‘Proximity Alert’

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The battlesuit slammed into the tainted metal floor of the makeshift fortress, scattering gore slickened debris all around and sending a deafening boom throughout the ramshackle structure. From the dripping shadows, skulking biological horrors shrieked their answer to the sudden cacophony. With steam still rising from its red hot armour plated surface, the Riptide unfurled itself from its crouching position, leveling its weapon systems at the enemy.

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‘The Night Sentinels’

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++++++ Inquisitor Garalov, date 966.M41, submission of report from Praea Mundis, Ref:      GAR.089/PM344.563.445.239/Ordo-As.  Operation ‘Broadsword’ is in effect, Priority: Primarus Extremis.  For the Office of the Master of the Administratum ONLY++++++

Begin Transcript…

‘My first cause for alarm should have been the somewhat uncooperative, dare I say deliberately obstructive, nature of the Dark Angels hierarchy when I inspected their recruitment facility on Praea Mundis.  The Chapter headquarters, otherwise known as the Rock, is currently deployed in an unknown theatre of war and as such this is the largest administrative facility available at the time of this investigations commencement.’

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‘Sacrifice’

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The soldiers’ uniform was covered in dust and scorch marks, his steel breastplate tarnished by whatever vile corrosive liquid had been sprayed across him.  His neck had been hurriedly bound with a filthy scrap of material torn from the sleeve of his left arm, itself nothing more than a cauterised stump.  A red stain blossomed beneath the rudimentary neck dressing, growing by the second.  He was dragged into the bunker unceremoniously by two flanking guards, each holding him under the arm as his feet dragged lifelessly behind them.  The soldier gazed around uncertainly, head lolling from side to side as glassy eyes flittered around the room.

‘Runner from the 82nd Sir!’ one of the guards announced.

Joens turned to regard the new arrival with an air of ambivalence typical of one in command.  ‘Well, let’s have it man!” he said tersely, addressing the stricken soldier directly.

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‘Enigma’

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Jequn stood motionless as the heavy metal ramp swung down, allowing the first shafts of the dawn light into the Thunderhawk’s darkened compartment. His helmet already locked into the mounting ring of his power armour, the sergeant watched as the atmosphere inside the ship exploded out into the freezing void, a cloud of ice crystals on an invisible breeze. The Black Templar’s wasted no time in deploying, rapidly disembarking and spreading out in pairs to secure the landing perimeter. Twenty armoured warriors crunched onto the red, gritty surface of Ar’zenda Minoris, a pitiful little world at the far edge of the Imperium. A dull rumble signified the Thunderhawk’s return to its standoff position in low orbit, the mighty engine’s roar muffled by the moon’s thin atmosphere.

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‘Sanctuary’

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The vox hissed static and squawked to life. ‘-ompany, advance!’

Squad Juno leapt forward without hesitation, emerging from the cover of the ruined shrine with bolters roaring. As their shells raked the shattered sanctum ahead, return fire lashed at the Space Marines. Orange tracer rounds flicked through the air, ricocheting off the thick ceramtie of the Crimson Fist’s power armour as they surged relentlessly forward into the squall. The sanctum was heavily defended, but it has to be taken. The Orks desecrated it with their presence. They had to be purged.

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‘Faith’

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The steel buckled under the blows, alien fists leaving great indentations in the blast door’s inner surface.  Beyond it lay a narrow access corridor choked with whatever foul iteration of Tyranid abominations now clawed at the door. Hideous screeches penetrated the bunker, muffled by the foot thick metal of the door.  Sergeant Guero disregarded the clamor and cast his eyes around the room.

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‘Descent of Angels’

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Jenkins lifted his head, the hot ash and dust cascading off his helmet as he unfurled himself from the rudimentary shelter provided by the command post. Slowly, he raised his eyes and peered warily over the top of the battered trench line. Other guardsmen were emerging from their hiding places too, looking nervously beyond the rampart and into the thick black smoke below.

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