Three Hour Tour Paros Crash Site
THT - Paros Crash Site
Summary: Foxbat-3 goes down in Paros on Scorpia.
Date: PH071 (28 June 2009)
Related Logs: Three Hour Tour - Foxbat-3.

Scorpia, Paros
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #71
OOC Time: Sun Jun 28 20:26:18 2009

Even from a distance it is easy to tell that Paros was hit hard by conventional weapons. Some of the taller buildings in town are missing their entire upper sections, the debris apparently toppled to the streets below. Other buildings have large gashes torn out of them or extensive fire damage. However, getting closer isn't an option as Cylon Centurions patrol the roads and buildings at random - not attempting to hide their presence. Only two exits present themselves from this dangerous area - Route 91 to the West or the Chariot Highway which surges North for many dozens of miles.

The raptor seems to have found itself just at the city limits, and somewhere in that crashing down, it crossed over from wooded to paved land. Chance would have it that the raptor has skidded to a stop… parallel parked between two burned out hulks of minivans, with melted tires.

Fenix is used to jumping out of and off of ships… and for once, it's actually doing her some good. As soon as that hatch is opened, the woman's all but leaping to the ground below. Stumbling for a few steps, and then dropping to coverall-clad knees as she doubles forward in a wretch. Stomach thankfully empty, but the sound of it… well, painful.

Fenix is used to jumping out of and off of ships… and for once, it's actually doing her some good. As soon as that hatch is opened, the woman's all but leaping to the ground below. Stumbling for a few steps, and then dropping to coverall-clad knees as she doubles forward in a wretch. Stomach thankfully empty, but the sound of it… well, painful. (RE for Alex)

Thorn didn't take quite as much of a beating as the Raptor's other passengers in the 'landing', so he's able to disembark his craft a little more gracefully than the chief. He pauses, leaning down next to Fenix. "You going t' be alright, Chief?" he asks, flicking a glance back at the downed Raptor as he waits for everyone else to emerge.

Over in her corner on the floor of the Raptor, Jules stirs and groans. "That totally sucked." Pushing up on her arms, she nearly immediately falls to her side, a pain in her chest. "Owwie."

It takes a while, but eventually one hand — and then another — reaches out from where the cockpit of the Raptor would be. Zombies rising from the grave? No; just Timon, the pilot, whose battered flight suit has taken less of a beating than the man himself. He's bleeding from his nose and his right leg, and his gloves are absolutely shredded. Then down on the ground he goes, back-first, holster-side up — and now, only now, does he take a breath. "Helluva parking job, if I sayso," he slurs, laughing maniacally as only a man who's come back from certain death can laugh. Then: "Oh — oh right. The marines. How — they — they 'k?"

See, this is why Fenix stays on the deck. On. The. Deck. In a ship as large as Kharon, it's almost as good as real ground. The birds? Another story entirely. And one that's undoubtedly going to be ship rumor when this is all done. The Chief doesn't have a stomach for flying. She doesn't have a stomach for /anything/, right now. Still huddled forward, small form trembling slightly, even as a dismissive hand is jerked toward Thorn. At least she didn't flip him off?

Only now does Komnenos notice the pain in his head; he reaches to his forehead and his eyes widen in surprise as his hand comes away bloody. He must have smacked his head on the side of his helmet during the furball in the sky; blood is dripping down the side of his forehead, but isn't flowing freely enough to be a serious wound. With Fenix waving him off, Thorn steps back to the hatch and looks inside. He curses and starts checking on the wounded passengers.

Timon tries to get up and instead falls to his knees, spitting out a bit of blood that's dripped down from his nose to his mouth. He's on all fours and must be cutting a rather inglorious figure indeed, shaken as he is. But he's not so out of it that he doesn't move toward the Raptor that brought him to this place not quite safe and sound. While Thorn checks Foxbat-3 for the wounded and the dead, Ivory's crawling toward her storage compartments, looking for any supplies that he can salvage.

Jules pushes up on her arms again and this time to her feet, using her back against the bulkhead as leverage. "Marines, how we doin'?" she asks, looking a little battered herself. Slowly, she starts moving down the line, helping Marines unstrap themselves from their secure seating.

Fenix is still where he left her, Thorn confirms with a quick glance. He turns his attention back to those still in the Raptor. He leans down to check the Marines, some wounded and some dead. "Head count, Private. How many are still with us?" He takes one of the medkits and hands it to Jules in case any of her marines need attention, while he takes the second himself and heads back out of the ship, rushing towards Timon's crawling form.

