Smash and Grab - Marines
Smash and Grab - Marines
Summary: Marines drop into a hot LZ on Virgon to get some Ammo.
Date: 66 ACH - 2009-01-18
Related Logs: Smash and Grab Other

Stepping off the stairs wielding an assault rifle, Ramiro moves to stack up alongside the Raptor and stands outside of the door. Rifle lowered, safeties on, he looks around the assembled marines and then to Skip. Ready to go, he nods to the man.

Hazzard has left the Sniper gear at home, well most of it. Dressed in the standard black ground battle uniform with vest and helmet, he checks his rifle carefully as he stands waiting by one of the raptors to take the Marines surface side.

D'Artanion arrives at a jog-trot, pack on her back and weapon in it's holster. The medic glances around, then moves to stand near Ramiro and Skip. Her expression is quietly determined, if a little closed. This is a mission and not the social hour. Her glance flickers to Hazzard and she nods a quick greeting his way as well.

Meris doesn't have an assault rifle. Assault rifles are for GIRLS. Meris has a bloody great machine gun slung over her shoulder instead. Trusting to the gun itself, she goes through her somewhat OCD routine of checking every pocket and pouch, so she knows what she has and where it is. Ammunition, flares (not the 70s kind), gum, toilet paper…

Bayless peers out the canopy glass and sees the Marines start to filter in. "Aaand here come our party-crashers." She glances over her shoulder to make sure the rear compartment's been sufficiently cleared for all of them. "Gentlemen, you're cleared to board whenever you like," she calls out into the hangar, her voice raspy from the helmet-comm.

Zaharis is on the back line, directing the supply gathering raid preparations. On the front lines is a young Marine private named…oh, let's call him Watson. Watson was given some Marine combat gear that got washed with the red socks at some point. Gripping his rifle, he filters along with his fellow Marines, waiting for orders.

Skip nods in return as he sees that nod from Ramiro, taking a few extra moments to check his gear for a couple moments. As he hears Bayless, he nods, "You heard the lady. Let's get aboard the bus." Called out loud enough for the others to hear.

Sure, this is a pretty serious mission, but even ECOs are allowed to have a little fun, right? Right. It is in this vein that Jammer sits at her station and welcomes the boarding Marines into the belly of the bird with, "Hello and thank you for choosing Scorch Air. There will be no drink service on this flight as our estimated ee-tee-ay is approximately really frakkin' soon. Please keep your arms, legs, and dangly bits inside the ship at all times."

Ramiro piles into the point position at the front of the door in a manner that silently opts to be the first off. It's an unlucky position but he's taking that. Slipping his prayer beads from around his neck, he thumbs them and silently mutters under his breath, hoping to curb that bad luck.

Meris has more sense, and she clomps right on in to, if not the back, certainly someplace in the middle. Someplace with plenty of headroom for her to sit. Somebody has to think about these practicalities.

"Ho-yah Staff." Hazzard says in a low gruff voice as he climbs into the Raptor, to find himself a seat and strap in. Once seated and strapped in, he fishes out a pack of gum and offers it around among the Marines after taking one himself. "Soo, whats the game plan Staff?" he looks over and quickly double checks Ramiro's strapping since he happends to be the Marine to his left.

Watson plunks himself into a seat somewhere and looks jittery. Not nauseous, thank the gods for small favours. But he does tap his hand against his leg repeatedly, and keeps cracking his gum.

"We get in, take out whoever we might find there, get the supplies and bring it off," Skip's comment is rather light, as he nods to Jocasta, "We don't even get a drink, with these expensive tickets?" he remarks as he takes a seat. Looking over at Watson, "You okay there?"

D'Artanion boards the raptor with the other Marines. She does not aim for a forward assault position as her job is not focused there. Strapping in, she draws her weapon and checks it over once more before reholstering it. Turning, she checks the Marine to her left, to be sure the straps are in place. Turning to Skip, she nods, "Sounds simple enough." A hint of mirth touches her gaze, "So we should be ready for everything to be fraked. Status Quo." A wink and she looks over toward Ramiro.

Bayless says as she completes pre-flight, "Ladies and gentlemen of the Colonial Marine Corps, welcome aboard flight Two-One-Five. We're out of salted peanuts, hot towels, or those little ambrosia bottles, and our in-flight movie's a double-feature of whatever's out the window and a documentary on the Colonial Military's looting of Cylon-occupied Virgon." A smile's sent Jocasta's direction.

Meris just eyes Watson. And his gum cracking. And gives a sort of 'you do that one more time and I'll crack you'. And she probably could.

"Ya I'm good," Watson gives back to Skip, casting him a nervous grin. Then he looks over at Meris. Look. Look. Crack.

Hazzard studies Skip for a moment and then looks over towards Ramiro. "Dane…saw some trucks on the layouts..I need one more, and I'll secure those..Makes the logistic far faster and smoother..Got any suggestions..Just you and me of the SST here, I'm assuming you'll be needed at Staff's side?"

Jocasta cracks a sly smile and replies in a voice canned inside of her helmet, "Sorry, Sarg. Maybe next time." Then, after a pause, she tacks on, "I owe you one. How about that?" Heh. So obliging, that Jocasta Maru. She gives a brief head-count and then asks Staff Sergeant Scipio more seriously, "Are we all-in, sir?"

"For my heart and you are One, Apollon. So say we all…" Ramiro finishes, coming out of his pre-combat drop ritual. Not blind to Hazzard checking his harnesses, he turns and tugs at Hazzards, ensuring the fellow SST member is strapped in. Ramiro looks over and gives D'artanion a thumbs up before slamming his head into Hazzard's helmet. Rile up time has started. "Allright!" He calls out. "When I'm out the door we hit the dirt and stay low to provide small targets. We're gonna get the frakking ammo and mow down everything we can on our way there. Short controlled bursts!" Ramiro looks to Skip. "You wanna go with the driver there? That's gonna be a hard assignment." Ramiro asks Skip, looking around. "Watson you're on rifle with D'artanion, Four man team. Watson, D'artanion, Myself and Huges. Hughes paints the targets and we unload on them. Knock one down, look to the next, simple as that. HUAH!?"

Meris lets a slow grin cross her face, one hand briefly touching her machine gun. "Hooah, sarge, hooah," she agrees. Hooray for chances to BLOW SHIT UP!

Skip nods as he hears that, "We seem to be all aboard, yes," he offers to Jocasta, before he nods at Ramiro. "Sure. I'll go with him. Otherwise he might just get lost, right?" No grin, but still light-hearted.

Watson pumps a fist at the instructions, grinning like a fool. "Huah Sarge!" Cracky crack gum.

Bayless looks to Jocasta, then says into the tac channel, "CIC, Scorch, all CMC ground party are strapped in and pre-flight is green. Standing by for clearance."

Hazzard looks at Ramiro, as he glances over towards Skip and chuckles softly with a nod of his head. "Just keep your head down Staff, we'll be fine..Just like when we found the ruins, hoah." he leans back in his seat, preparing to get some sleep on the transit down as he chews on his gum.

That's all Jocasta needed to hear. The countermeasures officer looks to her pilot and, midst the hootin' and hollerin' the Marines so often use in lieu of a much more subdued 'yes, sir', relays the cargo status.

D'Artanion's soft whisper, "So say we all," ends her own premission ritual. Looking up and around, she nods to Ramiro and adds a bit of a punch to her "HUah. Ready, Sarge." Taking a moment to glance at those in her assigned squad, she reaches over and thwaps Waton's helmet. Either because of the cracking gum or to 'get to know her fellow Marine'.

