A group of Marines escort a refugee column through contested territory.
Location: Northern Coast Of Tasman, Picon
Related Scenes: None
Plot: Operation: Cat and Mouse
Scene Number: 231
Scene 231 - The Heel And Toe Express
Northern Coast Of Tasman, Picon
The northern coast of Tasman is hilly, rocky, hot, dry, and generally unpleasant, unless you're a fan of wide open expanses, baked rocks, and carrying a lot of water.
It is not the ideal place for civilians to be fleeing a merciless enemy that does not need water or food. But war is seldom ideal, and so the Marines of the Vanguard find themselves called upon to hook up with a refugee column coming out of the newly-fallen coastal town of Isore. The Cylons have lined the hills around the town with tanks and AA batteries, making direct evacuation by sea or air impossible, so several columns of several hundred refugees each have begun to trail through the inhospitable terrain toward relative safety.
The Marines have been dropped via Raptor twenty or so miles away from Isore, out of line-of-sight of the AA batteries, and tasked with marching out to meet one of the columns, break contact with any pursuing Cylons, and lead them to the temporary aid camp being set up at the landing zone before they can be flown to safety. It's a long march, as the refugee column moves more slowly than the Marines even though they got a head start, some ten miles -- nearly three hours at a steady, fast march -- before they are even expected to close with the column.
Hot. Dry. No cover. This is not the idea situation for an urban recon scout. Moving forward aside of Lyn as the pair of scouts make up the front element of the column, Lanval climbs over another rock to crouch down to take another look before dropping back down to continue his movement. He's put himself at near 100 yards ahead of the column to keep an eye out as he moves along, maintaining a proper distance to short burst radio back if needed.
Lyn is recon. Recon is used to this kind of slog. Only this time the slog is straightforward rather than moving from cover to cover to objective to cover to cover, so it's likely going to be much quicker than she's used to. She has her usual loadout of gear, including her axe, but she's also packed extra water in two canteens in her pack. If not for her, some of the refugees may need it when they reach them. Arda pauses to sip from her own canteen when Lanval stops, then resumes her movement with her eyes moving constantly.
Eudora Rothschild loathes open terrain. She's a skyscrapers kind of Marine with precise blocks and walls of mirrors that reflect the opposite streets and often the skies. Coffee shops and quaint cafes line the roads she patrols, and everything is built upon heavily cement with pockets of law-enforced green spaces. She is not one for this place where the horizon blurs in the heat, and giant lizards sleep lazily on giant rocks, their forked tongues lazily snaking out to taste the air. She bears her SAW across her back, slung on the strap. She has opted for a back canteen, and turns her head to the shoulders strap to seeze the nozzle between her teeth, sucking several mouthfuls of water through the thick, flexible straw that connects to the vinyl-swathed sack of water. She carefully licks at her lips once her mouth is hydrated, tasting the slightly bitter flavor of her chapstick.
Even if the terrain is hot, dry, and feels like an outdoor oven, Aleksander still has a cigarette fixed between his lips as he marches with the squad of marines. He doesn't venture far from the main group, his rifle slung across in front of him, hanging slack right now. He actually has a strip of cloth wrapped around his head, soaked, to keep himself cooler and less dry. A pair of shades hides his eyes and protects him from the glare of the sun. He does spy one of the lazy lizards perched on a flat rock, a hand going to his sheathed combat knife, "Any native Picons here that can tell us if the lizards are edible?"
Abigail moves out with the rest of the contingent of Marines, as they dismebark the raptor, taking a few minutes to look over who all is in the people assigned to the group. Most of the gunners have been spread out along the group, to allow them to give maximum coverage, interspersed between the riflemen. The march is long enough that they can move freely as they see fit to cover terrain at best speed. Abigail is slightly ahead of the column, scoping the terrain and what they can see for possible EID. Once they start to get closer to the refugees, her voice comes over the comm, "Wagner, you're ahead, Lanval, on drogue, Arda, roving. We'll handle the refugees, but with this little cover, I'm more concerned with what they might have planted on the ground for these refugees, knowing they only had a few options to get out."
There's a pause. For just a moment. Finally, Lanval turns to look at Abigail. There's a flash of something in his eyes, then he shrugs his shoulders. "Aye, aye, Sergeant." With that, he drops to the back of the group, shrugging his shoulders as he passes by Rothschild.
At the orders from Abigail, Lyn holds position until Charlie can take over on forward recon, then she begins to move to a flank, then the other, weaving about on her roving assignment.
It takes a lot to drain Gustavo Delgado, but apparently, this sort of dry heat will do it. He's been obsessively downing water from his waterpack and doing his best to stay away from extra bottles of water he stuffed in his bag at the landing zone. Those are for the refugees, as is the small bag of hard candy in one of his pockets. After nearly three hours walking with a SAW, a LAW, several magazines for the former, a pistol, a knife, night-vision goggles, sunglasses, and all the other accouterments of a gunner on patrol, however, salt rings stand out around the armpits, back, and collar of his desert camo fatigues, the sweat evaporating almost immediately. There's also the whole agoraphobia issue that he never knew he had. He's used to jungle around him, not wide open sky and rolling hills, and he's starting to feel after three hours of exhausting walking like he might fall up into it. It's distracting, but he frowns behind his shield sunglasses, focusing on his assigned sector, "Don't know if they're edible. My experience, scaly things don't taste good raw."
Geoff volunteered for the detail last-minute, since he's only recently returned and hadn't been put on combat yet. So he's among the crowd as he's supposed to be, shoulders squared with his eyes peeled.
Josua Traiga doesn't mind hot places, or wide open expanses, or hilly. He is not, however, constitutionally used to dry, having spent all but recent years in the wonderful humidity of Scorpia. This place feels like he's being baked in an oven. An oven made of a frak ton of rocks. As he's equipped with a sniper rifle presently, he hangs back towards the middle absent any specific orders otherwise, keeping an eye on what cover is available always at the forefront of his attention. Well. Besides looking for tin cans. "Aye, Staff Sergeant." he says calmly. "Only plus side of this terrain seems to be the toasters are going to be awful shiny if they show up." He casts a look over at Delgado, almost wanting to say something but leaving off while on duty.
South and heat is far better for Charlie than the sheer number of northern Picon missons she's been on. Those have left her feeling endlessly damp and like she has something in her lungs that just won't come out. Mind you, she'd rather be near the ocean. Either way, the woman seems to be faring fairly well. Her rifle is in a configuration more closely suiting a carbine and resting lightly in its sling. She's got her monocular in hand, looking behind them even as the orders come in. So used to that positioning is she that it takes a moment to process the orders and another second to kick into gear. She gives an upnod to Arda as she passes by, jogging through the column to take up the fore... and then a number of strides beyond that. Without cover, there's no disappearing into the trees or similar. Nope. Everyone gets to watch Wagner ass today, it'd seem.
