Dremuchij East
Mission Time: Day 1
0035 Hours
The jungle at night held a thousand shadows, a thousand noises, a thousand threats . . .
The big silvery coin of the moon cast its watery light like rain, barely penetrating the clenched fists of branches above. Snake felt as if he'd been transported into another universe, all alone.
He stopped to get his bearings. He could make out the stars, but was barely able to discern the trampled path through the underbrush. Even without the path, though, he knew his way back to the Rassvet ruins. His unerring sense of direction was an innate skill, one he'd already honed before he'd crossed paths with The Boss.
Thornbushes snatched at his sleeves like desperate beggars, holding him back as he trudged onward. He sourly wished he'd had a machete to hack them away.
He stopped and looked back at the drone, saw the flash of glass from the canopy in the night-he hoped that none of the Russian soldiers surely patrolling the area would stumble across it. When he turned away from it again, he found himself faced with the darkness again. He stared into the shadows, listening to the buzz of insects, the symphony of night birds, the dance of predator and prey-
His thoughts broke with the silence when he heard the unmistakable sound of a horse's snort.
He turned sharply and saw it standing there, like a ghost in the gloom. It was a white Andalusian stallion, a spry sort of breed known for its beauty and its outstanding capacity for riding. It was saddled, tied to a gnarled stump of a tree that had been blown apart long ago by what was probably lightning.
What the hell is a horse doing out here? Snake wondered, as the stallion blew loudly through his nostrils again, stomping from side to side as if afraid of the intruder. The stallion tossed its head as Snake crept closer, sniffing and snorting.
Snake doubted that any of the Spetsnaz soldiers that patrolled the area did it on horseback, and if they did, it wasn't on a specimen this magnificent. Still, it belonged to someone and-
"Looks like death wasn't ready for you yet."
Snake spun around, his heart beating fast at the familiar voice. He drew his pistol, purely on reflex, trained it on the darkness behind him. And there she stood, a moonlit shadow amongst the darkness, scrutinizing her former protege with that same icy, disdainful gaze.
"Boss?"
She stepped out of the shadows, cloak billowing from behind her like a cape. Snake stepped back warily, then winced as a flicker of pain from his bad arm crossed his face.
She nodded toward the gun he was trying hard to keep steady. "That arm still hurt?"
Snake felt that unease creep further over him. "What are you doing h-?"
The Boss suddenly tore at her cloak, ripping it away to reveal the sleek white form-fitting suit she'd been wearing when he'd last encountered her. He barely had time to register this before she lunged forward, quick as a cat springing on a dazed mouse. Before he could blink back his surprise enough to speak, the woman planted the heel of her hand against his chest, driving him back into the night. Her other hand found his wrist, pinched it, twisted it back. She then wrenched the .45 from his grasp like she would a child's toy. Then she drove him to the ground with a swift, paralyzing kick in the thigh.
"Go home!" The Boss growled.
Horrified, he watched as The Boss dismantled the pistol, breaking it apart and tossing the remains into the night. He picked himself up and reached out to defend himself as she sent a vicious judo-chop into his collarbone, sending him wheezing to the ground.
"Go home!" she repeated.
"Boss . . ." Snake croaked.
The Boss looked away furtively. "GRU and my sons are waiting up ahead," she said. "You don't have a prayer of finishing your mission. You're not even armed."
Snake climbed uneasily to his feet, fighting dizziness as he stood. "Boss . . . Boss, please . . ."
The Boss whirled swiftly and charged toward him, driving a boot into his belly and knocking the wind out of him once again. She then seized him and flung him to the ground again, the same way he'd taken down the Ocelot commander. He hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. He lay there, stunned, unable to move.
The Boss sighed, shaking her head slightly as she reached behind her back. "I'm not your Boss anymore. There's nothing for you here. So go home. Go back to your new boss."
Her hand came from behind her back, revealing a gleaming machine-gun. The barrel was sawed to the quick and the stock had been removed, and it had a dual drum magazine bulging from the bottom. Snake recognized the weapon instantly. It was the Patriot carbine, a modified Colt assault rifle The Boss herself had adjusted to her own design.
"There's no need to prove that you are virtuous here," she said. "This isn't America."
She jerked up the Patriot in one single, fluid motion and opened fire. The burst from the barrel was blinding, and the night filled with a thunderous chatter like an angered rattlesnake. Snake cringed as a deafening roar sounded behind him. The Boss's bullets had torn into the fuselage of his landing pod, blowing the drone apart in a brilliant explosion of flame.
The Boss lowered the Patriot as the explosion echoed around the jungle like distant surf. She nodded to herself. "That should stir things up a bit." She looked down at the man slowly trying to pick himself off the ground. "You'd better hurry."
As if on cue, the rain began to come down in a gentle drizzle, warm and oddly oily. Rivulets trickled and pattered like streams from above. The wet air seemed ready to burst with its newly released lush scents.
