| Something Yellow this Way Comes |
| Summary: | Basecamp Alpha is put on alert when an incoming contact is identified. |
| Date: | 11 Dec 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | none |
| Players: |
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| On Tauron's Surface |
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| Base Camp! |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #288 |
Constin is kitted out in battledress blacks, with only two touches to set the sergeant apart from a standard issue grunt: a solid black ballcap shades his eyes in place of a helmet, and a reflective pair of aviator shades dim the daylight further. The big man sits on a spare supply crate, not being on active patrol at the moment.
Vandenberg moseys her way around the camp with her GMAR and brand new wraparound sunglasses. She's also in her blacks but opting for the helmet today. With things quiet, she wanders over towards Constin and lifts her chin in greeting. "Hey." Awkward. "How's the head?" She's not really looking at him. She just walks by and turns past him to face the same direction. Close enough to have a private conversation but far enough that people's wouldn't suspect it.
"El-Tee," Constin grunts back in even acknowledgment. "Head's just fine, sir. Apart from the fact that the clouds on this frakkin rock decided to go part for the first time all month," the sergeant grouses.
"Know the feeling, Sergeant." Vandenberg's voice is low, nearly a grumble. "Grabbed Ensign Robinson this morning for a saline drip. My headache exfil'd but I still feel like hell. I think I drank the bar dry." She shifts the weight of her rifle, the sunglasses tight around her eyes. "Heard of anyone filing a report?" Nope, nothin to see here. Just Dog Platoon's CO talking to Able's Platoon Sergeant. She nods to a passing Marine with a simple, "Corporal."
"Few folks got brigged overnight for disorderly conduct, after the Launch party dropped them back off on the Cerb," Constin states simply. "But all non judicial. Nothing serious," he recounts, from the morning's list of reports. Snorting bullishly once, the sergeant adds, "Marines on the Elpis mentioned that with the whole damn thing a civvie ship, there's almost no place they can detain folks, unless they physically see a violation taking place," he notes as a completely inflectionless aside.
The Lieutenant bobs her head. Gently. "Yep. Shame, that is. Might get around to that eventually but for now it looks like we'll just have to keep the status quo." She reaches over her shoulder to a drinking straw from the camelback and takes a big sip. She clears her throat and looks around idly. "Found a big pair of jeans. Got a yeoman in supply looking for some boots. Just throwin it out there."
The wireless set bursts to life. "Be advised, Raptor Patrol has spotted potential incoming West-Southwest of the facility, is going in for closer look. All duty personel on alert, be prepared for possible action if contact proves hostile. Further bulletins as intel comes available."
"Zat a fact?" Constin grunts evenly to the statement. Drawing off the ballcap and passing the back of one hand across his brow, Constin's wireless chirps to life at the same time Vandenberg's does. Replacing the cap and moving promptly to his feet, the Master-at-Arms does a fair job of not looking too relieved that some piece of work has reared its head. He leaves response to Vandenberg, as the ranking officer.
When the radio crackles, Van's face drops. "I swear to the Gods. If this is a Raptor crew trying to spot another herd of wild game, I'm going to have ass." She lifts the radio, taking a breath before speaking. "Copy, Cerberus. All units, Dog Actual. Take defensive positions. ThreatCon Delta, rules of engagement are Yellow-Hold. Squad leaders report in when you are in position. Dog, out." She starts jogging off in the direction of the contact with the rifle being unslung and brought around in front of her. "Could be worse. Could be hungover.." Oh wait. Bounce, slosh, bounce, augh.
Constin adjusts the volume of his wireless down, so that he doesn't get feedback from Vandenberg to report, "Able One-One, standing by south-west quarter," before sniffing flatly to the 'could be worse' line. Jogging toweard the perimeter, he raises his voice, off-channel to bark, "Get your asses in gear! Move, move!" at a detachment that didn't manage to immediately and magically teleport into position. Yeah, yelling wasn't fun.
Vandenberg diverges a bit in her jog from Constin as the ship's sheriff takes care of some quick yelling. She moves off to the side of the road behind a small earthen wall the Marines had constructed and starts waving to fireteams on the approach. "Brenner, left side! Jenkins, right side!" The men and women fall into their foxholes and come back up with their rifles leading the way - pointed down the road. "Sergeant Constin, on me!" She runs the action on the rifle, loading a round, and spins in place behind the wall. She takes up the radio once more and makes a call: "Cerberus, Dog Actual. Status on this target? Range? Speed? Identification?"
