Early evening of 14 April
Orders is orders, an' the Dark Lord's orders — well, I clawed my way up ter Captain 'cause I knew 'oo I could cross, an' he weren't one of 'em.
Orders is: drive the white-flag tarks down ter the stinkin' river, an' let the red-flag tarks — his snivellin' bootlickers — do all the killin'.
But this rabble o' stinkin' mountain maggots don't like them orders. Garn! Think they're gonna cross me?
There's benefits o' bein' the Captain... like givin' these stinkin' snagas a little discipline, all proper-like. Looks like my job is ter skewer a few, just ter show 'em 'oo's boss.
'Ang back an' 'and the white tarks ter the red 'uns for killin', just 'cause the reds're the Dark Lord's stinkin' tark-pets? They're gutless, an' they'll waste the best booty!
Us snagas know this, but the stinkin' captains — so scared o' their stinkin' Dark Lord — pricked the stupid swine as snarled it out loud. So we shut up....
But lots of us'll die in this battle, an' maybe some as dies first will be them captains. We'll see ter that. Then we'll make some sport!
Tarks is tarks, an' our victory feast'll taste sweeter with both red meat an' white.