Slow (by Space Marine standards) but unstoppable advance right into the teeth of the enemy, unleashing devastating close-range firepower before crushing the foe in melee combat if they still refuse to yield.
On average Salamanders are not quite as fast as their cousins from other genelines, but like their Primarch are bigger and stronger as well as equipped to an unmatched standard.
Slow (by Space Marine standards) but unstoppable advance right into the teeth of the enemy, unleashing devastating close-range firepower before crushing the foe in melee combat if they still refuse to yield.
On average Salamanders are not quite as fast as their cousins from other genelines, but like their Primarch are bigger and stronger as well as equipped to an unmatched standard.
Nowadays in most lists I face off with on you see vanguard vets with lightning claws, storm shields, and a melta or two, but this is primarily a Space Wolf thing. I think, in general, most people go with devestators in drop pods rather than jump pack guys to deliver their melta payloads.
Eh, if you want Reasonable Marines I'd point you towards the Raptors, who encourage independent thinking, camoflage, flexible squad-based tactics, taking cover, hit-and-run warfare, marksmanship, intelligence gathering, adapting to the situation and making use of every possible advantage available to you.
If you've been paying attention you might have noticed the Ultramarines, Guilliman's own, also break both of those rules. But that's First Founding privilege for you.
Just realize that some of our marines are going to be coming from hive gangs who at most only considered the gang as family, asking them to connect to the citizens like the Salamanders do might be even more difficult since they don't have clans or living family
Just realize that some of our marines are going to be coming from hive gangs who at most only considered the gang as family, asking them to connect to the citizens like the Salamanders do might be even more difficult since they don't have clans or living family
The majority of your current Marines were recruited from war orphans, refugees and, well, child soldiers. The Steel Legion typically recruits from Hive gangs, and over the course of thirty years of warfare they were more or less tapped out as a resource, press-ganged nearly in their entirety to serve on the front lines. Give it some time and the hive gangs will probably re-emerge as suitable recruiting stock, however.
Just realize that some of our marines are going to be coming from hive gangs who at most only considered the gang as family, asking them to connect to the citizens like the Salamanders do might be even more difficult since they don't have clans or living family
Plan Stoking the Flames
- Debris Fields: 7th, 8th
- Mines: 4th, 5th
- Jungles: 2nd, 3rd, 6th
- Expand Armoury [-300 FC for 4 turns]
- Expand Reclusiam [-200 FC for 4 turns]
- Assuming Control
- Educate the Chapter
- Forge
-- 10x Heavy Bolters (50 FC)
-- 10x Heavy Flamers (50 FC)
-- 5x Meltaguns (25 FC)
-- 5x Power Fists (100 FC)
-- 4x Razorback (Junior Techmarine Ve'Nir, Junior Techmarine Har'Stan) (300 FC)
-Miscellaneous
--Assign wargear as follows: Each company captain, along with our Chaplain, Librarius, Master of the Forge and Junior Tech-Marines, Apothecary and Junior Apothecaries, each get 1x Artificer Armor, and their choice of melee and ranged weapon
-- Divide the remainder of our gear into company armories as evenly as possible.
-Assign Junior Apothecary Ikreus to 2nd Company, and Junior Apothecary Tho'Var to 7th Company
Thought for the Day: A hundred thousand worlds, ten hundred thousand wars. There is no respite, there is nowhere to hide. Across the galaxy there is only war.
-----
"One minute to combat drop. Attack pattern Dactylon."
The two Thunderhawk pilots make an admirable yet unsuccessful attempt at ignoring your looming presence behind them, busying themselves with double and triple checking the instruments. Yet their movements are just a touch too deliberate and measured, unwilling to risk even the slightest slip under the eye of their Chapter Master.
But as amusing as it may be, watching the pilots squirm is not why you are here.
Through the armoured canopy, you can see eight more steel-grey gunships carrying the golden drakeshead, skimming just above the cloud layer in perfect formation. A swell of pride fills your chest, at seeing your nascent brotherhood going to war.
