The meltas breached their intended hole, and the Apothecary stood high up to gaze over the shoulders of his Brothers to see what was within. He checked the load on his pistol and gave his chain-axe an experimental whir once more, eager for the scent of battle. Klaus did his role dutifully, but retrieving geneseed from fallen brothers was not something he enjoyed. Every time he'd have to stare into their dying eyes, and almost every time he would have to make the pronunciation that they were unfit to continue life as a dreadnought.

The Apothecary cautiously stepped out, making sure he was mostly surrounded by his Brothers and servitors. A simple-minded man might call it cowardice but in fact it was loyal duty. Oh how the serpent of the anger within him wanted him to charge, oh how he wanted to run forth and cover himself in gore with his chainaxe and fists. But the fact was it wouldn't and shouldn't be. He had an oath to be read to administer treatment to whoever might need such. 

Still, he raised his plasma pistol and cautiously scanned the environs for some threat that his brothers and the servitor wetware might have missed. As the Techmarine pronounced where they were to go, he cautiously followed with his pistol raised and his axe prepared for a parry rather than a strike like the blades of his brothers.