"I'm good, Thorn." Timon's voice is still shaky, but he's got too much pride to draft his ECO as a crutch. Instead, using the Raptor's wing to brace himself, Timon clambers into the Raptor's open hatch with more than a little bit of effort, fiddling with the handle to one of the aft storage areas. "Okay," he calls back to the others. "I see a few salveagble medkits. Yeah. Two, on top of whatever the CMC brought with them. Anton — " First name. He really is a bit off his game. "Check the coms when you get a chance, yeah? See if we can get in touch with Kharon, or barring that, whether we can jury-rig our comm drone to broadcast for us. I'm going to grab our disks — maybe we can scrub some maps off of them if we find a working terminal."

"Five Marines, ready to kick some ass, sir. Two Marines down." Swallowing a little tightly, Jules manages a smile for one of the Marines, unbuckling his securing straps as they've gotten twisted around in the ship's crash. Then she ducks her head and reaches for her weapon under her seat, shouldering it and heading out of the Raptor. "I think I might have a rib issue, sir." She's back to the sir-ing again.

Everyone knows where Fenix is. No need for a headcount here. The woman's managed to stop wretching, but she remains huddled on the grass. Forehead resting against her knees, and black curls pulling free of the short braid to begin to unravel around her neck.

"All right, Private, let me have a look," Thorn replies to the still-effervescent Marine. Shortstack and Jules… what is it with perky petite Marines on the ship? He takes his medkit and does his best for the marine private; he's no medic, but he knows enough first aid to at least try and do something.

Getting the medkits — that was the easy part. Getting the Raptor's disk drives out from within their slots — that's the hard part. Timon has no idea where to start, having only been trained to use the bird's onboard electronics. But fortunately: "Chief," Timon yells, perhaps a bit loudly for the marine right next to him. "Gonna need some help here getting the disks out. Don't want to break anything if I don't have to." Because his plan B? Is to kick the computer until it dislodges the drive he wants.

Well, damn. It takes a moment for Fenix to respond — long enough for some to wonder if she heard — but eventually, the pallid PO is uncurling herself from the foreign bit of earth. A hand raised to shove roughly through her hair, and a few steadying breaths drawn as she glances in the direction of that shout. Blinking at Timon for a moment, before sweeping a wincing look toward the bird. She'd have had someone's neck for that, if they were back on the Kharon. But… well, she has grass stains on her coveralls. "Looks to me like it's already broke, Ivory," she's drawling, but it's without hosility. Then, 'brows knitting as she steps forward, "What're you doing?"

Jules doesn't drop her weapon, but she does handily open up her vest so Thorn can have a look at her goodies. Her ribs, /obviously/. "It doesn't feel really bad, but on an ouchy scale of one to ten, it's an ouchy number four."

"'Fraid that doesn't help me much, lass," Thorn says with a half-smile; the Marine sounds for all the world like a kid at the doctor's office. Komnenos, unfortunately, is not a doctor. He brings out a roll of gauze and some bandages. "I can bandage you up, maybe give you something for th' pain if it gets any worse." He does so, bandaging the blonde Marine's ribs as best he can. "There, that's really all I can do for now. Let someone know if it gets any worse, what?"

"Command sent us out here without thinking to pack us a map," says Timon, stepping out of the way. As the surviving marines file out of the Raptor, he takes up position against a bulkhead, leaning backwards to lessen the pain of standing. "Hard-copy map, I mean. Plus all of our surveillance photos, cam footage, the works. Long and short of it, all the intel we have on Scorpia is in that hard drive. If we can either get it working here or pluck it out and find a place to plug it in, well." Ivory glances over to where his ECO is working. "Right then; I'll check the wireless myself." Which is where Ivory goes next. His bloody fingers leave red stains on the dials before he's greeted by a sustained burst of static, one that only grows as he fiddles with them some more.

He might as well be speaking Gemenese, for all Fenix seems to register. But at least he has a reason, right? A bit of blinking at the man, and then the Chief's stepping forward. Fishing a few small tools out of the ever-present belt, and after a bit of screwing and jostling, pulling the disk free. The thing is eyed for a moment — almost with distaste — before she's settling it on the ledge formed by the open panel and stepping back again. Still looking a bit green, and never one for close and personal contact.

"Sounds like a plan, sir." Jules shares a smile with Thorn, then as he finishes bandaging her ribs, she zips up her vest again. Her machine gun is lifted and she glances around for the first time since coming out of the Raptor. She moves over to one of the minivans immediately adjacent to the downed ship and takes up a firing position.

