SNAKE PRESSED HIS BACK against the wall adjacent the Level 5 door, his breathing labored. Sweat trickled from beneath his bandanna and along his cheek. Every impulse in his body told him to rush back out there and make an effort to move Meryl off the X. At the same time, it had been hammered home from the moment he was introduced to the react to contact battle drill and combat field medicine that the number one priority on the X was to kill the enemy. The best medicine for a wounded comrade was lead downrange.

At 50 meters, the SOCOM's max effective range was grossly inadequate. Even if he hadn't lost his FAMAS during his fight with Gray Fox, the French rifle could only reach out to 450 meters reliably. Were it equipped with a powered optic, like an Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight, he could make the round stretch to 800 meters if he were lucky, and that wasn't a guarantee.

Snake shook his head. No. The only way to save Meryl was to find a sniper rifle and get back to the fight as quickly as he could. There wasn't any time to meander. Meryl was his go-to on where to locate items on the base. Though she was out of commission, there was another person that might know. He set his Codec to 141.12 and hit the transmit button. A moment later, Otacon's face filled his screen.

"What's going on, Snake?" Otacon asked.

"Otacon, have you ever seen a sniper rifle anywhere on this base?"

Otacon's brow furrowed. "A sniper rifle?"

"Meryl's been shot…by an extremely good sniper."

A glimmer of recognition shone in Otacon's eyes. "Sniper…"

What's that about? Snake wondered. He put it from his mind and focused on the task at hand. "A high quality sniper rifle is the only way I can fight back."

Otacon swallowed nervously and glanced both ways. "I…I saw a PSG1 in the armory, in the 2nd floor basement of the tank hangar."

A dark glower spread across Snake's countenance. "The 2nd floor basement of the Tank Hangar? I have to go all the way back there?"

Otacon's lips went thin, and he looked as if he might wet himself again. "Well…yeah…"

"What's wrong with you, Otacon?" Snake growled.

"Oh…nothing…" Otacon said quickly before killing the connection.

Son of a bitch, Snake cursed internally. That was going to take time that Meryl didn't have, but he also knew that griping about the added diversion wasn't going to produce a sniper rifle. With a sigh, Snake made his way to the crevice, lowered himself into the prone, and reentered the wolf cave.

Out of flashbangs, Snake thought as he emerged on the other side and rose to his feet. On cue, one of the wolf dogs rounded the corner and began growling. Snake stood as tall as he could and stared the wolf dog down, hoping to intimidate it out of a fight. Its hackles were raised and it was poised to attack. Normally, he would back away and hope that was incentive for the wolf dog to leave him be, but the wolf was directly in his path of travel.

The wolf dog charged. Snake forced an exhale through his nose and steeled himself. As the wolf dog took flight, its jaws locked open and ready to sink its teeth into his throat, Snake threw a left-hook that connected where the jaw met the neck. It wasn't enough to knock the wolf dog out, but when it hit the ground, it yelped, scrambled to its feet, and sprinted away, its tail between its legs.

Snake advanced deeper into the wolf cave. As he approached his initial point of entry, Snake saw that the wolf dog he'd attacked had gathered with its partner and their cub. They watched him apprehensively, the aggression clear in their eyes but the signal conveyed that he was not one to be trifled with. Snake kept his eyes on the pack until he was in the prone and under the first crevice.

Okay, Snake thought. Now to get back to the tank hangar.

… … …

SERGEANT BRETT KOVACS SAUNTERED around the transport truck, his FAMAS held at the low ready. He'd enlisted in the Army in the mid-1990s, had done a stint in the 82nd Airborne, and had washed out of Special Forces Selection. Kovacs had been on his way out of service when he was tapped for Force XXI, and he gave the Army a few more years. That had given way to becoming a member of the Next Generation Special Forces, which in turn led to the gene therapy experiments that made him a Son of Big Boss.

Kovacs had grown up in a group home. The concept of family had been utterly foreign to him before the Army, and even then, it didn't really take root until he became a NGSF soldier. The men around him were his brothers. They had fought together, bled together, and now they were going to change the world together.

At least, that's what Sergeant Kovacs told himself as he continued his patrol around the truck. The work was mind-numbing. In the Big Army, this sort of detail would have been delegated to the lower enlisted. Like the bulk of special operations units, the vast majority of the NGSF were non-commissioned officers. Thus, he was one of the low men on the totem pole.

