"I've never heard of any of those places or people. You are currently about twenty miles north-east of Leicheburg, in the Haunted Hills, in Stirland, in the Empire of Man. I am Marshal Gustav von Jungfreud, commander of this army under Elector-Count Abelhelm Van Hal. We are seeking to purge these hills of the undead and make them once again safe for human habitation."

"...I see. The Empire. What is the current year?"

Perhaps she has travelled to the past. Or perhaps Being X has decided to be cruel to her and toss her into a third world; Another world where she'll face endless war. It's unlike him to not have gloated about it yet, though... She can't recall anything in her Germanian history lessons about necromantic horrors, or a 'stirland'. Just some folk tales about old witches, before modern calculation equipment, and the vague superstitions surrounding them...

What kind of impression is safe to give here? 'Mercenary' is something they already have reference for- The dragon rider!

"I would be much obliged if I could be compensated for blowing up the cursed spring somehow, though of course I didn't arrange it in advance so that's no obligation. But I do need to eat and acquire more bullets to enchant."

There, appearing reasonable by politely requesting pay for solving a military problem (or at least helping) but making sure to mention that it would be fair not to pay. And a subtle implication at the end there, that one might turn to banditry in extremis of desperation. That's a nice touch.

"The year is 2475! Of course we can ensure you're fed and supplied while you're here, it wouldn't do to see a heroic contributor to our cause to go unfed. You shall dine at my very own table!

... actual payment will require consultation with Van Hal and vetting by his spymaster. It's a damn lucky thing he's got a grey wizard on our side already, that sort of thing is their wheelhouse without a doubt, shadowed swords of the empire and all that."  

"We must be using different calendars, by my reckoning it would be 1923. Of course, I understand that you need to vet things like this, and I would thank you for the hospitality in the meantime." She sketches a bow.

She's seen the quality of the weapons here... Like hell do they have 7.92×57mm Mauser rounds laying around. Probably literally just lead shot, paper-wad powder charges for propellant, at best. Would they even take a guidance formula? The steel or brass jacket makes converging the formulae to a stable point much easier, and the rounds would tumble out of a guidance formula's ability to correct for if they're just spheres...

"I would like to note that the ammunition I used just now is specialized and should be considered a limited resource."

"This campaign is somewhat behind schedule but thus far has faced only manageable threats, thank Sigmar. We will not form plans on the assumption that you are able or willing to use any particular battle magic without specific case by case consultation." 

Left unspoken: if only because you may be executed for heresy within a few days. 

She will continue to make polite diplomatic noises and not give too much away as long as Gustav von Jungfreud wishes to, quite looking forward to the chance to eat something that's not Imperial Army rations. Even if whatever this army eats is worse, at least it'll be different.

She will be invited to share a meal that's honestly pretty okay, all things considered, a meal fit for aristocrats on campaign and thus containing, say, seasoning and hot fresh meat and preparation by an actually skilled cook, and other things that make life worth living, even if it was prepared mostly out of preserved goods from the campaign stores. It even has some nice Stirland wine. Gustav Von Jungfreud is canny enough to avoid too many details of the current campaign, but he's happy to regale her with tales of past campaigns, with particular focus on his derring-do as a cavalry outrider with pistol and grenade. 

She will decline any wine at all, actually. Regulations, you know. (It would be polite in most social contexts to accept such a thing, but she is too foreign and too suspicious already and needs to stay sharp at this time.)

Oh! It seems there may be some overlap between aerial mage doctrine and cavalry tactics; In particular, the tendency for a sudden charge to either shatter the enemy or get oneself into a very vulnerable position if you misjudged it, and the immense power of scouting and flanking.

The comedown from too much analgesic formula is really starting to hit her, not that she can possibly let this show. Though she does start mentioning lodging arrangements.

Gustav is very familiar with both of those, though he notes that against undead or demon forces, decisive charges tend not to be as decisive as all that - they'll fight till they die or their binding is dissolved, so she should be careful not to overextend herself in that sort of fight. Between the broken terrain and the undead foe, his prefered style of warfare is really rather ineffectual in this campaign, hence hanging back with the artillery train. 

She can be directed to a spare tent in which she can sleep. 

Oh, if the undead are held together by magic, maybe an Interference Formula would be effective? Something to test later, perhaps?

Sleep sounds really good right now. She can't really fortify or ward the thing, and would prefer a nice concrete bunker or at least a foxhole, but needs must. She floats to the tent rather than walking; Being a scary mage will discourage any potential troublemakers in this unfamiliar mass of humanity called an army, which may or may not be as disciplined as she's used to. That's defense layer 1. Layer 2 is positioning her equipment and packs in such a way as to warn her if anything is messing with the tent- Canteen and food tins hanging from the flap so they'll make a racket if it moves, the large metal flight boot behind her head to serve as a barrier from any potential crushing from the rear of the tent. Layer 3 is, of course, sleeping while still wearing the Type 95 and holding her sidearm. The passive shell dissolves when she sleeps but she can snap it back up in moments upon waking, after being called to do exactly that dozens of times for sudden sorties.

And as she sleeps uninterrupted (anyone who decides to take a stab at the probably-vampire will get a quiet word from a priest set to keep a subtle watch on the situation), a fast horse will be dispatched back to Wurtbad to inform them of this development, and of the likely cause if the entire army disappears overnight, and another will be dispatched into the hills searching for a certain grey wizard as she works with the troops to clear the hills and caves of zombies and skeletons. 

