Summary: The Paros group is brought back to the bunker for treatment. It's chaotic.
Date: PHD075
Related Logs: After Marco Polo

Scorpia - Bunker (Medical)

Daphne jerks herself up off of a chair, awake now, hearing so many other's come in when she's just been napping among the still recovering patients. She neatly arranges her suit, making certain each hem is straight and her hair is in place as she steps forward, listening…"Progress was made?" The delegate inquires hopefully.

Ahhh, the Sickbay of the bunker. It's so nice and quiet with McTiernan and Dmitri just coming back in. Thea did an about face, heading back to the head, apparently, looking like she was going to lose her dinner. There's the faint scent of fresh stew in the halls, mingled with Eau d'Military. From the front hall comes the sound of a bit of a scuffle, then Angel slips into the Medical Bay looking like something that the cat went out, killed, then dragged in before burying it in the litterbox. "Doc," she calls, urgency in her voice. "Lots of injured. Swift is critical. Sarge is bringing him in now."

Dmitri steps over to one of the crates, spreading the map out. As he digs out the measuring tape from his jacket, he replies tightly - not angry or anything, just focused as he starts sketching out lines on the map, "Not a matter've memory. Just needed to see those two, can predict the others; they're machines. Think in patterns. Even. Predictable. There might be a central site that networks 'em all, middle've the city, might need to run another recon out there." A glance up as Angelica hustles in to report injuries. He grunts. Goes back to working out the plotting on the map.

Levesque takes a step back from the door, and says to Alyssa, finally, "If you need any help, I can probably be a decent aid. Just tell me and I'll drop my gear." The marine, having also just gotten back from the field with McT and Dmitri, searches for a bottle of antiseptic hand cleaner.

Alyssa leaps from the bed in an amazingly balletic movement for a woman who had just been trying to catch a nap. She had been afraid of this. "Ok people, we have injured incoming. Everyone who is not in vital need of a bed get off them now, and Dmitri, if you're gonna be mapmaking, get somewhere where you won't be in the way. Daphne! We need to scrub up and fast. Hot water, antiseptic, and all those bandages we made. Move, people!"

Roubani has discomfort written in his stiff posture as he follows the others of their group through the bunker. Dirty, bloody, fatigues ripped and scorched in places…really, he looks no different from most. The tool kit they stole from their Raptor is on a heavy strap over his shoulder, and the other pack on his back makes all sort of sounds with the various scavenged crap stuffed in there. Something reeks of alcohol, but it's not his breath. It's the nasty bandages around his left hand. The scurry of activity in the room makes him come to an uncomfortable halt, eyes flickering around at all the strange faces.

"Lots of injured indeed, including the Doc himself, Still the Corpsman despite the horribly noticeable limp along with the rest of his wounds, is booking a steady tattoo, with combat boots into the medbay, while Dover, and Parts bring in Ashe on a stretcher at Dutch's side, already the easy injector of morpha is being tossed aside, as one hand remains pressing hard on Ashe's chest bandage "Clear a hole!" Marine bark is often as bad as its bite. Still the trio is moving pretty solidly "I need a place to put him, so we don't lose him. It's just pass the heart, can't tell if it pierced anything, but no water's come out so I am guessing the heart's intact. It is a frakking mess in there." All rattled off towards Alyssa. " He's got a few other wounds, sustained from last night. Really. I don't know how long we have him for." Not trying to sound dismal, just-realistic.

And this is where McT ducks out, giving the med team the room they need to do their jobs. A worried glance is casts Ashe's way but for now, she scoots. She's got a Captain to speak to anyway. "Dmitri, when you're done with the map, come find me please so I can start working on the next move. Thanks."

It seems the politician has been just turned into surgical assistant? The panic in Daphne's eyes is rather immediate. This was going to be messy, and yet they had no choice. Daphne forces herself to take a breath and immediately jerks over to scrub up her hands as thoroughly and harshly as she regularly does. She relaxes, just a touch, as she manages to pull on fresh, sterile surgical gloves and then looks up to Alyssa…"You'll have to instruct me. I'm not a surgeon… or even a nurse…" Her clipped and proper Caprican accent offers, doing her best to sound confident and ready. At least she's good at putting on a strong face. Kept her going through most of her campaign and now that familiar face is asserted again.

