Rassvet

Mission Time: Day 1

0119 Hours

EVA stashed the bike behind some nearby hedges—it was an old German model, outfitted with a sidecar, although EVA said that it was actually a Soviet-manufactured replica—and after making certain there weren't any more Spetsnaz lurking about, they sought refuge in the small room in the abandoned factory where Dr. Sokolov had been held captive. Snake sat on the narrow bunk heavily while EVA leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her ample chest. Snake removed the cigar from his pocket, fished for his lighter and lit it, letting it smolder for a few seconds while he thought.

"This wasn't part of the plan," he said. "What happened to ADAM?"

"What's your code-name?"

Snake blinked, unsure of what to say. He puffed on the cigar. "It's Snake."

"Snake, huh?" Her eyes flashed with warmth. "Well, I'm EVA . . . are you here to tempt me?"

She sat down next to him. Snake could feel her gaze on him, smoldering. He felt a quick, embarrassing heat rising on his face, and he turned away. "What happened to ADAM?" he repeated.

EVA shrugged, wearing an enigmatic expression. "Colonel Volgin is a very suspicious man. He decided ADAM wasn't the right person for the job."

"And you were?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

EVA's lips quirked in a secret smile. "Because I can do things he can't," she said.

Snake relaxed slightly. "I heard you used to be a codebreaker for the NSA," he said.

She nodded. "I was. Four years ago, I defected to the Soviet Union with Adam."

Snake was eyeing the weapon holstered to the woman's left thigh. He recognized it, even though he'd never seen too many. "Mauser Military," he mused. "The 'Broomhandle.'"

EVA tapped the holster, which was really the weapon's folded stock. "It packs quite a punch. Nice to have when you're on a bike."

Snake nodded. "You held it sideways, used the muzzle jump to create a horizontal sweep. That was impressive."

EVA shot him a wolfish smile. "Bet you've never seen that technique in the West."

"It's imitation, isn't it?"

EVA arched an eyebrow. "Yeah. It's a Chinese Type 17 pistol. Only eight thousand of them were manufactured, and most of them were melted down after the Chinese Civil War ended." She chuckled. "But don't you worry. The one I've got for you"—she reached in her jacket, and as Snake tensed she withdrew a pistol—"is American-made."

She held the gun out by the barrel, and Snake took it gently. It was a .45 pistol, but unlike the one he'd been given before The Boss had dismantled it, this one was quality. He tossed the cigar stub to the floor and ground it under his boot. "Incredible," he muttered under his breath.

"Do you like it?" EVA asked with a grin.

Snake rose slowly, turning the pistol over in his hands. The feeding ramp was polished to a mirror sheen. The slide had been reinforced, and the interlock with the frame was tightened for added precision. The sight system was original, too. The thumb safety was extended to make it easier on the finger. A long-type trigger with non-slip grooves. A ring hammer. The base of the trigger guard had been filed down for a higher grip. And not only that—

EVA giggled behind him, and Snake realized he'd been admiring the weapon aloud. "I wonder if you talk about girls the same way you do guns," she said.

"Nearly every part of this gun has been expertly crafted and customized," Snake said. "Where'd you get something like this?

"I grabbed it from a Western munitions armory." She cocked a wry smile. "It probably belonged to one of your officers. And there are more where that came from." She gestured to the pile of clothes next to Snake on the bed. "Better take this, too."

Snake glanced down at them. At first, he'd supposed they had belonged to Sokolov, but he noticed they were freshly laundered. A white lab coat and slacks. Snake frowned. "What's this?"

"A disguise," she explained, "to make you look like a scientist."

"A disguise?"

"Of course. You're here to rescue Sokolov, right?"

"So Sokolov's still safe, then."

EVA nodded. "Yes. He's being forced to continue his work on the Shagohod."

"Where?"

"At the lab." She stepped back, suddenly businesslike, although her smile still held that attraction, and her eyes that same seductive glow. "They've got a whole army of scientists there, developing new weapons. Security is tight, but if you disguise yourself as a scientist you might be able to sneak in."

