The trip to Essendrav proper had been long. After a quick, tasteless meal in the mess hall, they were herded into the transport crawlers to take the four hundred boys to an outpost an hour or two from Essendrav. That meant five hours to brood on an uncomfortable gunmetal seat with nothing but abandoned villages and trees to look at out the barred window.

"Why are them windows barred?" asked Stolce.

"To keep fatheads like you from busting out," replied Curth. "It's the same reason why the windows on the sleepy-hall got mesh on them. To keep you from escaping." Cav and Malreth shared a chuckle. There were four to a seat built for three. They looked like boys on their way to the academy. They were actually the four highest ranking "officers" of the volunteers unit. That meant they ensured that their ten squad leaders maintained the discipline of their nine squad members.

"Like a jail," Stolce said, his eyes afraid. He twitched when a fly landed on him. Cav pretended to be calm. He wasn't. His chest felt like lead. When he was in training, he had talked big and acted tough because he was young. When it came time to live up to his words, it was hard to match what he said.

"Hey, it is, isn't it?" Malreth shook a fly from his short, curly hair. "It is, right? I mean, they don't ask us where we wanna go."

"Well, I wanna go to Venger. To the beaches," Curth chuckled. The other boys shrugged. "Maybe I can take your mama. We can have fun." Curth talked to much. "Hey, just joking man."

"Humph," Stolce had been bullied a lot in the academy for his slurred accent and the fact that his mother was sent to a penal colony for assaulting an arbites while drunk. Curth had been one of the bullies.

"You think we'll go to the front at once?" asked Cav. "I mean…when we arrive at the outpost?"

"Cavenners, by the way the sergeant's been treating us, he'll prolly put us on latrine detail," Malreth suggested.

"We'd smell as bad as the enemy," Curth added, "almost as bad as…Stolce. Hey, hey, joking man." Erson City was plastered in propaganda posters that made fun of the enemy. One favourite for the cartoonists was the enemy's smell.

"Because I did hear we were being posted with a guard unit, a real guard unit," Cav continued. "You know? Immigrant offworlders who don't even know where Essendrav is."

"The rumor mill's got a lot of garbage to tell us," Malreth sighed, waving a fly out of his hair. "They could be sending us to the Astartes for all we know."

"Except that there's no Astartes on all Ersonia," Stolce mumbled darkly.

"But there's a lot of Ersonians and a lot of tanks," Cav mumbled. "But if I see an Astartes, I'll get his chapter to get your mama for you." Cav had been another one of the bullies who'd annoyed Stolce too. Of course, it was all to vent his frustration over being bullied over his clan. He'd relented when Stolce had tried to kill himself. But his nervousness now made him resort to old habits, to ease the mood. "Hey, sorry man," Cav muttered. "Whatever's out there, I'm sure it's nothing. We don't need Astartes."

A few hours later, it was time to go. The line of transports went through a concrete gate and halted in front of a huge compound. The sergeant raced in and yelled for the boys to get out in a tone that was too loud for the confined space. Cav got up jogged into the stream of PDF boys.

…

The commissar passed through the dusty mess hall, waving pipe smoke from his face. He crossed by uniformed guardsmen at their metal tables, playing cards or drinking. Some of these men were in the dark green fatigues of the Morchaghan 112th. If the commissar found one drop of alcohol in anyone's cup, someone would be shot.

"Where is the captain?" he asked one of the guardsmen in a 112th uniform. The large dark man pointed to a table where six men from different regiments were having a card game. The commissar approached.

"Captain Lystartro of the Morchaghan 112th?" the commissar boomed to the man he presumed was the captain.

"Yup, that's my name," Lystartro replied, sitting back. The commissar's eyes widened. He was huge, even for a soldier. His gut bulged, but the commissar knew better than to call it fat. His arms were like trees. His legs could kick down a tree. The left side of his face was deformed by a broad scar that must have come from fire or acid. His left forearm was an augmetic and his head was bald. The captain must have been in his mid forties. "I assume you're our new commissar." Lystartro patted an empty seat. The commissar did not sit.

"I am commissar Kins and the arm and voice of His holiness."

"Uh huh."

"Sir, please come outside with me," Kins pleaded.

"Why?" Lystartro asked innocently. "We can talk in here. Not too loud."