There's a lot of unfamiliar faces here, but seeing Kharon uniforms interspersed with them puts Thorn a bit at ease. The cuts on his face seem to have stopped bleeding, although the trails of dried blood running down his face and the bloody bandage on his shoulder probably make him look worse off than he is. He looks around, trying to identify a doctor in the crowd. Then, a brief turn to holler out the door: "Hurry up, dammit, get Ivory in here!" This presumably to whoever was humping the lieutenant in from the van. Then back to his frantic search. "We've got another critical coming in, Lieutenant Stathis," he shouts out to anyone who will listen.

"Will do— yeah, yeah, I'm gettin' out of the way, doc," Dmitri glances up, then back down, finishes the notation he was scribbling down and picks up the map to shift off and out of the way of things, over to a corner of the room to settle in and work on the map on top of a cabinet. As the bloodied marines start to come in, he calls over without looking, "Should we be ready for an attack on th'bunker?"

Roubani is completely silent, neither rushing around nor shouting. He moves over close to one of the corners with a little overwhelmed unease, pulling the heavy strap off his shoulder. The toolbox hits the ground with a none-too-gentle clunk, the strap staying grasped in his bloody hand. Just watching.

Angel is off to one side, nose crinkled slightly as she studies Thorn. "This is not one of your ships, Lieutenant," she says crossly. "Please do not yell. Calm yourself down." Her attention turns to Dmitri and she offers a relieved little smile at seeing the man. "No," she says quietly. "We left the van an hour back and came in on foot. Tracks are covered. I'm sending Dewey out to move the vans further afield." The girl looks like shit. "How were things here?"

"Triage, Sarge." Alyssa catches Dutch's eyes in the panic, even as she cleans up for action. "The worst first, and beds for those who can't stand on their own. Dutch, if you are good to assist, I will need you." Standing over the broken form of Ashe, Alyssa swears. "Frakking Toasters, putting frakking bullets into my frakking people. I need every able hand I can get, and I'll see to your Eltee as soon as I can."

"Sir," Levesque addresses Thorn. "Has the Lieutenant been stabilized? Does he need first aid, still?" He asks the ECO, eyes darting about to those around. A hand reaches to push his rifle so that it's on his back and out of the way. He kneels to reach into his assault pack on the ground and pull out his first aid bag.

"Swift's on a redline, so hurry. He's had two morpha injects one in the field, and the last one as we got here. Should hold him a little. I could push three, save given the pounding we've taken I don't know how long he'll keep stable or be able to even handle the shot." A pause and he is spitting before looking back to to Alyssa. "Don't know if I am going to be good to you. I can't rightly keep on my leg two much, also got holes in my chest. one bullet still in.. I'm running on gas.." basically, is Dutch's own status "Get Ashe taken care of- I can wait."

Daphne has never seen so much blood in her life. Not since the crash, the day of the attacks, all her staff dead… and now here. Daphne watches in blind shock for a few moments, trying to swallow her stomach down her throat and breathe through her nose… waiting for orders from Alyssa and watching Dutch as he gives the sit rep of the whole matter…"Doctor…just give orders when you need." Daphne states firmly, preparing to work but lost otherwise.

Roubani continues to linger by the wall, mostly useless. Damaged machines, he can aid with. Damaged people, not so much. His eyes track Timon's body as it's brought in, and then Ashe's, then his fingers wrap through the toolbox strap as he looks towards the doors, brows furrowed.

Angelica recieves one of Thorn's patented glares, but he's no longer yelling by the time Levesque comes up to him. "He's stable, for now," the ECO replies. "He took some hits in a firefight a couple days ago, though, and I don't know how much longer he'll be that way. Just find him a bed, LC, and I'll get out of your hair," he finishes as, finally, Ivory's unconscious body is hauled in on a crude stretcher.

