“Fuck.” Linn muttered as his target walked out of his view. He shifted his aim to another hostile, but couldn't get a good angle through the thorn bush which almost completely obscured his new target. He pulled himself up into a low crouch so he could easily leap up, and waited.
When Huscarl engaged the unsuspecting soldiers, Linn jumped to his feet and lined up his sight on his target’s chest. A series of muffled gunshots erupted from his suppressed weapon, which launched four rounds at his target. Linn didn't bother watching the man slump to the ground, the 7.62 bullets punched through armor and ripped through his torso with a spray of blood; he was very clearly dead. He aimed at a second target, a soldier frantically trying to bring his weapon to bear, but one of his fellow operators fired first, killing the soldier. One of the other hostiles managed to fire his unsuppressed weapon at the operators, and Linn quickly spun to kill the shooter. Again, someone fired quicker than him, cutting the shooter down. “Dammit.” Linn muttered, partially because the gunshots might have compromised the operation, and partly because he was being outshot repeatedly. The firefight, if the very one-sided engagement could be called that, was over quickly.
Linn kept security while Mischief and Huscarl attended to the Hellcat and radio. He followed his Captain over to Bravo-2, then took his position at the front of the team when he was ordered. Linn waited for the team to get into formation before advancing northeast to the objective at a relatively quick but cautious pace.