PHD #016: Salvage Aftermath
Salvage Aftermath
Summary: Back on Cerberus after the salvage mission in the Virgon debris field.
Date: 14 Mar 2041 AE
Related Logs: Tug of War
Alessandra Atreus Bell Cidra Damon Evandreus Laskaris Malone Rojas Sitka Tisiphone Zosime 
Hangar Deck - Port / Midship - Battlestar Cerberus
The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication.
Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close (Post Holocaust Day: #16)

Cidra touched down on the Cerberus in reasonably safe shape, apart from a singe to her Harrier from the Raiders earlier. She's out of it, getting to an intercom as quick as she can to ring up Medical for Laskaris. And…perhaps more than Laskaris. She has a fair view of the Vipers and their…dramatic reentry. She pales, staring with something akin to horror.

Atreus must have heard the caucophony of the landings. He exits his office at a run that fads to a walk as horror erases his mask of concern. "Frak." The walk stops and he stands out of the way as the debris skitters from the landing area all over the place. "What the frak… Is everyone alright?"

One of those 'Vipers' would be Spanner's. The damage from the blast coupled with the fact he had only one functioning engine to begin with meaning there's a crumpled mess where the nose should be, holes the size of a man's fist through the wing, and it's 'wearing' part of a Frigate's support girder as a necklace. As a nice bonus, the canopy stays closed, flight-suited occupant unmoving.

Bell is practically hissing as the medtechs haul him down out of the Raptor and onto his gurney. "Everything had to go to Hades right at the end, didn't it?" He doesn't even have a Viper to bring home, and his flight suit sports some nifty burn marks.

One of the first to land, due to his relatively close proximity to the ship, Sitka's fighter is towed into position without so much as a scratch on it. The canopy is lifted after a few moments, and the pilot inside unbuckles his harness with shaking hands. His helmet is tugged off with him halfway down the ladder, boots hitting the deck with a noisy clang, then taking him in a restless pace two feet fore and two feet aft of his viper. The Captain is not a happy camper, though the frustration appears to be directed inward rather than out.

The Viper that Lucky was flying didn't fare so well when it came to the landing, the damage it took during the combat enough to render it's hydraulics pretty useless. The landing skids can't lock fully into place which causes it to go slipping along the landing deck in a shower of sparks and a few flames in here, that enough to render the plane pretty damn frakked. Allie comes out of it physically unscathed, surprisingly, but her nerves are shot, making getting out of the wrecked bird difficult for a while.

Atreus shakes his head, then moves to the intercom himself. When Cidra is finished, he punches it to all-call on the deck, "Action stations. Action stations. Deck craft handler and fire teams report to your birds. This is not a drill." Turning, he nods to Cidra, "Major. Welcome back." Grim faced, he jogs off to join the team he heads.

Evandreus sits up front in his bird as it's towed into place, the other Raptors he'd been towing detached from his towlines and his boat put back into its place on deck. He opens up the hatch, then, and lets Stiffy have the job of herding the EVA crew down onto the deck while Evan goes through post-flight, puts the boat into standby, and closes his eyes for a moment to gather himself. It's the end of the world. We're all going to die, soon. If someone didn't make it back… it's only to be expected. He says these things to himself, over and over again, while he removes his helmet and unfastens his harness. Only when his cabin is empty does he crawl back out from the cockpit and look the place over for stragglers. Seeing none… some good minutes later… he steps onto the wing, himself, and jumps down.

Lasher has to be helped out of the Raptor, his face contorted in pain as he walks. That'll be from the burns, most likely. Whatever happened to him out there, though, he's at least on two feet, despite the angry squawks of the medical personnel. He holds the medics at bay with a rude non sequitur, however, as he leans against the Raptor's wing for support. A Look is directed towards the other Vipers, the Knights in particular. He looks as though he wants to say something, but finally the medics will no longer brook no for an answer, as he's gently pushed onto a gurney.

"My thanks, Chief," Cidra replies in kind to Atreus, her own expression grim. Though, like Sitka, her frustration seems directed half-inward as much as anywhere else. And is overshadowed by dealing with the injury and vehicular fall-out at the moment.

Damon emerges from Cidra's Raptor, pulling off his helmet as he clears the hatch. Immediately, the pungent smell of vomit escapes the seal - and it's no surprise, since his head is covered in it. He can't even pretend to move with a sense of urgency in that EVA suit, but at least he doesn't look damaged. "Frak," he coughs, still breathing through his mouth. One of the knuckledraggers passes him a towel, and he starts cleaning himself off as best he can. Not that it's gonna make much of a difference.

