CT-3519, or Doc as the clone preferred to be called, wasn't awaiting transport on some landing pad. He was ducked behind a piece of debris, patching up a downed Clone before droids opened fire on his specific position again, instead of in his general direction. The fighting was thick, which was none too surprising considering it was one of the last Separatist outposts on the planet that was still holding out against the Republic forces, in all their glory. Or so many believed of the tin soldiers wound up and marched off to ever so glorious deaths. He shunted off the bitterness in that thought, he focused on the task at hand. The trooper had been grazed by blaster fire, but the main damage came from a thermal detonator taking out a chunk of his other arm. No way this one was going to be fighting without some serious work back at the medical center proper. But he needed stabilized first, and that was something he was more than equipped and trained to do. Several larger bacta patches over the worst of the injured areas, and bandages over the other parts, forming an impromptu sling to prevent unnecessary movement, and to support the injury until he could be evacuated from the firefight.

There was no way Doc could run the injured clone back, not with the fighting that was going on now. Instead, he braced the trooper on the rubble so he would be least likely to take a blaster bolt that would probably push the likely lethal into certainly lethal when it came to the injuries sustained. Making sure he was clear to the clone that yes, he was done with the fight and was to keep his head down and no, he was not to try and prop himself up to open fire on the droids unless it was life or death, he grabbed his compact DC-15S and opened fire from his point of cover, ducking down as several droids returned fire. The attempted flanking maneuver on the outpost had failed, and now it was a bogged down distraction, forcing the separatists to fire in multiple directions now instead of just being able to focus fire in one direction. Granted, that was little consolation to Doc as the Sergeant in charge of this flanking maneuver went down, helmet rolling away in a different direction of the rest of the Clone. Well, that cut off the official leadership for this flank group, but the Clones kept firing and keeping at least some of the Separatist forces distracted. It worked, sure as sure, which would no doubt make Doc's job none too easy before too long, as this kind of firefight begged for another clone to get hit.

The jedi in charge, Renkin, would probably need to know of the development on their situation, so Doc took de facto control, since none of the other Clones had the time or thought to do so, considering the Sergeant or another specialist would take care of that normally. He had to respect the Jedi, the man had proven adept at patching people up from what he had seen, which was always welcome. It was simple to just blast someone or cut them down, but taking those injures and preventing them from proving deadly was not quite as simple. So the man had his respect in that regard, but it was moot, he had a report to make. [b]"Sir, Doc here. The sergeant of the flanking force is down, casualties are starting to mount and the uninjured are too pinned down to advance as originally planned. Fair amount of fire is being drawn though, might create an opening for the main force."[/b] That would be all he got off for now, as another fiercer volley of blaster fire forced him to duck down low, dragging another Clone down before he lost his head, literally. Another one went down, and when the worst of the current fusillade of fire ended, he bolted for that piece of cover, a bacta patch in one hand, blaster rifle in the other, firing shots at the Separatists before ducking down, starting his grim work again, taking pot shots when he needed to protect the Clone under his care.