Clarice slowly opened her eyes as she heard voices and the radio blaring. At first, it sounded distant, but slowly came to focus as the rest of her came to. She looked around the cabin to assess her situation. The two privates were busy with the radio, commanding officer is dead, Supervisory Sergeant is dead and HER Supervisory Sergeant is also dead. The terrier groaned as she tried to get up, but the strap pulled her back into her seat. She fumbled with the buckle, but it was no good so she pulled out one of her combat knives and cut herself loose.
Clarice had already heard the latter half of the message and looked around as she got up, "Alright. No problem." She walked over to the wreckage that was the back of their ship and cleared some of the smaller stuff to get to her locker at the base of one of the bunks. With her hand print identified, it opened up and she pulled out her pistol and assault rifle. As she picked each one up, the electronic voice could be heard, "Hand print identification confirmed: Cleared for use. Code name: Slayer." She then holstered her pistol and slung the rifle over her shoulder as she dug further into the mess. From there, the terrier fished out the four flares from the emergency kit and dismantled them, pouring all the powder from them into a beat-up can of beans. "You greenhorns better step back a bit..." Clarice herself backed up towards the steering console, readied her rifle and fired. The little can exploded and created a small hole.
Clarice gave a sigh as she slung the rifle back over her shoulder, "Well, fennec-boy. Suck in that stomach and squeeze through. It's not getting any bigger than that. I'll work on the hatch while you get us some helms. And make it quick. Ship's life support is leaking air faster than piss at a horse stable." With that, she double-checked her gear from mags to the condition of her knives before heading over to the hatch console.