PHD #025: EVENT - Breadcrumbs - Ground Engagement
Breadcrumbs - Part 2.
Summary: The initial ground team finally makes its way into Parnassus Anchorage. It ain't pretty.
Date: 25.03.41
Related Logs: Breadcrumbs-Recon
Aziza Demos Evandreus King Krysesi Kulko Lunair Marko Silas Stavrian Trask NPC 

This log is a continuation of Breadcrumbs - Air Engagement.

Time has passed since the landing party made their initial touchdown in the Anchorage's hangar bay. A comfortable distance clear of the charnel house of ships in varying degrees of 'intact' sits that pesky airlock that the Cerberus' crew has been diligently working on putting superheated holes into with various tools and varying degrees of success. A team of grunts from the Deck and engineering have been busy affixing a hard seal around the airlock, giving it a careful berth in accordance with Command's orders. The hangar itself is large and cavernous, dimly lit by the flicker of emergency lighting and decked out with various 'caution' and safety signs, which will doubtless never be heeded by anyone again.

A pair of Marines, Lance Corporal Stenson and Private Silas Trista heft a package into the sealed chamber through a door. Stenson grunts, "This gonna work? We got enough firepower?"

Where there are people there tends to be blood. So they learned the hard way the last time Marines set foot in a Colonial structure. Stavrian has his usual gear for an away medical crew — the combination of kit plus rifle, both secured but easily in hand when they'll be needed. He keeps back and out of the way as people fiddle with explosives, arms folded and eyes alertly skimming around them.

Na na na na leader! Leader! Lead-eeeeeeeer! Lunair's taken a lump or two and learned her lesson. She looks to be using her good bearing to her advantage. She's a stately, almost regal and calm presence. She radiates the quiet confidence of a stone in a river. At least if you can ignore the fact her eyes are squinted a little. There is some nervousness, but for her part she's learning to hide it annd look her part better. She is quietly taking a headcount near Stenson. One marine, ah ah! Two marines, ah ah!

Kulko, having rotated back to Cerberus long enough to shower, <blank>, and shave, is back in the thick of things. If by that one means 'standing around and watching everyone else do their jobs' with vigor and fortitude. Arms folded, the whole nine. He's armed only with his usual revolver and its allotment of ammo. "Any response from inside?" he queries of the team at the door, who are probably tired of the Ensign after forty some-odd hours.

Krysesi has her rifle out, unlike Stavrian. Then again, she was assigned to a Marine base before this, so one would expect her to behave like one of them. Her medkit is at the ready, but for right now, she's standing watch.

Make that three marines, and counting. Aziza is one of the jarheads pulling supervisation duty while the dynamic duo of Stenson and Trista see to the transport of.. explosives? Probably explosives. The tall Sergeant has her rifle locked and loaded, though currently pointed at the ground while she awaits further orders from their fearless leader. Oh, yeah, and she's chewing on that damnable gum again.

"Okay…DRADIS is clear…" Marko reports for Evan's benefit. "Comms are pretty quiet…In short…Well, Frak this is boring." he sighs.

Like his fellow Harriers, Trask is stuck on stand-by. This consists of really wanting a cigarette that he currently can't have. Thankfully, his yearning for sweet Allegheny tobacco is waylaid by giddy thoughts of violating the undamaged Heavy Raider that is parked in ominous silence. DRADIS has been quiet, as have the communication airways. After a while, he tells Marko, "Keep an eye out for unwanted visitors. I'm gonna raid the cookie jar, again." Which means swiping parts from the damaged Colonial and Cylon ships also there. Nothing too involved, as he lacks the luxury of time, but whatever a seasoned mechanic can easily enough snag, that's what the former knuckledragger attempts to salvage.

"Nothing, sir." One of the marines by the door says towards Kulko with a weary sighs. "If anyone's in there, they're sure not looking for visitors. Or answering the door. Belen even tried altering the knock code for 'pizza delivery.' I don't trust anyone who doesn't like pizza." He says, sighing below his helmet.

Meanwhile, the demo team shuffles about, affixing the package to a central stress point at the airlock door and starts fiddling with the affixed wires linked to the detanator. "Wait. G4 and Dyrex can't be put together /this/ way or it will never ignite." Stenson declares, there's a hint of doubt in his voice. Private Trista just nods a bit. "Sarge!" L.C. Stenson calls out to Aziza. "Gonna need a hand with this, sir!"

In space, no one can allow you to smoke. Or something like that. Lunair offers a tense smile to Aziza in passing, the only moment she allows her bearing to crack. Three marines, ah ah! Four marines, ah ah! Five … marines, ah ah! Lunair is doing her best to keep a headcount. She tilts her head at the Demo team and scoots back a little. There we go. Just out of blast radius she hopes. Lookin' mighty leaderly without giving that smug impression that makes many so punchable. She nods slightly and smiles at the pizza joke. Hee. A look towards Kulko and back to the Demo team. She's mostly paying attention to the marines, but there's a glance around. If anyone needs the doofy marine officer, she is here - otherwise the woman is a silent sentinel, quiet and cool as a sphinx resting among desert sands.

[TAC3] "Flasher" Marko says, "Bootstrap, Flasher. Copy that. I'll just be here….looking at….nothing.."

"It was worth a shot," Kulko muses, visibly dejected that the plan yielded no results. "Guess we do this the /old/ old fashioned way." He heads back from the door as well, taking up a position alongside the other officer to await detonation.

Aziza turns her head sharply when she's addressed, though a bit of a scowl crosses her face when the guy goes on to call her 'sir'. She, thankfully, doesn't bother giving him the usual mantra, but weaves her way through the ranks of her milling squad to see what Stenson wants. "Problem here, Corporal?" is punctuated by an annoying snap of her gum.

Stavrian raises an eyebrow at the demo team as they work. This is not his area and he stays in place where he is. Not even a mime of watch-checking, watch that good behaviour.

"Just needed a second pair of eyes, Sarge." The Marine calls out via his com unit. "Can you check the wiring on this before we blow the hatch? Everybody else, stand back." He points at Aziza and indicates that she give the assembly a once-over. "And we'll let you do the honors." He sounds disappointed, somehow.

<FS3> Aziza rolls Demolitions: Success.
<FS3> Aziza rolls Demolitions: Success.

"Nonsense," is Bootstrap's reply to his fellow ECO. "It's character building." It's so glibly said, there's no way of knowing whether he being serious. Nor does he elaborate. Instead, there's something of a guttural sound as he tries to finagle a circuit board flavored 'cookie' from the metaphorical cookie jar that is a rather cheesed Viper.

Krysesi stands quietly, watching. So far, this has been a fairly boring op, but if she does more than just think it, she'll jynx it. At least one of the colonies curses people with "May you have an interesting life", so…

"Might wanna watch it out there, Boots." Marko cautions. "Sounds like they're about to breech the hatch. If something nasty comes out, it'd be nice to not get shot by it while you're playing around in Cylon guts."

Aziza considers this for a moment, then safeties her rifle and slings it across her back. As if it hadn't already been said, she barks — with an impressive display of vocal range — "Everyone BACK!" Then, in a more normal voice, "Lemme see whatcha got, here." Scooting in closer, she drops the visor over her face, hunches down, and reaches in to start checking and double-checking wires carefully. The missing finger on her right hand is either testament to good luck or bad, where things like this are concerned. "Shit, Corporal, you got this all wrong.." Slapping down her pockets quickly, she digs out a pair of wire clippers, and disconnects one of the cables before trimming it a little shorter. Two more are rerouted, the last one slotted in very carefully before she pushes back to her feet and gives the Corporal a nod. That seems to be signal enough to go, as she's backpedaling away shortly after.

