"War is not pretty and full of glory. Anyone who tells you it is has either never fought in a war or is lying to you. Or both."
He draws himself up on his horse, shading his eyes from the low sun to get a better view of the deployments around the village and to appraise the readiness of the assigned soldiers. With a single gesture to the man beside him he signals the go order and around him banners dip and twist. In turn section serjeants and corporals turn from the ridge they have been watching and nod to the large man each team has placed before a door and around the village, almost as one, boots and shoulders are put to wood and portals staved in. Troops stream into houses silencing screams with the back of the hand or the occasional stave to the belly and back of the neck. One by one the whole population of the village is dragged forth, gagged and hogtied. When one young lad attempts to make a run for it he receives a back peppered with crossbow bolts for his willfulness.
By the following dawn those same villagers, some of whose fathers, sons or sweethearts are within the fortification outside which he now stands, are staked and splayed on the ground. The Officer grins a wicked grin, to himself, as he listens to their screams start, placed carefully further than the range of missiles and projectiles from within, and with those screams come first the torches on the wall and then the shouts of anguish as they witness their beloveds threatened with suffering. He turns to his adjutant.
"Give them one hour of this display, then send the polite request for their surrender. If they don't then we start upping the pain and ask them again later."
