OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY SEVEN – 1300 HOURS
SOMEWHERE FAR TO THE WEST OF THE R353 HIGHWAY
Cpt. Igwe laughed, and his men joined him. Even Mabasa chuckled slightly before Snake gripped his knife tighter against Mabasa's throat to silence him.
"Drop your weapons," Snake repeated. "I've still got your man here."
"I think not, Spy," Cpt. Igwe barked with a humorless chuckle. "We have you surrounded. Your only leverage is one man. And if you kill him, then we will most certainly kill you. The numbers are not in your favor here. Relinquish your knife and surrender now, and I may be able to guarantee you a quick and painless death."
"How long did you know that I wasn't who I said I was?" Snake asked.
"My first clue was your introduction, Staff Sergeant," Cpt. Igwe said. "Every member of Ahab's personal guard is an officer. The rank you claimed to be was too low. On top of that, there was Vukani's recognition of you when you removed his gag. You might not have known him, but he certainly knows you. Combine this with the fact that you are an American, and the picture becomes much clearer."
Snake cursed to himself silently. So, they'd known from the beginning. "So, what would you have done if I'd attempted to shoot Vukani?"
"We've recruited from our enemies before," Igwe said. "Such a show of loyalty would normally be welcomed. But you, you would have been eliminated as the loose end you are. Besides, I'd say you've done too much against us at this point to deserve such clemency, don't you think?"
Igwe turned to Connolly. "Keep your gun trained on the prisoner. If the spy makes any sudden moves, or attempts to take Mabasa's firearm from its holster, you and Wilson will kill them both."
"Yes, sir," Connolly replied, raising his gun in Vukani's direction.
Igwe crouched low to reach Snake's eye level, stretching out his arms a little before resting them on his knees in a squat. "So," Igwe said. "It appears, for now, that we are at an impasse."
Igwe took in a breath and let it out in a long sigh, before giving Snake a sardonic grin.
"Well, while we're here, perhaps you could fill in some blanks for me. I know you came from the bunker, just as you probably were the one who killed the missing members of the convoy, and I believe you when you say that the iDroid you have belonged to Ahab, even if the story of a secret message itself was a lie. So, why don't you tell me what actually happened? Where is he—where is Ahab?"
Snake examined the empty gun in his hand, hanging it from his index finger by the trigger guard. He spun it and grabbed it by the barrel, wanting to throw it away in frustration, but decided against it, resting the forearm over his bent knee.
At Igwe's question, Snake looked up into the man's eyes and sighed. "What? You're telling me you can't guess?"
Igwe glowered, his smile gone. "I want to hear it from you."
Snake shrugged casually, as if he wasn't holding a man hostage while an enemy had a rifle pointed at him. "Fine," he said. "You want the truth? Ahab—or Venom, or whatever you feel like calling him—is dead. I killed him myself."
"Bullshit," Connolly said.
Igwe raised a hand to wave Connolly into silence. "This is confirmed?" he asked.
"I'm not saying he made it easy," Snake clarified. "He and his guards came pretty close to giving me a dirt nap several times. But in the end, I won out. I stayed long enough to watch him bleed out before I left."
Snake stared down Cpt. Igwe, looking him directly in the eye. "He's dead," Snake confirmed.
Anger and grief flashed on Wilson's face. Connolly and Wilson both tensed as Igwe stood up to his full height, turning his back to Snake to look up into the sky. His hand hovered over the sidearm holstered to his thigh. Snake could see the muscles in Igwe's shoulders tense up as his fingers flexed, desperately itching to draw the gun.
"I believe you," Cpt. Igwe said.
Igwe's hand moved toward the Beretta in his thigh holster, and all at once, Snake felt like time had slowed to a crawl. Snake pressed down with his blade and sliced upward, spilling red from Mabasa's jugular and spinning the knife in his hand to grab it by the blade and throw it at Connolly.