The emergency pressure door on the hard seal assembly is slipped through as Trista, Stenson, and Aziza are the last to leave. Everyone boarding is corralled behind it as the countdown ticks down. Stenson looks glumly at Aziza. "Uh. Sorry. I'm not used to the high-grade shit." There is the whoosh of impact outside and then a vibration as the thing goes off. When it is opened, there is a gaping hole in the airlock leading inside. You are free to enter.

The third shift Evan's had over here, and, the prior two having been uneventful, this time he's come armed with a book. While it's hard to turn pages in a flight suit, fortunately for him the book's not in his first language, so turning pages is something he has to worry about only every half hour or so, in between figuring out what it says and doing regular systems checks— and occasionally listening in on something over comms. The vibration in the deck makes him look up from the text. "I'm with Flasher, Bootiekins. Might be a good idea to hitch up what we're going to hitch up and get strapped in, just in case."

The entryway to a Colonial station - this thing is unremarkable if anyone has ever been in one, for the most part. At first. The lights flicker dimly indicating the place is on auxilliary power. About three meters in, that changes. For one, you all see no signs of human life or remains, but in at least three separate areas there is blood on the walls and on the floor indicating /something/ happened here. Speaking of walls, there are pieces of a hardened red-brown resin-like substance at this three-meter point. Also, are a pair of fallen Cylon Centurions, shot up. From the way they were positioned, it looks like they were facing each other. Another ten meters in, there is a shot-up elevator door which has been blown to Hell and back, along with parts of the shaft. You ain't getting up this way. At the elevator, the path forks diagonally left and right.

Also, pressure and o2 checks will immediately read as positive. Radiation levels are that same weird anomalous level. Low, and probably not all that harmful. Take your rad meds just in case when you get back, kiddies.

"First of all," Trask quips back, "I'm in Viper guts, Flasher." One so trashed that it wasn't even worth towing back to the battlestar, but the man's persistence managed to yield something that appears undamaged. Even if the circuit board ends up being frakked, it served the purpose of alleviating his boredom. "Secondly, I'm hopping back to my hutch, Bunny." The Heavy Raider has already been hitched to Quinn's bird. After all, they always have the option of cutting it loose, which means leaving the bounty behind isn't an option that he's willing to entertain.

"Bunny, can you pipe the Marine's tac freq back here?" Marko asks. "Kinda like to hear what's going on." he explains, sitting up a little straighter now and focusing more on the empty swirl of his DRADIS display. Even odds, the Cylons show their shiny little chrome heads right about now. "You got the heavy hooked up, Boots?" he asks.

For her part, Lunair listens and watches quietly. She does tense a little for a moment. With that, she straightens. The door is open. And sadly, these are cancer giving rads - not awesome power giving rads. With her luck, Lunair'd be bitten by a radioactive caterpillar and spend her days setting things afire as a butterfly. She takes a deep breath. Peer. She'll be towards the front, preferring to lead from point than behind. Though she does note, "Please move in small clumps or a line," For those less versed in combat. She is not um'ing! What a twist! For now, she cautiously steps in, dark purple eyes squinted in concentration. Resin…? She tilts her head at it. And dead cylons. What an unpleasant scene. She will go slowly with the group, giving time for pausing and listening. And intelligencing. Boo no elevator. Left or right now. She is taking a moment to consider it.

Stavrian has a particularly nasty feeling of deja vu, hairs standing up on the back of his neck as the open entryway reveals blood on the walls. And the floor. He motions Krysesi ahead, following the Marine line into the place. As his boots hit pieces of resin he stops, frowning. Crouching down a few feet from the fallen cylons, he pulls one of their collection envelopes from his kit, scraping a bit of resin into it.

Kulko draws his revolver as they enter the former airlock, paying a glance to the rad-counter and staying a few bodies back from the front of the line. "Radiation ain't too bad," he notes over the squad level comms. "Hope everyone took their pills." He moves somewhat less 'tactically' than the others, footfalls casual and sidearm at… well, at his side.

The minute the smoke clears, and the entrance to the station's A-frame corridor can be made out betwixt the mangled metal and half-collapsed rubble, Aziza unslings her rifle from her shoulder, and pivots to walk backwards a couple of paces. Two quick hand signals given her squad, she pivots again and moves in on the platoon Commander's heels. Her squad fans out in formation behind her, and she too pauses to examine the resin briefly as they file through.

Krysesi looks around, rifle up as she nods to Stavrian and moves inside. She frowns a little at the resin and suggests, "Probably not a good idea to touch that barehanded." With a shiver, she adds as a mutter, "Here's hoping it's not residue from gas." It's never even occurred to her until now, but it would make so much sense for robots to kill them all with poisonous gasses.

The three marines and two engineers hustle along with the other group, awaiting orders. Specialist Lurtz from Engineering stares at her rad device momentarily, frowning behind her helmet. She taps the neck of her pressure collar. And then stares down the hallway, gasping over her commlink. "The Hell happened here? Hells."

Stenson echoes, "We're positive for O2. And shit." He just stares down at the fallen Centurion corpses. "Good thing I don't have to waste ammo on you you son of a bitch!" He looks between the pathways in the fork. "Which way, sir?" He looks plaintively at Lunair.

"Sure thing, Flasher. Hooking you in through your flightsuit comms," Evan calls back. "You're hearing everything I'm hearing. Whole lot of not a lot," he qualifies his assertion. "But no news is good news, right?"

Barehanded, Stavrian's ass. That's what tweezers are for. Resin packed away and stored in plastic and envelope in his kit, he stands back up and heads for the formation again. Now to keep an eye on these marines.

"My thoughts exactly, Bunny." Marko replies, settling in for the wait. "Hey, what was that book you were reading earlier?" he asks, looking for a way to break up the boredom.

Demos has had her rifle in her hands for some time, now. When the others begin filing in, she takes up her position at the rear of the line. Her rifle leads her glance from right to left. When she reaches the center mark, she nods to King, then backs her way into the opening. Once inside, she takes up the rear guard position, scanning the 180 until King can rejoin her.

[TAC2] Lunair says, "Alright. Medics to the centre. Aziza and I can take point. King and Demos to the rear. Keep Intelligence in the center as well. Do not clump up."

[TAC2] Aziza says, "Roger rabbit, sir."

[TAC2] "Able Five Actual" Stavrian says, "Copy, Lieutenant."

Time to put on the leader hat. Alright. She can do this. There's a tension in Lunair's stately demeanor, almost mirroring that of the officers of old who lifted black banners before charging. There's still dignity and authority, it's just tainted with youth and nerves. She pauses. No major differences between the two. But remember that right is dexter and left is sinister. And so Lunair jerks her head and points right. The privates and engineering are motioned towards the rear and middle as well. She intends to keep it to small clumps or a slightly thick line. No Cylon Bowling Lanes here.

"As hitched as newlyweds in love." The only place that Heavy Raider is going is to the Cerberus to have its cherry popped. Back in his designated Raptor, Trask flashes Quinn an oh-so-pleased grin when he shows her what he managed to retrieve. Carefully, he packs-up the Viper circuit board and then settled back into his ECM station.

Aziza speaks briefly into her comm unit, hesitating just a moment as she finishes scanning the flaking remains of a blood spatter. Frowning slightly inside her helmet, she pulls away and jogs up ahead to take point. Right? Right it is.

