You have been selected for Daytrip. You will meet with your team at a luxury resort in the Pacific, and from there, you will continue on to the AO to begin operations. Your initial cover is of a wealthy investor attending a pitch from a new but promising AI research company seeking angel investors [see the attached file for your cover story and related credentials]. Pack and dress appropriately; do not bring anything that will attract attention on a commercial flight. All transportation arrangements have been made, and you will receive further instructions in the coming days.
It is recommended that you come up with a satisfactory cover story for your friends and family; they are potentially liable for any intelligence breach, accidental or otherwise.
Greetings from sunny Seychelles! We at the Mers Claires are grateful you chose us for your trip, and we look forward to serving you. Attached to this message, you'll find confirmation of your villa number, selected amenities, and trip dates. Please don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions. Otherwise, we look forward to seeing you soon!
February 21st, 2014, 0930 L'Hôtel des Mers Claires. A Private Island In The Seychelles
Vitalli "Kennedy" Tkachenko
As far as briefings went, there were worse places to have them.
Vitalii had given the rundown of a dozen operations in a dozen locations ranging from serious, sterile classrooms in the belly of KGB district offices to open-air camps deep behind enemy lines. Never before had he been flown out first-class to give a briefing in a five-star resort. The contrast was almost amusing in how ludicrous it was, and he had reread the pamphlet he had been given over and over on the flight out.
Beautiful beaches, blue water, world-class dining and drinks, private villas designed to look quaintly rustic while still costing more than he made in a month - all very nice, but ultimately not worth getting distracted by. He did spare a thought for the diving tour that was offered, but getting distracted before work even began was a bad idea.
He had shown up early, of course, and his team leaders had arrived a couple of days earlier. The resort staff was under the impression that they were old friends who wanted to meet up in private to reminisce before discussing buisness-which was not entirely false.
But now everyone else was due to arrive. Leaning against the back wall of the small conference room (soundproofed courtesy of the resort and then meticulously checked for bugs by him and his teammates) Vitalii waited patiently, hands tucked into his pockets. Noah was more alert, standing straight-backed as if he were on parade for the Queen. He was always wound tight it seemed, not just ready for action but under the assumption that any situation was moments away from spiralling into violence. Arsala was at least outwardly calmer, sitting in a comfortable chair with her K9 lying between her legs. She had her tablet out, a quick peek telling Vitalii that she was reviewing the files on their team.
It had been his decision who made the cut and who didn't, but ultimately, the only way to gauge someone's mettle was to work with them.
An experienced business class flyer, the man leaned back with a beer, nothing stronger and rested his eyes. The red eye flight was dark and had left late the previous evening had it began to flip from 2300 to 0000 on local time. His book was abandoned to the side and that was if sleep evaded him as it would be a long flight from Scotland to the destination.
He had few people to tell, tell more than a business trip and might not be contactable, he had told his mother that he would be safe and this would help keep the estate in the family. Bills where bills and his extra curricular work helped pay and keep the estate in order so she could Potter about the garden and he lived well on the governments and others pay.
He had not given up the secret but a rare few needed more than to be away for a few weeks, some people had to take care of his affairs and such at home. You could not manage everything alone and some things could not be left alone for weeks at a time.
He had more flyer miles than about 1% of the population so he began to doze off after a beer and the steady thrum of aircraft engines lulled the man to sleep as he relaxed knowing that he could take advantage of comfort for a few days before the work really began. Paid time too, this operation was far more comfortable than briefing in the middle of the deserts of the Middle East around an old yellowish light or some business-like bunker / base with spartan walls and old chairs that probably were thrown out from a jail.
…
“Urgh, star bucks never changes” He said as he chugged an over-priced coffee waiting for his taxi in the hot weather, looking out for a sign from one of the drivers. This company seemed to run on the old fashioned name on a sign and it was easy… no digital apps..just a sign. “Mr Johnothan Le Mariner” it said on the sign as found his driver and rolled his case along dressed in light trousers, a short sleeve shirt and a light jacket with sunglasses and a hat he had picked up in the airport. It fit his cover and he breezed through without much notice or fuss. His prior experience had taught him how to bend in and be as boring as possible so no one gave you a second glance or detailed one at least. He was least able to travel under own name as this was all legit as far as the cover went and business in the country.
