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Yuletide greetings, gentle readers. I bid you to enjoy the insane and intelligence-melting Christmas Special which I wrote in a single go back in 2010. This story in undergoing an intensive rewrite during November 2017. It's nearly Christmas, so pull up a chair, chuck more wood in the fireplace (even if your fireplace doesn't burn wood - come on, it's Christmas, stop being a stick in the mud!). Beware of exploding chestnuts and tuck into your logs -- they're certainly looking tasty.

Click here to see who's who in the Barmy Army.

Marneus Calgar's Barmy Army theme.

THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE TANITH FETH-WIT

The five hundred worlds were falling to Chaos. Abaddon the Despoiler led his horde of pony tail wearing hardcases across the galaxy on a trail of fire, seeking to destroy the Imperium. (Why do Chaos Marines try to destroy the only organised force in the galaxy that could potentially stop the Necrons and the Tyranids? Because Abaddon's pony tail is tied too tight.) All defence had crumbled in the face of this devastating incursion. The galactic horror continued unabated... until Abaddon reached Ultramar.

=U=

Marneus Calgar smashed two traitors' heads together and flung their ruined bodies away.

"Scratch two more Black Legion," he boomed. The hundreds of Ultramarines following him cheered with righteous joy as they hurled themselves into the remnants of Abaddon's force.

"You're such a hero, sir," Dick Bannerman affirmed as he freed the Chapter standard from an impaled traitor's arse.

"Sir!" Brin Milo of the Tanith 1st piped up. "My highly attuned senses warn me of imminent danger. Only you can save us all!"

"I know," Calgar replied. "Fear not, my young and somewhat androgynous friend. I'll save the day as usual, then it's back to Macragge for tea and crumpets."

"Would you like me to contact the brothel now or after the campaign, sir?" Dick said as he wielded the banner like Donatello's bo staff, knocking enemy Space Marines hither and yon.

"Not that kind of crumpet, Number Two! I mean real crumpets, the kind you put butter on, that are made of... what are crumpets made of again, Milo?"

"I dunno, sir," replied the black-clad infantry boy as he blasted traitors with his lasgun, "but you can put butter on women as well."

"For feth's sake," Calgar said, punching a heretic straight in the nose. "I'll lend you my Naughty Maiden magazines later, my mattress is balanced on a three-foot stack of them."

There was a change in the battle's dynamic. Abaddon the Despoiler had finally turned up and was roaring with hate as he kicked the living crud out of a squad of Ultramarines.

"I told you we were in shtuck," Milo shouted.

"ABADDON!" Calgar roared with amazing heroism. "I'M COMING TO REDEEM YOU, TRAITOR!"

"gak!" Abaddon gasped, seeing Calgar heading his way. "It's old Iron Balls himself! Let's get out of here!"

"It's too late for that, traitor." Calgar stormed through the Black Legion and grabbed Abaddon by the scruff of his neck. "It's time to pay for ten thousand years of doing our heads in."

"Please!" screamed Abaddon. "I've just wet my pants in front of my men. You have humbled me, Lord Calgar, and in so doing you have proven yourself the greatest warrior in the galaxy. I beg you, show pity on me!"

"I've got nothing but pity for you, mate," said Calgar. "Even Pot Noodles have their shelf-life; and believe me, old love, there isn't enough boiling water in the universe to save you now."

"What - what the feth does that mean?"

"It means that it's time to get back in the carry case, bitch."

Marneus, Hero of Macragge, levelled his gauntlet-mounted bolter at the Chosen of Chaos and fired a single round. It failed to Wound. Abaddon's fright turned to a sneer.

"Have some of that, you blue-wearing pillock! It is now quite literally the Black Legion's turn, and I intend to shove Drach'nyen where the sun doesn't shine."

The Black Legion commander kneed Calgar in the crotch and pushed him away, then drew a sword that was so big it would turn Cloud from Final Fantasy 7 green with envy.

"Not so fast." Calgar assumed a triumphant pose which struck traitor and loyalist alike dumb with awe. "It's still my shooting phase and I haven't played my trump in the hole yet. Milo, Bannerman, get up here."

Calgar's second in command and their trusty Tanith liason stepped forwards.

"Who are these insects?" demanded Abaddon.

"They're my bitches."

Calgar clicked his fingers and fifty First Company Terminators beamed onto the battlefield in an explosive flare of light, surrounding Abaddon and his remaining men.

"And these are my hoes!"

"Noooooooooo!" Abaddon howled. He aimed his gauntlet-mounted bolter and fired one last salvo. Every surviving Chaos marine opened fire. Predictably they all shot at Milo, not because he was less of a threat or easier to Wound than Lord Calgar, but because Milo is one of those annoying Wesley Crusher types. Milo bent over backwards in a slow-motion Matrix imitation as bolter shells left contrails across reality. Every single shot missed the nimble pipe-player from a Chaos-tainted (but not, due to some alarming oversight, Inquisitorially-sanctioned) forest world. Except the last round, fired out of spite by Abaddon himself, which hit Brin Milo straight in the goolies. Milo's eyes bulged almost out of his head and he shot back up with a squeal.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, staying alive, staying alive!" Milo sang in a perfect Bee Gees fashion as he danced with pain.

"I don't believe it!" Abaddon cried. "How did he survive, the cheating fether?"

Milo hobbled off the battlefield, shrugging Dick's away as the standard bearer tried to lend support.

"You obviously haven't read the Ghost books," said Calgar. "Every time a major character takes a hit it either snaps a belt buckle, or their webbing, or it creases their foreheads - or in Milo's case, his love purse. Any last words?"

"Of course I have, idiot. If I should die, think only this of me..,"

Calgar did whatever he does to make his gauntlet-mounted bolters fire. Abaddon fell dead: the Chosen of Chaos was pushing pansies. The Imperium had finally prevailed against the Traitor Legions.

"I did it!" said Calgar. "I saved the galaxy and defeated Chaos! I'm a real hero!"

"CALGAR! CALGAR! CALGAR!" the resurgent Ultramarines chanted, their faces shining with pride and hope.

=U=

"CALGAR! CALGAR! Can I dip my sausage in your sauce?"

Marneus Calgar groaned as Brin Milo's squeaky half-Welsh, half-Irish, half-something-else accent woke him from dreams of glory and Calgar remembered what a fething wreck his life was.

"Can you what, Tanith man-bitch?" Calgar said as he pulled himself upright from the settee where he'd fallen into a drunken stupor the night before. Puke was all down Calgar's armour, which was also stained yellow around the crotch. Pringles and pork scratchings fell from recesses in his armour as he sat up.

"I said, can I dip my sausage in your brown sauce?"

As Calgar's bleary vision returned to normal, he realised Brin Milo was waving a large Cumberland sausage in his face. It was breakfast time.

"Thank the Emperor for that!" said Calgar. "I thought the strain of being without women for all these years was starting to tell."

"Er... no." Milo hurried away. Calgar clutched his aching head.

"Oh, God, I hate the day after Black Friday," he groaned, referring not to the pre-Christmas sales frenzy, to the Chapter's pre-Christmas pub frenzy. "I'm so fething hung over! I hope I didn't get my knob out again this year."

Chaplain Derrick was on his way past at that particular moment, and he gave Calgar a salacious smile.

"You certainly did, my Lord," the Chaplain said with bright eyes and a lip-licking smile. "It was my... I mean our... honour to stare at it for many hours. I mean... not stare at it. In fact, I barely noticed it at all. I'd best get back to my devotions." The Chaplain hurried away.

"I'm sure there's something funny about him," mused Calgar.

Meanwhile, Dick Bannerman (the banner man) was wrestling with the new Windows 7000 laptop, trying to buy a Rhino from www.goldenthrone.imp/motoring.

"Enlarge image?" he was heard raging. "Yeah, let's stretch it by a whole three pixels. Bastards!"