"Ow, dag." Watson flashes D'artanion a big old grin. If she weren't in combat gear he'd probably have stolen a look at her chest, but he's been thwarted. He pops the gum one last time and then swallows it with a grimace.

Ramiro shares a look with Hazzard, giving him a stiff nod. He turns and reaches out to Watson and slaps the top of his helmet roughly. "What are you marine? You mean? You badass?!?" Ramiro smacks his helmet again. "Fleet wants that ammo, you gonna let them keep it?" He adds. "STAY TOGETHER and NOTHING gets to those trucks. When we reach the ammo we're getting that area LOCKED down. Hughes and Watson on defense, find some cover and mow them down. Hughes needs a reload Watson, you're johnny on the spot."

"Remember..Stay frosty..Pray if you like, but know that the Gods wont save you if you put your head infront of an incoming bullet." Hazzard mutters as he gets comfortable in his seat. "Dane..Noone gets -left- behind, hoah." There is a certain edge to his tone as he opens one of his eyes just a little to look at Ramiro, he doesnt say it but mouths the words 'please' to his fellow SST member.

Skip nods, "And you just don't get shot," he remarks to Hazzard, before he adds, "Because I'd probably run over everything if I'd take over the driving.

"If it's shiny and moves, unload into it," Meris agrees, committing her orders to memory. "Let's blow shit up."

Watson calls back at Ramiro, "Nuh-uh, Sarge, that ammo's ours if I gotta haul the whole frakkin thing back with one arm and one leg left, Sarge!" He's ready, and as Ramiro gives orders for defense he flashes a thumbs up. "Defense!"

Ramiro grins broadly at Watson, sensing his fear. He smacks Watson's helmet again and growls at the boy. "You are a badass Watson, you make us proud. Stay frosty!" He barks, looking to Hazzard. "You all are coming back. We've got a fleet to protect."

<Trait Roll> Ramiro rolls Leadership and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

D'Artanion says, "No one gets that ammo but us, Sarge. Huah." She leans back in the seat a little and grimaces when Watson swallows his gum. But, whatever. Turning a bit to Meris, she winks once but does not comment, yet. Rather, she adjusts her med pack and adds, "You get shot, lemme get to you and we'll all get home." A bit overconfident? Maybe. "Let's do this thing…"

Watson looks less than impressed at Ramiro. But they've got a job to do.

Hazzard opens one of his eyes again, as he studies Ramiro who with his somewhat teenage squeeky voice tries to rouse the men. A soft smile lingers over the Marine's lips as he gets comfortable. Resting before the hell he is about to undertake. After all perk of being a marine, your small and easy to conceal in the surrounding area. His task, to drive a soft skin through enemy territory which rids him of both cover, protection and heavy firepower.

Skip has closed his eyes for the moments, just listening to what's being said. Relaxing, it seems.

Ramiro looks to Hazzard and lets out a little chuckle. He knew how it sounded, he smirks. It's a fail. At least the tactics are sound. He offers a fist to crash with Hazzard before turning to look out the viewport in the front.

Watson sits ready to roll, rifle in hands. RAR.

Bayless glances over her shoulder, saying to the Marines, "Sorry for the delay, everyone. Still waiting on the road to be plowed."

Hazzard grits his teeth, unable to find the rest he seeks in a Raptor that is not moving through turbulense, so with a sigh he opens his eyes and looks over the marines once again. "Soo, and Sullivan is tight?" he finaly says and looks over towards his fellow Sergeant.

"Sarge," Meris warns lowly, shaking her head. "Not the time, mate, not the time."

Tac1 "Archer" Tychon says, "Genesis, Archer. Skies are clear. Bring in the big birds."

Ramiro looks over to Hazzard with a lifted eyebrow. Guess now is as good a time as any time. "Keep your head in the game, Hazzard, I'll tell you about all my friends when we're back up." Ramiro nods to Meris then looks back to Hazzard.

Bayless fires up the sublight drives on the Raptor to pre-launch thrust. "Hang on, folks, we just got our green light…"

Skip opens one eye as he hears Ramiro's words, "What? You have friends now?" he comments, before he nods at the words of the pilots. "Sounds good."

D'Artanion flashes a glance Hazzard's way, her smile quick and easy. For a moment, she seems as though she might comment, but Bayless interrupts, "Good. Let's get this done and go home." Turning again so she faces front, the medic cradles her rifle in a soft carry.

"Just making small talk Dane.." Hazzard murmurs, loud enough to be heard through the engine sound. He yawns and nods his head. "Head is in the game, Dane..That is the problem." he chuckles with a wide grins on his lips.

Meris grins faintly, noting, "Wrong game, mate. In the game, not on the game."

The vipers have cleared out the SAM's and the Raptors are ready to move in. Marines and other teams heading to their landing areas. Hospital area doesn't look so bad from the air. Ammo bunker area, looks like hell on the tarmac. Centurions are already moving as they see something coming in.

It has been along time, ever since basic that Hazzard actually laughed on his way to a mission, but he lets out a soft laugh as he looks over towards Meris. "Frak you hughes..I'm all for this..I'll get those trucks and I'll come get you all..So make sure you are all alive once me and Staff comes to get you and the salvage." he says with a smile on his lips.

"Yeah, you wish," Meris retorts immediately, the ease of her tone given lie by the more worried expression on her face as she spies the landing zone.

Kalypso is in her bird, and gives her ECO and Poet a look to be sure. And whenever the green light is given, she's going to be making her take-off to carry her Marine cargo through to their drop-zone… that'd be the hospital.



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Bayless drops the Raptor on Virgon's surface, Centurion rounds riddling the outer hull of the bird as it descends. "Sonuvamotherfrakker… keep your heads down..!" She ducks low behind the console while still coaxing the bird to the dirt.

D'Artanion watches the landing site and whistles, "The tin cans are out in force today, folks. Looks like it's time to…" She winks at Meris as she adds, "Blow shit up." Then the warning comes and she ducks in her seat, keeping her head low.

"Well…some. I make them out of leftover magazines, twist the pages so they're tubes and tape them together. I use those awful pancakes from the mess to make 2D heads." Ramiro smacks his helmet into Hazzard's again, he nods upward to Skip. More than a few combat drops, letting his pre-battle calm show. "I'm a sad, sad man, Staff." He points to Lex. "You're with us too. Hughes is painting targets. We're clearing them." He nods to her grenade-variant gun. "Porter and you three are the second fire team. Doc services both teams."

Pew Pew Pew — Bullets spray across the outer hull of the Raptor and ping across the windshield. So much for that wiper, hope it doesn't rain soon.

Well now is about the time where Hazzard doesnt care what Regas has to say no more and sticks a clip into his rifle. The clip has a duplicate taped beside it, with a little piece of metal between them to make them look like a 'V' to make for quicker reload in the heat of battle. "Hoah to that are a sad man, but stay frosty and be alive when we come to get you..I dont wish to handle the MOUT training after all." he mutters offering Ramiro and Skip a grin. "Staff..Stay on my six, if we encounter resistance..We go one by one, covery fire..Ten fifteen yards."

"Now he tells me," Skip remarks with a shake of his head, looking over at Ramiro, before he looks back at Hazzard, "You lead the way, I'll make sure you don't get lost or killed. Good plan?"

"Hooah," Meris mutters quietly, pulling the machine gun from her shoulder and squinting down the sights. Yep. The sights work.

Watson grips his rifle, giving it a last check over as the bullets start spraying. Looks good. His foot jobs against the Raptor floor.

