when half the province still believes it is fighting raiders."

He tapped the reports.

"If Eastwatch understands that before the next force marches east, then this was worth something."

Joren gave a tired nod.

Outside, the camp continued preparing.

Alaric checked the time. They had several hours before the planned departure. Enough to reorganize, give some soldiers a brief rest, and begin moving the worst wounded before the eastern horizon showed any sign of morning.

Then shouting erupted outside the tent.

Alaric stood immediately.

The first voice was distant, somewhere toward the northern perimeter. A horn followed, not the organized signal used during the afternoon battle but a sharp camp alarm.

Joren reached for his sword.

A sentry rushed through the entrance, breathing hard.

"Colonel, movement north of the camp. Goblins. A large group."

Alaric stepped toward him.

"How large?"

"We could not count them in the dark. More than a patrol."

Before the sentry finished, another messenger appeared behind him, this one coming from the eastern side.

"Colonel, the forward watch is reporting enemy movement as well. Hundreds, possibly more. They are advancing toward the camp."

Alaric looked at Joren.

For a moment, neither man spoke.

Their carefully organized retreat had been planned around one assumption: that the goblins would give them until the final hours before dawn.

The horns outside began sounding across the entire camp.

Alaric drew his sword and turned toward the waiting officers as shouting spread among the exhausted soldiers.

"The withdrawal is canceled. Get everyone under arms."

The battle they intended to avoid until morning had arrived in the middle of the night.

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