"My brothers." You begin, your voice ringing from the helmets of every Marine onboard the nine Thunderhawks. "On the Anvil of War are the strong tempered and the weak made to perish, thus are men's souls tested as metal in the forge's fire. Today, we shall all be judged before Vulkan and the Emperor. Lesser men might falter. But we are Steel Dragons! We are the Emperor's Bulwark!"
A response roars from over two hundred throats, as the Thunderhawks dip downwards.
"WE ARE THE BULWARK!"
The words are punctuated by the screaming of rocket engines as the underwing racks of the Thunderhawks loose a salvo of missiles into the clouds.
-----
The reclamation of Cerbera Base would be recorded in the annals as the first combat deployment of the Steel Dragons Chapter. Once the home of the Armageddon Ork Hunters, a forward base from which to launch incursions into the Equatorial Jungles. It also overlooks the Devil's Path, the only road connecting the continents of Armageddon Prime and Secundus.
It was captured by Orks at the onset of the Third War, denial charges destroying much of its structure. Yet the xenos rebuilt it with their own crude methods, hammering piles upon piles of scrap together until they had created a veritable citadel by sheer mass of metal, if not any particular skill at building fortifications. During the Third War, elements of the 14th Elysian Drop Regiment had attempted an aerial insertion to seize the base and open up land transit through the Jungles, but were repulsed and annihilated by the fort's defences.
And now, towards a target that seven thousand elite drop-troopers had failed to seize, hurtle a little over two hundred Space Marines.
It is almost overkill.
First blood goes to the Thunderhawk pilots, drawn from the Tactical Squads of the 2nd, 3rd and 6th Companies, as fifty-four Hellstrike missiles blanket the scrap-fortress, blasting apart watch-towers, crude flak emplacements and munition piles, shrapnel and shockwaves tearing through hundreds of Orks. A moment later Battle Cannons, Turbo-Lasers and Lascannons join in, raining death whilst the assault ramps slam open. Three dozen Assault Marines make landfall like comets on trails of fire, clearing out three landing zones in a whirlwind of chainblades.
[Rolled 15, 53, 10]
The Orks, brutish yet hardy creatures that they are, countercharge. Many of them are missing limbs or eyes, bleeding from shrapnel-wounds, yet they are undaunted, aiming to bury the Astartes under a tide of muscle. There are still thousands of them, and against such numbers the Assault Marines can only sell their lives dearly.
If they were alone, that is.
The Thunderhawks fire retro-thrusters hard enough to kill unaugmented passengers with sheer g-force, servitor-guided heavy bolter turrets roaring to life as the gunships come to a halt, hovering a few metres above the ground. The Devastators are already firing before they've cleared the assault ramps, frag missiles arcing into the greatest concentrations of greenskins.
[Rolled 8, 78, 7]
The greenskin charge falters, and the Assault Marines plant their feet. They will not be moved. They cannot be moved.
How could they, when their Chapter Master stands with them?
The Hammer of Salvation falls, pulverising the first foe you kill as a Steel Dragon, a Nob wielding a massive chainaxe, before carrying into the next Ork behind it. Three xenos die on your first swing, and four more disorientated by the concussive blast are claimed by the growling chainswords of Squad Two-Nine.
"Ho ho! I see you haven't lost your killing edge with all that paperwork, brother!"
Like their Primarch, the Sons of Vulkan are renowned for their size and strength, but Captain Pra'Tar stands nearly a full head taller than you, the largest Space Marine you've ever met. He wields the massive flat-headed power sword he'd claimed from the armoury with one hand, cleaving through Orks in trails of blood and actinic lightning, while hip-firing a storm-bolter with the other.
"And you still talk far too much in the middle of battle." You note with perfect calmness, your hammer atomizing the Ork about to leap upon the Captain with a snapping power klaw.
"Ha!" Pra'Tar guffaws, stepping beside you. "Are you certain it wasn't Dorn from whom your gene-seed was sourced?"