[TAC2] (from "Beer" Tucana) Lance Corporal Stenson notes, "Copy that. On my way."

The first time King has ever seen a Cylon. His eyes lock on one of the pair of Centurions as he passes by. Bad habit, that, but at least they were already shot up for him. "Roger sir." He says in response to Lunair. Sometimes, you have to let the officers actually be in charge. He moves through the door after Demos, turning to cover the groups backside, "Rifles up, marines. High ready."

Kulko crouches by the Centurion momentarily, inverting his pistol in his hand and knocking on the machine's 'skull' with the butt. He feels, more than hears, the ensuing clank. "Well, frak me sideways…" he murmurs, before rousing himself and proceeding onwards with the group.

[TAC2] "Able Three One Actual" Demos says, "Copy, Lieutenant."

Stavrian pulls his rifle off his shoulder now as they progress, ready to cover the front of the line if they run into anything less than desireable. His blue eyes track Kulko a moment and then turn forward again once the intel officer is past.

And with that, Stenson makes his way up front with the others, rifle ready as he peers down the corridor.
Anyway, rightward ho. As they head starboard, the group makes its way across in what is about a five minute walk. As you progress, the walls and various hatches are littered with more resin, gunshots, scorchmarks, and even blood, but no bodies, human or Cylon. Nothing. Finally, they make it to the door to the emergency starboard stairwell. Said door is also intact.

[TAC2] Lunair says, "Checking this door. I'll see if it's unlocked. Don't get too close to me."

"I'm not done with Medea, yet," Evan lets Marko know, even as he closes up the book and slides it into a compartment to the side of the cockpit, closing it up and turning the handle upward to keep it sealed. "Library will kill me if I let the Cylons shoot it," he chuckles.

Don't think about those bodies. Lunair looks, but it's a look bourne from instinct that forced man to look into the faces of wild beasts once. That raw fear that etches at stomachs like the chill of ether anesthetics. She pauses. A door. She holds up a hand to stop. It might seem a bit silly, but tell that to the red shirt who totally had his head blown off by a door one time. Totally true story. Or so they tell officers to scare them at night. She frowns. She looks around the door, inspecting it. Cautiously, she sets a hand on the door. Nothing pressure-sensitive - maybe. For now, she's making sure nothing is booby trapped. And then she'll try to listen in. Finally, if she does not hear the sound of Cylons in the hills singing, she might give opening the door a chance.

Walking carefully, Demos scans from forward around to the rear on her side, trusting King to take the other. Her rifle's barrel lingers on the centurians that lie 'dead' off to the side. Keeping up with the group, she keeps a weather eye and ear to their rear. Her gaze touches King, then passes on. When they reach the intact door, she turns her back to the team, her attention focused back the way they came.

[TAC2] Lunair says, "Also, one of you engineers look at this?"

"Just hope the frakking thing doesn't have any surprises for us, Boots." Marko comments. "Medea, never read that one. Is it any good?" he asks Bunny between double-checks of his thankfully still empty DRADIS and glances at the other sensor readouts. he ad

No sign of Cylons. No sign of anything. The lights flicker a little bit, and the rad counters fluctuate slightly as everyone progresses. Lurtz says, "Yes sir." And she goes to deftly stroll on over towards the stairwell hatch. She brushes a hand over the handle and mutters, "Don't see anything. Don't detect anything. Sir, I left my bomb-sniffing dog in my locker, but this should work." She smiles cheerlessly as she glances back at Lunair. "Stand back, everyone. If it blows up, it'll only be my ass." She starts to turn the hatch wheel.

…And it opens. Nothing blows up. Stairwell clear. Inside, also, is a helpful color-coded map of various decks. It has:
Various entries in turn, with the station's CIC dead center. Most of the decks up top are labelled "Restricted - Research." Of one sort or another. Below them are offduty and residential. Then CIC. Then Hydroponics. And then Engineering. The bottom is where you are - Hangar. Take your pick, folks.

King doesn't say anything about being upset if Lunair's ass gets blown up. Have to be professional. However, when Demos takes her little glance at him, she is met by a confident wink. When the squad stops to check the door, he turns to face the rear and kneels with his rifle up and covering his corners. He makes a hand gesture, a lowering of his hand with the palm down, indicating that others should do the same.

Lowering to one knee, Demos covers center to the side, then back again. She does not look forward, trusting Lunair and Aziza to let them know if there is a problem. Her attention remains sharply focused, even if she did return King's wink briefly.

Kulko stays far enough back throughout all this that he won't be the one to go ker-splat, if anything should go boom. When the door is opened safely, he advances forward to get a look at the map. Bites his lip, furrows his brow. Holsters his weapon. Folds his arms. All these things that are supposedly indicative of thought in the Ensign. "CIC," he says. "Easily secured, if there are any survivors. Shows us what went wrong, if not. And should give us a gander at what we're liable to come across on the restricted decks."

Aziza turns her wrist, and briefly checks the rad bracelet strapped around her forearm. Huh. Then her eyes are back on the platoon Commander, and the hatch being hauled open. She waves her squad back a few paces, and pops a squat, rifle hoisted in the direction of the widening crack. And.. nothing. A slightly shaky breath is blown out her nose, a roll of her shoulders, and she moves back in on point with her rifle still up.

Back to the task of monitoring a whole lotta nothing, Bootstrap drily points out, "All the more reason to cut the power." Which is something he lacks the time to do, at this juncture.

[TAC2] "Charlie Two One Actual" Aziza says, "Looks clear, sir."

Squint. Lunair prefers not to think of anyone getting blown up. She's a softy that way. A look over the map then to the Kulko, who answers before she askss a nod. "Alright. We'll go to CIC first. Any clues from there we'll follow, otherwise we'll comb through for survivors if nothing points us a different way. Medical will be second." Then combing. Yeah. It's not /incredibly/ assertive just yet, but the JG is at least taking small hops towards true charging. Deep breath. It does seem like she would appreciate any flaws that a 5 year old could spot being pointed out. She listens for a moment, and if none object, will start off towards CIC.

[TAC2] Lunair says, "CIC first, then medical. If neither points us for sure, we'll comb for survivors. Survivors would be priority, but if you can salvage something, we'll deal with it later."

[TAC2] (from "Beer" Tucana) Stenson calls out, "Copy sir." The Lance Corporal then falls silent.

[TAC2] "Able Three One Actual" Demos says, "Copy, sir."

Pvt Trista isn't far from Aziza, and continues to move along quietly, keeping low. She, unlike some of the others, pays her rad indicator no mind, more concerned with the weapon she carries, and enemies she can see than radiation. Someone else will surely notice if things get wonky in that way, right? Right. She gnaws on a stick of gum quietly, silently blowing bubbles of moderate size.

If there are no further objections, the team starts making its way up the metal stairwell, the only sounds to be heard the ghostly echoes of bootsteps against the metal stairs. One might note that the resin patterns are uneven, and here, and there. Finally, as you round engineering, there's a body. A human body. One that looks like it was shredded with gunfire as well as cut up with something resembling a machete. He's dressed in Colonial duty greens, and bears the rank of PO2. The bloody nametag on his fatigues reads 'Arbenz.'

As the order comes to head up to CIC first, Demos glances back for a fraction of a second. Unfortunately, she spots the unarmed, pondering Ensign. Poor Kulko. She inhales a slow breath and releases it just as slowly. Once the others head up the stairs, she nods to King and fades up herself.

