mud crater


Implacable Advance


Karthos, IVth Legion Terminator, tossed aside his combi-bolter as the ammunition racks clacked, their rounds depleted. Stepping over the still fresh corpses of xenos dead, Karthos wrenched off his helmet, letting the acrid tang of the battlefield’s many scents play across his senses - the fyceline stink of bolter propellant, the earthen musk of the rain-sodden mud beneath his boots, and the rich coppery tang of fresh blood - of that, there was no shortage. Advancing with the tectonic gait of his Cataphractii-class plate, the veteran Terminator noticed several of his fellow Legionaries in the next trench - a Tactical squad by the looks of it. Dropping into the trench with neither grace nor subtlety, Karthos assessed the squad through his occulobe implants, data-feeds and legionary idents glowing faintly upon his iris.

“Belkor. Situation update.”

The tactical Sergeant didn’t question him, appraising the situation with admirable bluntness.

“Xenos defensive annex up on the ridge. Spiny little bastard. Artillery support’s occupied and the shrapnel bolts aren’t suppressing it. Orders?”

Karthos took in the squad’s appearance – drenched in mud, armour cratered with weapon impacts. Not a single anti-emplacement weapon amongst them outside of the Sergeant’s siege hammer, yet they’d got this far anyway. The Terminator’s respirator unit masked his smile – now these were troops whose stubbornness he could use.

“Tactical advance. I’m going to take that thing’s fire and you’re going to kill it once we’re close enough. They won’t be prepared for me, I wager.”

Belkor nodded. “And if it does manage to kill you?”

Karthos’ smile turned to a humourless grin as he re-donned his helmet, jerking a thumb towards the squad’s Apothecary – Tacitus, by his rune-ident.

“Then you bloody well make sure he recovers our gene-seed.”

How I see that Wonder Woman scene on tumblr having never seen the movie

People: That’s No Man’s Land! People get blown to bits daily, they get caught in craters of mud where they drown in chemical run off from gas grenades that people in the trenches only survive by putting piss soaked rags over their faces. It is a nightmarish slaughter hours of hell so traumatising it will inspire violent revolution in Russia and threaten it in France.

Wonder Woman - A literal god: I am no man! Look at all you cowardly penis folk! 

*Wonder Woman proceeds to smugly cross no man’s land because she is a literal god and not subject to all the many many ways a normal person, even a normal woman, would be killed*

Feminists in the audience clap uproariously and cum buckets crying elatedly. “So empowering!”

Reasons I probably shouldn’t be allowed to review Womder Woman: 456

Seriously though I keep seeing this scene from so many people being so elated and taking away such a feeling of empowerment and I’m just fuming because this was a genuinely traumatising event that killed so many people in so many horrifying ways but because it’s called No Man’s Land and not Place Of Horrible Traumatizing To Witness Death a female superhero charging through it is apparently empowering and not the crassest most horrifically insensitive thing ever. Millions died in that war, in really horrible ways, but teehee she’s a woman and she’s crossing no man’s land with ease. It’s feminism told as a dad joke at a setting so horrific it defined PTSD in psychology.

The Battle of Pilckem Ridge: Crossing the Yser Canal at Boesinghe, 31st July 1917.

The offensive began on 31 July 1917, but made disappointingly small gains. The British artillery bombardment, which was needed to shatter the enemy’s defensive trench system, also wrecked the low-lying region’s drainage system, and unusually heavy rainy weather turned the ground into a wasteland of mud and water-filled craters. For three months, British troops suffered heavy casualties for limited gains

Five Ways to Kill a Man

by Edwin Brock

There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man.
You can make him carry a plank of wood
To the top of a hill and nail him to it.
To do this
Properly you require a crowd of people
Wearing sandals, a cock that crows, a cloak
To dissect, a sponge, some vinegar and one
Man to hammer the nails home.

Or you can take a length of steel,
Shaped and chased in a traditional way,
And attempt to pierce the metal cage he wears.
But for this you need white horses,
English trees, men with bows and arrows,

At least two flags, a prince and a
Castle to hold your banquet in.

Dispensing with nobility, you may, if the wind
Allows, blow gas at him. But then you need
A mile of mud sliced through with ditches,
Not to mention black boots, bomb craters,
More mud, a plague of rats, a dozen songs
And some round hats made of steel.

In an age of aeroplanes, you may fly
Miles above your victim and dispose of him by
Pressing one small switch. All you then
Require is an ocean to separate you, two

Systems of government, a nation’s scientists,
Several factories, a psychopath and
Land that no one needs for several years.

These are, as I began, cumbersome ways
To kill a man. Simpler, direct, and much more neat
Is to see that he lives somewhere in the middle
Of the twentieth century, and leave him there.