He had arrived a day early to settle in before the rush, it let him spend a little time acclimatising to the heat and enjoying an evening at the bar talking to an attractive lady on a business trip for a commercial estate agency who was on their annual company general meeting. Well he was meant to be using a cover story, he lived up to that as he managed to scope out several potential members of their group, too fit too in control and he knew the type. He was used to subterfuge and being attentive to his environment around him.
Truth be told. It was not the first time he had used this cover or attended a real one, just far less fancy than this event. He was hardly that wealthy. Thank you SIS and Diplomatic services for that little skill set. He was a former officer enjoying civilian life after a large inheritance by his father and investing to grow and sustain their ancestral home. A not a lie that also masked the truth.
He had enjoyed a far better coffee, a quiet breakfast that morning overlooking crystal blue seas as his partner that evening had left early morning to appear in her room and get ready for a presentation but he had a business card left on the nightstand. It was walking into the briefing room with a complementary designer bottle of water and snacking on the last bit of a pastry. Placing the expensive hard back note book he acquired for the purpose from Edinburgh he completed his act.
“Good morning, I hope you enjoyed breakfast.” He said casually and sat down in one of the comfortable chairs with a look round the room seeing the woman more calm, the man who seemed to be serious and another who looked like he was on parade for the regimental sergeant major. “Sir Jonathan Le Mariner - Vilkas formerly of Her Majesties multiple services.” He introduced himself calmly with an unhurried tone.
There was no need to rush and no need to cause drama. Calm, relaxed. Business was much easier when you did not cause drama.
Erika's flight had been a comparatively short one. She'd been spending time in Australia, as of late. Some more tactical training and arms-handling for some would-be blockbuster movie. At least this was one of the ones that actually looked interesting, as opposed to some third-rate pap stamped out for one of the streaming services that was trying to capitalise on the mold of some other, much better, film or TV show. The pay hadn't been too bad, and she had to admit to herself that getting to sleep in a comfortable bed and having regular access to all the modern conveniences of living while still getting to play with guns was nice. Not to mention, getting to meet various celebrities and getting to tell them what to do was a neat little quirk. But she did miss doing something more... hands-on, and that had a more direct effect on the world than the fluff and popcorn of the entertainment industry. She wasn't an idealist, or at least; not a hopeless one. But there was something to be said for the satisfaction of knowing you were responsible for changing things. And since she was lucky enough to be able to pick and choose who she worked for, well; it meant she didn't end up trying to jump through hoops to justify why working for the CAA was somehow positive. The invitation to join this Op had been a refreshing change, then. She was unsure exactly what it would be, but she reasoned that if someone had head-hunted her for the job, they knew enough about her to know her morality and ideology and not be stupid enough to try and recruit her for something too seedy or nefarious. And if they were... well, they had paid for her to go to an exclusive Pacific resort. Damn right she was going to take them up on it.
All of this was why she was as stretched out as a woman her size and stature could be in the cabin of the little amphibious turbo-prop plane that was shuttling from the nearest island with a decent-sized airport to the private island where the resort was located. She had a simple suitcase in the hold with the appropriate attire and accoutrements that the cover had specified, and she was due to arrive the afternoon before; just how the flights had worked out. Enough time to scope out the terrain and enjoy the place a little, before the business began. The brief had amused her; it said:
"do not bring anything that will attract attention on a commercial flight."
She'd smirked at that as she'd looked in the mirror. She ended up attracting attention most of the time, outside of a few very specific situations and locales. A swanky, luxury private island resort... well, maybe if it was Jurassic Park and they needed security for the dinosaurs. She figured she'd try and pass herself off as some kind of tech or media company twat; she'd met enough of them working in the film industry to know the type. As such; her outfit was straight-legged jeans, tennis-shoe type sneakers, a women's polo shirt and a lightweight sport jacket. She hated it, but it looked convincing. Especially with the small, rectangular, no-frame cosmetic glasses she'd picked up in the airport duty-free before boarding her flight from Australia. She'd also spent most of the trip engrossed in a tablet, looking very studious and focused. In reality, she'd been listening to music while reading the player manual for a TTRPG. Once she'd arrived, blending in had been easy - everyone else at the resort was too busy with their own fun to pay too much mind to her, and she did them the same courtesy; enjoying the food, drinks, the activities and the hospitality, before quietly retiring for the night when she had a buzz from all the complimentary alcohol she'd been provided with at every other turn.