The two of you settle into a familiar rhythm, his sweeping blows punctuated by the meteoric impacts of the Hammer. Buoyed by your presence, the Assault Marines stand their ground, the Ork charge breaking upon them like a tide upon the shore. The data feed of your helmet display shows that Xiaphian and Zo'Tal are fulfilling a similar role at the other three landing sites with Va'Sor and Elysoth, who anchor the lines with blasts of warp-lightning and fiery oratory.
Behind you, Tactical Squads disembark and swiftly spread out to the flanks, sweeping the fortress ramparts with boltgun and frag grenade. Soon the three landing zones, placed equidistant along the outer perimeter of the base, are linked together, encircling the Orks within their own citadel.
[Rolled 46, 60, 13]
For all their enthusiasm in building, the greenskins are no masters of siegecraft. There are no fallback positions or chokepoints, no inner keeps or secondary walls. In only a few minutes, the Space Marines have turned the scrap-fortress into a killbox.
And then they begin to advance. The Ork horde swells and froths back and forth like a lake in the midst of a storm, but it lacks direction, aimlessly spending its strength in all directions at once and so finding purchase nowhere, even as a steel noose closes in around it.
Assault Marines bound forward with short bursts of their jump packs, using sheer mass and velocity to batter the Orks backwards. Devastators arc their missiles and hurl grenades over the shoulders of their brothers while Tactical Squads advance, each step accompanied by short, controlled bursts of close-range bolterfire.
It is textbook. Uninspired, perhaps. But… adequate. For now.
Soon enough the other groups become visible as the Orks are pushed to the central courtyard by a relentless advance, steel-grey figures unleashing blazing salvos of fire. Here and there flashes of plasma and melta can be seen alongside the occasional gout of flame, as the Steel Dragons unleash the gifts of their progenitors.
It is not long until the floor is littered with greenskin bodies, the last of the Orks falling with a wet thump, its upper torso reduced to mulch by multiple bolt impacts. Cerbera Base is yours. Defiled by xenos hands though it may be, it shall be rebuilt, and it shall serve you well.
It is not perhaps the grandest of victories, but it is a victory nonetheless. Elysoth holds another one of his fiery sermons, but you listen only half-heartedly, wiping away the Ork blood from your gorget.
Kor'Hadron was right. It does feel more like your armor.
-Cerbera Base recaptured as a forward operating base into the Equatorial Jungles.
-----
Soon enough, however, you must return the Mount Heartflame. There is much work to be done, and precious little you can delegate such matters to. You coordinate the Chapter's deployments and the flow of fresh ammunition from its stocks, while your Captains lead your men in the field. A legion of servitors work tirelessly under Kor'Hadron's exacting eyes to expand the Chapter's forges and Reclusiam, the better to equip and educate your brothers. He has set his subordinates to work, and the Armoury is alive with the belching of the forges as plasteel plates are welded together, slowly taking the shape of several Razorbacks.
-Expansion of Reclusiam and Armoury in progress, will complete in 050.M42.
-Forge Order completed:
--10x Heavy Bolters
--10x Heavy Flamers
--5x Meltaguns
--5x Power Fists
--4x Razorbacks
-----
[Rolled 58, 1, 85.]
Since the Von Strab dynasty's malicious incompetence and later heresy came to light, for the last ninety years Armageddon has been governed by a council consisting of representatives of the Ecclesiarchy, Adeptus Mechanicus and the Planetary Defence Forces as well as the governors of the seven surviving Hives.
The meeting chambers high in the spires of Acheron Hive are ostentatious in the extreme, gilded with jewels and precious metals. Too luxurious for your tastes, but at least you can appreciate the fine craftsmanship.
You came alone as a show of goodwill, even though each of the council members is attended by a pair of guards from their personal household. All of them are wary, wary of you and wary of what you represent. Change, and a threat to their power. They do not know what to expect of you.
Still, as you spend the long hours of the meeting assuaging their fears, you start to get a feel for them. The Adeptus Mechanicus wants their forges repaired and production to resume. The Ecclesiarchy wants aid given to the faithful. The governors want a return to normalcy. All of them want their rights to be respected.
