Stukov relished being on board the Valkyrie, as the retinue went about boarding as questions were answered and orders dispatched. Sure, it wasn't a void ship and it certainly wasn't a warship of any sort, but it was certainly more comfortable then marching out to whatever destination they were heading for. Better then terrestrial transports as they had to worry about rough terrain, which was far more unpleasant in the armsman's mind than some turbulence from atmospheric entry or hostile fire in a void deployment. He would take up a position as close to the hatch as possible, so he could be the first off with weapons at the ready, scanning and daring the enemies of Man to try anything unwelcome or untoward. It was a comfortable role, in the understanding of the fact that being first out invited retribution and typical unpleasantness. But he had made it this far leading the charge whenever possible, and he would never decide if it was luck, skill, or divine intervention that saw to such things working out in his favor.

Stukov did a check over on his rifle, since it had taken some hits during his escape from the burning brothel. Everything was in place, drawing the slide back showed full operation and it snapped back forward with a solid, familiar clang of metal on metal. Good, solid, reliable weapons like his newfound autogun and his dearly missed Lucius Pattern shotgun were far more preferred, in Stukov's mind, over highly elaborate, experimental, and inherently dangerous to all groups involved weapons. Plasma weapons came to mind, as did warp powers in general, the former due to overheating and detonating, the latter due to the fact daemons seemed drawn to psykers like moths to flame. Except the flame would get possessed by the moth and burn the whole damn house down if it could, bringing all its moth friends along to fan the flames and make things far, far worse. Not a very good analogy, the man decided with a quiet, amused smirk, but it wasn't like he was openly explaining this to anyone. Sitting back in the seat, he made sure he hadn't lost any gear along the way. All his grenades, spare ammo, sidearm and knife were present alongside his rifle. Traveling light clearly worked wonders for him right now, couldn't afford to be losing vital equipment others might be relying on.

Mentally running through all the information they were given, Stukov had a bad feeling about this abandoned factory. Sure, having an Imperial Navy force nearby was immensely relieving, the big guns on the Imperial vessels were always comforting to have at the ready for surface bombardments on key targets. The Imperial Guard and Space Marines were also great to have along for the ride, since that was more dedicated ground forces to throw against a Daemonic incursion, or Dark Eldar raiders or whatever hells the universe threw at them all. Didn't help in the short storm if he kicked in a door and a Bloodthirster or Daemonette tried to jump him through the doorway, a fusilade of fire trying to rip the offending being to shreds before it could really cause any damage. The daemons seemed to focus on him whenever he had been working through boarding actions, and it was rather irritating to put it mildly. Life threatening and terrifying, far more accurate. But he did his job, regardless, and kept moving forward. And right now? His job was to lead the way and follow Boss' orders. Whether or not he was going to [i]like[/i] carrying out said orders was another story completely, but that was neither here nor there. The Armsman took the moment to rest, dozing in the seat to maximize how much rest he had. Considering the flight path, it was a testament he was able to rest at all.