Editing Angry Marines (section)

== Tyranids V Millennials V Angry Titans: A fucking novella, or something ==

The Imperial world of Illis, located within the solar system Illis, within the Illis sub-sector (just in case there was any uncertainty about where rescuing Space Marines might have to go one day), was facing its destruction again. A shadow was cast across the Warp. Psykers began to go insane, raving about monsters and vast gulfs of time and space. Heathens on the planet thought their minor Chaos deity, Lord Cthulhu, was about to wake. The truth was much scarier: Hive Fleet Amemasu was coming, and it was hungry, and Planet Illis was going to be the main course. 

Worse news was to come. A previously small and ignored cult calling itself the Millennial Falcons had been on some kind of recruitment drive and had taken over more than half the planet. This wasn't a Chaos cult, they weren't being ruled by xenos puppeteers, they were just a bunch of morons who'd never had to strive or suffer and were trying to make damn sure they never did. Why should they, when there were trillions of other Imperial citizens to do it for them? And yet, here was a request from the authorities to take up arms in defence of their world – to put their precious selves in harm's way.

Instead of building defences or learning how to use a lasgun (since they felt that they didn't have to obey the fucking Planetary Governor), the Millennial Falcons sent a strongly-worded missive of protest to the Emperor himself, believing that He would put His battle against the Chaos Powers on hold and sort the Millenials' shit out for them, because They Had Rights [TM]. When the Emperor did not magically solve all their problems, probably because He thought they were a bunch of lazy cunts, the Millennial Falcons turned completely against the Imperium; after all, this is how atheists have been created throughout human history. Heretical faggotry spread, and spread, and spread.

Governor Mellitus remained loyal to the Throne. He wished to send a message through to the wider Imperium outlining his world's situation and pleading for help. The astropaths told him to send it him-fucking-self, they would no longer be discriminated against by being the only humans who sent psychic messages these days (ignoring the fact that they were the only humans who could). So Mellitus used a cogitator of considerable power, battling through the constant pop-ups and directories full of lascivious images that had begun to choke his planet's data-net thanks to the Millennials. 

Days passed without response. The Hive Fleet drew nearer. Rebellion flared. The outlook was grim. Then, at last, they received a reply.

++ REINFORCEMENTS SANCTIONED ++

++ DEPLOYING THE ANGRY MARINES ++

===Fucking Warp Travel===

The Angry Marines strike cruiser Cackumbabo roared through space at maximum realdrive. Its machine spirit was too pissed off to allow the Techmarines to engage its warp engine; fuck that Chaos crap, Cackumbabo was going into battle the old-fashioned way, even if it took 2000 years.

“COME ON YOU FUCKING LUMP OF WORTHLESS ORKSHIT!” roared Captain Twatsplasher, whacking the sacred warp engine with his power-wrench. “WE'VE GOT FACES TO RAPE!!!”

“DON'T FUCKING DO THAT, MY LORD!” cried Brother Terridyne, their chief Techmarine, trying to wrestle the weapon/tool/phallic symbol from Twatsplasher's white-knuckled grip. “FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WE'LL END UP GETTING BUMMED BY DAEMONS! BALANCE YOUR BLOODY HUMOURS!!”

“NO-BOLLOCKS WASTREL!!! IF YOU DON'T GET THIS SHIP INTO THE WARP IN FIVE SECONDS FLAT, I'LL BLAST MYSELF OUT OF THE NEAREST FUCKING AIRLOCK, SWIM BACK TO YOUR HOME PLANET AND BALANCE YOUR WHITESHIELD-SUCKING MUM ON MY RAMROD YOU FAGGOT!!!!”

The techmarine began to unclasp the front of his power-trousers.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BITCH?!!” screamed Twatsplasher.

“INSTALLING MY SACRED MECHA-PENIS, THAT'S WHAT THE FUCK I'M DOING! I'LL GIVE THIS MECHANICAL CUM-GOBBLER ALL THE THRUST IN THE FUCKING UNIVERSE!!”

The ship panicked and threw itself into the warp with a jolt. Terridyne fell into Twatsplasher's arms.