Komnenos shoots off what he hopes is an encouraging smile at Jules before stepping back into the Raptor. "All right," he says, running a hand through hair matted with blood and sweat. He cranes his head, watching Stathis and Fenix as they dig around in the Raptor's innards. "What can I do t' help?" he asks.

"Thanks, Chief. As they say," Ivory says with a half-smile, "never send a pilot to do the deck crew's job. I was going to shoot the thing out if given half the chance." He jerks his head over to his ECO as he tries yet another frequency. "Trying to get this thing to work. Looks like all we're getting is static and more static. You want to have a look?" Timon moves over to give Thorn a chance to do just that.

Coming from the direction of a toppled apartment complex is an odd.. grinding sound. Metal on metal, like something heavy lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, with a whirr of hydraulics.

Thorn shoulders his way past the other two, making his way to the wireless. He gives the radio a quick once-over, fiddling with several controls, and then removing several panels to get a look at internal circuitry. After a little more fiddling, he tries the radio, but static ensues. Still. He frowns. "This thing should be working, but I'm still not getting anything… Could be there's no one in range t' hear us, or we're being ja — " Thorn's voice cuts off suddenly; he scowls, craning his head towards the entrance of the craft. "Anyone else hear that?"

"It wasn't just you, Thorn." Timon tenses, and with quick motions he's shut his Raptor's wireless off. One hand draws his service pistol as he takes cover behind the Raptor's open hatch; the other clicks off the safety. Then, for his ECO's ears only: "Control yourself this time, okay?" A tight grin spreads across his face.

Jules lifts her head and peers over the top of the minivan she's chosen for cover. "Yes. Sounds like a garbage truck or something." She flicks off the safety on her weapon and verifies her ammo is locked and loaded properly. "We should probably move soon." Pause. "Sirs."

"Frak…" is Fenix's only addition to this latest development. Black eyes turning toward the source of the noise, and her jaw tightening.

Roubani's safety belt is strapped hard against his chest, the reason he didn't go crashing onto the floor. Though close. He becomes aware of little things one at a time. His own fingertips, Timon's voice and Jules' after it. Some smell. What -is- that smell? His eyes open on a loud sniffing sound and intake of air that moves his shoulders, immediately rewarded with a splitting headache. "Lieutenant?"

Fading sunlight dapples the thick dust and ash that hangs over much of Paros' ruined skyline. The sound coming from behind the apartment building resolves into a much more distinct 'whiiir klunk' of bipedal machinery. Roughly fifty metres away now, and closing; jagged shadows are painted in sharp relief across the rubble-strewn street as the patrol swings into view, halts, and looks around.

"Oh, t' hell with you, Ivory," Thorn grumbles in mock disgust, but in reality he was just thinking the same thing to himself. His pistol comes free of its holster, and he takes cover opposite his pilot as he waits. He checks and double checks his weapon, feeling the tension begin to rise as the sounds get slowly closer.

"Poet." Timon gives the now-waking ensign a wavering smile. "I thought you were done for. Good to have you back amongst the living." Quietly, ever so quietly. Then, Timon gestures to the rusted minivans parked next to the Raptor, looking to Fenix beside him. "Think these work, Chief? Because I don't think I could beat a turtle in a footrace, let alone a toaster, if I'm forced to."

Someone talked back. That's good, one Lieutenant alive. Roubani squinches one eye shut as he disentangles himself from the safety belt's locked grip, belt clicking. He almost goes straight to the floor, stopping himself with a knee jammed against the side of the next seat. Standing up is an awfully good idea, if his body doesn't seem to think so right away. Oh bugger, they've got pistols out.

A dubious look is swept toward one of the minivans as Timon voices his question, and the black-eyed mechanic actually looks a bit pained at the prospect. The woman deals with /spaceships/, not /minivans/. Gods help her. "I'll see what I can do…" she's hissing, already darting toward the nearest vehicle and pulling the door open. Clambering inside, and then doing… well, whatever mechanics do with open panels and wires.

Finger on the trigger of her machine gun, Jules licks her lips and stares at the Cylons in the distance. She talks, also, mostly to herself. "Owe you for killing my Lieutenant, and for LieutenantBrains on my uniform. My black BDUs still smell like brains. Jerks."

Thorn turns his head as he hears scuffling behind him. "Nice t' see you're still in one piece, Ensign," Thorn adds deadpan as the pilot-turned-engineer tries to find his legs. Then, eyes go back to the de facto CO. "Ivory, I'm going t' go with the Chief. If those are Cylons, someone's going t' need t' watch her back while she's trying t' fix that thing."

