April 27th 2025
Just inside the border of Taniland
African Continent

The DC-3 transport plane was probably - no, definitely - older than all of the people aboard. It rattled, banged and creaked, and the interior was so loud, there was no way for the operators of Spearhead to talk to one another as it flew, even with their radio headsets. Sat on nylon webbing seats along the inside of the fuselage, their gear was in a small pile of hard-impact peli cases and bags between them, strapped down to the cabin floor.
The note of the rumbling twin piston engines changed and the ancient DC-3 rumbled as its' landing gear came down. Craning her neck to look through the porthole behind her, Meg peered over the top of her shades at the outside. The ground grew close; reddish dirt and plentiful green vegetation loomed up, broken by the occasional rocky outcrop and winding ribbon of water. There were vague hints of civilisation; unpaved roads cutting through the greenery and the occasional simple building of unclear purpose, and then it was lost behind the treeline as the DC-3's wheels touched down with a rumbling roar, and the props joined it as they went into reverse to slow down. The tail came down, tilting the cabin as the plane slowed enough to land, and the noise dropped away as they came to a stop.
The co-pilot picked their way past the seated operators, nodding to them and pointing to their seatbelts, before he undogged the hatch in the side of the fuselage and heaved out a set of steps. The dusty, earthy smell of the outdoors invaded the cabin, interfacing with the musty, artificial smell of the ancient plane.
Meg gestured to the others to handle the gear, and for one of the others to come with her as she dropped down the steps, and into the dying heat of the early evening. The roar of the DC-3's engines had died to a low hum as they idled, and the plane was unloaded.
Standing close by, and somehow managing to look almost immaculate despite their surroundings in a white dress shirt, jeans and a suit jacket was Jamison, the team's handler and contact. A short way behind her a minibus was parked up with the doors open and waiting.
"Welcome to Taniland, Spearhead Team," she said over the sound of the engines. "Glad you made it in one piece"
"No thanks to the transport arrangements," Meg said back, shaking hands with the slightly taller, more slender woman. "The pilot was great, but I think to keep that thing in the air, he'd have to be. I'm pretty sure that DC-3 was probably over Normandy, and hasn't been serviced since".
"It was inconspicuous, and at short notice," she replied with a shrug. "And it got you here, that's all that mattered, right?"
Megan acceded with a shrug, looking back to the plane as their gear was being unloaded.
"I won't argue with that," she said with a nod, before nodding back to the pile of their gear. "I assume you've got a place for us to go? And that we won't have time to sit around long, either"
Jamison shook her head, face falling into more of a grimace. "I've got several safehouses set up across the region, in association with the local resistance. I've made sure there's multiple points, and they'll be safe enough for you to use to sleep, eat, and rest otherwise, as well as store your gear. And as for getting you right into it; as long as you're ready to go, I can get you out there right away".
Megan looked back at her team and her lips wrinkled. "We'll see; once we've got the gear on the bus and are away from the strip, we can get a better idea".

***

A short while later, the bus was loaded up and the plane clawing its' way back into the darkening sky. Jamison put the vehicle into gear, and it moved off down the rutted, bumpy road. She talked loud enough for the whole team to hear as they moved.
"So the situation on the ground is that the Order are definitely in charge. Taniland's military and police forces are basically owned by them and at their beck and call, and they essentially own the government too, through payoffs, bribes, blackmail and all the usual methods. Most of the civilian population are stuck working here for them, whether they like it or not, and open dissent is very harshly punished. Worship of their fucked-up ideals isn't enforced per se, but it's... highly encouraged. There is a resistance movement, but they're underfunded, under-equipped, and are on the back foot. That's why we're here; to give them a boost and try and help them get on the right path"
The blonde fished in the door pocket on her side, before pulling out a file jacket and passing it over to Meg, the kiwi flipping through it, before passing it back for the others to look through.
"That's the dossier on Thomas Adebayo. He's one of the Resistance chief officers. While he's not their primary field leader, he is their top point of relations with the local population. Well educated, local boy, from a family with a strong history of helping the local people. He was running for office before the Order took over". Jamison took her eyes off the road for a moment to glance across at Megan, who returned the look, the minibus turning onto a more finished road surface, other traffic - sparse as it was - starting to appear around them, along with telephone poles lining the sides of the road.
"...He was taken into custody by the police in the town of Mbaiki, this morning, and then transferred to a compound in the village of Boukoko. Getting him out would be a perfect first step for us in establishing a good contact with the Resistance, and it would show the Order we mean business as well. Freeing prisoners from what has been, until now, a place that couldn't attacked and dealing them actual damage would send a clear message. Not to mention, there's bound to be intel on their operations in the local area as well that would be worth getting our hands on, and other assets we could seize that would be worth putting in our hands, or those of the resistance fighters".
Meg leant back against the sweat-sticky seat of the minibus and nodded, pushing her shades up onto her head now that the sun had died away into twilight. A village loomed ahead, lights breaking up the purplish haze of the encroaching night.
"Sounds like time is a factor here; the longer we wait, the longer they'll have to try and pull more out of him. Or transfer him somewhere harder for us to reach him. How far is this place from here?"
"About twenty minutes drive. There's a safehouse here too".
Meg considered, and then shuffled around in her seat to look back at the others.
"All right. We de-bus, unpack our shit, get chow and then get our heads together. No time to get into things like the present, right?"