"Drinking…"

"It's all local juice, innocent goodness," Lystartro replied, "can't get drunk off it." Kins did not flinch. "Why the hell so hard? Once in a while you've got to sit and relax. If you stay tense all the time, let me tell you, it'll kill you. Back in Chazz, it's how we kept ourselves sane. Cause, believe me, we got few chances in that hell." Kins shrugged.

"Sir…just to warn you that I've been told you have to give a briefing today." Kins felt triumphant when he saw Lystartro's confusion.

"To the damned…Briefing? To who?"

"To the PDF volunteers coming in to join the 112th. Consider this news my first contribution to the company." The table laughed.

"Ah, the shot-stoppers," Lystartro acknowledged. "I wasn't told I had to brief them. I thought Frens or Arcantillius..." he cringed. "Nevermind." He folded up his cards.

"Hey, I'll catch you boys later. Maybe a few hands before we ship out?" Lystartro said to his table. The other officers…for that's what their uniforms said…waved him out and resumed play. Kins and Lystartro walked out of the mess hall, through the compound's rockrete corridors.

"So, tell me about yourself," Lystartro said.

"Captain?" Kins asked.

"Hear a few things, that's all. I'm the most senior officer in 5th company that you'll have to work with, so we'll need to be honest with each other," Lystartro replied. Kins shrugged.

"I fought in the Halivorian Uprisings down south. I'm from Ersonia, you know?" Lystartro nodded and asked what happened. "Well…there's these clans in the hills. They love Erson…Erson? He's the saint this whole rock is named after. Ersonia."

"Ah! Always wondered that," replied Lystartro.

"Well, there was this guy in these hill clans, these barbarians who live in the wilderness and safeguard their hilltop fortresses. He was Nerudru Halivor, who said the clans deserved to control Ersonia. He rebelled and got himself killed by the PDF. Five weeks of fighting. Not too hard. And, that's it, that's what I've done." Kins felt emasculated, knowing what he knew about the captain.

"So you're a junior?"

"I was a cadet back then, yes," Kins was thirty. "I've heard…well sir, I hear, and heard this unofficially, that you and your regiment fought alongside the Crimson Fists at the war for Rynn's World." Lystartro mumbled something. "Pardon?"

"Yeah," he said with a reluctant tone, like Kins had chosen to ask about the only thing Lystartro didn't want to discuss. "We were posted to do some behind-the-lines duties in Rynnsland training the locals. Heard bad news from Badlanding and we couldn't get out in time."

"How long did you stay?"

"Too long. I was in Porto Kalis when the whole Arx Tyrannus thing happened. I didn't see the flash, I was on the can." Kins looked at Lystartro's augmetic and pointed to it.

"Did you get that on Rynn's World?"

"Uh huh."

"Porto Kalis? New Rynn City?"

"The Battle of Grey Oaks, or so a few historians called it, as we were pushing the orks back during the reclamation. One of those big orks with shears on his hands. In this town, believe me, you want a man with my experience. The Morchaghan 112th is the best group of alien killers in the whole subsector." Kins grinned.

"You think you can handle these PDF babies?"

"I'll only take about a hundred. The colonel will divvy them up between the other companies. And don't be so quick to dismiss them. They may be young, but I saw good soldiers in boys half their age in my day," said Lystartro. "Of course," he muttered as an afterthought, "most of those boys didn't live past their first firefight. They got too excited when the shooting started."

…

This room was large enough to seat a whole regiment and a few scribes to boot. So it looked silly for half the seats to be empty and the full ones choking on the backsides of smooth-faced schoolboys in army fatigues. Well, that wasn't a fair evaluation. A lot of these boys did have enough stubble to make a beard. Still, despite the PDF kits and the gear, they didn't give Lystartro the chill he felt when he saw real soldiers. They all wore a black patch on the right shoulder that depicted the imperial eagle beneath the name "Erson City" in gold lacework. The number 89 was printed in blue on the eagle's chest. Blue meant "volunteers," or conscripts drafted to fatten Ersonia's fighting strength. Looking at them made Lystartro a little uncomfortable. He had a pair of sons back on Morchaghan who were their age by now. Were they going to follow him into the service? Lystartro grumbled. No use dwelling on the past.

