| Speargun vs. Raptor |
| Summary: | Another location is checked for survivors. Will these actually want to be rescued? |
| Date: | 28 Aug 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | All Sagittaron logs. |
| Players: |
      |
The lush green of the Jharkhand Basin is left behind for desert, as the Raptor heads westward from the base camp. As the Raptor crosses the mountains, the sand is replaced with a different sort of brown — that of radiation-poisoned vegetation. The sparse brushland of this arid region is a mottled patchwork of olive green and dying brown, dead vegetation showing where fallout and weather patterns combined to ill effect.
Nearer to the ocean, the vegetation is thicker, if no healthier. Landing locations are easier to find here than in a river delta, and the Raptor crew has their choice of spots to choose from. The village itself may have held two hundred souls at one point — now it appears abandoned, a collection of tin shacks and adobe walls, the homes nearest the coast built upon stilts to save them from storms.
Cidra is at the wheel today. Such as a Raptor possesses a wheel. The CAG is always focused when in the pilot's seat, but she has to be particularly so right now. The higher radiation in the area means that her ECO's DRADIS is not quite as eagle-eyed as usual, so she's having to do more visual and simple instrument navigation than in the lighter-hit area of the planet. "We are over the village now. I am taking us down just outside it," she says, giving them some warning before angling her boxy plane lower and lower. Her landing spot wasn't a clearing before the attacks, but with the slow wasting of the planet it's become one.
Cora is at the… well, she's in the Raptor, though near neither the 'wheel' nor the door nor the window. Maybe the wall. She leans over to peer around marines at the view out the front windshield, nodding at Cidra's words. "Looks like we're dealing with more significant radiation levels here," she remarks, "Can we get a measurement on that?"
The CIC — that is, the Corporal In Charge of the fireteam — makes a small show out of squinting out the window, then grunts. He holds up one gloved hand, thumb out, as if testing the wind. "I'd say that's enough to take your pills," he replies with a grin, shaking one of the anti-rads out of the bottle as it's passed around.
Cidra puts them down, with that inevitable bump that comes with setting fifty tons of Raptor down anywhere. "Surely can, sir," her ECO replies to Cora from the backseat, promptly replying with the read-out in the area. It is, indeed, high enough where everyone will want to take their pills. Cidra opens the doors but does not move herself. "I shall remain with the ship. Be ready to be off prompt in case worse comes to worst," Cidra says to Cora. "Lieutenant, clear eyes and steady hands. I shall keep my wireless on and be in frequent contact. Oh. This is likely a side-issue, with the threat of SSLF and mines to contend with, but there is a storm brewing on horizon. I do not think it will hit for an hour or so, but I would not advise lingering unless you terribly enjoy tromping about in the rain."
There's a faint wrinkling of Cora's brow and nose, which is roughly equivalent to a grimace on someone more expressive. "And here I thought we might escape this trip without more anti-rads," she remarks dryly, taking a pill from the bottle as it's passed around and swallowing it dry with practiced ease. She steps over to listen to Cidra then, nodding, "I'll keep that in mind, Major, thank you for the heads-up. Radioactive rain is something I can do without experiencing again. I'll keep in touch over the wireless to let you know how we progress." The marines she lets precede her out of the Raptor, checking her sidearm before following them.
"Up north, it's probably still glowing," says the Corporal, full of macabre cheer in the face of Cora's distaste. He grins widely against the final chew of his anti-rads, then pushes up with a louder, "Move it, squad." Rifles out, eyes on the horizon, he and his three squadmates move out to form the perimeter for the tender officer filling of the away team.