But beyond that… they do not seem opposed to you, once reassured you are not here to upend the way things work. They are willing to work with you.
In a way, they are almost relieved by your presence.
All of them except for one.
"Lord-General Raukov wishes to notify the council that the campaign on the Ash Wastes proceeds well." Captain Dominic of the Armageddon Defence Forces explains, a young-looking officer in full dress uniform. "He has purged sixteen greenskin warbands already, and expects to achieve final victory by 044.M42."
"I see." You nod coolly. "And the Lord-General could not attend this meeting to tell us of his progress in person?"
"My lord, he wished that I convey his apologies, for not being able to make it. He is kept busy by the necessities of the campaign."
"Truly?" You raise an eyebrow with deliberate slowness. "The last I heard, the good General's Field Headquarters were the Mosin dust-basin. An hour from here by Valkyrie, less than that by sub-orbital shuttle."
"M-my lord," the young officer wilts beneath your attention, "I am terribly sorry to inform you, but your information is outdated. Lord-General Raukov campaigns in the Skeletus river delta."
"Two hours, then." He would have had to have relocated after you'd sent word of where the meeting would convene. The insult could scarcely be less clear. "Tell me, does the Lord-General often miss the meetings of the council of which he is the Chairman?"
Your tone is gently conversational, your posture remaining relaxed and neutral. Yet, you see every man around the table sit that little bit straighter, trying just a little harder to avoid your gaze.
"L-lord-" The Captain has to audibly pause to swallow, his eyes looking for anywhere but you. "Lord-General Raukov felt that… with your presence here, the council, um, the council had been made… redundant."
"Then you may bring word to him that I have no intention of wresting hard-won titles from those who have earned them." There is no lie in your words. You had studied each councilmember's past extensively before convening this meeting. All of them are hard men, competent in their duties. Any less would not have seen them live through the hell that had been the Third War For Armageddon. Including Raukov. Which was what makes this so frustrating. "To each of us is afforded our duties, and bringing death to the alien and the heretic is chiefest among mine. I cannot administrate an entire world from the battlefield. We shall all have need of each other, and we must work together to bring prosperity to the Emperor's realm. I would have been glad to tell Raukov this myself, had he decided to join us."
Student and protege of the legendary Lord-General Kurov, who had fallen to the Orks in the line of duty. Respected and renowned for his achievements against the greenskins, spoken of favorably by many of the Astartes officers he fought alongside. Raukov was a warrior you would have been glad to have at your side.
And yet it comes to this.
"I-I will be sure to communicate your words to him. He will surely appreciate them."
You doubt it.
This farce is merely the latest in an emergent pattern of behaviour from the ADF towards you. Communications are rebuffed or bounced around between junior officers. Invitations to meet go unheard or unanswered. Requests for information are answered only in the most general and noncommittal sense, if they are answered at all.
You have yet to press the issue, hoping to find a diplomatic solution, but it seems that soon you may have to force Raukov's hand and pay him a visit.
"See that you do. Now please, do continue your report. I am most eager to know how the war goes."
-Political opponent identified! Lord-General Vladimir Raukov, Commander of the Armageddon Defence Force, is resisting integration with the new administration.
-Control assumed over the rest of the Planetary Government.
-----
[Rolled: 31, 27, 7]
"Why is the sigil of Vulkan the hammer?"
Elysoth's harsh voice rings out across the construction site, deep in the bowels of Hive Infernus. Yet even here, nearly a kilometer underground, daylight shines in from the great rent torn into the side of the hive structure by the Ork siege weapon.
"Brother Justinius!" He whips around, pointing his Crozius at one of the steel-grey armoured Marines even now labouring to lift a massive metal beam to be welded into place.
"Because he wielded, um, a hammer in battle." He speaks in between grunts of effort. "My lord."
"And why did he wield a HAMMER in battle?" The Master of Sanctity stalks closer, the red eye lenses of his skull-helm glowing with wrath.
"Because…" Justinius swallows slowly. "...it suited his great strength?"
