Quietly and with no noise the Kriegsman followed the footsteps of the Praetorian. He stopped dead in his tracks with less than a heartbeat in him when the servitor came about, as though he was now a statue. Indeed when he he resumed the most avid of listeners would have heard his heart's beat almost mechanical, in perfect controlled rhythm. 

As they entered the armoury, the Krieger had something theoretically comparable to happiness in him. However, to his dismay the majority of the weapons present were almost alien to him at first glance. However, he lit up after a quick search. In his luck he managed to find a few Lucius pattern shotguns, the variant that the Krieg and other regiments favoured for it's simple revolver mechanism combined with swift rate of fire. Holding the weapon like a child, he stood for a few moments thinking. Grudgingly, he went over to where armour was and took a carapace cuirass, helmet, joint pads, gloves, and some other garments to put upon himself at first shifting uncomfortably in them. Then, he once more thought practically. With his shotgun he was now more or less directly equivalent to the Engineers of the Krieg in capability, so he would run further along those lines. With a swift search he grabbed two laspistols, two combat knives and four frag grenades. Be it an enemy trench or a tight room he was now suited for close combat of any sort. 

As the doors began to open, Epsilon took his spot at the cover of the left side of the wall beside the door. The shotgun was set down upon the ground stock-first, and he grabbed two of his frag grenades. He pulled the pins, and started counting mentally, ready to throw them in to reduce enemy cover as well as do some suppression, particularly to let himself and the flamer armed Ork hunter through so their nasty close combat weapons could sweep up the enemy like the worthless sacks of manure they were.