Klaus walked around the lower deck of the bridge, satisfied that the crew were working at the peak of their usual performances, before he delegated the ship's Third to keep an eye on things as he left the bridge. He walked quietly, despite his size, and most of the crew knew him by name or reputation, allowing Klaus to move unimpeded as he headed towards the bow of the relatively new vessel, relishing the thought of getting some time to practice with his various weapons instead of dealing with administrivia and the captain's whims.<br/><br/>He took his time walking through the cavernous halls of the warship, before stopping at a reinforced door, which he opened easily, showing off one of the armories and and attached firing range. Walking to one of the weapon lockers, he pressed his hand against the flat plate set on the front of the locker, letting the print scanner ID him before the locker unlocked, opening up and revealing his most loyal companion.<br/><br/>The Mars-Pattern, Mark LXVII MultiMelta was, for lack of a better descriptor, a gas-powered Microwave gun that was powerful enough to turn even Leman Russ Tanks into large pools of glowing slag, and could do far worse to living creatures. Hefting the twin fuel canisters onto his shoulders, Klaus smiled as he picked up the twenty-kilogram weapon, activating the fuel feeds and aiming the gun downrange as a slab of pockmarked metal slid into view. A dull 'thoomp' later, and the metal plate was little more than flying gobbets of molten cermasteel. Chuckling to himself, He pulled a lho-stick from a small pouch and lit it using the red-hot coolant shroud covering the weapon's twin barrels, taking a long, slow drag from the stick as he lined up and fired at a fascimilie of an Ork, melting the construct into a puddle of undifferentiated, and steaming goo.<br/><br/>Picking up his vox transmitter, he keyed in a code that only he knew, and listened in on the ship's reports, smiling to himself as he continued to blast targets into slag for several long minutes, the activity relaxing to him, despite the reminders of his time in the guard.