April 27th 2027

Soundtrack: J Balvin / Metallica- Wherever I Roam

Holding his KS-1 in a safe hold, the Chilean's badge-adorned helmet, gruff look and stern hold on the webbing reflected in his knowledge of how shonky, bumpy and uncertain landings in DC-3s were these days. An aircraft used in Normandy? Probably, but this thing made a racket and his ears were buzzing, even with the Peltor headset on, let alone his fingers and forearms from just how fucking unruly it was an aircraft. Jesus, he'd have rather jumped out than landed this thing.

He stayed quiet, as the DC-3 clattered into the gravel, coming to a stop as the fading of the light started to kill the sunshine that burnt down, even in spite of the scattered clouds and highly humid climate he'd arrived into- much akin to Colombia and Haiti, but just...well, it had something else.

Looking beyond the runway's environs, the green jungle, red-sand like soil and feeling of malaise, malaria and being in a risky area immediately felt glued to Santi's soul, as he kept his rifle's grip tight, his Camelbak on his back hucked over from the feet he'd had it in, his Ops-Core helmet and AOR2-like fatigues revealing a new world operator, much like Megan, a Southern Hemisphere native transplanted to the equatorial heat. Whilst looking modern as an operative, there were holdouts from Lautaro in some of his smaller gear choices, from pouches on his plate carrier to the more worn, older mountain-spec Scarpas he chose to walk in. It felt strange to be here among Spearhead's initial deployment, but considering the threat, and the need for a sensitive hand to be involved, it made sense an operative who could fly a drone, and work in asymmetric combat was here. Much like the others, this was a team willing to fight war without air support or help. Vaqueros indeed, Santi smirked to himself internally. This would work nicely.

The threat at hand was different to cartels, even if drugs were involved. They were different to just smugglers, even if they were certainly bringing in something even worse than illicit contraband, the demented God they chose to worship, in no way any that his mother would ever call Christian. Let alone anything even anything normal at all. These were the devil, taking from the poor to give to the rich, and doing all sorts of untold horror inbetween. The sorts of people you buried under the prison, and Santi had met some real pieces of shit in his time.

With it, the Chilean took another good look at the others, taking a good look in at each. Lukas, a short US Airman, the team's medic, tooled up with a beard that made Santi's own reconsider length. Juichi, with his rather unique Howa rifle, and deeply calm nature, as Santi would expect of a Japanese modern-day warrior, sitting near Arsala, the Cowboy of the team, the mirror to his own Vaquero-like personality, and then Sohee, who actually seemed to stand taller than even Lukas did- a 707th operative with teeth and a penchant for Israeli gear. And lastly, Karishma, the Indian-American Marine, carrying a mean looking couple of pieces for breaching and blowing shit up. That rounded things out, outside of the twine-like voice of the Kiwi team lead, who approached the American, Jamison, and dealt with pleasantries.

Following in the shadow of Megan, Santi did not need to say not much in response to the look of Jamison, and the intel. As she turned back after dealing with her, Santi piped up, ready as ever. This was not a normal arrangement, this was not rank and file. This was a job with a scalpel to be performed with a multi-functional team.

"Ready to go when you are, boss. This place is as humid as Colombia, mierda." Santi's Chilean-tinged voice struck like charcoal, rifle at the ready, nodding as on that note, he put himself to work, helping with anything that was required- helping to load the bus. He held off small talk with the others, the initial introductions already made, and as fast as the plane had come down, it had gone, they were in a bus, and away.

