Sims felt the world slow to a crawl. He could hear coughing, distant coughing. His...everything was sore. He was holding on to something, and it moved a little. He let go, opened his eyes. It was Callie, and she seemed to be little worse for wear. The Raptor, however, was burning. There was screaming, he could see daylight past two silhouettes.

"Everyone! Come on! Come on, move!"Crashdown was screaming, Tyrol not far behind.

"Everybody up! Callie, up, up, move!"

He looked beside him, saw Callie was still stunned. The heat was growing. He undid her harness, pushed her towards the chief.

"Get them out of the chairs, drag them out!"

Sims nodded dully, his brain still foggy from the crash. He looked to Sullivan, but he was gone, out already. Sims, Socinus and Baltar were the only ones left. Baltar was conscious if panicky, but Socinus was unconscious and badly burnt. The decision was easy- Sims grabbed Socinus, and hauled him towards the exit.

"Come on! I got him, I got him!" Crashdown yelled over the growing fires, grabbing at the wounded man's feet. Tyrol bemoaned his friend loudly.

"Oh, for gods' sakes..."

"I got his legs, I got his legs!"

"I got him! Try it on your shoulder, on your shoulder."

Sims leapt from the burning craft, helping Tyrol carry his hurt friend away. Cally was on her knees, choking and coughing. Two more bodies lay nearby. Sullivan struggled breathe, undoing his vest and laying down his weapon. Gently, the chief and Sims laid down the young man a safe distance from the crash. He began looking the young man over. Socinus had been badly burnt about the face, chest and hands. Sims stared past him, head down and hand on the specialist's wrist checking for signs of life as he watched Crashdown drag the Vice-President from the flames. Socinus was breathing, but it was shallow and his pulse was weak.

The Raptor exploded, shooting flames into the air. Sims was coughing, trying to stem the wounded man's bleeding. Sullivan was over by another body. He looked at his superior officer, and shook his head. Dead. Sullivan move on to the two coughing civvies. Tyrol was yelling, Callie going for supplies, and most of everyone else coughing.

They took inventory as the marines patched everyone up as best they could. They had basic first aid training alone, but that was still more than anyone else had. Socinus was first to be treated by Sims- the poor kid was badly burned and struggling to breathe. Sims tilted his head back, opened his airway as Sullivan ran over to the VP. Callie ran over to the sergeant, handed him the Raptor's medkit. Sims became dimly aware of a general pain, throbbing in the background. He focused on the young specialist, fighting his way through the distraction. He opened the kit, surveying the contents. There was a copious amount of gauze wrapping, bandages, some tweezers, iodine, various bits and pieces, and a faceplate for CPR. Sims ended up pouring most of the bottle of antiseptic onto the specialist's chest burns.Then, Sims gently applied gauze to the large, charred sections of flesh he could see and taped it down. Callie helped as best she could, but already her hands were beginning to blister. Sims gently pulled them away by the wrists.

"Callie, let me."

"Okay."

She craddled her hands to her chest, sitting there quietly as Sims used almost half the bandages in the box on her friend. Then, he turned to her, asked her to extend her hands. He bandaged them as softly as he could. Off in the background, one of the civilians cried out a little as Sullivan pulled a piece of glass from her arm. Callie winced a little, and thanked him quietly. Tyrol stood nearby and watched the entire time, panting from the exertion and bleeding rather badly. As she stood to leave, Sims watched Crashdown walk up to one of the civvies. She was awkwardly trying to use a piece of electronics with bandaged hands.

"How we doin' on that?"

"It's not responding, sir."

"Are you even trained to use this thing?"Crashdown yanked the device away, wiped it on his flightsuit with a grimace. He began poking at it himself as he turned to Tyrol.

"How's he doin', Chief?"

"Not doin' so good. I don't know if his lungs are burned, or what," responded the older man with a frustrated sigh. Seeing his people hurt was wearing on him. He took a step close to the lieutenant, hands resting idly on the butt of his pistol.

"Well, he's a tough kid, he's gonna-- he's gonna pull through. Get those wounds looked at, Chief."

"Yeah. Lieutenant... shouldn't we be moving out? I mean...do you have a plan for tactical deployment, or..."

"Plan for tactical deployment, Chief? Get to the high ground, it'll be our best chance of being seen by a search party."

Sims was surprised. Judging my the amount of Raiders he had seen up there, Kobol was at the very least occupied. They had been seen going down. Soon, Raiders would be flying around, try to spot them. Being on high ground meant a better view for anyone who wanted to bomb them. Crashdown's plan amounted to suicide. Apparently, the chief had the same realization

"High ground's also our best chance of being seen by the Cylons. They're flying around, sir, they might land troops before we get rescued."

"That's true."

"Yeah. Sir, if I may suggest that we take cover, on the ground? Maybe somewhere where we won't be seen from the air?"

"Okay, yeah, Chief, that's... ( sighs ) carry on, Chief."

The sergeant was rather surprised by the lack of leadership shown by the lieutenant. It wasn't unexpected...but the marine had expected more. Tyrol was obviously in control, knew what he was doing and thinking straight. Sims looked at Callie. Apparently, she shared his sentiments- namely, that the chief should be leading them, and that they should be moving out as soon as possible. She walked off to help the two civvies.

The gunny got to be as private as possible with Sullivan, to try to assess their options. The group consisted of them, the Vice President, Callie, Tyrol, the lieutenant, a machinist called Selix and a history teacher named Targ. The gear was singed but good to go, and their position was flat and the perfect spot to be strafed. They had to move. There was precious little time to waste.