Roshenko could already hear the soft thrums of drones behind him, he could also hear the annoyed yells of their operators when they flew too close to the EM field. Roshenko reached for his comm, ready to yell some sense into them, only to remember it was gone.
While Roshenko was pleased that these young and inexperienced responders moved quickly and decisively. A part of him wondered if it was a byproduct of the war, youth disappears fast in a war zone. Even in these woods, he could make out the odd crater, overgrown with grass. The sparse trees were all younger around here as well, their heights varied, but they never reached anything beyond six meters.
The detective could hear some of the officers start their sweep. They weren't quiet, loudly sharing their location to coordinate better. It would be a decent idea if there wasn't the chance of hostiles in the area. He paused, wondering if he should admonish them. After mentally weighing, Roshenko elected it was best to keep quiet, the loud men worked as a distraction.
Climbing a small hill, Roshenko could feel his knees giving out on him, he was getting too old. Gene-mods made him age faster than most people, and the rough living on a rural planet did him no better. A younger him could have run through these woods with ease, and here he was wheezing and huffing from a hill.
Pride drove him on, and experience kept him alert. He soon reached the top of the hill. From his view, he could make out a metallic grey object. He turned around, scanning the area for any of his officers. His eyes landed on Smimen who was having trouble going through a cluster of brambles.
Smimen eventually looked up, furrowing his brows for a moment, he eventually waved back at Roshenko. The detective didn't wait any longer as he began to shimmy down the hill toward the object.
"TO ME! TO ME!" he heard Smimen bellow, small clouds of birds and Lizard-bats took to the air, darkening the forest with a flurry of shadows. The woods here showed signs of trauma, some trees were bent back whilst others were reduced to a pillar of splinters, as he neared the object closer he could see it was a small spaceship of an unknown make and model; short, bland, and round. The ship looked like the most it could do was ferry people from the ground to orbit.
Junk was scattered around the crash site, marking there was a survivor. Opened cans were strewn about carelessly, and shattered glass was buried in upturned dirt as if someone stepped on it. The ship itself looked miserable, friction heat melted the bottom, ruining its integrity as the engines made a pathetic hissing sound.
The first odd thing he spotted was there was only one set of footprints, and they were distinctly barefoot. This left the season detective puzzled, why would anyone be barefoot here? There's enough shrapnel and stones to tear your feet apart.
Cautious of any hazardous leaks, he avoided approaching the ship proper, electing to inspect the ship from a distance as he waited for his men to approach. He noted two large burn holes on each side of the hull, near the engines. A clean shot brought it down, Plasma weapons were the most likely culprit in his opinion.
His study was interrupted when Smimen ran towards the sight, tailed by ten or so officers along with a new paramedic, a short woman who looked like she spent most of her free time in bar brawls.
Roshenko corralled the group together, they all watched different areas, and some even scanned the sky.
"Okay, my guess is we have or had at least one survivor. I can not see anything to indicate they are hostile but be prepared, it is too far from the hospital and-"
"Orla Reke." The stout woman interjected. Roshenko was mildly surprised the woman knew he was referring to her, but he didn't let it interrupt his tempo
"-probably doesn't want your Idiocy on her consciousness" Roshenko quickly ordered his men into position, with him and Sminem taking point. The two walked towards the ship's door, the pair felt tense, the air seemed to choke each of them as they grabbed the sides of the door.
"On Three," Roshenko said, keeping his voice as low as it could be while still sounding authoritative.
"One."
Roshenko gripped the door tightly, his fingers entrenching themselves in the seal of the door.
"Two."
The officer around Roshenko kept their guns aimed at the door, he noted a few shaking hands. This could be their first firefight, their hands shook as their eyes drilled into the ship's hull, only to dart about at the slightest noise.
"Three."
Roshenko and Smimen swung the door down, sending it to hit the loose earth. The men immediately yelled an incoherent mass of 'monster!' and hostile', unleashing a deluge of bullets. Roshenko raised his hand, indicating for them to stop. The young officers thankfully obliged, though he could tell a few only stopped because they ran out of ammunition.
He pulled out his gun, watching Smimen do the same. The two walked up the boarding steps, aiming their gun at the 'monster'.
Roshenko could see dull coagulated blood dribble down from a massive bulk of dark fur, it blended into the shadows spectacularly. Roshenko could see that the creature was thankfully dead. The old detective recognized the beast as a Grelm a local predator most thought died out between the war and human colonization. That pelt probably would have got him a comfy bonus if his officers hadn't just riddled it with bullet holes
The room was a mess, unopened cans rolled about as broken furniture and goods were scattered about. The small dividing door that divided the living area he stood in was bent outward, clearly from when the beast tore into the ship. An oppressive heat radiated from the engine room. As if the complex machinery was running for hours.
Walking around the dead alien, he was surprised to see half of a person buried underneath its bulk. A young man in his late teens or early twenties, gold-blond hair looked dirty and matted and his boyish face was marked thinned by malnutrition. Roshenko crouched down. Feeling the young man's pulse.
"REKE! WE GOT A LIVE ONE."