“ISN'T THIS FUCKING ROMANTIC!” the Captain yelled. “ALL FUCKING YIFFERS KNOW THE PENALTY FOR HUGGING A COMMANDING OFFICER!”

He turned Terridyne around and delivered the sacred punishment of pulling the Techmarine's undergarments over his head. If Terridyne suffered a broken neck or choked to death on his own knicker-elastic, that meant he was heathen scum who deserved it. If he lived, then he was redeemed and would have an opportunity to start fixing some shit around here. 

“TWATSPLASHER TO THE FUCKING CIRCUS ROUSTABOUTS CALLING THEMSELVES 3RD COMPANY,” the Captain voxed while the tech-marine stumbled around, arms flailing. “YOU EXCREMENTAL CUNTS CAN STOP TUGGING YOUR BELL-ENDS AND MEET ME IN THE FUCKING BRIEFING ROOM! WAR IS IMMINENT, BITCHES!!!”

“YES YOUR FUCKING MAJESTY!” his men responded as they ran to the briefing room, pulling on helms and loading bolters as they ran. Twatsplasher was a singular Company Commander. His men didn't have to show the reverence he fucking deserved, as he wasn't some Slaaneshi faggot who lived on praise. Besides, the constant exchange of insults kept him sharp.

===Briefing the Pussies from 3rd Company===

Thirty Marines assembled. Only thirty, to face fucking shitloads of Nids. The company used to be 100 strong plus some Dreadnoughts and shit, but whatever happened to the others is not in the Angry Marines databank for some reason, and the last time an Inquisitor tried to check it, she was found hanging upside-down from a 600-foot-tall bastion by her undercrackers. The Angry Marines are equal opportunity psychos. 

Twatsplasher appraised the men. 

“SEEMS THESE 'MILLENNIAL FALCONS' ARE FAGGOTS, CONTAMINATING OTHERS WITH SAID FAGGOTRY, WHILE EATING LENTILS AND TOUCHING EACH OTHERS' FUCKING BUMS! IT'S BECOME A WORLD OF SELF-RIGHTEOUS THUNDERCUNTS ABOUT TO GET CHEWED!”

“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT, SIR,” Sergeant Dammiel said. “THEY'VE GOT 35 MILLION PDF WANKERS FACING OFF AGAINST A HIVE FLEET AND THEY'RE SENDING BLOODY  COMPLAINTS TO THE EMPEROR AND EXPECTING US TO FUCKING DIE FOR THEM?!”

“THAT'S ABOUT THE SIZE OF IT, CUNTYBAWS! IT'S A CLUSTERFUCK OF GRIMDARK PROPORTIONS, TOO MANY LAZY WANKERS ABOUT THESE DAYS!!!”

“DICK-EATING FURFAGGOTS!!!!!” yelled Brother Hammerhead. He was in a fine fury. Spittle flew from his vox-grille. “I'LL KICK THEIR BOLLOCKS UP INTO THEIR THROAT!” 

Terridyne the Techmarine had recovered from his wedgie, exhibiting only a slightly shocked look and a yellow smudge on his head. 

“MY FUCKING LORD,” he said. “I WOULD NEVER GAINSAY YOU, FOR WE HAVE SERVED TOGETHER THROUGH MANY PERILS, BUT YOU MUST HAVE WRITTEN OUR BATTLE-PLAN WITH YOUR FUCKING COCK OUT! HOW IN THE NAME OF CALGAR'S CRACK DO WE STOP A SODDING HIVE FLEET WITHOUT THOSE PDF WANK-BISCUITS COVERING US?!” 

Twatsplasher headbutted him with the force of planets colliding.

“LIKE THAT, CYBER-EMO, HOW DO YOU FUCKING THINK!!!” 

“BUT THIS IS BOLLOCKS, BROTHER-CAPTAIN!” said Dammiel. “WHY ARE THOSE INBRED COCKS ALLOWED TO SIT ON THEIR ARSES? IT'S FUCKING TREASON!!!!!”

“THEY'RE NOT FUCKING ALLOWED, YOU WASTE OF SPUNK! AS SOON AS WE'VE RIPPED THE BOLLOCKS OFF HIVE FLEET AMEMASU, WE'RE GOING AFTER THE MILLENNIAL FAGGOTS, AND MAKING SURE THE PUSSY GOVERNOR IS REPLACED BY SOME BASTARD WITH A FUCKING SPINE!”