There's a sharp nod in reply to Ramiro, "Sarge." The single syllable is acknowledgement of his notice of assignment. She gives her rifle one last spot check, and tightens her chin strap. The last time she dropped into combat, all the other marines with her soaked up the bullets. Let's hope it doesn't happen this time. Hooah.

"Staff, hold two seconds..Let Dane and his marines secure..Once we are out, we are on the move..Speed is our primary weapon." Hazzard mutters as he cocks his weapon.

Skip nods, readying his weapon. "Sounds good," he remarks, quietly.

"Frakkin'…" It would figure that the first word out of Jammer's mouth after being peppered with bullets from the Centurion Welcoming Committee would be an expletive. "…gods…" She's hunching her shoulders and ducking her head even though she's in the guts of a Raptor and can't really see where anything might be coming from; it's just instinct to duck and cover. "…damn…"

D'Artanion slips a magazine into her rifle and secures it. She has a second taped to the stock, ready to go. One final time, she flickers a touch to her pockets to be certain she knows where everything is. "Ready, Sarge." Drawing in a breath, she winks at Hazzard, then Watson before turing to nod Meris' way. Ready. Set…

A muffled thump can be heard in the cabin, the telltale sign that 215 has dropped onto terra firma. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are on the ground…!" She checks her vicinity and makes sure it's clear before hitting the hatch switch, causing the hatch to slide open and lower itself.

Ramiro stands, grabbing the webbing above him as the final approach is made. Wishing these sort of situations could be smoked on entry, he'll have to remind himself to ask if something like that can be installed on a Raptor. Taking a heavy breath, he narrows his eyes and brings his rifle to bear, racking it with a loud ratcheting noise. The first off into a zone already under fire. Excellent. Narrowing his eyes, he pulls his goggles into place and prays that he isn't mowed down on exit. Punching open the door, he rushes out and goes low, the staccato of forward covering fire bursting from his rifle. "GO GO GO!"

…and the Redshirts always pile out first, GO GO GO. The hit the ground, firing into the metal objects moving their way. Beady red eyes, watching for any movement as metal arms whirr and click into place with the rolling rounds of ammunition spraying across colonial flesh.

D'Artanion rises as the Raptor lands, one hand releasing the straps she wore on the flight down. She ratchets her rifle. Ducking, she exits the Raptor and takes aim at the painted target.

Hazzard unstraps himself, readies his weapon but holds with a nod over towards the other Marines as they pile out before him. The sound of automatic fire out there gives a hint what kind of race it will be. "Frak Staff..Looks like we'll be doing one by one running..Harsh but only fire on Toasters shooting out way..Dane is a good man, he'll sort his marines out..Our mission is the trucks." he mutters.

Pvt Lex hops out of the raptor with her rifle at the ready, the business end ready for a strong showing in the market. She stays low and moves fast, presenting the smallest target possible, and takes the nearest possible partial cover to begin hailing the Centurions with a spray of bullety love.

Meris doesn't duck. Nope. She's a big, fat target, unleashing hell on the toasters. Or something. The machine gun is braced from where she stands at the top of the ramp, and she locks onto her first target.

Skip nods, "Hope you know how to run," he offers, ducking down a bit as he waits for things to die down a little out there.

Far bit it for the representative Air Wing contingent to get called on the carpet for just hanging out and picking their helmeted noses while the Marines rush out into the slaughter. Jammer hugs her shoulder into what cover there is to be provided by the Raptor's open hatch and fires off a shot at a Centurion who just so happened to get in range. PEW PEW.

Meris shudders as the machine gun coughs out fire and lead, the recoil even affecting her massive frame. "Hoooah!" she manages, wild eyed, as the bullets begin ripping into her chosen target. It turns into a sort of "Hoo-AAAGH!" as a stray round buries itself just above her knee. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment to blot out the pain in the heat of the moment, she braces herself against the Raptor's ramp and switches her attention to the next Cylon.

"Watch my fraking back Staff." Hazzard grunts as he peers out the hatch and then as a seconds respite in the firing he dashes out and leaps from the wing of the Raptor, in a crouched marine sprint he makes way to cross the distance to the nearest cover in the direction of the trucks. It is a hell run, through enemy fire. "Second to none.." he hisses under his breath.

Bayless is on the opposite side of the hatch from Jammer, popping shots from her sidearm at the oncoming chromejobs. One of the frakkers takes a round from her in the weapon arm, but she considers it a hollow victory if the thing's still standing and lines up another round on the thing.

Pvt Lex's target takes several rounds, hers pinging it in the chrome dome, just missing the 'eye' sensor. She mutters something under her breath, then re-aims, bracing her rifle tightly against her body. A few rounds slam into the ground around her, though none of them come close enough to make the blonde nervous.

"Switch! I'll clean!" Ramiro calls out, kneeling and cursing another situation in which grenades cannot be used. There may be nukes here. There simply isn't much cover out there, and they've failed on getting the better position. Gnashing his teeth, he fires off a volley at the Cylon that looks as if it's about to be toast, he turns to follow Meris' sweeping motion. He then pops a smoke grenade, hefting it in the direction where Hazzard's going to lead to.

Skip nods, "Of course," he replies, heading out and after Hazzard as fast as he can. Which would be really fast.

Centurion bullets eat up the tarmack just behind Hazzard and Scipio's heels. Chips of stone and concrete fly everywhere as they just sweep the area. Two more move in to open fire on the marines piling out, even though they get struck, they continue to move and only faulter for a few seconds.

Once the initial volley has been completed, D'Artanion looks around to guage the injuries. Wincing, she shoulders her rifle and makes her way to Meris' side. "Keep shooting. I'll just be a moment." Opening the kit, she looks at the wound, then applies an antibiotic and a bandage, "I can't get the bullet out just now. It isn't near anything vital by the look of it, though. This'll keep it from bleading too much until we can do it up right. Huah!" Rolling away from the woman, she brings her rifle to bear on that same toaster she was aiming at before.

Just about that time, alot of WHOOSH and rattling cages below as the Pandora is getting ready to move in for loading up. Hi centurions.

<Trait Roll> D'Artanion rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Superb (6).

Though she's hunkered down into the well of the Raptor belly, Jammer seems to at least have a passing familiarity with small firearms and how to use them, even while wearing a flightsuit and gloves. PING. She taps an approaching Centurion right in the head, though her little pea-shooter doesn't quite have the stopping power to end its attack right then and there. Still. Small victories… should not be celebrated until all opponents are dead, because as soon as she gestures to the lucky shot she just took — look, Scorch, look! — she gets clipped in the arm. Ouch.

There's a slight 'oof' from Ramiro as he feels one punch at his body armor. It doesn't penetrate. Missing the Centurion, he braces his weapon to fire at Meris' painted target. "Bring that frakker down!" He calls out, continuing the fire. "Watson, Lex, on my target!" He calls out over the firing. "Second squad on the two o'clock!" He calls out as loud as he can, referring to Centurion 7. "HOLD THE LINE!"

<Trait Roll> Ramiro rolls Leadership and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

Making way through the smoke, Hazzard continues on his crouched run. There is nothing to make you run as fast as hearing and feeling enemy fire hit the tarmac around onces feet and whizz past ones ears. Thankful he has kneepads he skids down to a halt and hefts his weapon up to his shoulder. "Covery fire!..Go Staff Go!" he calls as he squeezes off a few rounds in the direction of the Cylon who has turned his red electronic eye their way.

