The Primarch of Liberty

The fabric of reality shimmered and tore as Battlefleet Liberty emerged from the Warp. As the last ripples of Warp energy dissipated, the fleet's sensors came to life. Before them loomed a colossal Space Hulk, a patchwork monstrosity of derelict ships and space debris fused together by the unpredictable energies of the Warp.

On the bridge of the Sweet Liberty, Franklin Valorian, the Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, stood tall, his 15-foot frame dominating the command center. His brown eyes narrowed as he studied the tactical display.

"Well, I'll be," Franklin drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Looks like we've stumbled upon a floating junkyard. Elena, what's our location?"

Fleet Admiral Elena Koshka, a stern woman with steel-gray hair, consulted her dataslate. "Scans confirm we're in the Western Reaches of Segmentum Pacificus, my lord."

Franklin nodded, then frowned as the sensors picked up more details. "Those green bastards are all over that hulk like flies on... well, you know. But wait a second..." He leaned in closer, his eyes widening. "Are those Orks wearing power armor?"

Marcus Graves, his weathered face creased with concern, pointed to several areas on the hologram. "Those Orks are wearing what appears to be advanced Exo-Armor. That's not typical Orky tech."

Yamato Nakajima nodded in agreement. "The weapons signatures we're picking up are off the charts. Some of them don't match any known Ork designs in our database."

Franklin's smile widened. "Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we've hit the jackpot. Those green gits have stumbled upon some STC fragments. And we're going to liberate them."

Denzel Washington, the First Captain, raised an eyebrow. "A boarding action, sir? That's going to be one hell of a fight."

The Space Hulk rotated slowly above the table, red dots indicating concentrations of Ork activity.

General Marcus Graves, a grizzled veteran with cybernetic implants, spoke up. "My lord, a full-scale assault on a Space Hulk of that size would be extremely risky. The casualties could be significant."

Franklin nodded. "You're right, Marcus. That's why we're going to be smart about this. Elena, I want you to coordinate a void craft assault on the exterior Ork concentrations. Soften them up for us."

Elena saluted crisply. "It will be done, my lord."

"Yamato," Franklin continued, turning to his Air Force Chief of Staff, "I want you to prep our best pilots. We'll need precision strikes to clear landing zones."

Yamato Nakajima bowed slightly. "Hai, Valorian-sama. Our Eagles will not fail you."

"Steven," Franklin turned to his Second Captain, a man built like a mountain, "you'll be leading the main assault force once we've established our beachheads."

Steven Armstrong cracked his knuckles, a savage grin on his face. "With pleasure, boss. Those Orks won't know what hit 'em."

"And Denzel," Franklin said, looking at his First Captain, "you're with me. We'll be heading for the central chamber where I suspect the most valuable tech will be."

Denzel Washington nodded solemnly. "As always, my lord."

Franklin clapped his hands together. "Alright, folks. You have your orders, Let's show these Orks what happens when they hoard the good stuff." He paused, then added with a wink, "After all, looks like they've got oil. Might need some democracy delivered, express style."

The command staff groaned good-naturedly at the ancient Terran quote, even as they sprang into action.

Within hours, the void around the Space Hulk was alive with activity. Sleek fighters and bombers swarmed from the Liberty's hangars, their pulse weapons lighting up the darkness as they strafed the Hulk's surface. Orks in their crude exo-armor were blasted into green mist, their shouts of defiance lost in the vacuum of space.

As the bombardment continued, drop pods and assault boats launched from the fleet. They streaked towards predetermined landing zones, carrying the elite of the Liberty Eagles. The Astartes, clad in their resplendent power armor, wielded heavy pulse rifles that crackled with barely contained energy.

The drop pod's doors blasted open with a thunderous crash, and out stepped Franklin Valorian, all 15 feet of star-spangled, democracy-delivering mayhem. His power armor, a masterpiece of engineering, bristled with enough firepower to make even the most trigger-happy Ork pause and whistle in admiration.

"Well, boys," Franklin drawled, his dual rotary cannons already beginning to spin, "looks like it's time for a good old-fashioned American barbecue. And guess what's on the menu?"

As if on cue, a horde of Orks came charging around the corner, their crude weapons raised high and their voices raised even higher in a cacophonous WAAAGH!