"Men of the Erson City 89th!" Lystartro began, his voice echoing through the vaulted room. Gods above…this place was like a theatre. He could imagine a play being performed where he stood. "Welcome to Essendrav! My name is Captain Mortren Lystartro of the 5th company. I have served in the Imperial Guard for the better part of two decades. I have taken part in five campaigns against orks on three different worlds. This'll be my fourth, and so far…" He grinned darkly. "Well, it's like the good old days. This is the nice-zone. Where, if you wanna see your mommy, you come here first. The enemy isn't here and we're going to keep it that way. The Imperium holds a band of territory, of which this compound is part, on the eastern border of Essendrav to hold the orks back from the eastern countries. If you travel five hundred meters west of this very point, you will run into a huge network of trenches which defend our hold on the city." He waved his hand to his left, where west was. "And if you continue past there for about a ways then you're in Essendrav. Now they sent you to me without telling you much, so I know, so I'll lay it out to you like you don't know any freaking thing."

The screen behind him lit up.

"Here's us, on the edge of Essendrav. Now I'm about to tell you something you don't hear on the broadcasts. When the orks of the warboss Skullkicker arrived on Ersonia three years ago, their fleet numbered many hundreds or thousands of ships. The number of orks they got on your planet was estimated to be between two and three hundred million. They were able to land at least that many since then." He paused. "That's a lot of greenskins." He could see the fear on their faces. "So I'm laying it down for you nice and simple. Skullkicker has between eight and nine million ork warriors hitting Essendrav and each one of them…each one, can and will kill you the first bleeding chance he gets. He will cut off your head and he will stick it on a pole." Did one of the conscripts just shiver? "That's not something the propaganda guys made up, they actually do that. I've seen it. And if you're lucky, you'll see it too. If you're unlucky…well…we'll all know who you are soon enough." The picture changed. He saw a few of the boys widen their eyes.

"This is your typical ork warrior," Lystartro said, pointing. "He is almost never shorter than a meter and a half and he weights far more than I do. He will fight you with a blade and usually also a gun. Not all orks have guns but all orks have blades. If he uses his gun he will not fire accurately, but if he hits, you will go down. I have seen orks fire straight up into the air during a battle. I have had an ork miss me at three meters. I have seen an ork not stop in the middle of battle to reload. They are not worth one of you, but do not underestimate them."

The picture changed.

"There are many of these orks in this city, more than I've ever seen anywhere else. He is different from the others in that he had a rocket pack on his back to get close to you faster. Now, local command knows them as "rocket-berserkers" but the ork word for them roughly translates to…" Lystartro had to pause and remember this, "…man-who-reminds-me-of-a-thunderstorm. If you see one, do me a favour and kill him. The ork does not care if he dies. He cannot feel fear. He has no family to keep him alive, only his mob. He has no compassion. Peace with him is absolutely hopeless. So when you see an ork, kill him, especially if it's this one. Because they can move very, very fast." Gods, how many men did he lose to these rocket-berserkers in the past few months?

"Now," the picture changed, "Essendrav…as you can see… is divided into five band-shaped sections called Urbanis Zones. Urbanis 1 is furthest west and Urbanis 5 is furthest east. Urbanis 1 and 2 are in ork hands and the rest are being fought over. We're going off to Urbanis 5, for some…low intensity engagements. If we fight the orks there, they will be rocket-berserkers." He looked down at the sheet in his hand. "Now, I understand the 89th is divided into groups of 100. Each of your four groups will be assigned to one of my companies, to be…" he looked for the right word, "…mentored. Colonel Vistigo could not be here to assign you, so I'll read out your postings now." In the back, he could see three of his fellow Morchaghan captains waiting. "First group under Curth Tajennis, with first company under Captain Arcantillius. That's the big hairy guy there. Second group, under Stolce Dwarlo, with third company under Captain Sage. Third group under Malreth Bhoge, with fourth company under Captain Heeta. And fourth group under Cavenner…" Lystartro frowned slightly. Cavenner had no last name. "Under Cavenner…uh…with me. With 5th company."

…

Diary.

I have been assigned to be mentored by 5th company of the Morchaghan 112th. They are big guys and old for soldiers. A few are as old as father! They're very experienced. Some are missing fingers. We arrived in Urbanis 5 yesterday and this is the first time I have been able to write. I am trying to keep my group disciplined. Tigerson is still doing great with his group and Josahik is still doing poorly. Mieel is still very homesick. I had to shut him up last night. By the Emperor and by Erson's bones, he shouldn't be here.