Skip grimaces as one of the bullets hits him, but he nods a bit to Hazzard, "Don't take too long," he mutters, continuing on his run. Grimacing a little bit more than usual.

Meris squeezes the trigger, sending a spray of bullets out towards her target, a look of extreme concentration on her face. Somebody should have taught Meris the basics, however, that being DO NOT DRAW ENEMY FIRE, and as bullets rip into the front of her vest, tearing it open and spraying blood all over the place, the machine gun falls to her side almost in disgust. Meris, ever the hero(!), thumps down backwards on her well padded behind, letting out a bloodcurdling yell of pain.

Owies and double owies. Those Cent's aren't letting up though. That lovely sound of a whirring saw comes to Ramiro's ears. You 'member? 'Member?

"Jammer, pull back in and get that patched!" Bayless calls to her ECO over the sound of two flavors of flak. She hugs the Raptor's interior enough to give her a clear shot, then draws a bead on Jocasta's attacker.

The blonde pvt takes no damage this time. She comes off of her knee and moves to a slightly different vantage behind slightly less cover in order to get a better bead on the target in question. Maybe it was Meris' bellow of ouchie that distracted Lex for a moment. The marine shakes her head slightly, breathes out slowly, and squeezes. Die die die.

Meris' wound is spotted by the medic and D'Artanion rolls right back to the marine's side, "Ouch. Not pretty." She kneels next to the woman, "This'll be a riot." Removing a prepped syringe, she injects the woman with a pain killer, then works on bandaging that wound. "Might end up with some delightful scars to impress the boys with, Meris." The woman works with quick efficiency and it is not long before she finishes. Looking at Meris in the face, she snaps her fingers and half smiles, "Remember. It is just a flesh wound. Now… Are you ready to give the toasters a bit of payback?" No, she isn't pulling the marine off the line. Not yet. "I've gotta go see someone with a real injury. Huah!"

Whirr. Whirr. Whirr. Cent5 is right on Ramiro now. Whirr. Whirr. Whirr. Then something goes wrong. Really wrong…

Skip keeps on moving, getting another hit to him, this one going for his leg. Crouching down, he turns and readies his rifle, before he looks to Hazzard, "Your turn to run!" he calls out, aiming for one of the cylons.

Jocasta falls back into the Raptor at her superior officer's command, cowering back against the bulkhead with her wee little war-wound bedaubing the bulkhead with her blood. So much for being sealed. Gods forbid they experience any sort of decompression or gets calling in to run pilot S&R in the fray… still, the countermeasures officer isn't gutted and gushing by a long shot, and so once she's put some pressure on the arm, she's trying to peer back out the hatch and line up another (lucky) shot.

Hazzard squeezes off a few rounds, and then as Skip calls out he pushes back on up on his feet and sets off running once again, rifle tucked close to his chest. "coming through." he calls as he moves past Skip to makes his own short dash of about ten to fifteen yards.

Meris screws her eyes closed, gingerly rolling over and pulling herself once again upright, the machine gun retrieved with one hand. "Frakking toaster's going to die," comes her growled response, wincing just a little as she lifts the gun back up to aim.

Bayless cries out in agony as two Centurion rounds nail her in the head, one of them taking a chunk out of her helmet's shell but enough to momentarily stun her, the next going through the faceplate and glancing off her temple. The shots aren't fatal, but she's out of the fight for the moment and lucky to be alive as she falls backwards onto the compartment deck.

Apparently Lex's leg was sticking out from cover just far enough to eat a round. Ok. And the owies begin. Luckily it was her thigh, and missed any major blood bearing bits, like, say, an artery. Her shot pings into a centurion arm gun, sweet revenge. She wavers a little, grunts through the clench of teeth, but the adrenal rush keeps her from feeling it quite yet. Hiss. "Now. I am. Angry." They're not going to like her when she's angry.

D'Artanion turns from Meris in time to be slammed back with a bullet to her chest. She groans and fights for breath. "FRAK!" Sitting up slowly, she tears at the armour that failed to keep her whole. "Okay. Okay. Gotta…" Bandages are retrieved in shaking hands and she works at getting herself bandaged. When that is done, she pulls out a syringe and injects herself with what is within. "Okay. Who'se next…"

<Trait Roll> D'Artanion rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Great (5).

Watching the next one go down, Ramiro turns his head in time to watch the next centurion approaching, blades at the ready. He looks to the Centurion as it approaches and raises his rifle. The guts of the centurion are exposed pretty heavily. "Frak it." He snarls, shoving the barrel of his rifle to the gut and pulling the trigger twice, kicking it away. "ON MY LINE!" He calls out, moving to stand and cover Meris and D'artanion while they're patching up. He picks the target.

When Bayless takes hers in the (helmeted) head, however, Jammer's shouting for a "MEDIC!" and she doesn't give a frak how much attention it earns her so long as somewhere in the mix she gets a D'Artanion-shaped attendant. "Frak me, Scorch, can you hear me?!" Because, you know, she's shouting.

<Trait Roll> D'Artanion rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Superb (6).

Catching the call for a medic, D'Artanion groans again, but rises shakily to her feet. She grabs her kit and heads toward those sounds, "Off one for me, Meris." Her movements gain speed as she ducks and weaves to the Raptor. Entering, she moves to Bayless' side, "Frak." Although she tries to be gentle, she takes the helmet off in a hury. Antibiotics first to help avoid infection, "You're going to have a wild headache." Then the bandages. "Hate head wounds. They bleed like frak." Gauze to absorb the blood, then regular bandaging to keep things in place. "Stay down until the ringing in your ears stops, yeah?"

Bayless breathes shallowly as D'Artanion sees to her injuries, but manages to nod to the doc in response. "Jammer… check pressure seals… grab me a spare helmet… there're leaks…" Her head rests on the deck, but she's still breathing. "Gods, I feel awful…"

Meris unloads another scant few rounds in the general vicinity of the damn toasters, before end of the ammunition belt fraks with her plans. Swearing under her breath, she works to feed the new belt into the chamber, hampered mildly by her injuries, and with the gun's barrel still pointing out into toasterland.

Hazzard takes a round to his upper arm, a mere flesh wound but it is enough to make a dashing man stumble and down on his knees he goes. Gritting his teeth, Hazzard brings his rifle back up, feeling the warm blood seep down along his arm he takes aim and fires off a few rounds. "COVERY FIRE! GO STAFF GO!"

While the centurions are tearing up the marines and vice-versa, Hazzard and Skip hopefully find the trucks. Seems like the Pandora has moved into some position to block another set of Centurions coming from the other direction. The guns on the Pandy belch out and metal rains down on the area the two marines are hiding behind.

Meanwhile, in over-heroic and slightly repressed Jammer-land… the countermeasures officer leaves her pilot in the trusty hands of the field medic and then, with no shortage of adrenaline-soaked enthusiasm, she stands up RIGHT THERE in the middle of the hatch opening and takes a clear shot at the Centurion who tagged her comrade in the head. BOOM! One more dead toaster. Her vengeance is short-lived, however, as she ends up making herself a bigger target and gets knocked down by the shot she takes to the chest. (He must have known she was secretly wearing her Superman shirt underneath her flightsuit. Godsdamn Dane Cook fans!)

Thumbing the release, a clip drops from Ramiro's rifle. Grabbing another, he smacks the clip against his helmet to seat it and slaps it into the feed of his assault rifle. Quickly glancing around, he takes stock of the situation. "HOWES! GET DOWN!" He barks out. So far no one's died. Luck shines, but people are wounded. He, however, is not. "COVER THEM!" He barks out, lining up as Meris is reading his mind.

