Editing Angry Marines (section)

===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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