"WRONG!" Elysoth bellows, whipping about to point his weapon at another Marine, carrying a huge spool of cabling. "Brother Sandor!"
"Lord Elysoth, it is because a hammer requires great wisdom and patience to wield, for hasty commitment to strike will leave the wielder open to counterattack! These are integral qualities that Vulkan's teachings embody!"
"BETTER! But still WRONG!" Elysoth thunders, shaking his head in disappointment. "It is because a hammer can DESTROY and it can CREATE!" He sweeps his gaze across the construction site, and the three dozen Steel Dragons labouring therein. "He taught us that though we are instruments of death and destruction, within each of us lies a spark of creation! That though we are elevated beyond humanity, we are still part of it! And THAT is why we are HERE!"
He punctuates his words by raising his crozius.
"I see the QUESTION in your eyes! Why are we here, to waste our time while Orks still tread upon Armageddon?!" He folds his hands behind his back, stalking among the work crews. "The time will come for you to return to the war, and of war you shall see PLENTY! Do not be so quick to desire MORE of it! We are here to HELP, and to appreciate the value of mortal lives, and the hardships they face! We are not Ultramarines, to cast edicts from our great palaces, or Space Wolves, to leave our people to fend for themselves! We are STEEL DRAGONS, Sons of VULKAN! To understand what that means, you must understand the people whom you are SWORN to protect!"
He had repeated the process with each Demi-Company, taking them somewhere across Armageddon where they could help its people directly, rather than merely by chasing after the Xenos. Assisting repair crews, setting up refugee camps, constructing a medical facility, one group had even been assigned the task of looking after a group of war orphans, giving their caretakers a much needed break.
He had judged them, and he had found them… lacking.
Not as Space Marines, no. It was to be expected that they would struggle to adjust. The Promethean Cult ran contrary to many of the doctrines common to the Adeptus Astartes. It would take time, that was normal.
But he had hoped to find candidates for the Chaplaincy, pupils that he would certainly need once the Chapter began recruiting anew. He alone would not have the time to continue educating the line Companies whilst also teaching the new brothers and inducting them into the Chapter.
A few of them might hold promise in the future… but for now, no. To lower the exacting standards demanded of the Chaplains would be to debase the entire Chapter, and allow spiritual corruption to take root.
-Chapter educated in the very basics of the Promethean Cult, but much work remains to be done.
-No Chaplain candidates found.
[Rolled: 30, 2, 36]
The 4th and 5th Companies fall upon the Orks plaguing the Fire Wastes with fury and wrath, eager to get to grips with the enemy that has ravaged their homeworld for so long. At first progress is quick, purging encampments identified by orbital scans and the local PDF in rapid strokes. The primary mining sites are cleared of greenskins, the work crews expressing their gratitude even as they continue restoring the equipment to use.
But soon progress begins to slow, as it becomes clear just how spread out the greenskins are. Countless mobs of perhaps dozens of Orks at most, survivors of larger battles now scattered across millions of square kilometers of wastelands. They pose little to no threat individually, but if allowed to congregate, spread their spores and regroup… they must die, all the same.
And so the Steel Dragons set to work. It is dull and unexciting work, putting down innumerable tiny warbands, but this too is the duty of the Adeptus Astartes. With boltgun and chainsword they are purged one by one, in a hundred thousand small engagements that can hardly be called battles.
Here, the Chapter's lack of transport vehicles becomes apparent, as the 4th and 5th Companies are forced to operate as individual squads, even trios of pairs of Astartes simply to cover enough ground. The hostile conditions and intense heat bother Sons of Vulkan little, capable trekking across the wastes on foot at a pace that would be impossible for unaugmented men. But it slows them down, enough to make the northern campaign into a frustrating slog.
In addition, Captains Pyrion and Gargidemi report that they are unable to directly supervise their men as well as they might have liked, dispersed as they are. The new generation of Steel Dragons are trained well enough, but they lack experience, leading to a number of what can only be described as amateur mistakes.