Having been ushered out by Stiffy, Toots has removed her helmet by this point. She looks around, all wide-eyed and horrified. Walking a step or two out toward the deck, she stands to one side of the wing nearest the cockpit. The pieces that skitter and jump across the deck that used to be vipers tear at her gut, "Oh, no. Oh, babies, no." That is when she spots Evan, her rescuer. Relief hits as hard as horror, "Wait, wait. You saved me! You swooped over and saved me! I owe you my life." As she speaks, the deckie hurries over to the hapless pilot. Without thinking about it or consequences, she reaches up to catch the man by the shoulders, planting a kiss right on his mouth.

Bowling for Ensigns? Not such a good idea. Tisiphone's Viper is a bullet-peppered crumple left behind in Virgon orbit. The pilot within was pried free of the wreckage by one of the SAR Raptor crews. Which one? She's in no condition to say. One of her arms is bending in directions no human arm ought to bend, and her flightsuit is charred and torn in several spots. When her helmet's removed, there's a lot of blood. Head wounds. You know how they are. No missing eyes, no severed limbs, no spine poking up from behind her shoulders. And she's breathing. All things considered, it could be worse.

Though she doesn't have to be helped out of the Raptor, like Lasher, Zosime does get out on shaky legs. She's careful to not slip on the pool of vomit and the immediate smell of Damon and his helmet makes the PO turn slightly green. It looks like she may throw up again, but she manages to clench her jaw and twist just slightly in order to get Damon downwind of her nose. The board she had extracted from one of the damaged Vipers is still clenched absently in her hand - she never really let go of it - and she has basically has forgotten it's still there.

Helmet off, Allie reaches up to rub her forehead only to blink when the tips of those fingers come away a little sticky and a tiny bit red. Tiny scratch but even the smallest cuts on the face or head bleed like a mofo. "Guess I'll go get that cleaned up." Does she notice the look Lasher gives her and the others? Nope but she's busy trying to get herself wherever it is she should be.

With a creak, and a groan, Rojas' Mark II finally gives up what little dignity it has, left landing strut folding inwards on itself as the Viper tilts down onto it's wing. That's enough to wake the pilot inside up, canopy… half opening. Commence pilot sliding down in his chair and kicking it the rest of the way with pained grunts and a little aid from the deck crew. On the upside, he doesn't need a ladder to get out anymore, so he just falls the short distance to the floor, tearing away his helmet with the badly-cracked visor with his right hand while the left arm hangs limply by his side.

One of those that gets a trip to the sickbay, in the category 'Broken, battered and bruised' would be Malone, who's being brought in by one of the SAR Raptor crews. He's conscious, although the Raptor crew can tell the medical folks that he was far from that, a little while back. He's also got some bad burns in the area around the abdomen and legs, in addition to a left arm hanging limp at the side, from what looks like a broken collarbone. "Need a bucket," he mutters as he's being carried out of that Raptor. Wincing as the words come out. That hurts…

Bell, as he rolls by Shiv, takes a halfhearted swing at the Petrel squadron leader. "One step forward, two steps back, Abe?"

Evandreus clutches his helmet under one arm, and lifts his other hand, beginning to shake his head blearily at Toots' going on about getting rescued. But before he can say much his mouth has another mouth attached to it— he drops his helmet, hands held up and back away from the woman as if he were being held up at gunpoint rather than smooched on, and then he turns his head aside and takes a half-step back, "Woah, it's… fine, guy," he keeps his hands lifted a little in an awkward posture. "Glad we could help." For all that he speaks of being glad, he still sounds mildly haunted.

Cidra speaks with one of the medics as the pilots are hauled out of the wreckage, face still pale and drawn very tight, but she nods to him with a modicum of relief. Everyone's alive, at least. Well, apart from that poor, nameless Deckhand who got blown away while on salvage, way back at the beginning of all this.

Sitka's dodge is also pretty halfhearted, as Bell rolls by. The squadron leader does not look to be in good spirits, which shouldn't be too terribly surprising. He grunts something unintelligible at the Lieutenant, and skims his eyes over his squadmate assessingly. "Make sure you stop by sickbay, on your way up," he tells him quietly. It doesn't really have the snap of an order; concern for a friend is heavy in his voice, and the furrow of his brows.

When the pilot pulls back, Toots releases him, though she does clasp her hands in front of him and bats her lashes in a wholely melodramatic way, "My hero." More soberly, she drops her hands and almost has the grace to blush but not quite, "I'd've been dead without you being there. So, yeah. Thanks." Turning, probably oblivious to the man's discomfort, she scoots off into the crowd to look for Damon and Zosime then is caught up by orders to assist with her fire prevention team.

