Imran finished sealing the last crate back through, into the secured position, the airlock damaged but intraversable unless you waded some serious industrial equipment down here- something he'd leave for the Brazilians to go through themselves when needed. Moving up, the exoskeletoned soldier clambering up the stairs rapidly, he arrived at the top and saw the aftermath of what was going on, every last man dead. The noise of a tilt-rotor V22 could be heard in the distance, as Imran moved back up, to ground level from the submerged region. Antoine and Howard had been vicious in purging the last, and Svetlana's M134 and the several barrels it had finally no longer spewed.
"All Scimitar units, back to my location, middle of the compound. Got a smoke LZ up- we are leaving- Howard, leave it to the SF, they'll die in this jungle if they don't get found anyway, and they can remind their paymasters we weren't fucking around today." Imran simply said, as he checked his Mk48, holding the weapon in one hand as he saw Svetlana walk over, the mailed fist of Scimitar along with the axe-wielding Viking that was Viking coming over two, reinforcing the idea that you didn't take them out with regular methods, such as bullets or grenades or whatever. Heavier things would do, but still...even Imran, in what he knew, could acknowledge a few reasons why not to fuck with them. The V22 began it's approach, coming down hard a few meters away from the smoke, as Antoine and Howard were coming back, the femme fatale and the Mohican bushman who was again, literally wearing a bush that Imran reminded himself was a tactical ghillie suit, were proud of their work.
"Nicely done again. SF are a minute out, I say we leave, while we can- the vehicles will make their way back to us, that logistics' problem to deal with." Imran simply said, as he watched the rest of the team move into the V22, to get extracted. Eventually, as everyone piled in, Heavies at the back in particular, the tiltrotor kicked up dust and was out of the AO as soon as it entered, headed back to Rio to get them flown out to Bouvet back on the C17, and again, ready for whatever was needed.

Two Days Later
Bouvet Island
0500 Hours

It was early morning, and yet Imran had already gone for his morning run. The subterreanean site was useful, as there was a lot more to it than you'd expect. And finding Svetlana, doing pull ups off a bar in the gym in her tight....gym equipment was an understatement for what any man would see if they even spent a second in there. But for now, Imran was doing a circuit of the runway, cleared of ice, as he saw the cool glacier's air. He wore a Nike T-Shirt as well as his Turban in combination with his jogging bottoms, this being combined with a pair of earphones, that had some [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcJ-wNmazHQ]badass rock[/url] loudly playing, as he ran past the coastal sea defenses, the tetrapods and sea wall holding the aggressive South Atlantic from eroding the base away. The former Norwegian Airbase had been almost completely unknown to NATO and even Argentine or UK forces, it was completely and totally unknown- and the way Scimitar had it, was simply through them simply not requiring such a presence in this part of the world any longer. The clouds were only parted by the sun in places, but it was cold, and running had brought Imran's body temperature, used to the searing heat of Pakistan, to something reasonable. He had some people to contact when he got back- new blood, blood Scimitar would need to combat replace a few people, and it was something he was used to. Svetlana was a rather permanent feature, as was Howard and Antoine, but others sometimes came and went. And as he began to finish the lap, already feeling pumped as the song ended and he paced past the vehicle depot, he exhaled hard, looking at his wrist. Five seconds off. Not bad, considering this morning was about ten degrees colder at -20 than last time, and he had to be careful not to pull a muscle.

Meanwhile in the gym, and Svetlana, wearing a sports bra and a tight pair of underwear, was doing what any man would simply want to happily die watching, as she kept on pulling herself up and down on the metal pipe on the roof of the gym, the small but concentrated gym having everything, and anything. For Svetlana and Bjorn in particular, a few concrete blocks and various other strongman equipment had been placed in one end, that Imran would only ever imagine lifting with his exoskeleton, and even then, it would be hard. This was in stark contrast to the normality, or at least, for SF operators, what a gym would look like, with appropriate kit. Svetlana would lift it regularly, whilst armored up, a big concrete ball and happily carry it 50m, to place it on a pedestal- this was strongwoman training, and it was something that was harsh on the hands and muscles, leading to occasional injuries that the physios themselves even grossed out in, but managed to fix. Somehow, Svetlana was more competent at just taking the pain, getting a set of bandages on or pushing it back into place, and onward. And that was fine, as she pulled up, her two melons wobbling accordingly, aware that she hung about 10m off the ground, above the rowing equipment. At this hour of the morning, some were just asleep, and others just did activities. One level below the gym, was the training grounds, both VR and a specialized compartment including a salt-water tank and a CQC training ground, where Svetlana would sometimes...well, have some fun.