Stavrian remains in place in their moving formation, used to this phase of marine maze-crawling. Slightly on edge, still with that feeling of prickles at the back of his neck, he comes to a stop as they round the corner onto an unfortunate dead human being. His head moves forward a little, brows drawing, and he takes a few steps closer to the body, glancing it over.

<FS3> Lunair rolls Alertness: Failure.
<FS3> Kulko rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> Krysesi rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Demos rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Silas rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> King rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Aziza rolls Alertness: Bad Failure.

Anyone who is paying attention will notice something. His dog tags are gone. Also, his eyes were carefully closed.

Kulko proceeds along with the group, drawing his sidearm again as they proceed. He stops beside Arbenz' body momentarily, looking over the injuries, and finally rummaging around beneath the Petty Officer's fatigues to rip off his dogtags. But he finds nothing! This is surprising! Kulko looks up to whoever is nearby, presumably Demos. "Someone's been here. Someone who gives a frak about civility. Someone human."

Krysesi lifts her rifle back up and follows along. The tiny, feral PO is blending in with the marines, until she breaks off to inspect the body. Kneeling down, she frowns for a moment, then reports, "Eyes are closed, someone took his tags."

"I'll never eat chopped steak again," Silas mutters under her breath.

King is the last man to move. He covers Demos' rear after she starts to move. For his part, he simply stands up and starts to walk backwards through the door. "Probably survivors." He says, commenting on the POs body. "Careful, they may be…not happy. Do we know about the ships emergency rations?" Odd question, but that's what he's here for.

Stavrian says nothing as peple swarm onto the body. His attention's less on the man's face than on the 'machete' marks, lips in a thin frown. Attention then flickers to those closed eyes and he crouches down, nudging the edge of the body's shirt up for a quicker look at the actual wounds.

Perhaps Lunair is distracted by the wrongness of it. It takes her a moment. But she's a good listener. A blink at Kulko, "what… really?" She leans over to look, hearing. "So-" So that might mean people. "Or someone respected him enough to do so." She takes a deep breath. "No, not that I know of. We can check hydroponics afterwards. But it'll probably have to be checked for radiation too. Good call though," A nod at King and perhaps Demos too. Another slow breath.

[TAC2] Lunair says, "We'll keep going towards CIC. Say a prayer for this man if you are inclined to. I wish that we could carry him back, but for now - unless we've space - it is on the backburner. *Her voice seems troubled, but it leaks through for only a second before her calm, almost elevator-lady like voice continues* After medical, we'll comb through to Hydroponics and storage. We'll hope to the Lords for survivors, but if not at least perhaps supplies. Eyes open. If you spot something and I do not, please bring it to my attention."

Hope you like hiking. Yuppies on Caprica used to PAY to climb stairs like these. About two minutes up between engineering and CIC there's another body. This time — Cylon. A single one, with enough bulletholes in its metal frame to make it leak every kind of fluid it's got. If it had it.

Aziza creeps along the corridor, a little abreast of Lunair, her rifle held at the ready. She, of course, is one of the first to spot the mutilated body, and swoops her rifle over it briefly, but doesn't stop long enough to spot the missing tags. Onward, her boots hitting the deck with a steady klunk, klunk, klunk.

When she joins with the rest of the team, Demos takes a moment to look at the body. She grunts a faint 'huh', then nods to Kulko and Krysesi, "Seems like." Her gaze flickers out then to Engineering to see if there are other signs of life. As usual, the woman's rifle leads her gaze. She nods to the Lieutenant, then falls back into her place keeping the rear guard with King.

Kulko rises from his haunches, returning to his proper place in the middle of the procession. Onwards they go. "Looks like they put up a helluva fight," he notes.

Ick. Cylon juices. Lunair will permit just a moment for pause and/or prayer, then clamber on. It's hardly easy to leave human bodies behind, but such is one of the soul numbing tasks. If no one protests, along they go.

Part of an NCOs job is to say 'shut up'. So King does that. Now. "We don't have time to chat. Keep moving." Yay authority. He covers the rear, even walking backwards up the stairs. The whole way. Marines can be kind of hardcore sometime.

Stavrian has the dark cloud of something troubled in his expression. As the crowd of Marines starts to move again, he lingers just long enough to murmur some prayer under his breath before he stands again, and follows on. As they come to the second body — this one metallic — he looks down at it as if searching for something. And then moves on.

Silas makes her way past the body, reaches up, and removes the gum from her mouth. She reaches down, and sticks it to the boot of the fallen soldier. "Later gator." That was probably her version of an offering. Or she's a twisted little shit. Dealer's choice.

The ground between the fallen Cylon and the CIC Hatch is clear, for the most part. Nothing here but more brief signs of scuffle. When you make it to the hatch, it stands there, sealed. There is a /lot/ of resin on the wall surrounding it, but it hasn't sealed the door or anything. That was carefully untouched. L.C. Stenson dutifully takes point and stands at the door. "Ready when you are, sirs."

Kulko forms up, far enough away from the door to keep the bodyguards - er, marines - happy, and checks his sidearm. Yup, still loaded. Rock and roll.

Also - the fluctuating rad levels increase a little the further up you go. Not at 'warning' levels yet, but you probably won't want to camp here for months on end.

A hand signal. Don't get too close. Not yet. Pause for now. Lunair might well be three ducks in an officer suit, but part of /her/ job is to control her bearing almost fully. If she bugs out, others tend to follow. Such is life. She nods at L.C Stenson then. She does however, try to keep people out of immediate blast radius should the door be rigged or have guns awaiting.

[TAC2] Lunair says, "Alright, go ahead and check the door, engineers."

Aziza twists, and flattens her back to one of the walls as they reach the hatch to CIC. Her rifle's checked, a quick prayer said — owing to the last time they breached one of these things — and the muzzle aimed at the door while she waits for the Lieutenant's orders.

When they get to CIC, Demos nods once more to King. She moves back to one side, her back to the bulkhead. Sinking to he knee, she steadies her rifle. Rather than aiming in, she is aiming back the way they came. Swallowing, she glances for a second to get everyone's position, then refocuses back behind them.

King is, of course, hanging back with Demos. His movements neatly mirror hers. It's not cute or flattery. Just training.

Stavrian notices that resin again, that pulling the thin frown back on his face. Sample already collected, he doesn't move for anymore. Eyes turn to the engineers working at the door, rifle ready.

Stenson nods his assent as he puts his rifle up in one hand and starts to turn the hatch slowly, slowly, slowly. It creaks, and opens up. Specialist Lurtz is there beside him after she examines the door. Wheel of hatch, turn turn turn. He pops it open slowly and turns. The gateway to the CIC level's hallway flickers more than any of the lights have previously, it's hard to see. He steps in and there's a sound. A large 'THUMP' and everything happens so quickly. The form of a Cylon Centurion, its red eye flickering angrily(and not at any discernable rhythm) glides forward and Stenson doesn't even time to shout as he's pushed back and utters a horrible, gurgling scream as the centurion jams out a clawed hand with enough force to flat-out impale the poor marine, pushing him back, he also knocks Lurtz on her ass in the process as she tumbles half-over the railing(but still hanging on) with shout of alarm. The still-impaled marine is held up like a shield as the Cylon charges forward.

Shit. Shitshitshit. In the kerfuffle of Centurion stabbing Corporal tripping over engineer, Aziza has her rifle up.. but doesn't dare squeeze off a shot without a clear line of sight. She shuffles away from the wall, keeping low so as not to draw any friendly fire, and tries to get a biiiit closer.

