My vox-link chimed in my ear. It was Betancore. I could barely hear him over the noise of the cryogenerator as he made a quick report in Glossia.
‘Aegis, heavens uplift, thrice-sevenfold, a crown with stars. Infamous angel without title, to Thorn by eight. Pattern?’
I considered. I was in no mood to take any more chances. ‘Thorn, pattern hawk.’
‘Pattern hawk acknowledged,’ he said with relish.

‘Enough!’ I commanded, modulating my tone to emphasise my will as I drove it into his mind. ‘Drop it!’
He did, meekly, as if surprised. Psyker tricks of will often baffle those who find themselves compelled by them. As he faltered, I threw a punch that connected well and left him unconscious on the floor.
As I bent to recover the Scipio, Betancore voxed me again. ‘Aegis, pattern hawk, infamous angel cast down.’
‘Thorn acknowledged. Resume pattern crucible.’
I pushed on after my quarry.

Source: Dan Abnett, Eisenhorn