Location: Somewhere in the South Pacific.
A container vessel floated along in the waves. Suddenly, it began to rise above the water, exposing a series of eight vertically-oriented rotors attached to the bottom. After the ship was completely out of the water, four rotated a quarter-turn, and began to push the ship forward. It quickly picked up speed and altitude - someone watching closely might have seen the containers flickering as it flew away.
"Alright, listen up ladies," said the Vice President of Operations for Global Parcel Delivery*
, which was without question a simple postal service and in no way, shape or form responsible for strings of Warwalker raids across the globe
. The scars and grim look on his face contrasted his cheery outfit, the company uniform for summer - white-and-yellow colored shorts and a shirt, with a brimless yellow hat. He continued to address the deliverymen*
who were gathered around the table of the conference room. "You've got a special delivery to make - and the client's paying extra to airmail it pronto." He pressed a few buttons on his laptop, causing the screens around the room to display a satellite image of Cuba. Soon after, an image popped up, showing the schematics for some sort of technical facility.
"Turns out the Cubans are trying to play with the big boys. Intelligence indicates they've been receiving the tech needed to start constructing centrifuges - that is your main - and only - critical objective. Our clients don't really care if they wind up having launch capabilities - not as if one of those things could slip past the missile shields - but they still don't want some big conflict between the Cubans and every other major Latin nation right in our backyard irradiating the Gulf- that shit might fly for the Russians, but not them. Because of that, any sort of launch facility will be a secondary priority. It's a bonus if you can raze everything, but as long as you get the main buildings, we'll get paid."
The pop-up closed, and the map zoomed in on an island to the southwest of the main island, then further focused on a heavily-forrested on the southwest. "Isla de la Juventud - or however the hell it's pronounced, you can see the name on the screen - is being turned into some sort of damned militarized island. The Chinese are believed to be the ones giving them the tech, so it's also possible that they've been shipping weapons too. While resistance is expected to be lighter than what you're used to, you still might find small amounts of general, motorized, and mechanized infantry, gun emplacements, hell, everything short of a Warwalker; they might be outdated, worn-out, and slow relics from the last World War, but make no mistake, they are still machines of war, and they will
kill your sorry asses should you get cocky. As for the facilities themselves, it's too soon for them to be online or fueled, so you don't have to worry about any radioactivity this time around. If we're wrong, well... your cockpits should protect you. Reason we're not so sure is because they've camo-tarped miles of the forest, so we don't know what's under those sheets. We do
know where they've got the tarps up, though, so you'll be dropping a few miles north of that general area, locating the main complexes, and then extracting along the coast on the southwest."
"One other thing - you'll have an audio program uploaded to your onboard system, which when activated will play one of the pre-recorded messages - most of them are something about the glorious Jihad to save Gaia from the bourgeoisie or some nonsense - but we're getting paid extra if, every now and then, you hit the 'play' button, and maybe even leave a few survivors to report back."
"Now," the Vice President stood up, "any questions? You drop in three hours."
Occam's Tweezers: The simplest solution is the best way to lose your job security.