By Jonathan Green
A rescue project turns into a conflict for survival! The Black Templars house Marines head to the battle-ravaged planet of Armageddon, made up our minds to discover one in all their struggling with businesses that has long gone lacking there. Unbeknownst to Marshall Brant and his Black Templars, a squad of ork hunters is additionally at huge within the ork-infested jungles, trying to find a high-ranking Imperial officer, misplaced whilst his airplane crashed. What those would-be rescuers do not know is that there are different issues stirring within the jungles. The savage orks of the Blood Scar tribe hunt them during the dense undergrowth, when anything darkish, historic and negative prepares to stretch its murderous hand forth as soon as more...Featuring extra motion with the Black Templars, this can be a blistering sequel to "Crusade for Armageddon"!
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Extra resources for Conquest of Armageddon (Warhammer, Black Templars)
A xenos hunter. I hate frikkin' aliens! ' 'Ah, war makes strange bedfellows of us all, Borysko. ' 'Have you ever heard the phrase "Sleeping with the enemy"? I kill aliens. ' Vine warned, his voice an angry hiss. ' 'It is their business, Borysko. ' Borysko couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was getting more ridiculous by the minute. ' 'Look, I told you. I need someone out there I can trust. While the agent's watching you, I want you to be watching the agent. Don't let anything get past you.
We seem to have a problem. ' 'Aye, commander,' the gunnery brother replied. The side-mounted hurricane bolter sponsons on the starboard side of the tank swivelled upwards and opened fire. Bolter rounds tore great holes in the rusting, patched panels of the howdah in showers of sparks kicked up from the metal by the shell impacts. The orks returned fire, but their gunners found it difficult to keep on target, as the nausea-inducing roll of the great beast's lumbering gait caused their own gunnery position to sway dramatically from side to side, in and out.
Orks howled and yelled, screaming as they died beneath the tracks of the advancing armour. Men shouted and uttered oaths to the GodEmperor of Mankind. Engine-stacks roared and spluttered as they tried to overcome the cloying slime and muddy waters of the insidious swamps. The smothering mists and choking emissions of the vehicles lent an ethereal quality to the sound. Everywhere there was the acrid smell of fyceline, promethium fumes, cordite, overwhelming animal gut-gas and the ever-present sickly sweet stench of vegetable rot.