"I need more light. Flashlights, whatever you have, right on the chest wound." Pulling the top bandage over her face in an improvised mask, Alyssa grabs her scalpel. Glad for the mask to cover her grimace, she looks at those around her. "I need people on him. If he wakes up and jerks, it could kill him. One person per limb… don't mind bullet holes, the important part is that he doesn't frakking move."

Nine may have been out. Her bed may still be doubling as a workstation, but she's flat on her back beside the console, her feet propped up on a toolkit and her chest rising and falling slowly and steadily until the yelling and other commotion rouses her from it, and her eyes open to let her eyebeams crawl out and wander here and there around the room, trying to suss out what's going on.

A maglite, Roubani does have. He pulls the thing from his front pocket, giving it a few seconds' worth of shaking before turning it on. The thing runs on something other than conventional batteries, whatever it may be. The flurry of activity around the medical area's given a very uncomfortable look for a few seconds before he peels himself away from his spot, wordlessly moving closer to shine light onto Alyssa's workspace.

"Seen, sir." Levesque says, making his way over towards one of the free beds and sort of standing there, setting it up and staring at it for a moment. He snaps to, drops his med bag by the bed for later, then strides on over towards Ashe's gurney. His combat boots track nasty dirt and swamp residue all over the ground. In his hand, now, is a headlamp set on the brightest setting. He points the beam where instructed.

"Well, we found some information, not sure about everyone else," Dmitri slants a look over towards Angelica, a brow lifting, "Good to hear they aren't followin' you in. Hey doc, you need someone else holdin' arms an' whatever?"

Daphne gives a quick flicker of gray eyes towards Dmitri…"What information? Perhaps a bit of good news will help everyone breathe, just a bit…" She then gazes back to the patients, ready to take orders, but as Alyssa is controlling things she's content to stand on guard, ready to be used when needed but not butting in otherwise. She does want to hear the news, that much is clear, her gray eyes hopeful.

Angel just eyes Dmitri's back for a moment and shakes her head slightly. She turns toward Roubani and simply slides down the wall near him, settling on the floor. Fresh blood starts to seep up through her pants, wetting the already dried blood. "I think we took out twelve toasters along the way. Brought back one of the teams. We'll go back out soon for the other two."

With his friend finally on a bed and being attended to, Komnenos tries his best to get out of the way, as promised. He has no intention of leaving, though; with Timon currently out of it, he still considers the Fox-3 group to be his people until he reports in to a higher authority. Not like he has anywhere else to be, anyway, he realizes as he watches from what he hopes is an out of the way corner as the medical people go about their business.

Alyssa winces as her scalpel follows the path of the bullet, carefully opening holes wider in order to retrieve the bullet. The still beating heart is right there, along with countless arteries. One wrong nick… there it is. "Dmitri, yes, hold onto his legs. Lay across them." Putting the scalpel back on the tray, she reaches for long pliers. "Daphne, wash that scalpel off with hot water, as hot as it'll get. I'll be needing it again soon." Reaching into the wound, she carefully grabs the bullet, and starts to retrieve it, carefully gripping it… and then removing it. "Angel, grab that gauze and hold it over the wound!"

Roubani keeps his light trained on the general medical area, wherever that headlight isn't quite reaching. His eyes keep looking around under his brows, fixing on face after face and making a slow progression around the room. It's like being a ghost in a room with a sea of unfamiliar voices and faces, and he remains slightly tense even as Angelica comes near him. His attention flickers to Komnenos for a few moments, expression unreadable, and it stays that way as he looks back at the other group.

Angel's voice is quiet as she replies to Alyssa, "Can't Doc. Leg gave out. Caught a bullet." She sounds rather apologetic about the whole thing. The adrenaline that had, apparently, kept her going, seems to be dissipating. She looks up to Roubani and asks, quietly, "Ensign? I haven't seen the ranks in years."

