That was two officers accounted for, at least. Donovan breathed something approaching a sigh of relief - if they could all get together, they might be able to rally together into something resembling a proper defence. The air around him smelled like blood and smoke, and he was keeping his head low, trying to avoid the hazy cloud that was choking the upper reaches of seemingly every hallway. The three behind him did the same, trying as desperately as they could to move quickly, quietly, and as efficiently as bloody-well possible. He motioned for them all to stay down and continue, weaving around the remnants of another marine who had been diced by what he assumed was a drone. Doyle was trembling, and he saw Kachinsky place a hand on the man's shoulder as they moved together, trying to keep the young soldier calm and level-headed. There would be time for panic and emotional breakdowns when they were out of the danger-zone. He glanced up at the wall as they rounded another corner, pausing briefly to ensure that the way was safe. 28J - they were slowly getting closer to their goal, to the heart of the ship.<br/><br/>Donovan himself would keep his forcefully calm exterior until he was safe. The tears and the shaking could wait - to lose his cool now, and devolve from a consummate professional to a quivering wreck, could and would doom him and likely the men behind him as well. He had a deeply-ingrained sense of duty that didn't allow for missteps, and to make one now of all times would have been fatal. His jaw was set and his expression was utterly grim between his helmet and the stock of his carbine. Were it not for his trigger-discipline, he would have looked ready to shoot anything that he saw - and a friendly-fire incident was not something he wanted to be involved with. This place was full of stragglers by now, and frankly, he was amazed that his minute squad hadn't met up with any - or any drones - since fleeing the initial attack.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>