The next morning, Erika had been delighted to wake up without a hangover, which was impressive given the amount of complimentary cocktails she'd imbibed the night before while enjoying the night life of the resort. A quick dip in the pool to wake her up, exercise, and focus the mind. Then advantage taken of the elaborate breakfast the resort provided, just in time to be ready for the briefing. She'd found the conference room detailed on the small packet of information, and knocked on the door once, before slipping in. She wasn't sure what to expect. She'd been to a variety of briefings of all sorts and in all manner of locations in her years, but this one seemed like a cross between a presentation at an arms fair and a tactical briefing. People who were very clearly more at home or at least more experienced with battlefields than boardrooms, squeezed into suits and clothes they looked uncomfortable in, in surroundings that didn't fit them in the same way. And she didn't really feel much better. Her eyes glanced around at the faces, keeping a pleasant expression on her face, if not smiling widely; but her lips did curve somewhat more as she caught sight of the dog between the woman at the front of the room's legs. She took a seat after that, nodding politely in greeting. As one of the others introduced himself, she smiled and answered. "The breakfast here is amazing. All the food has been - definitely the best location I've been for a briefing. And if introductions are in order, well. A pleasure to meet you, Sir Jonathan. I'm Erika Van Straaten. Formerly of the SANDF, but more recently a freelance consultant"
February 21st, 2014, 0930 L'Hôtel des Mers Claires. A Private Island In The Seychelles
Vitalli "Kennedy" Tkachenko
Four sets of eyes (and one pair of ears) perked up as the first operative entered the room, the human team leaders and the canine sidekick all watching as Jonathan took his place. Vitalii could see Arsala opening the file on the second SBS man and was spurred to run through his resume. A Scotsman who had joined the Royal Marines as soon as he was of age, passed through Sandhurst to become an officer before hopping into dark operations with the Boat Service, saw action in Iraq before being invited into MI6 to collect kompromat and the like.
All in all, not disimiliar from Noah. The older commando hadn't indicated that they had worked together when Daytrip was in the planning phase, and a bit of mental math comparing their ages made it clear they couldn't have-Vilkas would only have been in the service a couple years by the time Agnew was being sent to Italy deep cover. Still, being from the same service would hopefully mean that they worked well together.
"Good morning." Kennedy said politely, his greeting matched by only a dip of the head from Noah and a vague grunt from Templeton, still engrossed in her reading.
A woman arrived next, and a damned big one to boot-had a face carved up like someone had used it as a butcher's block. That was Van Straaten, the Boer-Afrikaner. Joined the SANDF only a few years-post Apartheid, was mostly involved in border security until the Heavenfall hit and then saw action against various dissidents and criminal elements. She hopped into the Special Forces after a few years and saw real combat against peer or near-peer forces. After an incident in which her team was potentially sold out, she was discharged with some new scars as souvenirs. After that she devoted herself to anti-poaching activities. She was so devoted in fact that she formed her own personal, quite possibly illegal operation that cost her job, and since then had been working in entertainment and more recently a PMC.
An interesting woman, to say the least. She hadn't been Kennedy's first choice; while he could respect someone who was dedicated to their principles her willingness to do things her way had given him pause. Still, Arsala had convinced him to bring her on. As she noted, the Recces were hardcore, all of them parachute qualified and used to long treks through hard terrain with little supplies. Compared to the Americans or the old Soviet groups they lacked foreign operational experience, but individually they were more than professional.
Vitalli had been about to speak up when Arsala received a notification on her pad, the American turning it so he could see.
"Der'mo...fine. Alright everyone, we're starting strong with a cock-up. There were concerns about surveillance, which, while ultimately minor, still means that the rest of our merry band are being delayed in arrival.
His English was grammatically perfect, albeit somewhat stilted and oddly flat in intonation.
We will meet them on sight, which means you two get the briefing all to yourselves. I'm Vitalli, callsign Kennedy. I give the orders around here, but let's refrain from the sir stuff, yes? These two are my Team Leads, Arsala aka Templeton and Noah aka Scouse."
The pair dutifully nodded to the others, Arsala scratching behind her dog's ears as Noah shifted on the balls of his feet.