Dmitri whistles under his breath at the report. "Nice score," he admits without begrudgement, pushing off from the cabinet - leaving map, tape, and pen behind - to head over towards the patient at a short jog. A glance is slanted over towards Daphne, "Think we've located all the towers that're blocking our comms—" He lays across one leg, reaching out to grip the other firmly to hold it still.

Levesque takes Angel's job for her. He sticks his headlamp onto, well, his head - his helmet anyways, strapped so that it's hands free like intended. And then he grabs a bunch of gauze and does what he's asked - he holds it over Ashe's wound.

"Ensign, yes." Roubani's quiet voice is tinged with formality that isn't so much impolite as it is simply not relaxed. His attention drifts to Dmitri. Then Daphne. It seems he might not say anything else, but then he murmurs to Angelica, "Who…are all these people?"

Dutch is backing off of Ashe's bed, as he is going to let more stable hands and bodies take over. Instead, The Sergeant moves and slightly sits against a wall. Eyes starting to close for a moment, as Helmeted head, banks back against the wall.

Nine shifts her legs slowly from the bed on which she'd been recovering, keeping her breathing to a minimum as she watches the surgery nearby as though bewitched by it somehow. Taking up her toolkit from the end of the bed, she opens up a panel and flips a switch, the end of the toolcase lighting up as she holds it in front of her, adding what light she's able to the collective pot.

Thorn's pacing again; he can't help it, really. He's still doing his best to stay out of the way, but he just can't seem to stand still. Roubani's look evades him; his mind's going a mile a minute as he looks from the wounded to the people working on them. He remains silent, although Roubani's question is undoubtedly running through his mind as well.

"So long as it gets done. He may need blood, though. We'll get to that later." Nodding at Levesque, she adds, "Watch his breathing. If it quickens, or slows significantly, you howl until you're sure I heard you. Now for the Eltee. What is his sitrep?"

Angel swallows hard for a moment. "Lieutenant Alyssa Odysseon," she says quietly. "Perseus, I think. Caught out on R&R by the attacks." Her head dips toward the hard working doctor, then dips toward Daphne. "Daphne Grayston, Picon delegate to the Quorum of 12. Just two of the group of survivors who've formed the resistance. The gentleman is Dmitri. His home was not too far from our first outpost, the Lodge. I'm Angel. Ostensibly in charge of the Resistance. We found this place a couple weeks ago, but didn't move down here until the Raptor's crash compromised our base in the mountains. Gunnery Sergeant Anthem Hollas and I took over the Resistance when Retired Gunnery Sergeant Montgomery Harkins passed away."

It's about then that Roubani notices Nine on the other side of the 'operating table'. His dark eyes linger on her for a little bit. No vocal hello, no waving, no OMG YR ALIVE OMG SQUEE! Thank goodness. The maglite in his hand just tips upwards, slowly, the beam drifting close to where it looks like Nine's eyes are focused. Then he slowly starts clicking the beam off and on. Click click click. Longs and shorts. Morse code. H-E-L-L-O. As he's doing so he's listening to Angelica, eyes flickering her way as she does the introductions for everyone. "Angel. It is nice to meet you, Angel." His voice is soft as ever, even in all this din. "I apologise for being rude, it's still a shock to see you all."

"Sir," Levesque says to Alyssa, not close enough to Angel to catch her name - or just not listening. "Someone else should come keep watch on Ashe." He nods down at the unconcious marine in front of him. "I should go help out the Sergeant there. I'd be better used."
Alyssa heals Ashe successfully.

Alyssa doesn't look up from the eltee's wounds, just nods impatiently. "Gauze in place, breathing watched. I don't care if its a frakking Cylon doing it so long as someone is doing it right."

Daphne calls out…"I… I'll do it. His name is Ashe?" Daphne asks gently, as she steps up to his side, slender body moving almost nervously but she keeps that forever ingrained touch of elegance there also. She stands at Ashe's side, carefully monitoring his breath, one hand reaching out to ensure that gauze is staying in place with her gloved fingertips. At least she's doing something to help.

The 'gentleman', as Dmitri's just been called, just holds his weight down on the man's legs until the doc's done with him; pushing himself up then, he jerks his chin over to Alyssa, "You gonna need any help with that one, doc?"

