A Cubit Short - Boarding Action
A Cubit Short - Boarding Action
Summary: During the mission to investigate the Elpis' distress signal, a Heavy Raider embeds itself into the Kharon's cargo bay.
Date: PHD 134 (August 30, 2009)
Related Logs: All other Cubit Short logs.

Cargo Bay - Deck 3

This expansive room beneath Main Engineering has a ceiling hidden somewhere behind the masses of pipes high above. On the Port side, a large airlock door can be accessed with docking collar controls located from a small panel to the side. Other than that, this huge room is clean and empty for the moment.

[Intercom] Beckett says, "All Hands, All hands. Prepare for collison! Damage and Fire teams prepare. Do you hear Prep pare for Collision—"

Just when the skies seemed quiet, a blip shows up on the screens in CIC. The thing is inbound, screaming at high velocity with no signs of slowing as it approaches the Kharon. The afterburners of the Heavy Raider flare angrily for one last push of power before it slams at a high velocity into the side of the escort carrier, burying itself half way inside. The Kharon herself doesn't even really rock on her axis, but those in the vacinity of the Cargo Bay surely felt the concussion.

What was a dull thud and shudder to some others in the ship was a ear piercing screech of twisted metal and an impact hard enough to send the civilians down here to their knees or worse should they have been standing. The nose of a grizzly looking ship has lodged itself through the hull plating of the Kharon, sticking far enough inside for a side hatch to be opened. Already two imposing metal creatures have stepped through the void, stepping with a robotic WHIIIIIR CLICK WHIIIIIR CLICK that has a civilian woman standing in abject terror and screaming at the top of their lungs. The MPs posted down here on security duty snap out of their momentary stun and start firing volleys at the Centurians, and the Centurians? Fire back. Already they've mowed down a few slow moving civilians.

Temperance, crouched near the impromptu altar which had been set up down here by Sister Ariadne, looks up at the alarm, then braces against it as the heavy raider plows in, sending a metal totel of Apollo tumbling off and conking her on the head. She picks it up and returns it to its rightful place, anger flushing her cheeks as she looks at the Centurions, with whom she's familiar enough, then to the guards. You know, the ones who took their own guns away. The glare only lasts until the fire opens up, and she runs, grabbing one of the younger kids on her way and shoving him hard against a stairwell for some cover, hurting him, maybe, but not as hurt as he could be otherwise.

Hull breaches are generally an extremely bad alert to come over the system. Roubani and some damage control, fully armed (though, most unfortunately, with fire equipment) deployed at the first shout over the intercom from Beckett, already in the hall outside engineering when the slam came. The sounds of boots rushing down the stairwell into the cargo bay is immediately lost in the terrible sound of crunching metal and the screams of the bay's denziens.

Salazar and a fireteam of MPs take up a position on the other side of the hatch once the firing has already begun. A little late to the party, they arrive at a run, hit the deck, then fan in and out around some cargo strapped down at one end of the bay, between the civilians and the enemy. Parts, among them. Dun dun duuuuun. "Move your asses and put your asses between the civvies and the bulletheads!"

Parts growns, with his rifle raised, "No you did NOT just bring your chromed and skanky metal asses aboard MY SHIP." Uh oh. The Parts is pissed.

Dover is more sedate, even as he slides a little through the blood of one of the fallen civvies.

Coming in with the rest of the Marine team, darkened eyes not from paint but from bruises, Swift has his rifle up and is already moving towards the Civilians. "Move move move, get away from the bulkhead." Even as the words spill out, the metal is seen and a series of burst fire rips out of his rifle towards the first Centurion to enter into his vision. "Moving to secure left."

Oh dear Apollo. Roubani grabs the shoulder of the petty officer next to him, pushing his head down and shoving him forward through the escaping crowd. "Get to the B8 access panel. Go, before they get to the stairs!" The poor man jostles forward and nearly trips over the body of…a Marine. Leaking blood onto the floor from a haphazard headshot, gray matter spilled in a burst onto the wall nearby. The thunking steps of the Centurions is far too close for any comfort, and Roubani darts forward, grabbing the rifle out of the dead Marine's hands as the PO runs.

