A/N: Scattered was great...so I had to continue this story. Enjoy.

Sims awoke to the sound of gunfire. He was staring down the iron sight of his sidearm before he knew it. Crash was thrashing around, trying to get up, run, anything. Seelix was sitting by Socinus, stroking his hair and talking quietly to him. Tyrol was sitting up against a tree stump, rifle in hand as he scanned the area through its scope. The shots were distinct, now- single shots, from Colonial sidearms. Carbine fire, from the other rifle in the Raptor. Suppressive fire, a marine submachine gun. Bursts of full auto...he couldn't identify.

Cylons.

Sims was up, looking for his webbing and gun.

"It just started, Gunny. It's coming from that direction."

"What's going on, Chief?"

"I sent Callie, Targ and Sullivan out to collect the supplies we left behind."

"Callie?"

He started to get up, tossing on his helmet and shouldering on his webbing with as much speed as he could muster. He ran the bolt on his subbie, and started off towards the fight. Tyrol called out to him.

"Gods, Gunny! Get back here! You gotta help me defend Socinus!"

The chief was right, Sims realized. Sullivan and Targ could take care of themselves, hopefully wouldn't frack up too bad. The people who needed defending were the wounded man and Seelix. So, he sat back down, went prone and covered the direction that the sounds were coming from.

Sims lay there, doing up his combat webbing and watching. Waiting. Listening. The gunfire tapered off, eventually stopped. He was sweating. Nervous. Three laden figures appeared after ten of the longest minutes Sims had ever experienced. Sullivan led, burdened heavily and keeping a solid clip. He kept checking behind him, waving at a barely standing Callie. Sims broke line, dashed towards them. They both drew down on the sound, but seeing the squat marine, lowered their weapons.

Baltar was with them. Sims stared at the muddied and bruised Callie, then the lacerated Baltar before turning to Sullivan.

"Report! Where's Targ?"

Sullivan shook his head.

"Kay Eye Ay, sir. Toasters jumped us about a mile back. We couldn't see them, but...yeah. They got Targ pretty good, and we had to fight out. Poor bastard didn't even know what hit him."

"Frack. Where'd you find this one?"

"Out in the woods. Apparently passed out from the blood loss, wandered for a day before finding us."

"Good to see you, sir."

"Gunny.

The vice president's response was weak. The marine nodded at him, embarrassed.

Yet another bad day. Another dead friend.

He took a portion of each of their loads, helping them haul it back to camp. After the adrenaline rush, the weariness was beginning to set in again. He had only managed a few hours sleep. The supplies, light yet bulky, were awkward to haul. Seelix ran out, grabbed a medkit from him. Administering a dose of an anticoagulant to the prone Socinus, she looked at Tyrol.

"The injections are stringing him along, but he needs a surgeon."

"Yeah, I know."

His eyes bulged at the site of the unsteady Baltar staggering into the clearing, followed by the two marines and Callie. She leaned against Sims, sobbing quietly.

"Where's Targ?"

Sullivan ran his boot through the dusty dirt. the Chief repeated himself.

"Where's Targ?"

"He didn't make it, sir."

"Frack!Fracking...frack. Gods, oh frack..."

Tyrol launched himself into a tirade. He was angry and depressed, raving and running his hands through his hair. Sims was laying down the equipment, as Baltar approached him.

"Mister Sims?"

"I go by Gunny, Mister Vice President."

"Gunny, then. Why is the lieutenant tied up?"

"He was causing trouble. Hell, I'm pretty sure the reason we had to bug out so quick was because he was fooling with the distress beacon."

"I see. Perhaps you should untie him, as we might need every hand to defend the camp against the Cylons."

"I see your point, sir. But I wouldn't trust him with a gun. If it comes to it, fine. That reminds me...can you handle a sidearm?"

"Uhhh, no. I can't."

"Okay, fair enough. I'll have to teach you. But right now, we need to move."

"Why?"

"In case the toasters come looking for us, sir."

Baltar nodded, shuffled around uncertainly before beginning to pick up boxes and gear.

Callie was sitting by herself, curled up tight. Sims reached out, stroked her hair gently.

"Callie...Specialist. We need to move."

"Call me Callie."

She was forcing herself, and he knew it. She was running on fumes. She was overwhelmed with despair and pain. He gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugged her tight, and whispered to her. Seeing her like this rattled him.

"Just gotta be strong a little while longer, Callie. Just a little further, a little longer."

She nodded, pressed herself against him for a second, and stood. Sims pulled his arms back, brought his gun up. He marshaled himself, put on his best drill instructor face, and started shouting.

"Well ladies, looks like we're in for a hike. Keep alert, eyes and ears. Sullivan, you're at the back, everyone else on me."