Cidra checks her wireless before the rest of them depart. Yes, it's working. "I will keep the engine running, as it were," she says simply. "And I will check the DRADIS periodically. It may be able to spot…oddities before your eyes can see them." She's got her sidearm on as well, even if she isn't leaving the pilot's seat. It's SOP for a pilot on flight. And it's not left her side since she put her boots onto Sagittaron.
a last minute wireless check, and with that- the ECO is sliding out of the backseat, where he had been manning the console. "Right then." muttered around the grit of his anti-rad pills. Nothing like chewing those bloody things-worse than the vitamins he used to have to choke down as a child. But, not getting rad poisoning is always a plus. Kaz's helmet is being left back in his seat as his pistol is drawn, and the safety flipped off. "I'll be on channel-" like everyone else. However Chicken glances back to Toast briefly, before he is moving up into position to join the rest of the away team.
The fishing village's layout is a simple one. A single dirt road leads through the heart of the village, where the small grocery and gas station sits, to the docks at the shore. Smaller roads radiate out from there in an unplanned web, connecting uneven rows of homes.
Cora glances back over her shoulder with faint surprise as Kaz moves to join them, shooting a look to Cidra to see if she objects. When the major does not, she just gives another nod, and hops out, tapping her comm to check it. Her reply to the corporal is just a soft snort and a dry, "Something to look forward to." Then she heads with the marines down that dirt road, eyeing the buildings ahead. "We should check out the stores for useful supplies if we have time," she comments to the others.
Cidra looks up at Kaz and offers him a small inclination of her head. "Clear eyes and steady hands, Chicken." It's a standard send-off from her. Before she adds the more traditional, "Good hunting. We need all eyes we can out there to get this done swiftly. Watch out for Lieutenant Nikephoros for me, yes?" She's not entirely kidding. As they head out, she watches them depart, then returns to keeping her eyes sharp on her instruments.
"That's m' job." Kaz's voice crackles over the wirelo-before he is dropping his hand down to double grip the pistol. A turn of his head back to Cora and there's a faint smile passed, but it doesn't hold too long as eyes watch the houses. Some of the buildings getting a second glance over, before he's turning his head to check his flank, gun remaining down, but ready. "Odd.." Kazimir says softly. "Windows are boarded up from the inside-Doors from the outside…" Yes, it's easy to tell-those two things do not match up, at least in Chicken's mind. "Like folks either barricaded themselves in, and then got nailed in later.." or there are other means of movement from the houses-and buildings. "What you make of it?" asked amongst the group-though there is a faint flick of eyes in the direction of the Intelligence Officer. "Eyes sharp, boyos-something doesn't fit, as I see it."
"Chicken?" Cora inquires, one brow lifting as she points a brief glance towards Kaz. Then it's back to sweeping the village, offering the observation: "Looks like they may have evacuated. All the vehicles I'm seeing are up on blocks or grown over." There's a pause, in which she comments to the ECO, "Could be they boarded up windows after the blast, and then doors later on when they decided to leave. Or—" She cuts off, and then says, "Up ahead a couple blocks, around 11 o'clock, I've got what looks like an intact vehicle at the gas station."
"Stay sharp," says the Corporal as he and another lead the way into the village, the other two marines bringing up the rear.
The village seems vast and bare, after the tall underbrush and mangroves of the Jharkhand Basin. The wind is picking up, heralding the storm brewing in the distance, and in the distance a tin roof rattles against its walls, the noise echoing down the street.
Up ahead, beyond the approaching grocery store and gas station, the village's docks can be seen. A few of the boats still sit upright in the water, but several are half-submerged, their masts snarled with rope.
Cidra is keeping in regular contact with the equally regular, albeit terse, updates from the Marines. There's little of note going on in the Raptor, given how quiet the village is. But, when she winds her way back to the ECO console to do a standard DRADIS check, she frowns. Doing a quick check via her wireless, but not on the frequencies any of the troops are using. A moment later, over the comm comes her voice, "Nikephoros. Toast. I just picked up something odd back here. I did not note it before, I think, because it appears to have been quite faint, and submerged under our own traffic. But there was a wireless transmitter running in this area. Likely from somewhere in this village. Standard civilian frequency. Non-encrypted. But it has *just* been turned off."