Aside from his idealism about the mission, the only thing that kept Kovacs going was the possibility of enemy contact. He'd heard there were at least two intruders on the loose, and Sniper Wolf had come through a while back with her sniper kit and a determined look in her eyes.

Sniper Wolf…Kovacs smiled beneath his balaclava. Now there's a woman. The foreign sniper oozed sex appeal. The NGSF knew to give her and the other FOX-HOUND members a wide berth, though. One of them—a South African who had served with Outer Heaven and fancied himself a playboy—had made a pass at her. He'd had to ice his testicles for a week afterward, with a promise from her that any further attempts would result in hunting practice for her dogs. The message was transmitted, loud and clear.

Movement registered in the corner of Kovacs's eye. He turned and squinted. There was nothing there. He pursed his lips and continued his path around the truck. When he reached the rear, he found a cardboard box near the cargo bed's lip, marked with a red stripe and labeled. Kovacs didn't recall it being there when he'd made his last pass, but he'd taken his time on the patrol. It was more than possible that somebody had loaded cargo without him noticing.

"Is this all there is to load?" Kovacs asked himself aloud. With a shrug, he made for the driver's door. "To the heliport, huh…" As he unslung his rifle and climbed inside the truck, Kovacs exhaled. At least he'd get a break from the patrol monotony.

… … …

THE CARGO TRUCK PULLED to a halt, and the engine disengaged. A couple of minutes passed before Solid Snake pushed the cardboard box off of himself, set it aside, and took cover at the back of the truck.

Can't believe that worked, he thought to himself. He drew his SOCOM pistol, waiting to see if anybody had seen him emerge from the box. Another moment passed before Snake checked his Soliton Radar. The area was clear.

Good, Snake said. Wasted enough time getting here as is. Meryl's short on time. With a forced exhale, he climbed out of the truck and made his way to the nearest ventilation shaft.

… … …

THE ELEVATOR ANNOUNCED ITS arrival with a chime, and the doors slid open. A NGSF soldier marched past the opening. Once he was further down the corridor, Snake stepped away from the elevator wall, took a large stride over the echoing grate floor, and crept in the opposite direction. A glance at the Soliton Radar told Snake that he was clear to proceed all the way to the room where he'd obtained his first FAMAS.

When he arrived, the Level 2 door opened, and Snake entered. He donned the AN/TVS-7 thermal goggles, checked the lasers were still where they were the first time, and crawled beneath them to the back wall. Once there, Snake selected another FAMAS from the rack, performed a functions check, loaded it, and slung it on his back. When he was restocked on ammo, Snake slithered beneath the lasers once more and moved to the next room.

Snake made the rounds through the storage rooms. He stocked up on fragmentation and stun grenades. With his pouches full, Snake exited the room and made his way to the corner wall. He lifted his wrist to check the Soliton Radar, but a pair of sentries began to speak. Snake leaned as close to the corner as he could while remaining in concealment and listened in.

"You really think he'll come?" one guard asked.

"Wolf seemed to think so," the second replied. "Only place on base to get a sniper rifle. He wants to save Silverburgh, he'll have to come here."

"Silverburgh…" The first guard laced Meryl's surname with venom. "Traitorous bitch."

"Just a bitch in general," the second said. "Real ball-buster. Gets off on emasculation. You know I tried to strike a conversation with her at a bar and she gave me some crap about how men are inferior and how once in-vitro becomes the norm, we'll be worthless."

"She some kind of rug muncher?"

"Probably thinks she is. More than likely, hasn't had the pipe laid down the right way."

A chortle erupted from the first sentinel. "More than likely. Can't stand these damn diversity babies. And we all see how she worked out when time came to put metal to matter."

Snake realized he'd been squeezing the SOCOM's butt with white knuckles. Were the polymer not top-notch industrial grade, he was certain he would have cracked it. He was tempted to round the corner and kill both guards if only to cure them of their disrespect, but the FOX-HOUND veteran tempered the rage and waited. A moment later, the pair of sentries split off, leaving Snake his opening.

He made his way to the door where the guards had held their conversation. It was marked Level 5 and bore the label, "PSG1." Snake stepped to the door, and it oiled open. He crossed the threshold, took a step off to the side, and waited for the door to close behind him. The first thing Snake noticed was the red lines on the floor, walls, and ceilings. They were the same ones in the FAMAS storage room and the connecting hallway between the tank hangar and the minefield.