Abigail glances over at Josua, at the comment, "Unless they've started painting themselves in camo. Which is not outside of the realm of possibility, given how well they've been adapting to our tactics."
As the Marines continue forward, they can all spot a haze on the horizon, a relatively narrow stream of dust rising from nearer than the blur of smoke over distant Isore. Something large or a significant number of smaller somethings is moving in the near distance.
Lyn jogs up to Charlie's position and murmurs quietly to her. "See that?" she asks, gesturing. "Two groups? Something in pursuit of the refugee column?" she confers.
When Lanval slides to the back of the group, Rothschild offers the other Leonese marine a wry little smile. "<in Leonese> Now you're just closer to hear me start singing when the boredom sets in." Then she glances ahead once more, turning her shielded eyes to the horizon once more. She draws the wayfairer sunglasses up a bit more on her nose, leaving a smudge of sweat and dirt across her lightly freckled skin. The sun does that to her, bringing out the splash of faint freckles. Abigail's reply to Josua draws a small snort from her. "Mm. I could see them trying to reduce the glint they produce in this much sun and this open of terrain. She catches sight of the incoming, and she upnods toward it, though leaves the actual call out to their presence to the recon folks.
When Lanval slides to the back of the group, Rothschild offers the other Leonese marine a wry little smile. "<in Leonese> Now you're just closer to hear me start singing when the boredom sets in." Then she glances ahead once more, turning her shielded eyes to the horizon once more. She draws the wayfairer sunglasses up a bit more on her nose, leaving a smudge of sweat and dirt across her lightly freckled skin. The sun does that to her, bringing out the splash of faint freckles. Abigail's reply to Josua draws a small snort from her. "Mm. I could see them trying to reduce the glint they produce in this much sun and this open of terrain." She catches sight of the incoming, and she upnods toward it, though leaves the actual call out to their presence to the recon folks.
Sadly, dust clouds being what they are... the monocular even isn't much help. Charlie pauses briefly to try to get a better read on it. She's still doing so when Lyn comes into line with her. There's a nod to the woman. "Possibly." She notes, into the radio, a second later: "Two dust clouds. One ahead of the other... The fore is larger, possibly the refugees being pursued."
Geoff bristles when he spots something out in front, though there's no way he can make out what it is. He squints, but holds his position.
Josua casts a briefly startled expression at Abigail, "Fraking geniuses at Graystone." At least he didn't say anything about Fraking Arrogant Capricans, as he says when he's got the booze flowing. But there's sightings so he shuts up otherwise and gets intent.
"With this sun and heat," Aleksander says in answer to Tavo's words while pointing up to that golden orb of pure molten heat in the sky, "I think the lizard will be well done after it is skinned." Just idle chatter to pass the time on this long and miserable march. He does reach up to pluck the cigarette that has burned down to the stub, taking one last puff before dropping it onto the ground and stamping it out. With the scouts up ahead, Aleksander is more than willing to let recon do their job with looking ahead though his own eyes do pick up the small dust clouds in the distance.
"Wouldn't be the first time they adapted." Lanval comments dryly, and then smirks at Rothschild with a playful roll of his eyes as he responds. "<in Leonese> And me without my earplugs." there's a slight smile that starts to form and then fades as he hears the reports from the front. In the back, he doesn't get to get eyes on the targets as he hopes, so just waits for orders.
Having a Traiga in the column behind Tavo sets an itching between his shoulder blades that has nothing to do with the trickles of sweat rapidly evaporating there. "Remember Canceron? They paint." He pants. There's a momentary pause at the use of Leonese from his fellow gunner, and then he somewhat haltingly notes in the same language, nodding up to the dust clouds, "<<Boredom not likely is to be.>>" Aleksander's comment draws a faint chuckle, and then he slowly hefts the butt of his LMG up to his shoulder with a weary grunt, waiting silently and with every evidence of patience for contact orders from Abigail.
Once the second contact is spotted, Abigail holds up a hand to halt the group, "Rothschild, Arda, Davion, Courteois, split off, head towards the first column, verify their identity and assume position to provide cover for them, if they are the refugees. if they're the cylons, well, I trust you to use your best judgement. The rest of you, let's lead towards that second contact, Wagner, you're still lead." It's not as if they are really that far away, relarively speaking. One would hope.
Geoff splits as soon as he's told, heading for the first column to hunker down and ready his weapon. "Anybody got eyes on what it is?"
Lyn nods to Abigail and moves to skitter her way out in front of the four man team, eyes peeled. She moves rapidly, because if they are the refugees, they won't be able to move as fast as the machines behind them.
Josua is not at all eyeing Tavo's back every so often. Well, he totally is. But he's not going to shoot the guy. That's only the most idle of thoughts, not seriously considered. At Abigail's orders, he splits off towards the second column, lifting his rifle and looking through the scope for a moment before jogging a few steps to catch up.
With the Leonese language being used, Aleksander transitions to it rather easily, definitely feeling more comfortable using the language he learned with the Foreign Legion, <<This job is never boring, whether you are falling out of the sky in a shotdown Raptor, crawling through the corpse of a capital ship, or walking through the endless desert.>> However, with the threat on the horizon, the Tauron checks his rifle to make sure that it is loaded and ready to go. When the split is ordered, Aleksander nods his head at Rothschild, "Good to go, Dora." Ready to follow her lead to intercept the assumed refugees.
"<in Leonese> I'm afraid that I am not one of those singing warrior muses." This is replied dryly to Tavo though she does wink over her shoulder to Lanval before she turns her focus to Aleksander. "Hmph. You are not eating that." Then she quiets a bit to listen to the actual orders, and she clears her throat. "As you say, Sarge." She nods to her team, drawing off her SAW as she does. "With me." She glances toward Abigail. "We'll let you know what we find." Then she gives Davy a smirk. "<in Leonese> I'm giving you laundry duty when we get back. That should be exciting." She then moves to split off from the group wtih Lyn, Aleksander, and Geoff.
When the order to split the group comes, Tavo grunts and extends out his left hand, curled into a fist, to knock knuckles with Rothschild. "Good hunting." Aleksander gets a brief glances, a faint frown, and then he nods to Abigail, moving over to clearly join the EOD Marine's group. Geoff's question gets a shake of the head, "Not me yet."
Hearing the orders, Lanval peels off the back of the group, and takes up position at the rear of Abigail's squad as she leads away. There's a quick two finger salute towards Rothschild before he heads off with Abigail and the others, falling silent for the approach.
Roths turns to flash Tavo a quick grin, but she does gently bounce her knuckles against his before she departs with her group.
