Maybe this world is another planet's Hell...
Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)
CHAPTER THREEA vicious wound healed up rapidly for Big Boss, as he was driven to the government airport for the second time in a fortnight. The wind was once again torrential, blowing trees to a bend and forcing men and women to hold onto their hats and scarves as they fought against the backfiring blow of the horrendous breeze. Cars seemed to rock and have a mind of their own, as he observed the outside world with his good eye. An aggravating bump of the vehicle caused honks of civilians' horns as they shook along the usual route of work and labour. The van he occupied came to a smooth stop as he heaved his bags out and walked toward the main doors.
A once again deserted airport caused confusion and panic in the minds of workers and citizens of Washington. Boss pushed open the double doors after stating who he was in the intercom with a twinge in his right side; he could feel the small ripple of excess blood shake in his stomach. It made him sick. A group of six other people became visible to him in the waiting area with a floor wrapped in a satin red carpet. He could recognise Ocelot, Vixen and Secretary David Jackson, but that was it. Two of the others were definitely the recruits he had signed for and the next man wore a black suit and holstered a handgun with a small grip.
"Big Boss, this is Roy Campbell and Jason Striker, your newest recruits. Striker and Campbell, you'll refer to this guy as your boss." Secretary Jackson looked at Boss' rib cage and chuckled pretentiously.
"So, Boss. How's your-"
"Striker, Campbell. You will be referred to as 'Red Hawk', Campbell, you will be simply 'Jaguar'. If any of us fall behind, they'll be left behind. We have radio intercom to communicate if anything like that happens. I hope you can all co-operate with each other. I'll have no cowardice, conflict or any shit from you. Do you understand?" The interruption was far from appropriate in Jackson's mind. All four of the recruits nodded, and started to make way to the jet provided outside.
Jackson's right hand rested on Big Boss's shoulder as he looked on to the government plane outside. Boss's eye shred through Jackson's soul as he looked around, a signal for him to get away; like an animal in the wild. Boss had become just that, an animal with vital instincts to attack whenever necessary and a territorial instinct meanwhile.
-- Zaire 1958 --
The Boss looked over to Jack and found him rustling through the large rucksack containing their weaponry for the training exercises they were about to perform. His hand ran down the nozzle of a colt 45, and his eyes observed the grip it possessed. They were riding via a government plane to Zaire for further training after their mission in North Korea with the Green Berets. The Boss smiled as Jack glared at it once more. Jack began to load and reload the gun alternatively, still overwhelmed by the weapons they had.
Their plane descended to a small runway and dragged its wheels across the ground.
"Jack. It's time." The Boss stared, as Jack shoved the weapons back in the bag and heaved it over his shoulder. The door of the plane was opened manually by the pilot and the two warriors stepped briskly down the flight of steel stairs below them. Air was slow and uncomfortable; the sun plummeted tons of sunlight down upon the concrete floor, baking the asphalt. A furnace, inviting any nomads to enter.
The scorching heat of the African climate peeled the skin off Jack's nose. His clothes already began to become wet and soggy with oily sweat. Their journey across the runway had expired as they looked on to the hut in front of them. Children ran out of the inn and to the Caucasian couple. Their clothes were tattered, yet they still had brilliant manners to perform such a greeting.
The two began to walk away to the Zaire River, where their training would begin. Crystal liquid stroked around meanders, almost with a mind of its own. The trickle of silky water calmed Jack's nerves against the rage of the sun. They were walking by a cornfield when The Boss began to question him.
"Why did you choose to fight, Jack?" The question stunned Jack as he hooked the bag over a post on the fence. Of all people, she was asking this.
"It's the only thing I was designed for. I cannot do anything else with my life."
"Wrong. You made a choice at a young age to become a warrior, and now, as you become more aware that this burden will weigh you down for the rest of your life, you make petty excuses. Where were you born?"
Jack pondered this for a second whether to answer or not. It enraged him gradually as the heat wetted his clothes.
"I can't remember."
"You can't remember?"
"I can't remember."
"So, tell me Jack, where were you when you decided to go to the US Army?"
He looked up to her face as she looked at his. Her blank expression worried him as the question daunted on his mind.
"…Hawaii. I was born a Japanese-American child."
"Did it annoy you that you were a half breed?" Jack focused his eyes tightly on hers, the birds and crickets chirped in the morning draught, as the rain began to pour down on their heads. The pitter-patter of rain refreshed Jack. His clothes became more and more wet, but flushing out the sweaty pores and letting the warm liquid cover his body.
"I didn't really think much of it."
"I despise your ignorance." Boss retorted, as she smacked him in the face with a sharp backhand blow.
He couldn't suppress his anger much longer, as he gritted his teeth and went to pull out a handgun out of the bag. She grabbed his hand and threw him back into the fence as the gun dropped to the floor.
"Anger is the worst motive you can have for battle. It will slow you down; you'll forget all of your skills and become weak. One shot of a bullet could kill you, and when your weakness is revealed, you become your weakness. That's the difference between being self-conscious, and being ignorant."
These words meant a lot to him. He began to realise the wisdom of his partner in training. She reached over the fence and pulled two cobs of corn from the rich soil. Jack placed the weapon in the sack and they carried on walking, eating their maize.
Author's Note: Thanks for the feedback, people. You may feel robbed by this chapter's shortness but rest assured everything is going MGS 3 on all your asses in the following chapters.