He looked to his men. The briefing had lasted over three minutes, surely a Chapter record, and they were ready to rip each other to pieces in frustration. 

“WE'VE GOT A FUCKING TASK AHEAD!!!” said Twatsplasher. “BUT WHO ARE WE???”

“THE ANGRY MARINES!” the men replied.

“ALWAYS ANGRY!!!”

“ALL THE TIME!!!” his men roared in one voice. 

Captain Twatsplasher might have been a horrible cunt, but he was also noble:

“REMEMBER YOU FUCKING BUNCH OF PRATS! BETWEEN US, THE TYRANIDS AND THESE MILLENNIAL TOSSERS, THERE ARE SIXTEEN BILLION CIVILIANS WHO DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK'S GOING ON! LAST ONE IN THE DROP POD'S A FUCKING ULTRAMARINE!”

===Making a Fucking Entrance===

The Angry Marines didn't have to worry about the Shadow in the Warp as that only deterred pussies. Cackumbabo exploded into the Illis system with a sound like Slaanesh's whip cracking across Khorne's buttocks. This is not to imply the Angry Marines and their serfs have anything to do with Chaos, it's just what was going on in the warp at that moment. 

One Astartes vessel faced off against the incoming swarm of bio-ships. Red and yellow stood against star-bleached purple, scowling faces against faceless maws, human courage against implacable hunger. The Astartes vessel surged forward. Its course took it close to the planet, so close in fact that it nearly fucking landed at one point, and spat drop-pods at the surface. Then the Cackumbabo rocketed into the mass of Nid ships, blazing firepower in every direction, only to be seen again one hour later when its warp engines detonated and dragged a hundred bio-ships to hell. One last FUCK YOU from the Emperor's finest.

Twatsplasher, Terridyne and the chaps landed directly on top of a vanguard swarm that was trying to eat a city. Roaring, frothing Space Marines emerged, screaming an endless “FUUUUUUUUUUUU-” and blizzarding fire into the hurricane of Gaunts, Gargoyles, Stealers and Lictors, creating their own fucked-up biosphere of destroyed bodies. The 3rd Company despised guns as much as the rest of their Chapter but when you were up against a fucking Hive Fleet on your own, you want some bullets for when the enemy is out of headbutting range. Despite applying such tactical prudence they ran out of bolter ammo almost straight away. Wrenches, steel bars, chainswords, foreheads, fists and believe it or not elbows did most of the killing. Twatsplasher was at 160 kills in the first two minutes. The rest of his men thinned the alien herd until only a few traumatised Hormagaunts remained. 

“-UUUUUK YOUUUUU!” the war cry ended. The battle was over but the war was only just kicking off. Thousands upon thousands more Nids were coming. Some of them were big bastards too. The Angry Marines formed a circle, pissed off beyond mortal measure that the Emperor's enemies had been allowed to defile this world, and realising that they were now trapped as three additional swarms closed in around them. Smoke and clouds of spores swirled in the air. The sun was almost eclipsed. 

“THIS IS IT YOU INBRED AMATEURS!” roared Twatsplasher. “IF THEY OVERRUN US HERE, WE'RE THE CUNTS WHO DOOMED THIS SHITHOLE AND LOST A BLOODY GOOD SHIP IN SO DOING! WE HOLD!!! FIRST ONE TO DIE SUCKS ELDAR KNOBS!!!!!!”

“Get your heads down, Astartes!” a human male said across the vox. He sounded in considerable pain. “This... is going... to be close.”

Missiles the size of Land Raiders screamed through the air towards them, coming out of the smoke clouds. Explosion after explosion swept across the land. Buildings collapsed, dust and flames flew, two whole Tyranid swarms were reduced to purple smears. The survivors fell back to find more Synapse creatures or whatever those xenos pricks did when they'd fucking lost.

“BASTARD!” Twatsplasher roared. Shockwaves had thrown him over backwards and he had to pull his head out of a Mawlock's arsehole with a loud pop. “IF THERE WERE CIVILIANS IN THOSE BUILDINGS YOU'RE GOING UNDER LIKE NECROMUNDA YOU ANONYMOUS FUCK-GRUBBER!”

