<strong>Pontius "Iron Gut" Condis, Unnamed Troop Transport</strong><br/><br/>Pontius grunted as he was shoved against the restraints to his seat as he felt their transport jar a bit, making him lose the current lho-stick that he was smoking and curse softly. "Can't any of these pilots learn to fly better? With flying like this we'll be lucky that half of us can make it to the l.z. with our lunches still in our stomach's." he complained softly but loud enough so that the guardsmen on either side of him laughed a little. He listened to the fervent prayers as he silently cursed some more and then shook his head. Having gone through several campaigns and barely making it out of the last one alive, Pontius knew that praying to the Emperor wasn't going to help keep one alive, although a few would have their prayers answered. He looked over at a green trooper and placed a hand on his shoulder to interrupt his prayer. "The Emperor will protect you alright lad, but he won't be fighting for you in this fight." he interjected and ignored the glare he was given.<br/><br/>He fell silent after that as he looked down at the shotgun in his lap. It was a Blackhammer Defense shotgun, a shotgun made on his home world that could blast through doors and shred opponents, and for him it was his only link back home. Before he could begin daydreaming though, Sgt. Jenkins spoke to him and he looked up from his lap to look the Sergeant square in the eye. "I'll do my best Sergeant. I can't guarantee you much though, only that I can do my best." he shouted above all the noise before muttering, "that is if the Emperor wills it." Falling silent once more, he reached for his pocket to pull out his last lho-stick and something to light it with, and after some difficulty with the transport jarring them some more, he was able to light its end and breathed out a small puff of smoke.