The two shuttles were cover.
Two shuttles, two squads, a beachhead. If they could hold out, well, it might be meaningful if there were reinforcements coming - but as it happened, it was unlikely they had the numbers to take a ship of this size. Training, Rosec'a reminded herself. Only training.
It was with that in mind - as well as her notoriously abysmal accuracy - that Rosec'a justified what she did next, dashing after Zes'kas, rifle blazing away with a fury. She had little intention of hitting anyone. Do no harm and all that, although she maintained that stunning probably wouldn't do harm...
...of course it does. What kind of medic are you?
Quiet!
I mean really. Just. Awful.
Awful and alive is better than saintly and dead!
She dove for cover a half-step behind Zeskas, firing off another burst of shots. Covering fire, certainly, didn't count as harm - an enemy is less accurate when being shot at. That was just science.
"So you know," she called out loudly above the din of fire and conflict, "I wasn't calling you crazy."
Is this really the time?
YES.
Smooth, as ever.