RPlog:Three Point Landing

The Marine shuttle had been forced down after its heroic extraction from the corvette, the damage from the battle leaving it flight-capable... but it was uncertain how long it could sustain that condition, and so Wrista had ordered it to find somewhere to land safely ASAP.

And a good thing, too, since some 100 meters above the ground, the shuttle abruptly decided that it simply had enough of this struggling to keep the repulsors online, and the atmospheric engines sputtered and died. What followed was a desperate fight by the pilot to control the damaged craft, gliding it into an ingentle skidding landing that fell just shy of qualifying as a crash. It was rough, and threw things around inside a fair bit, some internal equpment getting damaged in the process, but it could have been far worse. Unfortunately, the power loss ahd also thrown them a couple of kilometers away from their intended landing near what happened to be Raxis' downed A-wing.

"Everybody out!" Wrista's voice orders across the shuttle's compartment, vision difficult in the dim red emergency lighting. "Someone see if you can get the back hatch open-- the front hatch is stuck shut. We didn't survive a landing like that just to be stuck in here if the thing decides to blow next!" Damn, but she hates shuttles...

Having been thrown around the dropbay during the landing, Leyanne rolls to her feet slowly, grumbling as she moves to comply with Wrista's shouted order. Working the hatch control a moment she gets the bay door to crack open slightly. "Sith Spit! Lieutenant it's stuck too. I need some shoulders over here." Throwing her own weight against the hatch with a few others they manage to push it open enough to drop down out of the opening. "Alright everyone out." Outside, it's dark, the sky full of bright, twinkling stars. The shuttle has come to a halt at the foot of a large, gently-sloping hill that's covered in a thick forest, the craft's nose wedged between two trees that are massive enough that they must be thousands of years old. Fog hangs in the air, and the only sound other than that which the marines create themselves are the ambient noises of the local wildlife - insects buzzing, distant trilling, the occasion (for lack of a better word) gutteral gronk.

Helmet banging roughly into the console as the shuttle comes to a stop, the pilot grunts and pulls his head back, staring into a heavily cracked faceplate. Shaking the beginnings of a headache off, Sergeant Wilks yanks his helmet off and rises to his feet, spitting a tooth against the console with a tiny splatter of blood. "Kark..." He grunts, turning to the rest of the group he appears from the forward cockpit. "...not my best landing." He adds, grabbing his blaster carbine from beside the seat. "I'm green, boss."

"Great," Wrista says by way of thanks to Leyanne. "Everyone out, take a head count, check for injuries. the landing will have scared the local wildlife pretty bad, so we've got some time before they get brave and come investigating." She climbs back towards the cockpit, nodding at the pilot. "Excellent. Let's get out of here. Steal a couple of Vengan's boys, find out if the shuttle's going to explode. Then let's see what's still in one piece we can salvage from this wreck. I want you to prioritize Sensors and communications, if you think either can be brought into a working order." Crashed on a hostile world in enemy territory? She lives for this stuff. Certainly trained long and hard for it. Once she's got understanding from Wilks, she starts climbing her way out of the shuttle's back hatch, courtesy of Leyanne and the other marines having opened it.

Leyanne drops to the ground behind the shuttle in a crouch, shrugging her pack a bit higher on her shoulders, as she moves away to let the next person to drop down, keeping low to the ground. "Seems clear down here." Slinging her second pack to the ground she kneels down next to it taking inventory of her own condition, patching up a small cut on her brow before moving on to the next person. "Anyone with injuries, make your way over here."

"Allright...you you and you..." Sergeant Wilks barks out to a few privates as they hop out. Landing in the mud with a slight splatter, he moves to the side of the ship and wrenches open the side port for the emergency tools. "Come with me." He grunts, shoving a bag of tools into the arms of a Gotal wearing the insignia of a private. Clipping his datapad into a port inside of the tool kit's cubby, he taps over the data. "Allright you take the rad counter and use those damned horns and see if we're at dangerous levels. You two get to work on trying to see if we have enough power on the sensors. Another karking..." He grunts, spitting another tooth down into the mud. Pausing for a moment, he looks over to Wrista. "We've got a few faint becon signals. Not alot of power though, looks like output's dying fast, Sir."

