"Nameless. Classic, I guess in time, I'll have a playname for you." Svetlana said, half jokingly, or as best as that came out in her Russian accent, as she looked over the suit, nodding her head.
"The suit is fucked, you are right. And while I'd like to say that anything you need is at your disposal...well, that was unexpected. Or rather, it was. It's in central Mumbai, right by the docks my friend. In a skyscraper, the fucking Spike Building. And yet it is not my decision to do that. We have no mandate against them." She added, as she looked around, exhaling hard, walking around, as she looked at his armor.
"But I guess you'd be lucky to find out that I'm a half decent infiltrator. Don't let these two orbs fool you- I can crawl through my share of vents. And since things look like they're back into a dry spell, I'd be willing to pop to there, for a little business. We will have to be quiet." She said, almost swinging her boobs a little in the mid part of the sentence, as she shook her head.
"Besides, Antoine is probably going to be busy, same with Imran and Howard. They'll want to see you do something small first, and I suppose I can let you in on this. Iceman, how good of a shot are you?" She asked, as she headed over to the opposite side of the hangar, opening a cage, as she clambered out a small box of some sort, walking back as she then opened it up. Inside, a McMillan CS5, packed away neatly into compartments.
"Howard doesn't use this rifle because the caliber isn't suitable for longer range, and he loves his GM6. This fires modified .300 rounds, completely silent, effective to a range of 600m. Will punch through two inches of reinforced skyscraper glass, and happens to have a variable night vision optic. Iceman, you'll need to be in casual clothes for this to work...we cannot talk here. Follow me." She said, putting the rifle back, as she knew what she was doing wasn't going to please Imran, especially if they were called out. But they had work to do, and right now, they had to at least semi-induct this member. Besides, another reserve Heavy was coming, and he'd fill the rest of the team in sooner or later, and Svetlana knew that between then and now, she'd be able to get out for a day to get this little job done.
Imran walked out of his office, locking the door with his biometrics- a very tricky print to replicate, due to his genetics and the stringency of the test. Walking back into Bjorn's, he shut the door, as he exhaled hard, almost not wanting to look at the fully naked Viking hanging from the light. It was a dark moment, but Svetlana had a tendency to do this. He was bigger than Imran, a lot bigger, and he occupied almost a quarter of the room from his hanging position. He had a smile on his face, a shit-eating grin. Good for him, Imran thought to himself. No better way to leave this planet. He checked his radio, aware that Antoine would hear, their position slightly on the glacier receivable. Bouvet Island itself was two masses- the airbase, built on flat, artificial land, and the huge glacial sheet that covered the rest, almost clambering to 2,500m at it's highest- the rocky and icy terrain a dramatic backdrop for the airbase, as if the South Atlantic wasn't enough. He exhaled, as he began.
"Antoine, Howard, report back to base, meet me at Bjorn's room. I have some sad news." He said, looking around. He found a huge M134 by his bed, Imran, only wearing his digital uniform and not his exoskeleton, could only barely lift the weapon...but no way, lug this for more than a few feet without his hands giving in. It weighed like a million bricks. Then there was his picture, of him and his unit. Nothing of Scimitar- that was banned for all intents and purposes. But a picture of Svetlana, that he had snapped on his camera phone, in a case. Maybe he had always lusted for her, he thought to himself. And it was one of her Svetlana gym sessions. Classic.
Three Hours Later
A few hours later, Svetlana, Iceman and Spectre were inside, dealing with their covert op for Imran's sake to at least deal with this problem, the small wooden raft sat with Bjorn's naked body inside. His waraxe, his M134, and even his armor had been lugged in. The boat could barely hold it, but as Imran, Howard and Antoine stood there in their combat uniforms, looking on, the silence had to be broken. They'd moved his stuff over the last two hours, themselves at the far end of the runway, on the thin gravel beach that formed the coastal defenses. It was a mark of respect, to bury members not wearing casual, but in combat gear. It was a tradition Imran didn't know how it existed, but he wore his exoskeleton, aware that perhaps in death, they'd be watched for how they would remember him.