We'll do proper introductions later, but for now let's focus on the job at hand. I will be giving you all the important pieces, but the entire report will be available for you to read on your datapads. So-"
He pushed off against the wall and stepped aside, his two team leads following suit as she produced a small remote from his pocket. With the press of a button the lights dimmed and a projector turned on, producing a satellite image of-.
"San Borondon. Discovered by the Spanish and named after the mythical island of Saint Brendan, it's about one and a half times the size of Taiwan with a population of fifty million. About twenty-five percent of that is their capital city of Les Tirailleurs in the north, another sixth in the smaller city of Whitmore in the south, the rest is scattered across towns and villages around the island. First owned by the Spaniards, then the French, then the English, and finally the Japanese before declaring independence, it's extremely multicultural, with Spanish, French, and English as official languages and plenty of others coming in from World War era forced labor migration and more recent refugees from Heavenfall."
The slideshow progressed, displaying three photographs: one in black and white of a dignified older man, the second in color of someone younger, perhaps college-aged, and the third a digital picture of a middle-aged military officer gesticulating in the middle of a speech. The first two were clearly related, with the same straw colored hair and European features. The final subject was of different blood judging by the streaks of black in his mostly grey mane and his obvious Asian heritage. Old burns decorated his face and hands, the skin paler and smoother in patches compared to the rest of his tanned features.
"After ousting the Japanese Borondon was ruled by the King Alonso Acosta the second, who you see behind me. His family was set up by the Spanish to rule as local governors. They were Western-educated, extremely wealthy, and spent the war in comfortable exile in London. Still, he's a symbol of national pride so the people welcome him back with open arms. His son, Cristóbal, is much less liked. He relies on the army to force people into compliance and then makes the mistake of cutting their pay. He was killed in 1970 and replaced by the man at the top of our to-do list, General Henri Cheung."
They had all heard the name in the initial pitch that had brought them on board. Still, some things bore repeating.
"He is no pushover, a hardcore army officer who refused to give up names when the monarchists tortured him. Cheung starts fine but as the decades go on he falls back on the usual to maintain power. Suppression of the media, corruption as a way of governing, the imprisonment and killing of dissidents. An unpleasant person, but a smart one. He benefits greatly from the Heavenfall as Borondon is so remote that it was largely spared. In the wake of the event he makes some powerful friends whose interests do not align with the N/UN, namely the New Central African Alliance and megacorporations such as Montrose Incorporated, Universal Manufacturing Conglomerate, and NeoDyne Technologies. They give him cash and supply his forces with weapons and training, he sends excess population to work for them and provides land that they use to set up manufacturing facilities. It's also all but confirmed that he allows multiple criminal organizations to operate within the country in exchange for protection money and the occasional use of their muscle."
Kennedy turned away from the screen, eyes straining in the darkness as he looked over his team.
"The N/UN wants him gone. His regime presents a subtle but insidious threat to their interests and the stability of the region but they can't invade a non-aggressive state without risking retaliation from the Africans and the mega-corps, not to mention that attacking the country is more likely to make the populace rally around him. That's why we're going in. We'll be dropped off via smuggler plane to meet up with a coalition of left and right-wing guerrillas, and from there we'll form a plan of action. Our goal is straightforward: capture or eliminate Henri Cheung and his key organization members to pave the way for a more amenable government. Any questions thus far?"
As he spoke Arsala handed out tablets to Hippo and Tepid, a sticky note with the temporary passcode attached to each.
Country Information Name: San Borondon. Named after the mythical Saint Brendan's Island by the Spanish, it's kept its name through the centuries under different governments.
Size: Roughly 20,000 square miles, or around 1.5 times the size of Taiwan
Population: Approximately 50 million. Almost a quarter of that is in its capital city, Les Tirailleurs (usually just called Tira by locals). Another sixth of the population lives in Borondon's second-largest city, Whitmore. The remainder is split between various towns and villages across the island.
Language: Its official languages are Spanish, French, and English, although Cantonese is commonly spoken due to the huge influx of laborers brought in by the Japanese from Guangdong and Hong Kong. Other common languages are Russian, Mandarin, Arabic, and Hindi, introduced to the island by the waves of refugees brought by the Heavenfall.
Overview: San Borondon is the archetypal post-colonial state: unstable and reeling from a long history of being pillaged by foreign powers, with political boundaries that don't adhere to traditional tribal regions, a strong distrust of the West, and natural resources still ripe for plundering. This is of course a gross simplification, but it's not entirely inaccurate.