Dutch remains quiet as he keeps that head of his against the wall. He'll get to a bed or something- However He's remaining still, In fact since he has come in and seen that Ashe has been passed off, the Sergeant, really hasn't moved from his position.

Angel simply closes her eyes, nodding once. She leans back against the wall like it's a lifeline. "Not rude," she murmurs. "Just surprised. Make sure they take care of the Sergeant first, please? He's hurt bad."

"Yep. His name is Ashe." Without a pause, as Daphne takes over his job as gauze-holder, breath-watcher and general do-gooder, the Lance Corporal who's on his feet goes to scoop up his first aid bag. After grabbing it from a nook under Timon's gurney, he jogs over towards Dutch and comes to a stop. "Alright, Sergeant. Time to lay the fuck down. I'm taking your PPE off of you so I can do a proper assessment. Seen?"

Alyssa looks up from Timon to Dutch. "The stomach wound will need some care but…" she freezes. "Frak me, frakking marines and not telling anyone when they're frakking hurt." Pointing at Dutch, she rushes over to Nine's bed, pushing all the components to the floor. "Clear that stuff out of my sickbay NOW, Nine. Dmitri… and you…" she points at Roubani. "Get him up on the bed, as gently as you can. Where's that scalpel?"

Somewhere in the chaos Thorn has managed to find a clean cloth and water; after a few seconds of wiping most of the dried blood from his face is gone, though the cuts themselves are still their, forming a crisscross of angry red lines on his face. After the cleaning work though, it's back to pacing, though that doesn't last long either. He walks over to a woman in a doctor's lab coat who's now looking Ivory over. "Doctor," he interjects softly, not wanting to break her concentration, "if there's anything I can do t' help —" he trails off as the offer of assistance is implied.

Nine is staring at Ashe's heart. Or, at least, the open part there in the middle. Her irises so dark a color that they blend right into her pupils, it's not easy to see them react to the gradations of light being applied to them, but her mouth is open, breathless at the sight, especially when Ashe's chest begins to speak to her in code. Her eyes finally shift upward to the true source of the message, then her eyebeams strike the eyebeams of the Bee-Stung and simply lock there in a simple look of mixed surprise and relief. She slips the rest of the way off of her bed, wearing bandages up top and a half-unzipped set of coveralls below, then is… sort of distracted by the computer terminal that suddenly introduces itself to the Sickbay floor with a disturbing sort of crash. "Yes, sir," she whispers.

Blood drips down Roubani's wrist towards his fatigues sleeve. Nine's reaction to the morse pulls the faintest ghost of a half-smile to his face. His eyes move to Alyssa when she snaps, and he reaches down to hand the bloody maglite to Angel. "If it goes out, shake it for ten seconds," he says quietly, before moving over towards Dutch. "Sir," is given to Alyssa before he crouches down in front of the man. "Sergeant Elder. Come, we're getting you up to the bed." Which he doesn't leave Dutch much choice about, as he's already getting under one of the man's arms.

"Hey!" Levesque yells to Alyssa and those others. "I got this taken care of. Until he's on the bed, back the fuck off." He frowns at those behind him, looking back at Dutch.

Daphne holds that gauze in place, her eyes occasionally flickering upwards to watch the process with Dutch but, in general, she's keeping focused on Ashe. In her mostly still white suit and now the shadows, she looks like some distant, guardian angel hovering there, on the edge of the crowd, attentative but not bothering other than to do her job.
Alyssa heals Dutch successfully.

Dutch opens an eye for a moment before he's looking back towards Levesque. But there's a grumbe something-inaudible, or rather most likely not understandable. He tries to move, but there's just that slight lurch towards Levesque. As for what it exactly is, the Sergeant, can't really say. He's got enough wounds in him to make him seem like a practice dummy.

Angel takes the maglite, but it's already shaky. She holds it up as high as she can, pointed in the direction of Alyssa. Apparently the two walking wounded in this sickbay are a hell of a pair. At least Dutch is on his feet.