The area immediately surrounding the shuttle does, indeed, seem clear.

And then a loud, beastial shriek slices through the air from a long way's up the hill, soon joined by a chorus of others. A few hundred meters up the hill, some trees begin rustling wildly. About twenty meters from the shuttle comes a groaning sound, partially conscious and obscured by a respirator grill. There's motion and the groan gets louder, something struggling in the brush. About five meters above the jungle floor, suspended by a vine around his ankle, is a Marine clad in a torn and wrecked spacesuit and with his blaster rifle slung haphazardly around his vest. Vengan twists and turns, thrashing around as he comes to. For several seconds, he tries to reach his entangled foot, but the cumbersome armor prevents him from reaching it.

"Oh fraking hell," he mutters. "Help? Help!" he shouts, immediately clamming up a second later as his voice comes back echoing to him. The Marine grits his teeth. "I hate my job," he objects in a plaintive tone to no one in particular.

Wrista hits the ground, quickly checking herself over. Not for injuries, but to check what supplies she has on her. Hands check pockets for rat bars, and those concentrated sugar sticks she always carries, along with other personal emergency supplies she always has with her. They're there, but the quantity she has doesn't keep her from frowning thinly. Well, she'll have to deal with it. "Alright," she tells Wilks. "I'm more concerned with trying to get enough sensor capacity for basic detection and enough communications that we can send a short transmission into orbit if we spot a ship to flag down. Shut down the emergency power so it doesn't go to waste, maybe we can get enough juice out of that..." She trails off at the sound of screeching wildlife, holding up a hand for silence, but then she catches Vengan's calls, and looks... up. Force. "I'll be right back," she adds, and heads straight for a gnarled Dathomiri tree, pausing only a second to survey the climb before she squirrels her way up the trunk. "Don't move," she calls upward. "Sure. I'll just put off that walk." Vengan does a situp, looking at the vine, then hangs again, arms awkward above his head. He points a gloved finger at Wrista. "Not a word. Not word one, Ipex," he tells her sternly.

Craning her neck around the shoulder of the massive marine she is currently patching up, Leya peers around for the source of the shouting. Seeming to ignore the animal protests to their presence for the time being. "Did you hear that Marine?" She asks the private before her. Watching Wrista march off to the rescue she smirks slightly. "Do you need an knife Lieutenant?" The shrieks in the distance don't stop, nor do the trees stop rustling, though fewer trees do seem to be moving. Not even when a red blaster bolt carves a path out of the canopy and sails off into the distance. The disturbance seems to be on the move down the slope - fortunately, though, not directly towards the marines.

Clicking the safety off of his carbine, Wilks shuts off the emergency power as he looks to the privates. A series of thumbs up are giving, letting him know that he doesn't have to worry about a reactor explosion. Nodding gruffly, he creeps over to the communications array and looks over a snapped antennae. It'll all take some work and some gutting of the shuttle, but communications would be able to be made possible. Without a sound, he wipes his brow leaving a trail of mud on his forehead and sets the toolbox down. Dropping to one knee at the sound of blasterfire, he crooks the butt of his carbine into a firing position and keeps his eyes peeled.

Does Wrista need a knife. What a question. "Did I say anything?" she says in a business-like tone. It seems the situation has put Wrista well into the calm competance of her professional mode, thus saving Vengan from teasing. "She doesn't know me very well yet, does she?" she asks coversationally, indicating Leyanne's question, before she pulls a heavy combat knife from her boot, cutting a loose vine. She gives it an experimental tug, and hands it over to Vengan. "Hold on to this," she says in the tone of an order, then reaches up over his armored foot to slash the vines suspending him with the blade. "You're thinking it. I can hear you thinking it," the Marine mutters. He twists around, eying Wrista and thankful for the sparse distance between himself and the shuttles. "Ok, look, I think if you- wait. Ipex, what're you?" He twists and turns this way and that, trying to see what Wrista's doing. Abruptly his foot comes free and with a strangled yelp, Vengan seizes the vine with all his strength. It's not quite as sturdy as the one holding him though and promptly rips itself from the canopy, sending the Marine plummeting to the ground in an ungainly albeit harmless swan dive.