The crazy thing about Centurians is that they don't retreat and don't go for cover, so even as the humans scatter they remain on whatever course they were set to. In this case: KILL anything that moves. The little red light in their face plates continually scan left to right, right to left, picking up any hint of movement as people try to disappear. Their weapons clatter nearly nonstop as they cut through the original MP's, the men twitching from the multiple shots before they fall lifeless to the deck, losing their weapons in the process. Pools of red start to form on the deck plating, but the Centurian's don't bleed. They don't twitch. When one is actually taken out by the armor piercing rounds, his WHIIIIIR CLICKS just suddenly cease and he topples over like a lifeless tin can. Thunk.

Temperance crouches there where she is, letting the Marine squadron pass in front of her and the kid, glancing toward the others in their flight. She, on the other hand, has her eyes on a prize, one of the rifles dropped by an injured marine, which she stares at with a rat's eyes from her dark corner, grimacing and then running forward to grab it and retreat, grimacing as she looks it over and then stares bloody murder from her tyllium-zombie eyes at the advancing toasters.

It would seem that the S2 is also quite annoyed with the presence of the Centurions aboard the CEC Kharon. Her rifle comes up as she slides slightly out of cover, and sprays off a burst of fire at one of the interlopers. The centurion eats the spray, and it proves too much for his electronic body. "That is for shooting me in the chest down on Scorpia, you piece—Frak!" She whips a hand off of her weapon as a round takes a nice furrow out of her left hand. "That…" She wraps her hand around her rifle. "Was a mistake."

Parts yells a battlecry of, "YOU ARE GOIN' DOWN like a five dollar toaster, holmes!" Parts charges to new cover, behind a considerably smaller cargo container, and takes new aim. He ratchets an arm up, fingers the trigger, and whispers a prayer, "Bless this mess I am about to make."

Dover does it the DL way, and just silently shoots. He's too cool for quips and making up lingo that will never catch on. He's old school. Like Snakeyes. But less creepy. Slightly.

Hearing the eruption from Salazar, Ashe spares only a moment glance over. "Sir?" The question is rather short, considering it is only three letters but the tone carries that underlying concern usually reserved for fellow Marines or the occassional Picon Prostitute. Lifting his rifle, he continues to fire bursts of shells towards the Centurion that is almost as BadAshe (tm) as he is.

The second Centurian merely steps over his fallen breathren as if he were a twig in the way, not even bothering a glance down. Scaaaaaan. Scaaaaan. The red light tick tocks across his face like a macabre metronome, seeking out whatever is still living and breathing in the cargo bay. A man died trying to protect his wife, and now his lifeless form is sprawled across her while she whimpers. The Centurian picks up the barest movements of the woman's leg and ends that life as well. TAT TAT. His aim doesn't discriminate, if it moves it must die. He continues moving forward, even after getting chewed up by multiple rounds.

Salazar's body armor eats a round as she exchanges shots with the Centurion advancing on the assorted company. She grunts and doubles, but she's been shot in the chest before. There's a hiss from her lips. A soft mutter and a narrowing of eyes only prompts her to swap back to burst. "All good, Swift. The faster you make scrap our of these toasters, the sooner the drinking starts." The words are clipped. That hand hurts.

An extra patter of bullets joins the Marines' fire from the engineers' side, where Roubani is jotting off cover fire for the petty officer carrying the heavy gear. Sucks to be the mule. He grits his teeth as the huge thing doesn't die even after that huge volley, keeping his PO in the corner of his eye as he aims again.

Temperance has stared these things down before, back home on the filthy tyllirock she'd been living on. And so she keeps her motions succinct and useful, getting a feel for the new weapon and easing her knee forward, elbow up as she stares at it with the same dead-eyed stare, jaw setting in anger.

Mother fraker. Ashe's eyes actually widen at the number of bullets pouring into the Centurion of Doom. Crinkling his nose, he shakes his head and taking a moment to free off his hand, he pats his chest. "Alright, let's Fork us some metal." The words are uttered quietly and the rifle comes up again with a twist of his neck. Taking that moment to narrow his aim, he pulls the trigger just once.

Roubani is also momentarily in shock as the thing keeps on plugging. Ares is playing for the wrong team here. "Note: Make flak vests out of these things," he mutters with his teeth grit, levelling the rifle again.

That just ain't right. That Centurion refuses to fall, and the marines are unloading with some help from peripherals who've picked up weapons? Do they make toaster steroids? Did someone engage a forcefield on the mofo and forget to tell the +combat system? Srsly! Salazar glances askance at Swift as he invokes the fork. She hasn't heard that story. "Just how hard did you hit your head?" No time for love, Dr. Jones. We're shootin' things.