As the two groups of Marines advance, slowly diverging, they rise up over a low ridge, and the identity of at least one of the dust clouds becomes quite clear. Spread out over a good three quarters of a mile is a straggling column of humanity. There is a knot at the front, a larger and looser knot in the middle, a long tail, and then a tiny knot at the back, nearly hidden by the dust. There's not much military visible about the column, mostly just people, weary, walking slowly, some with makeshift packs of belongings, some with nothing more than the clothes on their back. They're probably half a mile away at this point, their own cloud of dust hiding the tail of their column and whatever is causing the -- now clear to all -- second trail of dust.
"Copy, Walker." Charlie starts to break off, but not before a "Happy hunting" for Arda. She packs away the monocular as she does; that dust cloud is target enough. Even as she moves off at a jog to stay ahead of the pack, Spectre is pulling out other pieces of her equipment to start gearing up her gun for longer-range shooting. Just in case something comes into range.
There is a mock groan from Aleksander when he is being punished with laundry duty but no other retort is offered as they are moving out, becoming a little bit more serious with their task at hand. Just a little bit. When the group he is with proceeds to the larger cloud, the Tauron furrows his brows as he spots the refugees, "Those are our charges all right, but there are quite a few stragglers... and if they're not waiting for them, that means the are afraid of whatever is chasing them."
With Rothschild off on her own recon, Abigail signals for the second group to follow in Charlie's wake, still moving at that steady energy-conserving march. Time is of the essense, of course, but if they all drop before they get there nobody's getting saved. It's not long before at least the group that Rothschild's team is heading towards it, "Sergeant, hold in place or move to intercept, as you choose." She's not going to order the woman and her team back, if they've found a good position. "Let's try to stay low and see if we can't avoid spoking the natives. Wagner, we're still on you."
With Rothschild off on her own recon, Abigail signals for the second group to follow in Charlie's wake, still moving at that steady energy-conserving march. Time is of the essense, of course, but if they all drop before they get there nobody's getting saved. It's not long before at least the group that Rothschild's team is heading towards it is identified, "Sergeant, hold in place or move to intercept, as you choose." She's not going to order the woman and her team back, if they've found a good position. "Let's try to stay low and see if we can't avoid spooking the natives. Wagner, we're still on you."
"Looks like civilians," Geoff says, keeping the barrel of his weapon low. "Careful, everybody."
Lyn holds and looks through her binoculars, trying to peer through the dust to get a view of what that second cloud is being caused by.
Following behind Walker's group, Lanval remains quiet, waiting for the orders for the contact. He glances at the closing distance between the two groups and gives a small frown, but for now his mind remains on the mission.
Josua jogs slowly forward, attention focused on the second dust cloud. Looking through his scope he tries to identify a friend or foe, but he sees only dust on the wind, really.
Gustavo grounds a knee as they reach the ridge and several people stop to scope out the pair of columns, sucking on the warm water in his waterpack and trying to get some of the dust from his mouth. No reason not to get a moment's rest from humping the heavy load while everyone is eyeing the columns.
Lyn murmurs to Rothschild, "There are things moving in that second cloud, several small things, not one big thing." She looks up at the gunner, "Orders?"
Rothschild takes note of the trail of humanity on the dust-covered expanse, and she nods her head slightly. Though her gaze sweeps to the other column, and there's a far more serious look in her dark eyes. "I want us to get in closer. Be ready if that column proves to not be the humans we're looking for." She looks to the others, nodding slightly. She then gets on the short radio, and connects with Abigail. "Walker, we're not getting a clear shot. We're coming in closer, but we're ready to engage if it proves to be unfriendlies."
Sometimes, it's the skills you think will be the least useful in these sorts of situations, that prove to be the most useful. In Abigail's case, it's long practice in picking out bodies working surf rescue on those bright days when the sun is glaring and the surf is choppy enough to send the light bouncing all around and messing with your vision. Her voice is tight, as she comes over the comms, "I make roughly a dozen cylons. A couple three centurions,most are the non-combat models. And I sadly, think I was right about that camouflage. They either did it themselves, or they've been hunting these people long enough they've been covered in their dust." She looks back to her group, "Let's press the advance, see if we can't intercept them before they catch up to those stragglers. Copy that, Rothschild."
"Can't see shit for the dust," Charlie mutters into the radio from where she ranges ahead. Not through squinting nor the scope; the sun is messing with her eyes. She tries roaming a bit wider out. But then Abigail comes in over the comms with a better report; perhaps from a lower vantage? Either way, it works out. The sniper swears, quietly, but begins to break into a quicker run. "Copy, Walker. Moving ahead. Orders to engage soon as I'm in range?"
With everyone else using their binoculars and trying to figure out what's in the dust, Aleksander remains at the ready with his hands on his rifle, waiting for the orders to move ahead. He doesn't even bothering trying to get his binoculars out of his pack. When Rothschild gives the update that her group will move up, the Tauron starts doing so, eyes ahead. He has fallen into silence since there are updates coming through the comms and they are now approaching the refugees.
Abigail says, "When have I ever said no to you killing everything in sight, Wagner?"
Geoff breaks from the column to hurry forward. Looks like he wants to be among the first to welcome their metal friends.
When Walker signals through that she's got eyes on the column, she glances at the others around her. "Alright. I'll provide suppression fire. Let's draw their attention to us, get those civilians in the clear." She gets back on the walkie, and radios this along. "Walker, we're going to pull their attention, give you guys a clear path to us." She pulls up her SAW, moving forward, showing how little she cares about being spotted at this point. That's right. Spot us.
Listening to the conversation on the comm, Lanval considers and then suggests quietly. "Suggest letting the Cylons pass us into Rothschild's position, and then hit them from the flank. Bottle them in." he offers and waits to see what Abigail says on the matter.
"Hoo boy, I hope Al has all his candles lit," Lyn mutters before she begins coming down the rise at a jog, heading to the side to hopefully help draw the Cylons off the trail of the civilians and into the open.
When orders come in, Tavo grunts himself back up to his feet, giving the magazine of his SAW a light slap to ensure that it's seated properly, "You got it, Walker." He starts to move forward again, grunting slightly at Lanval's suggestion and adding his own, "Might be good to have a fire team and a maneuver team. But I'm ready to rock and roll when and where you want me to."
"I like how Whittaker thinks." comments Josua, but he follows along, moving from position of cover to cover as best as can be found until final orders are given.
The front-most knot of refugees spots the Marines as they advance, and the group boils for a moment, a few people with weapons in their hands coming forward first while the rest of the column slows and wails of fear come up here and there within the column. And then there's some recognition, and the column surges forward again, a pair of people in khaki uniforms -- local police, perhaps -- limping from the column toward the Marines.