"If it's made on Maws it's pwemium gak," said Tech-Priest Nerdingham, whose cyber-teeth caused a speech impediment. "If it isn't, it's pwobably only got AV10."

"God-Emperor!" thundered Dick, still raging over the advert. "Look where they put the fething handbrake! How are you supposed to do a handbrake turn?"

"Why would you do that in a Whino?"

"Will you two shut up?" roared Calgar. "I've got the fairy godmother of hangovers."

"Sorry, my Lord," Dick called back.

"Misewable git," Nerdingham muttered.

"I heard that!" said Calgar. "The nerve-glove for you mate, pain level 'being interviewed live on the telly by Britney Spears and trying not to get a hard-on the entire time'. Get to it!"

Marneus Calgar looked for something to take his fething headache away. He saw the Astral Phone, a hotline directly to the Chapter's top astropaths. Time for those weedy, complaining runts to earn their fifty points back. He picked the phone up and dialled. In the Astropathic chamber, Cullinus Rex (Master of Sendings - a title that earned no little toilet mirth from Calgar) had a red phone safely locked in a glass cylinder. The phone started flashing red and beeping.

"Oh, God-Emperor, it's him again!" the Astropath grumbled. He answered the phone: "Good morning, Battersea Dogs Home."

"You can knock that off for a start," Calgar's voice crackled. "Why do you always pretend to be someone else every time I ring? Anyone would think you don't enjoy sending top-level communiques across time and space."

"Of course I do, my Lord," Rex said with a weary sigh. "Is this another message for the Emperor's Stripes Chapter?"

"Who else? Message is for the Chapter Master, Gluteus Maximus. Message reads: 'America - where the men have bigger tits than the women.' Heh heh!"

"Shall I address this one from you?"

"No, put Brin Milo. Yeah! Put Brin Milo!"

"Sir, such racism between Chapter Masters is unseemly. Surely you should be working together rather than antagonising one another?"

"The last time I worked together with that fether, the Stars and Stripes flew above Macragge and I ended up getting excommunicated by a bitch of a Battle Sister."

"You shouldn't have showed her your erection, my Lord. The exertion required for her to lift and carry an electron microscope into her bedchambers worsened her hernia."

"Just send the fething message. Don't forget, it's from Milo."

End of part one

PART TWO

A bit later that morning, Dick and Nerdingham were wandering the halls of Macragge, marvelling at the way the winter sunlight fell in through giant windows and stuff (insert nice winter morning description here), and pretending that they weren't surreptitiously looking for places their presents might be hidden.

"Where is the paragon of maturity?" Dick wondered idly. "He owes me a fiver from last night."

"BurrrrrRRRRRRPPP! Mmm, that tasted like Cheeky Vimto."

"Lowd Calgaw appears to be in his ablutions chamber."

Bannerman knocked on the lavatory door.

"Feth off, I'm getting washed!" Calgar yelled.

"Begging your pardon, my Lord," Dick said, "we were just wondering what our mission will be this Christmas."

"Mission?" The door opened and Calgar's face, smeared with shaving foam, appeared. "Our mission, Dick, is to recover from our hangovers, and hold ourselves to our nightly pledge that we will never go out drinking again."

"But sir, this is our first feature-length story. Shouldn't we make it overblown and packed with car chases and stuff?"

"You can bollocks! I'm listening to Christmas songs until Home Alone 2 comes on, then I'm stuffing an entire roast turkey down my throat."

"Same as usual then," Nerdingham muttered.

"I heard that, tech-priest! The nerve-glove for you mate, pain level 'Saved by the Bell: The New Class'."

"Aw fething hell!"

=U=

Fresh from his scare with Calgar and the sausage-dipping innuendo, Brin Milo made himself busy trimming the Ultramarine base. He found a corridor that was lined with portraits of Calgar. Milo's singing died to a hum as he glanced suspiciously around, looking to see if anyone was watching. Seeing no-one, Milo began singing again as he sprayed a ringmaster's moustache, a devil-worshipper's goatee and a pair of Janine Melnitz specs on one of Calgar's portraits, sprayed the words "Spiritual Liege" underneath it.

"MILO!" Calgar yelled, making the young Tanith jump. Milo looked back the way he'd come, but Calgar wasn't there; his voice was echoing along miles of corridors.

"Where's my cup of tea, you lazy sod! Eight sugars, but don't stir it, I don't like it sweet. And a French Fancy! Not the horrible brown ones you keep bringing me - I want a yellow one. You'd better not have eaten all the yellows, Dick!"

"Sorry, sir!" Dick called back. "They're magic, they made me do it!"

"The nerve glove for you, Dick, pain level 'Watching Caprica'."

"Aw, FETH!" said Dick.

When Milo had served Calgar his tea - in a mug the same size as the FA Cup - the ninny from Tanith received his orders for the day.

"Since everyone seems to want a mission today, here's one: your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to locate my stash of presents."

"And if I choose not to accept it?"

"Then I flush your head down the bog and make you find them anyway... with wet hair."

"Where should I start looking?"

"Try storage level 3. There's a rather large wooden cupboard in there that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. I suspect Dick has dumped his load in there."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My presents, Milo. I heard him bringing them in from one of the Rhinos last week so I know he's definitely got me something. Try and find Gran Turismo 5. I've been waiting millennia for it and I've played all 14 Forzas that came out in the meantime."

After Milo left, Calgar rubbed his hands together with glee. "Gran Turismo 5! Loads of cars, most of which are the same except for their paint job, only a tiny fraction of which are modelled in HD and the rest are upgraded PS2 graphics. Eighteen types of Honda S2000. No ability to turn most cars into racing variants. Such progress since Gran Turismo 2!"

Part Three

Milo entered Storage Bay 3 and found that Calgar was as good as his word. This came as a surprise, since Calgar's word was usually worth less than a bed that he had slept in naked. Milo opened the cupboard and peeked inside. It was big and dark. Old coats hung down from the brass rail.

"Brass!" Milo thought. "Crikey, that reminds me of Khorne!"

Pushing his fears aside - for what could really worry a member of a Guard regiment that kills Khorne Marines in close combat? - Milo pushed the coats aside and poked his head into the cupboard. Moths flew out at him. There was a musty, heavy smell in the air which made him sneeze. He sneakily wiped his nose on a coat sleeve.

"Crikey," Milo said, his voice muffled by the wardrobe. "It's like the Tardis in here! Dick could have stuffed a Trojanload of prezzies in here and we'd never have known! I wonder if mine are here too?"

He clambered inside the cupboard and had a look around. It was very dark but there were no presents. He knocked on the back wall to see if it was false - Dick was inventive when it came to hiding things.

"Come in," a voice said from the other side.

"Holy ess haitch eye tee!" Milo said. "Is someone behind there?"

"Well that's hardly surprising," the voice replied. "It is a door."

"I knew it! Are my presents in there?"

"Presents?" the voice replied. "What are you on about, son of Adam?"

"Son of who? I'm Brin Milo. My dad was called Norman."

"All right then, Brin Milo, son of... Norman. Are you coming through or shall I wait here all day?"

"Feth me," Milo murmured. "The lengths Dick goes to when he's hiding presents."

Milo pushed the cupboard's back wall. It swung open like a door. He went through, emerging into a frozen land beneath a blue night sky. Illumination was provided by a single, old-fashioned lamp post. Everything was covered by about eight feet of snow. More snow fell gently. He was on the edge of a forest. The air itself seemed full of frost, seeming to burn the young Tanith's lungs.

A small figure danced into view. He looked a lot like the devil. He wore a friendly smile and carried an umbrella. He didn't look threatening, even though he was clearly a Chaos mutant.

"Do you know where you are?" the creature said.

"Silent Hill?"

"Oh no no no," said the creature with a chuckle. "Silly boy. I really ought to put you over my knee and spank your bottom until your weeping turns to screams."

"Let's not, you fething freak. Not unless you want Tanith staight silver lodged through an eyeball."