There is a short period of chatter as various units check in over the wireless, and a louder bit of noise as a Raptor flies over the facility towards the contact. The Wireless comes on again. "Dog Actual, Cerberus. Contact confirmed, large civillian transport approaching facility via main access road. Four clicks away and still coming, should be visible to you soon. If the Vehicle passes the first fence without stopping you are authorized to fire."
Constin places himself on the road-ward side of Vandenberg as the Lieutenant sets her back to the wall. Crouching with one kneepad down, facing the direction from which the 'civilian vehicle' approaches. A short look to either side, taking a head and arms count. "Somebody wake up Karl," the sergeant drawls evenly, just in case." Double checking the firing status on his own assault rifle, Constin shoots a short look aside to Vandenberg. "How you want to approach this, sir?"
"Good thinking." Vandenberg nods the reply to Constin. "Dog One-One, bring up the Karlstovs and load HEAT. Hold fire but lock and load." She kneels around the barrier and removes her sunglasses, bringing up a set of binoculars. "When they come into view, I'll stand and signal for them to stop. If they don't, I'll fire one round in the air. If they refuse to stop, we're red and free. Cover me and watch for anything in the fields and from their rear. If they spread out across the field you know its not going to go well." Its about now that Dog One One arrives with the recoilless rifles. The weapons clank as the gunners load them up.
Vandenberg lifts her radio once more. "Cerberus, Dog Actual. Get that Raptor crew to buzz them low altitude once they close to half a klick. Be sure they see the Raptor and have it fly right over my position, over."
"Dog Actual, Cerberus. Confirmed, orders relayed. Raptor crew recommends you have beers ready, afterward." Just then, the vehicle in question comes into view, a yellow blob on the horizon, easily recognizable as a school-bus. The Raptor Crew does their flyover, and though the bus does slow, it continues its drive forward.
"Huh," Constin grunts at the sight of the distant school bus, assault rifle at rest as he glances aside to verify the loading status of the Karlstov. Then it's back to studying the approaching vehicle. "What you think- Ee-Tee-Ay two minutes?" he muses to Vandenberg as the Raptor passes over the bus and buzzes toward and over the marine position.
As the Raptor buzzes real low, howling over the Marine position, the Lieutenant nods to Constin. "Yeah. Maybe less, Sergeant. Let's hope they're still watching that Raptor and see my ass stand up. I'm gonna give them all the chance to stop that they are going to get. Be ready to secure the bus," she grumbles. "Everyone hooooold fiiire!" Natalie calls out. She takes a breath and rises from behind the dirt firing position. The rifle is held in both hands high over her head which is slowly swung down and then back up quickly - the signal for traffic to slow to a stop. her arms repeat the gesture as the woman sidesteps closer to the lanes of the road.
The bus does… just that. Slowly, as though concerned for brakes or tire blow-out, the bus slows and comes to a stop well outside of the kill-zone. It's door opens, and a single figure steps out, waves, and steps around in front of the vehicle, in clear sight. "He's not armed!" comes from one of the Snipers.
Constin mutters a low, "Theeeere you go," under his breath as the bus slows and stops as instructed. Stage one of potential disaster averted, only four more to go. "Keep Karl loaded, but down. No need to spook folks any more, just yet," he advises the squad Heavy Gunner.
When the bus slows to a stop Van reshoulders the rifle but does not move from her position. She drops to a knee and picks up the radio. "Charlie Two-One, Dog Actual. Flank right and cover them from the side. Watch for hostile movement. Do not fire without permission." Sunglassed eyes stay focused on the bus and nowhere else. The Lieutenant summons up all of her command voice and calls the words clearly at the figure. "Do not move! Have your people file out of the vehicles one at a time, hands on their heads!" She looks like a pissed-off terrier, barking like that. "Sergeant, take Dog Two and move up the road to contact. I'll be right behind you." Constin gets a full squad for this one. She will, indeed be right on his heels.
The figure raises hands to its mouth and shouts back. "Give us a second, and watch those trigger figures! We got scared kids aboard!" The voice is low, gruff, but easily travels the distance back. The figure then moves around to the door and steps inside. After a moment, figures start getting off, hands over their heads, save occasionally when they lower to help some smaller figures. Soon, fifteen in all have gotten off.