Bell doesn't look like he'll have much of a choice; after the exchange is concluded, the medtechs wheel the Lieutenant away. "See if you can't stop by the library later and grab me something to pass the time," he requests as he's carted off.

"All right, let's… let's get this shit together," Damon says to the Deck crew that went on the mission. He can't even sound enthused about it - they've probably lost so much more than they salvaged. But they've at least got to see it through to the end. Tossing the now-disgusting towel into his disgusting helmet, he sets it aside and starts unsuiting. "We'll put it off to the side for now and help with the…" A gesture to the chaos of the hangar bay floor.

Cidra gets her post-flight done on her Raptor once she's counted heads, posture still rigid as anything. The craft's hull is fine, though it's floor will probably need to be hosed. Poor Deck Crew.

Evandreus has the good grace to wait until Toots is mingling with the crowd of her own peers to turn around and wipe his mouth off with his hand, shoulders bent and face drawn in something that might be a grimace… of disgust? Or are those tears coming? His other hand rests against the hull of his boat as themedical teams take off pilot after pilot. Someone get this man a stuffed rabbit.

"Will do," Ibrahim tosses back, trailing his eyes after his injured pilot a couple of steps, before he's lost to the press of milling crew. A sigh's blown out his nose, and he turns as a technician taps him on the shoulder with his post-flight checklist. Work, work. He fumbles for a pen, clicks it on, and gets to it in silence. The occasional glance is cut across the 'bay to where Cidra's getting her own checklist done, though he doesn't approach just yet.

Though still pale and looking worse for wear, Zosime nods at Damon's orders. She doesn't feel like she has the voice to say anything else immediately. While there are already deckies scattering about this way and that in order to pick up pieces and help the pilots get to where they need to go, she feels the need to do what she can, as well. "Ch-chief's not gonna be happy," she asides to Damon in a shaky voice. Putting her helmet to the side, she walks off on shaky legs to help another handler. "Hey hey hey, you con't put that there." While she certainly doesn't have the authority in her tone that she normally does, as long as she's working she doesn't have to think about what just happened.

Rojas looks like a bomb went off in his face. Oh wait. More than a little dazed, it takes a few seconds for the view on the deck to sink in, eyes lidding heavily as he slowly regains focus on… Well, wreckage. His right hand combs through his hair in a display of minor shock before he catches sight of his Squadron leader. If he's noticed the blood seeping out of a few slashes in the leg of his flight suit, he's not noticed. Same goes with the burned glove of his left hand. And the loosly-hanging left arm, shoulder leaving the socket when he landed. All of it's ignored as he makes his way over. Body is screaming that he needs to limp, Brain is forgetting to ask why.

Once Damon's unsuited - which takes a while to get everything off - he takes a deep breath and looks around. "No, he isn't," he replies grimly to Zosime. "Can't do anything about it now. You should go get yourself cleaned up, wind down a bit. Grab anyone you see that was on the mission, too." Telling them to assist with the recovery and repairs when they've been through so much already was a bad call, and at least he's realizing that sooner than later. "We've got enough people here, and Gods know I need a shower right now."

Cidra's pen goes through her list in a rather zombie-like fashion. Her gaze is more often than not drawn up to the hangar. Broken Vipers. A few straggling broken pilots. Nothing about that sight is pretty. Her eyes catch Sitka's briefly. As ever, her expression is a little difficult to read. Mostly she's just tight-lipped and grim. She gives him time to get it marked off, though she does head in his direction when hers is done.

Sitka is either really focused on that checklist, or just feeling a little dazed his own self, at the moment. He doesn't spot another of his pilots approaching, though it takes him roughly three tries to sign his name at the bottom, once his hand stops shaking.

Nathan 'Ow' Rojas doesn't say a word to get his Captain's attention. All he does is swing his left arm back and attempt to clock the sheet-signing Captain in the jaw. Well, that's what WOULD happen. With his left arm like a floppy noodle, all Shiv suffers from is a death glare and Nathan's entire body looking like he just tried to deck him one. With limp-noodle arm slapping him somewhere around chest-height. Oh, and the 34-year-old ensign looking down at said arm and holding back a grunt of pain.