Maybe this is one of those new fangaled T-1000 models set to find John Connor. Er…or this particular Centurian just has the luck of his monotheist god behind him. His metallic foot crunches a body beneath him like he's just taking a walk through the tulips, and he continues clearing a path towards the far staircase that leads up to the rest of the ship. Instead of focusing on a particular few targets this time, he does a wide sweep of his weapon which seems to be wholly inaccurate. His shiny metal exterior is now getting crusted with blood as he continues his push forward.

Temperance's shoulders move with a soft cuss carried on an exhalation of breath. But other than that her foot remains planted in front of her in a rather unorthodox but, evidently, effective sniping posture from the way-out reaches of the dark. "Show me," she whispers in Mierce, taking another shot, trying to find that sweet spot she knows is there. And there it is, just on the underside of the head, near what passes for a neck.

With the last pull of his trigger, and the bullet ripping through the Centurion's faceplate whilst others attempt to keep up, Ashe nods his head and swings his rifle to the ready. "Outstanding work." He states dryly towards no one in particular, eyes shooting over towards Salazar, "Sir, civvies back and wounded?"

Tink tink tink…the bullets slamming into the Centurian sound like hail on a tin roof, only this time they manage to do enough damage to finally take this sucker out. The first indication that the beast might fall, is right in the middle of a WHIIIIIR CLICK, his entire frame stutters then ceases movement. One last volley of bullets goes high above everyone's head, and then he just merely thunks right over like a tin soldier that got knocked down by a child's hand. But wait? You thought he was alone? Pfft. No one goes to a party stag, not even Centurians. WHIIIIR CLICK WHHIIIIIIRRR CLICK. That's right. Company. Hope you have extra cheese dip.

Salazar takes a moment to duck back behind her cover, a large stack of crates in the bay, after that dastardly cylon finally takes his final curtain. She hissed out a particularly colorful curse in Kashmiri, then one in Mierce, just because she knows one, and ends it with, "If this fraks up my manual dexterity, I will find your home world and blow down the door, you shitbag tincans!" It's all very quiet, but all quite annoyed without being showy. Her left hand bleeds freely from a disgustingly impressive flesh wound. Her aim and attention turns back to the heavy raider poking in through the hull, and she trains her rifle on it. "It's an open field. Dover, Swift. Herd them out, I'll cover your progress with Parts. Go, go, go."

Kai's not a particularly stealthy kinda guy, even on the best of days. Today is not the best of days. When he hears the sound of gunfire coming from the cargo bay, he abandons any pretense of sidling sneakily in, and kicks the hatch aside with a booted foot. Pistol raised, he pivots it from dead centurion, to dead centurion, to Salazar for a beat. And then lowers it. "All right, move in," he calls to his entourage. "Ensign, what's the situation?"

Kai pauses a moment, too, to speak into his wireless receiver.

Roubani keeps the rifle up even as the centurion finally (finally!) falls. Cripes. He frees up one hand to motion quickly to the PO. Caution, but g—aaaah crap, not again. "Get it sealed!" He calls to the shaken engineer.

What they find is, strangely, the last thing Samantha expected to see. Did Centaurions -actually- dive bomb the ship? Holy shit. She didn't even feel when their raiding party hit, due to Willem's little love tap back on deck. She's still got her gun ready, though, spilling in through the hatch with the party of back up pilots fresh in from the flight deck, providing what back up they can. She swears at the strange, almost familiar sound of whirrr click, whirr click, bathed in red light. Still, red is enough to shine on metal and at the first chance she drops to a knee behind a wee bit of cover, ready to fire. Only…they're all down. She swears faintly…"All bogeys dead here, sirs?" She breathes out, half high on battle ready adrenaline.

Thea's got her weapon ready - and just in time to see the Centurions approaching. She doesn't hesitate to point and shoot. Someone's not a happy camper. HER ship! Hers! "Get cover," she tells Kai, Sam and Thorn.

Temperance takes the moment of relative quiet, measured out as it is by the repetitive motions of the advancing Cylon cohorts keeping time, to stand from her post and press the crying child on to escape with the others. If anyone tries to take her stolen weapon from her hands, however, they've got a problem. Keeping it in a sort of deathgrip befitting her prematurely aged features, she moves to find some proper cover before the new crop of Centurions can fully emerge.

