A marine with a medical emergency during a recon mission leads to a disagreement between Jacob and Cate.
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 435
Delphi wasn't exactly crawling with Cylons. But that fact was more due to the tenacity of the Caprican forces than any shortage of toaster wattage. So, it was near the city that the CF marines had landed. And it was on an overlooking bluff that they were currently perched. Almost two thousand feet away, the ant-like motions of a Cylon line element crawled across the landscape. It was their front line, of course, along the weaker western edge, that the recon team had been sent to gain a troop count on. Two young marines lay prone on the hillside, with binoculars and thermal blankets. They were used, of course, to disperse the heat the cylon's associated with human contact. Next to each of them was another young marine, each with a tough looking laptop that was in no way networked. The two communicated back and forth in constant hushed tones, the likes of which were not even heard by the rest of the recon element providing security. Jacob Marx was there, just a bit further up the path, laying prone. His assault rifle, sat entirely at the ready against his shoulder, though neither hand was anywhere on it. Instead? He had picked a piece of wheat grass and was busy peeling it. After a momentary inspection, the big man offered the grass a nod and put it in his mouth much like a toothpick. Jacob was dressed as a typical recon marine. His camouflage was dirty from time in the field, but all of the ammunition pouches and other attachments seemed positioned on his vest in such a way as to allow him to lay flat on his stomach. Recon had to be able to go prone. The only abnormal feature the man entertained was a dark green and black shemagh.
Cate may not be a recon specialist, but since the recon teams do not have their own dedicated combat medics, she's one of several that the senior sergeants have deemed sneaky enough to provide medical support on recon missions. Chock that up to misspent younger days sneaking into places she wasn't supposed to. Or - more likely - the several months she spent stuck behind enemy lines on Picon. Either way, she's here, luck having placed her a little ways up from Jacob's spot. Her medic backpack is on the ground beside her in easy reach, because laying prone for any length of time with that on her back was uncomfortable as hell. Actually... given the still-healing bruises on her chest, laying prone for any length of time is uncomfortable regardless, but she doesn't complain. There's just a slight tension on her face as she watches the brush, her SMG ready. She happens to glance over to Jacob, noticing him fiddling with the grass.
The duty of watching absolutely nothing had little tension in it when you've passed a few hundred hours of experience. And that was the point Jacob was at. Glancing to down the line, he makes a motion with his hands, aiming to draw the guard halfway between their positions. Even before the man begins his movement, Jacob begins to move, sliding from the prone position to the practiced crouch of a man used to quick and effortless movement. It was really a sight to see for someone as big as the marine. His crouch immediately causes that rifle to rise, eyes sitting comfortably down the sights. When the other man falls into position, Jacob begins moving, short steps taking him in Cate's direction. He crouches there, rifle aiming up over her head as one hand reaches down for her ankle. "Move off with me, Doc. We'll let Hernandez take a field of fire and a half." Even as he murmurs the words, his dark eyes are going up the line to the next soldier laying prone, waving for them to fill the gap halfway between the points. "Looks like we've got someone up the hill who may need your attention." Whether or not she looks, he taps the earpiece in his ear twice.
Cate looks over when Jacob starts moving, the motion catching her eye briefly. But it's not until he touches her ankle that he gets her full attention. Her brow furls briefly, wondering what he's talking about, but she gives a crisp nod and rises to a crouch. Not as elegantly as him - her movement is a little stiff from the prolonged inactivity, but soon enough she's falling in behind him.
They travel shortly up the slope of the hill. Jacob's route, though, takes them around the back. He leads, his rifle ready, but in a more relaxed position than before. It isn't until they're completely around the back of the hill, with thousands of pounds of earth and stone separating them from the Cylon line, that he begins to slow. "Man down. Nothing seems to be around as far as hostiles or wildlife." His words come quietly even after he steps over a particularly obtrusive rock. "Was one of the spotters under the dispersion blanket, so it may be a heat injury." And like a prophecy, they come upon the young man sitting against another large stone. He's a fit looking sort, with very wet clothing and a pale, dry face. His breath seems to be coming rapidly through his mouth as the pair approach.
"Sergeant. No idea what happened. Just passed out for a minute." He breathes a bit more. "Won't happen again."
Cate follows cautiously behind Jacob, nodding at his report. When she comes upon the ill marine, she crouches down beside him. "Passed out for a minute, huh," she echoes, her voice even. Jacob perhaps knows her well enough to catch the concerned look in her eyes despite a pretty good poker face. "Let's get you into the shade. Get this gear off you." She looks to Jacob as she starts to help the young man up. "We need to cool him off."