"Catch her!" Lunair isn't quite near enough to grab poor Lurtz, but - oh gods, everything goes so fast it's hard to process. Either way, it's time to lead by example. She stands in point. She stands in a shooting stance then, prepared to guard those in the middle. She hefts her rifle and stands then. RAWR.

The Centurion charges forth, raising its other gun-bearing arm and stares down angrily at its target. To add insult to injury, it's using poor Stenson's writhing,screaming body as a shield. If you shoot the Cylon, you'll probably shoot him too. Not that it matters. It strides forth.

Dear gods. Stavrian may have been tensely ready for…/something/. But not quite that. His body jerks in surprise as the metal thing impales one of their men and charges them, using a marine as a literal meatshield. The rifle butt's jammed against his shoulder, first clear shot lined up.

Krysesi has her rifle up and draws a bead. If it's just a robot, it's not a violation of whatever oaths to attack first, right? They're not going to get Stenson back to the ship in time to fix the gaping hole in his chest.

"Holy frak!" With that lucid observation out of the way, a moment goes by before Kulko takes action. The ensign assumes a shooting stance - one foot perpendicular to the other, shooting hand supported by off-arm, and lets loose with his revolver.

Oh poopie! When the Cent makes a move on her fellow marines, and treats one to a stabbing worthy of a portly arts patron reconnoitering adjacent the tray of cheese cubes, Silas' weapon comes up and she takes a knee. She doesn't take the time to process the horror of what just happened, instead looking for a firing solution with which to put the rabid robot down.

Bootes, the other engineer jumps back wildly and drops his rad tool, drawing his pistol, his hands shaking. He looks too nervous to fire.

Demos keeps her gaze focused forward, covering the way they came, even though she definitly hears her fellow marine scream. It is one of those sounds that haunts her nights. She breaths in, then out, her rifle remaining steadily pressed to her shoulder.

King is going to continue covering the rear. And why not? He's in imminent danger, but he knows to keep in his lane. "Steady…" He says to Demos. Probably not necessary really. He does keep an eye turned back that way.

The concentrated hail of gunfire manages to do two things - put poor Stenson out of his misery as some of the shots go /through/ him in a sickening hail, tearing chunks out of the Centurion as well. It gets some shots off at Silas, center mass before it's knocked back and falls to the ground, taking the Marine's corpse with him. Meanwhile poor Lurtz struggles to find her way up. Holding out a hand. "FRAAAK!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

Everything is now still. But you have a short walk to CIC, no doubt. One thing's clear - this place is still occupied.

It's been a while since Kulko's let rounds fly at anything that wasn't 25 yards downrange and hanging from a wire. Still, his first and only shot rings true, passing through the deceased Corporal on its way to puncturing the Centurion's chest armor. The ensign is motionless, keeping his weapon trained on the Cylon. "Is it… is it dead?"

"Focus fire!" To the normally non-combatant types. At any rate, for better or worse - Lunair resembles the officers of old, taking point and standing right in front of the damn stabby thing. Rawr! Lead by example (Sometimes of what NOT to do). She takes a good chunk out of the cylon. A horrified expression crosses her face seeing Silas shot and - oh poor Lurtz. The officer is going to scoot towards her to help pull the poor woman up, offering arms and shoulders. "H-here. I think so."

Stavrian swears under his breath, the words nothing close to the common Standard dialect. He lowers his rifle, barely, just so that it's not in danger of going off while aimed at a living person. "Anyone hurt? Sound off."

"Ow, Motherfrakker. My tits are tiny. HOW THE FRAK DID YOU HIT ONE!" Silas' usually quiet voice virtually booms out of her body, some time after the spray of fire. She has to, you see, suck some breath in after the round slammed into her armor. "I'm sorry, leftie," comes a soft murmur. She tears up a little, clutching the left upper side of her vest, but doesn't seem to be spouting blood or anything. She actually gets up on her own, rifle still in hand, pointed to the deck. She probably didn't mean to sound off so loudly and lengthily.

King is a practical man. "Sergeant Kohl." He says to Aziza. "Put a few more rounds in it's head. And someone pull Stenson off of that thing."

"We might have to set up a CCP" He adds as an afterthought. He's hoping not.

" Frakking..Ugh. Thanks, LT." Lurtz blurts out in fright. She gets pulled to her feet and looks over at the mess. "Oh my -gods.-" She stares in horror at the impaled Marine. "He was just…Now he's not." That's all she says. "Now he's not." Meanwhile Bootes steadies his shaking hand, putting his gun down. Poor Stenson got stuffed in the proverbial fridge.

<FS3> Lunair rolls Alertness: Failure.
<FS3> Kulko rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> King rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Silas rolls Alertness-10: Success.
<FS3> Krysesi rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Demos rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Aziza rolls Alertness: Success.

Krysesi moves forward and kneels down next to the fallen Marine, frowning slightly. The corpsman reaches over to close his eyes, then grabs his tags and gives them a sharp tug.

Aziza scrambles to the left, still crouching, as all seven feet of the tincan goes down with a monstrous CLANG. And a squish, as poor Stenson sort of topples over its 'dead body'. Her head jerks around briefly as the platoon Sergeant gives her an order, and then she rolls fluidly to her feet and marches right on up to the tin soldier. Stenson isn't even glanced at as she points the muzzle of her rifle point blank against the centurion's head— and fires. A short burst, three shots.

Stavrian lets the Marines deal with the fallen metal, and Krysesi with the unfortunate dead's body. "Hold still a second, Private." That's to Silas, as he pulls open the top flap of the main medical kit strapped against his right side. "Let me stop this bleeding."

Stavrian treats Silas:
< Chest (Moderate): successful

Demos waits until she hears the others begin to move toward CIC. Then, she rises and backs toward the entrance, rifle still leading her gaze. "Stay alert, please. Just because one of the frackers is ended does not mean it was alone."

Also, anyone who isn't Lunair(who was busy with Lurtz), no doubt, is going to hear something behind the open and forced hatch. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thud. Thund. Clank. Clank. It's erratic though.

Silas' voice is very small when Stavrian addresses her. She nods, solemnly, and holds still for the bandaging. "Ok." Sniffle.


A nod and a gentle pat on the shoulder. She blinks at Silas, the shock of seeing one of her men die in front of her the first time flashing across her face now. But - such is the cost of nobility. Lunair's demeanor shifts only ofr a second before returning to a quietly assertive presence. Never let 'em see you cry, even if Lunair'd happily curl up somewhere. She stuffs the urge into a quiet ball somewhere. She nods. "Right," She is distracted with Lurtz. She checks over the woman for injuries. Bootes gets a little reassuring look too. "It's alright, you're fine. Head up, eyes open." She's offering some praise. Then a pause. "I - let's move back a little. Somewhere without railings. Get off these damn stairs before someone breaks their neck." At least, those near the railings. She doesn't notice the clanking yet. "We'll wait a moment, if nothing comes, we'll go back up." She looks to the others at the decision to use the big landing rather than the stairs themselves.
You paged Demos with 'My family is rather progressive; just not into partying, screwing, etc.'

To writ - the shock of seeing one injured and another killed. Lunair's typist has been sacked.

"Shit." Stavrian mutters to himself. His hands work fast on Silas' new bandages, not quite as solid as he would've liked but it's becoming quite obvious that they just don't have time. The wound's dusted with a tiny packet of powder to staunch the worst of the bleeding, gauze pressed tightly to it. He's already stuffing the leftovers back into his pack as he talks. "That'll have to do."