As Kai kicks open the hatch and leads the rest of them through, Thorn's heart leaps into his throat at the signature sound of marching Centurions. He remains silent, though, and still outwardly calm as he crouches slightly, bringing his pistol to bear. He, too, finds cover and crouches behind it; having been shot before, he's not keen to repeat the experience. Thea doesn't need to tell him twice. The pistol comes up, and steely blue eyes search for a target.

At the orders to herd the cattle along, Ashe moves forward just as the Centuridiot reenforcements show up, colliding into the Kharon reenforcements. As the OK Corral gets filled, the Marine keeps himself so he's between the sheep of Civilians and the Metal, not exactly the most secluded place to be. The rifle comes up to the shoulder as he continues to keep fire going upon the emergence of new metallic crumudgeons.

"Zone is hot! Men down. Two hostiles down, two more in the field. Get your ass to cover, sir." Salazar calls back. She takes aim and then adds, "Unknown number inside the ship!" Could be four total, could be 6. Hard to say. Sal doesn't guess. "Cover my marines!" The big shiny targets are that-a-way, see?

Covering asses is what a pilot does best. Kai keeps his back flattened against the wall until Salazar makes the call, then racks the slide on his pistol and takes aim at one of the tincans that comes trooping out of the half-buried raider. Ping, ping. His hits are on target, but the pistol's non-armour piercing rounds basically do frak all against it. Growl.

The frightened child that Temperance shoved into the cover earlier is now rocking back and forth, hugging his knees as he sings an old childhood rhyme about Centurians. "They're gonna getcha, you better run. They're gonna getcha, here they come…." His little voice almost lost amidst the gunfire. The two Centurians that just emerged don't make it far, but at least they have enough time to do some nice damage to those humans still remaining. Their guns spit out an angry stream of bullets and the singing suddenly. Stops.

As Samantha realizes that the invading toasters don't actually seem to -notice- the newly arrived pilots, she takes her attack of opportunity. She remains close against the wall, in the red hued shadows, her gun lofted and strongly pointed in the thing's direction, she takes a straong shot for teh chest. She must have fired at just the right angle, because the bullets hit home, a few sparks and a bit of smoke coming from the half decent hit. Not enough to fell it by her shot alone, but she's hurt something there. She watches as other bullets take the thing down slowly but surely.

Pewpewpew. Bullets rip out and Ashe fights the urge to add laser movie effect sounds to the work of his rifle as the series of bullets fly towards the Centurions, ripping one of them up and down the front, gashing holes and sending sparks. "I love AP rounds." The Marine mutters it under his breath before glancing at the civilians and motioning them. "Go on, get moving, follow the stream of important people out the backside." Even as he makes the motions with his hand the Marine is keeping himself on that ever important task of covering the escape. The shots ripping out across from one of the metal though has him calling over his shoulder. "MEDIC. Wounded on field." Hand motions again and either Ashe is landing Vipers or attempting to indicate where the wounded are located.

Thorn's aim is just a little bit off in the dim lighting; his shot cracks right past a Centurion's head, ricocheting off the wall behind him. No matter, though, as a hail of fire from the others is more than enough to deal with both of the Cylons. Thorn stares down at the scorched, bullet-ridden remains of the Centurions before turning an appraising glance at the others. No one he came down with took any fire, but as usual there's a marine or two with bullet wounds to show for the experience. Thorn flattens against the wall, allowing the escapees as much room as possible to flee.

Temperance has been mauled by metal before, and though the pain is intense, drawing the blood from her face to pour out onto her sweatshirt and down her sturdy pants, she keeps her post, keeping herself propped up on a knee, keeping rifle directed, if faintly waveringly for a while, at the hatch, waiting for more. Because there are always more.

Roubani keeps the rifle up and against his shoulder as two hulks of metal go crashy onto the floor, keeping his breathing low in the gut so it doesn't upset his aim. His ears are half-tuned to the sounds of human shouting, but this team is here for the health of the ship, not its people. Things are sparking and flickering and there's a heavy raider stuck in their damn hull. Mmmm. Heavy raider stuck in the hull. He exhales quietly, turning to check on the PO and his shaky progress with the diagnostics panel. On his own wireless he talks quietly into the headset, probably to Sen or whoever's covering for her while she crawls around in the engines.