"Sir!" Constin barks back in acknowledgment, rising with the dozen men and women of Dog Two and moving briskly at the head of the column along the road toward the bus. Setting the tone for the marines behind him, the Cerberus Master-at-Arms lets his asault rifle hang at the ready across his chest. Narrow eyes behind reflective shades tick over the civilians as they file out of the school bus, he returns his eye to the big, gruff man who'd stepped out first. "You got any weapons or wounded, sir?" in a lowbrow drawl, slightly higher in pitch than one might expect of a man his size. A short look aside to another of the men behind him, "Sweep the bus, Lance," he instructs.
"Frak. Told the sunuvabitch not to move," Vandenberg grumbles, keeping the rifle aimed down the road. "Scared kids? The hell he thinks we're guarding in here? A potato farm?" The Lieutenant follows them up without another word, lowering the rifle across her chest as she see's the children. The woman remains quiet for the time being, letting Constin handle security of the situation. She stands off to the side of the road in the grass, watching the civilians for weapons or jerky movements.
The tall man turns to face Constin, eyes flicking to insignia. "Sergeant. Yes. We have one assault rifle with four clips, five hunting rifles, a box of ammunition, and some pistols, all in the locker in the back of the bus. I have the key. No wounded, but no one would object to a safe place to sleep. It's been a long trip." His eyes continue scanning the other Marines, and he spots Vandenberg, and nods. "Lieutenant. I don't suppose you lot represent the glorious liberation of Tauron, do you? I missed the explosions I expected when Colonial Forces returned."
Constin nods curtly to the detailed description of the group's arms and their location. He doesn't immediately ask for the key, instead, dispatching another pair of the squad to searching the undercarriage of the bus. A military man would recognize the procedure as searching for planted explosives. "That it has, sir," Constin returns to word of it being a 'long trip'. Although the big 'civilian' has addressed his words to Vandenberg, Constin constinues answering. "Boots and birds off Battlestar Group One-Three-Two. Collecting survivors for evacuation." Another look aside as the marines complete a quick visual inspection of the fifteen assembled. "Welcome to Colonial Groundbase Alpha-one," he notes dryly.
Natalie's eyes snap-to when he mentions her rank. She looks up at him but there isn't a drop of fear or surprise anywhere on her form or on her visible face. She doesn't say anything for a long moment before looking back to the civilians. "We are not a liberation force, sir. The Sergeant's words are accurate for our mission. We came in cold. The Cylons have left Tauron as best we can tell, sir." She sidesteps once to peek around the back of a woman who has kept her back to Van the whole time. "How many vehicles? How many are you total?" The Lieutenant knows what recon said. She wants to hear what he has to say. She's all business for the time being.
"We're what you see, el-tee. Used to be more of us, but its been a rough year. Your men will want to get a look at the side panels, as well. Turns out these old buses have spaces available for extra luggage that often get missed on once overs. Seems that before the war, some ambitious kiddies were storing Chamalla in there." He gives a vague gesture to the side panel, then turns back to Van. "Evacuation? Well, better than nothing. Damned glad to see you all, and damned glad to see the CMC still sticking to regs."
Constin looks toward the bus as the assigned Lance Corporal finishes his sweep and emerges with the word, "Clear." The two soldiers checking the undercarriage give the same one-word reports. Each one, the big sergeant acknowledges in turn, before looking back at the talk of side panels. He grunts wordlessly, blue eyes narrowing behind his shades in further study of the civilian leader. Looking back to Vandenberg, he reports evenly, "Looks clear, sir. Bring them in on foot?" he asks.
Van motions for a Lance Corporal to rip the side panels off the bus. The man isn't hesitant about removing the prybar from the side of his pack. "Yes, sir. Evacuation. Tauron's atmosphere is getting more radioactive by the day. Won't be long before its too bad to stick around." She then looks to Constin and nods. "Everyone walks in on foot. The bus stays. We will drive it in after we clear it for demolitions. Davis!" she barks. "Stay with Hennigan while he strips the panels and clear this yellow bastard. Radio up when its done." Vandenberg lifts her radio up: "All units, Dog Actual. Stand down to ThreatCon Bravo and return to duties. Charlie Two-One, remain on station and watch the road. Dog, out." She settles her arms across the rifle and looks waay up to the scruffy guy who just appeared. "Lieutenant Natalie Vandenberg, Colonial Marines - as you guessed. This is Sergeant Constin. If you'll please have your people keep their hands visible and walk single file up the road towards the camp, there is a tent near the entrance for in-processing and medical care. You'll be provided hot meals and showers soonest."
