A twelve hour flight across three time zones and a jeep ride through some of the roughest country on earth had left Dragan feeling sluggish. A storm was on the way too, sweeping in across the cold Russian Steppes. It would be nothing short of suicide to get caught out in it for any length of time. The cold out here could kill a perfectly fit, healthy human in twelve minutes. Supping from coffee that had gone cold an hour ago and was starting to form a wafer thin layer of ice, Dragan grunted inwardly. “Home sweet home." He mumbled in one of the local tongues.
Driving up to the soviet base Dragan leaned forward to wipe the misted jeeps windshield with his forearm. Of all the things to survive the battle, the guards pillboxes complete with the anti-ram rail was still intact. Slipping out of the jeep Dragan moved to the guardhouse, keeping his movements slow so as not to sweat too much too early. Sweat was a killer in the cold; it froze to the body and drained the heat from a fighting man. The cold was an insidious killer, hiding a dagger behind the promise of warmth. The rails hinge was frozen and Dragan quickly, efficiently chipped away at it until it could move, squeezing the rail upwards with the crackle of ice before heading back to the jeep and driving inside. A few rusted T-90 tanks stood proud, turrets lifted in salute waiting for a war that would never arrive. Dragan felt oddly humbled driving amongst the iron giants who after so long remained silently guarding this old base.
Pulling the jeep into the warehouse Dragan gunned the engine, surging over pieces of rubble strewn across the warehouse floor. The warehouse, shattered though it was would once have housed tanks, jeeps, military vehicles, a lone man and his jeep didn't take up much room. Dragan parked his jeep with the side facing the missing wall to best protect him from the deadly wind.
Being a resident of Russia, Dragan had arrived earlier than his American counter-part who would no doubt have an extremely long and unpleasant flight ahead of him. The Spetsnaz operative wasted little time in his preparation however, for there was always the rogue chance that his enemy had arrived before him. Quickly and carefully the Russian stripped out of his civilian gear and into more combat based attire. A snug black top made from the same material as a deep-sea diver’s suit was pulled on over his t-shirt to guard him from the cold. Strapping his harness on carefully Dragan twisted and turned, checking for chafe points and testing the overall flexibility and breathability of the outfit. Elbow and knee pads of hard Kevlar were strapped on and Dragan replaced his standard military grade boots for a more specialised thick, insulated boot with steel grips on the toes and heel to stop him slipping in the ice. Fingerless gloves with Kevlar knuckle joints protected his hands from the biting cold while leaving his fingers free and flexible. Finally, Dragan pulled on the red Spetsnaz beret over his snow white hair and waited.
Walking to the boot of his jeep Dragan popped it and tended to his weapons. The stripped down Ak74 was the first to be tended too. Carefully Dragan checked the weapon and filled the slots of harness with spare clips before tearing up the linen cloth that lined the floor of the trunk. The weapons were rugged and reliable, but left idle in the cold actions could freeze, hammers stick and slides freeze over, spelling sure doom for the user. Dragan wrapped the AK’s action, barrel and trigger in strips of cloth before placing his head through the strap. The single action army was more difficult to tend to as it had a revolving action that couldn't be wrapped. Instead Dragan just packed the holster with line. It wasn't fool proof but it would do. The same went with the combat knife. The claymore and C4 were shit outta luck. The c4 wasn't as bad, it was a fairly reliable piece of equipment, fireproof and resistant to freezing, but the claymore could be a big problem. The arming pin was prone to freezing and clogging, likewise the motion detector wasn't much use in the snow.
With his preparations complete Dragan could only wait for his American opponent to show himself. Lighting up a smoke, the Russian assassin huddled behind the front wheel of his jeep, eyes scanning the warehouse slowly and steadily, the long wait had begun.