There's a cry of dismay from the other side as their friend falls. Whatever their training, these recruits apparently weren't yet prepared for this kind of thing. Firo doesn't even spare them thought or sympathy, though, because of what's going on with his friend.

"Fuck!" He doesn't waste time lamenting their terrible luck or wondering how it happened--or really thinking at all--he springs up from their cover as well, grabbing for Roland's arm to try to hold him back. It's a good thing that, despite his height, Roland isn't all too hefty, but Firo can still feel that he won't be able to keep it up long.

He's heedless of the danger from their enemies because they're not firing yet. They still have time, and he has to move to make the most of it. And if they do start shooting, then Firo can at least block some of Roland and that'll have to be enough. "Hold on! Can you get yourself out of it?"

At least one of the rebels has recovered and sends a shot their way; it clangs off the nearest machine.

With his free hand, Firo sends an answering shot back straight for the man's body--he doesn't trust his aim to try for any headshots--and the attacker pivots and ducks down as his arm is hit. Not even his shooting arm, though, and Firo growls in disappointment.