~late evening, Nordenwatch~
It is a curious thing, the manner in which peasants become peacocks when the soldiers are nearby. Throughout my time with the Griffon Order, through the first villages and warcamps I've visited, almost without exception, the local peasantry stride and whoop as if they have won the day when a battalion arrives with news of distant victories. I suppose if one is used to a life of farming and mercantile - where the biggest risk is whether or not that woven fabric you spent this year's harvest money on will sell - it must seem exotic and exciting to know those weary souls have been face to face with death and still walk to tell the tale.
As if most would care to do so.
War is a gritty and kitten ugly business, by any definition. The insanity of the Chaos legions is something I've yet to truly grasp. Are they such fools as to miss entirely that the plague neither knows nor cares what race you happen to be?
I have heard tell that the goblins and orcs will happily fight to the death for 'shinies'; which are as likely bits of glass and tin as anything of actual value. And it is a certainty that the Chaos fighters know the ultimate futility of the notion that this is a war they can 'win'. Particularly being that the victory they seek would result in utter annilhilation of life as any of us know it. The dark elves... I suppose there is no limit to the folly that pride will induce in a people. I did not believe the tales of narcissism and arrogance, abject cruelty and malice until I witnessed it for myself upon the battlefields.
I find I sigh much more often of late. I am already weary and there is much to be done. The shadow of taint and acrimony that spreads across the world seems almost an evil tide. It is difficult to feel a sense of hope when the waves seem so endless. For all that it is a certainty there are many of the enemy who will be no more bother; Their ashes I have, myself, spread across the fields of Nordenwatch. It is a small satisfaction, but I suspect I will need to take it where I find it.
The duties I am given in this place are hardly all war, and I should be thankful for it. But I find myself annoyed with the petulant faces of the locals as they demand I see to the wolves that harry their flocks, or find some confounded necklace that some widow simply cannot abide living but that it be restored to her. Simple needs. I know I should not resent them so. I imagine any of these people making it even a week in the war torn city I knew as 'home' and it seems somehow unfair that their biggest concerns in the midst of a world-wide conflagration is so easily centered on hearth and home.
It is, of course, my own issue to bear. A servant of the Empire does not take their frustrations or resentments out upon those they are present to protect. Would they, I wonder, feel thankful to know the anger that is stored and unleashed upon the fields? Perhaps I should be thanking them.... more than once that annoyance and anger has made the difference between a charred enemy and my own demise.
It is not all grit and grousing, of course. I met a young orc upon the far fields of the Darkwood Bandit camps today. He was swollen with the pride of Destruction and it occurred to me to offer him a demonstration in humility. Indeed, he strutted and swaggered his red-faced pride before me until I was really quite tempted. But it would be foolish to battle even such a one in shouting distance of the large bandit camp. Bandits care not for sides and would be as likely to join him as myself.
As fortune would have it, the patience was rewarded. Later in the day, I spied him swearing and spitting across the battlefield; at the fortress of Nordenwatch. I do wonder if he knew the same wizard he had clucked and taunted at within the depths of the woods, amongst the bandits, was the wizard who sent his flesh and bone to crisp and ashen doom.
I like to think so.... but then again, he was only an orc. I have heard it said their memories are only as long as a meal and twice as likely to dribble as they are. Who can say?
I'll share a secret with you, my friendly, discrete journal.... I overheard today that the Emperor has sent my father's battalion into Gotland. I am sorely tempted to request immediate transfer, as it is scant miles from this place. But the recent efforts seem to have received more publicity than I would like, and thanks to that blathermouth of a company liaison, Rupert Pfeiffer, everyone has heard of my efforts in Nordenwatch. I hardly can move but that someone's friend of a friend's mother isn't asking for help. Worse yet, what times I have taken the front lines within Nordenwatch, the Order themselves have cheered me on.
I never realized one could be famous (infamous?) for doing one's job. I arrived to my quarters tonight and, upon this very desk, a short and rather terse missive from Reginald Vance awarding me a title.
Me. A title. I laughed aloud for it! And no mere silly 'ladyship', mind you. I suspect this is some manner of male bonding or perhaps even a trial of temperence. The title is, I am sad to report, "The Mauler." As if I would sully my hands to touch any of those misbegotten beings. Nonetheless, I am informed it is some high honor and I should be appropriately humbled to receive it. Bah. As if I care for ribbons or pagentry or little letters that mean something only to those who collect little letters.
This said, I cannot deny that I do enjoy the way my peers and the young ones straighten up and look proud as I pass. Such a thing would never have happened in Kislev, even were I to singlehandedly send the plague to ground. No, I will not deny the feeling of accomplishment and yes, pride, that I take in knowing I am doing my job, doing it well, and others are noticing.
Now if only I could get some of my comrades to listen when we're breaching the Fortress. Ah, yes, that is the thing I meant to write here. (How distracted I have become! Note: Remember to take a spot of time off and find a good library when finally we reach Altdorf.)
I have uncovered an almost foolproof strategy for victory at Nordenwatch. In this last week of skirmishes, only thrice has it let me down. I record it here informally until such time as I may submit it in regulation format to the company commander.
----Nordenwatch Tactical Assessment----
The battlefield of Nordenwatch consists of three targets -- the lighthouse, a barracks, and the main fortress. The landscape between the three is encompassed in something of a triangle. The secret entrance of our Empire is (as it seems from reconassaince reports) not yet detected. The forces of Destruction are forced to supply themselves via a dock located on the northern beach. We have not yet managed to overtake the docks, but the barracks are open to raiding as opportunity allows.
In the weeks that I have been on active duty at Nordenwatch, I find that the key to victory in the area is to secure the lighthouse and fortress targets and defend them at all costs. The barracks themselves are easily ignored; both because they are too near the Destruction docks to make them viable and they are surrounded by inhospitable ground that often proves more impediment than aid.
Our forays consist of a rush to the lighthouse, which seems (for whatever reason) to be unguarded. The majority of our force continues onward past it to the fortress. We leave only two or three at the lighthouse to insure its security, and they join us at the fortress immediately thereafter.
In most cases, the real battle occurs at the fortress. But our ground cover is naturally superior (particularly the bridge and canyon areas) and in most cases, we are victorious. Then, it is simply to refuse to chase the Destruction forces, make them come to us. It is an easily defensible area. Other than this, to have a force of three or four check upon the lighthouse with regularity, as inevitably they attempt to sneak in a small force to take it.
Should either of the targets be lost to us, we immediately proceed by coast to the barracks and capture them. This has the almost predictable effect of turning the Destruction forces as one to retake it, which leaves the fortress or lighthouse open for recapture and ultimate victory.
In fact, most times, simply by taking the barracks and forcing the enemy forces into a foot race for defense, we can keep two of the three targets at all times and easily win every time.
I am working tirelessly to drum this information into the heads of the younger recruits. Almost to the point of annoyance, but as they see it works, they lose the resentment and over time, I have become something of a field leader in these efforts. I am embarrassed to write that they have actually cheered my arrival upon the field of battle. There's no telling what manner of ribbing I will endure should THAT get whispered to Rupert or the Griffon Sergeant. I will hope it's simply exuberence and certainly will say nothing of it myself.
For now, I think a warm bath and a hot toddy. It has been a dreadfully long day and I doubt I will be given leave to proceed to Gotland for at least another week. Dazh help me, perhaps this time, I will catch my father before they march. He does not yet know I am enlisted, and I am certain he will be pleased.