WHIIIIR CLICK WHIIIIIR CLICK. What? You thought you were done? You thought you were safe? Silly humans. Complacency is a bitch, and apparently there's enough room in a Heavy Raider to make a clown car look like a roomy SUV. Guess you don't need much leg room when you don't have muscles to stretch. Another pair of red scanning heads pop out of the hatch, prepared to take up the lost goal of their fallen mates.

Salazar's focus remains on the new plug in the hull disgorging centurions. As soon as anything shiny moves back there, she's happy on the trigger.

Does no one listen? Determining down the road that Ashe needs to find a better megaphone, or at least learn to speak Officer, he shakes his head and moves away some from the shifting of the civilians towards where he had seen the poor Temperance get turned into bloody swiss cheese. However, he only gets two steps moving until more whirrring is heard. "What the frak." His rifle swings up. "These things pack tighter than a Picon family into a bedroom." As it swings, the sharp crack of report is heard.

Roubani's brows shoot up. Into the wireless: 'Gotta go, dear!' or something akin to that with more 'sir' involved. Rifle was never really let down, aimed quickly. Already his head's making some calculations in there of what the interior size of this thing must be, damn.

At the sound of MOAR WHIRRR-CLUNK, Thorn stiffens, muttering a particularly vile curse in Mierce, which technically doesn't really work for Cylons, given that they have neither the requisite equipment nor a prediliction for sheep, but oh well. Pistol comes back up, and glaring eyes search the corridor for the source of the sounds.

Move and shoot, move and shoot. Kai skirts near the cover of a few stacks of crates pushed up against the cargo bay's bulkhead wall, but with the centurions' fire focused on the marines, he remains out in the open for now. Blood's wiped from his cheek as he keeps his sidearm pointed toward the gaping maw in the wall, where the heavy raider's lodged. His hand's steady, attention only briefly distracted by those who've been hit, and then when more tincans pile out of the clown car, it's back to the shooting.

Thea's still on a knee, shooting at the Centurions, not too far from where they're coming out. She was facing in that direction, anyway. The bullets keep barking out of her weapon. Someone's clearly not a fan of clowns - or clown cars.

Marine medics start to thread through the crowd at Ashe's call, keeping a low profile like skittering cockroaches after a fallen corn chip. Afterall, Centurian's don't pay attention to that red cross they are sporting, rewriting the code of conduct during warfare. Yup, even medics are fair game. They fan out, moving to Sal or Temperance or Civilians to drag them out to safety or treat them where they lay.

Thunk. WHIIIR CLICK. Thunk. WHIIIR CLICK. The two Centurians spread out then plow forward, their mighty volley of bullets…missing horribly. Maybe these Centurians need their optics checked, but can you imagine a Centurian with glasses? He'd be so made fun of back on the Basestar.

Oh that heavy raider is going to make a beautiful specimen stuffed on somebody's wall. Roubani plugs the one dead ahead with three good shots and then shifts his aim for the one behind it. They have a trophy to recover, piss off.

Thorn follows in Kai's wake. He's quick, not bothering to duck behind cover as he moves; the Cylons seem to have eye(get it? eye?) only for the Marines. This time, his shot makes contact, but merely pings off the thickest part of a Centurion's chest armor. Thorn curses again as he continues to close, squeezing off another shot.

Spacecase, aka Samantha, remains standing, not too covered, apparently confident in the fact that none of these walking chrome toasters are actually smart enough to NOTICE the pilots sneaking up on their backs. This is far more fun than picking them off with rubber bullets down on the range. She clips off another shot, managing to dig into metal even if this one isn't as central as the last one. Steady as they go, they've got the numbers and the position, she remains prepared to take them as they continue to come through.

Temperance is starting a regular collection of bullets in her belly, breath coming shorter as she just tries to keep her rifle level.

Ashe moves his body as the Centurions continue to fire, a pattern in his mind developing, like a sprinkler in the back yard. That shoots bullets instead of a nice spray on a hot summer day. Dancing out of the way of the bullet spray, the rifle comes up again and another sequence of fire rips free from his rifle towards the Centurion that didn't fall over from heavy fire. "Sir, Civs Clear?" The question is shouted over the shoulder towards the last place he had seen or heard from Salazar.

Ping, ping, ping. Again, Kai's right on target but his bullets deflect off the centurion's chest like he's hurling marshmallows at the thing. "Pilots, watch yourselves. Stay close to cover." Followed by another few sharp cracks of his gun going off.