The tall man nods. "A pleasure. Captain Joe Ryder, Colonial Fleet, Medical. If it is ok, I'll have a word with your medics as they work. No injuries to be concerned with, but depending on your anti-biotics situation, you may want to quarantine little Tommy for a day or two. He's the last with a nasty cold that hit all of us, and best not to spread it in an air-tight environment." He then turns to his people, echoing the orders. "This is how it works, people. But you heard the lady, hot meals and showers are coming. Be polite, follow orders, and for frak's sake, Jacob, stop eyeballing the Lieutenent. She could probably break you in half."
Constin nods again, raising his own voice to add to the assembled civilians, "If you've kept any Identification, that'll help speed your processing in camp. Jenkins-" he instructs a skinny, bespectacled marine Private, leaning in closer to speak in a manner that won't be overheard by the civilians, "Tell Kontos to put Karl away, before the civvies see it." As Ryder names himself, the sergeant turns a bloodshot eye back toward the big bearded fellow and drawls, "Didn't want to say anything until hearing your name." Drawing off his shades and squinting against the light, "Believe I've met this fella before, El-Tee," he adds to Vandenberg.
The Lieutenant nods to Ryder. "Fleet records will have to confirm that, sir. We'll see what the databases come up with. All of your people wishing to leave Tauron with us will have to submit to a background check as well. Military and civilian alike." The mention of a cold has Natalie nod once. "Point him out to our Corpsmen and we'll get him seen to. We've raided a few hospitals, though. I don't think we're hurting for medical supplies." There's no comment or sideways glances from Vandenberg at anyone who may or may not be named Jacob. She then produces a small piece of paper showing the pictures of the four known skinjob types and hands it to him. "Recognize any of these people, sir?" Still business. "Or seen any recently?" Though when Elf mentions recognizing the Doctor, Van looks between them patiently.
Ryder turns slowly to Constin, and looks him over. "Canceron." He mutters to himself. "I'm sorry, Sergeant, I know we've met, but I can't remember your name. It was one of my recruiting trips, right?" He then glances at the sheet of paper. "None bring a name to mind. I may have seen one or two of them before, though. Just in passing, maybe? I can't be certain. Not since the bombs fell, in any case."
Constin doesn't seem intent on holding up the operation for a reminiscing session, replacing his reflective sun glasses. "Will have words later, sir," he drawls to Ryder, before occupying himself with the process of getting fifteen civilians moving toward a camp. "Anything you left on the bus will be returned to you after processing, do not worry," Constin voices upon preventing one of the civilians from heading back toward the bus. "Need you all to get moving along the road into camp. This will not take long, folks." Wrangling civvies leaves Vandenberg and Ryder free.
Vandenberg takes the paper back with nary a word and refolds it, placing it back inside her combat vest. "Not sure how many more people from Canceron this fleet can handle before we punch it into the ground," the Lieutenant asides to Constin with a small show of a smirk. "C'mon, sir. We'll get your people settled. How have your people fared?" She starts walking down the road. In the distance Marines can be seen leaving hidden fighting positions and heading back to camp. "Any involvement in fighting off attacks from other groups here on the ground? Other factions of survivors?"
Ryder nods gamely, and most of the difficulty the civvies give with moving end when he falls into step with Vandenberg. "Early on, it was just Cylons. After awhile, though, we had to repel an attack or two. The Assault Rifle in the locker saved my life once or twice." He smiles in appreciation as Marines step out of their positions. "Not a lot of that recently, though. This is not a war where scavengers can easily thrive… too much radiation to do much travelling. It was only after we'd scouted you all that we decided to approach." Her first question is met with a smile. "Cylons and Scavengers, radiation and disease… but we're still fifteen strong with some kids in tow. Better than a lot of the inital survivors, I guess."
"Never enough," Constin returns deadpan to Candenberg's quip on the subject of 'how many more Cancerons' the fleet can handle. As the procession of survivors and marines gets moving back toward camp, the sergeant only has to quietly remind one of the CMC grunts to, "Let it hang," in reference to the rifles. "What you folks been eating?" he wonders evenly of Ryder.
Vandenberg takes the paper back with nary a word and refolds it, placing it back inside her combat vest. "Not sure how many more people from Canceron this fleet can handle before we punch it into the ground." She listens to Ryder's report, though, keeping her scan up around the field. "We've run into factions of people who have been actively engaging each other for supplies recently. We're just looking to seperate the brawlers if they're around." She smirks at Elf's remark about Cancerians. "Punch-a-size that, Sarge. So say we all."