The tragic fact is that San Borodon has a vibrant and eclectic culture formed from the mixing of ancient traditions, European and African influences, and later Chinese immigration. Food, language, and music are shaped by this broad mixture of identities, but its overshadowed by the country's tragic past.
A large island nation in the Pacific, San Borondon is remote, sitting approximately three thousand miles away from Hawaii. Discovered by the Spanish in the late 1600s, the island was found to be rich in natural resources (namely gold). This and its tropical climate, well-suited to a variety of cash crops, made it a target for the European empires. It switched hands from the Spanish to the French to the English, and briefly during World War 2, the Japanese. Throughout its three hundred-year occupation, San Borondon's native peoples fought an on-and-off guerrilla war against the various foreigners.
The island was skipped during the island-hopping campaign of the Pacific Theatre but supplies and training from the American OSS and British SOE allowed it to liberate itself, the local resistance movement overcoming the Japanese garrison and declaring sovereignty. Britain, focused on rebuilding and already embroiled in colonial disputes in India, Malaya, and Kenya, was uninterested in fighting to keep a relatively small and incredibly distant portion of its empire. San Borondon was thus independent.
The monarchic Kingdom of San Borondon was ruled by the Acosta family, the descendants of the lineage put in power by the Spanish to run the colony. Western-educated and obscenely wealthy, the royal family was nevertheless seen as a symbol of Borondonian pride and largely supported by the people. King Alonso II, the hugely popular exiled leader, returned to rule throughout the 1950s.
San Borondon was essentially in the middle of nowhere but occupied an important strategic space as a midpoint between the Americas and Asia. Thus, it spent the Cold War being courted by both sides. Alonso cleverly played the East and West against each other, publicly leaning one way and then the other to leverage material support and training. The country dealt in a huge amount of shipping as well as the sale of natural resources, but the wealth remained with a few important families and their friends/investors. Most of the island lived in poverty, with those on the coast subsisting on fishing and those inland mining, farming, or working in the cities. The capital was essentially a larger Kowloon, millions of people packed into high-rise tenements and shanties. This was, of course, a breeding ground for crime, with foreign and domestic gangs seeking to control the smuggling on the island.
Alonso, popular though he was, failed to solve the island's overarching problems. Towards the end of his reign there was growing discontent, and when he died in 1960 his son, Cristóbal, inherited a shaky situation.
Cristóbal was not up to the task. Raised in luxury outside of San Borondon, he had little attachment to the island and was more interested in hobnobbing with celebrities than he was in caring for his people. Half-hearted economic reforms failed to restore their trust in the monarchy so Cristóbal used oppression and fear to maintain power. This was not to last, as budget cuts to the military made his officers turn on him. By 1970 Cristóbal was dead and his family thrown out of the country, replaced by President Owen Granger. Granger, initially well-respected, was plagued by rumors of sexual impropriety and having collaborated with Imperial Japan. While these rumors started organically, they were seized upon by his political rival General Henri Cheung. Granger resigned in 1975, and General Cheung took power shortly after.
By virtue of overthrowing the now-hated monarchy (and putting the blame for all of the nation's problems on them), Cheung began his reign as Interim President with high popularity. He continued in his predecessors' footsteps by treading a line between NATO and the Warsaw Pact, and worked to balance his approval by the right and left wings of his own country. He presented his regime as a return to traditional values abandoned by the late King Cristóbal and now-deposed Granger while implementing a literacy drive inspired by Castro's. Although there was still discontent Cheung was far more adept at managing it than previous rulers, wielding both carrot and stick to keep himself in power.
There were multiple attempts on his life through the decades, each one causing him to tighten his grip. By the end of the 90s he was unpopular but viewed as a lesser evil than what came before. Elections had ceased and civil rights were curtailed, but San Borondon maintained course.
The cataclysmic Heavenfall was something of a blessing in disguise for the country, as its remote location meant that it was spared from most of the destruction. The shipping industry that had sustained it for so long was of course hugely reduced and there were no more Eastern or Western blocs from which it could source funds, but General Cheung was quick to make new friends.