It is hard to miss metal on the move, especially when it comes past the building you're hiding in. As the Cylons bolt past a good distance, a figure of a man slips out to follow them. They were heading in the direction the loud crash had come from, so maybe, just maybe, Alex could follow them to where they were going.

Timon sees the Chief make a run for it and nods. "She's a go-getter, that one," he murmurs under his breath. "Now let's hope we don't have to actually use one." The pilot braces himself for what's about to come — he's certain that the Cylon patrol is going to find them, parked in plain sight as they are. After all, a Raptor doesn't look like a typical civilian vehicle. Then, to Thorn: "Go. I'll be right behind you, unless — " Ivory looks down at the stricken pilot-turned-engineer. "Can you walk, Poet?"

"I think I've a running bet with fate on how long I can stay that way, sir," Roubani mutters back to Thorn. He has his pistol out, though 'armed and dangerous' is a laughable notion when it comes to this lanky officer. He nods to Timon, regretting the head movement with a slight wince. "I can, sir."

Oh, they're definitely cylons. And they've managed to spot the little landing party. Two sets of metal beaks, complete with roving red 'eyes', swivel to face the downed raptor and the van Fenix is trying to kickstart nearby. And without further ado, they start clanking nearer. Fourty metres, thirty— there's a whirring sound as their spidery fingers morph into cannons. Give them another thirty seconds, maybe a minute, and they'll be in firing range.

Click, click. Scrape. Spark! Vrooooom. Apparently Fenix has hotwired cars in another life. That, or the woman's just /damn/ lucky. Whatever the case, the old vehicle is humming to life in less than a minute, and the woman's dark curls are visible through the broken window as she hisses. "Anyone who can't fight or walk, in th' frakking van," ordered, even as she slips out and starts pulling the sliding door open.

Komnenos nods, and quickly ducks out of the hatch, running for the rusty minivan Fenix is working on. He squats down next to the open door, holding his pistol at the ready and watching for any uninvited company; which reveals itself in short order. As the van rattles to life, the Raptor ECO then moves to the sliding door, standing next to it and providing cover for the rest to begin boarding.

"No 'sir,' Poet." Timon shakes his head even as he moves out, Cylons in sight. "Just Ivory. Please." He'll head out toward the van himself, making sure to stay in cover as he does — or as best he can, that is. In less than ten seconds he's there, taking up position opposite his ECO on the other side of the door.

"Uh huh!" That's the best answer Roubani can give Timon just now. There's centurions. Crap. He nearly freezes, then breaks into a sideways dart towards the open van doors.

Hands shaking just a little, Jules remains at her cover by the minivan, light machine gun pointed at the body of the closest Cylons. "Could use some help, Marines! Incoming!" There's more than a little quiver in her voice, too. Call it muscle memory of the last time she came face to face with Metal. Some of that dredged up terror comes to the fore and she squeezes the trigger. Ratta-tat-tat.

Pickens wavers a moment between guard duty, and helping drag the Master Sergeant to the van. Eventually he decides on the latter, and barks out an order for Private Dover to assist him with the task. The pair scamper into the raptor, and start hauling while Corporal Thinley and PFC Kaufman take up positions near Jules.

..followed shortly by the RATATATTAT of the centurions' machine guns as they clang to a halt a few metres away, and start spraying the group with lead.

"By the by, who's driving?" Timon has the presence of mind to ask as Jules opens up a can of whupass on the incoming Cylons, who respond in kind. His plan didn't extend that far ahead — he didn't even think this thing would turn itself on, let alone this quickly. One hand clasps around the other to steady his grip on the pistol as he ducks out the door to take a quick potshot. "Chief, you good at the wheel?"

"Someone who might not mind getting a little rough with the transmission," Roubani calls back to Timon. Nearly at the van, his back is to the open doors for a shot off as the centurions start firing. At the second centurion, naturally, the one who's going for Timon. That's his chess buddy.

"Someone who might not mind getting a little rough with the transmission," Roubani calls back to Timon. He's close enough to the van that he can scramble in, ducking for cover as the first round of fire comes out.

"By the by, who's driving?" Timon has the presence of mind to ask as Jules opens up a can of whupass on the incoming Cylons, who respond in kind. His plan didn't extend that far ahead — he didn't even think this thing would turn itself on, let alone this quickly. One hand clasps around the other to steady his grip on the pistol. "Chief, you good at the wheel?"

