OPERATION: SNAKE EATER.

11:38 p.m.

August 30, 1964

Arctic Ocean Airspace

The mighty black bird had risen to the top of the world, and now it prepared to swoop on its prey.

The bird was a Lockheed M-21 aircraft, a variant of the A-12 "Blackbird." The M-21 was one of the fastest planes in existence, a top-secret supersonic craft that could have come from a science-fiction film. It blasted through the ionosphere at two times the speed of sound, nearly six miles above the curve of the Earth.

The M-21 was pregnant with a payload: a smaller, sleeker craft that clung to the craft's rear top fuselage. It was in this cylindrical capsule that the last hope for averting a nuclear holocaust was waiting.

"We can't risk a HALO jump this time around," Zero had told him. "Airspace Security has gotten tighter since we were last here. We can't get as close to the ground as we did during the Virtuous Mission."

Snake grunted. It hadn't been that close, if he remembered correctly.

"So instead, we'll be using one of our newest weapons."

That weapon, it turned out, was a Lockheed D-21 reconnaissance drone, mounted on the back of the M-21. Zero filled him in on the details of the vehicle: it was a long-range drone, designed two years earlier. A sleek missile-shaped craft with a titanium frame, the drone was built for a one-way trip. Zero told him that the D-21 would carry him over a programmed flight path, then jettison him just before the craft impacted into the jungle.

Now wedged in the drone's capsule, Snake felt like he'd been crammed in a coffin.

The drone was powered by a Marquardt ramjet, which Zero had informed him would blast the craft at Mach Three or better. Snake had taken part in supersonic tests before, but it always turned his stomach to think about it. And he couldn't help but think of the drone was an oversized bullet, about to be blasted at the heart of the Soviet stronghold.

Snake was also acutely aware that this wasn't the first time a spy plane had gone over Soviet soil. He remembered all too well the horror stories of the U-2 incident in 1960, when Francis Gary Powers was shot down and taken prisoner. Snake doubted he'd be as lucky as Powers if he was captured.

His rucksack tucked against his chest and his codec once again activated, Snake waited, doing his best to tamp down his nerves. Anxiety mixed with anticipation. The long wait was always the hardest part.

"Altitude thirty thousand feet," he heard the M-21's pilot say through the codec. "Approaching Soviet airspace."

Snake closed his eyes, thinking of the last time he'd heard those words. His mind kept drifting to the horrific images of the previous week: The Boss's betrayal, the long fall into the Dolinovodno canyon, the searing hellfire of the nuclear blast that had erased Sokolov's research facility from existence. He listened to the low thrum of the drone, wondering if, in the course of his mission, he would get the answers he sought.

"Arriving at the designated drone launch point," the pilot's voice reported. "Drone oil pressure and voltage are nominal. Payload oxygen supply is nominal. Power supply to payload antifreeze system shows no problems. No gusts. All systems go for drone detachment."

Here we go. Snake's grasp tightened on his rucksack, and he winced at the pain still shooting through his arm.

"You're being given an honor on par with Alan Shepard," Zero had told him. "This is our last chance. Show your patriotism. And if you fail, you'll be back in a hospital bed again, waiting for the firing squad." Yet, now, all the major's meticulous plans and precise monitoring could not allay the soldier's anxiety.

The thrum suddenly roared into a high whine as the drone's ramjet kicked into gear. Primed to fire, Snake thought, tensing his body. Any minute now, the M-21 would bank and then he would be launched like the proverbial bullet from the barrel of-

He felt a sudden lurch forward and a loud, rattling explosion, and for a frozen moment he thought the ramjet had blown apart and that he was dead. Then when he heard the pilot's voice declare the drone was clear, he cursed his nerves and waited until the moment when the pod carrying him ejected itself from the drone.

The drone suddenly lurched again, and Snake heard an excited chatter and whine through his codec-and the hairs on his neck stiffened when he realized the voice was Russian. "Control unidentified aircraft detected. Altitude thirty thousand feet. It's fast, whatever it is. Estimated airspeed exceeding Mach Three."

What the hell is going on? Except Snake knew: the Russians had spotted them. But was it Khrushchev's men, or the ones Volgin commanded? He had no way of knowing, no way of-

His thoughts were cut off when the capsule suddenly detached, breaking away from the drone as it hurtled into the darkness over the Russian wilderness. A moment later, the capsule broke open and Snake was ejected bodily from the pod. When he did, the static line tore the backpack cover from his parachute and the chute broke free, a twenty-foot canopy unfurling over him as he plunged through cold night air. Snake saw the capsule crash into the treetops below, and a moment later he saw flames and smoke billow.