The creature chuckled. "Now now, we've only just met! Do you expect me to fall for the lines of every young man who inserts himself into my world?"

"I'm going back through," Milo said, starting back towards the wardrobe, which appeared as a door in the middle of nowhere, leading back to the familiar realm of dusty coats, sacred duty and Marneus Calgar's fething self-important whinging.

The creature grabbed his arm.

"Now now, Milo, son of Norman, I was just joking with you. You're going to have to be more robust if you wish to survive in the fabled realm of Narnia."

"And if you want to survive the fabled company of Brin Milo, you'll drop the 'son of Norman' crap."

"Of course, Milo, son of... never mind." The creature let him go. "Let us get to business, if you'll pardon the untimely sexual pun. I am Tumnus the Faun and you have entered my place of dwelling: Narnia, the kingdom of eternal winter."

"Sounds like England." Milo regarded Tumnus. "You look like a daemon of Khorne. How come your fiery blood isn't making the snow melt?"

"Khorne holds no sway here," Tumnus said, then his expression darkened. "Instead, we must put up with a frigid bitch who makes it snow all the time. Receiving a snowball upside your head is all well and good the first few hundred times, but after that..."

"It's easier to leave the ice clogging up your earhole."

"Indeed." Tumnus regarded Milo with something approaching respect. "I can see the legends were true: you have come to save us from the White Witch."

"Who's she? Some sort of Chaos psyker?"

"As I said, Chaos has little power here. We are a free and happy people - at least, we were. If we're going to save this land, there is someone I'd like you to meet."

"I don't know," said Milo, looking back towards the cupboard. "Moaning Marneus will wonder where I am."

"Do not worry, young friend. Time flows strangely here; by the time you defeat the White Witch, only a few seconds will have passed in your world."

"As long as I don't miss Christmas dinner," said Milo.

"That is the worst tragedy of this place. Not only am I freezing my nuts off all day long, Christmas never actually arrives here. The White Witch has seen to that."

"What!" Milo gasped, appalled at the blasphemy of it. "That means -"

"No togetherness; no enjoyment of tradition; no get-togethers with the family around a giant turkey; no watching the Garfield Christmas Special and singing along..."

"No presents!"

"Indeed, Brin Milo, son of - sorry. It is a crap deal, to be fair."

They set off walking, crunching through the snow. Milo struggled to understand which psyker table the White Witch rolled her powers from. Maybe some Forge World supplement. When it comes to vastly overpriced, error-ridden books with bizarre rules which have nothing to do with the main games system, Forge World are everyone's first stop.

"Tell me more about your world," said Tumnus. "Who is lord and master there?"

Milo thought of Calgar.

"You don't want to fething know."

They trudged along for what seemed like an hour, Tumnus explaining about what the White Witch had done to this world. The cold bit through Milo's Tanith fatigues.

"You seem cold," Tumnus observed.

"It's hardly an afternoon on Tallarn," countered Milo.

"I know - I'll warm your cockles with a nice tune." Tumnus produced a wooden flute and began to dance around the place, playing an embarrassing atonal failure.

"What did you think, Brin Milo?" the Faun asked when he'd finally finished.

"It wasn't up there with the Last of the Mohicans theme."

Disappointed, Tumnus squinted ahead.

"My friends should be just over the next rise, by the frozen lake."

"A frozen lake. Cool."

"Not so cool when half of your friends, the marine life of Narnia, are entombed beneath the surface."

He was upset about a bunch of fish? There wasn't really anything to say to that so Milo kept his mouth shut. Truly, this was a strange land. However, with grim inevitability, Milo did find something to say about Tanith.

"My world died too."

"Really?" Tumnus inclined his head. "I thought Earth was just entering its second world war?"

"You mean Terra? You might want to check the flow of time, mate, there have been a million wars by now. Humanity spread to the stars and is currently wishing it hadn't. My home planet was called Tanith. It got blown up and... well, that's about it to be honest."

"I'd like to blow the White Witch up."

"Don't worry, mate, we'll drag her back to Ultramar and hand her to the Inkies. They'll rip a confession out of her."

They stopped walking.

"The White Witch," Tumnus said gravely.

"Yeah, she sounds like a right bitch."

"You don't really mean that."

Milo stared at the Faun. "Of course I do. We've been expounding about it at length. And we agreed that a good length is what she needs. Maybe mine."

"Now now, I'm quite sure we didn't talk like that about Her Radiant Majesty."

"What's up with you?" said Milo. "Did that flute playing suck the oxygen from your brain? I believe the words 'frigid old bitch' left your oversized, possibly homosexual lips, and you said it in a way that implied she belongs in a nursing home that stinks of piss."

"You flatter me, Tumnus the Faun," a female voice said.

"Oh feth," Milo said. "That's her, isn't it?"

Tumnus nodded. His entire body was rigid with fear.

"She's been standing behind me for the last couple of minutes, hasn't she?"

Tumnus nodded again. He began shaking so badly he looked like he'd got Parkinson's.

"Then in that case," Milo said, turning around with a brilliant smile, "she'll know we were only joking."

The White Witch was an absolute fething beauty. Imagine Keira Knightley if she was even better looking and had Angelina Jolie's legs and tits.

"You call it a joke?" she said. "I call it insulting prattle which assaults one's already underwhelmed brain. Who are you, son of Adam, and whom do you represent?"

"I am Milo, son of Norman. My leader is Marneus Calgar, son of... a bitch."

"Calgar." The Witch put a delicate finger to her lips. "One has heard of his sexual prowess. Long have I desired him in the sack."

"You must be talking about the alternate version from Graham McNeill's imagination. The Calgar I know is so stunningly incompetent in bed, even he has to fake it."

"Enough of this nonsense!" the White Witch snapped. "Poor NoPoet has been sitting down writing this for four hours straight and nothing has even happened yet. The audience is getting bored, aren't you, you horrid caravan-load of ungrateful gakkers?"

"I don't think we should insult them," Milo said. "We're going to struggle for positive comments as it is."

"Can I just -" Tumnus said, starting to edge away.

"Yes, bugger off, Tumnus the Faun, one is sick of the sight of you. If one catches you dissing one again, one shall cut your tail off, and one really does mean that in the way you think."

Tumnus ran like feth, snow flying from his hooves.

"My friends will rescue me," Milo said defiantly to the Witch, hoping she didn't realise Calgar and his Barmy Army were anything but Milo's friends and were unlikely to give a toss about his plight since Home Alone 2 was about to start.

"Good luck," she replied. "I'm sure Mr Tumnus has explained the time differential. By the time your friends even notice that you're gone, I'll have ground your bones to make my porridge!"

As Tumnus reached a safe distance he turned and yelled at Milo, "My frigging hero. You brought the White Witch down on our heads and got yourself captured. You've doomed us all, you Tanith twonk!"

With that, the Faun did indeed bugger off, leaving Milo in the clutches of the ferally-smiling White Witch.

PART FOUR

Luckily for Milo, Marneus Calgar's sense of patience was running on empty again.

"Where is that little Tanith feth-wit?" Calgar breathed as he strode down the hallways, looking into every room he passed including the ablutions chamber, where Apothecary Mender was squatting while reading the latest Blood Bowl results.

"Remember to wash your hands this time, Apothercary. Brother-Captain Donulsson is still recovering from peritonitis."

"Feth off," the Apothecary grunted.

Calgar left the grumpy old bastard to it and headed for storage bay 3.

"Milo, I've been waiting for you to report back for nearly thirty seconds. Have you found my presents yet, and is GT5 among them? Milo? Answer me, you Tanith tit, or have your head flushed down the bog."

Milo was nowhere to be found. Calgar spotted the strange wardrobe and strode over to it, wondering which silly fether had parked it here. He opened it, sucking in a breath to bellow Milo's name - and inhaled several moths. By the time he'd finished choking, Dick Bannerman and Brother-Tech Nerdingham had arrived to thump him on the back. Most of the moths flew out of his mouth unharmed, but alarmingly, one of them came out of his right ear. The Ultramarines watched it flutter away in amazed silence.

