He was assigned to be under command of the die-hard, no-nonsense British guy who Viking only knew by one name; Merlin. Either his callsign was one of utter laziness, or he would himself witness that soldier create a magical chaos out of their first mission. Viking was not sure what to expect, but he gave a nod as he looked at his - for now - commander. 

"I'll do my best not to flinch at the various species of mosquitos that'll certainly bite me, Merlin. I have a tendency to be quite the attractive blood bag to them, you see."

[b]Chink[/b]. The bolt of his HK416 slid back into its position as Viking checked his personal favourite firearm one last time. His trusted friend through thick and thin -  Viking liked to think of them as flatmates, taking care of each other no matter how tricky they each could behave sometimes - would have its baptism in fire in a new enviorment, though Viking knew that they would both pull through. 

They had to; Viking had still not gone through his "1000 movies you have to watch before you die"-book, and he was sure the terrorist-fuckers surely wouldn't hear his plead. 

Merlin threw a comment in Viking's way, one that Viking completely failed to understand, making him look at the others in the chopper hoping someone would explain the joke. No one did. 

"Any intel on any persons of interest down there? If there's someone we definietly not should shoot there, I'd like to know now."