Nine slowly lowers herself to her knees, holding her toolkit under one arm— snipe isn't a snipe without that, after all— and she reaches out with her other hand to begin to drag the broken (again) console across the floor toward the hatch, shuffling backward on her knees as she does so.

The shouting and swearing around Roubani gets duly tuned out. You'd think the young man was in a library instead of a disaster area. "Lean on me, Sergeant," he murmurs to Dutch as he tries to shift the man's weight as carefully as he can, providing a crutch of support. "Bed's right here. Come on."

The doctor's occupied; for the moment, Thorn gets no reply. He begins looking around again, and sees a peculiar sight — a young woman, one of Kharon's engineering POs, on her knees shambling backwards towards the exit with an armful of technology. Finding something to occupy him for the moment, he walks over to her. "Hey, PO," he announces himself with the barest hint of a smile. "Need a hand?"

Alyssa's winces as she looks at Dutch's wounds, impatient with the process of moving him as she locates all of her tools. She gives Levesque a look, but ignores him. So long as he does his job, she can deal. "He'll need a morpha shot for this part." Getting the needle, she walks over and finds an undamaged vein… not as easy as it sounds. "You'll be fine, Sarge. But you need this dose."

Get a couple of bullets out of him, per what Dutch did say, give him a night's rest and he'll be pushing his body to the limit again tomorrow. Why? because that is the most stupid course of action, and one he will be engaging in. Either way The Sergeant is helped up with the help of Roubani, and Levesque. Slug is still in his thigh, and one chest side, but he should be golden once those come out. And by golde we mean escaping the med bay after sleeping half the damned day.

And so, with a quiet sigh, Angel drops the maglite to her lap and closes her eyes again, head back against the wall. Looks like she's just exhausted. The bloodstain on her pants continues to spread slowly, reaching up to join the one that's working its way down from the sling.

Levesque does his best to catch his big fire team leader, squaring his posture to absorb the weight in a sort of useful fashion. The Lance Corporal pulls quick releases on Dutch's body armour and tac vests, putting them off to the side. Next comes his helmet, which gets tossed on the pile of gear forming there. Satisfied, Levesque nods at Roubani. "Alright, help me put this big frakker on the bed, eh?" He manages to flash a neat little grin at the Ensign, his hands now covered as they are in Sergeant Elder's blood.

Roubani gets Dutch onto the ordered bed once Levesque has got all that armour off, leaving a mess of bloody handprints on the Marine's clothes. Not that they're very visible in the sea of the Marine's own blood, plus Ashe's from earlier. The most macabre fingerpainting one can imagine. He even picks up Dutch's legs for him, hauling them up onto the bed boots and all. "This is not…" He murmurs to Levesque with a slight huff. Phew. "…what I pictured when I thought of a heavy date."

Alyssa works as fast as she can, removing bullets and closing wounds, a flurry of cutting, clamping open, pulling bullets, clamping shut, and then sewing. Her work is nearly frenetic, and yet as careful as she can make it. Turning on Roubani, she adds, "He doesn't get off that bed without my say so unless the Cylons are knocking on the frakking door, understood?" Spinning, she surveys the room, and grunts as she looks at Angel. "You're up next, Angel. Bed. Now."

Nine leans over the console, resting for a moment once she gets out from directly underfoot, and she looks up as some manner of angel comes to help her lug the thing, meeting his eyes and giving him a quiet, grateful sort of nod.

"Where's Parts? He pulling guard duty at the entrance?" Asks Levesque, the question mainly aimed at Roubani, since he seems to be relatively with it and cool at the moment. He moves towards Angel to help the doctor out with her.

Oddly enough, there's no reply from Angel. No movement at all save for the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her hand is slack on the gun, the maglight left on her leg. It's hard to tell if the lights are on, but there's no one home. She's out cold.

"Parts was with us," Roubani's voice is a little hoarse, but highly controlled. "Still walking. I'm not certain where he went." His eyes turn towards the downed young woman, looking much darker in his ashen face. "Do you need assistance with her?"