"Oi!" one of the smaller Orks shouted, his beady eyes going wide at the sight of Franklin. "That's one big 'umie! Bet 'e's got loadsa teef!"

Franklin's grin widened. "Sorry, boys, dentist's office is closed. But don't worry, I'm about to open up a whole new world of hurt!"

With that, he opened fire. The rotary cannons roared to life, spewing out a hail of bullets that turned the front ranks of Orks into green mist. Those lucky enough to be wearing the stolen exo-armor lasted a few seconds longer before exploding in showers of scrap and gore.

Behind Franklin, Denzel Washington moved with fluid grace, his hyperphase swords flashing as they carved through any Ork foolish enough to get close. The Secret Service fanned out, their precise shots dropping flanking Orks with ruthless efficiency.

As they pushed forward, the Orks' initial shock began to wear off, replaced by their innate love of a good scrap. A particularly large Nob, his exo-armor festooned with crude spikes and random bits of scavenged tech, pointed a massive power klaw at Franklin.

"Oi, boyz!" he bellowed. "You see dat big git wiv all da dakka? Let's go krump 'im an' take 'is shooty bits!"

The Nob's rallying cry was cut short as Franklin's shoulder-mounted plasma cannons lit up, reducing the Ork leader to a glowing green smear on the bulkhead.

"Sorry, pal," Franklin quipped, "but I'm not much for sharing. Especially not with xenos who can't appreciate the finer points of superior firepower."

As they pressed on, the Orks' attempts at strategy devolved into increasingly comical scenarios. One group tried to create a makeshift tank out of scrap metal and old engine parts, only for it to sputter to a stop right in front of Franklin's guns.

"Zog it!" the driver shouted, furiously kicking at the controls. "Why's dis fing not... oh." His last word was more of a squeak as he looked up to see Franklin looming over him.

"Points for creativity," Franklin chuckled, before reducing the 'tank' to scrap with a burst from his rotary cannons.

Another Ork, clearly fancying himself a tactical genius, tried to sneak up on Franklin wearing a cardboard box painted to look like scrap metal. "You can't see me, I'z inbisible!" he chortled, creeping forward with all the stealth of a drunken Squiggoth.

Denzel, pausing in his elegant swordplay, raised an eyebrow at the sight. "My lord, I believe we have a master of stealth among us."

Franklin played along, making a show of looking around in confusion. "By the Emperor, where did that Ork go? It's like he vanished into thin air!"

The Ork, emboldened by his 'success', leapt out from his box with a triumphant "WAAAGH!"... only to run face-first into Franklin's waiting fist.

Franklin, thundered down the narrow corridors of the Space Hulk. His massive frame barely fit, but that didn't slow him down one bit. If anything, it just meant the Orks had nowhere to run.

"You know," Franklin mused to Denzel as they advanced, "I'm starting to think these corridors weren't designed with social distancing in mind."

The first wave of Orks came barreling around the corner, their characteristic WAAAGH! echoing off the metal walls. Their battle cry was cut comically short as Franklin's rotary cannons roared to life, turning the narrow passage into a green puree processor.

"DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA!" Franklin bellowed, mimicking the Orkish battle cry with a grin.

The Orks behind the first wave paused, confused. One of them scratched his head with a oversized wrench. "Oi, did dat big 'umie just say 'dakka'? Is 'e one of us?"

Another Ork, slightly smarter (which isn't saying much), squinted at Franklin. "Nah, ya git! 'E's just got more dakka than us! ...Wait, how's dat possible?"

Franklin, overhearing this exchange, decided to play along. He stopped firing for a moment and addressed the perplexed Orks. "That's right, boyz! I'z got all da dakka! You want sum? Come an' get it!"

This proclamation sent the Orks into a frenzy of confusion. Some of them started arguing amongst themselves.

"'E talks like an Ork!"

"But 'e looks like a really big 'umie!"

"Maybe 'e's an Ork in a really good 'umie suit?"

"Don't be daft! ...Can we do dat?"

While the Orks were debating the philosophical implications of Franklin's existence, Denzel took the opportunity to carve through their ranks with his hyperphase swords. "My lord," he said dryly, "I believe you've broken their tiny minds."