Ryder smiles as he and his small band is escorted to the base. "We were holed up in a school for the most part, and the cafeteria had a good number of foods high on preservatives. A bit of raiding stores and the like made up the difference. Good thing you all came when you did, though, because reserves were getting low and my attempt at a garden was as successful as a horny Pilot in the Marine berthings."
Constin sniff dryly. "You are one poor bastard, sir," at the example of a pilot in the marine berths. As they begin to near the camp, the big sergeant notes to Vandenberg, "Will get the camp quartermaster set to recieve fifteen, El-Tee."
Decumius is pushed out from the wire about five hundred metres in a small, three man observation post that's been concealed with a combination of low hanging camoflauge netting and hastily picked scrub from nearby bushes. The three men are quite quiet and very still. They watch the group coming up the road. Decumius pats the man manning one of the platoon's medium machine guns on the shoulder, giving him a nod.
"So the land made fun of your garden and threw it out at gunpoint. Nice." Vandenberg continues walking along. Her radio crackles and she turns it down a bit, talking quickly into it. "Dog copies. Have Brenner get his team to handle it. Out." She rests an arm across the fore handguard of the rifle, the other resting on the butstock as they continue into the camp. "Thanks, Sergeant." She clears her throat and sips at the camelback straw. "Sounds like you didn't fare too poorly. The fleet's run into some pretty haggard groups of survivors. Most of the people have managed to hole up in hard structures like your school, though. So far the fleet's been able to pull survivors from here, Sagittaron, and Aerilon. That's about it. Most people are glad to see us. Fleet had some problems on Sag, though. No surprise."
Ryder grins. "Of course they did. If Saggies welcome the Corps with open arms, then you look for bomb vests." Ryder looks around in interest at the facility. "Good work with this place. We'd considered moving out here, but we just didn't have the manpower to defend it. Just ten or twenty more people, though…" he shakes his head. "I have some good folks in this crew. Some mechanics, a couple of teachers, even a magician. They work hard and they follow orders, or at least, they followed mine." He gives a jaunty wave to Decimus and his team as they come out of their positions. "So, who's calling the shots, now? Don't suppose the Cylons were clumsy enough to neglect the President and his cabinet in the attack."
"El-Tee. Captain," Constin acknowledges Vandy and Ryder in turn, before going about the minor business of preparing a camp to process, feed, wash, and supply fiteen people. As Natalie handles the re-integration of survivors into the new world, and as Decumius and his team stand down, Constin fades into the military bureaucracy for several minutes. GODS, he hates paperwork.
Decumius's presence at the OP is brief. As the group of survivors come in, a relief team of three comes to replace those already there, leaving the machine gun where it is. Meanwhile, he's got a hand already fishing in his pocket for a small tin of what looks like chewing tobacco. As he walks back to camp, he's got a small pinch which goes directly under his lip. He passes it to his other two comrades. The Corporal's eyes watch the survivors, warily.
"Yeah. I think they actually tried that, believe it or not. Word is they shelled the ground base with mortars, too. I wasn't along for the ride yet at that point so my word is only secondary there." The Lieutenant nods to Constin as he steps off but she doesn't look to Ryder, either. The woman's face, masked by sunglasses, looks around the base as she comes to a stop outside the in-processing tent near Decumius. "Corporal? The survivors came in on a bus. We've got two guys out there now sweeping it for explosives. In the back is a crate of weapons. When they bring the bus in secure the weapons and let's see what we can do about using it for some kind of defensive position." Though it doesn't seem like she means -right now-." The woman takes a breath and looks to the survivors. "No, sir, they didn't." Vandenberg finally looks back up to Ryder from under her helmet. "Military is calling the shots. The fleet is currently under teh command of Colonel Pewter on the Cerberus but our ranking officer is Commander Laughlin on board the Praetorian."
Ryder reaches in his pocket and pulls out a key, which he hands to the Corporal. "This unlocks the locker the weapons are stowed in. Careful with the hunting rifles… a couple are old enough to be family heirlooms." He glances over at the el-tee with a surprised smile. "A Commander taking orders from a Colonel? Interesting. And the Cerberus, you say? I was talking about her during my last recruitment speech. Damn fine ship."