"It's my callsign. Used t' be Witcher before I was transferred back home to Leonis." The ECO remarks. "Chicken, as in fried-or country fried chicken. Cause of m' accent." A faint chuckle there-that dies pretty evenly right there as the car is pointed out. And eyes look forward as his pistol raises a tic. "Or, it's a bloody trap." But then, that is Kaz's prognosis for anything done on this colony. Everything, unless colonial-is most likely some horrid trap.
Eyes are looking up towards the roofs of a few buildings, before the wind rattles on.
"Bloody Frak. Storm coming in-bad omens…" mutters Meszaros, as he raises his gun-something catching his attention as eyes are looking over to the gas station cum grocery store. "You hear that?" Kaz asks, over to Nikephoros.
"I think I smell exhaust," says the Marine keeping company with the Corporal up front. Their steps slow, rifles sweeping the ramshackle buildings with even more care than before.
The grocery store and its adjoining gas station may be the most modern buildings in the village — and as such, they've held up to abandonment better than the rest. The windows have been boarded with some care, and the door appears to have been reinforced with additional planks as well. A rusty flat-bed truck is parked against the side of the gas station, caked with mud.
Far above on the store's flagpole, whipping and snapping in the wind, is the Sagittaron flag, flown upside-down.
For a brief, tense moment, as the marines approach the storefront, all is silent except for the Sagittaron flag. And then, breaking the silence, is a male voice clearly groaning, "Oh, /frack/." Then followed by what clearly sounds like a hushed, "Shut up, idiot!" The sound of a boot on concrete scuffs, and it's clear that there's movement inside the store, as someone moves between two boards that are not quite flush together.
"Copy that, Toast," Cora replies over the wireless, "We've got what looks like an intact vehicle up ahead as well. Proceeding with caution. Can you monitor that frequency for us and those near it just in case it comes back on?" She turns back to Kaz then to nod, "Ah," re: his call sign, "I was hoping it came with a story about you being chicken." Her sidearm is drawn out of its holster, held in a low, two-handed grip as they move forward. The corporal saying he smells exhaust earns a nod and then she looks back at the ECO and nods again, "Voices? Yeah, I heard it. I—" she stops as there is an even clearer voice and then movement inside the store, saying in a low voice, "You see that, corporal?" Comm is touched, and to Cidra relayed, "We've definitely got people in the store up here."
"Nikephoros, Toast. I copy," is Cidra's simple answer. Rather terse herself. They came here in search of survivors, of course. But, after who they've encountered so far on this planet, it's hard to think it'll be just that simple. "Raptor will be ready to lift off as soon as your boots are back in."
Then there's the sound of wood cracking as someone from inside the store strikes a board once, twice before it breaks. A chorus of, "Hey, hey, hey!" And, "What the frack?" Comes from inside from several other people, both male and female voices. A figure inside, difficult to see even with a board half-broken, thrusts what appears to be a hunting shotgun. Blasts ring out…
"Make sure your bloody safety's are off." mutters the ECO as he barely raises his pistol again. Eyes now focused in on the main building. The flag itself, is also a cheery sign. Nothing like seeing the universal sign of 'we're frakked' hanging outside of a place you are looking to investigate. "I'm superstitious enough-" Kaz does try for the small chatter now, even if he is in high alert mode. "-Chicken could work for that as well.." he says, though his face is screwed into a more serious look. "More voices-we got people.." Though whether or not they are friendly remain to be seen.
"Your call Lieutenant-What are orders?" beyond approach with care? This part right here-that moment which can send some adrenaline into your gut and keep your mind busy-almost achingly so? Yeah, that's what has Kaz's attention-as right now he is more or less ready for a shot to pop off in their direction. Eyes flicking back up to the roof. "Don't like this.."
