OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY SIX – 1911 HOURS
APPROX. 25 MILES NORTH OF OUTER HEAVEN
Snake didn't know how long he had laid there, just watching the distant fire and smoke rising up into the sky. The engines of the bomber aircraft had long faded into the distance. The will to move had been stolen from him—he was nothing more than a lump of flesh marinating in its own pain. The only other sensations he was cognizant of was the sight of the destruction far ahead on the horizon.
The brilliant red, orange, and gold of Outer Heaven's demise lit up the darkening sky like a miniature sun, turning the clouds around it into a deep, bloody crimson, lined with the inky black of chemical smoke polluting the atmosphere above.
The bright light threw the rest of the surrounding landscape into a stark relief. The light of the bombings were so bright that the actual sunset was dullened in comparison, and the parts of the sky that oversaw the rest of the ancient arid landscape that surrounded this hot pocket of human activity had its dusky essence choked to death, suffocating into blackness.
Snake thought of the Outer Heaven evacuation convoy. Their engines' sound had also faded into nothing. The only sound that Snake could still hear was the rushing water of the Vis river to the west. There were no animal sounds. No doubt the wildlife in the area had retreated into the safety of their dark homes at the first sign of human invasion.
In the back of Snake's mind, there was an idle thought. Suppose the evac convoy realize they're missing people. Will they come back to investigate? Will they find him here, lying among the dead? Will he be found alive and get put down like an injured horse, or will they think of him as just another dead body and pass him by?
Or perhaps he will just lay here to waste away, a corpse among corpses, dead in disguise. Perhaps the death of their comrades will be just another unsolved mystery to confuse them after the sudden disappearance of their dear leader back at base.
Or maybe no one will bother to come back at all, and Snake will just be another anonymous body sacrificed to the fires of war, left to be picked clean by carrion in some unremarkable wasteland.
The idea of laying there and just giving up was strangely attractive to Snake in the moment. He remembered Big Boss's words at his induction into FOXHOUND, telling him never to give up even in the face of insurmountable odds.
But Big Boss was a liar, a traitor. Why should Snake ever take his advice? And he was so tired, so exhausted, the dull pain welling up inside of him and covering every inch of his useless carcass. Would it really be so bad, he wondered, to simply close his eyes and fall into that eternal, peaceful sleep?
To surrender himself to quiet oblivion: it sounded so comforting. So beautiful.
But something else deep within him stirred: a primal, bestial growl that demanded that he continued moving, insisted that he continue fighting to live. It wasn't about the mission anymore, not really. Nothing so precise, so complex, or intentional; it was not a voice related to his sense of rationality or anything else so identifiably human.
Rather, it was simply that inner animalistic desire to bleed, kill, eat, and survive.
Sensing his body acting on autopilot, he felt himself push up onto his feet in spite of his limbs' screaming in protest. He looked around at the wreckage and the bloodbath surrounding him.
The ATV was wrecked with a ruined tire, and the Jeep was flipped over. Snake wasn't sure he'd be strong enough to flip it back right side up even if he wasn't already so thoroughly injured. He cocked his head to look at some of the debris underneath the open-air cab of the Jeep. A locked toolbox had fallen out and burst open. Among the wrenches and sockets, a flashlight had rolled out onto the dirt.
Snake winced as he slowly lowered himself onto his hands and knees, crawling forward and reaching underneath the wrecked Jeep to grasp at the light. Once he'd retrieved it, he pressed the button on the end, illuminating the ground beneath him in a bright spot.
Bright enough.
Snake nodded to himself, an expression of satisfaction at the find. Though he wasn't sure why. The gesture felt foreign, alien. Like something else had taken hold of his body, puppeting it. The identity of the thing that he referred to as "Solid Snake" had willingly let go of the wheel and was now just along for the ride while that animalistic id had taken over to direct him.
It might not have been that cold, dark, and safe oblivion that he'd privately wished for, but the idea was close enough to provide him with some degree of comfort. To let his own conscious ego take a backseat while the monster in the back of his head took over.
The beast used the flashlight to examine the immediate area, noted a couple of corpses splayed out on the dirt, blood splatters painting the ground around them a deep crimson, trailing off to show where they had impacted and slid against the ground. It performed a cursory examination of the corpses, retrieving a pistol and relieving the fallen of their loaded magazines.
It's not like they were going to need them anymore, after all.
In the recesses of Snake's mind, he dimly recalled the device that Ahab had given to him before being left to bleed out and die. His scarred and bloodied hands responded to this mental impulse and retrieved the rectangular device.
The metal brick looked like some kind of remote or futuristic walkie-talkie: there was a speaker on the bottom of its front face, and some kind of plastic or glass bulb in the center. There was an antenna hanging off of one corner, and a couple of buttons and a tiny thumbstick on the side.
Experimentally, the hands pressed the buttons, and a light was emitted from the bulb, revealing a hologram screen that hovered in the air in front of it. A loading bar quickly moved from left to right. The loading bar had the label "iDroid ver. 4.03" above it. When the bar finished filling up, the screen quickly showed a menu with symbols that Snake was too tired to try and decipher.
The dial was turned, cycling through the menus, until his eyes brightened in recognition. A button was pressed, and the menu was replaced by a detailed map of his location and the surrounding area. It looked like it was made from satellite imagery, probably compiled from data that Outer Heaven's Intel department had gathered by stealing from other countries' resources—it was doubtful that Outer Heaven had space satellites of their own.
The beast didn't care where it came from or how it worked, only that it did work. It rotated the mini stick with its thumb to zoom in and out, looking for the settlement nearest to its position. Within moments it found what it was looking for: Sakrivier railway station, approximately 14 miles north by northeast.
It would have taken Snake about four hours on foot under normal circumstances. Who knows how long it would take in his current condition? His eyes looked at the top right corner of the screen. Battery power at six percent, estimated power failure after one hour of continuous use.
Snake's body turned towards where the river was on the map. Sakrivier was on the river upstream from his position. If he followed the river, it would take him right to his destination. He started walking west to the river Vis. He turned off the iDroid and once more let his inner beast take over to allow instinct to compensate for his deteriorating cognitive functions.
The beast kept walking, and Snake followed its lead.
It moved slowly, limping as it went. There was no rush, no need to exacerbate the painful open wounds that decorated it. The body was all too aware that it was alone out here in the wilderness and that there was no time limit to finding a place of safety. It could afford to take its time to find a place to lick its wounds.
The rush of the water soothed it as it prowled north. The sun hung low in the valley. It was only a matter of time before it would become dark and the creatures that thrived on it would emerge from the safety of their lairs to hunt. And yet, this beast felt no fear. It knew that so long as it remained near the water it would be safe.
As the skies became darker, the body looked about for a place to sleep, and found a depression in the side of a hill a way up from the water line. This likely spot was sheltered by the branches of an acacia. The dirt was soft here, and loosely packed; a decent place for the beast to make its den for the night.
The body started gathering what scant driftwood was available to construct a haphazard lean-to that was placed against the trunk of the tree that swooped up and over the ground before erupting upward into branches. Then it crawled underneath the makeshift shelter and laid down upon the sand.