"Anyway," Calgar said, shaking himself. "Milo was last noted heading into this wardrobe, looking for... something."

"What?" Dick asked with a look of dark suspicion.

"Definitely not my presents. The point is, he hasn't come back out yet."

"Then why don't we go in there and look for him?" suggested Dick. "I hid the presents in... a different storage bay, under a mouldy old coat that no-one will want to touch, so they'll be safe until Christmas Day. To be honest, nobody will want to touch the presents either, since they now smell like mildew."

"Don't be insane, you wazzock!" Calgar said. "We can't all climb in there at the same time! What will the Warrior Lodge say?"

"Sir, we aren't supposed to be running warrior lodges."

"Er... of course, Dick. I was speaking in metaphor."

"Ah. A metaphor for what, sir?"

"Just get in the fething wardrobe."

Calgar bundled his men inside and crammed in after them. The door swung itself shut behind them (more for comedy value than anything else). From the outside, the wardrobe appeared to swell and shake. The voices of the Imperium's greatest heroes could be heard from inside it.

"You just elbowed my cock!"

"Sir, that's my foot."

"There isn't any woom!"

"Shut up, you girl."

"Ow! I banged my fething head. Stop pushing me!"

"That's 'stop fething pushing me, my Lord'."

"Why is your hand cwadling my bottom?"

"That's not me, mate."

"Milo, I'm gonna feed you to the Space Wolves!"

"Wait, Lord Calgaw! I've found something! Aah, watch it, it's gonna -"

The entire back wall of the wardrobe fell down. Calgar, Bannerman and Nerdingham went tumbling along it and into the snow.

"Where they feth are we?" Calgar said, rising to his feet and brushing snow from his arms. "Is this that spare room nobody's ever been in?"

"MMMM! MMMM-MMMM-MMMMM!"

"Who's that?" asked Calgar.

The voice was coming from beneath the wardrobe's back wall. Dick and Calgar lifted it between them, revealing a flattened Tumnus the Faun.

"Thank you," Tumnus said. "Might I suggest you lose some weight, fatties."

"FETHING HELL!" Calgar said. "It's a Bloodthirster! Quick, men, frag it!"

Calgar levelled his bolter-fists. Nerdingham and Bannerman drew bolt pistols. They emptied their magazines into Tumnus the Faun, killing him in a horrifying splatter of blood. Calgar slammed the wardrobe wall back down on the Faun's remains and jumped up and down on it.

"That's what you get for being a daemon," said Calgar.

Bannerman touched a button on the armoured sleeve of his left arm. A little screen popped out of his armour and began bleeping.

"I had a locator beacon surgically implanted into Milo's right arse-cheek in case he decided to run off with the Chapter's silverware," the bannerman explained.

"That's prudent... and slightly wierd," Calgar said. "Let's find the little feth-wit and reprimand him on pain level 'Season 4 of Battlestar Galactica'. If he survives with his intelligence centre intact, I'm sending him back out to find my fething presents."

Bannerman glared at Calgar at this revelation of Milo's purpose. Caught in his bare-faced b.s., the Leader of the Ultramarines, who thought the Primarch Leman Russ was named after a tank, could only give a guilty smile.

PART FIVE

"Once again, Lord Calgar puts me in the poo," Milo moaned. "Why doesn't he just wait for Christmas Day to see his presents like everyone else? The fat fething chuff."

"Oh, cease the flapping of thine lips," said the White Witch. "One feels she is in the company of an old misery-guts."

Milo was on the back of the White Witch's sleigh in a monkey cage. The Witch and her driver, an ugly, grinning dwarf (DON'T SAY SQUAT!), were up front. Two pale blue horses pulled them across the winter landscape. Narnia was beautiful, in a bleak midwinter way. Milo imagined that they looked like some horrific version of Father Christmas out delivering presents. This was what Christmas might look like if the Chaos Powers overran the galaxy. This grim circus was the last thing any child would want coming down their chimney. He cast a sour glance at the dwarf driving the Witch's sleigh. It was Wee Man from Jackass! Wee Man gave Milo a very unpleasant smile.

"If you liked the way I drove that firework-powered shopping trolley in Jackass, you'll love the way I drive this fething sledge."

"Does one care for a Turkish Delight?" the White Witch asked Milo. Wee Man's leering smile became predatory.

"Yeah," Milo said, greed overcoming any sense of self-preservation. The Witch turned awkwardly in her seat to hand him a piece of chocolate. The way her white winter coat fell open showed Milo a tasty curve of breast. He grinned like a pervert as he accepted the chocolate and started to eat. The White Witch might be a Chaos psyker from Forge World, but she possessed immaculate wazoombas.

"We are nearing one's castle," the Witch said. "You will be one's guest, then after a sumptuous feast you shall tell one exactly why a horrible little trog like you is walking around making my kingdom smell like used cat litter."

"Yeah," said Wee Man. "And if you lie, we'll stick you in a jail cell with Mr Big... and they don't call him that for nowt."

Suddenly the Witch felt something warm and wet in her hair. She squeaked in dignified outrage and turned to face her Tanith captive.

"One hopes that is bloody well not what one thinks it is!"

"I spat my Turkish delight out," Milo explained, melted chocolate around his mouth. "I thought it was gonna be some kind of chocolate truffle. There's all mouldy jam or something in the middle."

"You truly are a strange and disgusting creature," said the Witch. Milo sighed, looking through the bars of his prison as the Witch's moonlit castle drew nearer.

=|U|=

Meanwhile, Calgar was leading his expedition in the right direction for a change. This was mostly due to Milo's footprints still being faintly visible amid the settling snow, but partially due to a phenomenon called 'something fething going right for once', as Calgar might put it. The trio crossed over a bunch of snow dunes and stood before a frozen lake.

"What the feth is this?" said Calgar.

"It looks like a frozen -" Bannerman started to say.

"If you finish that sentence, I'll lobotomise you and turn you into a servitor."

"Of course sir. I won't say that it appears to be a frozen lake. Look, it even says it on this sign post here."

The Ultramarines stared a the sign post which pointed towards the lake. It said FROZEN LAKE.

"That's gonna get a few laughs in summer," said Calgar.

"The twail just ends," said Nerdingham in a decent attempt to follow this year's plot. "But where is Bwin Milo?"

"Oh, knackers." Dick knelt in the snow and picked something up. "Look, it's Brinny-Boy's transmitter. Something scared him so badly he actually farted it out."

"Of his bum cheek?" Calgar said, impressed. "How did he manage that?"

"Hello." The voice was male, but sounded funny, like it had been run through a voice synthesiser.

The Ultramarines looked at one another.

"Down here."

They looked down. All they saw was a beaver returning their perplexed stares.

"Did that fething thing just speak to us?" asked Calgar.

"Milo?" Bannerman called, glancing around. "Are you playing a stupid prank?"

"He's gone with the Witch."

The Ultramarines were aghast to realise the beaver really was talking to them!

"I get it," Calgar said. "I'm still pissed. I drank more than even my preomnor can handle. And let's face it, I can get drunk on 7Up, available now at Morrisons."

"He's gone with which Witch?" Nerdingham asked the Beaver.

"The White Witch!"

"Who's the White Witch?" asked Dick, confused.

"You don't know who the Witch is?"

"I believe we've established that," Dick snapped.

"Wait a minute!" Calgar declared. "The Witch! We're in the Wizard of Oz."

"This is Oz?" said Bannerman, looking around. "It looks like Scotland in July."

"Listen," said the beaver, "I'd love to stand here all day while you make yourselves sound like fools, but my wife is waiting for me. Let's get back to my house and we can discuss plans."

"Plans for what?" asked Bannerman.

"You want to get Milo back, don't you?"

"No," said Calgar.