Komnenos grimaces, as he's not getting any cover from the van in his current position. Nevertheless, he's squeezing off cover fire as the others begin boarding the van.

"I'm in th' frakking seat, so let's hope so." (OOC: Bastard.) Well, let's see if the baby can drive. Making sure the vehicle is clear, Fenix is easing the thing forward. A few feet, roll-roll-roll, and then there's the pop and crunch that freeway drivers everywhere have nightmares about. The van sags a bit to the left, and Fenix is snarling a curse as a hand is slammed against the wheel. "Frak! /Frak/…"

"That's not the clutch, you know," Roubani calls towards Fenix as the van staaaaalls and crunches. Overly helpfully. He jerks his head down as the bursts of fire come from outside, flinching. "Damn. Is it dead?"

Alex relies on his legs to carry him, as most humans do, but his are pumping rather fast as he runs after the Cylons that were headed towards the crash site. As he approaches and comes over a crest, he pulls his weapon up and without much ado, starts opening fire against the metal as he hears bullet shots ring in the air. Whatever is attacking the Cylons must be on his side, so he's going to help.

Dover and Pickens have managed, of course, to drag the unconscious MSgt into the van. Only to have to duck and cover as centurions' bullets rip through the asphalt and explode into a rearview mirror. "Shit, shit," whimpers Dover as the vehicle hits a pile of rubble. Pickens clambers back out, rifle cocked, and aimed at one of the tinheads spraying them with bullets.

"Looks like we're listing to port, Chief." Timon smiles tightly as the van tilts — which, fortuitously, manages to throw off the Cylon's aim just one tiny bit. Bullets smash through where his head once was. "And that's a damn good thing. Okay, plan B — take the other van, Chief. Thorn, Poet and I will cover you while the marines shoot those things until they die from it." And then the pilot slips out from the door while making a beeline for his Raptor, firing as he does.

"I hope I didn't leave the blanks in there from last time on the firing range," Jules mutters to herself, raising her weapon again, even as a bullet pings into the van's hood near her elbow. Eyeballing the sights, she opens up with the weapon this time, sending a hail of bullets at the Cylons to match the one they're sending towards the humans.

"Shut the frak up, flyboy," Fenix is snapping, apparently uninterested in Roubani's change-o-status. "You know how many years its been since I even /touched/ something like this piece of shit? I. Do. Space. Ships. Space frakking /ships/…" But even as the woman growls, she's working on the van. Fingers twisting at the wires once more, and after a bit of manipulation, earning another hum of life from the now-maimed van. "It'll roll, but it'll be bumpy," she informs the others. "We make a run for the other van, we're target practice." Leaving it up for the vote then, as dark eyes flicker toward the distant vehicle.

Thorn's shot doesn't connect with anything, but that isn't surprising, given the distance. He goes to board the van as it begins to move…then stares at it in disbelief as it dies with a sputter. "Really?" he mutters to himself, then turns back towards the Cylons and firing again, moving to stay with the crippled van.

Roubani's change o status means nothing when they're all on the ground being pounded by Centurions. "Ivory, don't!" He shouts at Timon, in case the man couldn't hear. "She says it'll run!" He gets to one knee by an open door, aiming his pistol out the wide-open back towards one of the centurions bearing down on them.

Too bad Timon didn't hear that the van still works — until Poet shouts out. The man abruptly halts in his tracks as he sees his bullet hit home, only to ping right off its armor. The Centurion fares little better, its fire striking not man but the thing he rode in on. Then, it's back to cover he'll go, pausing only to replace his current bullets with those nifty armor-piercing ones he'd been issued before the fight.

Seeing his fire having exactly zero affect, Komnenos holsters his weapon and pulls himself into the front seat Ivory had just vacated. "What the frak, Chief?" he snarls heatedly. "Will this bloody thing run, or won't it?"

Shots continue to ring out, pinging off the van's bumper and gouging its (rusty) paint job. A few bullets tear through the back window, shattering it, and Jules is the unlucky recipient of a round or two that slips her armour and delivers a lovely flesh wound. Private Dover stays down with the MSgt in the back of the van, shakeshakeshaking his head at the talk of making a run for it, while the other marines maintain their firing positions on the tincans.

Roubani misses, but it's no surprise with half a door in his face. The sound of the shot rings in his ears once he's pulled the trigger. As Ivory turns back and Komnenos climbs in, he exhales a burst of air through pursed lips. "All due respect, no sense worrying about the other now, Thorn."

