Turuk tried his hardest to enter the bunker last, or at least during a time when he could actually get in there properly. The idea of being in a relatively small bunker was diminished, however, as the readily available windows made it somewhat more bearable than normal. He crawled his way through the tiny doorway, being rather careful despite his massive size and general bulk. The presence of both the local commissar and his comrade made the process easier, probably for the best. 

When inside the bunker, the Ogryn resorted to kneeling with his weapon at ease. The gargantuan shotgun was clutched in a meaty fist like it was nothing larger nor heavier than a common club while his even larger great weapon was casually slung over his back in a careless manner.  Turuk paid immense attention to the commander, he recognised instantly that the man must be important judging purely by the collection of shiny metal bits that was pinned to his clothing.  With effort, Turuk saluted without sound. He looked almost proud to be addressed by someone so important, given that Ogryns rarely got the time of day from normal humans as it was...

Tuur had a somewhat easier time entering the building, entering before his Ogryn accomplice and gently guiding the larger soldier into the bunker with a practised set of instructions. The guardsman stood to attention not so much out of fear or training, but more because he deducted that the commander was probably the same as the other officers – stuck up show offs that lacked any sort of common sense save that which money or hereditary privilege could buy. “Sir!” He spoke loudly and clearly, suppressing his natural accent in such a way that made him sound almost, understandable., almost.

Turuk wasn't fazed in the least when the mechanical man, the tech-priest, showed up. The Ogryn simply nodded in his general direction without caring so much – his time in the sapper regiments was enough to tell him that his own instincts about construction were “gud 'nuff.” No fancy man in robes would tell him otherwise, mostly because the people like that often used words too large to even be fathomed by Turuk. 

Tuur wasn't as kind, snickering at the priest like he was some sort of circus attraction, but he was...displeased, by the tech priest's easy dismissal of the new gunner. “And w'hat are you gonna be doin' in a foight? Usin' yer ego like a bleedin' war'ammer?” Tuur wasn't most amused but just gave up as it were. He most certainly didn't like the Mechanicus.