Snake stared at her. "Can we get Sokolov out of there?"

EVA paused just for a moment, a pause too short for a single breath. "We'll see, won't we?"

Snake reached down into his boot and drew his knife. Slowly, he began whittling the grip of the pistol. "Tell me how to get to the lab," he said.

"The safest way in is from the rear," EVA explained. "First, you'll have to head north through the jungle. You'll come to a heliport used for shipping materials. Pass the heliport and continue north, and there will be a large crevice. Descend into that area and you'll reach a cave. Move through the cave and you will arrive at a mangrove swamp. After the swamp, there'll be a warehouse. Make your way through the warehouse and you'll come out just south of the lab."

Snake nodded, memorizing every detail, every instruction. "Got it."

EVA's brow furrowed as she noticed what Snake was doing. "And just what are you doing there?"

Snake stopped whittling and placed the knife's handle against the .45's grip, the blade pointing downward. "In close-range combat," he said, "a knife can sometimes be more useful than a gun. By doing this, I'll be able to hold a knife at the same time and still keep the gun steady. That way, I can instantly switch between a gun battle and a knife fight."

EVA put her hands on her hips, puzzled.

Snake nodded. "Right. Let's get going, then."

He turned to leave, but EVA placed a hand on his shoulder. Snake winced at the pain, turning around. "What now?"

EVA shook her head. "You must be tired," she said. "Why don't you take a little rest?"

Snake shook his head. "I'll be fine," he grunted.

EVA stared at him. Snake turned to walk away but staggered, nearly collapsing to the floor. EVA grabbed his arm, and led him back to the cot. "You'll never make it in your condition," she admonished. "It's a jungle out there. There's still an hour before dawn. It's dangerous to be out in the jungle at night without a guide."

"What about you?"

EVA sighed. "I have to get back. I can't be gone for too long. They'll start to suspect something." She saw the look on his face and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll keep you updated over the radio."

Snake sank to the cot. "That's it?"

"My orders are to provide you with information. Nothing more." She crossed her arms over her ample chest. "You look disappointed."

Snake wasn't sure what to say.

With a smile, she said, "All right, then. I'll do something special for you. I'll stand watch until dawn. Now be a good boy and lie down." She saw a troubled shadow cross his face. "What's the matter?"

Snake shook his head. "I don't know you well enough to trust you."

"How well do you have to know me to trust me?"

"I don't know if I can trust anybody," he replied.

When the codec sounded off in his ear, he tensed. When he realized what it was he still didn't relax. After a moment, EVA looked at him. "Gonna get that?"

How could she hear it? Snake wondered but didn't ask. He grumbled and keyed up the codec. "Yeah?"

"She's right, Snake." It was Para-Medic. She'd been listening in. Damned if they don't cover all their bases. "You should get some sleep. Although in your condition, you really ought to be back in the ICU. Do yourself a favor and take a nap. Doctor's orders, okay?"

Snake sighed. He knew she was right—the both of them. "Yeah. Okay."

He stretched out on the cot, threw a glance towards EVA. The woman languidly leaned against the wall, smiling at him. "I'll keep watch," she assured him.

Snake opened his mouth to say something, but he thought better of it. He lay back, closed his eyes, and slept.

The noise splintered his sleep like a bullet, and Snake sat bolt upright, damp with sweat from a nightmare he couldn't remember. Daylight filtered through the mildew-streaked window, but his awareness was cold and blinking.

"You've been out for an hour," EVA said. She was busily working over something in her knapsack. She tipped a suggestive wink at him. "If you want, you—"

Snake silenced her with a look. The noise that had woken him had come from outside. Someone was out there. He rose from the cot, his hand reaching for the .45.

EVA's voice dropped low. "What's the matter?" she whispered.

Snake peered through the window. Through the cloudy glass, he could see several shapes advancing on the factory's ruins. "We're surrounded," he murmured, his grip tightening on the Colt. "I see four of them at least."

