Scott had huddled down behind the 249, laid prone behind what little cover he could find. He'd managed to find a position with a good angle of fire into the compound, and when Jan gave the order, he opened up with a good deal of suppressive fire. The para stock of the light machine-gun kicked into his shoulder as it thundered away. Empty casings and spent link tumbled to the floor in a waterfall of jingling metal as he liberally laid a pattern down to keep the insurgents away from Zhenya and Jan as they advanced to the door. He tagged a couple of hostiles who were brave enough to poke their heads out to fire; the 5.56mm rounds spun them around, or danced them like puppets on jerky strings before they collapsed, blood mingling with the dusty soil. 
Rounds snapped past his helmet, and he swiveled in position, hosing a stream of rounds in the direction of fire, and was rewarded as another man went down. 
"No targets," he announced as the Jan and Zhenya reached the door and breached with a charge. Picking up the gun, he dashed over to cover the rear angle as the pair entered the building.