"I really hate my job," comes the muttered lament from below.

Quirking an eyebrow slightly Leyanne glances at the private standing next to her, shrugging slightly. Bringing a hand quickly to her mouth the short woman seems to stifle a chuckle for a moment. Peering around to distract herself from the hilarity of the scene and keep her attention on her surroundings, she catches sight of something skyward. "What's that?"

Quietly spitting a stream of blood to the side from the clotting of his two missing teeth, Sergeant Wilks remains at attention, ready to fire. Scanning his surrounding, including upwards, he lets out a slow breath. Something was in the trees and someone was firing at it. Red blaster bolts could mean either an imperial or a New Republic, but he was prepared for both. Making a chittering sound, sucking with his teeth to get Wrista and Vengan's attention, he points up. "Looks like another crash..." He says in a whisper to Leyanne, turning his eyes back to the forest around him.

Another red blaster bolt cuts out of the canopy, and then, there's silence. No rustling, no more shots... silence.

That light that Leyanne and Wilks spotted in the sky grows larger, and larger, until the Sergeant is proven correct - an X-Wing goes screaming overhead, flame spewing out of its aft section and leaving black, noxious smoke in its wake. It vanishes beneath the trees near where the shots were fired with a teeth-rattlingly loud crash.

Wrista drops out of the tree just in time to be directed upwards as the X-wing goes down overhead. "I'm telling you, Vengan, that heavy armor stuff isn't all it's cracked up to be. You'll be okay, though if that suit is powered, we might need the power cells to get some equipment going." She scampers back to the tree, intent on climbing much higher to get a better look at the crash. "Someone find my pack when you get a minute-- it should be in the shuttle!"

Bringing her rifle around on the sling crossing her chest, Leya scans the now silent trees, glancing between the wilderness and Wilks. "Sergeant? I don't like this..." Whirling around and dropping into half a crouch she watches the screaming X-wing streak across the sky. "Sith spit! Did anyone see the pilot eject?"

"No, I breached the atmo seals," Vengan says with an annoyed tone. The Marine undoes the seals that convert the light armor into a spacesuit, discarding the un-necessary remains. In a few moments, he's stripped down to the bare-bones armor most Marines wear for travelling light and ready in. "All right, I'm up. Do we have a casualty status?" he asks Wrista, testing a sore shoulder. "I blacked out after we lost the aft upper deck. I take it we landed more or less in one piece," he adds, glancing at the shuttle a short distance away.

Slinging his carbine, Sergeant Wilks rises to both of his feet and hops up. Grabbing the lip of the shuttle he pulls himself into it. A few moments later he appears with a pack marked with "IPEX" on it in stencilled letters. Passing it down to one of the privates, it's rushed over to Wrista. Propping to one knee again, still inside of the shuttle, Wilks readies his rifle again and pulls out his macrobinoculars to take a look around.

The crash site is easy enough to see from Wrista's vantage point, though not clearly, as it's higher up the slope than the marines are. The site is lit up like a neon sign, but the flames spewing out of the craft don't appear to have caught any of the surrounding foliage. Yet.

Although it's dark, there is no sign of a parachute in the sky, even with the aid of macrobinoculars. The stars are all unobstructed from view. No clouds, no chutes... and no rescue craft.

Something, however, is being washed downstream in the river nearby. It's hard to make out details in the dark, but it looks roughly humanoid, too small to be any of the officers that were shot down for either side of the orbital conflict.

