Jarek listened to the briefing making mental notes along the way. That small patch of land was currently inhabited by a group of less than friendly individuals. Creatures too weak to fight, instead resorting to things even Stalin wouldn’t do. Probably.

A raid on a small island, at two in the morning and in a fishing village whose builders obviously never heard of right angles, and probably not even materials that could resist a bullet. He couldn’t tell from the photos. A lot of dark  places for someone to hide in, not to mention the buildings. That meant something balanced, maneuverable, mounting a short barrel and a powerful flashlight for safety’s sake. As much as it bugged him, once again he had to compliment the ČZUB for creating a failure. He would gladly deliver his form of justice through a piece of metal and polymers carefully machined by golden Czech hands, but the latest products and decisions in this area ranged from pitiful to downright stupid. Calling it “BREN” was just a final insult. Western neighbours were once again the go-to people, in the form of a 416. One could even think they were trying to undo their past mistakes with their services.

After the briefing was finished, he walked out into the warm evening and set off to get ready for the upcoming mission. “Bloody religion.” he sighed as he disappeared inside the gunshop to prepare his rifle, quietly humming a song.