The U.S.S. Discovery kept moving along toward the objective, always moving, getting in position. Onboard, a man, dressed in neoprene, including a removable hood, equipped with goggles, a LAR-V Draeger rebreather, flippers over combat boots, and a 3005 Special Operations Tactical holster, without any weapons, stepped inside a small container, about seven feet in length, and two Navy seamen closed the entrance, loading the Swimmer Delivery Vehicle into the torpedo tube.
The men counted off. "Three, two, one, fire!" the men yelled. A third seaman pressed a red button, launching the mini-sub to its location. Inside, Solid Snake shook violently as the force of the torpedo tube propelled him to the island. He fought violently to keep his head from hitting the top of the SDV, and gripped on for dear life. It was like this for about five minutes, when finally, it was calm enough to loosen up a bit and think about the mission.
Liquid Snake, Snake thought. Liquid Snake. Former SAS and SIS. POW. FOX-HOUND squad leader. Deadly warrior. Why would he go rogue? Was he pissed off at the military system? Maybe one of the hostages? World domination? Was he Islamic, and wanted to kill off "The Great Satan?" Finally, the special operator stopped thinking about it. Better to save your strength, Snake. You still got it man?
Time to find out.
The SDV came to a slow pace, allowing Snake to push out the entrance to the SDV. Coiling up, the warrior shoved off and kicked toward the surface, both legs moving in the same direction simultaneously, arms to the side, making him move quicker. His rebreather recycled his CO2 and, using a mixed gas system and several filters, turned it into oxygen. Snake had about two hours on the rebreather left, but he wouldn't need that long. It's only be a few minutes before he'd surface.
That's where the fun and games began.
... ... ...
The underground storage facility was the worst place to be pulling guard duty, at least in the mind of James Raymonds. He was former SEAL Team Six, and knew all about suffering, the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL school, or BUD/S, being a masochist's dream. But stuck under the surface in steadily dropping Arctic temperatures, his body was being pushed to the limits.
As he turned around, a wraith slowly emerged from the water, surveying his scenery. The white clad commando sentry sneezed, rubbed his nose through the ashen balaclava, then turned around, missing the intruder. As he walked toward the eastern side of the basement, he saw his buddy, Bill Macintosh, talking with the commander, Liquid Snake.
Raymonds shuddered. Liquid Snake was the most fearsome man he had ever known, and one of the original Sons of Big Boss, being born of his cells, one of his only two children. Liquid had survived four years of torture and interrogation in Iraq, being made to do things such as wipe defecate from his glutemus maximus and licking his fingers clean. It was a good thing the Delta Force detachment got him when he did. Raymonds had been in on that briefing, and had seen the man, starved, ribs exposed, face sunken, poisoned, on the verge of death. Now, he was the personification of Death.
"Stay alert!" he ordered to Macintosh. "He'll be through here...I know it." Bill snapped to attention and pointed his rifle toward heaven, looking straight ahead. After two seconds at standing at the position of attention, Macintosh resumed his previous stance.
"I'm going to swat down a couple of bothersome flies..." he growled, his British accented voice sounding extremely annoyed. Macintosh ignored it and went back to his patrol. The klaxon horn sounded off as Liquid was elevated back toward the ground level. I'm coming for you, Solid Snake, he thought, crossing his arms as the view of the storage facility steadily disappeared from his vision.
By this time, Solid Snake had surfaced on the western side, sitting on some stairs, discarding his flippers. He kept the rest, just in case he needed a quick escape to the water. Walking up another small flight of stairs, he took a knee and activated the Codec communications system.
Colonel Roy Campbell's craggy, aged face filled his wristwatch screen. "This is Snake," he whispered to the screen. "Colonel, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear," the colonel affirmed. "What's the situation, Snake?"
"Looks like the elevator in the back is the only way up," Snake muttered, obviously disappointed. He was hoping for it to be slightly easier, but then again, nothing was easy in this business.
"Just as I expected," Campbell sighed. "You'll have to take the elevator to the surface, but make sure nobody sees you. If you need to, contact me by Codec. The frequency is 140.85. When you want to use the Codec, activate the transmitter. When we need to contact you, the Codec will beep. When you hear that noise, activate the transmitter."
Jesus, you think I'm in first grade or something, old man? Snake thought, the cocked eyebrow beneath his hood conveying the same message, which Campbell couldn't see. "The Codec's receiver directly stimulates the small bones of your ear. No one but you will be able to hear it."
"Got it," Snake said. "Okay, I'm ready to go." Snake tapped the transmitter with two fingers and killed the connection, now looking over to his other wrist screen. It displayed a red dot with sky blue cone, heading to his location. He was safe only because a heat generator block the white clad guard's vision. Slowly, the FOX-HOUND commando crawled underneath the generator, removing his S23A7 prototype binoculars, with a zoom capability of one kilometer. It was a powerful scope, and would be useful in this covert operation.
Peering through the scope, he zoomed in on the guard, catching a glimpse of the unit patch. It was one of a fox holding a knife in its mouth, with the letters "NGSF" surrounding it. So, these are Next Generation Special Forces, Snake mused. He turned around, and the grunt crawled from under the generator, sprinting quickly to hug the wall.
Peeking around the corner, the guard checked a hallway, leaving Snake a clear passage to move up. Purposefully deliberate in his motions, the silent warrior crept up behind the unsuspecting Genome Soldier. As he turned around and began to walk, Snake made his move. Kicking the back of his knee, his gloved left hand came up to muffle the outcry. Sliding his right arm around the victim's neck, his left hand moved to behind the head, and thrusted forward violently, crushing the windpipe and suffocating him.
Solid Snake had scored first blood.
Grabbing the guard underneath his armpits, the FOX-HOUND commando swiftly dragged the corpse to a wall, setting him up against the wall as if he were sleeping. After procuring a medical kit from him, which consisted of bandages, a small supply of food, and various bodily fluids, he left the weapons and ran to a container, clinging to the cold steel. The klaxon horn began to bellow again as the red lights flashed. Another guard stood inside, FAMAS assault rifle up and ready, inspecting his new guarding area. He was brought from his investigation by a noise.
"What was that?" he asked aloud, slowly walking toward the second middle container, the source of the noise. His black combat boots made a clicking noise as he stepped with skill, gun up, ready to fire. The Next Generation Special Forces soldier leapt around the corner, rifle brought to bear. Nothing was there. The soldier felt stupid as he turned around...to see a man dressed in all black cocking up and slamming his massive fist into his face.
Snake slammed his other fist into the guard's solar plexus, making him lose his breath. Finally, he brought the guard's head down and slammed his boot into the back of the sentry's head, instantly knocking him out. Throwing him aside, the grunt ran to the elevator and pressed the up button. The platform rose and the klaxon wailed again, bringing the intruder toward the surface.
Quickly and silently, the commando slipped off the goggles, throwing them to the platform. After rubbing his eyes thoroughly, he tenderly slipped off the rebreather, setting it to the ground. Finally, he unzipped his neoprene hood and set it to the ground, and then reached into the pocket of his specially made neoprene Battle Dress Uniform pants, removing a black bandanna. Snake tied it around his head, then looked up toward the surface, then at his radar. Referring to the clock in the bottom right corner, he had taken five minutes to get to the surface.
Not bad, considering he hadn't done it in four years.