"Well, you might want something left to shoot at," Charlie quips back to Abigail, setting her rifle at her shoulder. She can't quite run as fast while trying to seek out canner in the scope, but she also doesn't need to be as close as the others to do so. The safety is off, but her finger remains alongside rather than on the trigger. All she needs is just a glimpse of cylon. When the refugees start to surge forward, she does just lift one hand away to try to wave them past, mentally begging them to stay out of the line of fire.
"Given the distance we have to cover, I have a feeling we're not going to be able to get to them head on regardless." She nods, at Tavo, as she takes a breath, "Delgado, pick a buddy, or two, see if you can't halt their advance, the rest of us will move in from the side.' She's not to proud to admit that shooting all the things is Tavo's job, and not really hers.
When the refugees come into sight, Aleksander's rifle lowers again and once more hangs slack, the strap keeping it in place in front of his body. He does hold up a hand, palm facing out at the two approaching militiamen, "Friendlies! Hold your fire!" That is the extent of what he calls out to the civilians, letting Rothschild or someone else handle the meet and greet. Instead, the Tauron is turning and moving towards the back of the refugee trail, getting ready to move into position to be the anvil, the task that their group was given.
Rothschild nods to the approaching police officers as they come in. "Staff Sergeant Rothschild," she introduces herself. "We need to get these people moving faster. You have a group of unfriendlies behind you, approaching fast." She then nods behind them. "What's your count?" She keeps her SAW tight in her grip, though the nose is pointed down. She looks to the others, and then back. She nods the civilians to keep moving, but has the officers stay back to answer her questions.
Tavo hesitates for a moment at Abigail's order, and then he forces himself to say, "Traiga. You're with me. Fire support when we get in range. Once we hit contact, head for the nearest cover away from the refugees," which should clear the rest of the group from their line of fire too, "then pour it on."
"Let's get it moving," Lyn says to the civilians as she urges the column along. She stops for any kids or people who look like they desperately need water, and gives them sips from her bottles.
"You're so thoughtful Wagner." Abigail, seeing Tavo and Josua move off, continues on with the rest of the team, moving to, hopefully, bring them in along the flank of the cluster of cylons. She's loaded with her explosive gears, of course, but it's the SMG that she brings to bear. No time to roam ahead and mine the road. The gods are cruel.
Geoff is still pelting forward with the advance group to try to get close enough to intercept those Cylons. He doesn't spend time cracking wise.
Josua eyes Tavo a moment, and grunts in response to the order, but there's a curt nod. He jogs up besides Tavo, "Copy that, Staff Sergeant." He says with a somewhat resigned tone, that only barely conceals his dislike of partnering up with this particular Staff Sergeant. He mutters for only Tavo's ears when he nears, "Worried about friendly fire, Delgado?" But then the pair of Scorpians go to do their thing.
The pair of police raise their hands slightly at Aleksander's call, pistols holstered at their side. They each bear bloodied bandages here and there, a shoulder, a leg, one around a temple, but they are moving relatively steadily. The man bends over, hands on his knees, catching his breath, while the woman nods a weary greeting to Rothschild, "Officer Samuels, Isore Pee-Dee." She too pants as she responds, her voice strained and dry, "They're moving as fast as they can, Sergeant. We don't have a firm count, but it's somewhere around two hundred. A few reservists are serving as a rearguard, but the Cylons haven't attacked us all this way, just kept up with us."
There are no children in the front group of the refugees as it streams past the Marines, the group seeming to be made up of the two police officers and whomever can still move the fastest after nine miles on the run. Still, a couple of them, including a man and a woman in once-neat yacht-club-worthy attire, beg for water.
Moving with the flanking team, Lanval goes back to silence as he waits for the contact orders, moving quickly and efficently, his rifle held towards the ground, his finger off to the side so not to be near the trigger as the group uses hopefully the Cylon's narrowminded pursuit and dogging of the refugees to bring them around into the flanking group.
"I'm not sure about a clear shot," Charlie warns through the radio to Abigail. "not with the refugees. If one of them moves at the exact wrong second..." She curses faintly, drops her weapon, and takes off at a run. Probably to go for a wider 'circuit' to try to get around the refugees to angle well past them towards the pursuing cylons.
Lyn gives water where needed as she keeps moving down the line, encouraging words being said to the refugees as she heads further back after Geoff.
"Kept with you." Rothschild frowns toward Davy before she looks to Geoff. "Lance Corporal Courtois is going to help get these people escorted to safety. You can't stop here." She then gets on her radio. "Walker, I got a rough count of about two-hundred in the column. We're getting them moved. I'm going to have Courtois work to get them to a safe spot for retrieval." She looks back to Samuels. "Officer, stay with your people and keep them motivated on moving. This is not a safe zone." She looks seriously at the law enforcement officer. "Do you understand?" Heat, dehydration, and hunger can play tricks on the mind. She wants to make sure that what she's just said is clear.
Tavo shakes his head at Josua's mutter, "Figured a Traiga would know how to spray and pray." Snide? Not quite. But damned close, and the big man definitely has his feathers ruffled a bit. As he moves with the rest of the group down the refugee column, he starts looking for clusters of rocks to serve as cover, taking another sip of water from the straw at his cheek as he does.
Geoff frowns at Rothschild, but he doesn't buck the orders he's been given. "Fine," he says, stopping to catch a breath. "Let's move then." He point sout a direction. "There'll be water when we get where we're going, we can't stop."
Slowing to a stop, Aleksander looks over his shoulder at Rothschild and offers a 'Hmm?' at her as he doesn't catch her words fully. The Tauron doesn't stray far though, watching the refugees continue to shamble by in their dehydrated and exhausted state, staying not too far from the Staff Sergeant in case the orders change. He looks towards the smaller dust cloud that is the pursuit and walks back to where Rothschild is, "This is odd, why haven't they engaged the refugees, I'm sure the toasters can move faster and they usually don't hold back on killing us, soldiers or civies. Are they herding the refugees somewhere?"
"Rothschild, are we sure/ the way ahead is clear for this evac? Does it strike you as odd that the cylons are not trying to pick off the stragglers at all? Now, We know they've been trying to take as many prisoners as possible, using them as a workforce," Abigail knows that all too well, "But a dozen can't wrangle this many people alone. It makes me wonder if they're herding then...towards something." Still, she has her own group to worry about, and she still has a lot of ground to cover,
There's a counterpoint offered from Lanval. "Don't have to waste bullets if they're marched to death from exhaustion and dehydration." Lanval offers as he continues covering ground.
Slipping his sniper rifle's strap over his back, Josua tugs over his SAW for this particular bit of attention getting, replying to Tavo, "We're willing to do whatever it is we have to do." For our clan. Moving along with Tavo and the others, he too makes a point to search out for cover for after the toasters attention is had.
As Lyn approaches the pair of rich-seeming folks, there is a sudden yapping bark, the satchel the man carries erupting with a very small, very angry dog. The man immediately starts shushing 'Bobo,' and begging for water for the little pup and his wife. Once she gets some, the wife doesn't bother requesting any for the dog.