"A good man. He did a great deal of good, and we must remember him for the good times, not the bad. Let him be remembered for being our Viking, our warrior of the hour, the man who'd take an axe to a gunfight. And in death, let him find what he wants. He might not died like a Viking, but he died happy for us. It's how he wanted to be cremated." Imran said, looking to Howard and Antoine, humming a traditional Sikh funeral song. He hadn't told them how he had died exactly, it would make too many emotions come out raw to Svetlana, too much paperwork. But maybe they vaguely knew, that nobody dies smiling when they hang themselves, and naked in that way. Maybe inside, they'd know, Imran thought to himself, as a quiet
Music built up in the air, just an eerie feeling.
"May you rest in peace, friend of ours. Or war, if that is what you prefer. Probably is, actually." Imran said, aware it sort of broke the tension, as he coughed a little, before then looking back at him.
"And let this not be the end. Let us push him to the seas, where he shall remain." He added, looking at the others at the end, as he took his lighter, lighting a wooden stick, before bunging it into the far end of the raft. It only slowly caught light, the petrol in the near end likely to set the raft ablaze once the fire was burning offshore. He walked up and his strength in itself was just able to it, with support in Howard and Antoine, as the raft caught a backwave and was cast out, the flames spreading. The fire suddenly erupted, as it got further, and further on the horizon, the suit probably untouched but scarred by the fire, and Bjorn's body cremated, as he always wished.
Looking at the boat, Imran shook his head, holding back. Antoine couldn't take this well. She always seemed to have a magnetism to his dramatic features. No doubt, he was a serious operator. The sight of a C130 on the horizon could be coming down, for landing, as it barely flew over Imran, Antoine and Howard, as he nodded. The Private Jet followed behind, the white craft landing on the strip a minute later after the C130 taxiied off, the private jet occupying far less of the airfield as it landed. By this point, Imran, Howard and Antoine had made their way to where the Private jet was stopping, Imran's movements amplified in the way he jogged, almost looking poetic as they were fluid, and full of bounding elasticity. The sight of the door opening revealed the Italian, bigger than all three of them, but smaller only by a margin in width than Svetlana, and a little shorter. But he compared to her alright- this was a Heavy.
"Domineco. This is Howard and Antoine, you might remember them, if not, then you can make acquaintances again. I assume that plane there, is containing your supplies? The more...well, suitable storage for your stuff?" Imran said, in his typical posh Oxford accent meeting Lahore Pakistani, it sounding somewhat higher society yet with phrases that an Oxford student like him wouldn't normally have.
Bjorn opened his eyes, somewhat pleasured, his lungs filling and his heart pounding hard, like they'd only sprung back into life in just this very moment. Waking up fully, Bjorn felt the feeling of Natalie's warm orbs against his face, as she eased off, a smirk on her face. Everything was white, slowly coming to color.
"Welcome to Valhalla...guess where your axe is?" She said, as Bjorn laughed, grabbing his side by his holster, where he felt it would be. He stood, wearing an enormous suit of chain mail and a Viking Helmet, feeling harder than diamond wearing the stuff by Svetlana's side, in both contexts. Looking around, as the blank white became colored. Fjords, a coastline that looked like Norway's, a thousand years ago. A Viking ship. And a Longhouse. And warriors outside. Svetlana stood almost naked, apart from the thinnest of garments on her trousers. Bjorn looked to her, crying with joy, the Viking's tears passing down his war-scarred face, and onto his chainmail, which seemed like the Viking equivalent of his suit in his moral life- like it would take a million swords to breach.
"Thank you. This is eternal, right?" He asked, wondering to himself, as he smiled, the sudden realization that he was where any Norseman would want to be. A heaven, more perfect than any version he had been sold.
"You live to fight, drink, fuck me and be a Viking, to eternity. You can never die here. Even if those brave warriors do, you wake up, just like you did there." She said, as she wrapped around him, and he looked on, smirking.
"Well isn't that great." He added, as slowly but surely, he made his first steps into what would be the rest of his eternal life, in Valhalla.