Skip gets to his feet again, just as a bullet comes too close for comfort. Grimacing a bit more, he goes back to running, moving past Hazzard again. "We there yet?" he asks, in between breaths.

It's only a flesh wound! The tag to Lex's other leg as she changes position. The private doesn't stop to evaluate, or call out for med assistance. She can still stand. It's all good. She leans against her cover, head low, to continue providing cover fire for her fellow marines. Beating a hasty retreat is going to be a little dodgy should it come to that. The hail of fire thrashes the ground nearby, and plugs a few fellow marines.

When she finishes with Bayless, D'Artanion turns to leave and rejoin the fray when Jo stumbles back, hit. The medic gives her a quick once over, then smiles, "Not bad… You'll live. I'll bandage the arm in a sec." Ducking out of the raptor, she kneels in the near cover provided and takes a shot at one of the toasters.

Meris does as she's told - it's one of her strong points, following orders blindly - and sends a swathe of bullets right for the Centurions smug little glowy eye. Oh yeah, not so frakking smug now, eh! Saving all witty comments for later (when she's thought of them) she just lets loose with a "RAHHH!" of satisfaction as the cylon crumples backwards, pieces flying off in all directions under the concentrated marine fire.

Another round slams into his helmet and Hazzard shakes his head to clear his vision. "I run as fraking fast as I can." he mutters as he looks to his side and pushes up on his feet. "shut up." he shakes his head once again and starts to dash. "Coming through…We need to move faster…We'll get shred to pieces here..move move more!"

Bayless raises a gloved hand wipe a tear off her face, a sign of the moment of shock from her physical trauma. She lays there on the deck, her eyes rolling towards Jocasta as the ECO's now the one D'Artanion's patching up. "Gods… protect us… please…" she prays in a hushed whisper.

Ramiro scans over the situation and snarls. They're firing on the truck team, and getting shots off. Everyone but him has been hit, and the burning sensation in his chest that isn't bleeding can be ignored. Time to change the initiative. "MEDIC!" He calls out, next to Lex who is wounded. Ramiro makes a target for himself and thumbs his rifle to automatic fire. He runs forward, skidding to a halt at the container and wheels around the corner, firing in the direction that Meris is unloading her weapon. "ADVANCE! COVERING FIRE!" Prayers roll through his mind.

Skip goes down to his knee again, wincing a bit as a round slams into his other leg. Getting back to his feet, he keeps his mouth completely shut, moving onwards as fast as he can, wincing a bit.

D'Artanion misses again. "Frak." Her curses are muffled and she looks around the battlefield, taking stock of those about her. Wounds are catalogued by severity or number if she can see them. As no one is calling out, she refocuses on the toaster brigade. A loud "Huah!" rises as several of the tin cans fall to the combined firepower of the Marines. Chambering another round, she takes aim. Then, Ramiro sounds off and she lowers the gun and darts his way. Lex comes into view and she growls, "You should have sounded off earlier." Med kit in hand, she begins to work on the woman's various wounds.

<Trait Roll> D'Artanion rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Superb (6).

Pvt Lex continues to quietly bleed from her assorted leg wounds. She growls back to the medic, "I'm not disabled." Fiesty! She doesn't pack off from her firing position. D'art is free to do whatever she likes with Lex's thighs, so long as it doesn't stop the private from firing. Her left thigh has a moderate through and through, the right just a jagged flesh wound. Both are bleeding freely.

D'Artanion pfffts softly, "You're sounding like Gars, Private. Stop it." Working while the woman fires is not simple, but D'Artanion is good at this job, anyway. When she finishes, she slips backwards and lifts her rifle and takes aim at the nearest target.

Covering fire equals covering fire, kk? Jammer knows what that means — distraction technique — and with only three Centurions left to face off against the converging onslaught of Marines, she figures a warning shot will do the trick.

Another burst, another toaster down. Meris just keeps chugging out the bullets, shaking like a lesbian on a carrot cart with the recoil of it. "Covering fire! Hooah!"

Blood seeps into his eyes, more drips from the fingers of his left hand after running down along his arm, but Sergeant Hazzard is determined to make it the trucks this time at full speed, now and then he points his gun in the direction of metal and squeezes of a few rounds for his own satisfaction. The trucks, the trucks can't be to much further. Dane and his marines far behind, his sole friend on this rock of Hades is Staff Sergeant Skip and her.

Bayless lays on the deck like a sack of potatoes, checking her fingers and toes to make sure she hasn't lost feeling anywhere. The continuing sound of gunfire doesn't improve her mood. Her eyes travel between Jocasta and the open hatch.

Pandora CIC sends out a tac call to the Raptor. "Get those wounded on the ship ASAP."

Skip goes down again, taking a hit to an arm this time. And he doesn't get up too soon now either. Still able to shout, though. "You get that truck. I'll be here until you return…"

Pvt Lex fires again even as she's treated to some bandage action. Hot! D'art's words do not amuse. "Frak off. Thanks for the bandage, Gunny. But frak off." All this is said as she lines up on a target, going her best to ignore the pain of her wounds. She's pretty good at it in a live fire fight. Hails of enemy fire are like a drug all their own. Who needs morpha when you have adrenaline? She'll worry about the disposition of her cargo pants when it's time to move.

Ramiro's torso twists to the side suddenly as a bullet penetrates his body armor. That looks like it hurt. Adrenaline pushing through his pain, he falters a little as the molten fire of the round sticks in his belly. Only one left, he maintains his forward position and raises his gun to fire. He sees Skip go down in his peripheral. "MEDIC! REROUTE TO TRUCK TEAM! SKIP IS DOWN!" He calls out, turning to point the hand signals to D'artanion, motioning for her to wheel around towards the truck. He spins, opening fire.

Jocasta has ceased firing in order to investigate the state of her supine superior officer, taking knee in the belly of the bird as best she's able in order to keep out of any obvious line of fire while still being all social-like with Bayless. "What's the skinny, Scorch? You still lyin' down on th—" And then she catches the static of the tactical signal coming through in her helmet. "Come on, sir," she says, extending her right hand in order to try and get the woman upright, unless, wait… is she…? "…are you cool to drive?"

D'Artanion snickers at Lex, "Don't like the comparasson? Don't act the ass. I can bandage you while you work, Private." Turning as she hears Ramiro, D'Artanion begins to run. It is one of those jerky, duck andn cover things that takes her from cover to cover. Adrenaline works wonders and she moves with speed and relative grace.

<Trait Roll> D'Artanion rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

Howes gun jams and explodes in his face. The marine falls back, dead on the tarmac.

Hazzard glances over his shoulder as he hears the shout of his Staff Sergeant, for a moment a look of compassion fills his eyes as the thought to take those five steps back to pick up his fellow from the ground. The moment passes and the Sergeant nods his head and keeps on running towards the trucks. With blood in his eyes, vision is still somewhat impared but he has his goal. Gotta reach the trucks, she said soo.

Ping! Ping! Ping! Bullets fly. Meris manages a pretty pattern in the dirt, but doesn't quite connect with the last cylon (who is not Adama). She growls, hunkering down to try to get a better bead on the toaster.

Seeing Hazzard make it to the trucks, Ramiro turns back and fires the last of his clip at the remaining Cylon. Sneering as he rises from his knee, he raises his rifle to get a better view. Skip's in the dirt, he needs to buy the time. Glancing back at the wholly wounded squad, he asseses before continuing forward. "ADVANCE!" He calls out, limping forward.