EVA craned her neck and her breath caught in her throat. "It's the Ocelot unit," she hissed. She snatched her knapsack and slung it over one shoulder. "Let's get out of here. Hurry!"

Snake bent down and gathered his own rucksack as EVA grabbed one end of the iron-framed cot. "Here," she whispered. "Give me a hand."

Snake grabbed the other end of the bed, and together they lifted it off the floor, revealing a two-foot square trapdoor. She dug her fingers in the groove and pried it up, exposing a crawlspace below.

"We can get out this way," she said.

Snake scanned the darkness. He saw something scamper across the square of light on the soil below. A rat, probably. He was about to duck down into the crawlspace when EVA gasped. He looked, and saw she was staring out the window.

"Dammit," she muttered. "It's him."

Snake followed her gaze. He saw a familiar figure stalking towards the factory. The young commander of the unit, the one who styled himself Ocelot.

"I'll get past them on my bike," EVA said. She turned away and dropped down into the crawlspace. She turned and looked up at him. "I'll call you later."

Snake nodded. "I'll keep them busy."

EVA smiled, then leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Snake recoiled, shocked, but EVA only winked at him. "Don't go dying on me now."

She crouched low and disappeared into the darkness. Snake sealed the trapdoor shut and then turned, dropped to one knee and brought the .45 to bear on the battered door. He could already hear heavy, hurried footsteps outside, voices in low Russian.

An idea flashed in his mind, and Snake hurriedly unslung his rucksack and reached in. He pulled out a fat black cylinder with a steel pin: a flashbang grenade. He thumbed back the hammer on the .45 in one hand, pulled the pin with the grenade on the other as he heard the voices stop right outside the door.

The door crashed open. Two Spetsnaz burst in, carrying Scorpion submachine guns. Snake tossed the grenade and lunged backwards, pulling the iron-framed bed over him to shield himself from the explosion, clapping his hands over his ears. The soldiers screamed and the grenade went off a second later in a terrific, deafening blast. Snake smelled the cordite and phosphorus that singed the air as he leapt to his feet, opening fire. The two Spetsnaz soldiers dropped dead.

Snake threw a glance at the window. The other Spetsnaz soldiers were hustling towards the sound of the explosion, which still echoed around the room in a high, keening ring. A thick haze swirled about, courtesy of the aluminum powder the grenade had loosed. He charged forward, bracing his back against the door. He drew his knife as a third soldier warily stepped into the room. He seized the man and with a smooth, quick motion he drew the knife's edge from one side of the soldier's throat to the other, simultaneously pressing a hand over his mouth to stifle any scream. The Soviet squirmed, his eyes wide, but Snake held firm, while his neck gushed red.

Snake dropped the body to the floor and chanced a glance out the door as the haze started to disperse. His aim pinned a soldier creeping towards the room, his gun drawn. He jerked back as the soldier sprayed fire, narrowly avoiding getting riddled. He threw himself back against the wall as more gunfire rang out.

Shit.

He scooted back further, hearing his boots crunch on broken glass from the window, which had been shattered by the grenade blast. His searching fingers found one of the Scorpions lying on the floor. He picked it up, sprayed a barrage at the doorway, heard a high-pitched yelp of pain. He waited for any return fire, but there was none.

He tossed the Scorpion aside—it wasn't as reliable as the Colt, and in any case there were more where that came from—and scrambled to his feet. He smelled the tang of cordite and blood.

"Snake!" Para-Medic's voice rang in his ear. "What's going on?"

"Ran into a little trouble," he grunted. "Nothing I can't—"

A bullet struck the wall near his head, and Snake let out a hiss of surprise. He'd forgotten about the Ocelot commander.

Another shot slammed into the overturned bedframe.