With the balance of power shifting south, he allied himself with the New Central African Alliance. The burgeoning alliance was growing quickly and needed cheap labor to expand, and San Borondon now had a huge number of refugees that it could not afford to care for. A deal was struck, the excess population being essentially loaned out to the NCAA for construction and manufacturing. Meanwhile, the rising megacorporations were looking for places willing to host their facilities. Montrose Incorporated, Universal Manufacturing Conglomerate, and NeoDyne Technologies all courted General Cheung, and in addition to yearly payments directly to him, they agreed to supply his military with weapons, vehicles, and other equipment in exchange for land rights and exemption from pollution controls. In addition to the semi-legal skullduggery of the megacorps, the General is widely suspected of condoning the entirely illegal activities of various criminal syndicates. San Borondon is a known midpoint for arms, drug and human trafficking, and international authorities believe that Cheung tolerates the activities of local and foreign gangs in exchange for a cut of the profits and use of their muscle.
As of the current day, the regime's enemies are a strange assortment spanning the political spectrum. The left wing considers Cheung a vicious crony capitalist of the worst type, openly selling the nation out to big business and organized crime to enrich himself and his favored lackeys. The right sees him as an opportunistic liar who talked tough about returning to traditional values and supporting San Borondon's middle and upper classes, but in actuality allowed immorality to flourish while choking local industry in support of foreign interests.
Finally, the N/UN simply cannot overlook San Borodon any longer. As a satellite nation (or at least, ally of) the hostile NCAA and the amoral megacorporations, it presents a threat to the safety and stability of the N/UN's constituent nations, not to mention its repressive treatment and forced disappearance of its own citizens as well as its encouragement of international crime. That said, the N/UN cannot simply march in and replace the General with a leader they like more without angering both the NCAA and the corps, and even if it wanted to risk retaliation, it's stretched too thin to do so. It simply cannot deploy the manpower required to overthrow a fairly stable and very well-armed government. Not to mention that with San Borondon's history of resistance against imperial powers, any conventional action is likely to cause the population to rally around their leader.
He listened to the introductions and kept a close eye on the room and the people, they all seemed solid professionals and the real deal, not just the kind that had come from a back office posting looking to be a hero or would get others killed.
South Africa was a tough country and corruption aside, there was a lot of corruption. It bred them tough and tested them harder. This larger woman was definitely made of tough stuff having survived everything as a woman in Africa no less. She might not have been as technically skilled in some areas but she very likely had a skill Base that was very broad and would make a dependable member all round.
“A pleasure Miss Erika Van Statren” he said a little formally matching her use of his name, maybe he was playing with her a bit but he had to make briefings less dry. They never wore anything fun even in the comfort they had. “Thankfully my visit to your beuterful country was in a suit.” He said as he has been a diplomatic courier, somthing he was glad as fighting in Africa sucked regardless… no one was on any side and you always had to watch your own back.
He turned his head to focus on the commanders and his people, an woman and a man who seemed to be at a permanent parade status, unbending and locked, hopefully he not lock his knees and faint half way though. Plenty had made that mistakes.
The others seemed solid and professional, of by nature he guessed the senior man was from Russia, Ukraine, maybe Belarus, late cold war. The woman and a rather fearsome dog, she had her animal under strict control so he doubted she was a soft touch.
Taking the tablet he quickly typed the code in and skimmed the document, they wnated a off tbe books job. Expected. Probbly would want to add a machete or a large kukri to his gear requisitions as the terrain and foliage was likely rugged to the say the least. The history, mixed groups, military strong men, wealth, corruption amd all that was pretty much within the normal expectations.
“Mr Kenedy, sure you not used John before as a alials?” He however turned more serious as he pulled up a map and skimmed over some of the add on data. “These groups reliable, Coalition can be…shakey? Left, right tend to cross purposes.? Anyone particularly high value or off the target lists?“ the rest seemed pretty normal back ops etc, infiltrate and all that, non govement actors and all that stuff. Limited support but that was par for course for the shadow operations and paid very well because of it.
“I might have .. traveled into the unamed Stans and few groups and I… do not see eye to eye, I assume we not got a linked Islamist groups in locality?” He asked as he remembered how things on Pakistan had turned rather less well for them and his team got exposed by a intel leak thanks to a local middle man turning double agent, they had to leave the country ASAP and leave the mission to a later date and another team.
He really did not have many questions, it eas a pretty simple job and he doubted they cared how it was done long as the target was dead.