Franklin chuckled, his shoulder-mounted plasma cannons lighting up and vaporizing a group of Orks who were too busy arguing to notice. "Well, Denzel, sometimes the best weapon is the enemy's confusion. Now, let's keep this dakka train rolling!"

As they pressed on, they encountered a particularly large Nob, his exo-armor cobbled together from what looked like a fusion of a garbage truck and a tank. The Nob pointed at Franklin with a power klaw that sparked ominously.

"Oi! You'z got more dakka dan me! Dat ain't right! I challenge you to a... a... wot's dat word? A duel! Yeah, a duel!"

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "A duel, huh? Alright, big guy. You and me, mano a Orko. What's your weapon of choice?"

The Nob grinned, revealing a mouthful of metal teeth. "We'z gonna 'ave a dakka-off! Most dakka wins!"

"You're on," Franklin agreed, his rotary cannons beginning to spin.

What followed was less a duel and more a lesson in the difference between quantity and quality of dakka. The Nob's weapons, while impressive by Ork standards, were no match for Franklin's arsenal. In seconds, the Nob found himself not just defeated, but literally disarmed.

"Zog me," the Nob muttered, staring at where his arms used to be. "You'z got some right proppa dakka there."

Franklin nodded sagely. "The secret, my green friend, is precision engineering and a hefty defense budget." The Ork Sliced Apart Finished off by Denzel.

As they continued their advance, the Orks' attempts to stop them grew increasingly desperate and hilarious. One group tried to create a barricade out of scrap metal and what appeared to be stolen toilets.

"See dis?" one Ork proclaimed proudly. "Dis is our im-preg-nable defense! You can't get through dis!"

Franklin looked at the makeshift wall, then at his massive guns, then back at the wall. "You sure about that, chief?"

A few seconds of sustained fire later, and the "im-preg-nable" defense was reduced to a fine metallic mist, along with its creators.

Another Ork, clearly the brains of the operation (which, again, isn't saying much), came up with a brilliant plan. He gathered a group of Gretchin, tied them together with rope, and created a crude net.

"Right, lads!" he shouted. "When da big 'umie comes, we'z gonna throw dis net on 'im! Den 'e can't shoot no more!"

The plan might have had a slim chance of success if the Ork had remembered one crucial detail: nets work better when they're not made of living, screaming Gretchin who'd rather be anywhere else.

As Franklin approached, the Orks heaved their "net" with all their might. The Gretchin sailed through the air, screaming and flailing, only to bounce harmlessly off Franklin's armor.

"Well," Franklin drawled, looking down at the dazed Gretchin at his feet, "I appreciate the welcoming committee, but y'all didn't have to throw yourselves at me like that."

The Orks, realizing their plan had quite literally fallen flat, resorted to their usual tactic: charging headlong into battle while shouting "WAAAGH!"

Franklin, deciding to fully embrace the confusion he'd sown earlier, let out his own battle cry: "DAKKA DAKKA FREEDOM!"

This caused even more chaos among the Orks. Some of them actually stopped mid-charge, thoroughly bewildered.

"Did 'e just say 'freedom'?" one Ork asked his companion.

"I fink so. Is dat like a new kind of dakka?"

"Must be. Sounds right killy!"

Taking advantage of the Orks' confusion, Franklin and his team pressed forward, leaving a trail of thoroughly dakka'd and freedomized Orks in their wake.

In the midst of the carnage, an Ork, bellowing with a mix of bravado and confusion, eyed the impressive array of weaponry on Franklin's armor. "Oi, wot's with all da dakka, ya compensatin' fer somethin' or wot?" the Ork shouted, its voice echoing through the wreckage-strewn halls.

Franklin paused for a moment, turning his helmeted gaze towards the Ork with an amused glint. With a grin that could be felt through the vox, he replied, "Compensating? Nah, mate. I'm not compensating. I just really, really want to hit you." the Ork was Obliterated.

As they neared what seemed to be the central chamber of the Space Hulk, Franklin turned to his men with a grin. "Alright, boys, we're almost there. Remember, we're here to liberate some STCs and deliver a whole heap of democracy. And if these Orks don't like it, well... they can file a complaint with my friend Mr. Rotary Cannon here."

With that, Franklin charged forward, his battle cry of "DAKKA DAKKA FREEDOM!" echoing through the corridors, leaving very confused (and very dead) Orks in his wake.

A/N: DAKKA!