Lieutenant Commander Davian knelt down on one knee, numb with exhaustion as he watched the retreating forms of the Spectorium disappear into the night. That was the fifth one today, the ninth overall, and he had participated in every one. Only a few Specters fought in each skirmish, but the nature of being on the defensive was that Silent Thunder never knew exactly where the harrying force would strike. The men were exhausted, demoralized by the loss of their commander, and despairing for the lives of the families that most had in tow. The Spectorium would not attack them openly for fear they would be overwhelmed and destroyed. Davian had entertained the idea of digging in their heels and forcing a full-on battle, but even if they won it would come at a heavy price: likely two thirds of his warriors, if not more. Not enough to protect the civilians in their midst, much less continue their resistance. But they were being forced westward to the wall of the Corridor, and eventually would have no choice but to turn and fight.