Losing trails, failing to properly secure the perimeter, alerting the Orks to their presence too early… nothing that has led to casualties, so far, but a number of greenskin warbands manage to escape past the cordon northeast, beyond the Sreya Mountains.
The northeastern region of the Fire Wastes is uncharted, extremely inhospitable to human life and of no strategic value. Deadly radiation levels and incredibly high volcanic activity has meant that it has largely gone unexplored, after orbital scans and Mechanicus probes indicated no significant natural resources.
Still, Orks are incredibly hardy creatures, and have been known to breed and thrive even in such extreme conditions. If left alone, they could pose a danger in the future.
-Fire Wastes largely purged of Ork presence and mining activity safeguarded.
-Significant Ork presence has fled beyond the Sreya Mountains to uncharted territories.
[Rolled: 8, 30, 73]
While the void war could not compare to the fury of the planetside conflict, nearly a thousand warships died in the cold darkness of the Armageddon System, their wrecks strewn across the orbital paths. Navy Cruisers, Astartes Battle Barges, Ork Space Hulks, all of them laid low by the battles that had raged here.
The Forge World of Voss Prime had been granted salvage rights, on account of their proximity as well as their valour in Armageddon's defence, for more than a half of the Forge World's Battle-Congregations, Basilikon Astra and the Legio Invigilata had fallen in the Third War. Still, it was a monumental task and filled with danger, and they could use your help.
You make contact with Archmagos Dominus Kartos Vahn, overseeing the salvage operations. She is quick to accept your offer of aid, promising reciprocal support in turn. The 7th and 8th Companies deploy to the wrecks by Thunderhawk, the Mechanicus passing target telemetry on identified Ork concentrations.
Though the lack of Assault Marines proves frustrating to their efforts, all Mark VII suits are equipped with void sealing, mag-boots and stabilization thrusters for zero-G operations, and soon the Steel Dragons find themselves fighting in extremely cramped conditions onboard derelict warships, battling alongside battered maniples of Skitarii and Sicarians against small bands of Orks. Sometimes it suffices to simply vent their air pockets into the void, but often such survivors are equipped with crude yet effective void gear, and so must be met in battle. Though by the grace of the Emperor none of your brothers fall in battle, there are a slew of injuries, several requiring extended stay in the Apothecarion after taking a hit from an Ork rocket launcher.
Archmagos Vahn is grateful for your efforts, and gives you her solemn word that such aid will not be forgotten. Unfortunately, the primary forges and shipyards of Voss-Prime are backed up for several decades by the demands on rebuilding their own forces as well as handling the salvage you have helped deliver to them. However, should you need immediate assistance she has offered the produce of her own personal forge-complex, specializing in the production of aircraft. She can offer the Chapter a wealth of strike craft to serve your needs, including rare patterns not commonly available such as the Xiphon Interceptor or the Fire Raptor Gunship.
-7th Company: Two Injured (Will recover by the end of Turn Two)
-8th Company: Four Injured (Will recover by the end of Turn Two)
-Approximately fifty percent of the debris fields have been cleared, two Major Favors gained with Forge World Voss-Prime. You may bank these favors until such a time that the planet's forges are freed up or you have other need of them, or you may accept Archmagos Vahn's offer of making use of her personal forges.
[Rolled: 69, 3, 40]
With Cerbera Base captured, the 3rd and 6th Companies split off north and south to secure the rest of Devil's Path, sweeping the motorway of smaller Ork encampments and the encroaching flora. You would not travel it without heavily armed escort, but it is sufficient for your purposes. The 2nd Company, meanwhile, plunges into the jungles under Pra'Tar's leadership, tracking Ork warbands through the underbrush between the enormous trees, putting them to the sword one by one. Though the fighting grows fierce as they penetrate deeper, the worst that comes of it is broken bones and flesh wounds, nothing that would warrant a trip to the Apothecarion.
Save for one incident.
"My lord, I accept full responsibility." Sergeant Thamion says gravely as he kneels before you. "But I swear, it is as I reported. We never even saw it happen."
