Natalie had the same as Victor, her helm off, their faces visible, the facepaint that Natalie had applied completely melted off at this point, the lightly applied dark blue and pale white lightening beginning to fade entirely. She nodded upon hearing the news, her blonde hair shortened and the remainder tied up, looking across to the General. Ross had taken the bulk of his armour of, similarly to Carl.
"Understood. Thanks, General." He didn't even need to salute, as the General left, Jenny looking across to Natalie, with a nod of her own, of appreciation.

"Gotta say, Bear. You two saved our asses. And I didn't realise how good you looked, under that futuristic helmet of yours. Wasn't expecting it." Jenny said, Natalie giggling a little with laughter.
"Thanks. I'd take the compliment but I'm afraid that Brute here would have to tear off your limbs while you watched. Tends to be...well, protective of his Mama Bear, as do I. Eh, either way. You all held yourselves well out there." Natalie commented, feeling lighter without the minigun, though her armour definitely felt like it'd been used well.

"But there's more of the bastards. I know this is gonna be a difficult fight. We are just going to have to keep killing them. What we saw out there, if it got leaked, any of the tech or capabilities, puts everything at risk.....especially the fucking media. Jesus, it's the last thing we need. Technically, you don't actually know our names. Official or otherwise. All you really know is we are that antidote. But if they figure that out before they're all dead, this fight gets a lot tougher." Natalie added, the command clear in her voice.

"Still. Get some rest. Brute, we need to leave the AO in a few hours, head back to the quarters to pack up the gear. PMC wants a debrief too. You in?" 

-------------

Two Days Later
Somewhere in southern Kosovo
1900 Hours

In the hilly, tree-lined backwaters of Kosovo, beyond the crap roads and infrastructure, lay Markus, the German KSK operative leaning against a pine tree, the sunsetting horizon cutting through the pine forest, a river below in this remote area. It was peaceful, birdsong could be heard, as he looked over to his collegue, the Canadian JTF2 soldier, Eric, decked out in the same semi-Juggernaut armour that he had, improving in quality by the day, thanks to the provision of a few new quirks and trims that seemed to be ironing out. Markus held a MG36, the uncommon variant on a G36 in his hand, complete with a 100 round dual Beta-C drum mag, and a Aimpoint CompM4 optic on the top, with a foregrip attached for good measure. On his back, he had his usual Bofors AT4, and apart from that, was travelling light on gear. His helmet off, a pair of Wiley X sunglasses on, and looking over at the distant hills in the horizon, then to the far distance, at what could barely be seen through the trees.

They'd been dropped off at least two hours ago on a rural track, with their target being an old lumber mill by the smallish river, the lumber mill deforesting the other side of the hills, this side still relatively intact. Whilst Kosovo was now civil, and no longer existed in a state of war as it had more than a decade ago, it was a little bit of a wild-west. That made it good to hide, or lay something low in.  And that was what was suspected at the lumber mill. The trans-national network that was involved in supporting the shady organisation involved in Afghanistan had an intel cache here, and well, it just so happened that Erik and Markus were in theatre. Wet work again, given that it was lightly guarded, and well, it made sense not to go batshit insane with noise. The plan was simple. Head in, recover intel, destroy the place, and any potential HVTs. This was a potential hiding place for the organisation- and if it wanted someone to lay low, this would be the place to do it. Markus kept that in mind, sliding the drum mag back in, cocking the MG36, looking across at Eric.

"Hmm, no patrols their perimeter, and guard presence is low. 20, 30 with Kalashnikovs and they seem extra cheeki breeki. They're badly armed, and retarded. That isn't a deception either. They want a low profile. Makes them look native. Which...smells a bit weird. But we shall see." Markus said, the German rather descriptive, to the point even, as he moved forward, looking at a Land Rover roll in, parking up as the men got out, just looking like they had groceries, or something.
"Lumber Mill's big, but there actually isn't a lot of them. My bet puts intel in that main building, where most of their transports are. Rest of it is probably unoccupied, vacant." Markus added, walking on, going from tree to tree, in a slow walk, keeping his eye on the mill at the bottom of the hill , waiting on a response.
"Got any plan?"