Clambered inside, every bump echoed through the metal and glass of the rackety Japanese minivan, as Jamison and Megan conversed, hearing the intel of what was to come. The CIA lady was dressed to the nines, but Santi knew her type, they were business at the front, torture behind the scenes if you got on the wrong side. It sounded like they were going straight into the fire with the target. He was ready to go as and when. The answer was rather simple, once he'd read the dossier.
"Sounds like a chance for us to get some goodwill early. Showing them we mean business will bring heat. They'll be prepared for an assault, but nothing with more thought behind it. Yet." Santi looked back, looking across the minivan, across to the team in general.
"Into the frying pan straight away, no?" He called with a husk in his Spanish accent, a smile returning as he knew well, as fast as they were getting involved, there was no bullshit here today. Sooner they made a dent in the order, the better.

April 27th 2027
Just inside the border of Taniland
African Continent

Sohee adjusted her gear as the old rickety DC-3 rattled its way through the humid evening air of Taniland, the roar of the engines drowning out all attempts at conversation. She sat quietly on the nylon webbing seat, her hands resting on her knees, her body swaying slightly with the constant vibrations of the ancient plane. She had long learnt to tune out discomfort. Her eyes were closed, breathing steady and her mind relaxed, despite the environment. It may be meditation or simply preparation that allowed her to set aside the rattling fuselage, the loud engines and the metallic tang of its interior.Her previous experience had taught her that ‘rest can be as deadly a weapon as a pistol or grenade.’ When the plane descended with a jolt, she opened her eyes and glanced at the others in the team.

She caught Meg peering out of the porthole, her shades perched on her head. Sohee didn’t bother to look out of the window. The details of the outside terrain of Taniland would be visible soon enough anyway.

The roughness of the landing brought a smirk to her lips. She’d been on worse flights, but this one was definitely in her top five for “barely holding together.” As the co-pilot moved past, gesturing to the hatch, Sohee unclipped her belt and stood, her movements fluid despite the cramped quarters. She immediately slung on her Camelbak before moving to hoist one of the peli cases as the hatch opened, as the warm earthy air of Taniland invaded the interior of the ancient DC-3.

Following Meg and the others out of the plane, she took her first step onto the dusty ground. The heat of the evening was thick and slightly oppressive, the faint breeze carrying the scent of dirt and vegetation that reminded her of other missions in places just like this. Her gaze landed on Jamison, who stood by the idling minibus, a calm air of authority around her.

She suppressed a hint of amusement at the contrast between Jamison’s pristine attire and their own worn, practical combat gear. Meg handled the conversation well enough, and Sohee preferred to conserve her energy for what lay ahead. When the gear was stowed and the team loaded into the minibus, Sohee claimed a seat near the back. Her hands rested loosely on her knees, her fingers occasionally drumming against the fabric of her tactical pants as she listened intently. As Jamison briefed them on the situation, Sohee’s eyes stayed on the passing scenery, watching out for anything that could pose a threat to the team. Jamison’s voice carried over the road noise, detailing the situation with pinpoint accuracy. Her expression remained neutral, but her mind worked through the possibilities.

When the dossier made its way to her, Sohee flipped through it with systemic precision, committing Adebayo’s face and profile to memory. She knew that time was crucial, every second they delayed put Adebayo at greater risk. As Meg mentioned “No time like the present”, Sohee smirked once more and replied “Copy that. We move fast, hit harder, and pull him out before they even know what hit them.”

April 25th, 2025
Hotel in Yaoundé, Cameroon

"Do you know when you'll be back?"

Mirwais posed the question genuinely, either forgetting or ignoring that he had asked her at least a dozen times over the past month. He was a smart boy, bright in the unsure way of a teen still figuring out his place in the world. In all likelihood he had known that she couldn't answer him before she had said so the first time, her vagueness on details making it clear that whatever she was doing was not just another trip to Austin. Still he asked, hoping that he'd be wrong and his mother could give him some soothing definite answer.

Arsala could do no such thing. She couldn't tell him where she was going, when she'd be back, if she would make it home in one piece or at all. The only thing she could do for poor Mirwais was smile, sink into her seat on the cheap bed the hotel had provided, and swallow her doubts.

"Soon, I hope. But I don't know. This case I'm working, I don't know all the details yet but it's complicated, complicated enough they're calling for help from all over. It might take a while, but I'll call as often as I can."

"Sounds good."

He was better at hiding his feelings nowadays, but there was no getting past Mom. It was the little things that gave Mirwais away. His inflection, the slight downturn at the corners of his mouth, hints of discontent that he wouldn't recognize until he himself had children. She could stomach the standard teenager fuck you, I won't do what you tell me! acting out, even if it made her grumble. This genuine loneliness he was giving off, the sense of abandonment that he couldn't hide?