And of course as soon as the ECO opens his mouth there's a look as the board is pried back and out comes the shotgun. Blasting away. "Zeus' TITS!" Meszaros curses-as he is stuck there in the bloody open. No where to move as the shot whizzes past. So What does someone do when they are caught flat footed against a shotgun? Simple they create their own covering fire. Lucky-Yes, but now Kaz is firing off a couple of rounds at the board's direction as he tries to get into some cover. Here's hoping they are ducking inside.
"Approach with caution," Cora replies unhelpfully to Kaz, "See if—" Whatever they were supposed to see is lost as a board starts splintering. The lieutenant figures it out rapidly and shouts, "Everybody down! Find cover!" just before that shotgun muzzle appears and begins firing. She hits the dirt and then looks back up, calling experimentally: "We're colonial military here to pick up survivors! Hold your fire!" It can't make things /worse/ after all, can it?
The Marines are less discreet with their observations — there's a chorus of, "GUN!" as they split and dive for cover with well-trained efficiency. The muzzles of their assault rifles poke out, level and unwavering upon the boarded-up windows as Cora calls toward them.
After the first few blasts, there's clearly some manner of brief dissent inside as the rifle is withdrawn and there's a hushed argument. However, the audible clicks and ratcheting of firearms being cocked can be heard from inside the store.
A new voice calls out, a male, characteristic of too many smokes and too much whiskey, no doubt. "You got thirty seconds to git on out of here," comes a thick Sagittaron accent; some might recognize it as a classic fisherman's drawl for this part of the world. "We outnumber you, and if you get any closer, we'll blast ya!" Emerging at the top of the store, partially hidden by some crumbling brickwork, is a young man in his twenties, dressed in a tattered Sagittaron Patriots jacket, and wearing a brown woolen cap often seen worn by fishermen. And of all the things he could be armed with, he levels a /speargun/ down at the Colonial team.
Now somewhat under cover, given the fine pistoleering of the Jig. Kaz is able to catch sight of the fellow moving up top. And that is where he moves his pistol aiming, but not firing-Not yet anyway. "Top." called out-though there's a faint raise of a brow from the ECO where he remains crouched. "Gun.." though some how calling that Speargun, a gun doesn't feel right. "And he supports a right shitty team.." thrown out as if that would say volumes. There's no flick back to Cora right now, though he is listening-his optical attention is on the assessed threat. Which as of right now is a troubled youth-with a speargun. Well-the shotgun didn't get him, so it would only be fitting that he'd be run through with a speargun, yes?
Cora has ducked back behind cover as well, and waits for those assesments from Kaz and the marines before peeking over to take a look for herself. "We're not here to fight you," she shouts back to the kid on the roof, "We're here to pick up survivors of the blast, if you want to come back to our ship where there's food and showers and safety and nice shit like that." Two out of three true isn't so bad, right? "But if you'd rather stay out here, we won't stop you. We'll get back on our ship and you can get back to dying of radiation poisoning. Alright?"
The lad up top changes the grip on his speargun, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. It's clear he's not a trained combatant. From inside the store, there's some more ushed conversation. Clearly, they're not all unified in there. "How do we know you're not Cylons frakking with us? You could be one of those folk working with the toasters. I…" Then a female voice, "Maarten, they need medical attention, or they're going to fraking die!" A pause. The man called Maarten calls out again; gruffly, he shouts, "All right. Prove it! But any funny business and I'll frak you up good!"
"Battlestar Cerberus, BS-One-Three-Two!" comes the shout from one of the Marines hunkered down, rifle still trained on the building. "You want a godsdamned orbital bombardment, will you believe us THEN?" Someone else's patience is wearing thin against Sagittaron's welcome. "Bunch of-"
"Stow it, Private," utters the Corporal, and silence returns to the four in their battledress blacks.
"We've got a medic here," Cora shouts back after that voice from inside, "If you bring your injured out, Maarten, we can help them." As for proving it, she gets on the comm to Cidra, "Toast, Cora. We've got locals demanding to see proof we're not skinjobs. How d'you feel about bringing the Raptor into visual range? That might calm them down. All we've seen so far is a speargun and a shotgun so I'm doubting they've got anti-aircraft capabilities."