And then another, much faster, horse will take her back the other way, to spend much of the rest of the night puzzling over this absurd magesight signiture. 

In the morning, nobody tries to wake up the mysterious battle wizard as they go about their days. 

In the morning, she cleans her weapons and boots first thing. And inventories all her remaining ammunition, quietly singing a bastardized version of Panzerlied to herself. 

Whether it storms or snows,

Whether the sun smiles upon us,

In the day's scorching heat,

Or the ice-cold of the night,

Dusty are the faces,

But joyful are our minds,

Yes, our minds.

Our spells roar there,

Along in the storm winds.

With thundering formulae,

Quick as lightning,

Towards the enemy,

Protected in the shell.

Ahead of our comrades,

In combat we stand alone,

We stand alone.

So we strike deep

Into the enemy's ranks...

And then tidying up her combat dress as much as she can, using a pocket compact to fix her hair and hat (as much as she can), and packing everything up neat and tidy, to march out of the tent with passive shell on and chin up.

A certain stealthy, and now somewhat sleep-deprived wizard departs silently once Tanya is ready to leave, off to make her report - to the effect that this is a deeply weird situation but that Tanya doesn't seem to be a necromancer, black magister, or chaos sorcerer. 

It's far too much to hope for there to be a well- Anything close to the tainted spring oughtn't be trusted- But what does getting water and breakfast look like here? The battle mage asks random passing soldiers.

Dealing with mundanities sounds like more fun than dwelling on the Rhine and how the 203rd could have been wiped out, to a man, without her.

Between the priests, the local guides, and the teams of siege engineers with a mandate to make this place fit for moving armies, water supply is surprisingly a nonissue. 

Once again, she is shuffled awkwardly into the officer part of the logistics chain, and can thus obtain water from a barrel already dragged up the hill and a breakfast of sausages, eggs, fried potato and fresh bread, all with savoury brown gravy. For beverages, there is milk (goat), beer, and wine. Tea or coffee would need to be talked out of one of the few officers who procures their own supply, if it is to be obtained at all.

Alas, coffee will have to wait. She will look for a way to make herself useful, maybe just with magic assisted heavy lifting, maybe by flying a lookout if nothing else seems obvious. And endeavor to determine who is watching her because they would be idiots not to have someone obvious and someone less obvious, to catch her when she thinks she's clear of the first.

People broadly speaking don't seem interested in her help - unless she's very pushy about it, they're totally fine and need no help miss terrifying witch, and then they clasp hammer amulets or make v-signs over their eyes when they think she's not watching. 

The obvious watcher is one of the priests from earlier, who lingers without finesse wherever she goes and glares at her if she uses magic or makes a social faux pas.

(The nonobvious watcher is currently taking a quick nap so that she'll be more on top of things when she actually talks to Tanya) 

On further thought, instead of going flying, she'll subject herself to whatever lecture asking the obvious watcher about Sigmar invites. She's heard of Sigmar, of course, (from overhearing muttered curses and invocations), wielder of holy hammers and protector against the undead, but not enough, and would love* to hear more.

*It serves her purposes to appear interested and sincere on this subject.

Of Sigmar, oh great golden Sigmar, what is there to be said? An awful lot, apparently, said with a passion that has flecks of spittle flying from the priest's mouth. Sigmar Heldenhammer, golden-armed, friend to dwarves, bane of greenskins and beastmen and witches and chaos alike. Sigmar, who united all* humanity into a single immortal empire to survive the ages. Sigmar, foretold by the twin-tailed comet. Sigmar, who first wielded Ghal Maraz**. Sigmar Boar-friend, chosen of Ulric the ancient wolf-god. Sigmar, king of the gods, whose holy power is the finest shield against the chaos that lurks in the north and seeks to destroy all that is good and right in the world. Sigmar, in whose name we march forth today to slay the foul undead who have been the bane of Stirland since Sylvania's treachery against all humanity in days of yore. Sigmar, who cloaks us in fire and faith and steel. A pretty swell guy, all told.

*Except for those filthy foreigners and slash or heretics who barely count.

**You know. The Warhammer. That one. The one people fantasize about.

Pretending to instantly convert is a bad strategy easily seen through in any case, even if she didn't find the whole thing distasteful. Also, good data point that they're polytheistic- There's probably a whole litany of accepted, questionable, and outright banned gods, then. She can learn over time. And are these ones real? In the sense that they're powerful extradimensional entities, at least- She can't deny that Being Fucking X is that. They probably are.

But she can look impressed and reverent here and now, and agree vigorously that the undead certainly need slaying, if they seek nothing more than destruction and more death. Praise Sigmar for burning the foes of all, then. To burn them, to shatter them, burst them apart with magic, slice them with spears and arrows and artillery, rip and tear until it is done. That dragon and the knight atop it must be a huge help there, eh?

They are real enough that the list of acclaimed miracles includes miracles that occurred like, last week - apparently Brother Kasmir, Count Van Hal's personal chaplain, gets them fairly regularly.

Yeah! Kill the undead! Except not with magic. Magic is how they got this problem in the first place.

Asarnil (The exiled elf dragon-prince) and Deathfang (The Dragon) are very useful, yes, but also about as expensive as the upkeep on all the cannon combined, and who can trust dogs of war, even princely ones - there's presumably a good reason he's exiled from his homeland.

Being S, check. At least this one's not yelling in her head.

This chap does not seem the type to appreciate a nuanced discussion of technology, its uses, risk profiles, economics... But she can poke a little.

"Proper soldiers need to be paid too, don't they?"