Bayless winces as Jo gives her a hand up to her feet. "If I can't, we're all frakked…" She breathes laboriously as she staggers into the pilot seat. "Head's frakkin' killing me… eyes seem okay though… grab me a spare helmet from one'a the spare suits in the back." She exhales as she works to get the Raptor's engines online. "And check our seals, we took a lotta fire setting down… oww…"

Pvt Lex's spray of fire at the enemy target puts a respectable dent in its armored body. She advances to provide more cover fire for the assholes and elbows squad, watching their six like a moderately injured hawk. That stubborn centurion is welcome to another hail of bullets.

Skip remains down for now, unsure about what's going on. Eyes closed for the moment.

Sprinting the last of the way, D'Artanion pauses by the prostrate body of Skip, "Hang in there, Marine. I've gotcha." The man is injected with morpha first thing to help with pain and to stave off shock. She takes stock of the injuries, then shakes her head, "Okay. Lie still. I'm going to work a little creative magic." Maybe. She says a quick prayer and then starts in with a will.

<Trait Roll> D'Artanion rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Finaly at the trucks, Hazzard goes for the one that seems to be in the best condition and opens up the door. He looks to the passanger seat. "Lets go shall we." he mutters before he wipes his eyes clear of blood as he shakes his head slowly and winces in pain. "Bad idea L.T." he mutters as he begins his attempts to fire up the truck.

"I don't have anywhere to go, do I?" comes the quiet reply from the unmoving Skip down on the ground.

Does the Passenger Seat look back. Anything is possible when a head wound is going on with the Sergeant. I hope you can drive better than you can shoot.

"I've got no contacts, Sarge!" Meris calls out, uselessly spraying a few more rounds for luck as the last cylon goes down. "What's the plan?"

Ramiro raises his rifle and ejects the clip, slapping a fresh one in. Taking a quick look at the situation, he spots the ammo inside. "Hughes! Watson! Overwatch! Lex, check these containers!" He starts to limp inside. He spots Howes, dead, the product of a backfire. Grabbing his radio, he points the rest to start getting the ammo ready for transport. "Actual this is Ramiro. We have taken the bunker. We have one heavily wounded. KIA on Private Howes."

Ramiro raises his rifle and ejects the clip, slapping a fresh one in. Taking a quick look at the situation, he spots the ammo inside. "Hughes! Watson! Overwatch! Lex, check these containers!" He starts to limp inside. He spots Howes, dead, the product of a backfire. Grabbing his radio, he points the rest to start getting the ammo ready for transport. "Actual this is Ramiro. We have taken the depot. We have one heavily wounded. KIA on Private Howes."

You didn't need that chrome dome, did you bullethead? No, you didn't. So Private Lex takes it. She takes it like she owns it and grunts, "Kiss it!" It as in her ass. "Motherfrakkin' metal pieces of space trash." Her unusual display of verbage in combat is cut short as she catches a second wind, and presses to advance, nodding as she heads to check the containers as ordered. She's back to stoic.

For now it is just hulking, smoking and spitting masses of metal. The ammo bunker looks clear enough for the moment. And there is a forklift nearby. The sound of the truck starting up and moving is a good thing about this point.

[Into the Wireless] Ramiro says, "Actual this is Ramiro, we have taken the depot. We have one heavily wounded. KIA on Private Howes."

Pandora CIC comes across the marine tac. "Copy that, Alpha Team."

Meris hustles forward to take up a better defensive position, scanning the area warily down the sights of her gun.

Extra helmet? Check. Jammer retrieves a spare from the 'omgomgholyfrakjustincase' box and hands in gingerly over to Bayless before she summarily scuttles her way out of the Raptor and onto the wing in order to get a better idea of the damage they took in landing.

D'Artanion half smiles at Skip, "Easy, soldier. You're going to be okay. Just need to get you off the line and to a doc asap." Looking up toward the trucks, she winces, "We'll get you loaded when the truck gets here. Just… don't move, yeah?" Her gaze flickers around back toward the others and she shakes her head once. "Morpha'll last longer if you don't move much."

Hazzard triggers his own wireless comunit. 'Delta One, this is Hotel One, we got thigs thing rolling..hold on tight, we are coming for you.' he mutters into the unit as he shifts, puts in first gear and applies preasure to the throttle. "Hold on." he grunts as he gets the truck rolling making way towards the ammo depot over any near dead Toaster on the way.

<Trait Roll> Hazzard rolls Drive and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

<Trait Roll> Lex rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

To the south of the airfield, Gold Wing is engaged in a dogfight with approaching Raiders.

Bayless nods as she takes the spare helmet in hand and carefully brings it over her wounded cranium. "Thanks…" She sags back in the pilot seat and says to no one in particular, "C'mon, guys…"

The female voice in the truck or in his head. Who knows. The sarcasm is clear to Hazzard. I was wrong. You can't drive any better than you can shoot.

Fortunately for Hazz, there is a bobbly doll - Looks like Ares - on the dash of the truck. Patron God of Shooty Stuff and Kill it before it Breeds Again.

"It is my excelence that makes my humility so fitting." Hazzard says with a chuckle as he wipes some blood out of his eyes as he tries to keep the truck on track. Those fraking toasters are all over and their metal and the truck itself groans as the full weight of a Caprican Loader rolls on over.

D'Artanion spends 2 luck points on Don't let Skip die! He's gotta stay alive to kill toasters another day. Besides, who would hassle Hazzard if he croaks it?.

New Job Submitted (#441): Luck - D'Artanion

New Job Submitted (#442): Luck - Novella

Watching the wounded being tended to and the marines that can walk start to load the ammo into position with a forklift, Ramiro ignores the trail of blood running from under his vest and down his leg. At least the burning has stopped. Moving up, he looks over the containers suspiciously.

Pvt Lex v container lid. Fiiiight! She's a demolitions expert, so springing shit open to muck around with it isn't that difficult. Are these bastards rusted shut? Geez. She puts some muscle into it. No, she is not using explosives in an ammo depot. No misreading that!

D'Artanion kneels by Skip, one hand on his shoulder. "Truck's coming. Won't be long now." SHe watches Hazzard's erratic driving and moves to stand between her patient and that approaching multi-ton conveyance.

"Ground's getting comfortable…" Skip mutters, before he grimaces. "Getting tired…"

If the run under enemy fire took some time, driving over dead toasters doesnt take to long especially not to where Skip and D'Artanion is located. Tires scream as he comes to a halt. "In the back doc, hussle hussle..We'll cover you!"

D'Artanion nods as Hazzard stops. Turning, she bends to help get Skip on his feet. "None of that, now. Not on my watch." Still, she will grieve when she hears about the one she missed. Poor guy. Leveraging the man up, she moves with him to the back of the truck, "In you get, Marine. We're heading outta here."

Skip gets to his feet, wincing a bit as he moves. "Thanks…" he remarks, climbing up there with an effort.

Bobblybobble, the Patron God of Shooty Shit bounces around as the truck screams to a stop. For Fraks sake, Ell. Some pause there. Oh, you've got more company. I'd say ten minutes.

At least Bayless is still of sufficient health to drum her fingers on the seat's armrest. She glances out the Raptor's windscreen, mindful of any chromejobs with any apparent interest in avenging their buddies. A couple fingertips go up to her forehead wound and quickly move away from it. "OW! Godsdamn…"

Hazzard glances back over his shoulder to make sure D'artanion is up there with Skip before he kicks in a gear once more and starts to make his way to meet up with the ammo collecting Marines. He smiles, as he didnt have to inform the doctor that there is no room in the passanger seat. This vehicle is a two man operation up front after all. He nods his head slowly and activates his com unit 'Hussle troops..Ten minutes and we've got inbound…Get that ammo on the back' he grunts over the unit as he pulls the car up to the ammo depot.

