Editing Orkhammer (section)

== Adeptus Orkstartes ==

[Excerpts from ''The REAL Life in the Guard: Tales of a Harakoni Warhawk'']

…And we had been bogged down for days after the initial grav-drop, leaving us in the middle of an angry Tyranid force with no resupply, no reinforcements. Regimental command had ordered us to hold our ground, and we all know when they tell you to hold ground, they mean for you to die for the Emperor.

We were of course willing (and eager, Commissar [CENSORED BY ORDER OF COMMISSARIAT] made sure of that) to shed blood in his name, but it turns out that day most of us didn't have to. They came without warning, crashing down amongst the xenos scum. Have you ever seen something that reminds you that you’re part of something bigger, something unimaginably big? This was one of those sights, watching the drop-pods burn through the atmosphere. I have fought over a hundred and eighty different worlds, and heard the stories of the Adeptus Astartes, seen for myself the raw ferocity of the Space Wolves, torched Servanus VIII alongside the Salamanders, barely escaped an Exterminatus conducted by the Ultramarines, and even gunned down enemies running in horror when they heard the Grey Knights were coming (They didn't, incidentally). Yet the sight of these Adeptus Astartes, ones that I had never seen or even heard of before, reminds me of how our glorious Imperium is the largest of all that is.


Those brave men, those pinnacles of humanity did not even bother to activate their retro boosters for their drop-pods, letting the ground – and the enemy’s bodies - halt their descent. Then, leaping into battle, they laid waste to the Tyranids around them. I recall one of them landing nearby, crushing Kay and his precious vox-caster. One of them stepped past me, power armor gleaming in yellow. And he fired, a blaze of death raining upon the Imperium's foes, chanting in the Emperor’s glory.
"PURGE, PURGE, PURGE, PURGE!" It was answered by his brothers. "CLEANZ CLEANZ CLEANZ CLEANZ!" "KILL KILL KILL KILL!" Glorious. One tyranid, managing to skip past the torrent of bolter rounds, impaled that warrior with one claw – yet without pause, he simply fired directly into the thing’s face (or groin, I don’t know how filthy xenos breed) until it was blown away.
"YA THINK YOUZ CAN TAKE ME?! I'Z GOT ME POWA ARMOUR, I'Z GOT THE BEST BITZ OF HUMIES IN ME GUT!" And he carried on fighting, without stopping His holy work.


I have not described our saviors yet. Let me take a moment to rectify this – the Space Marine that rescued us were apparently named after their enormous size. And let me say, the Emperor’s Giants were aptly named. Over fifteen feet tall, they stood, nearly matching our sentinel walkers in height. And they outweighed them, too – I had seen one of their massive veteran Terminators carry a hammer the size of a Baneblade engine, and swing it hard enough to send a hive tyrant’s leg flying over the rest of their forces. They must have been a truly ancient chapter – the amount of repairs and patches to the holy power armor was testament to that. The array of forces made me want to praise the Emperor in my codpiece, if you know what I mean. Their strength seemed to be their firepower, holding larger-than-possible weapons, carrying bolters that seemed more fitting on our armored divisions and hand-held flamers that would put Hellhounds to shame. And their vehicles- ! They must have been the latest advanced designs from Mars, newly approved by the techpriests. Such firepower! Such ferocity of shape! They had mounted extra weaponry on their Land Raider, and opened up the top to allow them to fire out of – fearing not their enemies, and wishing to inflict ever more harm – that was their doctrine. Their melee weapons were not to be found wanting, either, giant chainswords that would bisect whole squads nearby, enormous hammers and power fists. The specialized designs gave them extra reach, no doubt, and they were certainly “lots more choppy dan der uz-ual choppaz”. What wise words of wisdom.


But back to our rescue! Once the Giants had pacified the Tyranids near them, they cheered in the Emperor’s name, a long and heartily felt “FER DE EMPERAAAAAAAAAUGGGGGGHH!” that we all joined in. Then, the same space marine came over to our squad, carnifex claw still hanging out of his chestplate.

