WH40K Kill Team (2013) ENG.pdf

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In over ten millennia of war, there have been countless occasions where the
actions of a few brave souls have turned the tide of a conflict. Whether the heroes
of each of these stories were a band of seasoned die-hards with a score to settle,
or merely some stranded survivors whose desperate situation saw them find
courage they never knew they had, their brave deeds have become legend
regardless.
Warhammer 40,000 : Kill Team puts you in charge of a motley band of warriors, whose skill,
determination and courage will be put to the test as they undertake dangerous do-or-die
missions deep behind enemy lines. As each of your models acts independently from the rest
of his squad, their individual actions – even a single kill – can mean the difference between
victory and defeat. Whether you choose an elite team of stalwart heroes or a small horde of
expendable conscripts to form your Kill Team, they must all fight with one purpose if they are
to achieve their mission objectives.
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The steaming jungle was full of noise. The ragged caw of bleeder shrikes, the
howls of great white apes and the rustle of gnashing dagger ants formed a
discordant chorus that rendered the screams of the Voscan 231st into mere
punctuation.
Harker’s Hellraisers, for their part, made not the slightest sound.
In the dappled clearing ahead a group of Kroot were feasting on the Voscan
platoon that had stumbled across the Tau muster site. The quills of their
avian skulls flicked and fanned as they plunged their beaks repeatedly into
the opened torsos of the fallen. Behind them, the tribe’s Shaper was stringing
the decapitated heads of the Voscan soldiers onto a vine they had hung
between two gnarlspine trees. Some of Guardsmen moaned weakly as their
insides were pulled out in great red ropes of viscera.
‘Them Kroot stink like green hell, and they got themselves some bad table
manners to boot,’ murmured ‘Stonetooth’ Harker.
‘That’s rich, coming from a soul who eats his own scabs,’ said Brond, his
second in command.
Harker just grinned, a flash of white against the olive-and-black camouflage
of his skin. He hefted the oiled bulk of his heavy bolter, Payback, and
motioned the Hellraisers forwards with a double-fingered point. Around him
a loose skirmish line of Catachans fanned out, little more than a clutch of
ghosts that surge-stop-surged forward every time the breeze disturbed the
jungle’s thick foliage.
‘Where’s this distraction, then, Sarge?’ whispered Nils Redblade from a few
feet away. The killer drew his Catachan knife, tugging tight the topknots of
Tau hair he had wound around arms that would have done an Ork proud.
‘Shut your flappin’ mouth, Red,’ said Harker. ‘Turt, Kennet, get on forward.
Brond, watch and learn.’
In the clearing ahead, the Kroot Shaper cut the head free from the body of the
Voscan Platoon’s Commissar. Clacking softly, the alien cocked its head like a
curious bird as a thin silver cord was revealed within the gristle and grue of
the officer’s throat.
The severed head exploded, and the jungle burst into hectic, shrieking life.
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