Karolina "Rusalka" Dragomirova
Rainbow Division B Team Coordinator
Souda Bay Naval Base, Crete, Greece
February 22nd 2018 // 0537 Local Time
ACT I
Sitting at a desk, reading over almost three dozen files on various personnel currently on station and technically under her command was something that Karolina didn't have in mind most mornings. Though at least it was better than being stuck in a hospital bed, recovering from potential... well, actual brain damage. It was no secret to the woman that after being blown the fuck up she was mentally changed, but out of fear of being discharged she kept quiet, said nothing of the sort about feeling or acting different. That had the unfortunate eventuality of landing her at the reigns of one of the foremost elite CTU unit this side of the sun.
Of all the operators assigned under her stead, only a select few were of any memorable note: Operatives Raka, Wilhelm, Lachance, and Soo-Yeon. The first due to their history of suspected war crimes and suspected mental instability, Wilhelm due to his sheer age, Lachance based on advisory request, and Soo-Yeon because he was from North Korea. And while the hermit kingdom had been a bit more stable in the years since it's most recent conflicts, and the sanctions against the nation had been lifted for a while, they were still a bit unpredictable.
That being said, most other operators were expected to do just wonderfully. No notable issues stemming from teamwork or general coordination from any of them.
With a sigh, she closed the last file. Standing from her desk at the new 'Rainbow' section of Crete's sole naval base. Consisting of decently sized killhouse and a barracks. Everything else was in a not too far away section of the base itself, the mess, armory, etc, were all in the base proper, and shared with those Greek and US personnel who were stationed here regularly. Understandably, a few of the base's higher ups weren't too fond of having so many non-NATO troops on station, but their cries fell on deaf ears.
Not as if this dinky little base in the middle of the Meds had anything special on it.
The laptop on her desk let out a ping. Another half-hearted sigh escaped the Russian's lips as she sat back down. Turns out PT would have to wait for her.
David "Chief" Wilhelm
Rainbow Division B
Souda Bay Naval Base, Crete, Greece
February 22nd 2018 // 0542 Local Time
Heads turned this morning, not because of an attack, not because of the Nork on base. But because of the crusty old fuck of a man currently doing PT in full battle rattle, more wrinkles on his face than scars, with nothing on his BDU to identify him other than a black trident pinned to his vest and the lightsaber pins slapped to his collar. Based on a combo of wrinkles and pins, the personnel around him were either too confused of rank to bother him, or too concerned of how much of a hardass a wrinkly old SEAL would be if he got disturbed.
Though eventually, his run ended outside the killhouse. Sounds of muffled gunfire echoing from within. As he stepped into the vacated warehouse, Wilhelm spotted a man standing my a set of monitors, with a stopwatch. Blackburn, a middle aged man with an almost equal standing of 'too old for this shit' as Wilhelm was. Was obviously timing whoever teamed up to run the course.
"Blackburn." the elder of the two gave a nod, the Canuck gave a nod in turn, "So, who's running the tower today?"
"Harper."
A pregnant pause as Wilhelm had the pieces pull together a bit slowly, "Wait, solo?"
The Manitoba native nodded, "Yup, well, not entirely, we did some runs together earlier, but for whatever reason those HRT folks are some real hardcore workaholics."
"You're telling me." a moment passed as Wilhelm heard the audible shift of gunfire locations, "What did her first run look like?"
"Fifty eight seconds. All targets hit." The sound of a... well, whatever the fuck concoction of chemicals Harper stuffed in a tube, going off signified that the course was nearly clear.
Wilhelm gave a low whistle, "And yet that sausage fest down in Fort Bragg won't let her get a Ranger tab. Ain't that some shit?"
Blackburn shrugged, "She's got dual citizenship, she could probably get an easy ticket to Dwyer Hill if she wanted."
Wilhelm chuckled, "Sorry kid, but I don't think FBI employees take to kindly to wearing pot leafs patches."
Blackburn flashed a smile, "At least she wouldn't have to mortgage her house for a broken arm."
In the anglo-sphere there was a rather unique bond between servicemen and women. The ANZACS, Canada, the US and UK all had a laundry list of notable achievements fighting alongside one another since the start of the 1900s, from the Boxer Rebellion to Monte Cassino to Kapyong and Fallujah. Throw France, Poland, and the rest of NATO into the mix, you had some fair room for gentle horseplay. A slight inter service rivalry between nations that, while strained at times, couldn't be broken as easily as some gentle ribbing.
As the duo looked up to the sound of a door being kicked open, a rope was tossed over the edge rather swiftly, followed by the frame of Harper, with a rather hefty dummy draped over her shoulder. She elegantly so made her way down to the concrete, unhooking herslf and jogging over to the orange circle painted onto the ground. The sound of the timer beeping signified the exercises end. At which point Harper unceremoniously dumped the fake hostage onto the floor.
The woman spoke, her voice sounding a bit drained, "Time?"
"Minute eight. A bit slower than the previous attempt. I'd say you flat topped today."
"Yeah, that's a fair assessment." As Wilhelm took a look down at the woman's recorded times, the lass herself decided to remove the rather stuffy helmet and balacclava from her head.
Wilhelm looked up, and for a moment his eyes flashed in anger, before immediately settling down. "Kid, I swear every time I see you my blood pressure spikes."
Harper shrugged, "FBI's fine with me having shrapnel in my face Chief, you should be too."
"I am kid, it's just 45 years of work makes me stuck in my ways. Don't worry about it."
Harper tucked her helmet under her arm, "Seriously though, if it's affecting you that bad I could remove them."
"The only thing it'll affect me through is if you get shot in the mouth, and at that point I'll have bigger issues than cheek piercings, seriously, you're fine." Whether or not it was Wilhelm actually being fine, or if he just didn't want to cause undue issues for someone else on his team was unknown to the others present, but Wilhelm was the most experienced corpsman in the team, so whatever he cleared was unlikely to be argued over.
A broadcast came over the base's intercom, and for a moment Wilhelm thought he heard 'Rainbow'. "You guys hear-"
His question was inturrupted by the rather well built form of Dragomirova stepping in. The woman, and leader of their rather merry band, would be an example of the old 70s stereotype of Russian women having a notable presence. Regardless, she wasn't a sterotypical 70s Russian woman in attitude. Chief found her a decent conversational partner, as well as having a solid head on her shoulders.A decent leader if a bit... well, creepy at times.
Though with Wilhelm's internal monologue shuffled away, he wired in his ears to what was being discussed. "We've got a situation down in Egypt, a ships run ashore near the Canal and news copters have spotted White Masks on board. No clue what's on board, or what the numbers are, but Six wants us ready to go within the hour. Glad you three are here because you're heading down there with me and Soo-Yeon."
Chief couldn't help but blurt out what he said next, "The fucking Nork? I'm not too sure that's a good idea Boss."
Rusalka's glare could've melted concrete at that moment, "Chief, he's one of the very few people experienced with handling what the White Masks use in their bioweapons. He's coming with. There will be no argument here."
Chief simply grunted. "I suppose we'll be waiting her for him then."
With that, Karolina simply nodded, and exited the killhouse hangar to find the others she'd selected for the other few Ops in the next few hours.
