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

[h1][b]Spoon to Stew[/b][/h1]

[b][h2]April 27th, 2025[/h2][/b]

Santi prudently listened to what there was to be said, keeping his lips tight till he had something to add. It sounded secure. They had a refuse collection, which for this part of the world, was genuinely incredible. The Order must have had their eye on solid waste management, if they were putting out and getting their refuse collected. For the third world, that was actually quite impressive. They clearly were a tidy bunch of sick fuckers if they had waste collection.

Walking in with the rifle at safety, Santi nodded in response to Meg's thoughts, and general approach. It made sense, quietly snatch the HVT, quickly, fast, and get out and get a quick win. This wasn't a full blown firefight. It was Guerillero hustle, plain and simple. And without numbers, that made sense.

[@Rhona W]

[b]"That sounds like a good plan. Move fast, clean house, and grab the HVT. I can use the drone to provide overwatch, and steer you into the compound, and clean up any hostiles on the roofs and outskirts. I'll keep the drone afar so they don't pick up the noise, even with the blades I have installed on it, they'll know something is going on. Put me where you need me, but all I need to know is where we take him and how we minimise civilian contact."[/b] Santi started, walking alongside Meg, the bearded, half-Italian operative already letting the landscape bleed into him. 

This was was asymmetry- no drone strikes, no support, or help on the way, just improvising and working with little to do a lot. And working with what they needed to get to help the Resistance meant a mindset that Santi was already accustomed toward. You didn't win those fights with air support. You won it with surgical precision, intelligence, and being willing to fight fire with fire. Not always ethically either. That Santi had learned when he went up against the Cartels- and the Western-equipped resources they had, often being staggering to those who didn't realise just how well equipped they were. Not taking 7.62 out here was Santi's choice because he assumed most weren't wearing kevlar, at least, not the ones that mattered. So dealing with threats without insight, that Santi had in spades, as he continued.

[b]"Grabbing a vehicle, a Hilux perhaps, would be useful. If our man has been tortured, he won't be able to walk far, if he can walk at all. One of theirs may even come in handy. If it has the right tarps, covers, signage.....we can inflict a little more mess on them, if they do not know what is coming, and we may able to use that to our advantage to get around without being stopped, or at least, noticed as fast. There are rules of war we should play by, of course. But from the file I read, we are not....how do you say.....this is not a situation where our opponent is exactly playing fair, no? Any opportunities like this may come in handy. I will of course, follow what you think is best."[/b] Santi replied with his fast, husky Chilean accent still in tow, and with that, headed inside the warm, hospitable safehouse.

The stew filled the porcelain as Santi put his rifle into an improvised rack, optic covers on and magazines unloaded with his plate carrier next to the table, his FNX holstered as Sohee and others had done. He appreciated the food as he put spoon to stew, compared to MREs, this was earthen, hearty food that seemed to just seemed to fill, and dunking the warm, brown bread that tasted endlessly fluffy, given it was relatively freshly baked, it was nice to have some good nutrition before they were back on job. Back on road. And back committing some mess. He'd been in CAR for peacekeeping work, with a fireteam-worth of soldiers supporting the UN. He knew how this place worked, and while he did not have the stellar list of deployments like the others did, from the War on Terror, piracy, counter-terror and policing, he had his own quiet, contemplative thoughts from where he seemed to sometimes end up as the tip of the spear in Chile's own special forces output.

Santi let Moss and Sohee bring out their questions, the questions coming fast, and no doubt Meg thinking over some of them. While Santi was not someone who would step in and answer and mansplain for her, given she'd probably kick the shit out of him if she could from the rumours he had about her anger, he still felt like he could at least break the duck of the conversation and answer from his own experiences. Experiences that he realised, perhaps the Americans and Korean didn't have to quite the same degree. Fighting in it, and then living in it were different things, as he looked across to the Korean. 

[@Komo]

[b]"Killing the power seems like a good shot. Yet, a place like this though might run on a generator. If they have a power grid, it'll be easy to cripple, but it would be nothing you can hack. But, we'll see. And if they have servers.....I am sure we will find out if they have any filth. It's always the people who think themselves God who are the worst pieces of shit."[/b] Santi replied back, the Chilean's contrast to the South Korean's angle coming with a tinge of some experience of his own. Something he had half a feeling, she might have known too.

A White Tiger was a very capable operative- they had to be, after all, to deal with the threat of North Korea and wider security challenges in the area meant they did not back down, and the martial blood that ran in much of the ROK SOF was not to be understated. Sohee's baby-face fitting of her nickname hid an identity that no doubt knew how to go non-stop and follow discipline. Santi knew that Chilean warfare was not like the kind that she would have been used to- he was considering a drone and a KS-1 high-tech, while Sohee had access to plenty more fancy equipment. Still, if she had an LMG, and an idea of how to break things, they would be more than friendly.

Then across the room, the short American, Lukas Moss, had thoughts also. Santi picked up a strange feeling about him, from a former USAF Parajumper into a spook, working in the Middle East and Central Asia. A medic, comms specialist, and all around hunter-killer. Someone who knew how the dirt of operations worked like this. Santi was an appliance, he knew that much, an operator who understood chaos, asymmetry and working with low tech, but Lukas was a hybrid of a hybrid, it felt like. And he was right on comms, given some electronic warfare could be fun to mess around with. 