The Boss flashed a look at Snake. "The border is sixty miles south of here," she said, turning to walk away. "You ought to be able to run that far."
"Why'd you defect?" Snake coughed.
She turned back to look at him. For the briefest instant, Snake thought he saw something moving over her shoulder, a silver shimmer in the rain, like a face. But it was gone, and only The Boss stood there.
"I didn't," she said. "I'm loyal . . . to the end. To my purpose." She walked over to the horse, which still stood tethered to the tree, unfazed by the rain, the sudden gunfire, and the crackling, smoldering wreckage. "What about you, Jack? What's it going to be? Loyalty to your country, or loyalty to me? Your country, or your mentor? Your mission, or your beliefs? Your duty to your unit? Or your personal feelings?"
Snake tried to speak, but no words would struggle out. With a sigh he slipped back to the ground.
The Boss untied the stallion and mounted up. The Andalusian snorted as its mistress looked back to her former apprentice. "You don't know the truth yet," she said. "But sooner or later, you'll have to choose." Rain spilled down her face, but Snake wondered if there was more than a single tear there. "I don't expect you to forgive me. But you can't defeat me, either. You know me too well."
She jerked her chin towards the relic Snake had snatched from her during their last encounter. "Just look at that bandanna," she contemplated. "If you can't put the past behind you, you won't survive long."
She sighed and then turned away, wheeling the horse towards the darkness of the jungle. She paused, droplets of rain standing out on her face, then said, "If we meet again, I'll kill you."
With all his might, Snake rose to his feet and lunged for her, but the Andalusian reared back, neighing loudly as one of its hooves whistled through the air right by Snake's head. Surprised, he staggered back and slipped, landing hard on the muddy earth.
As he lay groaning, The Boss said her final word on the matter. "Now go home!"
The Andalusian broke into a trot that gradually gave way to an all-out gallop as the energetic horse stretched his muscles, pounding across the mud as it disappeared into the darkness.
Snake closed his eyes and wiped the spatters of rain from his face. He picked himself off the ground ahead and checked for any wounds, old or new. It seemed he'd been lucky; The Boss hadn't snapped any ribs or dislocated any joints. Relieved, he put a hand to his ear and felt the familiar squelch of the codec as he radioed the home frequency.
"Do you read me, Major Zero?"
"I read you, Snake," the major's voice replied promptly.
"I was ambushed by The Boss."
"You were what?"
Snake glanced back at the flaming wreckage of the D-21, where the fire still crackled and popped in the rain. "The drone's been shot to hell," he reported. "It's up in flames."
Zero seemed too much in shock to respond immediately. "That's not good," he said at last. "Enemy scouts are going to come looking for you."
Snake nodded, knowing full well that if they hadn't heard the initial gunplay or the explosion, they had to be able to see the flames. "But what was The Boss doing here in the first place?" His brow darkened. "There's got to be a leak somewhere-"
"That's impossible," Zero quickly interrupted him. "The man you saw with The Boss-Colonel Volgin-isn't exactly on speaking terms with Khrushchev."
Snake sighed and agreed. The major had a good point, but still, he didn't believe in coincidences. The Boss had taught him that. "I lost my gun. The Boss destroyed it."
"I know how you're feeling, Snake," Zero said. "It's hard for me to believe, too-that a legendary hero like The Boss would go over to the Russians, that she'd double-cross us like this. But that's how it is. And if you don't accept it, you'll never be able to beat her."
Snake shook his head and looked aimlessly around the encroaching forest. "That's not the problem. In terms of sheer technique, I'll never be able to beat her. I know that all too well."
"You've got to do it, Snake," the major said vehemently. "She's your enemy and your objective."
"Enemy?" Snake frowned. "We were together for ten years. And now you tell me she's my enemy? I-"
"Enough!" Now the major sounded annoyed. "You need to hurry to the factory where ADAM is waiting. Scouts have probably already been sent out to investigate the explosion. You've lost your weapon, right? That means you've got no chance of winning in a battle situation. Whatever you do, don't let them see you."
Snake grunted and switched off the codec. He could already hear rustling in the distance, rustling that sounded much too steady to be anything but human footsteps. Squatting there, he drew his knife from his boot. If he was lucky, he could slip through the jungle unnoticed. If he wasn't . . .
A branch cracked somewhere to his left. Something was definitely moving unseen towards him. Leaves whispered together . . . or so Snake thought. But a moment later, he could make out hushed voices.
Time to get moving.
Snake plowed into the jungle, careful to remain light on his feet, mindful of the voices as they receded behind him. Any moment now they would stumble across the burning wreck of the drone and radio for backup.
Snake splashed across a narrow stream, marking it in his mental map of the area, knowing indisputably where he was. The Dolinovodno canyon lay just up ahead, as was the bridge where The Boss had turned her back on him and her country.
