[b][u]Location:[/u][/b] Somewhere along the Nambo-Balilon Highway, Matanbai

The ZIL-131 shuddered as the driver released the clutch too early again.

She, along with eight other people, had been cooped up in the back of that flatbed since they left Upington over seven hours ago, and by now was convinced the transmission would sooner break free of its mountings, bust through the cab floor and slap the driver for his sins than they would reach the capital where she’d been instructed to go. Only problem was: The briefing did not mention where to go from there or how to contact the rest of the team tasked with hunting down this ‘Hyena’. The driver may have been told by the agent who hired him where exactly to drop her off, or so she hoped.

Speaking of the team, that was another unknown she could only speculate about. Not being told anything told her they weren’t Russian. She heard good things from her comrades who worked a joint op in Kosovo with Green Berets, but would she be given that sort of work after the Chechen Incident? The Devil would sooner rollerblade to work. That left either locals, or mercs. And while members of the local armed forces ought to be able to speak at least English, or even German in the Namibians’ case, she couldn’t find a reason for the Kremlin to care. Helping out a mining corporation in a land rich with diamonds, oil, uranium and whatnot in a deniable manner, on the other hand, that held more water in her mind.

A crunch as the driver missed yet another shift. At this rate the gears would be smooth before Christmas.

If she’d at least had proper equipment for this, but even that didn’t pan out. Her lockpicks stayed in Samara, confiscated by some busybody still shaking in his boots in the wake of ‘9/11’ as the event came to be known. The issued sidearm may have been brand new, but only qualified as ‘cutting edge’ in the sense that she cut her thumb on the magazine when her fingers slipped loading it. The fact that hers was clearly an early production model, as evidenced by the tool marks that gave the impression of the polymer frame having been made by hand with a chisel and the worker’s own teeth, didn’t help. She got lucky with the halligan at least, in that one hardware store in the entirety of Upington that carried this sort of tools. Whoever her team were supposed to be in the near future, at least she wouldn’t have to explain why they got someone trained for a given role who was unable to carry out said role.

Another jolt, this time with a bang, a pull to the right and the cab drooping slightly, followed by a slow stop. The front right was flat, she knew that even before the driver could start swearing, echoing her own thoughts. Sticking her head out from the back of the truck and looking forward, she could see the driver trying to juggle fitting the hydraulic jack into the proper spot and holding a flashlight to see what he was doing. Up north, one could see faint light pollution rising over the horizon from what she assumed to be Tangayi, while the eastern sky showed the first light of the new day. With a resigned sigh, she jumped down on the ground and made her way to the driver to offer help.