That thumping is in the hallways beyond. It gets closer. There likely isn't much time until they start coming.

Kulko advances cautiously. But not very far. For obvious, metallic reasons. "Is that… another one?" He's looking to Demos, now. Who has demonstrated a capacity for alertness. The ensign, for his part, has lost any measure of command authority in his voice. Those things are /real/.

King just goes ahead and contradicts Lunair. And why not? "We've got contact, coming up the stairs. They probably heard the shots. Move into CIC, take up defensive positions. Now." He gives the orders, because well…He's Staff Sergeant King and it's what he likes to do.

Demos nods to King, then turns to Kulko, "At least one. I cannot say for certain how many. We need to be able to limit the number that can get at us. CIC is good because it is a natural choke point. With luck we can cycle those with guns, if necessary, though I hope that there are not that many. The landing is not bad, either, but it allows access from above and below without much in the way of cover. Now, Ensign?" She waits a moment, then motions into CIC, "Move." She offers Lunair a somewhat apologetic look, but stands with the Staff Sergeant this time.

"Right," Lunair just eyes King dolefully a moment. A sigh and she nods. "Let's get there then. Go." She'll move then to make sure there's herself and cover between MEANBAD MCTOASTER and the others. Occifers in the front and all.

"Uh… sir? We got company." That's from Aziza, as she hears the erratic thumping and clanging of what's like as not to be robot footsteps on the stairs. She doesn't have time to worry about the marine lying there, eviscerated, in a pool of his own blood. Not now. Maybe on the way back out. "I suggest pull back to the landing. Ain't gonna be no good, tryin' to fight in the stairwell." She's already beginning to back up slowly.

"I'm ok. I got worse last time," Silas finally says to Stavrian, calming down after the initial shock and pain episode. The private smacks her own helmet, and shakes her head a little short black pigtails protruding form under the helmet are almost jaunty once more. Wade through death and enemies, and have nightmares about it later.

Demos nods to Lunair, then turns to Kulko, "At least one. I cannot say for certain how many. We need to be able to limit the number that can get at us, so retreating to the landing is a good move." She glances at King, then angles her head toward the landing, "Move, Ensign. It is best not to stand around." Turning, she starts down toward the landing to give those closer to CIC a chance to get off the stairs.

King growls. "We got no frakkin' cover out here." He is on his feet again, looking about for a better position. He moves with Demos as he says, "The hatch can act as a chokepoint, cyphon them through there and give them a hail of gunfire to deal with."

Stavrian eyes the Marine struggle for a moment. But only a moment, as he's quite happy to get the frak moving once they've decided where they're going. Rifle back up, his eyes flicker to the dead man under the cylon hunk and his jaw tenses…and then he starts moving, towards the landing.

Lunair still works to keep herself between the thumpings and her peeps. Lead by example of what not to do and what to do. Mostly, those bedamned railings are a hazard. A nod. "Get to cover if you can. We'll use the chokepoint failing that." fear the purple-eyed meatshield. They'll be alright. Promise. See, she's ok. Right? If only she had Cylon Tracker 3000. Then she might be wetting herself.

Kulko doesn't need to hear that twice. He heads down the stairs to the landing and bring his pistol up.

Aziza offered her opinion. She's just a lowly Sergeant, and appears inclined to do what she's told otherwise. As the order's given to head back down, she mumbles an 'oorah' under her breath, shoots King a sideways glance, and effectively switches to cover the rear of the retreat.

To the landing, then. That thumping gets closer and closer until there's contact 'round the way. Three Centurions charge fearlessly(like they know fear) at the Colonial forces after bending around the corner. Another one behind. They're moving sloppy, guns out, like they're in a raging race to get to the first human they can find. They also have claws. Look out.

When she reaches the landing, Demos nods to King, "Right." Turning, she faces CIC, then speaks calmly, "If you can't find cover, kneel. Get as low as you can. And if you are in front of another soldier, for the Lords' sake get down so everyone has a clear shot. If you are not shooting, stay low. Concentrate fire on the one coming out first."

King shouts. "Focus fire! First one in sight!" He lines up his shot and fires. Just line up the dot and squeeze. It's as easy as that.

Raaah! Cylons! … with claws. That's definitely disheartening. Regardless, Lunair braces herself and takes a rawr stance. She doesn't want to see her squad hurt. No, if there were enough of a neuron, a muscle, to twitch and pull the trigger than surely that's enough. She hefts her rifle. She doesn't protest King's shout.

King called it. It's a bit like a zombie film. If the zombies ran fast and were actually combat-effective.

Kulko gets down to one knee, as per Demos' instructions, and steadies his weapon hand on his knee. His teeth are gnawing on his lower lip, but thankfully everyone's a bit too busy to notice.

Stavrian already has his rifle trained on the first cylon he was able to get a clear shot on — the one charging for Lunair. The sight of the claws along with the guns spark something cold in his gut as he pulls the trigger.

Aziza pivots, cocks her rifle, and strafes to the right in order to get a clear line of sight on the same centurion as Stavrian. She lets loose a burst of fire, three rounds, her teeth gritted the entire time.

Once again, Silas tucks down to a low position, and raises her rifle to train it on the incoming. She thumbs the rifle to burst fire, and snuggles down to make herself a small target.

And the hits keep on coming. Or rather, start coming, as the first wave of the Centurions start pouring in. One is taken down due to a series of well-placed shots. But they keep coming. More weapon fire ensues, as more footsteps can be heard in the distance. As a wise man once said, 'Oh, Frak.'"

Bootes gets grazed in the shoulder, and he yelps out. "YOU WANT THIS? YOU WANT THIS? FRAKKER DIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!" Lurtz is still disoriented and raises her weapon to try to get a shot.

And poor King was the unlucky recipient of fire.

One shot, one CLINK. Kulko keeps count in his head, hoping to avoid that awful click of a hammer on an empty cylinder. He turns his attention to the next Cylon through the door, draws a deep breath, exhales halfway, and squeezes the trigger. Just like dear old Dad taught him.

Stavrian's rifle is down once the shot is off, his bullet having pinged off the thing's neck. He sets off at a sprint towards King, the source of the greatest amount of blood spatter that he just saw fly up from the party. No time for ignoble deaths these days.

All three shots from Aziza, aggravatingly enough, simply ping off the bugger's shiny metal skin. With a soft growl under her breath, and a bark of "man down!" the Sergeant takes a knee, and adjusts her aim slightly. Another bullet's ratched into the chamber, and she fires.

Demos keeps firing until the Centurian goes down. When it falls, she calls, "Fire at the nearest!" (Cent1) Turning, she tries to ignore King's wounds, for the medic is hear. Rather, she focuses on his attacker and fires.

Lunair is actcually a fair shot. She manages to clip the thing in the neck. No night at the Ritz for it! "Good shooting," She praises them quietly. A look of horror though, crosses her face as King falls. It's enough of a distraction that she's pinged in the chest and coughs. "Ow!" Well, if she can't aim, then she can rain Hell down onthe toasters.

Silas seems to find the burst fire option lacking. Without Arkat around to mow the lawn, the little private takes it upon herself to assist her fellow combatants in setting the stage for the incoming enemy. "Come and get it, you shiny fraks."

The Butcher of Picon Anchorage finally gets it. A round from the Centurions tears through the flesh of his left arm, shattering the bone underneath. The pain warrants a very necessary "Frak…" And his eyes start to roll back, threatening to lose conciousness. But a puny bullet isn't going to stop him. Not when there's so much other danger. He kind of growls to himself, staying concious enough to say. "Keep it focused…Next target!" However, his firing discipline (and accuracy, probably) are out the window.

