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The Night Before 986996.M41 (by Patrick Marstall (MarstallP@bah.com)

'Twas the night before 986996.M41, and all through the station All there was clear, there was no abomination.
My helmet was set on the desk to my right, On the chance I was to need it that very night.

The guardsmen were ensconced, asleep in their beds, All the tanks too were safe, secure in their sheds.
Marines in the barracks, some manning the walls, Assured me the bastion never would fall.

When out in the courtyard there arose such discord I picked up my bolter and unsheathed my sword.
Away to the window, I ran to take aim As the marines around me all did the same.

My bionic eye turned the night into day Allowed me to see, and to seek out my prey.
When what did my loyalist occular show, But an ancient convoyance, knee-deep in the snow.

The vehicle was pulled by horned quadrupeds And a fiery red nimbus glowed from the sled.
The driver was mighty, his eyes full of scorn, Dressed all in crimson like a servant of Khorne.

I gestured for others to shoot without pause, For I was now certain this was Santa Claus.
"Fire Marines! Fire Guardsmen! Fire Ogryn and Ratlings! Fire bolters! Fire lasguns! Fire mortars and gatlings!"

"You in the courtyard and you men on the walls! Now blast away! Blast away! Blast away all!"
But all through this maelstrom the evil one flew, Past plasma and bolt shells and frag that we threw!

And then, to my horror, I heard on the roof The vile cavorting of each decadent hoof.
Screaming my orders, I spun quickly around, As down the chimney shaft it came with a bound.

I saw its eyes glow, its vast stomach gurgle, Bloated and fat, like a daemon of Nurgle.
Blinded by anger, I attacked with a scream - Charged into battle with my brave space marines.

As we thundered towards him, closing the rift, He reached in his satchel and pulled out a gift.
Then it tossed the vile boxes - I fell in a stoop, As they arced through the air at me and my troops.

The wrapped missiles fell short, and plopped at our feet, Our morale was quite strong, we did not retreat.
But the marines paused - our charge was disrupted, They picked up the gifts and were quickly corrupted.

For each box contained a chaotic present - The marines (damn their souls!), found them quite pleasant.
A bolter, a flamer, a new power fist, The Claus gave to all, and he checked off his list.

It moved through the station and left in its wake, The sound of bright laughter and the stench of fruitcake.
The others succumbed, but it failed in its goal, For to me it gave but a small pile of coal.

The station was lost, I could only instruct The bastion computer to set self-destruct.
I failed to kill him, for I saw as I fled, The target escaping, quite safe in his sled.

I heard it cry out as the base burst into light, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

Nice work, man.

It's my pleasure to inform you that you have won all the internets sir.

Always a fun read at Christmas time!

Super duper! A Christmas miracle!

Wishing you and yours a dignified, pious Sanguinalia.

Peace on Terra, and Goodwill towards men (but not the vile Xenos).

I'd like to post this, like I had the last two years, because I'm sentimental git!

On dis day ya oomie's call "Emperor's day",
I call the boyz over and tell them to stay,
then tempt dem with fungus beer and squig snacks
to gather around the burning Rhino trakks

Dey sit round the fires and tell tales of fightin'
Fight together, each other, and now then
raise up their glasses and laugh in great haws
And I tell dem the story of Warboss Santy Klaws

Twas the night before Orkmass, and all though the diggs
Not a creature was stirring, not even da squiggs
The sluggas were hung by the smoke stacks and glyphs
In the hope that Warboss Stanty Klaws would come bearing gifts

The yoofs were all laid out all over the floor
Likely dreaming of choppas and shootas and war
Da Big meks were asleep in their large gubbin' stack
I was still awake in my chambers, planning for our next attack

When out in the boonies I heard a great clash
I jumped to the window, expecting a bash
Looking up I saw such a sight
AA dakkas firing maddly upward, the sky alight

From the muzzlefash of deff guns I did see
A red painted buggy, nailed on rockets flying free
Flying through the air like a deff kopta on crack
With the large figure atop it pullin on the slack

A massive green Ork in red coat and iron gob
A great Warboss, bellowing insult, not any nob
Faster than dakka jets, pulled on by the rig
by four angry, hungry, flying squigs

"On, Mangla! On Killa! Ya stupids gits!!
"On, Burna! On Rippa! I'll blast ya ta bitz!!
Get over dat wall, they can't hit worth a zog!
I ain't got all night, you cowering dog!"

As shell casing from quad guns continued to rain
He spun though the air, like a sideways hurricane,
aiming for the roof top of our base he crash land
he stepped out from the wreckage, a sack in one hand.

His boots stomped on roof, his squigs snarled and snap
the sacked was filled with shootas and choppas all in wrap.
I watched as he quiet his beasts with a massive thump
and then he was down the chimney in a single jump.

He was plated in 'eavy armor, from feet to his head
Boss pole packed with marine helmets, from chapters long dead
One hand was a oversized power klaw, which held his bag
And over it all was his red coat, which looked to be made from rag

His teef were plate in gold, his eyes red like fire
Cybork parts all flash, setting couldn't go higher.
The big shoota he carried was larger than I was
The squigs hairs on his chin white, just because

He chomped on the lit cigar wedged in his teef
Smoke filled da room, and into the floors beneath
He gave a great laugh and headed to the stockings
I didn't say a thing, I was too busy gawking

He was placing down presents while I was muckin' about
he pulled out rokkit launchas and mega blastas that I doubt
he could have in the bag, already bigger than I thought
But he still had the room for shootas for even the small grot

Pleased with his work, he turned back to me
thrusting mega armor in my arms, I fell to my knee
He pulled on the cord to a rokkit pack that strain
but with one last nod he was up the chimney again

He sprang to his buggy to his team he gave shout
And away they all flew, to complete his route
But I 'eard him exclaim, with a booming guffaw
"Merry Orkmass to all, and to all a good WAAAAAAGH!"

Happy Holidays, men and women of Dakka Dakka, and a happy new year.

dam poets of the 41st millennium are better than the ones in the dark ages

Great tradition!

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