The city seems fine to me. They say it's contested, but Urbanis 5 still has people living in it and stuff. It's a nice place. Lots of big buildings and streets and roads with people. Different from home. There's lots of soldiers too. Mostly Ersonians but some cityguard from Chazz and another Morchaghan regiment.

I think I am doing well as fourth group's leader so far. The job isn't as hard as I thought. Just keep people from stealing or running away. I leave the decisions to the men in the 112th. I'm just there to learn, so I keep hearing.

I haven't seen any orks yet. I hope they're driven out before we have to fight.

Cav looked up. He was sitting at a kitchen table in a house they'd been given to sleep in by the 112th. Seven boys to a room and three to each hall was uncomfortable to say the least. This was the only empty room and even it was stacked with papers. He'd just written his daily report and was taking some time to pen an entry in his journal.

"What's that?" It was commissar Kins and one of the men from the 112th that Cav didn't know by name. He looked about forty and had a bushy beard with messy brown hair. He leaned against the wall, while Kins stood like a statue with his arms folded. "Unauthorized document?"

"Diary…sir," Cav made the sign of the aquilla. "I'm from one of the hill clans, see."

"It's an unauthorized document, then," Kins replied, voice like stone. "A form of written record unregistered and unapproved." Kins took it and read through it. "And I see you've spelt my name wrong too. K-I-N-S, no Z you strawhead idiot."

"Sorry, commissar…"

"Familiarize yourself with protocol. You're in the army now, not sitting playing the lute on your hilltop longhouse. How do we know you're not a spy? Hm?"

"I don' think the orks…"

"It doesn't matter what you think, strawhead, and don't talk back to a commissar," Kins shook his head sadly, tossing his diary onto the desk. "Keep yourself a limit to how much you use that thing. And get some sleep. If the orks attack tomorrow, you can't be caught napping." He threw the aquilla sign. "Dismissed Tokrox. Have that report for me tomorrow morning." Kins marched outside and out of mind.

"Temper like iron, that one," remarked the hairy man who Cav thought of as Tokrox.

"Yeah. I'm Cav," Cav said.

"What's strawhead mean?"

"Hm?"

"Kins called you a strawhead."

"I'm part of the hill clans. It comes from the fact that a lot of us are farmers and…you know…light brown or blonde hair," Cav's hair was dirty yellowish. He saw the ignorance in Tokrox's eyes. "Right, offworlder. Well, when Saint Erson and his pilgrims first settled this world, they needed to defend their communities from pirates and orks. So they formed these warrior clans with strong ties to certain hills that Saint Erson charged them with defending. The hills? Cause that's where the first Ersonian communities were, in rugged places where pirates couldn't get to. When the Imperium arrived a few centuries later to get Ersonia on its feet, those clans were no longer needed to defend. Some of us stayed to the old ways and we still live in the hills, watching Ersonia." Tokrox nodded.

"What's the diary about?" he asked. Cav shrugged.

"Silly tradition. Hill clan warriors, they used to be called hearthguard, kept diaries, so they could be stored in a library with their ancestors. My family's its own library, somewhere." Cav had never actually been there.

"You think you've got to defend Essendrav?" asked Tokrox.

"Hm? Sure," Cav shrugged. "First Essendrav then Erson City then…the hills." Why was he asking this? "I've got a lot of family fighting in Essendrav. Maybe I'll see them?"

"You won't," replied Tokrox unapologetically. "Essendrav's huge. Biggest damned city on Ersonia. You a country boy?"

"I grew up on a farm, so I guess." By rights, Cav should still be on that farm, helping his mother with the grox pasture. "I don't want to see my world crushed by these ork things. It's not hill clan tradition that brought me here. It's…you know…common sense." Tokrox smiled.

"You ever seen an ork?" Cav said no. "How about a grot?" Cav shrugged, not sure what he meant. "A space marine? Ever seen one of those?"

"Not in person," Cav admitted. "There's a statue of one in Erson City."