"Of course we do," Bannerman said, looking pointedly at the spiritual Chapter Master of the entire universe. "Who else will do our ironing? You lead and we shall follow. What, er, what should we call you?"

"Call me by my name: Mr Beaver."

"Mr Beaver!" Calgar laughed in disbelief. "That was my nickname at university."

"Really?" asked Mr Beaver, clearly flattered. "Why?"

"Because I used to get loads of... er... never mind."

They trudged on through the snow.

"I'll tell you what, it's bloody nippy out here," Nerdingham said, getting a rare undistorted sentence out. Then he spoiled it by adding, "I hope my bits don't wust."

Calgar threw his arms round the shoulders of his comrades. "I wouldn't worry about it, mate. Dick's bits rusted years ago. Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to the den of beaver we go! How I remember the last time I sang that! I was itching for weeks afterwards. Fething Calth slappers. My willy wilted like a grape dying on the vine."

"For feth's sake, sir!" Bannerman complained, pulling away.

Calgar started to sulk. "Now that you mention it, Nerdingham, it is quite cold, especially with Bannerman around."

They reached the Beavers' house. It was a large tree stump which might once have been part of a dam. Mr Beaver tried the doorhandle to find it locked.

"Come on, my dear," he said, knocking. "I've brought the Sons of Adam. You want to meet them - you won't believe the things they say! They sound like the cast of Monty Python, if Monty Python was written by poo-obsessed five-year-olds."

There came a rattling from the other side of the door.

"I'm coming, my lover," Mrs Beaver replied. "Just let me sort these security locks... and this one... and the padlock... and the bolt... ooh, the chain's stuck... can't be too careful in these days of Witches and dwarves who kick themselves in the head..."

"Come on!" Calgar demanded. "I'm freezing my bollocks off!"

"Nearly there, luvvie! Don't you be impatient - you be worse than Mr Beaver when he's waiting for me to take my knickers down!"

"Thanks for that image," Bannerman muttered.

With a final clank, the last lock was released and Mrs Beaver let them all into the kitchen. It was distinctly uncomfortable for eight foot tall humans in full power armour. Nerdingham's servo-arm was jutting straight through one of the windows - which Bannerman had already promised to replace out of the Ultramarine army budget, much to Calgar's horror. At least they got a cup of tea each.

"I'll get us all a nice spot of dinner," Mrs Beaver said. She squeezed past the Ultramarines and went out of the door.

"Why did she go outside?" asked Calgar.

"With it always being so cold," Mr Beaver replied amiably, "we keep our spare food round the back of our house. It saves money on running a freezer."

Mrs Beaver came back in.

"Thank fethery!" Calgar said. "I'm starving!"

"Here you go my dears," Mrs Beaver said. She handed each of the Ultramarines a small log. She and her husband began to tuck into theirs, chuckling good-naturedly.

"You always spoil me at tea-time," Mr Beaver chuckled.

"What in the name of Father Christmas is this?" Calgar said, looking at his log in disbelief. "We can't eat wood!"

"Well, technically, sir -" Bannerman said.

"Number Two?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Shut it."

"Yes, sir."

"Mine's delicious," Nerdingham said, chowing down. "Tastes like cawwots."

"I've got news for you, mate," Calgar said. "You must have been eating the wrong type of cawwot... I mean carrot. Your fething teeth! When are you going to put some proper ones in?"

"Bionic enhancement is the basic tenet of the Cult Mechanicum," Nerdingham replied, offended.

"They mean replacing vulnerable systems like your eyes and heart, not fitting a set of teeth that don't even fit in your gob! What was even the point of that?"

"Listen," Bannerman said, having surreptitiously hidden his dinner behind a large pot plant, "Mr and Mrs Beaver. While we appreciate your hospitality, we still need to track down this White Witch and rescue Milo."

"Ooh, no, you can't travel at night!" Mrs Beaver said.

"Listen, love, I'm the Leader of the Ultramarines," Calgar boasted. "No fether picks a fight with me unless they want to LOSE. I'm known throughout the galaxy for being hard."

Yes, Dick thought, but only when you're standing behind a Battle Sister.

"Perhaps so," said Mr Beaver, "but the White Witch has more than one monster on her payroll and she uses powerful magic. Our Lord Protector, Aslan, was turned to stone along with half the Narnian Army. That was one hundred years ago. It has been winter ever since."

"A hundwed years? Why did you not waise a new army in that time? You could have conscwipted half the planet by now."

"With Aslan gone, there's no-one left to train them," said Mrs Beaver.

"This is all well and good, but - uh-oh." Calgar's stomach gave a bubbling groan which travelled the length of his colon before dying in an abominable whine. "I should never have risked that ghost chili vindaloo last night. Here comes Ghandi's Revenge. Where are the bogs? They'd better not be outside."

"Bogs?" asked Mr Beaver.

"Toilets," said Dick.

"Ah. In the back room," said Mr Beaver.

"Thank the Emperor for that! I'd hate for this lot to freeze on its way out like a brown icicle." Calgar shoved his way past the other Ultramarines due to the lack of space, banging his head on the roof in the process. The toilet door clapped shut behind him.

"Where does the White Witch live?" asked Bannerman.

From the toilet, everyone heard Calgar unzipping the fly on his armoured trousers, then extended rustling as he tugged his trousers down.

"In the castle," replied Mrs Beaver. "It's not that far from here."

"Ooh! The seat's cold!"

"We'll set off as soon as Lord Calgar has, shall we say, powdered his nose."

"That might be a while, mate! Mr Beaver, have you got any car mags I can read?"

Bannerman and Nerdingham discussed the route to the Witch's castle, ignoring the tearing of toilet roll, followed by a horrid burbling as Calgar blew his nose. It seemed to go on for minutes. Images of pea soup and lime jelly sprung to everyone's minds. There followed a sharp sniff as Calgar attempted to clear his nasal cavity.

"One does not simply go into the White Witch's castle and deck her!" Mrs Beaver said. "There are ghosts and evil animals just waiting for someone to try. They are loyal servants of the White Witch. They either don't know about Christmas, or they stopped believing in it, so they are happy to put up with this place looking like a crap version of Switzerland."

PPPPPP! "Uuuuh! AAAAAUUUUUHHH! Get out, you bastard!"

"We've alweady used up all of our ammo, Standard Beawer," said Nerdingham. "We might need we-inforcements."

"AAAAAGH!" The Lord Calgar started to sob. "Someone help me! Please! Fetch some ice!"

"Why does the metal man talk like that?" said Mrs Beaver, looking at Nerdingham but talking to Dick.

"I happen to have a speech impediment, caused by inserting metal teeth into my gob that were pewhaps a size too big."

"Ah. I wondered why you've got an overbite big enough to fit my head under. Such big teeth!"

"They come in handy when he eats his wooden carrots," Dick said, drinking his tea.

Peeeeeeeeep! PPPPPPLLLLLLLL! PPPPPPPLLLLLLL! PLOP! SPLASH!

"Aaaah! Fists of Guilliman, that feels good! I'm a new man!"

ThhhHHHHPPP!

"Ahhhhhhhh! Argh! My fething ring's on fire!"

"He makes even more noise than you do, my dear," Mr Beaver affectionately told his wife, who smiled. The Ultramarines exchanged glances.

"I've just lost two stone! God-Emperor, here comes some more! There won't be enough bog roll in the world!"

"So," Bannerman said after an embarrassed silence - punctuated by five staccato toilet farts from Calgar - "we need a plan of action. If we cannot travel to the Witch's castle overland, and we lack either land speeders or large shovels, we must find a new way."

Everyone looked at Nerdingham, who was watching the snow fall through the windows.

"Tech-priest?" enquired Bannerman. "Any bright ideas?"

"Sowwy, I wasn't listening. I can wig up a teleporter. I've got the necessary sellotape and stwing."

"You have a reputation for being able to build marvellous items out of any old crap," Dick smiled.