"Kid, put down that bloody speargun, before you put your eye out." Kaz, calls out, before he's now chancing a glance back towards Cora for a moment, before he s looking right back to the young man with a spear gun. Lowering his pistol he is slightly coming out of his crouch. He'll let the lieutenant continue doing the 'official' talking right now. Though he's still offering a faint smirk at the Patriots jacket. However, Kaz is a bit of a pyramid snob, so take it for what you will.
"Nikephoros. Toast," comes Cidra's voice over the comm. "You have locals?" She actually sounds pleased. High chances of them being hostile aside. "Copy. Pulling her up and over now. I should be able to get an easy fix on your position once I am in the air. I shall keep it low." And with that, she gets back into the pilot's seat and off. She kept it green to go, so it's up easy as you please and flown toward the away team's position. She keeps her hands light on the controls. In case one of the villagers has an RPG or some such, she wants to be ready to get some altitude.
"Copy that, Toast," Cora replies into the com before turning to glance at marines, and Kaz, and then back to the locals. "We're going to bring our Raptor over," Cora calls out, "So you can see we're really colonial navy, alright? Don't waste your spears trying to shoot it."
The kid on top of the building grimaces slightly; it even looks like he's about to drop the speargun down to the roof, or at the very least, relax holding the very heavy weapon. But that changes when the Raptor comes into view. He actually points the speargun in the direction of the bird, eyes wide. There's not a whole lot a speargun could do to a Raptor other than scratch the paint, so Cidra's in no danger.
"We're opening up," comes the female voice again over the roar of the Raptor's engines - apparently, the voice of reason for this group. "Our wounded can't move. We'll allow one officer and the medic. No troops. And like Maarten says, no funny business." And then there's the banging and clamoring of tools as the reinforcement covering the front door begin to shake; boards are broken or hammered completely off. Eventually, the front door swings open; there is a woman in her forties, dressed in grimy civilian clothes, with hair tied back haphazardly. Her eyes scan everyone, then beckons for whomever designated by the team to enter.
"Nikephoros, Toast. Got you. Setting her down." And she puts her bird down in the empty parking area. That is a big, Navy-issue plane, that is. Albeit not a terribly threatening one. Toast didn't bring the gunship.
Kaz is looking back towards Cora, as he is lowering his gun further, almost to the point of sliding it back into his holster. "Lieutenant, I can head in, if need be with the medic. Can wire you the situation as we see it." He'll wait before moving further-though that is if the Intelligence officer lets the ECO go in to investigate.
"Toast, Nike, I'd keep the doors shut for now," Cora replies, "We're sending the medic in to their injured along with…either myself or Meszaros. I'm not expecting a trap here, but let's be ready for one anyway." She looks at Kaz then, apparently not having quite made up her mind yet, and after a moment finally nods, turning the other way towards the marines to say, "Corporal, you heard them. Send your corpsman in, please."
"You heard the Lieutenant," says the Corporal, finally rising from his crouch behind the flat-bed truck as he looks across the parking lot toward the corpsman. The medic's already moving as he tosses a curt nod toward the grocery entrance.
Nod returned, Kaz, quickly reholster's his sidearm, and makes towards the group of bunkered down Saggies, along with the Corpsman. "Coming in." called, mainly for the fellow with the Speargun, and anyone else who might be armed within the small convenient store. Eyes flash to the older woman and he simply nods to her. "Ma'am." He can give a name and rank if it's asked for. Right now he is doing his best to be a representative…One who is trying to forget he just was shot at by these people.
"Nikephoros. Toast. Copy." Her doors stay shut. She watches and waits.