“Your gratitude... lightens... my soul,” the human panted. “This city was... abandoned.”

The smoke began to thin. Twatsplasher saw their rescuer.

“DORN'S DICK!” he whispered at 90 decibels.

The smoke drew back to reveal a Warlord Titan, Beetleback-class. Its legs were scratched and acid-scarred. Void shields flared as if the crew were having trouble keeping them up. A multiple rocket launcher mounted on its carapace belched burning gunpowder; the other carapace gun was some kind of giant assault cannon. Its right hand was a power fist painted with black and yellow stripes that seemed dangerously close to traitor colours, and its left was some kind of shitty short-ranged laser thing.

“AT LEAST SOMEONE IN THIS FUCKING DUMP'S GOT THE BALLS TO FIGHT!” said Brother Hammerhead. The other rank-and-file Marines agreed.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” Twatsplasher voxed to the Titan's crew.

“I am... Princeps Abnettius,” the Titan's controller replied. “I regret that I am... mortally wounded... There are survivors making... a last stand. They need... your help.”

“WELL WE'RE NOT HERE TO ENJOY THE FUCKING WEATHER!” roared Twatsplasher. “LEAD THE WAY PRINCEPS PANTSHITTER!”

“I know... something of your... abilities,” Abnettius panted. “I cannot... make it. Perhaps you... could take... my place. My senior crew... have gone to join... the Emperor. I cannot control it... much longer.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED, BITCH!” Twatsplasher said without fear. “OPEN UP, WE'RE FUCKING EMBARKING! TERRIDYNE, DAMMIEL, HAMMERHEAD, WOGAN, I REQUEST THE FUCKING MISERY OF YOUR COMPANY – THE REST OF YOU TESTICULAR POLYPS FOLLOW ON FOOT AND STAY OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY, I'M IN THE MOOD TO STOMP SOME FAGGOTS!”

Abnettius opened a secret hatch in the Warlord's left leg and the Angry Marines ascended. The spiral staircase was narrow and sized for humans; it wobbled dangerously under the combined weight of the five rage-infused bastards clambering up it. The Titan was tall and the Marines had to spend at least two minutes staring at the sculpted bum-cheeks of the Brothers in front until they reached the Warlord's head.

Princeps Abnettius didn't look wounded. He must have suffered some neural feedback shit that nobody understood. He peered vaguely at the Astartes, blinking, unfocused.

“Thank the Emperor...” Abnettius whispered. “You possess the ability... to learn quickly... from others?”

“YOU BET YOUR BLANK-FIRING BOLLOCKS WE DO,” said Twatsplasher, “BUT I DON'T THINK YOU'LL LIKE HOW IT FUCKING WORKS!”

“I care not... just do it... save those people... end the xenos.”

“YOU FUCKING ASKED FOR IT,” Twatsplasher warned. He broke the Princep's head open with a tap of his power-wrench as if it were some kind of egg and ate his brains.

===How To Work a Motherfucking Titan===

It took ten minutes for the Angry Marines to get ready. This involved Twatsplasher's men clambering into the gun positions with much swearing and grunting, then eating the brains of the dead crew they were replacing so they knew how to cover their positions, and reverentially chucking the bodies out of exhaust chutes. A number of lesser crew, human and servitor, remained alive, manning secondary systems. None of them were happy with recent events but followed orders to sit in their chairs and press some fucking buttons or something. 

The Angry Marines then did something that would surprise most people: they said a prayer to recognise the Titan crew's heroism. Unfortunately Angry Marine prayers cannot be printed here as they make people go blind. Twatsplasher might be an outright wanker but he was the most pious man in the galaxy and his like may never be seen again (hopefully). “YOU GROT-FONDLING DIPSHITS CAN'T HANDLE THIS LEVEL OF FUCKING PIETY!” the Captain had roared a few years ago as he chased the Chaplains around, whacking them over the head with his self-made prayer book, entitled "KILL ALL XENOS FOR THE EMPRAH". 