"Uh huh," Tokrox rolled his eyes. "So what the hell makes you think you can fight? War's gonna kill you, boy. You aren't ready. I fought on Rynn's World for over a year. I know it's gonna get you." Cav nodded uncertainly, standing up, wondering if Tokrox was totally…what's the word…sane? "Cause let me tell you something. The captain's cute speech the other day was one thing. But you ain't know the greenskins until you've had one right next to you, where you can smell the last poor guardsman he ate in his breath. Until then, they're just a stupid looking face on a propaganda poster, no matter how the hell many you see." Cav nodded unsteadily. He'd heard of orks eating people and making trophies of their victims. All the veterans reported it. But to him, was so unreal, some abstract concept that was as inhuman as it was untrue. His heart told him he'd never see it, his head wanted to tell him he'd never see it, but every single Imperial Guardsman he'd so far met told him he would. He absolutely would.

That night, he had nightmares about monsters.

…

Stolce Dwarlo and his unit had been given sentry duty. That meant they were scattered across this part of the city all over the place. Some people went here, some over there, but never more than four in one place. They watched roads and walltops throughout the sprawling urban maze of rockrete and steel and lights and rolling PDF and Imperial Guard vehicles. Now and then they spotted civilians. Stolce had caught Nash winking at a girl.

"We're on duty Nash," Stolce had snapped. Bad enough that he was a group leader, but Nash couldn't be distracted. Now, they were looking for signs of ork fliers or stealthers or those rocket-berserkers that they'd been warned about. Stolce looked around and spotted three boys from his group. By the Emperor…this was boring. After three days here, he had been given nothing but guard duty. Not that he wasn't grateful to be away from the killing, but anyone would complain from the boredom.

RAAAAAAAAAAARRRR RAAAAAAAAAAARRR

The siren came on so suddenly, Stolce almost jumped out of his skin. He reached for his lasgun and pointed it…no, don't point it at anything until you know what's going on, or he might get jumpy and shoot. Already he could see the civilians had fled indoors and the Imperial Guardsmen were on alert.

Squinting through the canopy of rooftops overhead, he saw them. Silhouettes, in messy murders that stained the sky. They were specks, but deformed specks of aircraft that no Imperial would fly. In the distance, he heard a bomb go off.

"Ah!" Tordan sprinted indoors. Stolce jumped when he heard another bomb, then another. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Where was it coming from? He heard gunshots off to the side somewhere. Wha..what? What was going on? What was he supposed to do? What good were they if they had no orders? What good were their eyes out here anyway? Who could miss all those dark shapes and those bombs?

Uncertain, Stolce shouted at his squad to be brave and watch for orks. He plugged his ears to the siren, but remembered his gun and held it in both hands, keeping vigilant. That's what he was supposed to do, right? In his mind, Stolce was whacking himself for doing something wrong. What it was, Stolce couldn't pin down, but he knew he should be doing more than stopping and staring like a baby at nothing waiting for nothing to happen.

Gunshots, from another street. Bombs continued to fall. He could see smoke rising above the roofs. Yup, definitely smoke. The streets were also clear. Good. So what should he do?

He looked up again and saw black flecks of smoke filling the sky. Flak guns. Smoky wisps of gas shot into the sky. Rockets. He saw a number of the shapes falling. Dead orks. Good. He could also see falling shapes, fat shapes. Bombs. Bad. So…what was he supposed to do?

Falling small shapes, like sand tossed to the wind…what were those? Up there, Stolce squinted to see some of the planes were dropping scores of smaller shapes that fell fast. There were hundreds up there. Bombs? He hoped not.

"Ah…guys?" The other three of his team on the street looked at him. "Are those rocket-berserkers?" They got closer and closer. Stolce's heart raced when a number of them got close enough to see. They were ork-shaped, with big things on their backs…

And they were heading straight for him!

With an alien bellow, a handful of orks swooped down onto the street. While orks were falling like rain all across the city, these ones were right here! Stolce raised his lasrifle and squeezed the trigger. It was stuck. Uh oh!

He dove into a building as five orks landed in the street outside. His heart and thoughts were racing. Since the war began, he'd had fantasies of killing orks. He'd always won and killed scores. In real life, he couldn't even manage five. Why was the street devoid of everyone but four PDF conscripts? Where was the Imperial Guard?

He looked outside in time to see the other three boys get carved apart into quivering chunks of bloody meat by the murderous orks. One of them stomped on Vash's head, crushing it like a melon.

"AH!" Stolce cried in horror and fear as he tried his trigg…wait, it was on safety. He turned safety off. He fired again. One of the orks raised a fat pistol and lazed away. Shots destroyed the wall he was in front of. One broke a window he was near. Stolce focused on this one, on its toothy face beneath its helmet, and fired. He spent his whole pack on one furious volley. He was thrilled when he saw the beast knocked onto its back. The others laughed at it. Yes, they were laughing. It was disgusting. Humans laughed. Aliens didn't. Stolce sighted the next ork and fired. He was dry.