As the blade spun once end over to end before plunging into Connolly's eye socket, Snake was already raising his other hand to throw the empty gun at Igwe, hitting him in the face just as Igwe brought his own handgun to bear. While Igwe reared backward, Snake grabbed the gun from Mabasa's thigh holster while rolling to the side to put Igwe between himself and Wilson.
Snake raised the Beretta to take a shot at Igwe, who ducked and rolled under the truck, forcing Snake to switch targets and plug Wilson full of holes before the trooper could bring his rifle to bear. At the same time, Connolly hit the ground, thrashing and twitching as his brain had finally registered his death.
Snake got low to fire under the truck at Igwe, but Igwe was already gone. Snake stood up just in time to see Igwe vaulting over the hood and kicking the gun out of his hand as Igwe brought them both to the ground. Igwe recovered first, drawing his knife and straddling Snake's torso to bring the blade down towards Snake's eye.
Snake braced against Igwe's arm with both arms and flailed uselessly with his feet, but his strength was already ebbing—he'd been too injured, and in any second, the knife would carve out his eye sockets.
Suddenly, a crack like thunder split the air, and half of Igwe's skull exploded outward to Snake's right, the force of which sent the captain to the ground beside him. Snake looked left to where the shot came from, and saw Vukani, still tied up and lying prone, his hands clutching the pistol that Igwe had kicked from Snake's hand.
The struggle had ended as quickly as it had started. Both Snake and Vukani went limp as they lied back against the ground, all their strength having left them. Snake's rest only lasted a few minutes before he turned himself onto his stomach and painfully got up into a stumbling crouch.
They had used a known route to get here. It's possible there were enemies in the area who had heard those shots. They couldn't afford to stick around.
Snake grabbed his knife from the ground and half-stumbled, half-crawled to Vukani to cut his bonds.
As soon as Vukani was free, he sucker-punched Snake, sending him sprawling backwards into the dirt. "That was for putting my son at risk," Vukani spat, rubbing his wrists and ankles.
Snake didn't even have the energy to get back up again. He winced as he lay one arm over his torso to nurse his ribs while weakly waving dismissively with the other.
"Whatever, man," Snake replied with exhaustion. "They can't hurt anyone anymore, least of all your kid. At least we're both still alive."
He screwed his eyes shut as he tried to shut out the pain. Snake looked upwards from his position towards the truck and gestured over to it with his chin. "You good to drive?"
Vukani still looked pissed off, giving Snake the silent treatment. He gave a begrudging nod. He extended a hand to help Snake up when he showed signs of struggling to get to his feet.
"Good," Snake said. "Because I don't think I've got much more in me."
Together they both painfully limped over to the truck cab and climbed inside, with Snake in the passenger seat. Snake's eyelids were already fluttering, threatening to close.
"Where are we going?" Vukani asked.
"Williston," Snake mumbled. "We're going…to Williston. Salamander's waiting for us."
Vukani fired up the engine and sent them rolling. Moments later, Snake started to become delirious. Vukani had to keep yelling at him to remain conscious, but before long, Snake lost out on the fight to stay awake and alert.
Snake only woke up briefly twice more. The first time was stumbling through some doors while being supported by Vukani's shoulder. There was a commotion, people dressed in scrubs, the smell of ammonia and rubbing alcohol—a sterile place, except for a noticeable trace scent of blood lingering in the air.
Snake drifted out and woke up briefly once more to find himself in a bed, a familiar male voice on the other side of the privacy curtain insisting that he was Snake's brother and that he needed to take Snake home.
That's odd, Snake thought deliriously to himself. As far as he was aware, he had no brothers.
That was his last thought before the drugs kicked in and put him to sleep.
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY EIGHT - 0800 HOURS
A HOTEL IN WILLISTON
"Rise and shine, Snake."
Snake blinked blearily as he came to in the soft light of the morning sun, his first sight being an unfamiliar ceiling with a fan directly overhead. He was lying on something relatively comfortable; softer than he was used to. It took him a moment to realize he was in a bed. Looking around, he found himself in a cheap hotel room. His thought briefly of Kuwait.