There was some debate about who should replace Princeps Abnettius. Only Terridyne had sockets for direct neural interface.

“SIR, I'M THE FUCKING TECHMARINE,” he voxed. “I'M THE ONLY ONE CAN COMMAND THE BASTARD THING!”

“WHICH TWAT MADE YOU THE NEW PRIMARCH? MAN THE LAUNCHER YOU WHINGING TOSSER, I CAN HANDLE THIS CRAP!”

“WITH ALL FUCKING RESPECT, THAT'S BOLLOCKS, MY LORD! HOW ARE YOU GONNA GET THIS PIECE OF SHIT MOVING WHEN YOU CAN'T EVEN PLUG YOUR ARSE INTO IT FOR FUCK'S SAKE? YOU NEED MORE THAN A FRIGGING JOYSTICK AND SHITTY BREATH TO COMMAND A FUCKING TITAN!!”

“I KNOW WHAT I'M FUCKING DOING YOU BRONIE WANKER!!!!” roared the Captain with superior rage. “YOUR PROTESTS ARE SNOT SHOVELLED INTO MY FUCKING EARS SO SHUT YOUR GROT-LICKING GOB BEFORE I COME OVER THERE AND INTERFACE MY DICK WITH YOUR EYE-SOCKETS!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!11one”

The Titan's human crew were shocked to hear this exchange. They weren't on the Angry Marine vox-net, they could literally hear the Marines yelling at each each other through hundreds of tons of ceramite. The humans had no idea that the Angry Marines 3rd Company “enjoyed” a brotherhood forged in fire, or that Twatsplasher encouraged “debate” as a middle finger to that Codex Astartes bullshit.

The Captain might not have had neural implants but he did have something: mastery of his absolute fucking RAGE. His emotional control was so good he only spent 97% of the time in a state of frenzy, although if anyone made the mistake of raising this delicate matter, he broke their spines and made them eat their own bollocks, not always in that order. The Captain summoned all the rage his genhanced body could handle, then he summoned some more, and he roared with righteous fury as the rage moulded into a mental spear jabbed straight into the Titan's heart. The god-machine was too terrified to deny such a man and bent instantly to his will.

“THERE'S YOUR ANSWER, BITCH!” Twatsplasher said. “I WASN'T MADE CAPTAIN FOR SUCKING THE FUCKING CHAPTER MASTER!!!!”

The Titan jerked forward then stumbled, and fell sideways, landing on some buildings and knocking them down. Its Angry Marine crew cried out in rage and confusion.

“FEELS LIKE A FUCKING HIPPO'S SITTING ON MY DAMN FACE!” Hammerhead raged. His weapon, the power fist, was the only thing preventing the Titan from completely capsizing.

“TRY NOT TO FUCKING FACEPLANT THE EPIC GOD-MACHINE YOU BLOODY ORK!” said Terridyne. “FRIGGING TOLD YOU I SHOULD BE DRIVING!”

“FUCKING KNOBSACKS!!!” roared the Captain. “THIS IS HARDER THAN MY ADAMANTIUM COCK!”

He concentrated on his rage, held onto it, made it flow, and the Titan clambered back to its feet. It swung around, instinctively knowing which way to go, which was pretty fucking excellent since the Angry Marines didn't. It stomped forwards with a swaying gait as if it had shat its pants. Over the internal vox Twatsplasher addressed his men:

“STAY AWAKE YOU USELESS CUNTS, WE'RE ABOUT TO ENGAGE THE FUCKING FOE! TERRIDYNE, IF THAT MISSILE LAUNCHER ISN'T LOADED BY THE TIME WE SEE PURPLE, THERE WON'T BE A TAPE MEASURE WIDE ENOUGH TO MEASURE YOUR FUCKING RING! 

“WOGAN, GET THAT FANNY-FACED WRECKING BALL YOU CALL A HEAD OUT OF TERRIDYNE'S ARSE AND WARM THAT LASER BURNER OR I'LL USE IT TO CUT YOUR BLOODY KNOB OFF! 