Reload! Reload! Reload! Reload! He fumbled with his gun as the orks focused on him. To make things worse, the other ork was standing back up. Stolce cowered behind the wall and heard gunshots bounce off his cover.

Then the air was filled with the chugging of a heavy machine gun. Stolce peeked out to see the orks were dropping and breaking apart under something to their left. The last one died, its body shuddering and dropping, just as a tank rolled into view. No, an APC. A…what-chyama-call-it…track. Stolce smiled nervously at the guardsmen behind it and looked away from his dead friends. Then he flopped onto his bottom and began to sob.

…

The ork's head came apart under the shotgun's lead round. Lystartro reloaded and sighted the other one atop the wrecked cargo truck. He shot it just as it activated its rocket pack. It spiraled like a missile into the side of the shop across the street, bursting into flame.

"Aha! Good shot," Frens commented, popping off another shot with his lasgun. A rocket-berserker who had yet to land died in midair. The street was being hammered. Ork dead littered the road, along with a few burning vehicles. The guardsmen had taken to the buildings flanking the street, firing up. Now that the bombs had stopped, it was safe to do so.

"Another wave," Frens shouted. Lystartro didn't need to be told. He could see the cloud of orks falling down, their rocket packs ready to dampen their fall. Precise lasgun rounds killed many in the air. Flak send dozens more spiraling down in smoke. Lystartro flinched in horror as he looked above them.

"Crashing plane!" he shouted, sighting the angry red face painted on the front of the ork monstrosity. It burned furiously from where an anti-air round had hit. It smashed into the topmost floors of a ten story office, sending the men in its lower floors scurrying. Most of them were killed by falling rubble. One died as he was shot by a descending ork.

"Hit them!" Lystartro yelled before the plane's wreckage had stopped falling. It was hard to see through the smoke, but his eyes had seen through worse conditions. He grinned like a fiend when a rocket-berserker landed atop the wrecked plane's wing. The brute sported a huge machine gun that was fed by an ammo chain that ran to his side. His rocket was as large as two men. Sighting this beast, Lystartro fired. The great ork's smile disappeared, along with its face. He fell like a sack of dirt off the wing and into the burning fuselage for a well-deserved cremation.

To his left, one of the Ersonians was gutted by a storm of flying lead, spat from the machine gun of an ork who'd landed nearby. Another ork did not bother to land, instead flying headfirst into a heavy bolter nest. Moments later, the bomb the ork had exploded, killing everyone nearby. Lystartro yelled as another ork landed in front of his window. The beast raised an guard-issue grenade, the pin pulled. Lystartro put his shotgun against the creature's face and fired. He ducked down behind the wall of the building and heard the grenade go off.

"Where the hell are those PDF shotstoppers?" Candren shouted in dismay, his lasgun emptying his last power pack.

"They're not here," Frens pointed out. "Sir?" Lystartro rolled his eyes. Another ork landed in the street, a two-handed axe in its hands. He made eye contact with it. The ork grinned from beneath the commissar cap it wore in mockery of everything the hat stood for. Though the ork was formal by ork standards, that look only meant one thing.

"Kill that one! It's going to charge!" Lystartro shrieked, pointing with one hand and firing with the other. The ork jumped into the air, but took lasrounds from six different Morchaghan guardsmen. The ork died as its rocket pack fired, driving it corkscrewing into a wall. The hat bounced down from the explosion it made. It was the also the last ork to die in that last murderous wave. The Imperial Guard waited, but no new orks rained down.

A half hour later, the all-clear was sounded. Now began the process of cleaning the place up.

…

"Deserting?" asked Kins to Cav.

"No!" Cav and his hundred had taken cover in a bomb shelter. "We heard bombs fall so we went to a bomb shelter, as ordered." The others nodded, a few squinting in the shaft of light Kins' lamp made.

"By the Throne…did you not see the orks?" Kins crossed his arms as Lystartro came down the stairs. "Strawhead, this cannot ever happen again. The only reason your hill clan brains are not all over that boy's face is because we need bodies to help clear the streets. On the double!"

"Yes sir," Cav nodded to his unit, who hurried out after Kins. All except four.