There was no campfire. It wouldn't be safe. It would be warm enough in the morning, it was decided.
The body gripped the pistol and the knife in each hand, holding them close to itself. If another wild animal were to come and see it as prey, this beast would make sure it did not go down without a bloody fight.
Satisfied in this moment of relative safety, the eyes closed, allowing Snake to take a comforting rest in oblivion.
This time, he did not dream.
There are over two thousand different species of fauna in the greater Karoo region of South Africa, all uniquely adapted to the arid semi-desert. About a handful of these are large mammals with a few predator species. Though the valleys and great rivers had historically recorded sightings of large species like lions, hippopotomi, leopards and black-horned rhinoceros, these days such creatures were much rarer, either hunted to near-extinction, hiding in secret away from humans, or relocated to nature reserves after humans moved in to tap the region's underground water reserves.
This decreasing population has been further exacerbated by the dwindling numbers of larger prey animals like the once-numerous large antelope—another consequence of human introduction. The wide branching river valleys created by the escarpments that swept across the landscape and opened up to flat plateaus and small mountains are now home to much smaller fare: today, the caracal and black-backed jackal are the largest land predators to reign supreme while the martial and Verreaux's eagles rule the skies.
These creatures typically feed on livestock and zebra, if they can get it, and are not typically aggressive or dangerous towards humans unless they are provoked, cornered, or if they perceive their young to be threatened.
When you're among the smaller of the dominant species on the food chain and surrounded by human activity, it pays to be cautious and opportunistic. Go for the insects and invertebrates and smaller rodents and lizards, go for young antelopes and dik-diks, take the sheep, pig or goat only if the shepherd isn't looking, and above all, defend one's own territory from intruders—in the jackal's case, often by using their characteristic yelps, growls, whines, or—if it's cornered—a cackle to call for help in the event of terrirorial invasion from the African wolf, honey badger, hyenas or leopards.
For the jackal, the greatest prize of opportunity would be any injured larger mammal that's stupid enough to wander into the territory the jackal had marked with boundaries defined by feces and urine. Jackal social groups tend to be small; one monogomous pair and the pups they and the elder children raise together. Such a meal wandering into their midst could be enough to sustain their small bodies for possibly days.
The river that flowed down from Sakrivier station down toward Outer Heaven and further through Karoo National Park made for a convenient watering hole for many such creatures. It's often advised to travelers to stick to the roads and other places of human activity so as not to run the risk of running afoul of some animal's territory.
But there was one human who did not heed this advisement. He was wounded, his injuries only having recently clotted to prevent further blood flow and his clothes were still stained with the fresh smell of his wounds. He'd been stumbling for hours under the African sun, following the river upstream and leaning against a large branch he'd found to use as a makeshift crutch.
As the air began to warm with the shift from early morning to dawn, this wandering prey had become the main object of interest for many glinting eyes hidden just out of his sight. The smell of its sweat and blood was pungent as the weakened creature unwittingly stumbled into jackal territory.
Three pairs of eyes watched patiently as the prey moved along the river: two mates and their adolescent pup. They'd gone without more than meager scraps for some time—the local humans had been hunting and killing both their competition and their normal prey, and with Outer Heaven watching the nearby roads, it was slim pickings for fresh meat. This new specimen wandering their lands would let them eat their fill. Their jowls salivated as they observed.
The pup trotted forward, ready to sprint towards the injured man, only to get nipped by its parents for the trouble. It wouldn't do to rush in and give the prey enough warning to run away or strike back. Jackals are opportunistic hunters, either luring with predator calls or silently stalking small or injured animals until they can corner them.
The father leads the pup around a wide bend, while the mother trots down behind a boulder. The prey stops, alerted by the jackal's bushy tail as it waved just out of sight. Slowly, the man animal stoops low onto one knee, placing its branch down upon the ground with its left hand while drawing a gun with its right.
The mother pauses. It recognizes the metal thing in the human's hand, had seen it pointed by other humans at animals and other humans. When the humans flex a digit, the metal thing explodes and whatever it is pointed at dies. The mother jackal remains behind the boulder, licking her chops. The scent of blood is intoxicating, enough to override the fear response. It's worth the risk.
In seconds, the jackal sprints forward. The human points the firearm, breathing slowly, and fires. The first bullet misses by a wide margin, the second narrowly avoids the jackal as she zigzags through the clearing and charges towards him. The third shot hits home, and the mother's leg erupts with blood as she stumbles and falls with a yelp.
The father and pup charge from opposite sides of the man, descending upon him with hunger and fury. The man grabs his wooden crutch by the end and pushes up with his legs to swing it in a wide arc, knocking aside the pup in midair but missing the father pup as it leaps forward to sink its teeth into the man's leg.
Dropping the branch, the man kicked his leg wildly, swinging the jackal by its head, but it refused to let go. A knife is drawn, and the blade sinks into the neck of the jackal. The father goes limp. The man-beast hobbles over to pick up the heavy branch, and leans into it, raising his pistol at the mother, who was limping away, the pup following closely behind.
The man is breathing hard, his face twisted into a permanent snarl of pain. He looks the mother jackal in the eyes—a challenge.
But jackals are opportunistic hunters, and this man-beast was proving to be much more trouble than it was worth. The mother and her pup move on so that she may lick her wounds. The man-thing sighs in relief and frustration. He looked down at the dead father, then at the bite on his leg. The jackal had taken its own chunk of flesh. But it would be the man-thing who had earned a meal, with the mother and son barely escaping with their lives.
He picked up the father jackal and slung it over his shoulder.
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY SEVEN – 1024 HOURS
LESS THAN HALF A MILE SOUTHWEST FROM SAKRIVIER RAILWAY STATION
It took far longer than it should have to get there after Snake had awoken that morning. The fight with the jackals hadn't helped. At least the meat had provided him with a somewhat decent light breakfast he thought, trying to look on the bright side even as he limped to keep his full weight off of the leg. Snake mused to himself that it seemed nowhere was safe—even the animals in this country wanted him dead.
He followed the Vis river as far north as Tontelbros, a small village that barely qualified as a town in terms of its size. He was forced to give it a wide berth as he saw evidence of Outer Heaven patrolmen in the area, and ended up getting lost as he followed the river further north, only to check the iDroid's map and find that the railway station was further to the east.
Cursing his luck, he was forced to hike long hours across the desert underneath the cruel sun, keeping away from the highway and moving east away from the river. It wasn't until about ten o'clock that Snake was able to see it in the distance: there wasn't much to see. A few small buildings placed on opposite sides of a three-way fork in the dirt road, and a small railway station.
Snake remembered when Big Boss had briefed him on the area surrounding Outer Heaven when they first landed in Cape Town. Sakrivier Railway Station was once part of the Cape Western branch of the South African Railway system (SAR), once upon a time, to transport coal heaps, dairy parcels, light goods, and other supplies between Calvinia, Sakrivier, and other locations.
Unfortunately, this station would ultimately be decommissioned after the No. 16 traincar (the last operational rail car that ran this line) would break down in October of 1967. This particular branch had seen no real use since.