"Looks like the X hit pretty close. Judging by the parallax, I'd guess a bit less than half a click," Wrista calls down, before she makes her way down to the ground again, thanking the marine for her pack when she gets there. She nods at Vengan's question. "Just minor bruises all around, from the sounds of things. Shuttle's not in terrible shape, either. Wilks is seeing if we can get some sensors and comm out of what's left. Plus whatever else useful we can get." she sets her pack down,a nd starts going through it. First order of business? Detach the curved shortsword from the side and transfer it to the small of her back, slung horizontally. then she starts tugging out her camo parka. "We'd better go see if the pilot's survived. It's nighttime-- there's probably gaping spiders out looking for an easy meal pinned to an ejection seat." She looks up and around. "And we need to strip whatever we're taking off the shuttle and find somewhere more secluded to make camp. If that Imperial fleet's out there looking for prisoners, they'll check the crash sites."

"Well boss the shuttle's not gonna blow but the antenna's busted and we've got power drains coming from somewhere. It's gonna take some work that's for sure, but I never say die." Wilks responds, talking quietly to them from his perch. "We're looking at hours. Rewiring job and some welding a new antennae. How long depends on manpower." He adds, drinking from his canteen. Vengan nods agreement. "Sounds like a plan. Ok. Ravath, Holmes," he calls, beckoning over a pair of staff sergeants. "You two. Go with Ipex, recon the area and try to scout out wherever that pilot went down at. Keep your eyes peeled and use passive sensors only. I don't want to let the Imps know where we are." He nods at Wrista, then turns back to the remaining Marines. "All right, let's strip this bird down. Get all the emergency gear you can carry and we're humping it out of here. I want the nav-comp, the black box, the hyperdrive motivator and the core system storage unit pulled. I don't want the Imps to get anything of use off of this bird."

Leyanne kneels back down to her medi-pack, packing the supplies back in haphazardly before hopping up quickly. "Any more injuries?" Checking the bandages she's already applied she adds a few pieces of tape to one. Turning to nod to Wrista, she closes the pack up slinging it over her shoulder. Moving to help with the strip down of the hardware, she pulls some tools out of her personal pack of explosives and such. Whatever the humanoid being washed downstream is, it drifts past the crashsite, unmoving and undisturbed.

Wrista nods to Wilks, thumbing towards Vengan. "Like the man says. Don't worry about getting it working-- just strip it out so we can drag it all off somewhere private where we'll have leisure to get it working. Find someplace with cover-- trees, brush, that sort of thing. Cover overhead, preferably. A clearing in the vicinity would be helpful, but isn't necessary. Somewhere near the stream," she adds, thumbing over her shoulder. "We'll want the running water. Corporal Zion, come with me. We're going to get to that fighter before soemthing hungry does. First, though..." she finishes, shrugging into her camo parka. It's a lot like what was worn on Endor, but this modern one has some enhancements. Before she does anything else, though, she hunkers down, taking two large handfuls of dirt and grass from the ground, and starts rubbing and smearing the reddish soil into her clothes and skin.

Turning his macrobinoculars to the shape in the water, Wilks clicks his teeth again in a birdcall and points it out. "Motion..." He mutters, trying to get a fix on the body shaped object washing up on the riverbank. The body floating facedown in the water is dead. Its dark shape is being carried downstream by the currents, drifting further and further from the camp. With the aid of the binoculars, Wilks can tell that it's covered in dark fur, save for a small circular patch that's been burned away between its shoulders. Probably from one of those blaster shots.

Leyanne stands up quickly, stowing the tool back in her pack. "Yes Lieutenant." Checking the straps of both packs she secures the buckles for the coming hike. Pulling a similar poncho out of a pocket in her pack she throws it over her shoulders and clasps it around her neck.

"Critter...dead..." Wilks whispers down the line, scanning the surroundings for more. "Took a blaster hit. Whoever was shooting sure got a hit on it..." He replies, taking a guard position as the stripping of the shuttle begins.