[@Thayr][@Theyra]

[b]"I'll tell you my drone's frequency, Lukas, Juichi too, but don't go looking at its website history. If you want to start using an EM jammer or that Flipper, I would prefer you don't knock it out of the sky. I doubt I will find spare parts here easily, but, then again, I always am surprised in places like this what you can find when you go to markets. Piña, Piña Granada, Naranjas, AKMs, motherboards, same market stall."[/b] Santi remarked, keeping it light, but being happy to poke a bit of his fiery nature into the affair, knowing he could take just as much as he would give. He no doubt gave off the vibe of a bit more of a maverick, nowhere near as precise and clean as say, Sohee or Juchi, but even with his drone and what he did, knew he got what was required of him done and followed to task. Different operators had different methods. He had found what was comfortable with him, but no doubt it would be a point of friction.

With that in mind, Santi looked across to the others, more generally commenting on that aspect of the drone. Arsala and Karishma, the Afghani and Indian-origin were two sides of different coins, one blowing stuff up, the other getting the voice on the ground. Both hardened operatives, Arsala's story one that felt perhaps the most equivalent to Santi's own. He was lucky to grow up in a relatively safe, good upbringing, but he knew what that slip was like with a lack of security. The Vaquero from Kabul, Santi put in his mind. Karishma on the other hand was mean as hell, short but someone who'd spent nearly twenty years blowing stuff up, stopping stuff blowing up, and well, her loadout requisition read like someone wanting to go wreck some homes if she came to it. Plus a fucking Winchester. Jesus, was she more of a Vaquero than Arsala? Santi put the thought away, going back to what he was going to say before his train of thought broke.

[b]"I will try to keep an eye out for you all, if you have PLBs, I will make sure my drone at least recognises your tag. I cannot give you a bird's eye view for your own eyes, but, tell me what you want to see and I will do my best to let you know. If not, 40 mike fixes the problem if you don't want it there? Anyway, please, call me Santi. I'm not truly Italian, spare calling me Enzo, yes?"[/b] Santi chuckled with a little sarcasm at the end, with an accent that to the Americans would definitely not sound like Mexican, having a fast, almost Portuguese-like inflection into the Latin accent that was only stopped by Santi's appreciation for speaking French and English in more common settings like this. Santi did not work exclusively around English-speakers, so his accent heightened on some words, not having perhaps the same HUMINT capability of say, Arsala. 

Sipping down the bottom the liquidy stew, knowing as much as the others, there was a bit of ice to break, Santi looked to them.

[b]"I read your files. All impressive. No Europeans though. Strange. Perhaps they thought it best to just keep them away in a place the Europeans have fucked up once before, no?"[/b] Santi pointedly observed, a wry smirk on his face, as he looked across to Meg more generally, and the lady serving them food.

[b]"Compliments to the chef. This is very good. Once we have them running away, I will find some skewers and sort an Asado, muy bien, that would cure a great deal many things in this place."[/b] Santi quipped, as he finished the last bits of meat and veg in the stew, and with it, wiped his face with a spare tissue, cleansing his palette with a swig of his aluminium water bottle within his Camelbak, separate to the Camelbak system itself. 

Putting the bottle back into the bag behind him, Santi was first to move and stand from being nicely sat on on the carpeted floor with his legs folded, and headed back over to his plate carrier and the weapons rack. He was silent as he did so, almost unspoken, as if this was just the thing that happened next. If it was what Meg intended, then he was moving on already.

Peeling the KS-1 off the rack and with it, pulling the stock out and checking the receiver, magwell, gas block and charging handle, twitching the rifle over and inspecting it over, his Ops-Core helmet following, the GPNVG-18 setup swifly being mounted on the helmet's specialist mount, as was a side-of-helm mounted ODIN Tactical IR flashlight with a cable press into his plate carrier for close-quarters work. Not that he would likely be breaching, it was more likely the others were kicking in doors today. He looked across to Arsala, coming back to his thoughts from earlier, continuing to prepare his magazines, and rifle in his ritualistic state.

[@Smike]

[b]"A true Texas Ranger. I see it in films all of the time....but you are real. And the flag is similar, no? That would make us Vaqueros perhaps."[/b] Santi cracked a smirk, the Chilean Flag being exceptionally similar to that of the Lone Star State's flag, eying over the Cinco Peso, the coin-made badge what made a Ranger, a true Ranger- literally made from a Mexican Peso originally, though now it was silversmithed out of similar designs. Cowboys and Indians? Well, the blend that came about from the Texan that was also at the same time, of the Indian Subcontinent, it was like she ticked both. An observation that put her apart, as well as Zaland, the Belgian Malinois a fierce looking thing that was half humanitarian, barrier-breaking friend, half tear throats, and another half of detection to boot. Santi seemed to be careful around Zaland, knowing dogs were very, very sensitive to action, and Santi posed himself as no threat, letting the pup figure out Santi.

[b]"I never did ask for his name....you definitely equipped him well. He looks like he has plenty of bite."[/b] Santi observed Zaland's armour, generally more open and just observing, before finishing up his own loadup, PMAG slid in, QAC suppressor screwed onto thread, and optic covers peeled back, with Santi ready to go and get after the work to come.