"Oh yes. I built a Wendy house for one of the Chapter serfs who was pwegnant. Unfowtunately the Wendy house collapsed on her child the first day she used it. She's fine though, she just grew up with a funny-shaped head."

"Er... hmm," said Dick. "Perhaps we should re-think this."

"Thank the Emperor for that, I'm finished. Oh crikey, here comes another one! UNNNNGHHHHeeeaaaaa!" PLOP!

"Is he gonna fething hurry up and stop shaming our entire Chapter?" Dick said, losing patience. "Lord Calgar! Come on, sir, we've got a plan!"

"Give me a fething minute, Number Two. I haven't even wiped my arse." The sound of tearing toilet paper followed Calgar's proclamation.

"Right," Dick said to the Tech-adept. "You get started on building a teleporter out of string and sellotape; meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Beaver could perhaps lend us some Narnian clothes so that we can blend in."

"That might prove difficult," Mr Beaver said carefully, "considering you are eight foot tall, slightly overweight superhumans, and we're a bunch of talking animals. Nevertheless I should be able to find you something." He pottered off, muttering to himself. "I've got that old vest I've been wanting to get rid of, and Mrs Beaver's fur coat has never been the same since those doormice nested in the pocket..."

"Oh no... oh feth me," Calgar said, sounding utterly horrified.

"Don't tell me he's had another poke-through," Dick moaned. "He had a pot of bleach strapped onto his finger for three weeks last time."

Calgar popped his head round the door.

"Excuse me, Mrs Beaver. I don't suppose you've got a plunger?"

PART SIX

"I can't wear this! I look like a fething gyppo!"

"It's the only way, sir. We would stand out too much in our armour."

"And we don't stand out in this lot?"

Calgar and Bannerman stood dejectedly, dressed in rags cobbled together from clothes so old and horrible that not even a pair of beavers would use them to line their nest.

"This is definitely entering pantomime territory, Number Two."

"Agreed, my Lord," Dick said for the first time ever. "But we can't travel across Narnia without disguise, or the evil animals will recognise us."

"True," said Calgar. "It's not like we're a bunch of fething Z-listers."

Nerdingham only just suppressed a snort of laughter at the sight of his battle-brothers.

"Laugh it up, Dorkmarine," Calgar said. "You'll be wearing this stuff too."

"I am staying here to opewate the device," Nerdingham said, holding a small box that said CONTWOL UNIT.

"Before you do it," Calgar said, "say 'rascally rabbit'. Please."

A beautiful woman - and Brin Milo - magically appeared before them. Their ghostly silhouettes were surrounded by swirling warp power.

"The White Witch!" Mr and Mrs Beaver gasped in horror.

"One told you my warp-flask would work," the Witch said. "Behold the power of warp communication!"

"Is that her?" Calgar gave a long and vulgar wolf whistle. "She's a bit of all right. Resist her, Milo, she might restrain you by sitting on your face!"

"Silence, Ultramarine." The White Witch had a voice like bitter music. "Presumably you wonder why I have appeared to you like this."

"I don't fething care," Calgar said. "We kill you, we restore Christmas. Prepare to die!"

"Do you not wish to hear my evil plans?"

"Not really," said Calgar.

"Space Marines aren't known for hearing their enemies out," Milo said to the Witch. "I did tell you."

"Oh. Well." The White Witch was taken aback. "Balls to them, then, if they won't hear my genius, I won't hear their cries for mercy. Come, son of Norman, we have our victory ritual to prepare." The Witch swirled her cloak around herself and Milo, then they were gone.

"Come back!" cried Calgar. "Milo's supposed to cook our fething Christmas dinner!"

PART SEVEN

"Now listen," Bannerman said to Nerdingham as they prepared to teleport. "Are you completely, 100% certain that you'll put us somewhere quiet, but close to the Witch's castle?"

"What do you think I am?" said Nerdingham indignantly. "You'll have the element of total suwpwise."

There was an incredible explosion of light as the Ultramarine heroes embarked upon a secret and highly sensitive mission: to rescue Milo and, in a most dignified and professional way, put the fear of fethery into all evil Narnians.

*

The White Witch had assembled all of her minions in the courtyard before her palace. A huge banquet table was laid out; the Witch sat at the centre on a throne of ice. Mile crouched on the frozen ground next to her. She held him on a leash which ran to a spiked gimp collar around his neck. What the temptations of Turkish Delight had failed to do to Milo, a few good sessions of feeling the Witch's boobs had sorted. Sanian and her alter-ego, the Sabbat Martyr, were truly forgotten, not just by Dan Abnett* but by Milo too.

* "Forgotten" on the orders of Christian Dunn as he tried to limit the damage Abnett was doing to 40K's canon.

Statues of animals rose or crouched in various positions of attack and surrender, watching the feast with eyes of stone.

"To my impending victory over Narnia!" The Witch raised an ornate goblet filled with sacra. She'd learned the secrets of its manufacture from Milo. The assembled monsters roared.

"One has spies everywhere," the Witch went on. "We shall spot Lord Calgar and his handsome, manly side-kicks from a mile off. Especially the one in red with the buck teeth."

The monsters roared again.

"This young boy of Tanith has been converted to our side through the power of my breasts. First Milo was Gaunt's bitch, then Calgar's, now mine."

The monsters chuckled and pointed at Milo.

"And over there stands the pride of Narnia, frozen forever in stone. Look upon the defeated Aslan and laugh. Laugh until you wet yourself. I just did!"

There was a blinding explosion overhead and, in a thunderclap of unleashed power, two naked superhumans fell from the sky. Dick Bannerman crashed down onto the feast table, smashing it beneath his bulk and splattering food across the assembled throng. Calgar landed on something solid which crunched beneath him, costing him his front teeth. Recovering his addled wits, he realised he'd broken the statue of a colossal lion, which could mean only one thing.

"Boris Becker's balls!" exclaimed Calgar. "I've killed Aslan!"

"Stand, Ultramarines," the rather shocked Witch said as her beasts formed a circle around the Space Marines.

Dick and Calgar got to their feet.

"Good job putting us somewhere secluded, Nerdingham," Dick said to himself. The Witch stared at the Standard Bearer in amazement.

"One can see why your parents decided to call you Dick."

Dick covered himself, embarrassed.

"What about me?" snorted Calgar.

"You? Oh. yes." The Witch dragged her eyes away from Bannerman. "Let's put it this way, it's true that Dick Bannerman is always carrying your Chapter's flagpole... in his trousers! You, by comparison, must have had your little finger removed and surgically re-attached to your groin."

"Harsh," said Calgar, as Dick winced at the insult. "It's really cold, and when I was younger there was this incident -"

"Why are you here?" Milo gulped, astounded. "And why are you naked?"

"We're... here to rescue you," Dick said.

"This is all that Techmarine's fault!" said Calgar. "What a fething cock-up. The Adepts of Mars must have wired his brain up to his bladder. Come on, Milo, I've had enough of this crap."

The Witch smiled and her assembled beasts cackled.

"Leaving so soon? Not in one piece, Calgar. Boris, take them."

A bear strode forwards. It was a very big, very peed-off-looking bear. It grabbed Calgar's arm in a giant paw.

"Back off. I'm an Ultramarine." Calgar shrugged the bear away. "White Witch, I present you with an ultimatum: hand us the kid and allow Narnia to celebrate Christmas. Oh, and turn everyone back from stone and stop making it permanently winter, et cetera."

"Or what?" she smirked.

"Or I come over there and shag you to death."

"A bold statement for a virgin to make. Creatures - kill them both."

There followed a Matrix-style battle scene in which Calgar and Bannerman kicked the crap out of everyone in their way while dodging return attacks like ninjas. Unfortunately they were overrun by weight of numbers.

"Any last words before one turns you to stone?"

"Yes, my lady," said Bannerman. "If I offer myself to you, will you let my friends go and return peace to Narnia?"

"Er... actually, one probably would."