The jungle is silent and dark, the enormous trees covering the skies with their canopies as they tower over you. You had arrived as soon as you had received word, taking a Thunderhawk from Mount Heartflame.
You would not believe it, had you not seen the pict-captures from their helmet feeds. One moment, a handful of seconds in which Brother Damius, in the middle of the formation bearing the Squad 2-5's Missile Launcher, was out of sight of any of his brothers as they were making a sweep through their allocated sector of the jungle. The next, he was simply not there. Night-instant, and completely silent.
"As soon as we realized he was gone, we voxed for support and assumed seeker pattern Damocles, as the Codex instructs." Thamion keeps his head down.
"And this is where you found his arm?" You gesture to the small puddle of blood in the underbrush.
"Yes. A kilometre from where contact was lost with Damius." Thamion confirms. "And a hundred meters beyond, a leg. Then a piece of his rib-plate. And then-"
You silence him with a raise of your hand. You get the idea.
"Take me to him."
-----
The two of you emerge into the clearing, the two warriors of 2-5 standing guard saluting you as you approach, the rest of the Squad as well as 2-6 and 2-9 sweeping the surrounding area in a search and destroy pattern.
In the middle of the clearing there is a tree. And hanging from that tree is a corpse.
"His gene-seed is not recoverable, my lord." Apothecary Ikreus tells you as you approach, running a diagnostic scanner over the carcass. "The damage is… too much."
Brother Damius' chestplate has been carved open, his limbless body suspended from the tree's branches by his own entrails. The first of your new brothers to fall in battle, not even given the chance to defend himself. You had hoped- well, it doesn't matter now.
A furnace of anger ignites within your chest, but it is tempered by experience.
"Call off the hunt." You tell Thamion. "Regroup all squads on my position immediately, and vox for reinforcements from the rest of the 2nd Company."
"But, my lord-"
"Do it now." You cut him off, your tone allowing for no arguments. "They are only exposing themselves to further ambushes."
There, written on Damius' breastplate, crudely daubed with his own blood, are three words:
Snikrot is a veteran of Gazgul's first invasion of Armageddon. He was the boogeyman of the Ork Hunters before Gazgul showed up for the second time.
He's great fodder for our Chapter Master to fight an opponent of significance.
Edit: Despite how much it sticks in my craw I am going to advise we ignore the jungle next turn. I want to clear the rest of the planet and finish the debris field first along with getting some stuff as Chapter Master done so that on turn three we can deploy the entire chapter into the Jungle with us at the head.
Now that it's confirmed that Snikrot is still alive and kicking the jungle is absolutely going to become Vietnam on steroids. I fully expect even with our full strength and us there to direct the war personally we're going to lose a significant number of brothers.
Those dice! Right up to the end I thought we might pull through the entire turn without a casualty. Sadly it was not to be. 499 brothers left.
How do people feel about assigning those 4 razorbacks to a single battle company. Our lack of transports was specifically called out as a problem in the Fire Wastes. At least until we have a decent vehicle pool, I figure we could have one company specialise as mechanised infantry and commit them to battlefields that favour that sort of warfare. As well improving our performance, I figure fighting tank beside tank with the Steel Legion might help sway some of those Guard officers to be more helpful
So, does Raukov actually have the authority to duck the meeting, especially so blatantly? I mean, I was under the impression that The Steel Dragons were thr ultimate legal authority on Armageddon. I get that he doesn't like us, but that seems to be inviting reprisal.
So, does Raukov actually have the authority to duck the meeting, especially so blatantly? I mean, I was under the impression that The Steel Dragons were thr ultimate legal authority on Armageddon. I get that he doesn't like us, but that seems to be inviting reprisal.
He can if he can't afford to not be in command, like hunting down the Orks. Don't get me wrong it is still a blatant show of disrespect but it is something he can get away with
So, does Raukov actually have the authority to duck the meeting, especially so blatantly? I mean, I was under the impression that The Steel Dragons were thr ultimate legal authority on Armageddon. I get that he doesn't like us, but that seems to be inviting reprisal.