“WHY’Z YOU NOT GOT GOIN’ YET? WE GOTTA WHOLE PLANET ‘TA PURGE!” Commissar [CENSORED BY ORDER OF COMMISSARIAT] was about to speak up when the honorable Astartes interrupted him.
“YOU’Z A RED ONE, AIN’TCHA? YOU’Z MOVIN TOO SLOW!” And with that, he crushed the Commissar with one blow of his fist. Not even a power fist, I might add.

We all cheered. That commissar was almost certainly a heretic, anyway.

---

I heard them celebrating as their main forces went past, chanting more devotions to the emperor.

"PURGE DA ‘ERETIC!"

"BURN DA MUTIE!"

"KILL DA UNCLEAN!"

"…Nah, ya got it wrong, ya git! It’s BURN da ‘eretic, KILL da mutie, PURGE da unclean!! NOT ‘DAT ‘ARD TO ‘MEMBER, EH?"

"..PURGE BURN KILL CLEANZ?"

"Eh, good ‘nuff."

It was at that point I made one of the largest errors of my career – given a minute to rest in the Emperor’s name, I leaned against one of the Space Marine drop pods. Immediately, I realized something was wrong when the ground shook and a metallic voice rang out – “I’Z WOKEN UUUP! IZ IT FIGHTAN TIME YET?!” I scrambled away from the pod, for even faithful servants are in awe of the wrath of an awoken dreadnought. And this one looked truly wrathful – someone had painted a giant grimacey face on the front, and its yellow paint was rust-encrusted at the sides. Yet its arms had weapons fit for a Titan, and did I mention this thing was massive yet?! It grabbed Jonas and threw him into the air, smashing his body over the column on the way down.

"EVEN IN DIZ CAN I’Z STILL SERVIN!"

“Aw, no, which git woke up Grakkar da Big-‘Anded?! We only got ‘im ta sleep da last time after dat’ Elfdar raidin’ party!”

“TWINS, DEY WUZ!” boomed Grakkar. He rampaged through the column towards a distant firefight. Serving even after being felled, still purging xenos. Truly an honor to the Imperium.

It was strange, I found, that these soldiers never showed their faces, not even their sergeants, not even in death. I saw one headbutt a Genestealer to submission once, then spin away in a ballet of death to cut down yet another Carnifex.

“Sarge, we’z got a problem!” One of the marines had come up to the front. “It’z a giant wyrm t’ing!” It indeed was a Trygon, as we learned later on.

“TA ME, YA GITZ! TA ME, BRUTHERZ!” The sergeant rallied us with his call.

“D-did you mean us, too, Astartes?” asked Earnest.

“YOU’Z STANDIN NEXT TA ME? YOU’Z MAH BOYZ, THEN! WAAAAAAAAAUUUGGHH!” What could we not do with such comradeship as that? We took up our arms and fought as we had never fought before.


Over eight hundred of the Warhawks died that day, but we did our part – our light infantry holding back the tide of bugs while the Astartes took down the Trygon with only their infantry – several battle brothers fell before it before Grakkar threw the sergeant at it, who flew straight and true into its mouth. It took a very short time to cut its head in two with his chainsword from the inside, and with the death of the big one the Tyranids fell as the Uplifting Primer said they would. With his other hand, the sergeant ripped the massive teeth of the bio-titan out, and held them up for all to see.

“AN OPEN MIND IZ LIKE A FORTREZ – CUZ WE SMASHED IT!”

We cheered.


The Emperor’s Giants departed a week later, after cleansing the eastern continent with holy fire from above. I never saw them again, but whenever I put on my carapace armor and feel the scars from the acid burns, I remember them. Remember those giants among men.

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[DIZ TEXT CENSURED BY DA AUTH’ITY O’ DA ORDO ‘ERETICUS AND ORDO MALLYUS – INQUIZITOR **************]