On the Methods of Rationality and Dakka
"But boss, why we got to do dese drills? We ain't stormboyz, wot's der point?"
Kaptin Blu Toof opened his maw to shout, then shut it again. This, in itself, was a worrying sign. Ever since he'd talked to that Rogue Trader, ever since they'd looted those Tau, he'd started to think before he talked. To the average ork, it either meant the boss was going soft, or he was a real cunning git. Either of which was troubling.
"Boyz," he said, "I seen the troof. It be a hard troof, but dere ain't no denyin it. Da Trader showed me a piece ov it, but I had ta put it togever meself. Dis be a real feological troof, ya get me? I seen da troo difference, da divide... between Gork and Mork. Da troof about dakka itself. Me eyes 'ave beened opened."
He paused. There was silence. Every ork hung on his every word.
"Wot Gork thinks about dakka," he said, "is dat de more dakka yer firin', da better." He pivoted suddenly, leveling his new plasma gat at the ork who'd called out the question, a full two hundred meters away. Again, the orks marveled at the pause he took. The restraint it took, not to immediately fire, but to take the time to AIM.
The burst of blue plasma took the offending ork's head clean off. It staggered for a moment, then fell to the ground. The orks turned back to look at Blu Toof, who lowered his gat with a satisfied expression.
"But Mork," he said, "Mork don't believe dat. What Mork believe is, it don't matter how much dakka yer foirin."
He grinned.
"It's how much dakka HITS"