Ramiro steps away from the mouth of the depot and heads towards that body of Private Howes. Grabbing the body and fireman carrying it the best he can, he limps back towards Lex's position. Never mind the marine with his face blown off. "Lex, what do we have?" He says, turning to the next container. "Marines, double time!"

Two other trucks have been loaded up and are roaring toward the Ramp the Pandora has out for in invite. Screw the unload, take it all.

Lex stands over the newly opened container, and she just sort of stares into it. "Uh. That… that just ain't right." She reaches in and pokes something. "SARGE!" It's a bark, it's definitely a barked word. As in get yo ass ovah here, pls, kthx. And then under her breath, "Ew." She recovers admirably before anyone else is close enough to notice her momentary WTFBBQ.

Tac1 Pandora Actual comes across the tac now. "Trucks are loading up. We're out of here in ten."

Ramiro turns quickly and grabs his rifle. Whipping around towards Lex as Hazzard's truck is loaded, he limps over to her position, dragging the dead marine half over his shoulder. "What? What you got Lex talk to me…"

Skip is just keeping silent for now, eyes starting to close again as he slumps a bit further.

Hazzard closes his eyes as he sits there in the truck, sleep would be such a relief at this point. The pain in his head slowly eases off atleast, and the arm doesnt bother him all that much right now. Perhaps he should get those wounds seen to, but then again, time is running out and someone has to drive the fraking truck. "I never should have let you go, you know that should have talked to me." he murmurs softly.

When Hazzard's truck stops again, D'Artanion jumps out of the back to clear it for loading. Slinging her rifle over one shoulder, she bends to help with hauling ammo and stacking it in the back. As Skip slumps, she growls and moves to his side. A syringe is loaded and the man is injected with what is within. "Hang in there… No sleeping. Not yet." Her gaze lifts toward the Raptor as concern for the other patient who should not be sleeping kindles.

Inside the container stand six individual tubes, each carrying a dormant 'body'. There are three asian woman (Boomers) and three old white dudes (Caval). "Creepifying cargo. Take it or blow it?" She keeps her voice admirably level and controlled. She was on Hera when there was talk of skinjobs. This dings that bell. Lex awaits a decision.

Talk Talk Talk. The figment of Hazzard's imagination jabbers in his head. Don't forget Ares, buddy. You'll need him. After that it is just mindless silence. Whatever was there, is now gone.

Ramiro's jaw drops, looking inside of the container. What was a rumor to him has just immediately become fact. "Frak…" He says under his breath, leaning heavily on one leg to support Howes' dead body. Letting his rifle hang, he reaches to the tactical. "Actual this is Alpha Team Ramiro, assuming command. We have some serious intel down here in cargo containers. Live cargo. Sleeping Live cargo. Export or dispose, over?"

"But I'm so tired…" Skip mutters, grumbling a bit as he stays awake, a bit involuntarily.

Tac3 "Genesis Actual" Regas says, "Take what you can and get your butts off the ground."

Hazzard blinks, realing that he was about to fall asleep and grits his teeth. A hand reaches out to take Ares Bobblehead and stuff it into one of the now empty magazine pouches. "Closing to five minutes Dane!" he yells as he leans back against the seat as he wipes more blood from his eyes. "We've got inbound enemies. for frak sake."

Bayless keys the tac-channel open. "Pandora CIC, Scorch… does any of Alpha Team require a ride back? Currently checking 2-1-5 for pressure leaks…"

D'Artanion says, "Don't care, Skip. You can sleep when we get to sickbay. Y' hear me?" She apparently means it and has the drugs to see to it. While she is up there, she gives Hazzard a quick once over, "Frak me. You're wounded too." Closing the door, she moves around the front of the thing to the drivar's side. When Hazzard comes out of the near doze, she looks up at him, "We've time to bandage you up. Won't take long.""

Pandora Actual is firing up their heavy thrusters and about to lift off the ground. That truck needs to be rolling like yesterday. It's a Delta Force moment…can they make it? That must be Scorch's answer, "Haul them up here."

Centurions are in view now and firing.

Hazzard looks at D'Artanion. "Doc..load the shit..I'll live..I swear, you can check me once we are on that Raptor with the good stashed.." he motions with a blood stained hand over towards the Marines hauling cargo into the truck. "This is not a Gars, any minute we've got more Cylons coming. You gotta trust me on this..We are short on time…If your fit..GET DOWN!"

Ramiro snarls, looking to the truck at Hazzard and then the possible skinjobs. They're all wounded, and he can't take both. "Grenade it. I'm not leaving a man behind for that." Ramiro grunts, limping towards the truck. He loads the body inside quickly and climbs in. "FRAK IT! Get over here Lex!" He raises his rifle, returning fire.

Ramiro says quickly into his tactical. "Actual this is Ramiro. Cannot extract Intel. We have incoming. Taking fire and retreating"

D'Artanion nods to Hazzard, "Got it." Ducking, she rolls under the truck and then jumps aboard. "Lex! Load up and let's fly." From inside the truck, she aims at one of the Centurians.

Pvt Lex nods once, shoulders her rifle, and grits her teeth, hauling it toward the truck. She doesn't need to be asked twice. She shoves a hand into her pack, pulls a pin. A grenade is hurled backward in a high arced lob. Man, this shit is going to hurt tomorrow. If they make it that far! "Go."

Ramiro opens fire and looks towards the Raptor. He points them towards the Raptor and then returns to covering Lex's departure. Firing off a few rounds, he prepares to extend a hand for Lex to help her up.

Ramiro opens fire and looks towards the Raptor. He points them towards the Pandora and then returns to covering Lex's departure. Firing off a few rounds, he prepares to extend a hand for Lex to help her up.

Kicking the reverse into gear, Hazzard sets the truck in motion again as he aims to get the truck over to the Raptor, hopefully someone has been loading the truck otherwise his run was in vain.

Skip blinks as he hears the sounds now, and starts dragging himself towards wherever he can get off a good position to shoot from. Which isn't easy in his drugged state.

Mm…esplodey. The grenade that Lex fires off, does a count down and then explodes. Glass tubing, metal, goo, bodyparts implodes the container, making a hell of a racket.

Jocasta comes 'round the corner of the Raptor wing after finishing up her hull integrity inspection just in time to see the fresh Centurion patrol making their janky metal way over to the Marines still left outside of their peppered up lift. Few sights are more encouraging for speed than a looming toaster firing squad and Jammer's scrambling to get back into the Raptor all sorts of hasty. "We've got incoming!"

The Pandora makes a quiet observance. "Basestar boys and girls. Let's go."

<Trait Roll> Hazzard rolls Drive and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

Bayless frowns, shaking off the massive headache ringing through her eyes. "Get the frak in here, Jammer…!" She then gets on the Raptor's P.A.: "Whoever's coming with us, haul ass! We dust off in thirty seconds!"

The truck was loades, yes. D'Artanion even helped with that before Skip tried to take a dive into sleep or worse.

Switching from reverse to first gear, Hazzard brings the truck into motion once again. Steering it towards the ramp that is begining to close, when Cylon rounds slams into the windshield. "Frak me." he hizzes and pulls his pistol and fires out the busted windshield with his silenced sst given pistol. "Dont fraking close.."