Until Outer Heaven set up shop in '91, that is. After the construction of their headquarters was completed, Outer Heaven Inc. had begun setting up forward operating bases throughout the country and had begun repairing and recommissioning the surrounding railways to move troops and supplies. As such, Sakrivier made for an ideal staging ground in the event of an evacuation.
The empty area was overrun with Outer Heaven soldiers and vehicles. As far as Snake knew, everyone who knew that he was an enemy spy was dead. He hoped by walking in maybe he could get medical attention and maybe figure out what to do next. Perhaps he could hitch a ride on one of Outer Heaven's railcars back to civilization.
Snake sat down on a large rock to rest. He was breathing hard. He opened up the iDroid's hologram map again. The battery was set to run out of juice and die at any moment. He wouldn't be able to rely on it anymore without having any way to charge or replace it. If he couldn't hitch a ride with the Outer Heaven forces, he'd need to find a physical map to navigate with.
First, he'd need to find out whether or not they were still on the lookout for a spy. He might be able to blend in with the uniform, but if his description had already been disseminated among the troops in the area, he'd need to drastically alter his plans. Snake turned on his radio and began running it through the frequencies in the hopes that he'd catch the broadband for Outer Heaven's communications.
Instead, he heard a familiar voice say his name: "Mission Control to Solid Snake. Come in, Solid Snake, do you read? Repeat, this is Mission Control sending out an hourly transmission. If you made it out of the blast radius of the bombing run, then please respond."
Salamander? Big Boss had put Salamander on the Mission Control support team?
Snake checked the dial on the radio. It was the original mission control frequency he'd used at the beginning of the mission, before Big Boss had him change to the alternate frequency, "for security reasons."
Come to think of it, what was the real reason behind Big Boss having him change frequency from the official Mission Control one? Was it because they'd jammed FOXHOUND's communications and Big Boss needed to keep FOXHOUND and the government brass out of the loop? Did that mean that there were no other traitors involved, and Big Boss truly was acting alone?
Snake skeptically side-eyed his radio. He'd been tricked once already. For all he knew, this could be another trap. But he was also stranded alone in the middle of South Africa with no identification documents or any way to secure transportation back home to the US. He had to make a decision, roll the dice.
Snake pressed the button on his radio. "This is Solid Snake to Mission Control. I read you," he said. He spoke quietly in a hushed tone—there was no way of knowing if Outer Heaven had any troopers or radiomen in the area.
"Glad to hear you're alive, Snake."
"Salamander? Have you been on the Mission Control team this whole time?"
"Since the beginning. I'm mainly here to monitor communications, but I'm also serving as B.B.'s XO in his absence."
Did Salamander know? Snake asked experimentally, "Where's B.B. right now?"
"I don't know. After he had you switch mission frequencies, he said he had to take care of something and left the safe house via chopper. After the start of the Resistance's assault, we've no communication from either him or you until we got a call from him signaling to start the air strike.
"We've been trying to hail both of you for the past sixteen hours, only to get nothing but radio silence. If you didn't respond in the next six, you would've been declared KIA. I'm glad to hear you made it out of there in one piece."
Snake barked out a short, rueful laugh, then instantly regretted it as he clutched his ribs in pain. "I don't know about that 'in one piece' part," Snake replied, "but yeah, I made it out."
"What's Gray Fox's status? Do you have any idea why he and the Boss disappeared?"
"You really don't know?" Snake said.
"I was hoping you did," Salamander answered.
Snake nodded to himself. That was something, at least. "I have some idea, but let's save it for the rendezvous. We've got bigger problems right now."
"Understood," Sal replied. "Give me a sitrep."
"Situation is isolated and heavily injured. Nearest population center is a small railway station under Outer Heaven control. I'm wearing their colors, but I have no idea if they're still looking for a spy or if they think I'm dead. I was hoping to go in and get medical treatment from them and transport to the nearest town."
"Well, if you're looking to take a train, you'll be SOL."
"Why's that?"
"When the Resistance started their assault on Outer Heaven's base, they also activated cells throughout the country to attack Outer Heaven's forward operating bases and outposts. One of the first things they targeted was the railways leading in and out of the western and southern regions of the Northern Cape, to prevent supplies from moving in and out of Outer Heaven's zones of control. The good news was that it disrupted Outer Heaven's supply chain and crippled their logistics apparatus, which made the assault on their HQ easier."
"And the bad news?"
"Not long after the assault had begun, the Resistance and Outer Heaven forces throughout the country started fighting an all-out open war. The eastern and southern parts of the country are in chaos from Johannesburg all the way to Cape Town. The areas not getting torn apart by the fighting are getting swarmed with refugees. The South African government began to mobilize their military to put the country under martial law and regain some semblance of order, but they're having a hell of a time with it.
"With the western railways down, SANDF is having difficulty moving supplies and refugees throughout the region, and it's probably going to be days or weeks before they'll be able to wrangle this quagmire under something resembling control. Everything west of Victoria West is kaput, and that means you're not going to be able to use the railways to get out of the AO."
"So what should be my course of action then?"
"Your petitioning Outer Heaven for land transport is a good one. If you can get a Jeep or a truck, there's a town called Williston about a hour and a half drive southeast of where you are. That'll be our rendezvous point. From there, I can get you to Victoria West where we can board one of the still-functioning northbound trains to get us to Johannesburg. From there, we go to the American embassy in Pretoria and we'll be home free."
Snake nodded. "Roger. I'll see if the troopers can't help me out. Failing that, I'll steal a map and a car if I have to. I'm sure someone around here will have access to both."
"Good call. I'll start packing things up and begin my move to Williston now. I should be there in…five and a half hours."
Snake checked the digital clock on the iDroid. It was about 10:30am. Snake turned the iDroid off, noting that the battery wouldn't last longer than a few minutes. "If I'm not somehow already there by the time you are, I've probably been delayed. If you get there first and I don't show up by 1800 hours, assume I'm not going to and start making your way to the embassy."
"I'm not forgetting about you. I'll be waiting."
Snake shook his head. "Don't waste time worrying about me, Sal." Snake thought of the Infiltration Team, of his comrades in the Resistance. Of Kyle and Gray Fox. "This war has enough dead heroes…," he finished.
There was a moment of silence on the other line.
"…I'll be waiting."
The radio cut out. There would be no further conversation or argument.
Snake continued listening over the radio for enemy communications for the next fifteen to twenty minutes, but didn't hear anything interesting. If they were still looking for him, they weren't advertising it on the radio waves. He gave himself another few minutes to breathe and psych himself up before picking up his makeshift crutch and pushing himself back to his feet.
When he finally reached the exterior cordon of the outpost, he was fully leaning on the crutch, sweating profusely and breathing hard. A couple of Outer Heaven troopers approached to question him, and he fell forward, letting them catch him. He played up the wounded gazelle gambit, exaggerating his weakness by pretending to be delirious, though to be frank, Snake didn't have to exaggerate that much, given the state of his wounds threatening to open once more.
The troopers quickly carried him over to a medical tent. He was stripped of his weapons, radio, and iDroid while the field medics looked him over and started to treat and dress his wounds. As he was getting looked at, the troopers talked among themselves, curious about the sudden appearance of a lone military aged male dressed in their uniform. Snake's ears perked as he overheard their conversation through the tarp.
