The ship shuddered again, temporary cutting the power to the lights. They immediately turned on again, though the impacts from the enemy fire threw Fyston around like a rag doll. With the most recent barrage, Fyston found himself thrown into the wall. He had been assigned to a post away from his squadron for the duration of the mission, which was supposed to be a routine supply drop.

I've got to make my way to the bridge because I doubt they know the hangar's been destroyed.

The Zabrak pushed himself up and wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. He looked around, trying to establish which way to go in the unfamiliar ship. He was thrown around again, but thought he heard a screaming off in the distance as stars formed in front of his eyes. He listened again, and heard a muffled sound from his left.

"IS ANYONE THERE!?"

The muffled sound responded, and Fyston rushed over to where he heard the noise coming from. He slammed his fist on the bulkhead, attempting to ascertain the location of whoever was screaming. He heard a return knock, and ran over to the nearest door. He opened the door and found a number of men strewn across the deck. He knew he was close to the medbay, but also knew that many of these wouldn't make it.

"Help them, I'm fine."

"I'll be right over there, hold on, alright? I want you to stay with me while I triage these guys."

"Fine, you mind if I talk?"

"No, not at all, go ahead."

Fyston waited until the human had introduced himself as Plee, a senior crewman with a few years of experience. After the initial introduction, Fyston forced himself to ignore the man and focus on the task at hand. He dropped at the chest of a Twi'lek male who seemed unconscious.

"Can you hear me?"

Fyston couldn't hear a response, but saw the man's fingers twitch. He ripped open the Twi'lek's shirt and noticed a large gash that went from his right side diagonally down towards the lower left area of his abdomen. Fyston ripped off the man's sleeve, as the flight suit Fyston was in was much too thick to be easily ripped. He stuffed the long sleeve into the wound to try to stop the bleeding. He lowered his horned head to the Twi'lek's grime-covered face to listen for breathing. He felt light breaths come from the man and unhooked his pilot's helmet from his belt. He slipped it over the man's head and pushed a nearby stool under his legs to force blood to stay near the vital areas before moving on.

"I remember my fourteenth birthday, though, that was one heck of a year."

Fyston knelt beside a female Zabrak that he knew. He remembered her from his time in the Academy and tapped her on the shoulder. She didn't respond, and Fyston looked around for an injury.

She has hair. Completely unrelated, but I'd much rather have a bald head than one I have to shave to keep in order. Wait, what's that?

Fyston slipped off his left glove and slipped his hand under her neck. He felt a warm, sticky fluid and withdrew his hand. He saw the expected blood, but also recognized a small chunk of brain matter. He frowned, then wiped his hand off on the pants of his flight suit. He put the glove back on his hand and glanced around. He noticed a nearby bag that looked like it had equipment in it.

Hmm, a number of flags, but only yellow and red, no black.

He withdrew the flags and slapped a red flag on the injured Twi'lek before flinging the flags to the ground. He ripped off his shoe, revealing a black sock. He tore off the sock and laid it on the abdomen of the Zabrak. He slipped his shoe back on and felt something missing. He glanced over at the senior crewman and noticed he wasn't talking.

"Come on, talk to me."

He spoke as he ran over to the man who was leaning on the wall. He felt for a pulse but couldn't find one through the glove. He lowered his head and couldn't feel or hear him breathing. He pulled the man carefully to the floor and began chest compressions, his hands simulating the beating of the human's heart. He heard the pounding of boots from the outside hallway and withdrew his DL-44 from the holster Fyston had on his belt.

"Announce yourself! I'm Senior Crewman Fyston Sutsgy."

"Medical personnel looking for wounded."

"Toss your medical bag and your ID card through the door."

Fyston saw the medical bag fly through the door, and glanced over at the ID card, showing a Twi'lek crewman.

"Alright, come in."

The Twi'lek rushed in, and Fyston didn't lower his weapon until he was sure the man matched the picture. He indicated the human male he was working on, and the crewman nodded. He knelt beside Fyston and took over the chest compressions while Fyston rummaged through the medical bag. He found a bacta dressing and slid over to the wounded Twi'lek. He withdrew the bloodied sleeve from the gash and slapped the bacta dressing over the wound. He took off the helmet from the man and tossed it over to the medic, who slipped it over the human's head.

"He should breathe better. What about that Zabrak over there? She stabilized?"

"Dead."

"Harsh, I'm assuming that guy had a gash? There's a breath mask in the bag and hopefully he's stabilized. The attack stopped fifteen minutes ago. The other medics are in the medbay, but there should be a few coming this way soon."

As if on cue, a duo of medics clad in white clothing rushed through the door lugging a stretcher between them. They stopped the stretcher and glanced around for obvious triage tags.

"What's going on here? No triage tags? Can we at least get a briefing?"

"Shut up, I worked with what I had. Twi'lek male, abdominal laceration, bandaged it with a bacta dressing and administered oxygen from my helmet. Breathing rate increased."

"What about the Zabrak?"

"Dead, brain matter."

"And the human?"

"I don't know, he was talking and I figured he was green, then he crashed and we started chest compressions and oxygen."

The medics carefully lifted the human onto the stretcher and handed Fyston and the Twi'lek a back board.

"Bring him to the medbay on that."

The duo nodded and moved the injured Twi'lek onto the backboard before following the medics out of the door, their destination the medbay.

OOC:

WC=1113
Also, bump.

Fyston, you're passed on the first tier of of the Naval Surgeon Certification.  Congratulations!  We've recently added a couple more moderators to the Certification board, so hopefully the grading process will quicken; I look forward to reading more from you.  One thing, though: remember that official stories (with your squadron-mates) take priority over CD, skill, and cert stories.