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What just happened? What are we even doing here? These are the questions I find myself asking as I inspect the spoils of our latest conquest. Beside the bridge, in the main loading bay, a conveyor lift streams in a flood of trinkets and resources that could only be called valuable to a cargo-cult backwater like Evion's forest moon. The Council ordered our action against the primitive natives of Evion's Third Moon, for reasons I may never understand.
Here is an inventory of the tribute we've extracted from Evion-3's backward, tree-dwelling nomads, the diminutive feline creatures known as the Cattar: a few tons of ancient, petrified tree bark, likely for use as desk ornaments; three hundred broken spears, likely for use as wall ornaments; six hundred tons of rotten fruit--fertilizer; an autographed poster of the Galactic superstar musician Klaxxon (not sure how the Cattar got that); and forty tons of a soft, useless, yellowish metal the natives call "gold" and assure us is valuable somehow.
Was it all worth it? I don't ask that for concern over our own casualties, which amount to a single stubbed toe suffered early in the ground assault on the Cattar's treehouse city. I ask because many Cattar are now dead, and our ships are burdened with what amounts to garbage. I have half a mind to thumb my nose at the council and dump the whole mess of it into orbit, starting with that useless "gold" trash.
Still, a victory is a victory, another campaign to add to the annals.
It began inauspiciously, as I mentioned, with one of our finest marines, Baron Brownarr, stubbing his toe on a large and pointy rock after disembarking from the drop ship. That would amount to our one and only injury for the entire campaign.
The Cattar met us in the field, they armed with rock-tipped spears, slingshots, and handfuls of rotten fruit, ourselves armed with particle disruptors and plasma rifles. Their ferocity and bravery was admirable, led as they were by a brilliant and strong Cattar general known as Pafitzga who was almost five feet tall.
After a ferocious fifteen second stand-up battle, the Cattar's ranks broke and they ran screaming--and in some cases, smoldering--back to their treehouses where they planned to bog us down with grueling house-to-house fighting. Unwilling to bother with climbing the rickety ladders to their treehouses, our soldiers instead chucked plasma grenades into the dwellings, burning out what defenders remained. The highpoint in all this senseless carnage was when Sergeant Hawbell--acting on a dare--attempted and executed a perfect shot on his plasma mortar from fifty meters beyond its effective range, striking and collapsing a three-story treehouse that likely housed one of the Cattar's primitive soapstone idols.
So there you have it, another glorious victory for the Empire. But for what cause? For what gain?
There are rumblings on our sensor net. Our action against the Cattar has not gone unnoticed. In the Nittanus Sector, the Cattar's distant cousins, the Lyans, are marshalling their forces, perhaps for an assault. But before we can deal with them, there is grave news of another gathering storm: the Wiscyites of Randallar are massing on our frontier. Let us be ready to meet them.
Signing off for now,
Admiral Dae Riyan, Supreme Commander of the Bukki Star Empire