"Do you think he's from that group that went missing from last night's convoy?" asked one.
"Who knows? We've had so many people coming in, I can barely keep track. This evacuation's been running me ragged. We don't even have a full inventory of equipment or any idea of what records we've managed to save," replied another.
"Do you recognize him, Laughlin?"
"He's not with my team. I don't think I've seen him around the barracks or supply stations. What about you? Have you seen him at all? Maybe he's with Medical, or maybe R ? Come to think of it, isn't that where the spy was last seen the night before the Rebel assault?"
Snake couldn't see the expressions of the men just outside the tent, but he realized he was holding his breath, and let it out, trying to keep his breathing steady.
"…You don't think it's the same guy, do you?"
"Nah, it can't be. R reported prisoners missing, not equipment; where else could he have gotten that iDroid? It had to have been issued to him?"
"But those things are absurdly expensive—the only ones who have them are Ahab and personal guard."
"Yeah…come to think of it, Ahab took his top guys with him into the bunker hangar during the assault. Maybe he was with them?"
"We won't know until he's stable. Let's talk to the medics and see if he's awake. We can question him once they give us the okay."
Once the medic was finished with his work, Snake opened his eyes a little to look at the man hovering over him, checking his vitals.
"Good," the doc said approvingly. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"
"Like hammered shit," Snake said bitterly. "But I'll live. Where am I?"
"Sakrivier Railway Outpost."
Snake nodded. "I made it, then." He sighed dramatically. "That's a relief."
"How many fingers am I holding up?" asked the medic.
Snake looked at the doc's hand. "Two," he said.
"Do you know what day it is?"
Snake thought for a second, then realized he honestly didn't know. Between the excitement of his infiltration and invasion of Outer Heaven and the time he'd spent in captivity under Supply Storage, he had completely lost track. He shook his head.
"I'm not sure," Snake said. "So much has happened over the past week, I've started losing track."
The medic nodded sympathetically. "It's definitely one hell of a week." He shined a light into Snake's eyes to examine his pupils. "Well, you've definitely been put through the wringer, but you seem stable. What's your name, soldier?"
Snake took less than a second to come up with something. "Bronson, Edward. My friends call me Eddie."
The medic didn't respond with more than a monosyllabic grunt as he applied the stethoscope to Snake's chest and back, instructing him to take deep breaths.
"Well, Bronson," the medic said with a sigh, "you're in safe hands here, but our officers are going to want to ask you some questions, when you're ready."
Snake nodded. He knew this was coming, and thanks to his overhearing the others' conversation, he already had an idea of how to answer certain questions. He waved to the doc, and the medic left the tent to converse with the troopers outside, who all filed in.
There were three guys, identified by their nametapes as 2nd Lt. Connolly, 1st Lt. Mabasa, and Cpt. Igwe. Mabasa was the tallest, while Igwe was short and stocky and Connolly had fiery red hair. They all eyeballed Snake with suspicion, saying nothing at first. Mabasa crossed his arms.
It was Igwe who spoke first. "So, Bronson, was it?"
Snake nodded. "Correct."
"What rank?"
"Staff Sergeant."
The three men looked to each other skeptically and Connolly exhaled sarcastically. Igwe continued, "Alright, Sgt. Bronson. Whose team were you with?"
"I was with the detail assigned to Ahab when the Rebels made it into the bunker," Snake replied. "I joined one of the last evac convoys just before the bombs dropped. We got separated, and I ended up having to make the rest of the way here on foot."
"You weren't the only one who got separated from the convoy, Sergeant. We had three vehicles unaccounted for when Zulu team came in last night," Mabasa said. "Do you know what happened to them?"
Snake nodded. "I stopped to answer a message over my radio. A Jeep and an ATV was sent to check on me and escort me back to the convoy. We got ambushed—some small group of Rebels. We got unlucky. Only reason I survived was by blending in with the bodies. The Rebels moved on, and I made it out."
"You said you were with Ahab before the evacuation, right?" asked Igwe.
Snake looked down at his feet trying his best to look defeated. He nodded, the bangs of his hair obscuring his eyes as he looked up at the three men.
"If I may ask, what happened down there? We've been trying to reestablish communication with leadership, but we've gotten little in the way of response. Complete radio silence."
Snake knew he couldn't afford to be caught in a lie—best to keep his story as close to the truth as possible to make it more believable. Embracing the role of Eddie Bronson, he said: "Mine was one of the teams Ahab called in to assist. It was reported that a team of Rebels had made it down to the hangar.
"When they reached the hangar, Ahab and a few of our guys fought to defend the weapon we'd had housed down there, but the Rebels managed to torch it. Ahab fell back, told us to get ready. He fought with them, lured them into a kill zone in the ordnance storage area."
Snake shook his head, putting his head into his hands. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He lowered his hands, staring at his bandaged fingers. He slowly curled them into fists, noting how it hurt. He slowly opened them again.
"It was a massacre," he finished. "I don't know what was up with them, maybe the Rebels had hired some kind of third party mercenary force or they'd been secretly holding back their best guys all this time—hell, maybe it was that spy everyone's been up in arms about. But I didn't see anyone else make it out of there. Even Ahab was pretty bloody by the end of it. When I last saw him, he could barely move."
Snake looked over at a desk on the other side of the tent, where his knife and iDroid rested. He pointed at the desk. "That iDroid?" Snake said, directing the attention of his audience. "It's not mine. Ahab gave it to me before sending me topside for evac—lost mine during the evacuation."
There, thought Snake. If I volunteer that it isn't mine, that should keep them from questioning why I don't have mine on me.
Connolly and Mabasa looked surprised, while Igwe's eyes narrowed.
"Why'd he give it to you?" he demanded.
Snake saw an opportunity to bullshit his way to getting a ride.
He continued, "He told me there was an important message stored on it. Told me he wanted me to make sure it reached its destination, and that I should trust no one else with it but the guy it's meant for, not even if they're Outer Heaven."
Snake shrugged. "As for why he trusted me with it…I have no idea. Probably because we both knew I was the only one who had a chance in hell of making it out of there. I didn't see him again after that. I have no idea if he's still alive or not…" he trailed off with a pained expression on his face.
Connolly put a hand on Snake's shoulder in sympathy. Snake looked over to Igwe, who had picked up the iDroid. "Before you ask, I don't know what the message is," Snake said. "It's probably encrypted. I mainly used the iDroid's map to navigate my way back here, and the battery's pretty much close to dead as it is. I assume Ahab's contact will know what to do with it when I reach him."
"Who's the contact?" Igwe asked.
Snake shrugged again. "I didn't get a name. I just know that he's waiting in Williston."
There was a moment of silence while Igwe considered Snake's response. After a few seconds, he looked to Mabasa. "Lieutenant, has the cargo for today's run been loaded?"
Mabasa nodded to the Captain. "Yes, sir."
"And the truck?"
"Gassed up and ready to go."