"Don't worry about it, Miller. Doc's going to get you all patched up." Reassuring is not usually a color painted on the large recon marine. But, amazingly, he plays it off passibly well. Jacob comes to stop on his other side, letting his sling hold his rifle against his body as he reaches a large, gloved hand down. "She's just about put me back together a time or two." The glance he offers over to her has something distinctly behind it. An amount of hazy truth, perhaps. Or a quiet trust. Miller, as he was called, is pulled from his seated position rather fitfully. It takes the man a moment to find his legs, though Jacob does seem to step in and help hold him up. "Doc? Let's take his weapon with us. Which shade will give you room to work?"
Cate lets Jacob take Miller's weight and picks up his rifle. "Over there's good." She points to a place where the rocks cast a long shadow and they can get him out of the sun. When Miller isn't looking, Cate arches an eyebrow at Jacob's creative interpretation of her treating him, but plays it off easily. "Yeah, don't worry. Seen it a bunch of times before." As soon as Miller is seated in the shade, she sets to work getting his gear and shirt off and then pouring some water over his head to cool him off.
Jacob assists with the field stripping of the marine as well. Practiced hands remove the velcro associated with the front of his vest, peeling it off in that carefully rapid way marines had nearly patented. The protective piece of material is placed next to the man, so that he can prop his arm up on it and pull it in front of him at a moment's notice. "See that?" He grins at the man. "Not as damned special as you thought. She's seen your kind before." His eyes glancing up at Cate, hold until hers meet them. If they do? He glances back in the direction of the Cylon line and then back to her, shaking his head slowly from side to side. If they called in a medivac, it would give their position away entirely.
Once the clothes are off and the marine's upper body is doused in water from Cate's canteen, she slips off her medic pack and begins putting an IV in his arm. There's a smirk at Jacob's remark. "Man, I think the sergeant missed the memo. We're supposed to be cooling you off, not burning you." Jacob's little headshake gets a grim nod, understanding his meaning. Once the IV is started, the bag resting on a rock above Miller's head, Cate stands up and jerks her head a little in the classic 'can I have a word' signal. Assuming Jacob joins her, she murmurs to him. "He's got heat stroke. Needs an evac. Me and Hernandez can get him to the collection point." Though not without risk, of course.
"Catey." The single word broke nearly every military protocol known to man. He had joined her and, luckily, when no one else was around, Jacob wasn't all about rules and regulations. "That's probably going to be at least a couple miles of prime toaster country." He looks over her shoulder, catching sight of the young man and sighing. "That's the issue with the damn thermal sheets." He raises a hand, running the gloved flesh through what is exposed of his short cropped hair from around the helmet. He seems to stand, considering something. "I'm not risking you and Hernandez, like that. Can you stabilize him? Get him to the point where I can divide off a recon squad and have them hump him back to evac?" And if one really looked, there may be an air of concern riding the lines of Marx's face. "We get hit out here without a medic, we're fracked."
The use of her old nickname causes a flicker of something - sadness, maybe - across her face briefly. But then Cate shakes her head. "If you send half the squad to carry him out and you get hit you're going to be just as frakked," Cate points out, knowing they don't have a lot of manpower to begin with. "He's got heat stroke, Jake," she says, the use of his name underscoring the urgency in her tone. "It's probably 30 degrees out here, even in the shade. I can't cool him off enough with a couple canteens of water and an IV. He needs a hospital."
Something in his shoulders drops when she uses that name. It sounds foreign coming from her lips, and though he's looking elsewhere, Marx knew it reflected in his face as well. "Damn it." He murmurs quietly, shaking his head and looking toward the top of the mountain. The top of the mountain didn't seem to provide him the answers he was looking for. After a moment, Jacob sighs. "Take Hernandez, Smith, and Beckman. Make sure Hernandez and Beckman have their hands free to get to their rifles." He looks down at her, expression rather fierce. "If you run into trouble, they're going to be the blunt instruments that get you out of it." His hands idly go to the handle of that rifle again, tapping the metal and molded plastic. "Don't you..." He leaves it at that.
It's not entirely comfortable saying the name either, even after those couple months they spent together on Galactica. Cate looks unhappy at how many of their meager squad he's detailed to the evac duty, but she doesn't argue about it further. She does offer a wry smirk though. "I'm not too bad at getting myself out of trouble either, you know," she says mildly. But she nods. "We'll be careful. You do the same." There's a little lift of her eyebrows to emphasize the words and then she's turning back to her patient. "All right, buddy, we're going to get you back to the ship where you can chill out in the AC and have the nurses fawn all over you." And she starts prepping him for evac.