“HAMMERHEAD, UNTIL WE GET TOE-TO-TOE YOU'RE GOING TO BE AS FUCKING WORTHLESS AS EVER. I WANT THAT POWER FIST READY TO RIP AND TEAR OR I'LL SLAP YOUR MISERABLE FEATURES ROUND THE BACK OF THAT CORN-STUDDED TURD ON TOP OF YOUR NECK! 

“DAMMIEL, IF THAT ASSAULT CANNON STOPS FIRING FOR ONE MICROSECOND I'LL DIP YOU IN SHIT AND FIRE YOU FROM THE FRIGGING MISSILE LAUNCHER!!! 

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”  

This might have been the worst pep-talk in history but these weren't mere faggots, they were the fucking ANGRY MARINES, the biggest and meanest bastards in the Emperor's realm.

“ALWAYS ANGRY!” Twatsplasher yelled.

“ALL THE TIME!” replied the men.

The cry was echoed by the remnants of 3rd Company milling around behind them. Twatsplasher couldn't be arsed to learn how the vox worked, and he was broadcasting everything from external speakers. The Titan, whose name they didn't even know (or care about, to be honest), stumbled into the smoke, trailing a wake of yellow-armoured psychos. Vengeance had never looked so terrifying.

===Eat It, Motherfuckers===

The Titan strode across a blasted landscape. Burned out tanks and personnel carriers were strewn around, but there were no bodies of either man or xenos; they'd all been devoured, or dragged back to digestion pools. Speaking of which, the Titan passed dozens of rippling red pools which it cauterised with its laser burner, and kicked over a dozen strange growths that resembled hundred-foot-tall claws. Lightning struck their void shields due to a combination of dust in the atmosphere creating static, and the planet's biosphere being damaged somehow. Twatsplasher ended up ordering his crew to conserve ammo where possible until bigger, slower targets appeared, and let the fucking grunts outside deal with the scattered swarms of hunter-killers they encountered. The little bastards moved too fast for Terridyne and Dammiel to hit – Dammiel had already sent two thousand shells screaming over the horizon, the retarded fuck-cunt, claiming that Twatsplasher's odd way of walking the Titan was throwing off his aim.

Where were the armies, the carpets of Rippers, the Bio-Titans? Didn't the fucking Nids care that the Emperor's most crazed servants had turned up? Twatsplasher might have been the ugliest human being currently deployed on Illis, but he wasn't thick. Either the Nids were up to something, or the human resistance was surrounded. It turned out to be the latter.

Resistance remained in a single location. All human survivors had pulled back behind a mountain range which had been turned into an epic curtain wall. It was ablaze from end to end. Those Tyranid cunts could set fire to fucking rock, it was actually awesome, if you think the achievements of xenos scum have merit. Thousands of PDF troopers, and Guardsmen who had been stranded here by the Shadow in the Warp, still manned gun emplacements built into the wall, blazing away at an enemy even the Titan was not tall enough to see. A door made of solid adamantium was in the centre of the wall; dozens of tank companies assembled behind it, waiting for the xenos to break through, as there was now no chance of them sallying forth – the world was almost lost. This was a last stand, the enemy were at the final gate and the humans were about to get butt-fucked.

“BROTHER-CAPTAIN,” voxed Terridyne, “WE ARE APPOROACHING THE MOTHERFUCKING FRONT LINE!”

“I'M NOT FUCKING BLIND YOU BALD TWAT! TIME TO SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF EVERY COCKGOBBLER IN RANGE!”

Hundreds of human soldiers turned in shock and fear and, increasingly, in hope, as they heard salvation screaming abuse at them.

“THIS IS CAPTAIN FUCKTIOUS TWATSPLASHER OF THE IMPERIAL ANGRY MARINES! GET OFF THE WALLS, COCKSICKLES, THE FUCKING 3RD COMPANY'S COMING THROUGH!!!”

Soldiers spilled down stairways and roped down walls. A Mechanicus contingent started trying to open the main doors, but doors are for whiteshields: Twatsplasher walked his rage-powered god-machine straight through the mountain as if it wasn't there. Rock, metal, gun emplacements with glowing barrels, all came down around the Titan. Dust ran like water from its flanks. A great cloud of smoke and dust flew up to join the shit already in the atmosphere. And still the Titan kept on going, towards the hordes of alien monsters heading for man's last bastion on this world.