The Picon police officer nods to Rothschild, "How far out is rescue, Sergeant? Some of these people won't make it much farther." The request for repetition draws her eyes closed, the weary policewoman gathering her wits back about her, "Keep them going. Follow back along your tracks?" There's a little question there, but she keeps going, "Stay with them. I've got it, Sergeant."
The first group is passed now, and the second knot, filled with people who are even more tired, many carrying heavy bags stuffed with their belongings. One guy is wearing nothing but a towel he holds around his waist and a growing sunburn, a wounded policeman hurries along someone in cuffs, and a man shepherds a group of children forward.
Lyn reaches into her pack and pulls out her poncho she uses in rain conditions. It's the long sort that falls to ones' knees. She hands it to the guy in the towel, so he can keep the sun off him and gain back some dignity. Then she's giving water to the kids.
Rothschild listens carefully to the suggestion Abigail makes, looking to the officer at her own comments. She responds to Walker first, stepping aside a bit. "The way we came is clear. It is hard to say what the toasters are trying to achieve. For all we know, they are keeping with them to run them into an air strike, or just to harry them a bit." She glances around her at her other soldiers, and then back to the officer. "You've got another ten miles until you're in a clear spot for retrieval, Officer. That's all I can offer you, I'm afraid. We're not in a good place for a pick up. Just keep moving, keep folks calm. We'll take care of the column behind you." She glances to Geoff. "Get them on their way, Lance Corporal, and then rejoin us. We're going to need all the firepower we can muster." She then nods back to the officer before she moves alongside the column of humans.
When the second group of refugees come into view, Aleksander's brow furrow deeply into a disapproved frown, "Are you frakking kidding me?" He says none too quietly as he looks to the officers, "Who's bright idea is it for those civilians to be lugging luggage with them? They /do/ know that imminent death is right behind them right?" He's not exactly very diplomatic with his words and he turns, looking like he is about to shout at the refugees holding heavy backs and bags unless someone stops him.
The guy blushes even more red than his sunburn when Lyn offers her poncho, but he takes it, "Thank you, so, so, so thank you," draping it painfully over his shoulders and continuing to pick his careful way over rocks, sand, and dirt alike in a pair of flip-flops. "Such a frakking horrible time for a shower..."
The words 'air strike' cause the male police officer to gasp, and Samuels to wince. The mention of how far they have to go draws a groan, but they both nod, the man adding, "We got them this far. We can get them the rest of the way. Keep your shooters, Sergeant." Samuels rounds on Aleksander with weary anger, "They... we just lost everything we owned. I'm not going to tell anyone that they can't carry what's important to them."
Charlie is still heading along. Hot sun. Lots of dust. Cylons far away. Same ol'.
"Have those civilians drop bags. We can use them to make a skirmish line with cover." Lanval offers quietly over the comms. "Look." he murmurs, pointing to the civilian models in the line. "They're not pursuing to overrun. They're just watching. Making sure they're followed. That they know they're followed."
Finally, the last of the column passes by, and it's just a gap and then the Cylons. Time to find positions to fight them from, most likely.
Tavo grunts displeasure at Josua's response, "Yeah. Whatever you have to do." The way he says it, it's not a compliment, but he also sloughs it off with a heavy shrug, "I also did it because you're new, but I knew you could handle it."
Abigail's team, for the most part, has been spared having to interact with the civilians, save for Wagner who has to try to avoid them. So there isn't much more coming out of Abigail in terms of mission orders, with all of the teams already set and moving out. Lanval's suggestion, she leaves for Rothschild, as her group is the one handling the civilian presence. For now, as they get into a close enough position to engage, she looks to find a place to find cover.
"Understood, Geoff answers, and moves along to the front of the refugee group. "You need to follow our tracks exactly," he warns the officer in the lead. "Do not stop, do not leave that trail. If people can't keep up they need to drop their bags if they want to live, okay? Keep going."
When the last of the column of refugees passes, Lyn swings wide out to one side, so that if the Cylons shoot at her, they won't be shooting towards the civilians.
Was that a compliment? Josua isn't sure how to deal with that, so he grunts at it and rolls his shoulders, ready to paint the toasters to get their attention then run for cover.
Settling into position on a knee, Lanval brings his rifle to his knee and flicks the selector switch to burst. "Aiming for the one that looks like he was a golf instructor, carrying a pistol." he comments low on the comm so that the others know where he's firing.
As the Cylons approach, it can be seen that while most of them are the skeletal worker-bot types armed with a collection of random weapons from a Picon Marine Corps-issue assault rifle to police-issue pistols to a butcher knife to simple pieces of metal signpost, there are also four Centurions in their midst, heavily armed and armored. They advance at a steady pace, neither hurrying or slowing -- until they see the Marines setting up, at which point those armed with pistols and melee weapons move forward quickly while those armed with heavier weapons slow to get better accuracy.
Aleksander looks like he was about to offer a not-so-nice retort about common sense and losing lives over stupid possessions but bites his tongue. But as more refugees pass by, the Tauron just throws his arms up in exasperation, not wanting to waste time as the pursuing Cylons are coming up on them. Instead, he picks one of the bumping areas of the terrain, using the mini-dune as partial cover, dropping into prone position so he can provide a smaller profile for the Cylons. He flicks the safety off of his rifle and takes aim, waiting for one of the Centurions to get into range before triggering off a burst.
There are, sadly, no trees to shimmy up into. The only perk of the northern continents. However, Charlie is able to shimmy up onto a rock onto her abdomen, staying low. She drops her pack off onto the side and flips the small rest out on her rifle on the forward edge of the rock. One of the worker models of cylon with a rifle is spotted and drawn into her sights. She takes a breath, focusing on it as she prepares to fire. It hits the cylon, but it doesn't drop. There's a twitch of her lip, but she just shifts slightly, racking up another shot.
Geoff realizes he's about to be targeted just in time and wheels while yelling, "Go, go, go!" to the refugees. He takes a shot, almost at random, and misses, just as another shot sinks into the ground beside him. "Frak," he says, hunkering down to fire more precisely.
Lyn feels the graze of a shot skid across her belly as she hunkers down behind a tumbleweed-strewn boulder. She pops back up, firing off a burst from her rifle at one of the LMG-wielding Centurions, shredding through the armor on its head and torso. "Scratch one! Nice shooting, "Jos!"
The Leonese noblewoman opens fire on the incoming Centurions, focusing on them instead of the various spattering of noncombat units turned into soldiers. She feels the butt of the SAW rattatat against her shoulder as she lets loose, but it's the blast of the shotgun and spew of dirt and tree that causes her to duck back behind the scrubby cover she's chosen. She grimaces slightly, shaking her head loose of the dirt that clings to her hat. Then she pulls herself back out into the open, and turning her focus on one fo the Centurion's still on its feet.