"Notren is hit," Cav said to the burly captain. "If…"

"Shut up," the captain sounded mad. "I did tell you to go to the bomb shelter, but I'd have you shot if I hadn't." Cav nodded, not feeling the weight of his words. "Notren's not going to survive. Now come on," the captain stood up. "What? His head's caved in. Why are these three helping him? What can they do? He's dead." Cav bit his lip and turned away. He felt like he was back in that nightmare with monsters. And he hadn't even seen an ork yet.

"Notren?" Mieel whimpered. He flopped back from his dying twin and stared off into space. Salvantor and Nails tried to comfort him. "I want to go home," Cav heard Mieel whimper. Cav swallowed a lump in his throat and took a few steps towards the stairs. He pressed his forehead against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.

"By the Throne…calm yourself down. We all die someday, little strawhead," Lystartro said. His voice had an edge but he wasn't mad. "You want real war? You should have been there on the first night of Rynn's World. Throne…now that was one hell of a night."

"Would you shut up?" Cav blared. "One of my friends is dying and there's nothing I can do about it and I know it's only going to get worse! Do you think…at all think, that I give two thoughts about some damned war that happened somewhere I've never even heard of?" Cav was angry, too angry to care about his tone. Lystartro looked at him strangely, then began to smile.

"You know, any other man I'd have put on latrine duty for that," he said. "But since you're one of those tough strawhead types, I think I'll have you flogged." Cav barely heard him. He was looking at Mieel, who was crying into Salvantor's shoulder. He flinched when Lystartro slapped him on the shoulder. "First taste of death boy, get used to it. But I'll make soldiers out of you boys yet."

…

Diary

I got off with six lashes for snapping at Lystartro. He thinks I'm unlucky, but Kins tells me he'd have shot me if he was there. I think Kins hates me because I'm hill clan. He's always saying how I smell like one of Halivor's followers or how I'm a strawhead with no brains. Sure, he's nice to everyone but me.

Notren died last night. Mieel's not taking it well. I suppose its natural. I remember when Mieel and Nortren would take turns riding their father's grox and joke about being aboard a titan. Then they'd argue where they were supposed to be fighting. I always thought Nortren would have taught his brother enough to have prepared him for his death. Even I knew Mieel couldn't rely on his brother his whole life. But Mieel was the kind of guy who could avoid attention. I guess that's how he got through training. But now who's going to read Mieel's orders to him? Who's going to wipe Mieel's butt? I know I shouldn't write this in case Kins finds it, but Mieel isn't exactly an intelligent guy. He can't read and he certainly can't take orders. PDF Volunteers needs to check its candidates closer.

I still haven't seen a live ork. Dead ones, plenty b

Cav rolled his eyes and put down his pencil. Mieel was throwing up a storm in the other room. He crept through the night-black halls and found Mieel, shrieking and banging his fists on the walls.

"Hush," Cav said, putting a hand over Mieel's mouth. "Someone? Hurry, before Kins hears this." Mieel's muffled cries were helped little by Cav's hand. Emperor above! No one was getting up to volunteer. They didn't want Kins catching them awake.

"Hello?" Tokrox poked his head inside. By now, Mieel was rolled up in Cav's lap like a child, wetting his lap with tears. "Oh. I'll take him. Shut him."

"Some people were just not meant to be soldiers," Cav sighed. He got up and went.

"Cav! Cav!" Mieel cried after him. "I wanna go home! Cav! Take me with you! Where are you going?" Cav closed the door. He turned in time to see Kins running up the stairs.

"It's nothing…" Cav promised.

"I'll tell you what's nothing. Getting waked up by that little worm's squealing isn't. Now you shut him up or I shoot you both," Kins frowned. "Just like a little Halivor-man, sneaking around in the dark." Kins entered Mieel's room and closed the door. Cav hurried back to his own room. He heard distant shouting. Then it was quiet.

I hear that we're going to go deeper into Essendrav by next week, to relieve other Imperial Guard units who've been there for a year. Not looking forward to it. And Emperor, when Mieel dies, don't let him suffer. Don't make him die like his brother did. Don't let it take hours.

Just writing that made him angry. He could see Nortren's crushed face in his mind. It was less repulsive now than the sight had first been. All because of the orks. Anger replaced sadness.

And, Emperor, I beg you, let me kill a lot of orks.