Decumius gives a nod to Vandenberg, gobbing a wad of spit on the ground to his side absent mindedly as he says, "Roger, sir." He takes the key from Ryder with another nod, though the look on his face indicates he's not particularly impressed with something or other. Regardless, he's got a tasking to do now. He grabs another guy from the quick reaction force and the four of them proceed to kneel by the sandbagged entrance to the camp, under cover.
"The organization up top is a little beyond my paygrade, sir. Depending on who you ask, Major Tillman, the Cerb's XO, is calling the shots. I just follow my rank chain." Vandenberg slowly peels the gloves off her hands and stuffs them into her assault vest. "Ship seems alright. Still smells like paint in some places. Brand new on Warday. Same as Praetorian. Its taken a lickin but its a stout frame as far as I can tell - which ain't far. This is my first billet to a ship." The radio crackles from the bus team. Vandenberg answers it promptly. "Copy. Drive it in and park it outside the gate, perpendicular to the road and in the grass. Corporal Decumius will meet you outside with instructions. Out."
Now that the whole bunch is in the grounds, the earlier tension seems to relax, somewhat. Ryder and his people follow all orders admirably. Ryder glances after the corporal, and then sighs. "I guess that was a little bit like handing keys to a valet. Shit, I'm out of practice working with soldiers. Too used to civvies after all this time, I guess." He stretches a bit, cracking some knuckles, and then turns to Van again. "I appreciate the courtesy, el-tee. I know Marines have a thousand things they would rather do than corral civvies. You have good people."
Not much to do but wait until the bus itself is parked. Dec pops his head around the corner of the sandbags to watch the vehicle approach, and then pulls back. He smirks. "Reminds me of my second tour on Sagittaron. Except the bus exploded at the checkpoint." He laughs harshly, but only one of the three others seems to find it funny - he's a Lance Corporal from Dec's original unit who was also there.
Vandenberg nods, keeping her eyes on the people in the tent. "There is a lot, yeah, but we're managing. People are the priority. But if you want to compliment the Corps on its people, sir, I'd direct you back to the likes of Sergeant Constin." Van peeks around a corner at someone and looks back to Ryder. "NCO corps is the backbone of this force. I just came on board about a month ago. If you think I've got find people, I will pass it along but that's not something I can take credit for, sir. These men and women have been working their asses to the bone and getting shot to hell and back while I was doing the equivillent of camping on Aerilon. But you're right. They're fine Marines. Few unit compositions I'd rather have for this kind of fight than the one we've got. They make me proud as hell." Its pretty obvious the Lieutenant is a career soldier. They'll have to retire the Corps before she quits. "I just do my best to bring them home, sir." Meanwhile the bus pulls up to a stop and the two Marines step down and off. Much of the external paneling looks like its been pried right off from the frame.
Ryder nods grimly. "Camping out… well, that's been me, too, of late. It'll be good to get back into a proper medbay again, once I'm cleared. Assuming of course that there is still work for a Doctor in the fleet." He grins. "Always enough Marines getting themselves into trouble, right? As for Constin…" his smile becomes a bit more far away. "I'm pretty sure I recruited him. Maybe I should be taking credit for the men, then." A wink, then he steps forward to submit to his own physical. "All right, you lot, lets do this, but mind your hands are warm first, I'm too old to have my bits handled by some ice-fingered space harpy…"
The bus, fortunately for those on it and unfortunately for excitement's sake, does not explode. Decumius and his fireteam move out to meet the two other Marines coming off, exchanging quick pleasantries, a shake of the hand and a grin at their explanation. They first check the undercarriage and exterior, and then do a quick search of the interior.
"Always a use for more Doctors, sir," Vandenberg allows easily. "Take credit for The Tank if you want, but Constin has been shot more times than most of the rest of the fleet combined. Last count was twenty-four, I think. He's about as good a Marine as you can ask for - despite getting shot a lot." She steps off as the man's physical begins. "Best of luck. We'll touch base later when you get clearances." She heads over towards the bus, then. "Corporal, you think we oughtta turn this thing into a big-ass wall or slice it up to reinforce our dug-in positions?" Its either a test question or she wants an opinion. Who the hell knows with her.
"The latter, sir. If I had my way I'd bring hesco down to make an actual wall, and then we wouldn't have to much worry about things like sheet metal covering our asses." Decumius says as he hauls weapons off the bus. "But I'm not in charged. So a bit more protection would be appreciated. Honestly sir? We should get some of those lazy sacks doing nothing much to build us some proper wood shelters, then cover them with the bus to make 'em safer."