Editing Warhammer High (section)

==The Journal==
'''Sgt. Kate Gunnar, Septembus 8, 310.M34, 68 degrees Fahrenheit, Overcast''' 

We're up against tough shit here and the LT told us to write our wills, so I guess I'll use this old journal I picked up somewhere. Funny. Can't remember where I got it from now that I think about it.  Whatever, we're going over the top tomorrow morning at first light. Last will. Feels fucking strange thinking about it. Never thought I'd end up here. Granddad sure as shit didn't predict this the last time I spoke to him. I don't even know if this dirtball has a name beside its official administratum alphanumeric code. No fucking idea how to get this back home if things go ploinshaped either. Haven't left much of a papertrail the last years. Or any trail at all really. Fuck. Let's just get this over with.


My name is Kate Gunnar. I'm a Sergeant in His Imperial Majesty's Guard, 210th Dneipr Rifles. I come from a lot of places but Nenavist and Nuceria could be called my homes. 

I... Fuck. This isn't gonna cut it, is it? Not if I want the right people back home to get this if I bite it here. 


There was another girl years back. A scared and very angry girl with no place to go and no choice but to leave it all behind. Someone that did a lot of stupid shit and hurt the ones that cared about her. Someone that couldn't live a lie or risk going to prison. I don't think I want to go back to being her again. Not when Kate Gunnar manages so well without her. And Maria Aerstom. And Jane Stills. And Trisha Stubbs. And all the other aliases I've gone through all these years. Keep coming back to Kate Gunnar though. Still thinks it fits me quite well. Gah, I was never one for this bleeding heart stuff. Shit. If this is to find its way to the right person if I bite it out there tomorrow I have to at least take a short hop down memory lane. Don't want to leave Icy waiting around for me. Icy... I wonder what she's up to now. Hope Treasury didn't go to hard on her. Hope she still keeps my jacket safe. I liked that jacket.


Lets start over.

My name is Furia Angron. I am the daughter of Angron, Primarch of the XII Legion, the World Eaters. My home is Startseite, Terra, Sol System.

There. It's out. I'm gonna have to burn this if I survive tomorrow. Can't have someone reading this shit if I'm not six feet under. 


Ok, Last will and shit. Isis, your crackpot plan actually worked so you can keep my jacket if you still have it. Dad, if you've kept my bike give it to Hana. She'll know what to do with it. And Hana? If you are reading this I guess we won't have that last fight I promised you. Slug yourself one for me and we'll call it even, OK? 
The rest of my stuff back home you can deal with as you see fit dad. Sorry I couldn't come home but I guess this is better than ending up in prison or drugging myself into oblivion.


Fuck, I hope Simon moved on. He deserves someone good, if only for the shit he put up with when he was with me. If you haven't yet Simon then now is the time since I definitely won't be coming back from this. 

There. Hard part's done.  If worst comes to worst I got my bases covered. 


'''Sgt. Kate Gunnar, Septembus 13, 310.M34, 53 degrees Fahrenheit, Rain'''

I've decided to keep this journal, if only to not have to rewrite my will again. Somehow it felt good to write all that out. Just get it out of my system. Anyways. I survived the previous days fighting. It was touch and go for a few moments but me and my unit pulled through without too many casualties. Now I see why my dad put the fresh meat through so much shit. The greenskin fucks just don't know when to die. We're expecting a counter-assault any day now and our artillery have been pounding at the orks for two days straight to stop them from getting any bright ideas.

Gonna have to find a lock for this journal. Don't want people snooping. I've managed to explain away my strength and build with good diet and normal-plus gravity world upbringing. I don't think the brassholes bought it but they haven't kicked me out yet. When they discovered I could outshout the drillsarge they plucked my out for sergeant training. Said I was a natural or some shit. Heh. Only one I could never outshout was old Dean Yarrick. Wonder if he's still kicking around at Imperator?  


'''Sgt. Kate Gunnar, Octobus 20, 310.M34, 50 degrees Fahrenheit, Windy'''

Last push to wipe out the greenskins from this mudball. We have cornered them but they aren't broken yet. Brassholes sent a call for aid clearing them out and guess who showed up? A contingent of the World Eaters legion. My father's legion. With none other than Kharne leading them. My first thought was that they were here to haul me back to Terra. I don't think any of them recognized me. Don't know about Kharne though. He looked right at me but didn't say anything. Either I've changed that much or he didn't want to make a scene. I'm guessing the first option. 


'''Sgt. Kate Gunnar, Janua 3, 311.M34, 68 degrees Fahrenheit, Warp Transit'''

The regiment is being disbanded. The fighting against the greenskins took far longer than anticipated and when all was said and done our regiment had taken almost 89% losses. Of my squad only me and  two others, Jain Dromos, our field medic, and Khyle Macarion, one of our weapon specialists, survived. Though Jain will need a new lung. She was shot in the back. Like Morticia was. Fuck. It's been ten years since that happened. Ten years. Can't fucking believe it. Feels like that shit happened yesterday. 

Feels good to be going home though. And if this doesn't work out there is always another regiment in need of a sergeant.




Furia closed the journal and put it back in her duffle bag. She wondered how it would feel to be home again. Not just some temporary bivouac or army garrison, but her real home. In a couple of hours the lander would touch down and she would be home. Home. It had been more than a decade since she ran away from Kouthry, right under the Treasury's noses. Would her father even be home? Would he welcome her? Would he even recognize her?