Also, to contribute a bit to the general narrative vibe via my own attempt at writing an character summary of our battle:
I expected many things to come from our battle of Bruet. I expected an absolute meatgrinder, heavy casualties, miserable conditions and dampened spirits. Trenchfoot and defeatism growing like grass amongst our ranks. Durand planned a defensive battle in the mud, but we all knew the dangers of charging into enemy infantry range. Our plan worked, but much of the battle didn't go particularly well. I saw the poor halflings saps be shoot by artillery, slowly killing them with saturated fire. Poor things barely had their torsos above the mud, it's a miracle the 19th managed to move like they did. I saw the hussars and lancers get decimated by an unexpected artillery attack in the south. I read the reports afterwards, and it seemed like the VI. would take just as bloody a nose from the whole thing as the affair. Defeating them was good of course, but was a bloody nose good for both enough for the republic? We would leave the south open afterwards and I was full of worry about my family there. Father refused to get out, brave (or foolhardy) just as much as I am. In the event Wachenheim could march again, my home in Martelnac would be near a siege, with a week before we could reinforce it again. Not just that, we had yet to face Trotha's superior canons. Dreadful prospects if we couldn't win here against a green General.
Being stuck in the mud with nothing to do but directing a bit of resupply, my thoughts drifted towards our future career. What would people say about the VI. here? I was anticipating the black spot on our performance, an awkward laughter when meeting other officers. "Oh, one from the VI. Ones that fought that bloody stalemate at Brutet." Something the VI would have to make up for in the future and hope it slips into forgetfulness. Well, it could still be a strategic victory. Wachenheim needed to retreat across the river, that would weaken him. But net wins and slightly bloodier enemies from an artillery duel don't look good in the record.
Enter the 45th. Mad bastards ignored orders and charged. I could have sworn Durand was just about to scream at them out from across the battlefield. Our general was mad. Still pushed forward a bit, no reason to not take the forest she told me. Then came hope. Trothas artillery started to retreat. Enemy hussars finally showed up. And then came the miracle. The enemy cavalry, routed in an instance, with much of the western army still stuck. Durand raced ahead with the cavalry and everything changed. Gone was the despair, now came a phase of profound disbelief at our luck. When I heard the 13th captured Wachenheim, I thought they were playing an ill-timed prank on us. Or that Bonnaire got the nornish insignia wrong and confused the general with some logistics officer. I always thought they always looked like they were squinting
No such thing. Even after the battle ended, I still couldn't believe it. I half expected it to be a day dream, soon to be ended by somebody yelling at me to wake up. Even writing this now, I can scarcely believe it. Six thousand souls captured in the aftermath. Almost half of their army, including one of their hussars. Who successfully captures cavalry?!? Plus their entire supplies and munitions, in our hand. A triumph that would barely find comparison among past victories. From an exhausted army, a mauled cavalry corps charging during mud season. Luck slapped us in the face for most of it, but suddenly decided to warmly take our hand and ask us to marry. I was ecstatic.
The 6th was bloodied, but it won it's glory. There would barely be a western army. After a long day of battle, I can rest easily knowing my family and the republic are safe. Thank the gods for Durand and our last run of luck.
Anonymous Staff Officer, Diary Entry "Battle of Brutet"
