Quotes from Andy Remic

I was going to write down my experiences during the assault, but what's the point now? It's all been written before, so many glorified accounts, soldiers, warriors, heroes. No matter how grim a picture I paint, there will always be those who have bright excited eyes, who think War is romantic, exciting, a beast to be tamed.

Narnok rolled his shoulders and tilted his head left, then right, with terrifying cracks of released tension. The two men at his feet were groaning at different pitches, and Narnok stepped over them, testing the weight of the bar and muttering, "Not as good as the axe, but it'll do." He looked up. And grinned. "What's it to be, then? Two at a time or all six at once?

You can't see anything sprouted out of my face, can you?" "Only your unkempt nostril hair," said Trista, wearily.

Well, it's always good to know one's handiwork is appreciated; especially when one is about to die.

It was just… he remembered his puppy. And he fucking loved puppies.

Something has crumbled inside him. Something has broken. Like corrupt clockwork in a smashed watch.

How could one man take praise, take the pats on the back and the medals and the bullshit, when so many of his friends were dying out there in the dark? Unrecognised, without praise, dying alone with their legs blown off or their guts spilling out over shrapnel? Bainbridge was a hero, but he was alive, and for some reason he held this against himself. The true heroes of the war were the men whose songs went unsung, whose lives were extinguished. The ones who died alone.

Where has his humanity gone? His compassion? Ha. Pissed away in shell holes, that's where.

he glanced down at her beautiful, sculpted face with its gorgeous blonde curls, and her smile said: don't worry, we'll kill them all, afterwards. He smiled. And relaxed.

Within hours, all the Iron Wolves were starting to curse inventively.

It was beautiful, and it was terrible, and it was almost indescribably eerie.

We are joined. We have always been joined by that same blood mother bitch who carried us; only I was a deformed fucking nightmare, and you were the pretty little blonde bitch.

don't give no rabbit's fart what race or type of creature you are; if we'd been invaded by queer, tap-dancing dragons wearing top-hats and breathing cabbage fire, they'd still come here for their centre of command.