Wrista finishes dirtying her clothes, face, and lekku with local color, and stands, nodding to Wilks. She touches a control unit set into the collar of the hooded parka, and the color of the camo patterning blurs and shifts into a selection of colors present in the immediate area. "Probably one of the purboles we heard screaming earlier. They must have been on the hunt after someone. We should hurry," she decides, beckoning to Leyanne as she sets off, tucking a Kylan-3 pistol from her pack into a holster somewhere under the camo-print. "You're calling shots til we get back, Wilks. Get the shuttle stripped and some form of camp started. This shouldn't take long." A pause, and she adds, "And make sure we don't leave any food behind." Then she nods to Leya, before disappearing silently into the brush.

Adjusting her own camo pattern as she moves to follow Wrista, Leyanne slips into the brush behind her, almost as silently. Picking her way through the local flora, she keeps her rifle trained on her surroundings without ever painting her Lieutenant's back.

Wrista is clearly in her element, as one might expect from one of the NRMC's scout specialists. With Wilderness and Special Operations training in her personnel jacket, especially, she moves not unlike she's part of her surroundings, and she clearly enjoys getting to spread her legs in both the figurative and literal senses. The pair cover distance quickly, though every so often, Wrista raises a hand to signal over her shoulder before changing direction, skirting wide around one thing or another. As the pair get farther from the crash site, this happens a bit more frequently, since the local wildlife is feeling more comfortable and bold away from the activity of the shuttle.

From the crash site, there's a brief and intense flash of light. KRAKOOM!

Startled wildlife calls erupt around the two marines, but they all sound like they're a safe distance away, muffled by the thick forest. Soon they've drifted back into silence.

As the pair scout around, there are the occasional things to cause shifts in direction - red eyes staring down at the pair from the trees seem very common and always seem to appear in groups, belonging to dark-furred primates. One shows its large fangs, but seems satisfied when the marines shift to go around them.

Leyanne continues her paranoid perusing of the various wildlife, her rifle, locked and loaded as they say. Following her lead, the falleen, stays close on Wrista's heels, changing direction automatically with her signals. Whirling around at the sound of the explosion, she pauses in her forward progress, training her weapon back toward the crash site automatically.

Wrista barely even twitches at the explosion, but that's because she's so intently focused on watching for problems. She doesm however, pause, looking around and listening to the echoes. "That was up ahead. We might already be too late, but let's hope not." She looks upward, catching sight of one of the purboles as it shows fangs. Her red eyes meet its own and she considers briefly. She'd taken the time to read up on Dathomir, just in case, and now she was glad she had. She brings her hands to her mouth and makes a peculiar crooning noise, low in pitch, before starting moving again. That *should* be similar to a purbole's vocal declaration of disinterest in another individual's affairs. In theory. The xenobiologist that had written the information hadn't been able to really verify that one way or another. But the marines moving along should make the difference, even if it's off. "Watch the purboles," she advises quietly. "You dont' want to violate their territory space. Nasty little primates." The twi'lek's croon is echoed by over a dozen others, seemingly from every direction at once... and then the trees rustle quietly overhead as the large pack of purboles moves on, leaving the marines to continue their journey peacefully.

Turning back towards Wrista, her eyes wide in the dim light, Leya nods silently. Glancing around at the answering croons, she seems to kinda shake herself before continuing on behind the twi'lek. Keeping her weapon trained on the surrounding pairs of eyes, she gulps audibly. "I hope whoever it is blew their own ship..." She mutters to herself quietly.

Satisfied that the purboles are moving along, Wrista continues forward. "It would be preferable to the alternative, but most likely it was damage from the crash. I just hope whoever it was already got out." She falls silent, slowing to peer stealthily over a bush, a set of handsignals indicating that they've arrived, and Wrista lets her eyes take in the X-wing's crash site. The crash - and subsequent explosion, no doubt - have formed a small clearing in the trees up ahead, littered with chunks of X-Wing, big and small. On the far side of the clearing, one of the craft's wings is propped up against a boulder to form a shelter, a small hole dug out nearby with a fire going. One pilot is laying under the wing with his left leg awkwardly propped up, likely due to the red stain on his pantsleg that pokes out from beneath a medkit's wrapping. He isn't alone.

