I should know. I was the one who captured it.

But the pict is a lie. It does not tally with my recollections of the conflict, or the original data-files from which it was spliced, and bears scant resemblance to the truth.

Hence this account.

I do not scribe it for my own benefit. My memories of the war are perfectly preserved in myriad data-files. I could conjure any moment, relive any exchange, if I so desired. Nor do I write in recognition of the pilots and ground crew who gave their lives for the Imperium. Frankly, the sanctioned account portrays most of them in a far more positive light than they deserve.

And I certainly do not write it for Flight Commander Shard, who demonstrated repeatedly the scant regard she held for truth, propriety or the institutions of the Imperium. Her legend is founded on falsehoods and lies, her persona as crafted as any gutter pict. When I picture her now, it is as I last saw her. Her aircraft dark and silent, suspended in the cold void of space. Alone. At peace.

I write this because I am an Imperial propagandist, and an honest one at that. I draw scant solace from the sanitised account of the war. Indeed, I question if we truly serve the Throne by perpetuating such lies and falsehoods, however much they flatter or venerate.

Do we not owe it to the God-Emperor to speak the truth?

Even if, sometimes, it does not tally with the Imperium’s Truth?

Chapter one

CHAPTER ONE

I cannot tell you when war began on Bacchus.

I could provide the date that Imperial forces were dispatched to the once prosperous agri world to combat the mounting ork threat. But greenskins emerged from the swamps years prior, local forces suppressing their numbers for almost a decade before their sudden plea for assistance. Many had already lost loved ones or limbs before official records decree the conflict even started. Their war began early.

My war began in a dingy cabin nestled deep within Orbital Station Salus, the monolithic space station suspended above Bacchus. I awaited authorisation to depart for the planet below, and had for over a day. There were either atmospheric irregularities or hostile forces operating in the area, depending on whether one believed the official account or overheard whispers in corridors.

With my meagre possessions and ample equipment already stowed, there was little I could do but wait. My time was occupied watching a tiresome recruitment pict, even though I had already endured it a dozen times or more. It was, after all, the reason I was there. The holo-display projected a grainy image of an ork warrior. A wiry creature, clad only in a scrap of loincloth, the greenskin was nevertheless imposing, its tusks bared in a snarl, a crude spear brandished with intent. It sniffed the air, like a bloodhound, before roaring and surging forward, intent on its prey.