As the Cylons close into range, Tavo taps Josua on the shoulder, then makes a burst for the nearest little cluster of rocks, flipping down his bipod as he runs. Throwing himself down with a pained grunt, he scooches up behind the rocks and settles the bipod into place, getting his considerable weight behind the butt of the SAW, flipping off his safety, and holding down the trigger for a long burst as he slews the barrel across the Centurions. Half of the rounds at least strike sparks, but one of them punches right through the lower torso of one of the Centurions, sending it spinning to the ground. The confluence of tracer-fire from his and Josua's position draws a sharp nod of approval, "Nice shooting, Traiga, keep spraying or keep praying." His attention, however, is downrange.
While his three shots strike the center of mass of the pistol welding Cylon, Lanval's shots don't bring down the civilian model. "...assisting with the military grade." He'll adjust back to the civilian model if he has to, but the military models have priority.
Abigail has never prided herself on being a particularly good shot, she's much better, it seems, with a grenade or you know, something else that goes 'boom'. So there's little shock, and just a bit of disappointment, as she sees none of her shots hit the cylon she was aiming for. Regardless, the rest of the team seems to put paid to it, and she turns her attention to the next most dangerous enemy in the line.
It's not so much skill that Josua hit several times, he was surpressing and firing wildly at the most dangerous more then trying-- but the gods never blamed a man for accepting luck. He's inclined to switch back to his sniper rifle, but he hears Tavo's order and grunts, and leans out to spray another field of bullets, "You too, Delgado." he admits grudgingly.
Right when Aleksander is about to fire off his shots, the dirt pile around him goes whump, whump, whump as one of the Centurions pepper his area with bullets. This throws off his aim severely as luck isn't with him, his bullets going high and wide. A inaudible curse is spat out as some dirt got into his mouth, causing him to spit some of the dryness out. He does take aim again at the same Centurion again, shifting slightly in his prone position before triggering another burst of bullets.
The hose of fire from the Marines knocks down two of the Centurions, but the rest of the Cylons keep coming, snapping off shots as they can. One of the Centurions refocuses its attention on the machine gunner and rifleman in their little nest of rocks, and the melee-wielding Cylons start in that general direction as well.
Geoff hisses when he feels a round rip through his outer thigh, but glancing down, it doesn't look awful, so he stays where he is to squeeze off another burst. "Frak off, bolt buckets," he mutters.
Wow, talk about a terrible streak of luck. Abigail just cannot seem to get purchase with her shots. But maybe she'll have her chance now, as the military models finally go down, but one of the cylons, complete with rifle, seems to have taken a liking to her. She tries to scoot a bit further into cover, and tries to take it out before it can put paid to her.
Lyn grits her teeth and dives down to the ground behind the boulder as another Centurion peppers her cover and the air with autofire. She gets to a knee and levels her rifle to fire off another burst at her new assailant Centurions, and her shots slam into its head and belly alongside those of several other marines. "Scratch two!" she notes.
With the centurions down, Josua drops his assault rifle that was never in fact a SAW, honest, and pulls his preferred weapon off his back. He lines up a shot with cool, detached efficiency. Its just another clan war: the clan's just human.
Assisting with taking down one of the military models, Lanval gives only a nod to Lyn's whoop of victory. "Returning to original target." he comments dryly as he switches to fire at the pistol weilder again.
Tavo pours another long burst into the pair of Centurions still standing, even as bullets kick up shards of rock from his cover. One spall of rock glances off his cheek, cutting across his skin and starting blood flowing but doing nothing worse. As the Cylons with blades and bludgeons close on his and Josua's position, he draws in a breath, "Shit... this could suck..." They certainly got the toasters' attention...
Still not going down. Charlie mumbles a few times to herself, shifts on the rock, and curses the sun. What she wouldn't do for a good slice of beach right now. "Anyone else want a good alcoholic drink with an umbrella in it right now?" Hey, radio chatter is acceptable... right? It might help her shots. That cylon has got to go down.
It seems like Aleksander was really ticked at having dirt blasted into his face and mouth because his vengeance was quick and vicious. Without further distractions, the Tauron's shots were brutally accurate as all three rounds punches right through the Centurion's chest plate, destroying the internal circuits and systems. The Cylon goes dead immediately, its movements stopping as it topples to the ground. Instead of picking out another target, the ex-Legionnare does a quick survey of the area and sees that the skeletal modes are a bit spread out. The ones wielding ranged weapons are still clustered and a safe distance from the other Marines so Aleksander quickly unclips one of his frag grenades. Pulling the pin, he yells out loudly, "Grenade out!" Then he lobs the round explosive into the air, letting it arc towards the group of Cylons.
Rothschild feels the sharp burst against her shoulder as she tightens on the trigger, letting the machine gun release its fire on the Centurion. She doesn't get to see what happens beyond that as she is quickly ducking and burying herself back behind the cover of the tree and adjacent rock when more fire comes her way. She breathes out a slow breath, and only pops back up when there's no more debris flying. Centurion down, so she starts to sweep her focus at the other Cylons present.
Lyn pops up to fire another burst of shots at one of the civilian models, but this time her shots are evaded by the wily robot. Which sends it running right into Josua's line of fire.
Somewhere in the switching of fire, Lanval flicked the switch to single shot instead of burst and he's caught off guard when only one bullet comes out. "Frak." he mentions as a bullet streaks by, knicking him and causing a wince of pain as he feel the skin tear on his arm before he flicks the switch back to burst and opens fire.
One bullet, one cylon's head explodes. Jos nods with satisfaction as his toaster goes down, only to be startled when a tin can hits him in the chest! Caught completely off guard he spins around, "Fraking toaster." he hisses through clenched teeth. Using a sniper rifle up close is... not ideal, and his assault rifle is on the ground. With a roar then he swings the butt of his gun around to try to knock the damn cylon's head off.
"Rrrrr!" Geoff growls loudly when he takes one on the shoulder. "Stay the /frak/ down!" But he doesn't budge.
Abigail manages to get a much better result, with the grenade then with her smg, but the advancing cylons catch her attention out of the corner of her eye. They have melee weapons, and that makes them less dangerous to her, but they appear to be advancing in the area of Roths team, and that's bad. Here's to crossing your fingers and hoping she doesn't shoot anything vital on a marine.
As the Cylons sweep in on he and Josua, Tavo cuts loose with another burst, punching rounds into both of the Cylons bounding the rocks toward him, then slips out of the sling and leaves his SAW on the ground. His last few rounds simply missed, thumping into the ground in his hurry to get out of the sling and onto his feet. He's not quite quick enough, however, as the knife-wielder slashes across his left forearm, drawing a grunt of pain and sending the big man stumbling back. He's barely able to duck under the sweep of the sign-post that follows, reaching down and drawing the knife from the back of his belt, flipping it around so that the blade runs back along his forearm.
