Rainer Johnston sat loosely against the wall of the Viking, letting the vehicle's rocking motions pass into him without complaint or resistance. Unlike the others, he felt nothing, at the moment. One of them prayed; a few more get angry, others just get really grumpy. Rainer had an objective, and there were going to be a great many obstacles out there, most of which would be taken care of by the rest of his team. Such is the nature of his role, and everyone else's role. 

He didn't do much more than placidly listen to everything, apathetic and impassive. 

His face hardened somewhat, however, whenever his boots met the dusty asphalt. His HK416 was up and at the ready, but unlike the others, he didn't fire. He followed his makeshift fireteam leader, covering Volkov as they made their way to their chosen roost. 

He didn't need to fire; every skinny that poked their head out was shot within three seconds, without having enough time to aim. Only once did he feel the need to fire, and that's when an AK poked around a corner, about to blindfire. Unfortunately for him, the didn't realize that the walls were made of, essentially, dirt. Two rounds dropped the AK's owner, in a building on the opposite street. Maybe not as 'useful' as shooting someone in the building they were running to, but he had their backs and not all of them were so observant.

He didn't bat an eye at the technical- he didn't need to see it, there was no reason for him to distract himself with it, and the majority of his team wasted too much time as it was staring at it. In the single moment that the Russian operative, Volkov, turned to look at the technical, was the same moment he fired his third round, taking out another insurgent hoping for a shot at the female soldier. 

A half-dozen and more operatives working together on an operation against a major insurgent group, all of them wearing something that proclaims the nation they came from- a terrifying sight for a rebel, to see the world working as one against them.

He covered Volkov's back all the way to his designated strike point, kneeling down near the window. Setting his HK416 on the ground, he reached up and curled his fingers against the windowsill, carefully peeking over with his helmet's cam. Nothing was aimed his way; he scanned the area, activating Ficklehelm and highlighting the skinnies over the TOS. Some were running towards them, and being cut down by soldiers elsewhere; others were running away. More still hunkered down behind cover.

Ducking back out of sight, he spun on his shoes to stare at Volkov through his four-eyed advanced logistical helmet. He glanced at the man, still gurgling slightly, lying on the floor, before slowly picking up his HK416 again. 

After a moment, he radioed in- "Johnston in position, ready to bring in the rain on command and coordinates. Received?"