Sidara gasped when the blaster fire rang out, and she ducked toward the crates in attempt to use them for cover. Could nothing ever be easy? The Bothan staggered back, she could tell he'd been hit, but he seemed to be okay enough to easily find cover. Sidara hated this type of thing. She hated battle. She hated chaos and the smell of singed flesh and hair. Not immediately concerned with returning fire, she patted herself down, making sure she had her med kit on her because, once this died down, she knew she'd need it.
Because they were all making it out of this. She wouldn't accept an alternative. She wouldn't be another member of her family dead by the hands of the First Order. "They can't need these as bad as we do," she hissed, flinching as a blaster shot put a hefty dent into the side of the crate she was crouched next to. Sidara glanced to the Rodians who were at the front of the alleyway and she couldn't help the lump in her throat when she realized one was badly hit. The other was hauling him back and she shook her head. Steeling herself, she stood from her hiding position and tried her best to offer cover fire, hoping they could get out of the way.
"Do we even know how many there are? Do we have back up?" she shouted at the Bothan, where he was hiding behind a metal bin.
"Checking on it," was his agitated reply and Sidara hefted her blaster back up and continued to deliver fire, working to keep from letting anyone any further into the alleyway where they were all pinned in.
"We can't just leave the supplies!" she said, because she had a feeling that was exactly that they were going to be forced to do. It wasn't fair. Not just for the Resistance and for the people who needed these supplies, but for the people who delivered them as well. They didn't deserve to have all their hard work wasted either.