Space #4
Roy let his rifle dangle loose on the sling as his hands flew to the dermafoam canisters in his field kit. "Dammittall," he said, but the urgency in his tone showed far more concern than any profanity could have expressed.
"Hey, Stoly, we need a med-evac...like, yesterday. Lirg's down, and it's not pretty. I'm foaming the wound, which should stop any bleeding...but he took a couple of pretty hard hits and foam is not gonna hold him over. Get someone by the breach to help hoist him up...I don't know if one of the Deuces can run back to the Hermes or if we can get someone else in here faster, but time is of the fuckin' essence here..." He worked as he spoke, getting the nozzle of the foam canister as deep into the wound as he could, and moving it out as he injected foam into the bullet holes in Lirg's torso.
"HEMSLY! Let's get Lirg up to the shuttles, he can't do anything down here and they might be able to get him back to the Hermes in time to save him...but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him die in a Vampic hallway!" There was some heat in his tone that had nothing to do with anger at anyone in the group.
As he strained to hoist Lirg's form enough to drag it to the opening, Roy grunted, "Dammit, you are not allowed to fuckin' die on me like this, Sergeant. You hang on, or so help me I'm gonna follow you into whatever afterlife there is and kick your canine ass so hard you'll be hearing through your hip bones!"