Leyanne moves around to flank the twi'lek on the right, her own eyes scanning the scene. Training her weapon around the parimeter of the of the scene, she picks out the details of the makeshift camp. Leaning in to Wrista she whispers. "Are there two, or is that just me?"

Eyes peeled, a dark figure is crouched near the fire with the familiar sight of a Bryar pistol drawn. The hand cannon held in a tight grip. Positioned in front of the fire and nearby another to keep an eye open for shifting shadows, his features are darkened by the existence of the lightsource coming from behind him. Still as a stone, the figure remains at one knee.

"Not just you," the twi'lek confirms, pointing. "Pilot's injured... the wing looks like an impromptu shelter, so I'd have to say we're not dealing with hostiles, bu that could be a trick." She points off to one side. "I'm going to have a quick look around and make sure we don't have anything out here looking for a meal. Or a prisoner or three. I'll give three short calls once I reach that point over there--" She points to the right of the clearing from where they are. "Then you can approach them and see what's what. Peaceful-like. If they don't care for the peaceful resolution so much, I'll have a good flank shot," she finshes, patting the Kylan under her camo with a sunny smile. And with that, Wrista skulks back off through the bushes again, this time moving in total silence, as she decides that utmost stealth is called for. Once she's gone around a bush, it's like she was never there.

Leyanne hunkers back on her heels, setting her rifle over her knees for the wait. Grinding her teeth slightly as she sits patiently watching the scene from the cover of the darkened bushes, she nods her agreement with Wrista's plan. Seeming to have no objections for being possible bait for whoever made the camp she watches the motionless figure, as her is surely watching for her.

Sipping from a canteen, the dark figure hefts his pistol and lets out a sigh, cold breath forming in the cool night air. Stopping to check his watch, he runs his hand back through what appears to be slightly long hair. Definitely a humanoid with a gun he is. Twisting the toe of his boot into the dirt, he adjusts his footing and takes a moment to scan the periphery of the camp as if standing guard. There's a brief *snrk* of a sound from under the wing before the man beneath it shifts a bit, one orange-clad arm coming up to scrub his face before dropping back into the dirt. And snoring.

It's not long before a new sound rises up nearby, echoing off the hillside. It's a short, avian-sounding call, unlike any Raxis is likely to have heard while here. Once, twice, three times, and then it silences. Technically, it's not a native species, but Wrista is fairly certain noone she needs to worry about is going to recognize a peko-peko call. As she finishes, the dull, blackened barrel of a Kylan-3 slowly extends from the lower leaves of a bush, covering Leya for her approach, nearly invisible in the dark.

Leyanne raises up slowly from her concealment, slinging her rifle on it's strap, out of sight behind her and under her pack. Placing her hands upon her helmeted head, she steps out into the clearing, waiting silently to be seen by the figure in front of the fire.

Raxis raises his blaster stiffly, ready to fire at the person entering camp.At a better angle, and with the fire to extend his vision, Raxis sighs in relief and notices the small falleen girl from his smashball game back at base. Clicking the safety on his blaster back on, he rises and pads quietly towards her, lowering his blaster held in two hands. "Leyanne!" He exclaims in a sharp whisper, smile beaming across his face. "Oh hell are you a sight for sore eyes. Are you alone?"

Wrista sighs, also just a touch relieved, but also holding back an urge to call out and tell him to keep his voice down. She hasn't finished her look around yet, after all, so giving away her presence if something *is* out there would be a bad idea. She clicks the safety on her pistol back on, tucking it away, and withdraws from the bush to continue a quick, if careful, sweep around the clearing.