Igwe gave him a nod in return. "Good. Sgt. Bronson, we're about to move some cargo to one of our FOBs to the east. Williston is on the way there. Given the…importance of your message, I would like to recommend you to ride with us. We'll have to make a short stop on the way there, though. It shouldn't impact your mission at all."
Snake stood up slowly, grimacing. "Excellent. Thank you, Cpt. Igwe, sir."
Snake grabbed the iDroid and his knife from the medic's desk. Lt. Connolly assisted Snake with walking out of the tent, while Mabasa and Igwe stayed behind.
Mabasa turned to Igwe. "Do you think he was telling the truth, sir?"
Igwe's eyes narrowed once more. "I don't believe that just any Rebel could best Ahab in open combat, assuming that's even what happened in the first place. And to be the sole survivor of two near-death experiences in a row, and carrying a message from Ahab himself…it's too convenient. And then there's his rank…"
Igwe stepped over to the desk and rested his palms on the top, hunched over in thought. "…Lieutenant Mabasa."
"Sir?"
"What's the status of the documents we've managed to save from the evacuation?"
"It's all scattered, sir. We haven't even begun to organize them all properly."
"What about security camera footage?"
"The hard drives are even less organized than the boxes of printouts."
Igwe sighed heavily. "Damn it." He drew himself up to his full height. "Alright. Mabasa, come with me. We'll be loading on the truck with Bronson and the others so we can keep an eye on him. I want to test him personally.
Mabasa saluted his commanding officer, and together they headed outside to the truck where Connolly and Snake were waiting.
The outpost was abuzz with activity. Igwe and Mabasa were dodging between troopers carrying crates and cardboard boxes of weapons, ordnance, documentation, and miscellaneous equipment on their way to the transport truck. Materials were being quickly laid out as Outer Heaven quickly got to work building new defensive structures. Snake was in awe of how quickly and efficiently the personnel around him moved.
With this level of organization, it was no wonder that the local Resistance had been having so much trouble before, he thought.
Igwe pointed to Connolly. "You drive," he commanded. "Mabasa, Bronson, and I will load up into the bed.
Snake climbed up behind Igwe and Mabasa into the covered truck bed and sat down on the benches while another unnamed trooper joined Conolly in the passenger seat of the cab. Snake noticed at the end of the benches a large crate resting against the back of the cab.
Snake pointed. "Supplies for the FOB?"
Igwe shook his head. "This is what we'll be dropping off on our way to Williston."
Snake was confused, but he nodded, not wanting to draw attention to himself by asking too many questions. They sat in silence for a while, with nothing but the rumbling of the engine and the vibrations beneath their seats and feet to accompany them as the truck climbed and descended up and downhill on the desert roads. Snake kept his gaze glued to his feet, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone.
He tried to relax, but found that he couldn't. His hands shook; he clasped his fingers together to hide it, but he felt too wired, so he put his hands in his pockets and leaned back and to the right, resting against the crate.
"So, Sgt. Bronson…"
Snake looked up to address Mabasa. "Yes?" he asked.
"How long have you been with us?"
Snake sniffed, leaning forward and rubbing the back of his aching hand. "Not long," he said. "Few months."
"And what brought you to join Outer Heaven?" asked Igwe.
Snake chuckled slightly, trying to keep the foreboding sense of anxiety from creeping into his voice. "What is this, a job interview?" he said with a smirk.
He looked from Igwe to Mabasa, neither of whom said anything in response.
Igwe's face was impassive, not revealing anything. His eyes were slightly narrowed, but Igwe had had a permanent frown since he and his men first arrived in the medical tent. He could be suspicious, or he could be just be hardened and stressed from the ongoing war that had been happening around him, or maybe he just had the kind of personality that would make him kind of a hardass generally speaking. It was impossible to tell.
Mabasa on the other hand, just shrugged when Snake looked at him. Unlike his superior, Mabasa was leaning back, completely relaxed. If there was anything wrong going on to indicate that these men might know that Snake isn't who he says he is, Mabasa wasn't showing it.
Snake hedged his bets. "I mainly joined for the money. After I left the military, there weren't a lot of jobs in the civilian world that could accommodate my experience and temperament. Outer Heaven seemed like a good fit."
"Where did you serve?"
Snake remembered his mistake with trying to hide his origins from Shotmaker. Better to be honest this time—Outer Heaven appeared to be an equal-opportunity army of shitbags, he thought. Surely the presence of one American wouldn't be too unusual.
"Army. American," Snake responded. "I was recruited not long after I got discharged."
"American?" asked Mabasa. He and Igwe shared a look that Snake didn't catch.
Snake nodded. "Yeah." He smirked a little, looking between them. "That's not that unusual, is it? I mean, we've got bases all over, not just in South Africa. Besides, Ahab was from North America, too."
Mabasa raised his eyebrows, but Igwe said nothing. Mabasa asked, "Why do you say that?"
Snake asked, "Have you ever met the man? Listened to him speak? His accent is obvious. He sounds like he's from Michigan, or somewhere else up near the Great Lakes. Might even be Canadian-born, for all I know. Only thing that's certain is he's not from around here."
Igwe nodded in agreement while Mabasa crossed his arms in envy.
Snake cocked his head. "You've really never heard him speak?"
"There have been two thousand people staffing the Outer Heaven headquarters alone, including civilian personnel," Igwe explained. "Each forward operating base houses a staff of between five and seven hundred. That's worldwide. Between the HQ and the FOBs, this company staffs and houses the population of a small country, or at least several cities. The CEO is a very busy man and handles a great deal of matters daily. He cannot be everywhere at once, so it's no surprise that there are many of us who have yet to meet the man in person. Not everyone is as lucky as you and I. I'm more surprised by the fact that you're surprised by that."
Snake shrugged, leaning against the crate again. "I guess," he replied noncommittally. He looked over at Igwe again. "So, why did you join?"
Igwe finally joined his subordinate in leaning back, crossing his ankles as he stretched his legs across the truck bed from his bench.
"Like you, I initially joined for the money," Igwe said, "Outer Heaven paid better than the SADF, and living in this part of the world, there wasn't a lot in the way of economic opportunities for one such as me, or for Mabasa for that matter. Unless you wanted to slave away in a diamond mine somewhere. I decided, if I was going to break my back and sacrifice my health either way, I would do so on my own terms. I was among the first wave of South Africans to be recruited back in 1988 after the company changed its name, before the contract five years ago that let us set up our headquarters out here. Ahab, for his part, was happy to take me in.
"Ahab was different from many of the white employers and government officials I had been used to dealing with most of my life. He truly does not care if you are a white colonial or Xhosa or Zulu or Botswanan or Basotho or whoever. He cares only that you can fight, do the job, and help represent Outer Heaven. Nations, ethnicities, races, ideologies—all of these are immaterial to him. In Outer Heaven, unlike the rest of the world it seems, you are truly recognized as nothing more or less than a human being, and celebrated as a warrior—and it is only by that that we are judged, nothing else."
"But wasn't Outer Heaven working with the government to reinforce the apartheid state?" Snake asked.