Demos grits her teeth a little as the Centurians get in more hits than the marines, "Frak." The medic is going to be busy. "Focus Fire on those frakkers!" She lifts her rifle again and aims at Cent1. "Don't waste ammo on full auto."

Bootes and his angry Centurion square off and harmlessly exchange fire as Bootes flat-out loses it. He starts screaming. He fires off moar shots. MOAR. POP POP POP. "ARRRRGH!" Meanwhile, those Centurions keep pouring in, the first one seriously getting torn up. Well, one more Centurion. No more are coming. Not just yet. Unfortunately one of the centurions managed to pump a hail of cannon fire into Silas' chest with enough force that that ColonialKevlar gets punched to bits like an ancient computer.

Hie! Lunair yelps in pain as her arm is clipped a bit more now. "YAH!" She takes popshots at the Cylons, trying to avenge poor Silas. Seeing her men and women injured is taking a toll on her. She takes a deep breath and keeps her stance. More shots and a nod.

Stavrian ducks away from King, well-practiced enough in this to get out from under th arc of fire without taking a rifle muzzle to the face in the process. Just in time to see Silas go down under that fire. He has to cross some terrain full of bullet fire to get to her, and he lifts his rifle back up to cover his own movements.

King discovers that Stavrian is a talented man. "Keep it up, Doc!" He says, having gotten himself under control. He keeps up the fire, disciplining himself even through Silas getting dropped. "Bootes, get a frakking hold of yourself!" He shouts through the din of fire. But he knows not everyone is a badass like him.

Aziza's gum has no doubt been swallowed long, long ago, her teeth grinding against each other without the benefit of something tacky to sink her tension into. Her shots rip off a hunk of metal shoulder, and she's peripherally aware of another marine getting fullauto'd to the proverbial face. Some of the blood spatter hits her, and she jerks her head over her shoulder to make sure their medic's spotted this too. Then, still crouching, she locks in another round and fires again. Die, damn it.

Silas may have crouched down to make herself a smaller target, but Centurions have really mighty targeting systems. Young Trista didn't ask for aeration, but gosh darn it, those Centurions only like baby boobies on Boomers. "F—" The first sound of what was assuredly going to be an epic string of dirty Saggie leaning curses is cut off as many, many rounds rip through the armor and flesh of the young marine. One round plugs her aorta low in her body, and the other rips right through her tender young heart, center mass. The spray of high velocity spatter undoubtedly mists someone nearby, if only to their thighs, and the little brunette goes down with a thud in a heap. The blood is slow to pool, since her heart no longer beats, but her eyes remain open, pools of deep black staring up sightlessly. A rattle of bloody spittle stains her lip and chin as the last breath leaves her body. In hindsight, the 'later gator' to the dead guy was probably a karmic faux pas.

Kulko looks to his left. A Marine eats it. Looks to his right. A Marine eats it. "Raine!" he shouts, in full cinematic fashion. He's beginning to chew a little harder on his lower lip. But - his shots keep hitting the targets they're meant to, and so he keeps at it. He tries to shift positions, and - what's this? A fallen rifleman's rifle at his feet. Much better than the six shooter, which finds its way back to his hip holster. Only now Stephen has to take a moment to make sure the rifle is, you know, ready to shoot.

More chaos, killing, yelling. And it looks like one of these Centurions broke through to bring a knife to a gun fight. Its claws are out and it's hungry for blood. And it's after Aziza.

All through the chaos, the obersvant will notice one thing. These Centurions are relentless. Firing, stabbing, they are unconcerned for their own safety and just charge out of cover. They're obviously driven.

It's enough to make you come unhinged. Poor Lunair's bearing is slowly unraveling as her squad falls. She turns her weapon on Centurion 5, who seems the most dinged up. "Urah!" She turns her gun on the Cenarion number 4. Although she blinks at the fellow with the knife. Blink. It's a frozen moment in a bloody roar. "No!" Raise high the black Banner and turn your gun. Much as she wants to cry, the mists in her eyes are replaced with a cold fury.

"Shit," Aziza spits, as her rounds once again ping uselessly off the centurion, and yet another marine is veritably torn into. She slings her rifle across her back, and humps it doubletime over to the Staff Sergeant aka bullet magnet. "SARGE," she barks, dropping down into a crouch, bringing up her hand and… no she isn't… yes she is. Giving him a good hard smack on the ass. "Get back on your feet, soldier!" Hey, she could be a drill instructor with a yell like that.

Stavrian drops his rifle, fingers pressed to the side of her neck for the second or two that it takes to tell there's no heart beating in that bullet-riddled chest. "Frak." His shoulder jerks as a bullet pings off him and he stands back up, gritting his teeth and pulling rifle back to shoulder. He saw Demos but it's going to take him some steps to get over there, and in the meantime there's a cylon with /claws/.

Aziza clearly hasn't spotted that one of those centurions is on her with a vengeance, yet.

Kulko figures out how to make this 'rifle' thing work, finally. The black steel is shouldered, sighted, and trigger squeezed. He's not quite as familiar with it as the bolt-action type, but how different can it be? Right? RIGHT?

Demos fired on the centurian and when it went down, she turned to choose another target. Just as she takes aim a series of shots slam into her gut. Her finger squeezes off one shot and she staggers back and falls to one knee, one hand pressing into her own body to hold things in place. "frak."

Poor Petty Officer Lurtz fires off rounds helplessly as she gets gunned down, joining her friend who fell earlier, collapsing in a bloody heap. The medics are going to have their work cut out for them now. That's for damn sure. However, the Colonials are rallying. The rest of the troops manage to chip away at the Centurions' armor and only one, the one with the claws out stands as it takes a nasty swipe at Aziza's chest, knocking her back. That armor absorbs some of the blow though. She's still up. The Centurion turns with an angry eye towards its next target, berserk.

There are no sounds of Cylons anywhere else.

Kulko is downright amazed by how much more effective these big ole' rifle bullets are at making Cylons get dead. Really. It's enough to make one realize that sidearms are meant to be used as last resorts. Kulko rises to his feet as his target hits the deck, battle-spirits starting to flow instead of ebb. "Frak yeah!" he shouts, the tunnel-vision of the young man's first combat taking hold. He sights in on the final Cylon and squeezes off a burst.

"Oh come on." Stavrian gets out through his teeth as the centurion goes down, but not before nearly eviscerating a Marine. At least one's not that great at shooting him, all told. He sharply halts his progression towards the collection of wounded, trying to keep the centurion's fire away from them rather than draw it onto them. "One more, come on."

"Leave… her… ALOOOOOOOOONE!" Lunair howls at the damned Centurion. Whya re they hurting her squad? It's a pain to her, with each shot. She ends one clip and takes a shot again at the last berserk Cylon left. The carnage around her is causing Lunair to join the berserk Cenarion. Apparently when people hurt her underlings, it makes her /mad/. Blinking away tears and fury, "One more left. Almost!" The pain is a dull hurricane roar in her senses.

Aziza, of course, is so busy trying to shake the fluff out of King, that in the fracas she doesn't realise she's being stalked. She's pretty much resigned herself to trying to heft the man into her arms, and at least drag him somewhere off to the side where Stavrian can get to him, when the tincan bastard takes a swipe at her. The claws go right through her armour, blood pouring freely from the trio of slashmarks left behind. She stumbles back, her precarious grip on the bigger marine lost entirely as she crumples to her knees and tries to assess the damage done. No guts spilling out onto the floor. Still conscious. Dragging herself forward, she pulls herself half across King's body and aims at the last remaining centurion.