It was fucking hammertime.

*

The Tyranids swarmed in their millions. Little purple fucks milled between the hooves of giant leader-beasts. The sky was full of flying vermin. Those Nids on the ground were led by a Dominatrix, a bio-titan that all other bio-titans tug themselves off about. It walked on four clawed legs, body bowed beneath the weight of a bio-cannon that was nearly as big as a Reaver Titan. The creature had a long neck ending in a head that was all teeth and blade-vanes. It peered into the dust-cloud, trying to see what last threat the humans had sent against it.

A Warlord Titan emerged, right arm raised, power fist displaying a blazing middle finger.

“THEY WILL NOT CON-FUCKING-TROL US, WE WILL BE FUCKING VICTORIOUS!!!” Twatsplasher's atonal bellow came from its speakers. And then: 

“THE HOUR IS FUCKING NIGH, XENOS!!!!!” 

*

“ACCELERATING TO A FUCKING LUMBER,” the Captain told his crew. “PREPARE TO RAPE FACE YOU WANKERS!”

The Dominatrix reared up and gave vent to a scream that sounded like tearing metal. It began to charge towards them, not even bothering to use its cannon.

“CAPTAIN TWATFACE HAS HIS USUAL EFFECT ON WOMEN!” said Wogan. “HERE SHE FUCKING COMES!”

“FUCKING SHOOT HER THEN!” answered Terridyne. He opened up with the missile launcher. All his shots were turned aside by a field of purple force which flickered around the Dominatrix.

“GET ME CLOSER,” Hammerhead raged. “FUCKING PANSY-ARSED TWATS PISSING AROUND! LET ME GIVE HER THE ASTARTES KISS! I'D LIKE TO SEE HER FUCKING BLOCK THAT!!!”

Dammiel's assault cannon was as loose and wild as a hosepipe dropped by incompetent fire-servitors. Not a single round was on target despite the Dominatrix's ginormous bulk. It was like watching the retarded Godzilla film from 1998.

“BROTHER DAMMIEL,” said Twatsplasher, “YOU MUST BE THE MOST USELESS CUNT SINCE THE ANCIENT SCRIBE C.S. GOTO! WHEN I SAID FIRE THE ASSAULT CANNON, I MEANT AT THE FUCKING NIDS!!!”

“WITH DUE REVERENCE, I CAN'T HIT JACK SHIT WITH YOU WOBBLING LIKE A FUCKING 2ND MILLENNIUM KONG TOY! HOLD THIS BITCH STEADY!”

Twatsplasher growled with the frustration of trying to make thousands of tons of metal and pistons run like a man. Wogan laughed in the exultation of near-death, watching on his scanner screen as the xenos queen came closer. She was going to fucking knock them over. The Titan's gyro-stabilisers were already struggling under the Captain's amateurish efforts, but now they could feel the ground shaking as the Dominatrix stomped towards them. Wogan watched as more missiles sailed into her defensive field. She was virtually in range of the laser burner. Would it do any good?

“IT'S FUCKING CHEATING TO HAVE VOID SHIELDS ON TOP OF ALL THE OTHER SHIT SHE'S GOT,” Hammerhead said without irony. “I'LL RIP HER ANOTHER FANNY!”

“BRACE FOR IMPACT, FUCKTARDS!!!!!” Twatsplasher roared.

Several things happened almost simultaneously. Dammiel finally hit the target, making confetti out of the Tyranid's bio-cannon; the Dominatrix pounced into the Titan's arms like a lost canid returning to its owner, bursting through the Warlord's void shields from sheer thundering bulk; the two lords of destruction fell backwards and began to wrestle; Hammerhead shat his pants from excitement as he repeatedly punched the Nid in its flank; lights went on and off throughout the Titan's structure; human crew members screamed with terror; the Titan's armour screamed also as it began to buckle beneath the Nid queen's weight. 

Twatsplasher jerked his head left and right as he tried to avoid the Dominatrix biting the Titan's face off. Wogan finally had something to contribute. He fired up his laser burner and shredded through tons of flesh and chitin. Ropes of intenstines and gallons of acid blood poured out, shorting his weapon's electronics; one of the human crew reported that the weapon was self-cleansing and should be back online in thirty seconds.