Igwe shrugged. "Such is the cost of doing business with the government we had at the time. Everyone knew when they signed up that it may sometimes mean fighting on behalf of people who hate us for one reason or another. As a veteran of the original South African Defence Force (SADF), such a thing is not unusual for me, and I've heard from some of my contacts in the new SANDF that replaced it, that not much has changed, even though the new government likes to pretend otherwise."
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes roaming over Snake's face. "Your skin is pale and your eyes are blue, but I can tell from the shape of your face, you are not quite the same as the other white men I have met. Asian descent? Not Indian though, from what I can see. East Asian descent, if I had to guess?"
Snake shrugged. "I'm a foster kid. Orphan. Never knew my parents. My documents and bloodwork say I'm part Japanese though, for all that tells me."
"Is it truly any different for you, then? It wasn't that long ago that America would look down upon and even imprison you for who your ancestors were, and yet still you served them loyally, once upon a time."
Snake considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "Things were different back then. America's a different place now. I don't regret my past service, and they've treated me as loyally as I treated them. I don't have ill will for them."
Snake stared at his scarred and bandaged palms as he continued curling them into fists and reopening his hands. Was that even still true though, he asked himself? It was the American government who entrusted his fate to FOXHOUND. It was Big Boss, head of FOXHOUND, who betrayed him. An image of the stars and stripes appeared unbidden to his mind, and the fabric was wreathed in flame.
"And then you left, cast out when you were no longer needed by your government, like I was. And now, you are here," Igwe said, nodding in assurance. "Among brothers. Family. Where your homeland failed you, Ahab was there to help you pick up the pieces and renew your sense of purpose. Perhaps it was fate?"
Igwe inhaled and sighed slowly, lips curling upwards for the first time since Snake had met him. "Ahab truly is a great man. There is no one else like him," he said.
"There was no one else like him," Mabasa said sadly.
"Hey," Igwe said sternly. "We do not know for sure that he is dead. Sgt. Bronson himself said that he didn't see what happened after they were separated, and he was injured as well. If the sergeant could make it out in his condition, there's no reason to think that Ahab didn't survive as well. We must have faith."
Fat chance, Snake thought to himself, just barely able to avoid vocalizing the thought. The idea of Big Boss somehow surviving was equal parts horrifying and darkly humorous. He thought back to that dark hallway underneath the bunker, how the light had left Big Boss's eye. He nodded, reassuring himself. I watched him die. He's gone. It's over. Snake covered his face with his hands, trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes.
Just have to get home.
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY SEVEN – 1240 HOURS
SOMEWHERE FAR TO THE WEST OF THE R353 HIGHWAY
After a little while of driving, the vibrations began to quiet as the truck rumbled to a stop. Snake awoke with a start, realizing that he had nodded off.
"We're here?" he asked, confused.
Mabasa shook his head. "Halfway," he said. "We had to take an eastern detour—Williston's another hour out. This is our first stop—the dropoff."
"Give me a hand with this, Lieutenant," Igwe grunted, pulling the handle on one side of the crate from outside the truck bed.
Mabasa got up from the bench, crouching to lift the crate and push it out as he and Igwe worked together to carry it out of the bed and walk a ways away from the truck to the crest of the hill they were parked on. Mabasa climbed back in and opened a toolbox mounted to the back of the cab and pulled out a prybar.
Mabasa waved to Snake as he passed. "Come on," he said. "The Captain has something he wants to show you."
Snake gingerly pulled himself to his feet and carefully disembarked from the back of the transport truck with a wince, nursing his aching ribs. He walked slowly to join Mabasa, Igwe, Connolly, and the fourth trooper, a Corporal who Snake saw was named "Wilson" based on the nametape on his uniform's jacket.
Mabasa brandished the prybar to indicate his readiness to open the crate, but Igwe raised a steadying hand, and Mabasa lowered it once more. Snake looked around. They were out in the middle of the wilderness: no FOB and no sign of people for miles around.
"Where are we?" Snake asked. "I thought you said this is a drop-off, but there's no one else here."
Igwe turned to Snake. "It is a drop-off, in a matter of speaking."
Igwe walked around the crate so that it was to his back, and leaned back to sit on top of it. He looked away, up into the sky. There was no sound except the wind and the far-off cries of animals. Igwe breathed in the dusty air, and let it out in a sigh.
"Weather outside is good today," he said casually.
Snake didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
"I love days like this," he continued. "Wide open, clear sky. Vast wilderness with no one around you, just you and the earth. It's a good place to clear the mind. Good for the body and soul. Before you joined with us, Sergeant, did you ever do much camping—spending time in the 'great outdoors,' I think is the American phrase?"
Snake thought of his test with Black Mamba during training. He thought of FOXHOUND and the Army's outdoor survival training. He thought of the times when one of his foster fathers, a Martin Blake, used to take him camping as a kid. Those were a few good days. Among Snake's many foster families growing up, the Blakes were probably among his favorite—no substance abuse problems, no beatings or neglect. The Blakes and the Williamses were probably the two families who treated him the best and fairest.
Snake shook his head. Why was he thinking about his childhood right now? He looked up to answer the question, before seeing that Igwe must have taken his shaking his head as an answer, because he kept talking.
"That's a shame," Igwe said. "My father took me and my brothers camping often when we were children. I always loved it. It helped us grow closer."
Snake gave a non-committal nod. Where was Igwe going with this? He eyed the crate on which Igwe sat. Something about it made him feel uneasy, though he wasn't sure why.
"It was the same after I joined the South African Defence Force, and later when I joined Outer Heaven. There is nothing quite like the bonds between soldiers, fellow comrades-in-arms. To me, these bonds run just as deep as that of my flesh and blood. To me, these men, young and old, are my family—my brothers and sons. There is nothing I would not do for them. I take one look in your eyes, and I see that you understand."
Snake thought of Lima Company. He thought of Black Mamba and Gray Fox. He thought of the Rebels he'd befriended and fought with over the course of this operation. He nodded in agreement. He understood, all right.
"Which is why," Igwe continued, "there is no greater sin than to betray your family, to take up arms against them and what they stand for. Wouldn't you agree, Sergeant?"
Snake's mind sparked into a wildfire of panic. He fought every impulse in his muscles that could possibly give himself away, and struggled to keep his face neutral. Did Igwe suspect him? Snake frowned and nodded, trying to get across that he was taking Igwe's words seriously without letting on the real reason why.
"Have you ever had the misfortune of being betrayed by a comrade, Sgt. Bronson? To have your trust violated by someone you'd bled for and fought alongside?"
Snake thought of Big Boss, and his face involuntarily tightened into a scowl. His right hand started shaking again. He closed his eyes and cast his face downward as he replied in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "Yes, sir. I have."
Cpt. Igwe nodded to himself, his face showing a sort of wistful sorrow. "Then out here in Outer Heaven, you and I truly are brothers, Sergeant. For I, too, have known the same bitter sting of betrayal."
Igwe pushed himself up off the box and paced away. "It happened when I was with the SADF. This would have been, oh, about seven or eight years ago now? I was still fairly young back then, a proud volunteer of a local Commando unit serving alongside the police. At the time, I was helping to provide training for Zulu militias as part of Operation Marion."