Demos grows steadily paler as her blood oozes in red stains between her fingers. Whispering imprications or prayers, she draws in a ragged breath and; grim faced, turns her rifle on the final centurian, "Die. Die. Diediediedie, Lords damn you. Die" She tries to keep her breathing under control as she squeezes three shots off in rapid succession.

Kulko is advancing methodically, now, at the edge of the landing and starting up the stairs. Rifle at his shoulder, he is oblivious to the carnage around him. His second burst hits home, same as the first. His eyes lock intently on the glowing red game of PONG being played across the Centurion's facepiece, he lines the ironsights up accordingly, and fires.

Demos licks her lips, sweat beading on her brow and dampening her dark hair. She shudders twice, then swallows. Her rifle is shifted a little and she sinks to her heels. Might be she needs the extra contact with the decking to keep from falling over. Her rifle dips for an instant, then rises again to take a bead on the centurian. Once more, she squeeses off three more shots.

It's down, but not out, folks. Down but not out. It's an ugly, ugly situation. It fires off, the Centurion does, and keeps charging forward, sweeping its weapon about. Wheel of Victims turn, turn turn. It chooses one at random.

King may not have been fully unconcious. In fact, on the AVPU scale that the military uses, it appears that he is at P-responsive to pain. When Aziza lays across him, she presses against his wound. The red hot pain surges through him and brings him back, roaring. Roaring and shooting apparently. Seems he was ready for anything, even on the edge of death.

Stavrian gets the thing in the chest this time, as it grazes his arm. Cute. As it swings away, he starts heading for that wounded pile of bloody marines again, cracking a last shot off at the roving centurion. It's got to fall sometime.

Now the medic? Lunair is poisitively seeing red. "GAH!" She takes a potshot at it. "You stupid rabid toaster!" Flail!

That last, defiant Centurion falls to the ground. Silas' killer is no more. The light flickers off in its head as it goes offline. And in the midst of the carnage, all that is left is — silence.

Bootes stands there with his gun in his hand. Combat-freezing. He's going to get a reaming, all right. "P—p-p-Penny!!!" He exclaims as he looks at the fallen Petty Officer Lurtz.

Kulko cries out as his round pierces the enemy's 'skull', as it were, and tosses the rifle to the deck. He paces quickly to the fallen enemy, draws his sidearm, and empties the last three rounds into it. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. The silence resumes. Kulko breathes heavily, and rapidly. He stares at the thing.

Stavrian drops his rifle muzzle, slinging the strap around his shoulder. His boots skid through blood, a combination of shades of dark red on the floor, and he drops to his knees near the first badly wounded Marine he get to — Demos. "Sergeant." He rips his pack open, grabbing for a small packet inside. And a hell of a lot of gauze.

Stavrian treats demos:
< Abdomen (Serious): successful

As silence falls, Demos again licks her lips. Getting dry, she is. Hearing her name, she looks up and tries a smile, "Hey, sir." She lowers her rifle slowly, keeping the muzzle away from people. Then, she lowers her hand to let the medic work his magic.

Is it over? Yes, seems that way. "Frak…" comes the groan of Staff Sergeant Jeremiah King (The Butcher of Picon Anchorage). Seems him and Anchorages don't get along. He flicks the rifle to safe (safety first) and he lowers his head and rifle while he lays on his back. "Sergeant Kohl…please get off of me."

A deep breath. Poor Bootes. Lunair looks sympathetic. Her face - her bearing is cracking. "I think… we will run for salvage and things - later. This is … this is enough," She's shivering. There's horror, rage and the helpless frustration in her eyes though. Tough to hide those. Now she notices she appears to be leaking. Oh. And there's blood running down her face. She puts a hand to it. Someone got shot in the head. She doesn't look so good now. Her helmet is dinged and there's redness beneath. "… sound good? We'll — carry who we can."

Aziza's way ahead of him. She rolls off the instant the last centurion goes down, rifle still held close to her body, with her free hand pressed to the seeping gut wound she's sporting. Patience is a virtue, but so is a medic with quick hands. She pants, bleeds, and pretty much waits to be tended to.

Stavrian gives Demos a thin smile back, pressing his hands down on the wound to her gut. Strength in the shoulders, no mercy shown to leaky blood vessels. A packet of powder's ripped open with his teeth, dusted over the wound to help stop the worst of the bleeding. "We got you, Sergeant. I got to get Kohl. Just lie still, we're going to get you back."

Stavrian treats Lunair:
< Right_Arm (Moderate): successful
< Head (Moderate): successful

Stavrian treats Aziza:
< Abdomen (Serious): successful

Stavrian treats King:
< Chest (Moderate): successful

Demos winces, but does not cry out when Stavrian presses on her wound. A gasp and she nods, "I'm good, sir." It's the Marine thing. Although she does flip the safety on her rifle into position, she does not move to rise. "Just… Gimme a sec." That she is not speaking clearly should give anyone who knows her a clue as to her situation.

Kulko finishes staring. Kicks the Cylon, once. Holsters his sidearm, and resumes something approaching a normal demeanor. He looks around at the grisly scene, and walks carefully to where Lunair stands, trying to avoid stepping on anyone. He looks her over appraisingly. "You alright?" he queries, before keying up his suit radio.

[TAC3] Kulko says, "Harrier 307, boarding party. Request any available manpower, report to CIC deck, on the bounce."

"Don't move." Stavrian sets his hand against Demos' cheek. "Just stay still. I'll be right back." He's already getting up, knees soaked with two dark circles of someone's blood. Aziza's next, for much the same treatment. Stop bleeding, stop shock.

"Aw frak…I was afraid of that" Marko says, starting at the sudden transmission from the boarding party. He'd heard bits and pieces from their comms, but the long silence hasn't done his nerves any good. "That doesn't sound encouraging, Bunny." he says as he unstrap's himself from his station and snags the bird's med kit. "Boots, Flasher, you copy that transmission?"

Stavrian treats Stavrian:
< Chest (Light): successful
< Head (Light): successful
< Right_Arm (Light): successful

Is that red goo in her helmet? Ew. Poor Lunair. that' s gonna reek soon. She looks to Kulko, in a daze. "Yeah. I'm fine. We can evac the wounded… salvage what we can." She coughs a little. "we don't have to salvage everything now I don't think. Okay?" She looks to the others. "I don't know though - Let's get the woudned out now. Deal with salvage soon. This anchorage is not going anywhere and I don't want to run into more Cylons in this state."

[TAC3] "Bootstrap" Trask says, "Team, Bootstrap. Security detail is en route."

[TAC3] Kulko says, "Bootstrap, boarding party. Gods bless. See you soon."

Demos lifts a hand to just touch her cheek lightly. She twitches a smile after the medic, then turns her head at least in an attempt to keep an eye out. Unfortunatly, she spots Silas' body. Softly, mouth moving in near silence, she whispers a prayer for the young woman's safe passage to whatever comes next. Seems the athiestic Marine has started to believe.

Evandreus unfastens, at the communications, and clambors on back from the cockpit, stretching his legs and back on his way. "Let's get the cotstraps out and prepped in case someone needs to lie down on the way back," he tells Marko quietly, heading to the starboard bulkhead and getting ready to take on casualties.

Marko nods and starts to assist, prepping the cramped passenger space to carry as many litters as it can. "This went well," he grumbles sarcastically.

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