He'll take that as a yes. Thorn slowly takes Nine's toolkit into his left hand, an unusually gentle movement from the normally brusque ECO; then he offers her his other, the one not attached to a shoulder with a bullet wound. "Well, you don't want t' have t' crawl out, do you?" he asks by way of explanation.

"That would be lovely…" Alyssa says to Roubani as she carefully puts Angel on the third bed. "Damn me, she said she was hurt. She wouldn't have said anything if she hadn't been hurt bad. What the frak was I thinking?" Getting to work, Alyssa calls out, "if someone could bring in either McT or the Captain, I would very much appreciate it."
Alyssa heals Ashe unsuccessfully.

"Alright, good." Is Levesque's quick reply to the Ensign. He nods at Alyssa. "Yes sir." Then goes to the back room to get one of them.

Roubani politely does not offer his guess on what a superior officer may have been thinking at any given moment. Lapsing back into silence, he moves over to help them get Angel up and onto the bed that Alyssa seems to want. It's as awkward as moving Dutch was; his right side seems weaker than the left. The stink of the alcohol-soaked bandages mixed with a well of blood is kind of gross. Up onto the bed Angel goes, heave ho.

Nine looks down at the console, then up at the hand again. She was never particularly loud on Kharon— now she's seemed to have got rid of the better part of what was left of her voice. She takes the hand, and stands, the arms of her bullet-torn jumpsuit hanging to the backs of her ankles as she does so. Letting go of his hand once she's upright, she crouches down to brace the broken console with both hands, looking up to Thorn with a quiet series of nods, two, three, then a deeper one on four to let him know when to help her lift.

Yep, out. Angel, the woman who flips when touched, is easily manhandled onto a bed, gun dangling. She's a bit over a hundred pounds of dead weight.

Alyssa feverishly busies herself, caring for the various wounds as well as she can, taking time only to wash her instruments in hot water. She calls out, strain in her voice. " Nine, if you could replace this with clean water, as hot as you can bear to touch, I need it as soon as possible." Glancing up at Roubani while bandaging the last of Angelica's wounds, she hisses. "Looks like you may be next…"

Roubani does struggle a bit with Angel, but well. He does what he has to do, teeth grit. He finally gets her onto the bed and immediately steps back, withdrawing his hands uncomfortably. "Sir," he replies to Alyssa tersely, then casts a look back at Komnenos and Nine.

Nine pops to her feet as Thorn's good arm does its work, and he goes back down to help with the computer. He winces in pain, but lifts nevertheless; the thing isn't that heavy with two people, and he's able to take most of his side's weight with his right hand. He looks at Nine expectantly, waiting for her to guide him to whereever she wants this thing.

Taking a moment from searching out new patients to Triage, Alyssa moves over to Ashe and Daphne. The guaze is mostly red, and with a nod Alyssa raises it from the wound, with bleeding slowed, and sews the wound shut, before she starts binding it for reinforcement. "You did well," she murmurs to Daphne. "I think we may get to keep this one, afterall."

Daphne gives a faint smile towards the doctor, still nervous… definitely a bit more pale than she normally is. "I… I hope so. We need as many as we can get. Especially those so willing to protect and give their lives for others. But then, that has always been the military way. We're lucky to have them…" Daphne's eloquent voice carries rather well across the now almost quiet room, used to speaking in the way that gets her notice. Now she's just trying to keep the eloquence up and hide any nerves that come from having her hands near so much blood.

Nine looks back, a pain of her own stabbing at her chest as she hefts with both arms, but, "Yes, sir," she tells the Doctor. They really are getting to be the words most often heard from her. Her eyes meet Thorn's and then she looks through the hatch. The Doctor said the computer parts go out of sickbay. So that's where they're going. She shuffles sideways with the hardware, and, with Thorn's help, gets it over the threshold and out into the corridor before she stands and dashes back inside. Water. Hot. She takes up the bin after Alyssa's finished washing so that she can clean it out and replace it before she needs it next.

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