Snake thought back to his briefing on the political history of South Africa prior to his arrival in the country over a week ago. If Igwe was part of Operation Marion, that would have placed him in the INCLM's (Inkatha National Cultural Liberation Movement) camp? Given their opposition to international sanctioning on economic grounds, it wouldn't be surprising, given Igwe's status as a mercenary.
"What happened?" Snake asked.
"A state of emergency was declared in the town of Trust Feed. Have you heard of the place?"
Snake shook his head silently.
"Ah, right, of course you wouldn't. You're American, after all. Why would you have knowledge of our local politics, hm? Allow me to explain, then. It is a primarily Zulu rural community in the KwaZulu-Natal province, east of Lesotho. Anyway, there was a funeral vigil taking place one night, it was believed that the members in attendance were members of the United Democratic Front."
Snake thought back to his briefings once more. He nodded to himself, remembering Mangosuthu Buthelezi, the INCLM founder.
Buthelezi's Inkatha party was becoming unpopular with the African National Congress (ANC), and the negotiations between the United Democratic Front (UDF) and Buthelezi's center-right leaning INCLM had already been breaking down for quite some time. At first, both opposed the apartheid system of government on paper and were mutual allies in the anti-apartheid struggle.
However, Buthelezi would later start being accused of being a government puppet when other anti-apartheid leaders started supporting sanctions from the international community on South Africa, which Buthelezi and INCLM opposed, saying that such a move would economically weaken South Africa, even going so far as meeting with then-President Reagan to argue their case.
Tensions had been rising ever since, threatening to boil over into a regional civil war even before Outer Heaven came along. Snake wondered how many potential armed conflicts in the region were stoked by the various pro- and anti-apartheid coalitions deciding to use them as hired muscle.
"Seeing the anti-apartheid movements as acting against the interests of the state, the head of the local Joint Management Committee sent constables of the South African Police to murder the attendants of the vigil," Igwe went on. "These were all men that I had personally helped to train. Eleven innocent people died that night—three men, six women, and two children. All because they dared to oppose an unfair and unjust system."
Igwe spat on the ground, fists clenched in rage. "And when it was all over," he continued, "they attempted to blame us, saying it was part of a state effort to empower the INCLM at the ANC's and UDF's expense. When it turned out that the victims were actually supporters of Inkatha, they tried blaming the UDF instead."
Cpt. Igwe cast his eyes to the ground, nodding to himself. "My eyes were opened that day. In the eyes of my government, it didn't matter if you were military or civilian, innocent or guilty. We were all equally disposable. It's why I left the service at the end of my term."
Cpt. Igwe gestured to his men. "It's also what brought me to Ahab, and to Outer Heaven. Money aside, I had also had the chance to sit and speak with Ahab himself, and through him I learned the history of his organization. The men there were all treasured amongst each other, celebrated as family and as the warriors they are. What's more, they too knew how it felt to be used, cast aside, and betrayed by the governments of the lands they called home. Which is we shun the spy, the liar, and the traitor."
Cpt. Igwe looked to Snake again, stepping forward to pat him on the shoulder. Snake tried not to wince. "Which is what brings us here today," he said.
Snake's heart rate quickened. He put his hands into his pockets, fought to keep his breathing steady. As he cocked his head to the side. "How so?" he asked.
Cpt. Igwe stepped back and motioned to the mostly ignored crate on the ground. "Show him," he told his men.
Mabasa and Connolly jammed their prybars under the lid, wrenching it off of the large wooden box. As Mabasa dropped his prybar and tossed the lid aside, Connolly and Wilson each gave the crate a solid kick, tipping it over onto its side and dumping out the contents.
A man tied with ropes at his hands and feet rolled out onto the dirt. His wrists were caked in blood where the ropes were tied, his clothes disheveled. He wore a black sack over his head that Mabasa tore off, leaving him blinking in the harsh sunlight. The skin around his mouth was torn slightly from the rag that was tied round his head, forcing his mouth open.
Snake's face was still, not betraying a hint of shock or emotion. Whether this was from practice or exhaustion, it was unclear. He looked over the bound hostage they'd just dumped onto the ground in front of him, still blind from the harsh rays of the afternoon sun.
"What is this…?" Snake asked in a hushed tone.
Cpt. Igwe gestured to the man. "He was someone we welcomed into the fold; a brother of Outer Heaven by the name of Vukani who'd lost his home in the wake of the struggle to overturn apartheid. We accepted him with open arms, only to find he had been feeding information to the Rebels in Calvinia."
Lt. Mabasa delivered a swift kick to Vukani's gut. Vukani curled into a ball. Cpt. Igwe continued, "We interrogated him, and so far the only thing we learned is that he is not a member of the Resistance himself. He betrayed his Outer Heaven brothers and sent his fellow South Africans to their deaths at our hands and in so doing, he is twice the liar and traitor. What is worse, he sent these Rebels to us in the assault that would lead to the attempt on Ahab's life."
Cpt. Igwe reached out toward Lt. Connolly, who handed him a Beretta. Igwe considered it for a moment. "Ordinarily in such circumstances, we would hold a trial, where those who committed such crimes against us would be judged by their peers in Outer Heaven and punished accordingly. But we are at war—so we will have to serve as the witnesses."
He held the pistol by the barrel and extended it towards Snake, grip first. "The judgment is decided: the verdict is death. As someone who knows the stain of betrayal, Sgt. Bronson, I believe you should do the honors."
Snake grabbed the pistol and tugged slightly against Igwe's grip. They stared into each other's eyes and after a few seconds, Igwe let go. Snake looked over at Vukani, whose eyes were still closed as his face twisted in pain. "I'd heard that the spy at the Headquarters was foreign," Snake said slowly. "Did we ever find out who they were working for?"
Cpt. Igwe's eyes glinted with interest. "Why do you ask, Sergeant?"
Snake gestured to Vukani. "You said he wasn't an official Resistance member. Doesn't mean he was acting alone."
Snake crouched over Vukani's shivering body and put his hands onto the gag around the prisoner's head, rolling it out of Vukani's mouth and over his face to pull it off his head. "Before we give him his traitor's reward, let's see if we can find out who—if anyone—he was working for."
Vukani spluttered after having the gag removed, and squinted in Snake's shadow until he got a good look at Snake's face. Vukani's eyes widened slightly with recognition. "Y-you?" he gasped.
Mabasa asked, "Someone you know, Sergeant Bronson?"
Igwe's head tilted slightly as he regarded Snake. Snake spat on the ground, replying, "No, never met him before."
Without warning, Snake slugged Vukani in the stomach, turning Vukani over as he dry heaved over the ground. "Traitor scum," Snake hissed, kicking Vukani in the ass and sending him prone. "Speak only when spoken to," he commanded as he got down low and whispered into Vukani's ear: "Shut the fuck up and play along, or we'll both die."
Snake raised his head and saw his inner panic reflected in Vukani's eyes. Both men knew just how screwed they were being surrounded by four troopers and with little way of defending themselves. Snake needed to buy them some time, and so he immersed himself further into his role of Ahab's sadistically vengeful follower and got into character.