The interior of the store has been rearranged such that it's as defensible as these civilians could make it. Sunlight barely manages to stream in between the wooden boards over the windows, and the main illumination appears to be kerosene lanterns distributed throughout the room. Display racks have been dismantled and moved to one rear corner of the room, with what little foodstuffs they have left stacked up on a shoddy foldable table. Several large plastic jugs for office water bubblers are stacked side by side underneath the table, and it's clear that their drinking water supply is also quite low. A cobbled-together short-wave transmitter and receiver sits by one of the boarded windows.
The survivors - six of them, in this room - are a mixture of ages from twenties through late-middle age. All of the men have beards, likely not being able to shave much in their current condition. Seven men, two women. The young man on the roof would be number seven. "I'm Mary Hammond," the woman says to Meszaros. She doesn't move to shake his hand, but doesn't shrink from him, either. "This is Maarten, my husband," she nods to the man who likely did the initial shooting, a burly individual. He nods slightly, scowling at Kaz and being generally wary. The rifle is still in his hands although he's holding it by the end of the muzzle, butt on the ground. Definitely not military.
"Our wounded are in the back. Please follow me." Mrs. Hammond leads the two Colonials through a beaded doorway, into what appears to be the sleeping area for these survivors. Two individuals lie on pallets; one is unconscious: a dark skinned man who has the sheen of persperation all over his skin. His legs and feet are bandaged, showing signs of soaking through. The other is quite awake, sitting up with knees to chest, looking half askance towards the door. "Who's there?" She asks weakly; Mary replies immediately. "We've been rescued, Rose. Colonials are here." The young woman, called Rose, probably can't see Kaz beyond a faint silhouette. Tears begin welling up in her eyes, and she clutches a figurine. "Thank the gods," she whimpers.
"Pleasure to meet you Mary-Lieutenant Meszaros at your service." kaz murmurs upon coming into the store. Eyes squint in the weak light, and one hand is brought up to rub for a second, before he is nodding towards the fellow with the rifle. A faint look given to the gun before he is looking back up to Maarten. "Nice shootin' pops." A kiss of his teeth and he is nodding as he and the Corpsman continue onto the back.
Perhaps it is not what he expected to see, this sight, but then what did he exactly expect? A world class hospital? A faint frown is given as he moves out of the corpsman's way to let him go and assess. "See what you can do mate." the Leonisian officer says, before he is looking the one called 'Rose' "It's alright ma'am. Lieutenant Kazimir Meszaros, of the Cerebus. We're here to bring you lot home.." Home being away from here and aboard a nice big ship. There's a look over his shoulder to Mary as he comes further into the makeshift sick bay. "How long have you all been here?"
"I say it's a trap," mutters the private as he turns, slowly, sweeping the abandoned village with his automatic rifle. "Ain't nobody on this planet wants to be saved." Almost reluctantly, he adds, "Clear," as he finishes his circuit.
The corpsmen gets in there to do his job examining the sick and injured. The unconscious man first, then Rose. What he finds makes him frown. "These people need to get back to Sickbay on Cerberus, like a week ago," he says. "Severe radiation poisoning. We can evac in the Raptor here." If the other folks in that house will let them go, that is.
"A pleasure, Lieutenant. This location, about six weeks," Mary responds to Meszaros. "We found this place by accident. We teamed up with some of the folk we found here. Unfortunately, we've lost five people since we've joined forces. We were afraid we'd lose Ms. Ibbhanas and Mr. Candella here -" She indicates the unconscious man. "- as they're the sickest amongst us. Most of us are functional, some better than others. Our medicine stores are almost depleted, and we've been rationing severely."
Rose almost smiles at the mention of 'home'. "Have you… have you heard any news about Aquaria?" The young woman asks. She unsteadily tries to stand, but it's clear she's too weak to do so. "Also, what about Aerilon?"
Ms. Hammond straightens her posture and squares her shoulders at the corpsman's report. "Lieutenant, none of us can stay here much longer. We'll die of radiation, starvation, or Cylons." She glances back into the main room, where the rest are watching the Colonials outside. Maarten Hammond looks on at Kaz and his wife, shaking his head. He doesn't like the prospect of leaving, but he's not about to defend the notion of staying here and dying. "We're not militants. We have nothing left," Ms. Hammond says to Kaz. "Please, we don't want to lose anyone else."
