This chapter is dedicated to Chicken Fox's recent departure from the fanfiction world. God Bless that brilliant bastard.

"A prince ought to have no other aim or thought, nor select anything else for his study, than war and its rules and discipline; for this is the sole art that belongs to him who rules, and it is of such force that it not only upholds those who are born princes, but it often enables men to rise from a private station to that rank."- Niccolo Machiavelli

CHAPTER FIVE

Rain scratched at the windows of the swaying jet. The sun was far beyond reach behind many dark clouds. Wind threw its self against the outer layer of a steel aircraft carrying America's finest. It had been two hours and thirty minutes since take off, and time certainly hadn't flew by. Thoughts ploughed through the FOXHOUND leader's mind as he sat in a seat that was barely comfortable. It seemed they'd been talking for a lifetime. Campbell had left the quarters to apparently vomit in the toilets, but all were quite amazed at how a Green Beret was being crushed under pressure. Beyond all the talking, Boss's heart was the loudest thing he could hear. It thumped at his chest as if it wanted to escape; leaping around and barging like a stubborn child.

Vixen had been talking about her past. It had been gruesome, but everyone there had been involved in violent escapades. From four years old she had been trained many martial arts every day of her childhood. Aggression had become her own resolve, her only way to fight anything or to oppose anything. One fatal day she walked back from the dojo with a katana awarded to her for a tournament won in the town. She'd broken the nose of the boy who'd been in the final with her in three places. With her set of keys she began to unlock the door cautiously. She could hear heavy weeping, and her Father barked at her Mother with great ferociousness. Her Mother had been bruised painfully on the cheek, while trickles of icy water ran down her face. Little Kitanya pulled the door wide open so that her Father saw her fully. A rage so vile pulsed through her veins as she stood in that doorway with eyes of brimstone. She didn't care about the Yakuza, what she had learned from teachers in the Buddha temple. All she wanted was to cause suffering to this wormy man she was supposed to call a Father. She pulled the blade out of its baldrick and threatened him with its end. He screamed for mercy and begged at her feet until all he could do was run. Their family became two.

She was eleven years old.

Ocelot made to the next cabin of the aircraft and had been cleaning the barrel of his gun for the last hour. Boss couldn't get on to why he liked the gun so much; it was like he used it for a toy. Anyhow, he wasn't going to change, that was for damn sure.

Retching sounds were heard under the talk, and soon afterwards the rush of cold water was heard from a tap and Campbell came out with a towel to wipe his stained mouth. No one had looked at him. He turned away and walked to the bag rack. Again, he pulled out the colt and began to load it and reload it again. Hawk pulled an irritant glance at Campbell, and pulled at the cigar with thought. Tobacco dived onto the floor below him.

"Why did you join the Japanese Army? You weren't even a teenager yet." He talked before he thought. He'd joined the Army when he was only fourteen years of age. He hadn't told her about himself too much. Thankfully, Vixen hadn't taken it too seriously. With a glance back up at Snake she had a glint in her eye that reminded him of EVA. He looked away angrily.

"What's the matter?"

He must have answered that question too many times in his lifetime, but that didn't mean he was going to tell her why there and then. His grunt had signalled the end of the conversation negatively. Twenty of his heavy breaths later she still stared into him with intensity. Her hand slipped down his leg slowly. His heart pounded hard, and those butterflies awoke in his stomach that told him that she wanted him. Hawk hadn't taken any notice; he'd fallen asleep under the shelter of the bag rack and Campbell was too busy with that handgun. Those eyes again, those blue eyes. They hurt him too much, as they melted his soul and made him weak.

Boss stood up and walked away slowly but surely. He couldn't pass on his reasons, but simply walked away into the next cabin with an angry frown. Vixen didn't follow him; she didn't even stand up.

Three hours later- Twenty Minutes until drop-off

"Son of a Bitch…" The pilot grunted, throwing his newspaper to the floor in irritation. "Damn Lakers, can't even win the damn play-offs for Christ's sake…" Pilot Terry Hildreth shot a glance at the co-pilot who seemed to not be taking notice of the Basketball scores and rather the job in hand.

"I'm going for a shit, just keep this thing in the air, you hear me?" Hildreth pulled himself out of the seat slowly and walked back toward the passenger cabin where the toilets were situated. He caught an eyeful of Vixen as she was pulling on her gear. With a wipe of the brow, the pilot pushed open the toilet door and walked in.

For the last three hours it had been the same routine over and over again. CQC had become almost foreign to Big Boss until he had that "training session" with Vixen. At least, that's what he liked to call it. The veins pulsed so much blood to his arms they could have burst, as he took the liberty of doing press-ups and physical exercises in the third cabin. The jet had been well made at least for room, but it didn't matter too much about the conditions. Sweat ran down his face like there was not tomorrow, his face pulled strained expressions every time a muscle was pulled too hard and blood filled his skull whenever he'd ceased an exercise. His arms wrapped around the pipe above him, and he pulled himself taunt as the weight of his body crushed against his biceps. A signal beeped on the wall, reading: 'landing soon'. Boss grunted, and sat down on a chair beside him. A wrinkly cigar lay down in an ash tray on a table in front of him. The glow of heat on the end of the tube eroded away, sprinkling ash onto the glass surface. He picked it up with ease, and pulled at it one last time before drop-off.

'Here we go…' He said to himself, crushing the perforated cigar on the ash-tray. He heaved himself up and stood at the door to the far side of the cabin and heard a beeping on his radio transmitter. It was the frequency: 145.56 . Boss answered the call.

Author's Note: You're probably all wanting to tear out my throat for not putting in action in the supposed present, but don't worry. Thanks guys, and keep writing and reviewing. Merry Christmas to all. See you in the New Year.