Dropping her hands back to her rifle the moment she is recognized, Leya grins softly and shakes her head. "Lieutenant Ipex is with me here somewhere..." Whispering as she pulls her weapon back to bear she checks the safety, and clips it secure so it hangs at her chest for easy access. Glancing over the pilots shoulder she indicates the sleeping figure. "That Wildman? I've got a medi-pack..."

"No it's Hotwire from the 234th...he just crashed." Raxis replies, speaking at barely a whisper with Leyanne, letting out a slow, tired breath. "I've got an emergency pack and some bacta on him, so I'm letting him sleep it off. He's going to be very happy to see you two as well." Raxis replies, pulling his hair back into a ponytail. "How many of there are you?"

"I'm up here." Having finished her check and found nothing of particular interest, Wrista has reappeared, crouched atop the boulder propping up the lean-to fighter wing, like some sort of very macabre gargoyle. "There's a few more," she replies vaguely, not inclined to give too much away despite having checked around for problematic listeners. "We should get back, though, they're working on setting up some sort of camp. Is Hotwire in shape enough to travel?"

"Yeah...he can walk. He's just sore..." Raxis replies, stepping over to shake the human pilot a wake. With a few grunts and stirrings, the pilot opens his eyes and Raxis motions for him to stay quiet. "Hey Hotwire...some marines found us, we're gonna head to a base camp." Raxis adds, helping the pilot to his feet. With some painful wincing and grumbling, the pilot finds his way to his feet. Raxis leans down and picks up a shoddy tree branch being used as a walking stick and gives it to Hotwire. Blaster in hand, Raxis snatches his emergency pack that's also got his helmet hooked to it, and turns to the marines.

"Don't get too excited, we aren't the the rescue brigade..." Trailing off mid-sentance to look up at Wrista, her mouth slightly agape, Leya just shakes her head. "I wanna learn how to do that..." Muttering more for her own benefit, as she steps around Raxis to take inventory of the other pilot's condition, she slings the smaller of the two packs down off her shoulders. Taking a step back as the two pilots interact she smirks and offers her shoulder for support.

Wrista grins, and between her position on the rock, the light from the X-wing's remains and Raxis' light, and the way her face is speared carefully with dirt, she likely looks a little unsettling. "Lots of training," she replies, nodding towards Leyanne. "You remember the way back? If the two of you can get Hotwire going, I can follow along and clean up behind us. Best if we don't leave evidence of our movements."

Leyanne nods curtly. "Yes Lieutenant, I remember the way. Do you need anything special for clean up of this?" Indicating the crash site with a strange gleam in her eye, she moves to unsling the second pack from her shoulder.

Hotwire, eager for the help, leans heavily on Leyanne and uses his walking stick for support. Readying his Bryar pistol, Raxis slides his pack fully onto his back to balance the weight, ready to move fast if they have to. "Allright there were these...things that tried to eat me after landing. Keep your eyes peeled." Raxis replies, nodding to Hotwire to let him know that he's watching out for him. The boyish facade mostly faded, Raxis remains what portion of stoic officer he can in light of the situation. Yawning, Raxis shakes his head clear and adjusts his footing, ready to go.

"Nope. I don't plan to remove the crash, just our presence," Wrista says, kicking the wing propped up against the rock so it falls over backwards, and the hops off the rock, heading tot he edge of the clearing, where she can find a piece of brush. Returning, she starts sweeping their footprints and drag marks from the dirt. "They're called purpoles. Local primates. Predatory, territorial... live, hunt, and defend in groups. We've already dealt with them, more or less, as long as we stay outside their personal space, as it were. Watch the trees for eyes, and go around them. If you here and odd chittering noise, stop moving immediately and tell me so." She nods her head, having shifted a couple more bits of fighter debris around. "Okay, let's go, I'll bring up the rear and wipe our tracks."

Nodding again her agreement, Leyanne secures both packs on her shoulders awkwardly with the other pilot leaning on her. Moving off through the trees she leads the group back to the downed shuttle. "Movin it out ma'am."