Snake pointed the gun into Vukani's face. "Okay, traitor," he spat. "If you're no Rebel, then who the hell are you? Are you with the South African government? Are you military?"
Vukani shook his head in confused fear. Snake could see it in the man's eyes—he wasn't lying.
"Then who? Who are you working for?"
Vukani's eyes flitted from Snake to each Outer Heaven trooper in turn, recoiling in fear. Vukani squirmed, trying to slide away from Snake on his back, but Snake simply stood and pressed the bottom of his boot onto Vukani's chest.
Vukani coughed. "What good would it do me to tell you?" Vukani gasped. "You're going to kill me anyway."
Snake growled, and as he spoke, he was surprised at the venom that naturally came out of his mouth. After everything that had occurred over the past few days, it felt good to have someone to punish, even if it was partly an act. He thought of his time in captivity under Shotmaker. Perhaps channeling the sadist could give him some kind of advantage here.
Snake leaned forward menacingly as he spoke: "Today is really not the day to be testing me, my friend. Not after everything I've been through. You really think that just because your life is forfeit, that we have nothing to threaten you with? Just because you're not long for this world doesn't mean I can't still make your exit painful."
To drive the point home, Snake moved his boot to a light injury on Vukani's shoulder and shifted his weight onto it. Vukani screamed in agony for a moment, after which Snake let up.
Snake turned his head towards Cpt. Igwe. "This man have any family?" he asked.
Cpt. Igwe crossed his arms. "When he came to us, many of them had died in the riots before his home was burned down."
"All of them?"
"I used to work with the guy," Cpl. Wilson volunteered. "He's got a son out in Brandvlei who survived the burning of their house with him. Kid's about seven years old."
Snake looked back down at Vukani, whose eyes had filled with fear. "Does he, now?" Snake asked.
"H-He's just a child," Vukani begged. "He hasn't done anything! You leave him alone, you hear me? You leave my boy alone!"
"Well, that's entirely up to you," Snake said in as mocking a tone as he could.
He hated himself more with every word that came out of his mouth, but he needed a way to keep extending this interaction for as long as possible until he could think of a way out. And now, he realized he may have just put an innocent child in danger by bringing him up here. Whatever Snake did, he needed to resolve this quickly.
Snake crouched low, making Vukani look up into his face. "Listen to me carefully, Vukani. As far as Outer Heaven is concerned, your life is forfeit. There's nothing you can say or do that can save you. But if you work with me—," Snake emphasized the words, "and answer my questions, I will personally guarantee your son's safety."
Snake looked over to Cpt. Igwe and said, "Let it not be said that Outer Heaven is incapable of mercy. After all, there's no glory or honor in murdering the weak and innocent. We're warriors, not savages. But if you test our faith or my patience, then we will punish you accordingly, make no mistake."
Igwe nodded in agreement.
Vukani looked from Snake to Igwe and then back to Snake. He scowled with impotent hatred, and laid his head back onto the ground, closing his eyes. "Fine," he said.
"So, who is it who set you against us?" Igwe demanded.
Vukani sighed in defeat. What was one more betrayal, after all? "America. I was recruited and paid by Americans."
"The CIA?" Snake asked. "You're an agent?"
Vukani nodded.
"Who was your handler? I want the name of your operations officer."
"He called himself Carlton. I'd been feeding him information about both the Resistance and Outer Heaven for months. He'd visit me once a week, never meeting me in the same place twice. He'd collect whatever intelligence I had to give him and if it was good, he'd pay me a good sum. Between that money and the money that Outer Heaven was paying me, it was enough to provide for my son after the fall of the apartheid government."
Vukani took in a long breath. His face was calm, and he looked at peace. His fists uncurled as he relaxed his hands. He continued, "It allowed us to rebuild our lives. And then a little over a week ago, he introduced me to someone else, said that they needed my help again—this time it wasn't just to get information, but also to give it, to carry messages to key Resistance members."
"Who did he introduce you to?" Snake demanded.
Vukani shook his head. "He didn't give me a name, but the man called himself 'Salamander.'"
Snake nodded to himself. It made sense that the CIA had more informants besides just Kyle. He patted Vukani's face. "You did well, Vukani," Snake said, standing up to his full height. "That was all I needed to know."
"You'll…protect my son?" Vukani pleaded.
Snake levelled his pistol to point it at the prisoner. "You have my word," he promised, pulling back the hammer with his thumb. Vukani braced himself for the gunshot to come.
Slowly, Snake curled his index finger into the trigger guard. His hand shook slightly, and the Beretta's muzzle wobbled. Mabasa came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you alright, Sergeant? You look like you're having trouble keeping steady."
Snake shook his head. "Still weak from the fall of Outer Heaven's HQ. But I can still hold a gun."
"Good. Then let's get this over with so we can get out of here." Mabasa gave Snake's shoulder a squeeze.
Snake smirked. "If you insist," he said.
In one fluid motion, Snake grabbed Mabasa's wrist with his left hand, squatted to lower his center of gravity, and reached back behind him to pistol whip Mabasa in the groin. Before the troopers could react, Snake grabbed Mabasa by the forearm and bicep and used his leverage to pull Mabasa bodily over his shoulder and fall onto his back. Snake crouched and pinned one of Mabasa's arms with his knee while keeping his foot next to Mabasa's other arm.
Snake unsheathed his knife in a reverse grip and laid the edge of the blade against Mabasa's carotid artery while pointing the pistol at Igwe. "Captain Igwe, I highly suggest you disarm yourself and order your other two men to do the same."
The Outer Heaven troopers made no motion to move, staring him down with confidence.
Snake muttered, "Your funeral," and squeezed the trigger.
Click. Click.
The gun was empty.
A/N: Whew, finally got this one out! This was kind of a beast of a chapter as now that Snake's made it out of Outer Heaven and completed the events of the actual game, that means we're officially back in original fiction territory, which is both extremely fun and also a little more of a challenge to write, so sorry for the wait. For today's bit of behind-the-scenes trivia: this chapter wasn't originally supposed to end where it did, but the word count was starting to get a bit long and I saw an opportunity for a good cliffhanger, so I've decided to merge what would have been the end of the Vukani trial with my plans for Chapter 21.
Trust me, it was necessary-if it went on any longer, it would have probably ended up at 13 or maybe even 15 thousand words, and it would have completely ruined the pacing. Maybe I could have shaved it down if I included less details about the history of South Africa's wildlife and local politics but a.) that sort of information is very on brand for a Metal Gear story and b.) I spent the time doing the research, there was absolutely no way I was going to let it go to waste by not using it, ha ha.
Also, the bit about Snake speculating how Big Boss could be either being American or Canadian-born is meant to be a cheeky reference to when Kiefer Sutherland voiced and mocapped BB in MGSV.
Next chapter we'll see how Snake manages to get out of this predicament and make it to his meeting with Salamander so he can hopefully make his way out of South Africa. Tune in for the next chapter as we continue to chronicle the end of Solid Snake's debut mission! Please look forward to it, and feel free to leave a review if you like it or if you have any constructive criticism to give! Thank you for your continued support, and I look forward to bringing you more of this story as I can get it out.