"Are you sure we can trust these orcs, sir?"
Ashnak stopped peering through the fallen, burned tree trunks and stared at the female orc beside him. "Of course you can't trust them, Marine Razitshakra. They're orcs!"
"No sir. I mean ideologically, sir." She wrenched a paperback book from her combats, waving it in an ink-stained hand. "If we're going to be the vanguard of the proletariat and massacre the oppressing classes -- elves and Men, halfings, dwarves, that kind of filth -- we have to be sure of everybody, sir, don't we?"
Razitshakra adjusted her rimless spectacles and gave Ashnak a long, hard stare.
"Vanguard of the what?" Ashnak took the dog-eared paperback. "The what Manifesto?" I've warned you before about reading, marine. Just take it from me, we're thoroughly -- what is it? -- ideologically correct."
Razitshakra gave him a knowing look, a smile and a deliberately sharp salute. "Sir, yes sir."