Cora waits until the marines have made their rounds before rising, and watching the door. After a minute she touches her comm to check, "Everything alright in there, Kaz?"
"Bloody shit." Kaz curses out, before he's bringing his hand up to the comms at his throat. "Toast, Chicken. We got wounded here with severe cases of radiation poisoning. We need to evac them immediately. " And his hand comes down before he is looking to Mary Hammond. "Ma'am." Kaz begins, while trying to keep his tone calm. "I understand- and we can see that-though your bloody welcome wasn't entirely warm." Not to say he wouldn't have done the same thing in their shoes. "Give me a minute." And his hand is coming back up again. "Nikephoros, Chicken. Everything's a little shite right now. We've got clear cases of severe radiation poisoning. And there are seven others that probably have it, but time is ticking on them…"And here is when the ECO pauses. "My suggestion is to call down another Raptor here to get them, if we can. Sir." And with that Meszaros, is lowering his hand again. "Are you sure, Ms. Hammond, that the rest of your party would cooperate, if we're able to get another bird here?"
Mary glances back through the beads at her husband. "Those that will leave, will leave," she says softly. "You'll find that most of us are not from Sagittaron, and we're quite reasonable people." She frowns slightly at Maarten. "Most of the time." She looks back at Kaz, inhaling and exhaling as if to give her an extra moment to figure out her next words. "I'm sure all nine of us will go with you, if you have the facilities and capacity to take us. Some of us have been here for over five months, Lieutenant, against our will and on the run." A small, weak smile. "A shower and a hot meal would be lovely. But first -" she nods to Rose and Mr. Candella. "I ask that you transport them, first."
"Chicken, Toast. I copy you," comes Cid over the wireless. "I can take us back to Cerberus direct now and call in another Raptor to retrieve the rest. If they shall come peaceably." The helpful Marines will hopefully relieve them of weapons and exploding vests before they board.
"We're on it," says the Corporal, directing one of his men toward the Raptor with a nod. The two of them will await at the doors, rifles slung over their shoulders, to check those boarding with a modicum of gentleness. The mistrustful Private will keep his rifle at hand, muzzle lowered, watching the process with a sharp eye.
"Toast, Chicken. Affirmative sir. I will relay the message along." And with that he's looking back towards Mary for a moment. "Well that is somewhat something of a joy. Alright here's the deal, Ma'am. Your people will need to be searched and relieved of any weapons before we can allow them onboard the raptor. This is standard procedure, and if you are sincere about leaving then allow our marines do do their job." And with that he's looking to the Corpsman. "Let's get em outside so as to speed it, up." Hell Kaz'll even help cart some of these wounded folks out.
Slowly but surely, the survivors all surrender their weaponry. Remarkably, none of them are wired to explode; not one of them has any sort of improvised explosive device, grenade, bomb, or erstwhile death device that will explode in the face of the marines. These people are just fortunate, foreign survivors on a world with a penchant for being fiercely aggressive in their freedom and independence. Even Maarten Hammond relinquishes his hunting rifle, with a gruff, "I'll want that back. That's my father's gun."
Mr. Candella must be carried; there's no way around it. Rose, however, with Kaz's help, manages to shakily get to her feet and not fall down. Well, not till she gets to the Raptor, anyway. But as they transit outside, the sunlight brings illumination to exactly how sick Ms. Ibbhanas is. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she says to Meszaros as they walk, slowly, managing a smile. She's still clutching her wrought figurine; at a glance, it looks like Poseidon.
Cidra gets on the wireless back to basecamp while they're dealing with assisting frisking the natives. Calling for another Raptor to meet them here. She'll wait until it arrives before actually taking anyone away in her own bus.