Salazar remains in her cover, rifle up, on the Cents. She isn't going to move just because the machinery is approaching. There's very little room to fall back except to the hatch, which is too far. Her burst takes one cent solidly, but she doesn't stop squeezing the trigger, even as blood runs down her arm, and an uncomfortable sensation in her abdomen says something might have penetrated her body armor. "Just about. Cover fire, Swift! Clear the field."

Samantha remains standing, a bit less than covered, but it gives her -fantastic- shots. She nails a centaurian right in the chest, hard enough that the thing studders in it's motions, more smoke coming from the dying robot. A small, cold laugh echoes from her lips. "Just try it, bitches." She mutters, mostly under her breath but adreanline might make controlling her volume less than successful, so someone might hear.

Roubani says nothing as the Centurion falls. Nor does he lower his rifle immediately, keeping it steadily trained on the twisted enemy craft lodged so unceremoniously in their hull.

Most of the civilians have been cleared out by now, though a few stragglers are still cowering behind their cots or unable to make it to the exit. The medics by now are swarming over Temperance, trying to get her to disengage from combat unless she dies on her feet. The firefight is growing in intensity with the number of humans with weapons multiplying and making their stand. CLICK CLICK CLICK, the last Centurian is stuck, and he actually tilts his head down to look at a leg that is no longer responding. It slowly raises it's red tinted gaze again as if saying 'oh shit', before he too, falls like one dead domino. Then all is blistfully quiet from the Heavy Raider.

Temperance's chest rattles some with her breathing, something like a light and sickly-sounding purr. Her weapon keeps dragging as her pants turn a nice color of red, but she gives a valiant effort toward keeping it aloft, waiting for the next line.

Ashe finishes the last burst round of fire, glancing over his shoulder at the order to 'cover fire'. Finishing the rounds off as the last Centurion goes phhhhzzzttthud. He rolls his shoulders. "Frak me, if I don't shoot a shit ton better with a concussion." Who'd have thought getting busted up would set his shooting better.

Thorn blinks as the Centurion suddenly seems to sense his presence, whirling in his direction and firing in his direction before the others quickly take it down. "Nice try, frakker," he mutters venomously, going to stand over the twisted metal corpse. He nudges it contemptuously with his boot before looking around, seeing who's still on their feet and who's wounded.

"Dover, Parts. Secure the civilians in the Mess and await further orders." Salazar barks to the marines, "Swift, on me. Let's be sure that broken bird is empty." Sal raises her rifle and advances on the broken hull. "DC can get in here and clean up the mess when we're through."

"Call the Captain," Roubani tells the trembling engineering PO at the diagnostics panel. "Let her know the Marines are sweeping the heavy raider. Then we seal the gap and move it to aerofab." A quiet exhale and he looks around at the incredible carnage. "Centurions roped off after medical's handled the wounded. We'll take those for teatime too."

Temperance tries, almost instinctively, to rise to her feet and go after those advancing into Cylon territory. But her legs won't go, despite not having themselves been shot, and she slumps to one side with a grunt as the medics come to look at her, still gripping the weapon firmly, wrhite-knuckled. Not as though the rest of her skin isn't white, by now.

Thea gets to her feet and steps back out of the way of advancing Marines and medical. There's little left for her to do at the moment save talk to upset civilians who might still be alive.

A crisp nod towards Salazar and Swift is advancing on the Raider, popping out an ammo clip of his rifle and putting in a new one just in case. "Dibs on any stewardesses." He comments dryly towards the S2.

This time, Kai's bullets rip through the centurion's armour, possibly due to luck or possibly just sheer determination. He keeps his sights trained on the tincan even as it goes down, then barks to the officers who followed him in, "Passi, help secure the entry point. Komnenos, assist the marines with those civilians." His sidearm's lowered cautiously, and he nods wordlessly to Legacy. Silent communication for the win.

The path to the Heavy Raider is a sticky mucky one, where it's best not to think too hard about what's sticking to one's boots. The carnage is wide spread enough to incorporate the civilian bunking area as well as the ChEng's new pet project: the pyramid court. No doubt some repairs will need to be made there, too. As the team approaches the hull, all is still, and after a sweep, the interior proves to be blissfully empty.

