Written on the briefing appears to be the recollection of some sort of event.
Monday, Year 13:
This outpost is now 200 strong. 200 fresh men from across the seas. We've got a gun to each of us, but the ammunition shipment seems to be postponed.
Wednesday. Year 13:
They came last night. While most of us were in deep slumbers. Those on watch shift were startled themselves, pitching the horns that woke us all up and prepared us for battle. We had little ammunition, but we held them off. They seemed to disintigrate our steel weaponry in close combat. All that we have left is an old, copper blunderbuss left over from another war and a crate of gunpowder and shrapnel. We await the next shipment.
(The next date is unreadable: smeared and bloody, and the writing beneath it is only readable where the blood didn't stain.)
Only I remain. I defend the post alone. Comrades litter the floor, their lives snapped shut. Last night I was the one stationed with the blunderbuss we found in the wall. I was the only one armed. Brothers being gutted and ripped apart around me. As long as I held that blunderbuss, I was untouched by them. It bestowed a great power upon me that the enemy seemed to recognize.
(The next few lines are written slightly below the briefing as though he who wrote it couldn't reach.)
I starve and thirst. The only comfort within me is the comfort this copper weapon provides for me, and that is enough. I suspect this is the end. Remember those of us who have died here, because we do not remember what we were defending.
-Mahzkrieg