With no other options, Tovens could only try the simplest method to wake Wodhaus.
Slapping him.
He apologized to Wodhaus, to The Emperor, and to his family ancestors. Slapping a Space Marine was an act far too blasphemous to be summed up by the word alone.
His hands trembled, and so did his heart.
Tovens lightly patted Wodhaus as if testing the waters, calling his name.
Wodhaus showed no response. His eyes remained shut, and there was not even the sound of breathing.
Tovens licked his cracked lips, preparing to put more force into the slap. But on second thought, all this caution was merely wasting precious time. He needed to wake Wodhaus as quickly as possible.
"For The Emperor." Tovens encouraged himself, swung his arm wide, poured all his strength into his palm, and viciously slapped Wodhaus across the face.
Smack!
Tovens clutched his hand in agony. He felt as though the bones in it had cracked; slapping Wodhaus's cheek was little different from striking a rough, hard stone.
Seeing that Wodhaus still did not move, Tovens gritted his teeth and steeled himself. He raised his lasgun, intending to smash Wodhaus in the face with the stock.
Just before the gunstock, driven down with all Tovens's strength, could strike Wodhaus's face, the old wolf in suspended-animation sleep finally twitched a finger.
The gunstock swept through the air and struck Wodhaus's face. Before he even opened his eyes, he sprang into motion, his massive hands hanging at his sides suddenly lashing outward.
Yet faster than his body's instinctive reaction was Wodhaus's psychic perception. Through the Soul Eye, he saw that his attacker was Tovens, commander of the Vostroyan Rough Riders. He immediately restrained the force and direction of his fist, merely snapping the lasgun and seizing Tovens by the waist.