How Not To Summon a Modern Private Military Company in Another World Chapter 12: The Goblin Horde Part 1

Alpha and Bravo teams stepped out of the main gate of Aldo Village. They spread out across the northern periter, forming a defensive line in front of the gate.

Based on the drone’s report, all the goblins were coming from the north. This was the best spot to intercept them before they reached the walls.

The soldiers knelt down and aid their rifles toward the dark treeline about eight hundred ters away. It was too far for their weapons to hit effectively—the FN SCAR-L rifles of Alpha Team and the M4 carbines of Bravo Team wouldn’t reach that far—but they waited anyway, watching through night vision.

Movent flickered between the trees.

"All stations, this is Predator One," ca the radio call. "We have three hundred forty-eight confird hostiles moving through the treeline. More are coming. Tracking their origin now, stand by."

"Predator One, this is Actual. Solid copy," Albert replied.

Ward, crouched a few ters from him, spoke quietly. "Sir, this is my first ti killing sothing that isn’t human."

Albert nodded slightly, eyes still on the dark forest. "All of us are."

They waited in silence.

The night-vision goggles painted everything green and black. Then the figures stepped out of the forest—small, hunched, and twisted. Their faces were just like Harvin had described: pale green skin, sharp yellow eyes, and mouths full of jagged teeth. They wore scraps of leather and tal, with bones tied to their belts. Their weapons were crudely made—broken blades, rusted daggers, and short bows made from animal sinew.

Then ca the noise.

A chorus of screams and shrieks echoed through the night. The front line of goblins beat drums made of hollow logs and clashed their shields made from wood and tal scraps. So carried torches, lighting up their ugly faces even more—long ears, crooked noses, and sharp grins filled with hatred.

"All stations, this is Atlas Actual," Albert said calmly over the radio. "Enemy sighted ahead. Hold fire and wait for my command."

Everyone watched as the goblins charged forward, closing the distance fast.

Five hundred ters.

Four hundred.

Three hundred fifty.

The noise got louder. They were running straight at them now—hundreds of them.

Albert tightened his grip on his rifle and gave the order through the radio.

"Alpha, Bravo—prepare to engage. Wait for my mark."

The goblins hit three hundred ters.

Albert didn’t hesitate.

"Weapons free!"

The night exploded.

Machine guns opened up first, followed by rifles. The M240s and M2 Brownings roared, filling the air with flashing light and thunder. Tracer rounds cut across the field, and the first line of goblins was torn apart before they even realized what hit them. Screams filled the night, but the soldiers didn’t stop, they kept firing in steady bursts, culling those goblins who were in the front.

The goblins anwhile were confused and shocked. They were disoriented by the noise the guns made and them being killed by sothing they couldn’t see caused them to panic and run.

"Sir, they are getting out of the dodge," Ward said.

"I can see that, it looks like they are not just your mindless creatures who would just charge straight to our positions," Albert said.

"What should we do? They are getting away from our effective range," Claes asked through the radio.

"All stations, Predator One. Origin are still not sighted but we found a large cluster of goblins headed your way."

"How many?" Albert asked.

"Analyzing..." the Predator feed scanned the monsters individually, basically counting them accurately. Seconds later, a display flickered across the screen, giving the pilot the answer.

"All stations..." the pilot’s voice trembled slightly. "There are over a thousand over a thousand hostiles moving toward your position," the Predator pilot said over the radio. "They’re spread across the forest line, heading straight for the village."

"So they are fucking regrouping huh?" Ward cursed under his breath.

"That seems to be the case. Strength in numbers, that’s what the goblins are according to the village elder Harvin. I knew this fight won’t be an easy one. We have to hold until close air arrives."

Five minutes later, the goblins, more in numbers now, are stepping out of tree line with a ferocious roar that shook the air.

"Jesus Christ..." one Marine muttered, gripping his rifle tighter.

"Hold your ground!" Albert shouted. "Everyone, focus fire on the front! Don’t waste ammo on those still in the trees!"

"Copy that!" Claes yelled from the right flank.

The goblins charged across the open field, their screeches growing louder. Arrows whistled through the air but fell short, barely reaching halfway. They were fast and erratic, running in zigzags, stepping over their fallen kin from the previous wave.

At two hundred ters, Albert gave the order.

"Engage! Light them up!"

The M2 Browning mounted on the tripod roared to life, cutting through the horde like a scythe. Each burst sent goblins flying, limbs torn apart by heavy-caliber rounds. The M240s followed, spitting long bursts that mowed down entire clusters. The riflen fired in controlled volleys, their muzzle flashes painting the night in rapid bursts of orange light.

The goblins scread in terror and rage, but more kept coming. So crawled over piles of bodies, trying to get closer. Others hid behind makeshift shields of bone and wood, but they shattered easily under gunfire.

"Reloading!" soone shouted.

"Keep it up!" Ward barked. "They’re closing in—range one-fifty!"

Despite the numbers of the goblins charging towards the village, the invincible wall of lead prevented them from even getting near. But there’s sothing wrong with the goblins, they weren’t scared like earlier, they are more enraged.

Good thing they had heavy armants in their arsenal, but if this kept going, they would eventually run out of bullets and be at the rcy of the goblins.

"Atlas Actual to Command, how long for the air support?" Albert asked.

"Spooky-1 is four minutes out to the AO," Keller responded. "Hold your ground Actual, help is near."

"Copy that, four minutes," Albert acknowledged as he reloaded a fresh mag into his FN Scar l. He fired again at the goblins, killing another ten. "Just you fucking wait until our close air arrives you goddamn son of bitches."