Inside, back on Bouvet Island, Svetlana, Iceman and Spectre sat in what was a secondary briefing room, the door sealed shut for now. Equipment was laid out, as she looked over.
"Imran said it was good. Just us three. Those other four are doing something else, I hear, and we're cleared for tomorrow of any tasks- so anything that helps us, but done quietly. The plan is simple. That C130 is going to take us to Mumbai, and since myself and Spectre look anything but like tourists, we'll need an alternative route in." She added, sitting up on the table, clad in her infiltration gear. She lay her OTS-14 Groza, chambered in 5.45 Russian, with a large silencer on the end and a Holographic sight on the rail, as well as a CS Gas launcher on the underbarrel on her legs, as the table beneath her creaked, the wooden structure not used to the weight of a 7"5 Russian, with at least 10kg of kevlar armor and equipment on, over her tight infiltrator gear. Her breasts and her rear poked out like nothing, and it was not unnoticeable, even with the kevlar that an operator like Antoine would never need.
"Myself and Spectre will use a Zodiac, dropped from the C130 at low altitude, to reach the coast, while Iceman goes in normally. At the Airport. Me and Spectre will get to the docks, sneak to the building...and since getting inside is hard, we will need to go to more extreme measures. We need Iceman to disable their generators in the basement with a EMP device, or this," She said, picking up a small slab, as she then put it back down, continuing.
"And then their CCTV and security will be bewildered. We'll get into the lift shaft and crawl up the lift cable, and get to the 65th floor, using vents to put ourselves right into a position before we strike. Iceman, you make your way opposite the building, to another adjacent skyscraper, and set up a sniper overwatch, so that you can shoot anything that's too problematic. From there, it's Spectre's call on what he finds. Parts, predominantly, but we'll need to figure a way out from there. And by this point, down is not an option. Parachutes are too slow, and wingsuits would just be too dangerous, not enough time to actually fly. So we need...well, something a little more soft." She said, as she shook her head, just knowing this had to work.
"We'll jump out of the 65th floor onto an inflated crash mat, roughly 20x20 meters, that Iceman will have set up. It's suicidal enough to work. We'll all extract in the Zodiac, leaving no loose ends, and before you know it, C130's going to line us in out of the Arabian Sea." She said, as she looked over at a pair of compressed air tanks, and a small package, that seemed like it'd be enough, only just, to really stop two people falling out of a building.
"If you have any problems with that crash mat idea by the way, tell us how we're going to deal with about fifty security details. Even I wouldn't bother in this piece right now. Security will be lax- we're doing this at 2200 Hours, everyone is sleepy and the night shift is beginning. It's going to be down to the details, and we have no time to fuck this up. Iceman, keep your SCAR on hand, if things go hairy. No civilians. And remember, BALACLAVAS. We want ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING TRACE, that we did this. Understood!?" Svetlana reminded everyone, as she took her MP443's, screwing on silencers on both the pistols.
"And while my pretty face will have to go, so will yours too, Spectre. It's a team thing. This facility is good, security is tight, but it is nowhere near good enough. If the shit works on you, then make sure that you are confident with it. Don't be crazy, and keep in mind you won't be invincible. Just because your blood might be close, I've never seen anyone jump out of a 65th floor window and survive when they hit concrete. I don't want you joining it, even though you're a good contender to break that trend." She said, chuckling, as she looked to Iceman, aware the attention hadn't been on him.
"And what about you? I mean, you're tasked as a Medium. On this op, just casual clothes, but have a feeling that if things go south, take that full body armor, and bolster it with as much kevlar all over as possible, so that at least of you hobble in it, you'll be able to hobble to the extract without having to have to take leave for six months to have the bullets pulled out. Just leave it somewhere secure if you don't use it." She added, as she then took a GPS on her left arm, before taking her NVGs, an almost Splinter-Cell like tri-goggle pair, the lenses blue tinted in color, and checking they worked in general, as she knew that the other two would be going over equipment, and their way in.