That hurt.

"We'll do video call; that way I can make sure you've been practicing your signing!"

"Okay, if you want to."

Her smile wavered. After a couple of years humping around her homeland and then another two decades as a cop she was pretty good at keeping a game face. Car wrecks, shootings, burn victims, once she saw enough of them they all blurred together. Her only weak point was her children, and Mirwais blowing off the project they had been working on was enough to give her pause. Arsala considered her name prophetic, for what she was if not a lioness taking care of her cubs? But sometimes she had to step away from the pride, and they lacked the context to understand why.

"Well, I know you're supposed to go to Thomas's. I won't keep you. Make sure to call your dad if you need a ride home. Have fun!"

"I will, thanks Mom."

She wanted to keep him longer, tell him all the things she might not get to if the operation went badly. How proud of him she was, how grateful she was for him setting an example for his sister, that she saw him grow and change day by day and year by year into a fine young man. But he valued his space more than her sentimentality, the same way she had valued her own at his age. Arsala resigned herself to sending an email or something later, waving goodbye as she moved to switch off her laptop.

She waved, and instead of reciprocating Mirwais crossed her arms over his chest, holding them tightly just long enough for her to see before pointing at her.

This time her smile stayed strong.

"I love you too."
-----
April 27th 2025
Just inside the border of Taniland

She thought she had left long-haul flights in clapped-out cargo planes behind her when she got discharged but there she sat once more, surrounded by capital-o Operators and enough gear to fight a small proxy war. It was like being in G Squadron all over again, except this time she wasn't a young grunt with something to prove but an experienced officer, the oldest on the team if she wasn't mistaken. She also had more to lose these days and less experience working with people she wasn't familiar with. She knew more about the rest of Spearhead than she knew them personally, with the obvious exception of her partner.

Zaland sat between her knees, the dog panting contentedly as her fingers traced lazy circles between his ears. The other hand was busy with the booklet she had made for herself, combining the information Spearhead had provided on Taniland and pages of notes from her own research. She had started the flight with a nap, the brim of her hat tipped down to shield her eyes, but she could only sleep so much. With shuteye out of the question she felt it was prudent to review as much as she could before touch-down.

The rattle of chunking engines signaled a turbulent landing, Arsala taking hold of her rifle as Zaland made a plaintive whine for attention. The requisitioned MRAD was an exact copy of her own, a condition of her deployment. When asked what weapons she required, Arsala gave them the specs of her personal armory, her favored weapons that she wasn't willing to lug around the world to get banged to hell in a firefight. It was something like twenty-five thousand dollars worth of longarms when factoring in scopes and suppressors, before all the taxes and fees that came with getting licensed to own suppressors and full-auto submachine guns. It had been a ridiculous request, one designed to give her an excuse to turn the op down, but she had forgotten just how quickly the military could spend tax dollars.

She had her guns within days, and now it was time for her to hold up her end of the bargain.

The only weapons on Arsala that were hers to own were her knife and her pistol, custom-made keepsakes that couldn't simply be dragged out of an armory. As loathe as she was to put her own equipment in harm's way she wasn't about to leave those at home. The plane managed to skid to a halt without snapping its landing gear, Arsala standing and stretching as the door was thrown open. She put on her aviators before stepping out, trailed closely by Zaland.

The lady meeting them was a classic spook, an obvious foreigner in business casual attire hanging around the dusty ass-end of nowhere. Khattak had worked her kind before, and quite frankly she hadn't enjoyed the experience.

It was hard not to regret signing up for this thing. There was a reason she had left all that high-speed, low-drag shit behind her to book DUIs and DVs. Shootings happened, and for Arsala they happened more commonly these days, but she liked knowing that pulling the trigger was the last resort, the choice she made when all others were exhausted. Here she'd be expected to shoot in the back, to jump right into the highest level of the use of force continuum. She had signed up for another war.

It was natural for her to feel unsure, but the tension in her gut would either subside or be ignored once the doorkicking began. The Order were a special sort of scumbag, bad enough that they were a military threat and not a law enforcement one. Arsala could compartmentalize for as long as it took to handle it. In the meantime she just tipped her hat at Jamison and loaded her things onto the bus, picking a seat at random so Zaland could clamber into her lap.

The drive, like the flight, was less than comfortable. This part of the world wasn't famous for its infrastructure at the best of times and something told her that the current rulers weren't interested in paying for upkeep.