The cylon that's been trying to hit Charlie finally gets a few shots across her and the woman flinches, but they're largely glancing. It's more the heat through her fatigues than anything else. It'll just need a bit of antibiotic and she'll be fine. Wagner shifts a bit, seeking out a new target before squeezing the trigger.
Aleksander's frag grenade goes off nicely in the group of Cylons that are wielding makeshift ranged weapons, the shrapnel that is flung out from the explosion cutting into a lot of the mechanoids. One took a piece of shrap into the chest before the torso was caved in by Charlie's sniper shot. The other two are in pretty bad shape, missing bits and pieces, some sparks shooting out of exposed internal circuits. The Tauron assumes that it is about to die and shutdown so he takes up his rifle again, looking over to where the gunners are now dealing with the melee weapon wielding mechanoids. Seeing Tavo contending with two, Aleksander takes aim at the Cylon wielding a butcher knife but due to the close proximity, he doesn't take an immediate shot, not wanting to accidentally hit the friendly Marine. He takes a moment to take aim, trying to steady his breathing.
Rothschild is no longer a focus of the Cylons, so she presses herself out of cover, shooting as she goes. Her fire is focused on those at a distance though she recognizes that there are several coming in with more primitive weapons. Anything works. She takes advantage of being free of incoming fire, leaving herself open while also being a bit more bold.
As full-auto weapons fire chews the sky and grenade explosions throw up sand and dirt, the stragglers from the column draw on lingering reserves of strength, trying to hurry themselves along as best as they can. A few stumble and fall, but most are helped back up again.
This household bot must have had a rough and tumble purpose, because even when her shot's hit, Lyn isn't getting much penetration. This time she aims for the head.
Many of the worker-Cylons fall under heavy fire from the Colonials, leaving just the tree trying to pummel or chop up Josua and Tavo. As usual, however, it tends to take extreme measures to put them down.
Swinging and hitting the cylon in the arm does some damage, but not enough: when the cylon swings at him with a club, he drops his sniper rifle at the same time that he throws himself forward and under the blow, rolling over his assault rifle, to grab it and spin around to face the tin can.
Unwilling to try to shoot at the Cylon out of an abundance of caution, Lanval fires to keep the Cylon down so that he can't get his hands on Gustavo.
Ugh. Why is it that the cylons always go for the big guys? They should go for the squirrely sons of *****es. That way she wouldn't be risking hitting a friendly target. That or Delgado is just going to have to get some good old fashion backalley plastic surgery.
Geoff starts moving when he sees the Cylon he's after turn its attention back to him and the maneuver pays off: he rips into the thing while it misses him. "DIE, MOTHERFRAKKER!" he yells as it finally goes down. No break, he just moves on to the next target.
Tavo is not a knife-fighter by trade. He's a gunner. He's supposed to be working with that SAW that he's been driven back from. Still, he crouches low, his wounded left arm before him, his right hand with the big combat knife back at his hip. He shuffles in place for a moment, almost fencing with the two Cylons, and then the one with the sign-post swings, and Tavo leaps back, letting it swing just in front of his chest. Starting forward again in the wake of the swing, Tavo lashes out with his knife, scraping his blade across the torso of the knife-wielding Cylon but failing to find purchase. The Cylon's blade in turn chops into his torso -- only to find an impact plate instead of an organ. Grunting in pain, Tavo studies his opponents warily.
And another one bites the dust. As it were. Cylons don't bite, but that one's face down in the dust and dirt. Or what's left of it after Charlie and Rothschild have their way is. Wagner lets out a breath and frowns at the ones closing on Gustavo. She shifts, moving forward a bit on her rock. She leaves cover, sitting up as she tries to angle on distracting one of them.
There goes another series of Cylons, and Rothschild maintains her advance into the open terrain. She turns her gun in a quick succession, and spots the Cylons near Tavo. She doesn't think -- which might cost her later -- and suppresses the trigger in hopes of helping the big Scorpian with his dance partner.
After time to aim, blocking out the heavily damaged Cylon who's shotgun blast doesn't even come close, Aleksander waits for the moment that the knife wielding mechanoid shifts away from Tavo. It is in that brief moment where he triggers a burst from his assault rifle. A risky shot but one he is trained to take with confidence.
Lyn doesn't take kindly to toasters engaging marines in hand to hand. And so she levels her rifle and registers the head of the Cylon attacking Josua with a club in her sights. She slowly breathes out and pulls the trigger. BLAMMO! Along with Geoff's shot, the thing goes down in an explosion of bits. "Nice shooting, Zombie!"
Once the target's down, and all the other targets he could see are down, Geoff runs a few steps closer to Lyn. "That you blew the head off that thing, Arda? Frakkin' sweet."
Josua is about to unload on the toaster as it swings in and gets him in the hip, but bullets are flying and destroy it rather dead. Rising up after a moment he growls, "Way too many friendly bullets flying my direction this mission." he hisses into the radio, "If you're gonna help a guy out, let's try one bullet at a time aimed carefully instead of praying you don't hit a clanmate." Pause, "But thanks for the assist." Grudgingly.
This time, the Cylon with the signpost stabs at Tavo with one end, and the big man is able to bat it aside. The cleaver comes down at him, and he blocks it with his bloodied left forearm, causing him to flinch in pain, but it lets him get close enough to slam a downward thrust into the top of the toaster's shoulder, actually managing to bite into its innards a little with the knife-blade. Drawing the weapon free again, he shoves it aside, and then the Cylon -- along with its two friends -- comes apart in a spectacular fusillade of close-range fire. Every muscle in Tavo's body tightens up, a good bit of pucker factor, and then he lets out a shaky breath as the Cylons all fall and he, and after a glance Josua, are still standing. Sheathing the knife at his back again, he moves over to pick up his SAW again, "These here are Timber Wolves, Traiga. They're shit-hot." The contradiction of his fellow Scorpian is a little subdued however, some part of him perhaps uncomfortably agreeing.
Rothschild breathes a heavy exhale once the last Cylon drops, and her eyes sweep left and right to take count of the various marines still with them. She does not see anyone down, and only accounts for a few passing wounds. "Alright, how are we?" She asks, dropping her SAW so it hangs off the strap across her shoulder. This leaves her hands free to offer some quick field triage if anyone needs it. She's not a combat medic, but she has some experience all the same. Her gaze sweeps over to Tavo, and lingers there a moment at his words, but then she shakes her head with an amused smile.
With all targets down, Lanval safeties his rifle before raising it. "Clear." he murmurs softly, before looking towards the others. He's waiting for one of the leaders to call in the evac as he moves to continue his watch. "Got knicked. Already stopped bleeding."
