--

As kept by Kuwta Eagerbinder, record keeper to the mighty Krovas Deepstorm, Forty-Second War Chief of the Blind Cruelty Clan.

May my flesh be whipped from my bones, if the words herein fail to record accurately the history of the clan.

--

The subservient introduction to the journal told me a lot about the power dynamics within Orc society. It obviously didn’t pay to be an academic in a culture which failed to value intelligence.

I hadn't had a chance to delve deeply into the journal yet, but at first glance, the early entries seemed to detail mercenary deployments that the clan had taken part in. The written accounts of these were split between childlike propaganda and detailed tactical notes.

There was little of interest for me in the praise of the ‘mighty clan leader’ but the writing did reveal the author was adept at maintaining and adapting technology to their benefit. Hot-wiring vehicles and jury-rigging explosives from a myriad of different components. Whoever Kuwta was, he had talent and training in abundance.

The entries told me much about their tactics and one in particular offered an explanation as to why we hadn’t been able to locate them upon the plain.

--

Day 315 in the year of the vicious weasel

Mighty Krovas successfully completed the clan's third mission after having been pressed into the service of the Imperial Numeri. This time we ambushed a force of Kabal attempting to navigate through treacherous terrain.

Dug into the ground in a similar manner to the accursed Arachnia we were nearly undetectable and inflicted heavy wounds upon the enemy before they even knew we were amongst them.

Despite this advantage, four more of our squad died during the engagement leaving our numbers seriously depleted.

This enslavement to the Imperium is no way for Orcs to endure. It does not follow the old ways and fails to bring honor to the clan.

--

This was the first and only time that I’d seen the writer express dissatisfaction with their situation. I fully understood the frustration and didn’t disagree with them, our first-team hadn’t signed on to this either, all of us had been conscripted against our will.

The next entry was illuminating in a different manner.

--

Day 316 in the year of the vicious weasel

I have successfully bypassed the console's security protocols and have gained limited access and control of the ship's basic systems.

My new access rights allows me to open doors, turn the lights on and off. I could probably order breakfast if I wanted, but sadly I cannot access the data records and discover why we are here or what we are being trained for.

I doubt it is anything good. The Scrael are notoriously speciest and it is unlikely they would allow outsiders within the ranks of the Imperial Numeri.

I have been focussing my nano-evolution on hacking and I will redouble my efforts after we have completed the next mission.

The use of nanobots in itself concerns me. It is common knowledge that hacking a subject biology will reduce its lifespan significantly. That this is not a concern to the Scrael indicates they have no long-term use for us.

At present, I doubt I have lost more than a few years of my dotage, but if my growth continues it won’t be long until more serious consequences arise.

--

Red hot anger ran in my veins. We had damaged ourselves, corrupted our beings with these nanobots without knowing the consequences. I’d suspected it before, but this confirmed my suspicion. We were obviously nothing more than disposable infantry to the Imperium. I wasn’t even certain they considered us soldiers, were we just useful tools to them. To be used and discarded with no more note of our sacrifice than we had considered Thomas’s.

I forced myself to breathe slowly and eventually my temper cooled, allowing me to continue through the remaining pages until I reached the final entry.

--

Day 318 in the year of the vicious weasel

The next mission is an assault upon dug in forces. The databanks information upon the opposing race makes me cautious about the upcoming encounter.

Humans

An unpredictable race of intelligent bipeds originating on a planet they call ‘Dirt.’ These creatures are capable of great kindness and incredible viciousness, often in quick succession. Caution is advised in dealing with them. The race has limited intelligence and has not natively discovered interstellar travel, but many have been conscripted into military service due to their capricious nature.

We have endured far too many losses to stand toe to toe with such a dangerous foe. With the ability to bypass security protocols it will be a simple matter to dispatch their group during their sleep cycle. I will make my proposal to Krovas imminently and my next entry will be rejoicing at their demise.

--

“Sarge, there’s some fucked up shit going on.” I explained the situation to the others as quickly and succinctly as I could. This involved lots of gesturing, some swearing and a fair bit of thumbing through the journal.

Finally Sarge called my presentation to a halt.

“It doesn’t matter, kid. It’s good intel, but none of this changes a thing. The mission stays the same. Secure the hill and hold it. I intend to complete that mission.”