"What in the seven hells of Chaos are you waiting for? Personal orders from the Emperor himself? When I say take that damned hill, I mean take that damned hill, not damn well stand around and stare at it! I don’t care if there’s fifty L’Huraxi up there. I don’t care if there are fifty thousand L’Huraxi up there! Our orders are to take that hill and I’m going to damn well take that hill even if it means I have to kill every last one of the purple-skinned giants myself. Damn it, follow me, I’ll show you how it’s done. That’s it, get stuck in there. Medic! Stop whining, Brook, you’ve got another damned leg. D’ya think I cried like a damned new-born when I lost my arm? Course I damn well didn’t. I upped and ripped that damned land shark’s damned throat out with my damned teeth! That’s it, Sergeant Reed, give ‘em some Catachan steel. Emperor’s teeth, their blood stinks. Get that heavy flamer into that trench; flush the damned Grox-heads out. That trench, you idiot, not this one! Oh yes, smell those aliens burn. Smells better than breakfast, don’t it? Give me that damn grenade. Do I have to do everything myself? See? That ain’t proper armour like you’d see on an Imperial tank – no it’s flimsy, fall-down-in-a-strong-breeze, I-hope-they-don’t-spit-at-me armour. I didn’t really mean spit at it! You there! Yes you! Pick up Sergeant Creek’s hand. The medics might be able to stick it on him again later. Don’t stop now, you damned work-shy sons of acid-grubs, we’re only damn well halfway up..."

- Colonel Straken