Poem: Retreat to Fortress Solitude

Retreating back to the Fortress.
Fortifying my position,
the last battle was lost.
The war continues.
It's cold here, freezing cold.
You can see your breath.
The soldiers are grumbling,
stamping their feet on the
hard-packed snow of the courtyard.
Chain-smoking, complaining to each other
in low voices.
But they are glad to be safe again.
Better to be cold and alive,
than hot in the midst of battle,
facing death.

I gave the order to retreat.
The battle started small,
I was sure we would prevail easily.
I was horrendously wrong.
Some casualties latter
I opted for retreat,
bloody and bedazzled by the ferocity
and sheer number of enemy soldiers.

They had been silently mounting
for a surprise onslaught
and the advance of my small raiding party
gave them reason to unleash their fury.
Days of frantic retreat
as we were actively pursued
by an entire squadron of enemy forces.
Exhausted and trail worn
we plotted to ambush our pursuing squadron
at a choke-point we knew of.
But even this,
our last attempt,
backfired.
The results were more casualties,
for our already small fleeing party,
and the loss of some supplies
we had to through overboard
to speed our hasty retreat.

Back to the Fortress.
Our only safe, securely defensible,
position in the area.

And here we make our stand.
So far the remaining soldiers
are doing well enough considering
our recent spate of failures.
Most are happy just to still be alive, I suppose.
The Fortress is an infinitely defensible position
and we have enough supplies to last us
through the Winter.
Baring some unforeseen plague or disaster,
we should be able to hold this position
just fine.

There have been no further direct attacks
by the enemy soldiers as yet,
though the smoke on the horizon
and the occasional disappearance of Outriders
clearly speaks of their
continuing intentions of
violence and harassment.