"Great, suppressors are fucking useless then. Frontal fucking assault. Who the fuck plans this shit." Katya growled the words practically. For a moment it seemed her anger had passed. However in an almost dramatic fashion, she bent her rifle cleanly, until it was almost folded, before tossing it away. It seemed her bad intel, on the intentions of this mission had her feeling quite sour. She pondered the armory for a moment. Wondering what would serve as a reliable alternative. The muscular Russian wanted...no she needed something big, that spat fire, and rained death.
Seeing as flamethrowers were outlawed by the Geneva conventions, something much louder than fire would have to do. Hostages weren't a concern anymore, and as a result she seemed to really truly consider the explosive option. However that option wouldn't work once they got inside, at least launched explosives wouldn't, so she was limited to ballistic firearms. Pondering a heavy machine gun, an curious grin crossed her face. It was Russian, and while it was old like the rifle she had bent in half, it was much...much bigger. It was the Kord 6P50. Though it had been redesigned to fit the ergonomics required by a single infantry man. It was given a proper pistol grip, and a full stock. A comfortable front hand guard, and a carry handle atop it that could be used to improve hip fire accuracy to some degree.
Picking it up with ease, Katya hefted it like it was an M16 to a regular soldier. Holding it by the carrying handle, she grabbed up box after box of ammunition belts. Strapping them to herself, as she changed the pouches on her load bearing gear, to the pouches supplied to carry boxes of ammunition. They were a larger variant of the ones that PKP gunners used. Kat couldn't fit much on her person, only around five boxes of ammunition, along with the one in her new gun, which gave her 300 rounds of ammunition to rip the enemy apart with. On a positive note her body was freed up to carry more shotgun shells. Including slugs, and incendiary rounds...which she did her best to keep secret, as they were her person stash.
She looked more like a walking gun emplacement than a woman all things said. What was usually a mounted machine gun hanging from her body. Strained pouches, filled with heavy ammunition boxes, ready to just slaughter Black Steel Agents. Lines upon lines of 10 round magazines, filled with death dealing twelve gauge shells, dotting her torso, her belt, even her upper thighs, and back. A folded saiga 12 resting on the small backpack she had, waiting for its turn to join the close quarters battle inside the compound. Within it a 20 round magazine was jammed inside, loaded with alternating buckshot, and incendiary ammunition.
"Wish there was a portable tank gun, could just blow our way through the walls." She muttered to herself, as she checked her hatchets again, making sure she could reach them, even with the massive machine gun strapped to her body. She racked the bolt of the weapon back, giving a sigh,
"Oh well, minor overkill will have to sate my rage for now!" Katya chuckled wildly for a moment...this was a very personal thing for the Russian. After all, the Black Steel had recently attacked her country, and killed so many of her friends.
As a final going away gift, she grabbed a few hand grenades, and some flash bangs. Finding spare space on her body for them. Barely pushed close to her limits by the weight on her. She walked with ease, clanking a bit with each step it seemed. As her gun banged into her body, and the belt jiggled back and forth some.
"I just hope we'll get a ride there, I don't want to walk."