"What am I supposed to say, no? I'm already out here, might as well get to work."

Arsala snickered as she took her turn with the dossier, committing the details to memory. It was like Afghanistan all over again-the locals weren't going to be clamoring to help a group of heavily armed outsiders without a local headman there to provide bona fides. You needed someone with respect from the community, a warlord or a tribal leader or a politician, and you needed that someone to be willing to work with you.

Pulling Adebayo out of a fire would kickstart a working relationship.

"How many enemies are we expecting in the compound? How many in the village itself? If they've got this place locked down we can expect there to be militia crawling up our ass at the first sign of trouble."

Juichi unlike the rest of his team, was somehow asleep despite the loud noise coming from the engines of the old bird. He figured that would be the best given talking was impossible given the noise and he has slept through worse or at least that is what he thought. Since this time he was barely asleep as the noise made him come in and out of sleep. It was annoying but, he kept at it.

It was only the rough landing that truly woke him up and as he looked around. Juichi realized that the plane has landed and as the co-pilot gestured to them. He unclipped his belt and collected his things. Following the others out of the plane and through the hatch. The warm Taniland air greeting him as he made his landed his first steps on Taniland soil.

Juichi had a smile on his face despite the slightly oppressive heat as he was just glad that the trip was over and they were on solid ground. That flight may have been his worst even though he semi-slept through it. Still, breathing in the fresh open air, it was better than Sudan so far and now it was time to see what their first mission would be in this place.

He kept silent as the team met with Jamison and got in the minibus with their gear stored in it. Juichi chose a spot on the right side near the middle. Just sitting plainly and despite looking out the window and admiring at the jungle scenery. Juichi was listening to what Jamison was saying the entire time. Though being a nature lover and wanting time to explore the jungle as he has never been in it before. This is not a vacation, this is a mission and he was focused on that.

When the dossier was passed to him, Juichi made the effort to remember Thomas's name and face as he passed the dossier to the others when he was finished. So that is their first mission, he thought. A rescue mission and one that will certainly help make friends with the locals and showing the Order that is one else is willing to fight them. Though another thought entered his mind, this would be his first real mission, the ones he has been on were just evacuations. Making sure that allied or foreign nationals were safe from developments in a country. Nothing like this, and was he nervous about it? No, just eager to prove himself that he has earned his rank and position after years of being in the military. Their first mission should be a good test of his skills and see for himself how he handles in real combat.

When the others added their voices to the mission talk, Juichi added his with a Japanese accent with a smile on his face. "Sounds like a plan boss and the sooner we get Adebayo out of there the sooner we can really start messing with the Order."

Boarding an aircraft that was as old as this hadn’t been among Moss’s first choices of how to travel that particular day but, then again, he’d never really had ‘first choice’ upon thinking about it. The seat, and everything else in the DC-3, squealed and spoke and roared as they’d taken the flight, shifting and wheezing with every exertion, every breath of wind, every motion of the rudders and ailerons. Of course, they’d never take an aircraft that was absolutely going to fall apart on such a flight - Moss was relatively certain of that. It’d be ‘a real fukkin waste’ if they just fell out of the sky to their deaths instead of something interesting.

A smile had crept its way onto his face at the thought and image. It’d be a helluva way to go after so many interesting bits here and there, a real stupid way to go. The best anticlimax, that’d be what it was, and with his luck some little part of the man said that it fit. Life had a sense of humor, even if it was one of the worst senses the man had ever known. The smile slipped away, though, and he spent the rest of the flight in as little silence as there could be. The noise seemed to drown everything out.

Eyes flickered from one team-member to another to another. He'd read some files, had to look into some others on that grapevine. Winters, Kiwi SAS with a number of extra trainings here and there, he wondered if the temper bit had ever simmered down. It had been noted in a few of her periodic evaluations, interestingly enough. Valenzuela, Chilean special forces whose record seemed to cover all of South America, Moss had been curious to read no other combat deployments other than the anti-cartel work. Then again, that practically was a combat deployment. Kyoya, JGSDF Ranger who'd gone to Sudan…it took a special sort to be Japanese and want to deploy overseas. That normally wasn't the case. Khattak, Pashtun…all over the place, really. Airborne, though that meant a little less than most thought, Delta, CIA, she seemed to be all over the place. Moss could recall her name coming up in one or two of his own operations with The Activity. He had good expectations from her and the good boy seated comfortably with her. Park, South Korean who he remembered from the news those years back, another Somalia participant. The Israel portion of her recent activities had been sealed, annoyingly enough. It’d been curious. Jha, Marine who'd gotten blown up, Moss was impressed she'd actually come back after only a year. They were all competent enough, considering.