Lex reaches a hand up to clasp Ramiro's forearm. She grabs hold and uses the Sarge to help lever her up into the transport. Pull! Ow, ow, ow. She lands a little hard when her leg reminds her there's a frakkin' hole in it. She pulls her rifle from her shoulder, and turns to face the enemy. Hopefully there's no goo on her back. Splash damage from your own grenades suck. Specially when it's gooey.

Skip still crawls a bit forward to aim for one of the Cylons, attempting to send off a shot now.

Ramiro grunts again, loudly as a puff of fabric and dust emits from his chest. It's a scary moment, trying to figure out if you just took one to the lungs. Ramiro blinks, looks to Lex, and then lets his rifle hang. He extends an arm out to her to help her up. "RAPTOR GO!" He barks out, looking to see the rest of the marines loaded in the Raptor. Having swapped to the Raptor, he watches Hazzard's truck make the ramp. Breathing raggedly from the hit in the chest, he starts to feel if there's any blood.

<Trait Roll> Hazzard rolls Drive and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

The Raptor's sublight drives roar into launch thrust, lingering just long enough for Ramiro and his troops to get strapped in. Bayless calls over her shoulder, "Hold on, folks… this isn't gonna be as pretty as when we left..!" Blink that frakkin' headache away, Rachael, this people need off this rock yesterday.

Since Bayless is sporting a head injury, Jammer decides that the return trip is pretty much begging her to sit in the co-pilot's seat instead of playing backseat driver from the countermeasure's station in the belly of the bird. But, not to worry, Marines, she's still got a few tricks up her sleeve — and most of her consoles will still allow her to conduct evasive maneuver procedures with relative ease.

Skip fires off a shot, just as a shot from the Centurion grazes his chest. He makes sure to hold onto something so he won't fall out of the truck.

The Pandora is firing up and the blast from her thrusters sends those Centurions back about fifty feet, rolling ass over teakettle away from them. It seems the truck is gonna make it. OR IS IT?!

Firing out the window with his pistol to return the fire from the Centurions that is dead set on stopping the truck, the last distance up the ramp is..Hades for the poor truck and its driver. Sparks fly as lead hits metal, one round or more slams into Hazzard that puts his essence into getting it up the ramp but at the top a bullet blows one of the tyres..The truck skids the last yards up the ramp, tumbles and falls over on its side in a shower of sparks. Marines and Navy personel alike covering the ramp are forced to leap to the side as a fuel leaking truck filled with ammo skids into the cargo bay at the end of the ramp.

Lex's rifle is lowered as the final volley of fire from her misses completely. She pulls herself over toward a seat to haul up and strap in. Turns out getting off the floor with a thigh wound sucks a little. She hauls herself heavily into her seat, rifle safetied and stowed. Ignore the slight paleness and clenched jaw of frakfrakfrakow. Lex closes her eyes, reminds herself to breathe, and blindly straps herself into her seat. She keeps the pain on the inside, and the slow ooze of blood through her bandages is partially hidden by the hang of medic shredded cargo pants.

Despite the dead body of the fallen Private Howes, there's alot of blood dripping onto the floor of the Raptor. Ramiro's bleeding from somewhere under his vest and is breathing quite heavily. His own vest is peppered with shots that would have been instant kills, if not for the protective armor. Reaching down to strap himself in, quite painfully, he looks over his team. "Everyone strap in and lock down." He says, ignoring the blood that's obviously had some free reign down his side and over his boots.

Bayless looks over to Jammer as she climbs into the co-pilot seat and wearily smiles. "Thanks," she says weakly. Rachael throttles the engines to full and launches away from the ground, on course for Virgon's upper atmosphere. Her head's pounding, but she puts the pain on the back burner. She figures touching down back on Genesis will be sufficient cause for her to collapse.

Skip holds on even further now. "Now I really want to go sleep…" he mutters to himself. "Maybe dream about…" Whatever or whoever is lost as he trails off, looking around carefully.

The rough and tumble ride is a doozy. D'Artanion holds the side of the truck and tries to take one final shot at the toasters. Not happening, so she slings the rifle over one shoulder and ducks farther inside. That is when the truck hits the ramp. Sitting heavily on a crate of ammo, she winces when the tire is blown. The truck's falling on it's side throws her from her perch against the side of the truck, "Frak!" Shaking her head, she winces at the pain that races through her body as her chest wound once more makes it's presence known. "Sound off!" That is when she smells the fuel, "Frak me."

Ramiro looks around quietly in his seat. There's a dead body on the floor of the Raptor. Scanning around, he catches the younger marines looking at it. A small army of dirty, bloody faces. Reaching into the compartment, he pulls out one of the fire blankets and covers what he can of Howes' face and upper torso with it. He looks to Lex and then back towards the floor. It's time to be silent.

Hazzard is out, he lived up to his word to the Combat Medic, he brought the truck onto the Pandora. He got them all back home, but that is about as far as he made it. Lying in a heap against the door on the drivers side, the Marine is out cold in the driver compartment of the truck. He is in dream land again.

Skip looks quite out of it now, eyes starting to close again. Not that fun, getting shot.

When the Raptor lands, Ramiro heads up front and looks to the Raptor pilots. "Thanks…you guys are the best." He says, grunting as he walks. "We owe you one." He adds before turning and setting his back down. He pulls out a body bag and starts to unfold it. Motioning for Lex to get moving, he starts to prepare the body for transport.

D'Artanion remembers Hazzard's wounds. Yup. Turning to two of the less injured, she motions out the back of the truck. "You and you. Get the fuel mopped up. We don't want an explosion here." Finding her med kit, she moves out and around to the front of the truck. Looking up, she sighs and shoulders the medkit. This is going to frakin' hurt. But… She has had morpha shots. So, she climbs the undercarrage of the truck to get to the window. "Okay. I'm coming in." Yup. Going to see to Skip and Hazzard.

The Pain of D'Artanion as she goes in to save him is lost, the Sergeant is covered in minor cuts and bruises from the crash and the windshield getting shot to shreds and being hit about three times.

Lex leaves plenty of awesome behind on the raptor in the form of leg blood. She unhooks her seat restraints, grabs her gear, and reaches up to take hold of the top of her seat to lever into a standing position. The adrenal rush has pretty much worn down. Drugs, please. Grimfaced, she exits the raptor with only half of a bloody footprint left behind on the wing. "Frak, I think that was my lucky grenade…"

Skip just seems to be completely out of it now. Eyes closed, and keeping silent. Looking almost peaceful.

<Trait Roll> D'Artanion rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Superb (6).

<Trait Roll> D'Artanion rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Bayless nods to Ramiro as he thanks her and Bayless, then gingerly unseals her helmet and pulls it off. Her head wound's bleeding just a little bit from the gauze, but not badly. Still, she's a little woozy. Jocasta can probably see the somewhat blank expression on her face. "Well… that was fun…"

Sure, Jo took a hit, but she's not nearly so bad off as some of the Marines or, you know, Bayless… who took a pair of shots in the frakking head and still lived to tell. Well done there, Scorch. She turns to the pilot as the Raptor comes in for a landing and asks, "How's your head, sir?"

Yeah, the quarters are cramped, but what the frak, right? Working on Hazzard first, the medic does not have to worry about moving the man as he is already out. His wounds are fresh enough that she does not have to worry so much about shock. Exactly. Turning then to Skip, she surveys the new damage and shakes her head. Unfortunately, the work she does on him is less effective but she does what she can.

Outside of the truck, the two hapless Marines she detailed to it are cleaning up the spilled fuel and have jury rigged a plug for the fuel tank to keep more from leaking out.

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