I have walked the darkest alleys and seen the desperation of the downtrodden, but there is no filth quite like that of a man who steals the bread from his own soldiers' mouths. In a scandal that smells worse than the stagnant gutters of East End, a certain Quartermaster of the Ukrainian forces has been cast into the dungeons for a decade.

The scoundrel, once a Major of some standing, played a wretched game of numbers. While the ledger books sang of hearty meals and brimming pots, the actual cauldrons in the mess hall were thin and watery. The difference—the succulent meats, the grains, the precious butter, and the eggs—did not vanish into thin air. No, the rogue personally carted these spoils away in his carriage, selling the army's provisions to unsuspecting civilians for a handful of silver.

The law, though often slow, eventually caught the scent. Between June of last year and January, the constabulary recorded no fewer than fifty-nine such thefts. The man has been stripped of his rank, his medals now worthless trinkets, and he is bound for ten years of hard labour. His accomplice, the mistress of the kitchen, still awaits the judge's gavel.

Alas, this is but a small fish in a murky pond. The Crown prosecutors whisper of far greater villainies—billions of гривны vanished into the ether during the purchase of those flying contraptions they call drones. It seems the hunger for gold outweighs the hunger for victory in the hearts of these profiteers.