Erika listened to the briefing attentively. Her eyes flicked between speakers and faces in the room, and she nodded at the right points, or as things jogged her memory. She's heard of San Borondon in passing; her own curiosity and reading about the world and places in it had covered the small island nation, as well as sporadic news stories through the years. Ultimately, she wasn't overly surprised that the N/UN had their eyes on taking the government down and ending the dictatorship that was in place. It had been growing more and more notable, and with the expanding contact and interaction with powers hostile to the N/UN, it wasn't surprising that it had been pushed up the list for a 'quiet' change of government, by way of a 'nudge' from outside parties.
When the brief came to an end, the other man she'd determined was a 'hired gun' like her introduced himself in an amicable, if somewhat stiffly formal way. She smiled at his comment regarding South Africa, and nodded to his greeting. "And to meet you, Sir Le Mariner. I'm glad you got a good impression of South Africa". She'd picked up on his Scottish accent and her smile remained in place as she continued, her own distinct accent a good match for his. "And I'd guess from your accent you're from Scotland; a place I've never had the chance to visit so far, but I've worked with a good few of your countrymen - all of them dependable, and characters larger than life. I'm sure you'll live up to the image well".
The call for questions or comments came as they were handed the tablets. She skimmed over hers; a lot of it was a more in-depth dossier of the countries' history and concentrating on the ins-and-outs of the government hierarchy and succession, from what she gathered. Her interest was more around the tactical considerations and operational realities, and she looked up from the tablet as questions formed in her mind. "The background info seems fairly solid, and I think I've got the jist. But as far as the op goes - who out of you all are coming with us?" she said with a jut of her chin toward their contacts. "I assume at least one or two. Equipment and TO&E; are we taking stuff with us on the plane, or will it all be in place?" She glanced across to Le Mariner, giving him an opportunity to say anything he had, and wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue before she spoke up again. "And one last question; will we have official ID's while in-country, or are we completely deniable and shadows? Smuggled in, and non-existent while we're there; no or minimal contact with the public?"
"As funny as it might have been, no." Kennedy grinned, the smile not quite meeting his eyes. "Had such been the case the Cold War would have no doubt gone differently."
He missed those times. Everything was simpler before a bunch of thrice-damned meteors came screaming out of the sky to shatter the order of things.
Ah, but that was just the old man in him talking. Back then, he had been creeping around, slitting throats and training insurgents, much the same as he was doing now. Ultimately, the difference was one of pay scale-best not to let the glory days of duty and honor distract him.
He took the questions as they came, feeling much like a schoolteacher presented with precocious students.
"They're about as reliable as you can expect. They hate each other and will no doubt start bombing each other's neighborhoods once the Cheung regime is out but until then they're willing to play nice. Like China when Japan invaded, eh? Everyone on our hit list is of roughly equal priority, save of course for the big man himself, but we'll be hitting them in whatever order the opportunity presents itself. As far as we know there are no major Muslim militias in San Borondon, but with all the refugees looking for safe harbor post Heavenfall, who knows? Hopefully there's not a fatwah against you."
Hippo's turn came next, Vitalli glancing at the Afrikaanner before leaning over to scratch behind the dog's ears.
"All three of us, er, four of us will be coming along although we might not be right behind you at all times. We'll split up and regroup as the mission requires. As we have to fly out of this lovely little resort before moving on to the AO, all gear will be smuggled in for us. Our first stop is a rebel camp in the lowlands where we can unpack, meet some of the friendlies. Depending on how long we're there we'll be reliant on resupply from the outside world, but we'll cross that bridge when we reach it. As for covers, well...
He gave a low whistle and a blase shrug, looking to his companions briefly.
"We will not exist there. If caught, we will be viewed as mercenaries and treated accordingly. While we will almost certainly need to interact with the average citizen in some way we are going to do our best to stay unknown.
Hippo nodded in understanding as the answers came back, plain and simple with no obfuscation; just the way she liked it. It all seemed straightforward so far - or, at least; as straightforward as such things could be. "I don't have any further questions right now - there's not anything else I can really comment on until we're there and looking at it as it happens. I'm sure that's when it'll all get a lot more complicated to the point there will be more questions from all of us," she said with a half-smirk. "Especially with all the groups you're talking about being involved with and having to coordinate with too".
