Roger would have liked to say that by now he had gotten used to crashing, and it didn't even faze him at this point. After all, when you're the worst pilot in the group by a significant amount, you get to experience this stuff often. But the jarring halt of movement and whiplash that followed seemed to come as a surprise every time. Even when that surprise is on the heels of the much large oddity of feeling like there's another person in the cockpit with you, helping you out. Back home he had heard a story here and there about ghosts or holy spirits guiding people to safety or averting disaster, but this seemed like something else entirely. After all, what angel would approve of recklessly ramming into something so hard that you break your (machine's) ankles and briefly pass out?
"That prob'ly won't be necessary, but I appreciate the gesture" Roger replied to the voice of the stranger coming in. He had no idea who he was, and although he could probably check to verify the identity/location/etc of the man, Rooney had neither the attention span, nor the desire to do so. All his attention was focused on one single task. Most of Yeager's system were fully functional, but with the framewerk's broken ankles, its options, especially in the mobility department, which was pretty damning for a Framewerk that was supposed to be all about mobility.
Luckily, he wouldn't need his ankles in order to do this next thing. Lying down as he was, things were pretty simple. He could brace his arms against the ground and aim pretty reliably. Damaged elbow joint? No problem. He brought the Tentacle monster in his machinegun's sight. The beast was at an elevated position, but if anything that only made it easier for Roger to aim. Just like hunting on the mountainside back home.
Now if Roger were more aware of his situation and that of his comrades, he might have had a different reaction. He had heard Daniel's final message and he understood what it had meant, but like Harold's death before, it didn't actually feel real. Roger hadn't seen the results of his sacrifice so he did not even know whether it was even a justified death. Just as well, the actions of Sigma and Serah where similarly out of his field of view. All that mattered was pumping that tentacled monstrosity full of hot lead.
He had had his moment of reckless bravery, now was the time for measured cool-headedness. Keeping the gun trained on the beast he squeezed the trigger as hard as he could. Perhaps if he were more clever or sarcastic he could have come up with some sharp quip, a memorable turn of phrase that only the other guy would be able to hear and appreciate, but he neither had the mind nor temperament for it. Brutally efficient gunfire would simply have to do in its stead.
No Move, Terminate that Tentacled Motherfucker