“…897 … viving GAR … nel … Republic … espond.”
Comms. Graphite didn’t have the elbow room to reach his helmet, where his comms device was built in. He grunted in desperation, trying in vain to strain upwards at the girder and plating.
He banged his head against the girder a second time, this time going dizzy and seeing stars. Not good. He’d be dead without his helmet, was for sure.