"What the feth?" Milo said. "No-one trusts you, your Majesty. You'll just kill us anyway."

"Do knock it off, son of Norman, I tire of your whinging."

"Son of Norman?" said Calgar. He and Dick looked at one another, then burst out laughing.

"You can laugh, with a first name like Marneus! It sounds like something you spread on toast!"

"That's the nerve-glove for you, son, pain level 'Star Trek: Enterprise - Season 2'."

"Flying fethery!"

"Enough of your irritating nonsense," the White Witch said. "Dick Bannerman, we have business to attend to."

Dick gave Calgar a beautifully smug smile as he followed the Witch into her castle. Five minutes later he came running back out again, grinning.

"Bastard!" the Witch screamed from her bedroom window. "Beasts, kill the selfish oaf and his wretched, so-called friends. Tear them limb from limb!"

"Leg it, my Lord!" said Dick as he ran past. Calgar and Milo followed, but an army of predatory cats headed them off. Hostile animals surrounded the Barmy Army.

"Uh-oh," Milo said as the three men stood back to back. "How are we getting out of this one?"

"I've got an idea," Calgar said. "It's quite a good one an' all. Beasts! Hear me! It is in your interests to join the Ultramarines and overthrow the slack-tittied tyrant who yells at you from her bedroom!"

"If you say so, mate," Boris the bear said, closing in for the kill.

"He's not joking!" Bannerman said desperately. "The Witch conceals a great truth from you!"

"Oh God," Wee Man said from the back of the crowd where it was nice and safe. "She's not a man, is she?"

"Even worse than that, friend!" said Calgar. "The White Witch uses her magic so that Christmas never arrives here. What a bitch!"

"So what?" shouted a badger. "Christmas is a myth!"

"That is not true, black-and-white skunk-thing," Calgar said. "Even now on my home planet of Ultramar, my warriors gather around the telly to watch Home Alone 2, safe and warm in the knowledge that we will soon be opening our prezzies."

"Prezzies?" a donkey brayed. "Nay bugger gets presents no more. The Witch told us presents represent corporate greed."

"It's not working, sir," said Dick.

"Yes, thank you, Number Two. We do get presents, and they don't represent corporate greed, they represent the final scene of Home Alone 2. Tell them what you got for last Christmas, Dick."

"Yeah, go on Dick," said Wee Man. "What did you get? A fistful of nothing? A lump of coal? Tinsel to wrap round your balls for my lady the White Witch?"

"Actually, I got... sent to prison and assigned to a suicide mission. The Lord Calgar was a bit distempered that year. But the Christmas before that I got... not much, to be honest."

"You could say Dick got dick," Milo said.

"I'm confused," said Boris. "Does Christmas exist or not?"

"It does," said Bannerman. He reached around his bare back and pulled a wooden stump out of nowhere. The stump lengthened like the acrobat girl's staff from the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon. The Ultramarine Chapter Banner unfurled on its own. "I swear it on the honour of Macragge."

Bannerman planted the flag.

"Er... you might want to watch what you do with that thing mate," Wee Man said. "People might find the symbolism distasteful."

Bannerman glanced down. "Tell me I didn't just plant it in Aslan's fething litter tray."

"Go and kill the fething White Witch," Calgar interrupted, "and you'll be seeing Father Christmas in no time flat. I guarantee it on the honour of my Primarch - how do you pronounce his name again Dick?"

The animals roared and charged into the Witch, attacking as a swarm with Immune to Psychology and 2D6 strength 4 attacks.

"Nooooo!" the White Witch screamed. "I'd have gotten away with it if it wasn't for you pesky Smurfs!" She failed her saving throws and died a screaming death. When she was dead all of the stone animals (the ones Calgar hadn't broken) returned to life. All of the snow faded away and the sun turned extremely hot. Trees burst into life, birds started singing and midges gathered in the air above Calgar's head.

"What the feth?" said Calgar. "It's supposed to be Christmas!"

"It appears that Narnia is approximately six months behind Macragge," Dick replied. "I think we've boobed on this one, my Lord."

The animals howled and screamed in outrage.

"Summer!" Boris yelled. "Bloody summer! It's months 'til Christmas! Outside everyone, get the Ultramarines!"

"LEG IT LADS!" Calgar said. "BACK TO THE WARDROBE AND THE SAFETY OF MCGUFFIN!"

"That's Macragge, sir!"

"Shut up and get running!"

PART NINE

aND THEN WE WAS SURROUNDED BY nARNEAN aNIMALS aND THEN WE TOLD THEM THEM THAT THE WHITE SYKER (WHO WAS nAKED} WAS EVIL AND AN ENEMY OF THE EMPORER SO DICK SHAGGED HER AND THEN THE aNIMALS CHASED HER AND KILLED HER AND IT WAS ALL mY DOING BECAUSE I AM THE lEADER OF THE uLTRAMARENS. aND THEN WE RAN AWAY

"I'd leave at least two parts out of that report if I were you, sir," said Dick.

"Hmm. Perhaps so. I thought you'd want the galaxy to know you nobbled Keira Knightley? I ought to promote you to Primarch."

"I don't think a five-minute tryst with an unsanctioned Chaos psyker who lives with animals will get me on the Wall of Heroes, sir."

"What's going on?" Milo said, joining them at the computer. "WOAH! Emperor's support stockings, sir, talk about attack of the caps lock."

"Go away, Brinny-Boy," said Calgar. "This is Ultramarines-only stuff."

"What are you actually doing?" Milo asked. "It looks like you're having a screaming fit on the page."

"I'm writing a mission report, actually."

"What are you writing it for?" Milo wondered. "You're the Chapter Master, who's gonna verify it for you?"

"I'm preserving it for posterity if you must know. Besides, there are still nearly 24 hours before we open our presents and I find out if Gran Turismo 5 matches up to Forza 3. I've got to do something to fill a few minutes."

Preserving what for posterity? We killed a friendly faun, blocked the Beavers' toilet, crushed the saviour of Narnia, stuck our Chapter Banner in some crap, you two beamed into the Witch's festival naked, Dick failed to satisy a woman and we all ended up running away with all of Narnia cursing the Ultramarines and, by extension, the fething Imperium. Good job, Calgar. Milo accidentally broadcast these thoughts via telepathy.

Calgar stood up, smiling in a friendly manner - which indicated a serious tantrum was on its way - and put his arm around Milo, who visibly wilted.

"Not another suicide mission?" Milo gulped.

"You wish." Calgar produced a toothbrush. "Here's a scrubbing brush," he said, still smiling. "I'd like you to clean the toilets. Our brothers have just finished their daily ablutions; I must warn you, Brother Dolum has been at it again. He's been on a healthy eating course and has had nothing but raisins and lentils for three weeks. It even makes the servitors weep."

Pale and trembling, Milo set off, clutching the toothbrush so hard his knuckles turned white.Calgar and Bannerman enjoyed a chuckle at the Tanith's expense. The screen display changed to the screen saver. It was a blue background. The words MARNEUS CALGAR IS A W****R scrolled across in multicoloured letters. Fortunately, the mighty Ultramarine big-lad didn't see this vandalism, as scrolling text made him dizzy.

"Anyway, enough of this writing stuff, it's doing my head in." Calgar switched the computer off.

"Sir, don't!" Dick cried, but it was too late. "You're supposed to save your work and then shut the computer down normally. We've talked about this. Now you've lost all your work."

"Bollocks!" Calgar roared. "I spent ten minutes writing that! I wondered why my last fifty mission reports all disappeared. Bloody Microsoft, forty thousand years and they're still crap. Well I'm not writing all that again, I'll just have to remember it."

=|U|=

The sun rose over a beautiful winter landscape. Christmas morning had come. Marneus Calgar feverishly waited for hours while Gran Turismo 5 installed on his PS3, then another hour for the game to update itself.