Laying down some good old-fashioned suppressive fire, Jules is grazed as a bullet whizzes past the top of the van. She pulls back her left hand, jamming the wound reflexively into her mouth. When she pulls it away, the hand shoots down into her ammo pouch and comes up with a new clip. The old clip is out and out ejected and the new clip inserted into her weapon. She locks, loads and fires at the nearest Cylon. Marine Fu, huzzah. (And a lot of luck.)

Fenix has enough trouble driving with /both/ hands on the wheel. She's leaving the shooting to the people in back. Once the thing's humming again, a foot on the pedal brings… movement! Hallelujah. "Get in!" She's calling to those outside the van, even as a glance is swept toward the rearview mirror. Ready to glance back to the road in front of her, before her 'brows are knitting and she's darting a sharp look over a shoulder. "We got a man back there? Human to our flank. Someone tell me who the /frak/ that is!" Referring, of course, to our lovely friend Alex. Who should really be pushing by now.

The figure of Alex comes over another small incline and he continues his advance on the Centurions that are between him and what his eyes preceive as a downed Raptor. The urge to wave, jump, and scream is offset by the desire to pin down the metal heads. Swining his rifle he continues to unload shots.

Timon ducks back into the van and fires a shot from cover. Then, slightly louder, to make himself heard over the din: "Thought we'd broken down, Chief. But if this piece of scrap still runs, we'd best get up past the Raptor and over to the other van so our machine gunner doesn't have to run a hundred-meter dash to get on board. Sound good?"

Marines are human too. So when Jules' attack seems to be doing some damage, she grins. The worst is over, right? That's about when one of the rounds from the Cylons goes through the van she's using for cover and thuds heavily into her left thigh, driving her leg out from under her. That and she screams. It's piercing, folks. Like a banshee, even. Still screaming, she comes back up again and sends some more bullets out at the incoming Cylons.

Roubani isn't going to waste bullets trying to shoot while a van's moving. Breathing high up in his chest as his heart pounds, he lowers the weapon at Timon's call so any stray rounds won't take out an eye.

Thorn is startled by the mention of an additional person; after a quick check it's confirmed after an eyecount has all his people counted for. "He's not one of ours, Chief, I can tell you that," he answers, craning his head and trying to keep an eye on the elusive figure. "Who the frak, then — " he trails off, puzzled. There couldn't be people still alive on this planet, could there? He's able to put it aside for now, though, as not being riddled with Centurion bullets is something of a greater priority for his mind at the moment.

Sergeant Pickens' head jerks around when he hears that scream, then starts duck-running toward Jules, still taking potshots on his way over. The centurions continue bearing down on the group; one seems intent on pouring lead into the marines near van #2, while the other is trying (and failing) to disable van #1 with its cargo of puny humans.

Hey, look, Fenix /can/ steer! As Timon announces their course, Fenix is pulling hard on the wheel. All but forcing the maimed little van to turn, and stomping hard on the pedal as they start moving — very bumpily — toward the other van. "You frakkers think you can cover long enough for me to get th' other one running, or we going to stick here?" Tightly spoken, as she keps her eyes on the road. Or whatever she's driving on.

The lone gunman on the far side is trying to make his way it would seem from the way he is running not directly towards the Cylons, but rather trying to get around them towards where the other humans are at. That doesn't mean the wildly running Alex is not unloading shots at the metal as he attempts to get to the relative safety of numbers.

One bullet used, five to go. "We sure as hell aren't going anywhere on three wheels, Chief, that's for sure." Timon grits his teeth as the van jolts forward, though he isn't above pumping his fist as one Centurion falls. "Besides, all the other Pyramid moms would laugh at you if you rolled up to pick up your kids in this." To translate: "That's a yes. We'll move out when you get us in position."

Komnenos rolls his eyes as he gets out of the first van, making his way over to the second. "Shotgun," he calls deadpan, opening the front passenger door and using it for cover as he takes out his weapon and looks for a target. He grins unabashedly as the first bullethead falls, then takes aim at the second.

"Remember, Ivory…" Fenix is muttering, eyes narrowing a bit at his pyramid mom comment. "/I/ control the eject button in your ship…" Even on three wheels, fifty yards is covered rather quickly. The van is swerving to a stop beside the second vehicle, side doors mirroring each other, and Fenix's side door is thrown open. Slipping quickly around the van — not bothering to turn the crippled one off — as she attempts to get into the other one. /Without/ getting shot.

Upon the state of their hoopty, Roubani thankfully does not comment. He grabs hold of one of the door handles as they lurch, keeping his knuckles white around it until it's rolling to a stop again. Oh boy! When it stops he sucks in a breath and pours out after Komnenos.