"I'm not your clanmate. But you're welcome," comes Abigail's Picon-accented twang, as she gets back up to her feet, moving towards the other group, Tavo in particular, who seems to have gotten most of the bad attention, "Let's link back up, Rothschild, see if we can get these people moving. Wagner, you still in one piece? Might need you to try to scout ahead, we've still got a lot of ground to cover, before we get to the evac point."
"I'm solid," comes Charlie's reply over the radio. "Got a bit of rug burn is all." Because that's what it feels like by this point. She's already packing away the extra bits on her rifle, off the rock, and stretching her legs by loping on ahead. "Moving ahead, Walker. I'll sing out if I see anything."
Lyn grins at Geoff and claps him on the shoulder. "I tend to aim carefully when a toaster is that close to one of our own." She moves to where Rothschild is and secures her rifle. "Just a graze. Nothing serious."
Josua slings the assault rifle over his shoulder, and goes to recover the sniper rifle, and then from his pack he pulls out a basic first aid kit and wraps the wound to his leg carefully. "Trust me, Staff Sergeant. You want me to consider Timber Wolves my clan -- albeit, temporarily." says Josua with a grave tone of voice, "That means I care if you live or die." He then begins a jog with a very slight limp back to rejoin the others. He shrugs slightly, that's the kind of life he was raised in.
"I didn't even frakkin' see him," Geoff mutters to Lyn off-coms, then looks over his shoulder. "Yeah, we gotta make sure those people get water and everything too..."
"You got it, Sarge," Rothschild replies to Walker befores he looks over to Lyn. She nods slightly. "Alright." She rocks sideways a bit to spot Geoff and takes stock of him before she advances. "Courtois, let me help you with that." She nods to his leg and arm, drawing out some bandages so she can help stop the bleeding so they can walk safely back to the column of people ahead.
The trio of shots that Aleksander fires off seems to be timed with Tavo shoving the Cylon backward a little as each projectile punches through the metal flesh. One bullet splatters the head while two others make a mess of the mechanoid's midsection. The momentum of the shots flinging the skeletal droids off to the side, turning them into limp puppets. Hearing the complaint from Josua, the Tauron laughs and answers in confidence, "We're special frakking forces, Traiga, trust in our skills. Unless you wanted to go mano y mano with that canner in a cage match." Brushing off the dry dirt off of him, Aleksander ejects the magazine and replaces with a full one while he answers Rothschild, "A bit dirty, but that's about it."
Tavo lowers the barrel of his SAW, putting a quick burst into the torso of first one of the melee Cylons and then the other with two squeezes of his trigger finger." As he does, he winces a little as the recoil jars his left forearm. Lowering the weapon, he offers out his left arm to Abigail, showing the slash in his forearm that's still bleeding but doesn't seem critical, "Minor cut here." Looking over to Josua, he snorts, "Other way, Traiga. If you want to be a Timber Wolf, you gotta care if all of us live, not just people from your clan." Which could very easily have been 'our' clan, given that they both come from Windward, but his words come out crisp and clear despite the pain. He glances about the group, sweeping his eyes over the whole crew, then chuckles a little dryly at Aleksander, "Not saying I wouldn't have appreciated some of those bullets a little further from my head, but that was some nice shooting by all of you."
Geoff glances down at himself. Blood. "Oh, yeah," he says, and holds still so that Rothschild can tend to his wounds. "Thanks."
Abigail moves over, towards the big Marine, probably thanking the gods it was his forearm that got hit and not his shoulder. The boots give her a couple of extra inches, but he's still a foot taller than she is solid, "Come on, Delgado, let me get that." Look, at least she isn't using the duct tape like she did on Martinez, "Who else needs help, before we get moving again?" A glance towards Josua, but she seems disinclined to say anything. She's not Scorpian. And she doesn't feel like pissing off the big one in front of her. Let them handle their own.
"Its bad tactics." Josua says with a shake of his head after a grunt, "You don't spray into a melee with a friendly, don't care how skilled you are. Its reckless. Didn't say I don't trust your skills, or I'd have said don't fire towards a friendly in melee at all." He eyes Tavo, "I just said that, Delgado, for frak's sake. I said while I'm here I'm considering Timber_Wolves to be my clan." And with clear difficulty, "Even you." He sniffs again, "I left Windward on Scorpia." He finishes tending to his own wound with at least passing skill, then puts the first aid kit away.
Lyn pats Josua on the shoulder. "You're welcome," is all she says in reference to shooting that close to him. She gives him a grin and jerks her chin towards the refugee column. "Should get back to the civvies."
Even as the Marines are regrouping, contrails start to streak by ahead of the column, explosions lighting the sky as Picon Vipers tangle with Raiders, Heavy Raiders, and Cypers. A few streaks of missiles lift up from out of sight in the direction of Isore, but mostly the Picons stay out of range of the AA missiles.
Tavo holds his arm steady for Abigail without complaint, hissing in pain a little as she binds the wound up. He grunts at Josua, nodding a little as he notes, "Let me know when 'even you' doesn't come into it. Or when you'd say the same for a Shamil or an Advent." And then a grudging, "Good job today though." There might even be some discomfort as the big man realizes that the compliment is grudging.
Abigail, finishing with the bandage on Tavo's arm, hits the comms, "Enough!" She doesn't usually raise her voice, or speak harshly unless necessary, "Pull them out on the table and measure them later. We're moving. Now!" She pats Tavo on the arm, above the bandage, glancing up at him for a moment, before she moves away. She motions for the group to reform, directing them back to the refugees, the real and only reason they're actually in this hell's half-acre. As the air combat continues overhead, she quickens her pace, "We're out of time, we're dropping everything an hauling ass." No more carry on plus personal items.
This time, Charlie lingers at the rear of things. She ranges fairly far back, watching the signs of cylon activity in the distance so as to make sure it doesn't get too close. Without any -- real -- injuries of her own, it's not too difficult for her to do either at this point.
Josua can't help but look like he ate something sour as Tavo mentions the Shamil and Advent. The compliment makes him blink. But he nods to Abigail, shuts up, and moves out.
Tavo blushes a little at Abigail's suggestion, shifting his feet and glancing aside. "You got it, Walker." He flexes his fingers, testing his hand, then pops out his SAW's magazine and replaces it with a full one, tucking the partial into the now-empty pouch on his webbing. The air combat overhead gets a grimace, and he carefully shifts the LAW hanging from his pack, not that it's much use against a fighter.
The order to drop personal belongings does not go over well with the refugees, but eventually most of them do, a few keeping hold of heirlooms or keepsakes up to the point of requiring physical intervention. The passing out of sips of water from the Marines' canteens or carried-along water bottles (and candies for the kids) helps some.