They landed, though it could probably be better described as a controlled crash, Moss gripping the bottom of his seat with one hand while the other tapped impatiently on his knee. If they were going to go up in a fireball after that annoying flight, then things truly would have been a waste. Coming to a rest, or at least less of a commotion, he got out of the plane with the rest of them, got into the bus with the rest of them, duffel bag heaved over a shoulder.

On the way they listened to the speech, read over the almighty manila folder. It was just like what he’d heard before, all things considered, with the religious nuts having control over basically everything, government frozen, and the resistance to it being broken up over not being supported. Having a clear target to extract was nice, though a little worrying. Moss listened to the others chime-in too, most of them offering up ooh-rah while Khattak stuck-out by rattling off a number of specific questions that really wasn't the thing he expected to get answered on a bus. A smile touched the corners of his mouth, wry.

“What a hero, getting up and captured. I like him already. What the lady said, though…we have details on this place at all? Infrastructure and layouts.”

The rattling of the plane around her was a feeling that she could never quite get used to, a strange preference towards older airframes by operators that struck her as odd. This wasn't her first rodeo so to speak, a bit of an amused smirk as she glanced to the cowgirl at her side and the remarkably calm dog. Figures that the dog would be much more okay with their ride, probably would have stuck his head out the window if that was an option. For but a moment Karishma thought of the gathered operators and what she knew of them, though she had not delved too deeply into their backgrounds beforehand. Arsala with the dog, the group's marksman and humint operative. In most cases she found that meant that there would be a need to avoid fighting, but it was nice to know they had someone to work overwatch. Juichi, pointman and combat engineer. There would probably be a few points where the two of them would need to work together, so she made a mental note of that. As pointman though, she would be following his lead for the most part when it came to combat. Then she came to Santi, "Condor" their drone operator and grenadier. Another supporting operator role that she felt would come in handy quite a bit, regardless of who and where they were fighting. Especially considering their rather discrete nature, having some form of eyes in the sky would be invaluable, and with the bit of background she saw of him... The guy could throw hands.

The other three she wasn't as familiar with, only knowing Meg as their team lead, Sohee as their tech and Moss as the medic and thusly "Doc" to her. But some words of wisdom came to her as the plane shook in a particularly rough patch, reminding her of another time in a very familiar ride. She had been much more nervous then, and it had been a lot colder and rougher a ride. But what she remembered was the relatively relaxed attitudes of the men and women she had been assigned to, a group of operators much like this and led by an incredibly overbearing and enthusiastic Norwegian. "Now Rook, I know this is your first time but just remember this." Magnus, his accent carrying over their ride and a hand on her shoulder as he gave the one bit of advice she held to most over the years. "You got your job, we got ours. No one would be here if they didn't know what they were doing, and that includes you. We're all operators, we got nothing to prove to each other. We got your back, and we know you got ours." It had been something of a surprise to hear, remembering her time in training trying to be the best of the batch for selections and just how competitive everything was. But he had been right, and that mindset got her through those two ops with him and his team.

It was why though she didn't know much beyond some basics of their backgrounds and their roles in this op, Kari didn't have any reservations about Spearhead's selections. She was confident that each of them had the necessary skills for what lay ahead, and if it came down to it each of them would be able to cover for anyone down. All she needed to focus on was her own tasks, following her team lead and the mission at hand. A mission that became all the clearer as the plane touched down and the team shuffled their gear into the only slightly less rickety bus awaiting them. She took a few moments to help out in loading the bus before getting on last and watching the countryside pass by while listening in on the impromptu debrief. From what she gathered on the conversation and the dossier, it looked like they were going to be freeing a resistance leader and helping to set up some connections here that could be used by Spearhead in their overall mission. It made sense to her, primarily in the way of making themselves an ally of the locals and having an easier way to navigate the area. Being able to work with the locals and seen as friendly usually made things a lot easier to operate in a region. When it came to be her turn for the dossier, she looked over it and got enough of an overview to tell her what she needed about the man himself.

"Expected casualties, boss? We going in hard or soft?" She could deal with either, but she tended to find that once things got loud they stayed loud for the rest of an engagement and sometimes it was nice to avoid. Her breaching bag to the side in the seat, she looked over her supplies again. Some thermite pens, a pick kit and of course the heavier stuff. "I'll also second that on any info we can get on infrastructure. I can get us in the door regardless, but could help to know the shortest route possible."