Speaking of The Boss, he couldn't shake the question of her presence in the jungle in the first place. Had Volgin detected his infiltration?
In a thicket of shrubs on the bank of the stream, the underbrush rustled. Something heavy splashed into the water. He spotted reptilian eyes, the sleek form of a night-hunting cayman-large and hungry, judging from the ripples that arrowed through the water toward him. Snake quickly slogged through the mud, climbing the bank and rushing into the underbrush to get safely away from the creature. He didn't waste time wondering what a creature like that was even doing in the Russian wild.
He continued on, making as little sound as possible; when he reached the gorge, he hesitated in uneasy confusion when he saw no sentries posted at the bridge, as there had been before. He moved ahead in eerie silence, mindful of what had taken place on the bridge the previous week. He stopped halfway across as a breeze picked up like an invisible hand brushing him, and he looked down at the rushing water. He remembered with a sudden sorrow the pile of bones he'd seen on the river's shore.
He crossed the bridge and looked about anxiously. Just through the trees would be the Rassvet ruins, where all of this had started. He headed into the forest. The knife in his hand probed forward, drawing him like a compass needle.
When the ruins broke into view, he scanned the area. Once again, the crumbling structures were deserted, the soldiers who patrolled them now gone. He looked toward the high levels of the ruins, expecting to spot a sniper or two up there . . . but the place stood abandoned.
He keyed the codec. "Major, I've reached the factory," he whispered.
"Good. Now you can meet up with ADAM."
"Where is he?"
A pause. "We weren't given an exact location . . ."
"How about a time?"
"Nothing was specified."
Snake was losing patience. "A physical description?"
"Nothing."
"Well how in the hell am I supposed to find him?"
"You won't need to. He'll find you."
Snake didn't like the sound of that. He rogered out and crept closer to the nearest structure, mindful that someone could still be watching, even if he couldn't see them. He passed through the cold ruins, scanning every shadow, every alcove, every nook and cranny . . .
An engine suddenly roared to life and a blinding light exploded into his eyes, a brilliant white glare that drowned out the darkness. Snake jerked backward in shock, then realized the brightness was the headlamp of a motorcycle. It was parked somewhere up ahead, and as Snake raised his hand to smother the glare, he heard a woman's voice.
"Sorry I'm late."
The words were English, and Snake thought he detected a hint of an accent-Midwest, maybe. He could barely tell over the sputter of the motor. "Cut the engine," he growled. "They'll hear us."
"Are you the agent they sent?" the voice asked.
Snake frowned, peering through his fingers and trying to make out the figure astride the bike. "Are you ADAM?" he asked. "I thought you were supposed to be a man."
"ADAM couldn't make it," the voice replied.
Snake felt mistrust course over his body like gooseflesh. "All right," he said. "So say the password. Who are the Patriots?"
The woman didn't answer.
Snake lowered his voice to an angry growl. "Who are the Patriots?"
The woman still said nothing. Snake felt his muscles coiling as he prepared to spring forward. His fingers tightened on the knife's handle.
"Answer me!"
Then something moved to his left, and Snake barely had time to turn before the shadowy silhouettes materialized around him. Three of them. In the harsh light of the motorcycle's headlamp he could barely discern their features, but he did see without a doubt that they carried guns.
"Down on the ground!" one of them yelled.
Trapped, his mind rang out. Goddamn it, walked right into it-
The armed trio were within fifteen feet, now closing toward them.
"Get down!" the woman warned.
Snake didn't hesitate. He dropped to the ground, landing on his bad shoulder and crying out in pain as the three soldiers raised their rifles. This was going to get ugly.
Suddenly, the air erupted with gunfire. The woman fired, the crook of her arm absorbing the recoil as she swept her gun in a horizontal arc. The three soldiers didn't even have the chance to shoot back; a volley of lead rocked their bodies, collapsing them to the ground in bloody heaps.
The blinding light suddenly died as the woman killed the bike's engine, plunging the area into darkness. Snake looked up, his eyes adjusting as the woman dismounted and walked toward him. No, not walked-sauntered. She sauntered toward the man, the weapon she'd used to dispatch the Spetsnaz soldiers still smoking in her hand. She had him dead to rights, dead to-
"There," she said, "is your answer."
She lowered the gun and, with her other hand, she slowly removed her helmet and set it next to the bike. When she rose again, Snake could see her clearly in the moonlight. She wore a beige-colored flight suit, and as she approached Snake he realized that she had unzipped the front of it down to her sternum, exposing the swells of her breasts. Despite the fact that she'd just executed three men in front of him, he felt a fierce fire rise within him briefly.
She was young, late twenties maybe. She had long blonde hair, not icy like The Boss's but rather a warm, almost sun-like shade. Soft features, defined eyebrows, rosy cheeks that seemed to radiate glamour despite the darkness.
The woman smiled, a satisfied smile that reminded Snake of a cat's after it's caught the mouse.
"The name's EVA."