A curt nod comes from Samantha, still in her palish green flight suit, her firearm lowered to her side but she's not replacing the safety. Not yet. She heads forward with the Marines, into the entry point but slightly towards the back since she knows to let the ground pounders go in first. "Aye, sir." She calls as she moves into the area, readying to fire again if necessary…

Roubani blows out air through pursed lips, looking around the bay at the sparks flying and ripped metal. He pulls the strap of the rifle over his shoulder for now, picking up a handle of one of the heavy kits as the PO gets on the horn back to homebase. Moar assistance plz, cleanup aisle Cylon.

Salazar glances over to Swift and shakes her head, attention shifting back to the broken heavy raider making sweet love to the hull of the Kharon. "If you're lucky, maybe there's a blender inside." She tips her head a little, rifle up. "You didn't get shot this time, I hear that's rare. You deserve the hostess gift if there is one."

The Lance Corporal glances at Salazar and smirks a bit. "I actually rarely get shot for the number of encounters, sir. Statistically that is. Besides, they have a firing pattern." His rifle sweeps as they check the Raider. "Clear sir. Permission to return to Security Hub so the Pilots don't get squeamish at me throwing up."

Thorn holsters his weapon, the danger seeming to have passed. There's a nod to Kai and a brief but lingering glance at Samantha before he moves off to help Dover and Parts manage the crowd of jumpy civilians.

Samantha smirks at Ashe…"Need a vomit bag, Ashe? And here I thought you were made of stern stuff." Her voice is doing it's best to be light, teasing.. a breathless little laugh on the end of it all but there is still tension behind everything. She isn't really feeling the joking right now, no matter how she tries.

Thea dips her head to Kai and offers him a small smile before taking a knee next to a woman to talk quietly. One eye is kept on Salazar who, apparently, has command on the scene.

Once the area's been cleared for no remaining hostiles, the CAG thumbs his safety back on and shoves his pistol into its thigh holster with a *thump*. "Ensign," he addresses Salazar curtly, "I'm going to head up to sickbay. Page me if you need anything." With a backwards glance at the tattered wreck of the heavy raider lodged in their cargo bay, he turns and trudges back for the stairs. Blood's swiped off his forehead as he goes.

Roubani waits long enough that it seems the Marines aren't getting their heads blown off. When they get into chattering about getting shot, he calls the PO over with a motion, and they get to what work they can do while they wait for the bigger DC backup. Better hope this thing doesn't come dislodged before they can seal this hole.

"Clear," Salazar calls back to the DC, before she steps back from the wreck, and drops her rifle against her shoulder, muzzle up. Her left hand bleeds freely on the Deck, her armor hiding any other wounds. "Get out of here, Swift. Check in with medical, and then make sure someone relieves Parts so he can get checked out." Yep, she noticed some peripheral hits. "If you're not a deck ape or a snipe, clear the Cargo Bay." Safety first, kids! Additional MPs filter in through the hatch to spread out to be sure the wrecked robots are really wrecked. She nods to the CAG. "Sir."

Temperance gives a sharp call almost like a yelp as the marine medics finally get the gun away from her. After that, she stops fighting them, letting them take her off to sickbay.

Ashe nods towards Salazar then turns, pausing just momentarily. "Sir, don't be the last to get checked out. It'd be a shame to lose you to a dumbass wound." He nods towards her hand and then moves. As he passes Sam, a glance is given towards the pilot, his darkened eyes and bruised up nose being more visible up close. "Take a rifle butt to the face and you'll understand." A smile, lopsided, then Swift is off to get back to the Security Hub to run logistics, or what have you.

Samantha has been given her orders off, and so she nods. Salazar might not be her boss, but she's got charge of the scene and that's enough to make Passi listen. She gives Ashe a half smile, but a worried look…"Damn, your pretty face is all screwed up, Ashe. Such a shame." It's her best attempt at sounding concerned before she heads to move off and out… going somewhere to process this all…

Salazar glances down at her hand, and then turns to head for the hatch. "I'll post MPs outside. Hollar if any mini robot spiders fly out of the hole." She's kidding. Funny, right? Sure it is. The S2 heads out after Swift, presumably Sickbay bound.

Thea, too, has her orders and slips out of the Cargo Bay, tucking her service weapon securely back in place as she goes.

Roubani largely ignores the chitchat between marines and pilots, as well as medical. Job to do and all. "Let's get this sealed," he tells the PO as they start loading engineering's work tools. "Draw a cover on on, we'll hatch it and remove it piece by piece."

Finally, Thorn and the two marines have the civvies in hand, and begin leading them up to the mess as ordered.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License