[h1][b][color=#1E90FF]Enzo "Santi" Laste Valenzuela[/color][/b][/h1]

[h1][b]
Just inside the border of Taniland
Africa[/b][/h1]

[b][h2]April 27th 2027[/h2][/b]

[h2][b]Boots to Ground[/b][/h2]

[b]Soundtrack: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTU8wYALhnI]J Balvin / Metallica- Wherever I Roam[/url][/b]

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.