Hammerhead gave them the necessary time. He slapped the Nid's face left, then right, then fucking chinned her with a straight punch. One of the Nid's claws closed around the power fist and wrenched it free, casting it away and killing the valiant Astarte with the shock of neural feedback.

Twatsplasher somehow managed to headbutt the distracted Tyranid. She lurched backwards; the Titan was able to sit up through some miraculous act of gymnastic skill, only for the Dominatrix to roar in its face. Her neck snaked backwards; she was going to lunge forward and bite the Titan's head off.

Wogan's laser burner came back online. 

“FOR THE FUCKING EMPEROR!”

He swept the weapon across the Tyranid's neck, severing its head. The Dominatrix fell sideways and died with a series of explosive farts.

It was a victory that went beyond stunning: every surviving crew member felt like the luckiest fucker in the galaxy. Yet though the Tyranid swarms reeled for a moment, there must have been a good number of leader-beasts still left, and they closed around the wounded Titan – to be repulsed by thousands of las shots, heavy-calibre gunfire and explosive tank rounds. Twatsplasher tried to turn. The Titan's peripheral sensors picked up hundreds of metallic signatures and thousands of human bio-signs.

Twelve Angry Marines were still alive, riding on top of PDF Chimeras, chucking rocks, grenades and in at least one case, each other at the aliens. A vast crescent of tanks and personnel carriers followed, with waves of human infantry bringing up the rear on foot.

“READY TO FINALLY FUCKING HIT SOMETHING, TOSSERS?” Twatsplasher yelled at his crew.

“FUCK YEAH SIR!” replied Terridyne and Dammiel. They opened up. Dammiel brought down clusters of Gargoyles and other flying fucks. Terridyne's remaining missiles blew holes in the Tyranid swarm. It was too much even for the homicidal xenos shit-eaters. They turned and ran, but the Emperor's mercy is great, and every last critter was put out of its misery.

“NOW THAT IS HOW THE FUCK YOU STOP A HIVE-FLEET,” said Twatsplasher before neural damage from the titan's damaged systems finally killed him.

*

“WHERE THE FUCK'S CAPTAIN TWAT-KNUCKLE?” said Brother-Captain Wankel.

The surviving members of 3rd Company stood to attention. They were all torn, battered, filth-covered, but stood proudly before the 2nd Company's commander.

“SIR, HE'S FUCKING DEAD, SIR!” said Terridyne. “ALONG WITH MOST OF THE OTHER FUCKING SODS!”

“HOW FUCKING UNFORTUNATE!” Wankel said with as much empathy as any Angry Marine can be arsed to have. “GET YOUR FUCKING ARMOUR FIXED, ABADDON'S AT IT AGAIN, THE GERIATRIC, DRIED-UP, SMELLS-LIKE-OLD-MILK PUSSY! WE SHIP OUT IN SIX POINT THREE MINUTES!”

3rd Company ran headlong for the artificers, wondering how long point three of a minute was.

“Please, sir,” the Planetary Governor begged, “I have learned the error of my weakness. Release me?”

“FIFTEEN MORE MINUTES, BITCH!!” 

Governor Mellitus wept. Wankel's boot was pretty far up his arse and had been for the last half an hour.

Wankel surveyed the devastation around them. Weeping civilians were thanking Angry Marines and human soldiers; Mechanicus recovery vehicles were hoisting burned-out tanks; shell-shocked Munitorium adepts were wandering round, wondering how the fuck they were going to organise this lot. Piles of Tyranid bodies were being burned. Alongside them were equally-sized piles of Millennial faggots, mostly still alive, each of them with their underpants pulled over their heads. 

“LIGHT THE FIRES, COCKSUCKERS,” Wankel said to the Inquisitors who'd been called to root out all traces of Millennial Falcon heresy. “I WANT TO SMELL ROAST HEATHEN!!!”

*

And that's how the Angry Marines conduct a fucking campaign. I, Addius Letch, have been your scribe; now fuck off because all this righteousness is giving me a hard-on.

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Thought for the day: Thought begets heresy. Heresy begets the fucking Angry Marines.

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