Jules stops with the screaming when one of the Centurions finally goes down, felled by a burst to it's guts and arms by the Marines and Mr. Alex. She spares a moment to look down at the wounded leg, another moment regretting that decision and another pointing her weapon at the other centurion, squeezing the trigger. "One more!"

Alex continues his movements across the field, line of fire changing to the Centurion that isn't a crumpled heap. His steps pause momentarily and he takes the time to line up to fire on the Cent along with a very loudly yelled, "VACUUM LOVER!" in an attempt to perhaps draw its attention away from the van people up to where he's at.

The marines keep firing, covering the group's evacuation to van #2. One of the centurions is taken down in a hail of bullets, slamming into the ground with a CLANG. His friend turns sharply when Alex calls out, and opens up his cannons on the pilot. Smack talk the tincan, will you?

Jules eyenarrows at the centurion after that last volley. Another is sent to follow it up.

Timon jumps out on the heels of his fellow pilots, squeezing off the second of his precious armor-piercing rounds the moment he's clear of the door. The Chief's crack about his ejection seat he takes in stride, as he's got other things to worry about at this point in time — namely, the man advancing toward them with a rifle in hand, who somehow manages to evade a flurry of fire from the outraged Centurion. "You over there!" he calls. "Get to the van!"

Roubani manages to plug the centurion in the chest with an AP round, as other bullets pepper the thing to pieces. But it just won't die. "My gods…" He shouts over his shoulder. "Chief, how are you doing in there?"

Alex yells out mockingly, "Made you look!" towards the Centurion, just in time to hit the dirt and roll for awhile before popping up and firing off a series of rounds towards the metal. Scrambling on his hands and knees, he quickly dives behind a rock and bunkers in. Hearing someone call him 'You over there' he yells back, "Sounds great, little busy at the moment with Mr. Shiny over here!"

Doing his best to line up the still-standing(somehow) Centurion in his sights, Komnenos finally pulls the trigger.

Apparently Fenix can hotwire in her sleep. It takes less than a minute before the second van is humming into life, and without a word, Fenix is half-jumping and half-scrambling into the back seat. Abandoning the Driver's Seat (TM) for the time being, and making no note as to who should take it.

That tincan is a fighter, you gotta give him that much. After taking roughly a bazillion rounds to the face from everyone and their dog, it's still firing. Or, what's left of it, anyway. One arm's been sheared off, and it's crumpled to its knees by now, swinging away from Alex to fire on the people madly piling into the second van.

The marines, hearing the sweet sweet sound of Fenix revving up the van, take a few more potshots at the tincan, and then make a run for it once everyone is in.

Once the second centurion is put down, Jules slumps against the now revving minivan's front. She only lays there a few seconds before grabbing up her disgarded regular ammo clip, shoving it into her ammo pouch and pushing to her feet unsteadily. Her leg wound is eyed. "At least I didn't get anybody's brains on me this time."

With a ratatat of gunfire, the second centurion's head pings clean off its body, and bounces away through the rubble littering the street. Its body drops with a CLANG, kicking up dust— which settles to an eerie sort of silence.

Roubani's throat is dry from breathing so hard through his mouth. Still hearing his heart pounding, he swallows down what saliva he can muster, lowering his pistol and clicking the safety back on. Rather than looking at the new face or the marines, his eyes skim the horizon as though expecting five more of those things to come crashing out of the rubble at any moment.

Timon manages to draw blood this time, figuratively speaking — and so does everybody else, it seems, the combined force of which prevents the Centurion from getting a good bead on him. Which is just as good. Blood is caked on his upper lip and chin; the pain in his leg has settled into a pleasant sort of numbness. He'll deal with that later. "You okay there, Private?" he asks the intrepid machine gunner, flashing her a thumbs-up. But his steps take him toward the stranger, his weapon drawn but pointed down toward the ground. "Thanks for helping us out back there," the pilot says. "Who're you?"

Thorn's shot ricochets off armor, but it's not as though it matters, as the Centurion is torn to shreds in a hail of gunfire. "Hm." He stares at what's left of the Cylon for a moment. "So much for that, then," he mutters mildly and gets out of the van. Walking towards the stranger to stand behind Ivory, Thorn keeps his pistol in hand but down as well, fixing a narrow gaze on the newcomer and waiting for him to answer the question.