He had no choice. Snake took a deep breath, lowered his head and ran for the broken window. Two shots sounded, bullets plowing gouges along the walls, ricocheting past Snake's head. He vaulted forward, propelling himself through the shattered window. He landed heavily in the grass outside, and drew himself to his feet without an outcry. His eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign—

He heard two shots ring out behind him, and Snake swiveled, raising the handgun and angling it upward. And there he stood, on the ruined roof of the factory above him: the Ocelot major, a revolver in one hand . . . and his other held a knife to EVA's throat.

Snake pointed the .45 directly at Ocelot's head, but Ocelot instinctively pulled the woman closer with his knife arm, using her as a shield. She was wearing her helmet, obscuring her features.

"I've been waiting for this moment," Ocelot said.

Snake tensed, not wanting to provoke Ocelot, his eyes locked on the revolver in the man's hand. He squared his shoulders in the familiar position.

Ocelot nodded approvingly. "That's it!" he crowed. "That's the stance!"

EVA suddenly tried to wrench herself free, but Ocelot's grip tightened. "I don't think so," he grunted, pulling her close . . . and froze when he felt the swell of her breasts against him. "What the hell? A female spy?" He sniffed the air and his nose wrinkled. "This bitch is wearing perfume!"

Snake took a step forward, and Ocelot jabbed the revolver at him.

"Stay right where you are!" he growled. "I've had enough of your judo."

Snake cocked his chin at the gun in the man's hand. "I see you've got yourself a revolver now," he observed. "Single Action Army, right?"

"That's right," Ocelot said stonily. "There will be no accidents this time."

"You call that an accident?" Snake asked. He felt a sneer curl his lip. "Well, it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been showing off."

Ocelot's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

"It's a nice gun," Snake said. "I'll give you that. But the engraving gives you no tactical advantage whatsoever. Unless," he added, "you were planning to auction it off as a collector's item."

Ocelot's face seemed to ripple with rage.

"And you're forgetting one more basic thing," Snake said.

"What's that?"

Snake cocked an eyebrow. "You don't have what it takes to kill me."

Fury flared in Ocelot's eyes. "We'll see!"

He squeezed the trigger.

Nothing.

Snake watched the rage leak from his face, which now filled with confusion as he stared numbly at the pistol in his hand.

"What the f—"

Suddenly, EVA's arm pistoned backward, the elbow catching Ocelot full in the face. He gasped and staggered back, and she suddenly kicked out in a brutal, vicious arc, her bootheel connecting with Ocelot's neck. He grabbed his throat, the revolver spilling from his hands and landing in the dust at Snake's feet. EVA kicked again, knocking the major from the roof. He tumbled to the ground, landing in a heap on the ground.

He lay on his back, gray eyes staring at the sky. Snake kicked the revolver, watched it spin in the dirt towards Ocelot. The major lifted his head dazedly.

"Six shots."

Ocelot picked himself from the floor, wiping a thin trail of blood from his chin. "What?"

"That thing only carries six shots," Snake told him. "The Makarov—what you were using earlier—carries eight. You have to get a feel for how many you have left."

Ocelot picked the revolver up from the dirt, his eyes never leaving the American.

"That's a high-class weapon," Snake said. "It's not meant for shooting people."

Ocelot's teeth clenched in anger. A motor chugged to life, and he threw a seething glance at its source. EVA was now astride her motorcycle, her "Broomhandle" in one hand. Ocelot holstered the revolver.

"This isn't over yet," he breathed. "Not by a long shot."

He turned and sprinted towards the jungle path the Ocelot soldiers had taken. Snake watched him go, then saw EVA raise her pistol, preparing to shoot the youth in his back . . .

"Don't!"

EVA turned toward him, lowering her pistol and raising her helmet's visor at the same time. "Why?"

Snake nodded towards the receding figure as he disappeared into the jungle. "He's still young," he remarked.

EVA snorted. "You'll regret stopping me," she said, holstering her own pistol. She then swore loudly. "I've got to get back before he does."

She gunned the motorcycle and it ripped forward, tearing off into the jungle. Snake watched her go, wondering how wild this mission was really going to get if he had allies like EVA in his corner.