Lasers…

Along the left wall were a trio of barrels, two on the bottom and one stacked on top. Immediately to Snake's right were another pair of barrels, one standing upright and one laid on its side. He pulled out his AN/TVS-7 goggles, slipped them on his head, and turned them on. As the room was illuminated in crimson, Snake saw the purpose of the barrels. They blocked the most direct path to the back of the room, where a gun rack full of PSG1s and magazines to match were located.

Snake unslung the FAMAS and propped it against the front wall. He moved to the edge of the barrel on its side, took a knee, and studied the lasers. Both horizontal and vertical lasers were utilized, creating a grid. There was one gap that he could more than likely exploit if he minded his extremities and kept clear of the lasers.

The FOX-HOUND veteran frowned. Something's not right. If the purpose was to drive him into a trap, they would have put the barrels in a line from wall to wall, keeping him from getting to the rifles at all. Alternatively, they could have posted the guards directly in front of the room so he would have to go through them. Why half-ass a trap?

He put the questions out of mind. The most pressing issue was getting the rifle and getting back to the communications tower as quickly as possible.

The barrel was too close to the lasers to go prone in front of it. Snake lowered himself to his belly and high-crawled at a diagonal. The horizontal lasers were well above his body, but as he slipped inside the grid, Snake saw that to straighten himself out and make a run for the gun rack would put his right leg dangerously close to the nearest vertical laser.

With a deep breath, Snake slowly shifted his body to his left. When he had some maneuver room, he did a quarter-pushup and moved himself a couple of inches away from the laser. He straightened himself out and checked himself. A half-sigh of relief filtered through his nostrils as he saw that he'd managed to avoid the laser.

Snake crawled the rest of the way to the room's back end. Once he was there, he reached out and grabbed the holes in the cage fencing. Hand over hand, he pulled himself to his feet, dragging his lower body until it cleared the laser beam. Snake opened the cage and reached in to grab a sniper rifle.

The PSG1 was made by Heckler & Koch, the same manufacturer that produced the SOCOM pistol. Developed in the wake of the 1972 Munich Olympics massacre, the weapon was an accurized version of the venerable G3 battle rifle. Its Hensoldt ZF optic had 6x42 magnification and an illuminated reticle with a bullet drop compensator. The buttstock had both an adjustable end pad and cheek rest for customization to the individual shooter. It was one of the most accurate semi-automatic rifles in the world, capable of sub-Minute of Angle groups at 100 meters.

Snake stuffed the last empty pouch on his belt with magazines, then laid the PSG1 against the cage. He slowly closed and secured it, then picked up the rifle, slung it on his back, and cinched it as tight as he could. Snake took small steps to turn himself around and study the laser grid. There was no way he was going to go prone while facing forward without tripping an alarm. On the other hand, were he to turn around and crawl backwards, he'd get into the grid without issue, but he'd be crawling blind, especially with the thermal goggles' limited field of vision.

Not much choice, Snake mused. He lowered himself to a squat and committed the laser's spacing to memory. When he thought he knew it, he closed his eyes and visualized his retreat from the gun cage. After a moment, Snake opened his eyes, rose to his feet, and turned to face the cage.

Snake grabbed the cage and lowered himself to his stomach, keeping his legs pressed tightly together as he slid them under the lasers. When he reached the ground, Snake double-checked that the PSG1 was in as close of alignment with his spine as possible, and began to move backward. He cleared the first vertical laser, then angled himself to his left and pushed backward.

Moment of truth… If he tripped the laser, he'd have to either draw the SOCOM or lunge for the FAMAS and be ready to fight his way out. If that happened, Snake wasn't sure that he'd reach Meryl in time.

Snake held his breath as he pushed backward. After a few pushes, he saw the front end of the laser grid. He continued crawling backwards until he was clear of the laid-down barrel, then rose to his feet. Finally, he allowed himself a long sigh of relief.

Goddamn close.

Snake moved to the front of the room, slung his FAMAS around his neck, and shouldered it. Before he could open the door, the Codec rang. Snake answered, and Colonel Campbell's face filled the screen.

"What's your progress, Snake?" he asked as restrained as he could. Before Snake could answer, Campbell saw the signature polygonal handguard protruding from Snake's shoulder. Campbell's eyes widened and a glimmer of hope crept in. "You got a PSG1! You can use that against Sniper Wolf! Hurry up and save Meryl!"

"Roger," Snake growled, determination creeping into his voice. "Oscar mike."

Thirteen hours and forty-eight minutes until doomsday.