Rolling out from behind his rock, the stranger pops up and looks around, starting to trot towards the others, especially when the one asks who he is. "Lieutenant Alexander Niolo, Battlestar Pegasus." He states towards the man who asks him the question. A motion is made towards the Raptor that was downed a ways away, "We can catch up later, there's plenty of metal around here that'll come snooping. You all have anti-rads? I have a few boxes stashed, but we need to scram as soon as possible."

"Leg feels like ouchy number five, looks like ouchy number seven, sir," Jules tells Timon, rolling her shoulder a little. And seeing as how the pilots head off to deal with the newcomer, she decides to find herself a place in the van. She shoves her backpack under one of the seats before tearing some cloth from her BDUs and addressing her wound herself.
"Have you suffered a head injury at some point, girl?" Fenix is half-growling the words as Jules rates her pain, though the woman's offering little else. Slumped against the inside panel of the door's van, with her head back and a hand raised to shove at her hair.

"No." Jules manages to get enough pressure on her leg wound that the bleeding slows and stops with the makeshift bandage. She lifts her head and smiles at Fenix. "Have you?"

Roubani hasn't moved from the van area, still watching the area around them. He's also silent, not something terribly unusual from this particular Ensign. His eyes flicker to the new man as the senior officers address him, then back to the van as he takes a few steps closer to where Fenix is.

Jules receives a sympathetic grin, but Timon's no medic. Instead, he's talking to the newcomer, trying to take his measure. "Nice to meet you, Lieutenant," he says, gun still not holstered. Though he does extend his right hand in greeting — Stathis isn't a barbarian. "I'm Ivory, this is Thorn, and our intrepid driver's the Chief. You can meet the others later." The man looks up into the roiling fog, narrowing his eyes. "So how long have you been down here, anyway? And where's this stash at? We've only got two medkits plus whatever the jarheads brought down with them."

At the accounting, Alex nods his head, shaking the hand. "Been down here since the bombs went off. Was taking a drive tour on leave." He points back towards the city, "I got an abandoned building off the normal metal patrol routes, we can go there. I have enough anti-rads for awhile, been constantly raiding hospitals and pharmacies and anything else I can find for them." He nods though, "Ivory. Don't worry about the rank stuff, you don't know me, I don't know you. I'm just damned glad to see some uniforms and not other stuff. Now, if it's all the same? Let's roll."

"Sounds like a plan." Timon gestures toward the van with his head, allowing the newcomer to go first. He'll be right behind — ever cautious, you know. Nothing personal. "You don't mind, I'll take the wheel. Got directions, sing 'em out, yeah?"

Fenix doesn't protest. A glance is flickered toward the newcomer — suspicion and dislike clear on pale features — but makes no comment. Fenix is going to… sulk. At least she's not throwing up anymore?

Roubani is also watching Timon and Alex, more the latter than the former out of sheer reserved curiosity. The pistol stays out and he says not a word for the time being, exhaling softly through his nose.

Thorn is silent through the exchange as he stands behind Ivory, letting his de facto CO do the talking. His introduction as a Fleet lieutenant doesn't put him completely at ease, but he does offer a terse nod of greeting before turning back to the van and taking back the shotgun seat.

Alex glances between the people at the van staring at him. Finally he flashes a smile, "Look, don't take this the wrong way? But the fact I ain't humpin your legs is a good sign. I haven't seen much of anyone worth talking to for months. So don't worry about aiming guns at me, I won't take it ill, alright?" That seems to be directed towards well all of them. He lifts his hand and points towards one of the buildings on the horizon. "That one, right there, if you stay close to the other buildings we should be good."

Timon stumbles a bit as he moves back toward the van, stepping over the once-twitching Centurion with not a little bit of apprehension. He's hurting all over — the crash has taken its toll — but he moves toward the van nonetheless, making sure to brush past Roubani on the way. Ivory whispers something quietly into the man's ear before he holsters his weapon and takes his place, once more, as taxi driver for the Fleet. "I'd tell you all to buckle up," he says idly, "but it looks like everything's all rusted through anyway. This man here says he's got a hideout with some meds; I say this is the best lead we've got. Cylons'll be back. We don't want to be here when they arrive." One foot presses down on the accelerator — vroom vroom. "Everybody in?"

Jules is quiet and in the van now, weapon in her lap as she looks down the street. She looks up at Alex, smiles back at him and notes, "You shoot good." Apparently, she doesn't have any objections to random men showing up randomly at random battles after randomly crash landing on a not so random planet.

"And here I left my Lieutenant Treats at home," Roubani murmurs at Alex's claims. His eyes flicker to Timon and he simply nods, looking happy enough to get moving. Into the van he goes.

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