Daredevil hears the little floating bots before anyone else, his head twitching to the side to track the noise coming from somewhere behind the convoy, at about head height. He doesn't recognize the sounds they make at all, but they clearly weren't part of the expedition crew, and the hum of energy spooling up sounds hostile as hell.

Time to get to work.

He breaks ranks, snapping out his batons and activating them in a single twist of his wrists, the weapons crackling with electricity as he closes the distance. They're too far apart for him to take them all out himself, but fortunately he can hear that he's not alone in his vigilance, Sif at his side - okay, swiftly pulling ahead, far less slowed by the snow than he is - making a beeline toward one of the targets with her sword drawn. Which... then does something kinda cool by the sound of it, but Matt has little time to admire her weapon's party trick, since he's finally managed to get up close and personal with one of the little floating robots.

He may not have a thousand years of muscle memory to back him up, but he's still a skilled fighter by human standards, despite being weakened by the slow starvation of past weeks and a few old injuries that don't seem to like the cold very much. He lashes out with his crackling batons, seeking to crush the weapons on the nearest robot, or else take out whatever's making it fly. Anything that looks crunchable.