That's sure to bring the cavalry, he thought sourly.

He pulled on the webbed risers secured to his chute's harness, guiding it towards the wreckage of the drone. He brought his chin down, elbows in, knees bent, prepared to collapse and roll sideways into the impact. He hoped that he made an easier landing than the Virtuous Mission.

He was lucky; the drone had slammed to earth in a clearing and Snake touched down nearby, running around his chute to collapse it, cutting away his harness and rolling the chute to stow it hurriedly. Except he realized, scanning the clearing, that he hadn't landed where they'd planned. Great.

He stuffed the chute underneath a nearby log and radioed the major. "This is Snake. Do you read?"

The codec squealed, then Zero's clipped British tone: "Loud and clear. Glad to see you landed safely."

"I got blown off target," Snake said, glancing around the area he'd landed in. It looked vaguely familiar, even though the jungle seemed to bleed into the darkness around him.

"How far?"

Snake squinted, and he realized that the clearing that he'd touched down in was one he'd passed through on his way to Rassvet. He'd been more lucky than expected, it seemed. "Maybe a mile or so."

"Good. Our radar had picked up two Russian jets in the area, Snake. They spotted you and tried to give chase, but they lost you."

"Yeah, I caught a bit of cross-chatter," he muttered. "I think they took a couple shots at me."

"We were worried the pod would be damaged before you landed."

"It's pretty damaged now," Snake said, glancing over at the smoking wreck of the drone across the glen. "What should I do with it?"

"Just leave it there."

Snake was surprised. The drone was top-secret military property, something the Soviets would have loved to have gotten a hold of. "Are you sure? Isn't this thing top-secret?"

"That's right."

"Why?"

"Because," Zero explained, "the purpose of Operation Snake Eater is to send an American agent into the field in order to eliminate a defector and traitor-namely, The Boss. Part of that mission involves making sure the Soviets find out what we're doing."

"So we have to leave behind some kind of evidence that the U.S. was involved," Snake said.

"Don't worry," Zero assured. "The technologically-sensitive components of the craft were rigged to self-destruct when it landed. The only thing the Soviets are going to find is a pile of American-made scrap metal."

"Got it."

"In any case, we're glad you made it safely."

"We?"

"Para-Medic is with us again on this mission."

"Para-Medic?" Snake's brow furrowed. "Is this her last chance, too?"

"If we fail," Zero said, "she'll have her medical license revoked. It's more or less the same kind of fate. Her frequency is the same as during the Virtuous Mission." He paused, then went on. "And there's one more person on your support team."

"Oh?"

"His name is Mr. Sigint," Zero explained. "He's an expert in weapons and equipment technology. You'll be going up against the world's most advanced weaponry when you infiltrate the research facility. If you have any questions, just ask him. His frequency is 148.41."

"Mr. Sigint. Got it." It's turning into a regular circus here.

"Adam, your KGB contact, is waiting for you at the abandoned factory up ahead."

Snake's brow furrowed. "The same factory Sokolov was being held in last week?"

"Yes," Zero answered. "Meet up with Adam first. He's cleared the way for you to rescue Sokolov."

"How will I know this 'Adam' guy when I see him?"

"You'll know once you reach the factory," Zero replied. "The whole area's been polluted by the fallout from that nuclear blast. No one else would dare come close."

Snake felt a tinge of horror. "Fallout?"

"Relax, Snake. You won't be in the area long enough to suffer any ill effects."

Relief and doubt seemed to wage a fierce battle over his nerves. Snake closed his eyes and quelled the distress as best he could. "All right," he said, trying to sound like he was in control.

"When you see Adam, give him the password. Are you listening?"

"Loud and clear."

"The password is 'Who are the Patriots?' The response is 'La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo.'"

"La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo," Snake repeated. "Gotcha."

"Be careful with that .45, too," Zero cautioned. "It's noisy."

Snake's brow furrowed. "I was meaning to ask you about that," he said. "I thought standard FOX procedure was procure-on-site weapons acquisition."

"The circumstances are different this time," Zero said. "You're now on an official mission for the United States government."

Yeah, Snake thought sourly. A goddamn assassination mission.

"It will be necessary to make your presence known to a certain extent," the major continued. "At the very least, to the Khrushchev regime. But remember: this is still a sneaking mission."

Snake drew a deep breath and the .45 at the same time.

"I know you know this already," Zero said somberly, "but I feel I must reiterate it. Snake, if you fail this mission, it will mean an all-out nuclear war. Keep that in mind and proceed with extreme caution."

"Understood," Snake said with a firm nod. He checked the Colt's clip, then slammed it back home with the heel of his hand. "Commencing Operation Snake Eater."