"Fething backwards steps," he moaned. "Why have I got to fething install it? Why is the PS3 such a load of arse? Bring back the original Playstation with Doom, Alien Trilogy and Die Hard Trilogy - in fact all the games starting with Trilogy were good."

When the game finally loaded up, he nearly had an orgasm.

"Gran Turismo intros are the best ever! I can't wait to hear what they've done to Moon Over The Castle this time around; GT4's intro was amazing."

"But sir, the GT theme only ever plays on the Japanese version. Europe and the USA get generic pop-rock songs."

The introduction started.

"Here it comes!" Calgar cried to Milo and the assembled Ultramarine Chapter (at least half of whom were wearing new slippers or jumpers). Everyone present farted in excitement, almost forcing an evacuation of the room before the Ultras donned their helmets. Milo choked to death and lay there with his eyes open, but then suddenly blinked and came back to life without explanation like major characters do in American dramas when the writers try to fool the audience into thinking the character is dead. (2015 edit: This also happened in Merlin.)

The screen began to display random images of coal mines and people just doing random stuff. Instead of beautiful music or an insipid song which had no links to the actual game (I mean, Panama?), the soundtrack was apparently a monkey plonking a keyboard.

"What the feth is this crap?" Calgar spluttered.

Ten minutes later, the raucous noise was still blasting in the Ultramarines' ears. Nothing of any import had happened during the introduction. There was no Moon Over the Castle and no Soul On Display, making a mockery of the Soul On Display naming competition (which, let's face it, was yet another ploy to distract fanboys from GT5's constant delays while they did "GT Academy" stuff that no-one cares about).

"Is it true?" Calgar whispered, his eyes shining with emotion. "Were the fanboys wrong?"

When the game finally got going, Calgar's cries could be heard across hundreds of miles of lonely winter countryside.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!! THEY HELD IT BACK ALL THESE YEARS AND IT STILL ISN'T FETHING FINISHED!!! NUMBER TWO, FETCH THE XBOX, WE'RE GOING BACK TO FORZA 3!!!"

A very Merry Christmas from the Ultramarines, the Tanith 1st, the land of Narnia... and from your author.

MARNEUS CALGAR WILL RETURN

PART NINE

aND THEN WE WAS SURROUNDED BY nARNEAN aNIMALS aND THEN WE TOLD THEM THEM THAT THE WHITE SYKER (WHO WAS nAKED} WAS EVIL AND AN ENEMY OF THE EMPORER SO DICK SHAGGED HER AND THEN THE aNIMALS CHASED HER AND KILLED HER AND IT WAS ALL mY DOING BECAUSE I AM THE lEADER OF THE uLTRAMARENS. aND THEN WE RAN AWAY

"I'd leave out at least two parts of that if I were you, sir," said Dick.

"Hmm. Perhaps so. I thought you'd want to celebrate getting laid? If the High Lords had seen the White Witch in her underwear they'd have promoted you to Lord Solar Dick."

"I don't think bumming an unsanctioned Chaos psyker who lives with animals will get me on the Wall of Heroes, sir."

"What's going on?" Milo said, joining them at the computer. "WOAH! Emperor's support stockings, sir, talk about attack of the caps lock."

"Go away, Brinny-Boy," said Calgar. "This is Ultramarines-only stuff."

"What are you actually doing?" Milo asked. "It looks like you're having a screaming fit on the page."

"I'm writing a mission report, actually."

"What are you writing it for?" Milo wondered. "You're the Chapter Master, who's gonna verify it for you?"

"I'm preserving it for posterity if you must know. Besides, there are still nearly 24 hours before we open our presents and I find out if Gran Turismo 5 matches up to Forza 3. I've got to do something to fill a few minutes."

Preserving what for posterity? We killed a friendly faun, blocked the Beavers' toilet, crushed the saviour of Narnia, stuck our Chapter Banner in some crap, you two beamed into the Witch's festival naked, Dick failed to satisy a woman sexually and we all ended up running away with all of Narnia cursing the Ultramarines and, by extension, the fething Imperium. Good job, Calgar. Milo accidentally broadcast these thoughts via telepathy.

Calgar stood up, smiling in a friendly manner - which indicated a serious tantrum was on its way - and put his arm around Milo, who visibly wilted.

"Not another suicide mission?" Milo gulped.

"You wish." Calgar produced a toothbrush. "Here's a scrubbing brush," he said, still smiling. "I'd like you to clean the toilets. Our brothers have just finished their daily ablutions; I must warn you, Brother Dolum has been at it again. He's been on a healthy eating course and has had nothing but raisins for three weeks. It's not very pleasant in there, I'm afraid. Vox me if you need some gloves."

Pale and trembling, Milo set off, clutching the toothbrush so hard his knuckles turned white.

Calgar and Bannerman enjoyed a chuckle at the Tanith's expense.

The screen display changed to the screen saver. It was a blue background. The words MARNEUS CALGAR IS A spanker scrolled across in multicoloured letters. Fortunately, the mighty Ultramarine big-lad didn't notice, as scrolling text made him dizzy.

"Anyway, enough of this writing stuff, it's doing my head in." Calgar switched the computer off.

"Sir, don't!" Dick cried, but it was too late. "You're supposed to save your work and then shut the computer down normally. We've talked about this. Now you've lost all your work."

"Bollocks!" Calgar roared. "I spent ten minutes writing that! I wondered why my last fifty mission reports all disappeared. Bloody Microsoft, forty thousand years and they're still crap. Well I'm not writing all that again, I'll just have to remember it."

=|U|=

The sun rose over a beautiful winter landscape. Christmas morning had come. It was like that moment in Home Alone 2 where it shows the Christmas Eve dawn over New York, accompanied by the same bit of music.

Marneus Calgar feverishly waited four hours for the PS3 to install Gran Turismo, then another half an hour for the game to update itself.

"Fething backwards steps," he moaned. "Why have I got to fething install it? Why is the PS3 such a load of arse? Bring back the original Playstation with Doom, Alien Trilogy and Die Hard Trilogy - in fact all the games starting with Trilogy were good."

When the game finally loaded up, he nearly had an orgasm.

"Gran Turismo intros are the best ever! I can't wait to hear what they've done to Moon Over The Castle this time around; GT4's intro was amazing."

"But sir, the GT theme only ever plays on the Japanese version. Europe and the USA get generic pop-rock songs."

The introduction started.

"Here it comes!" Calgar cried to Milo and the assembled Ultramarine Chapter (at least half of whom were wearing new slippers or jumpers). Everyone present farted in excitement, almost forcing an evacuation of the room before the Ultras donned their helmets. Milo choked to death and lay there with his eyes open, but then suddenly blinked and came back to life without explanation like major characters do in American dramas when the writers try to fool the audience into thinking the character is dead. (2015 edit: This also happened in Merlin.)

The screen began to display random images of coal mines and people just doing random stuff. Instead of beautiful music or an insipid song which had no links to the actual game (I mean, Panama?), the soundtrack was apparently a monkey plonking a keyboard.

"What the feth is this crap?" Calgar spluttered.

Ten minutes later, the raucous noise was still blasting in the Ultramarines' ears. Nothing of any import had happened during the introduction. There was no Moon Over the Castle and no Soul On Display, making a mockery of the Soul On Display naming competition (which, let's face it, was yet another ploy to distract fanboys from GT5's constant delays while they did "GT Academy" stuff that no-one cares about).

"Is it true?" Calgar whispered, his eyes shining with emotion. "Were the fanboys wrong?"

When the game finally got going, Calgar's cries could be heard across hundreds of miles of lonely winter countryside.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!! THEY HELD IT BACK ALL THESE YEARS AND IT STILL ISN'T FETHING FINISHED!!! NUMBER TWO, FETCH THE XBOX, WE'RE GOING BACK TO FORZA 3!!!"

A very Merry Christmas from the Ultramarines, the Tanith 1st, the land of Narnia... and from your author.

MARNEUS CALGAR WILL RETURN