Cidra's hands aren't shaking. Not visibly, at least. Long fingers are clasped tightly behind her back, so she doesn't give them any opportunity to. "So. FUBAR of the highest order, yes?" Such is her opener with Sitka. There's no particular recrimination in her tone. It is an all-inclusive sort of FUBAR. And, as ever, even the acronym of profanity wraps itself strangely around her Gemenese drawl. Eyes are lifted to Rojas. "Ensign, Sickbay. Your arm will get little better on the hangar deck."

The relief at not having to work through the disaster that she was just so recently a part of is eminent on her face. Zosime gives Damon a very weak smile. "Yeah, you kind of stink." Not that she's a sweet smelling flower either - she definitely has vomit breath. "I'm gonna check on Toots." Then, definitely a shower and a little bit of downtime. She takes a step in the direction she say Toots heading off in last and then pauses. "Hey, thanks Andreas." For helping her in the Raptor and for everything, really. And then, she's weaving her way unsteadily amongst the other deckcrew. They have the sense to give her a berth - whether that's because of what she's been through or because she smells like vomit is a question she doesn't really care to ask.

Hey, it's probably for the best that Spanner's all noodle-armed at the moment. Given Shiv's distracted state at the moment, he'd have ended up with a broken jaw and just about rounded out the wing's sacrifice to the sickbay gods, this mission. His head snaps up in time to catch the death glare, though it's returned with something considerably less angry and more.. contrite. He doesn't bother repeating the CAG's orders, though he does train his eyes upon the younger man silently a few seconds, as if to implore the same. Cidra is addressed at length, blue eyes finally dragging back to her, "I frakked up, sir. I thought I'd given the order to RTB, but I.." He shakes his head. "I'm not sure, in the chaos.."

Evandreus looks up as Stiffy comes around with the checklist, having finsihed the external post-flight. She hands it off to her pilot and he fills out the section for all the systems post-flighting he did inside. "Nice to see you walk off the boat on your own two legs, this time," he manages to summon a feeble smile and clap an arm around his ECO for a brief hug before he signs his name to the document and hands it back for her to sign. Then, attention wanders to the Captain, the Major and the noodle-armed Ensign. Not approaching. Just watching.

"Don't thank me. I…" He shakes his head. There's no words for him to convey how much of a failure he feels right now, but his disappointment and frustration shows on his face. "Just let me know if you need anything, all right?" He offers her a weak smile as she goes and stays long enough to ensure that the rest of the rostered team from the Deck crew are headed off before heading for the showers himself. But not before he approaches Cidra - keeping a good distance to prevent overwhelming her with his smell - and says, "Thanks for saving us, Sir."

And just like that, with one look… Nathan's Death Glare (TM) Dissappears. Instead, his forehead just bumps against his Captain's shoulder. Staying there just long enough for Rojs to choke a laugh. Working right hand pats the opposite shoulder when he's moved his head back away before wiping possibly the first glimmer of water at the corner of an eye. "Whoops." That's.. That's aabout all he says through a forced smile. Yeah. Pain's setting in. Captain and CAG get nods, then the Ensign is making his way to sickbay, limping all the while.

"I thought I had as well," Cidra replies to Sitka. "But in the chaos…I should have been firmer. My focus was on getting Lasher out at the last. I did not realize how much a disaster it was on the brink of. I thought us home free." A look back to the crashed Vipers. Clearly not. She releases a tight breath. "See to your people. We shall salvage from this as we can. That is all for now." Disappointed? Perhaps, but her disappointment is spread far further than Sitka. And she herself is not spared from it. She leaves it at that, turning to Damon. The barest hint of a smile is offered to him. And it does seem genuine. "It was my duty, Petty Officer. I would have failed in it had it gone another way. You and yours handled yourselves most bravely out there. An EVA suit is little aid against Raider fire."

Whoops, indeed. For Ibrahim's part, he doesn't seem to mind the shoulder-bump at all. His still-gloved hand even closes over the back Nathan's head (assuming it's not bloodied), and something's murmured quietly to the man before he pulls away. "Yes, sir," he answers the CAG a bit more loudly. The disappointment's echoed in his rough mumble. A weak salute is tossed up, his checklist finally handed off, and then he's jogging off across the 'bay to catch up with Spanner.

"Duty or not," Damon protests. "You saved my life and PO Zosime's, too." He inclines his head to her in gratitude. Then he follows it up with a completely random-seeming, "I don't think I've ever come so close to shitting myself." Apparently, that's his exit line, because he starts heading for the stairs. Pause, glance back. "Except for that one time that I got food poisoning." Damon: a gentleman and a scholar. Now in a shower near you.

"So say we all…" Cidra mutters at Damon's exit line. After that she's off herself. To hit the showers hard before trying to cobble together a report on this bit of madness.

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