Vukani was curled up and dozing off in a corner armchair while Salamander sat in a wooden chair leaning back against a desk, his feet perched on the windowsill slightly pushing aside one of the curtains with the toe of one shoe to let in some light and give him a small view outside.
Snake pulled himself into a sitting position against the headboard. It felt like moving through molasses. Salamander nodded to him. "Don't try to move all at once. You're going to feel some drowsiness and numbness—a side effect of the painkillers the docs gave you."
"Painkillers?" Snake asked.
Vukani awoke with a start, looked at both men and yawned, his spine popping as he stretched out of his uncomfortable fetal position.
"Yeah, you were kind of out of it when you both got to Williston," Sal continued. "You were in pretty bad straits, needed immediate medical attention. Vukani here brought you to a local clinic. It's where I found you."
Vukani nodded in acknowledgement when Snake looked to him. "Thanks," Snake said. Vukani waved him off.
Sal kept talking. "It took some convincing, but I was able to make them think that I was your brother and that you were better off being discharged into my care rather than waiting in line behind who knows how many refugees. So many people moving throughout the region, even the small-town clinics are swamped, never mind the city hospitals. It was lucky I found you before you disappeared among the crowd; might've become just another statistic otherwise."
Snake looked down at his bandaged hands. "I see," he said. He looked at Sal. "You said you'd found us after we arrived. So, you were already in Williston by that point?"
Sal nodded.
Vukani replied, "We came to the clinic yesterday a little over an hour and a half after the fight with those Outer Heaven troopers. You'd been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since."
Sal's eye twitched slightly at Vukani's statement, Snake noticed. He wasn't sure why the detail was relevant, but Snake was too out of it to think too hard on it. He leaned his head back against the headboard of the bed.
He was so tired; even the sleep he'd had didn't come close to feeling like rest.
"Got you a present," Sal said, gesturing to the nightstand next to Snake.
Snake looked over, saw a fresh pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes resting on top of the alarm clock, next to his FOXHOUND branded lighter and an ashtray. Snake grabbed the pack and tore it open, flipping open the lighter. He laid the ashtray on his lap.
"Thanks," Snake said, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. He blew out a plume of smoke in a single long, drawn-out sigh. He turned to Vukani. "What happened to the truck?"
"Ditched it just outside of town before I took you to the clinic," Vukani answered. "Had to throw away that iDroid you were carrying too while we were on the road. I don't know if it had any tracking devices installed inside of it, but I didn't want to chance it."
Snake nodded. It was a sensible decision, but also kind of a shame—it was a pretty advanced gadget, and he had hoped to be able to bring it home so that the DOD could reverse-engineer it, assuming Big Boss didn't keep anything similar at FOXHOUND HQ.
"Good thinking," he praised.
Sal peeked through the blinds he'd nudged aside. "No sign of any visitors. Coast is clear for now," he said.
Sal lifted his feet from the windowsill and allowed the blinds and curtains to cover the window to dim the room once more. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and folding his hands in front of his face.
He told Snake sternly, "Listen, Snake. I get you're still feeling like shit, but we'll need to move soon. We can't stay in this country: right now, the Rebels and the civilians are caught in the middle, but it's only a matter of time until either Outer Heaven or SANDF roll over and take control, and then it's going to be much harder to move. Now, I've already got a plan of action for us to move forward."
"The rail lines, right?" Snake asked.
Salamander nodded. "The destination is the US facilities at Johannesburg. But before we can do that, I'm going to need some information from you. The last thing I heard from you before I lost my point of contact, you were joining the Rebels in the assault on Outer Heaven. Then I don't hear anything until six hours later when Big Boss had me order the air strike, and I don't hear from you at all until the next day."
Sal looked over to Vukani, who was following the conversation with renewed interest, before turning back to Snake. "What happened, Snake? Why did you go radio silent? What happened with Gray Fox?"
Snake's breathing was stilted. He contemplated the bandaged hand holding the cigarette and noticed that it was shaking. He rubbed his wrist with the other hand, knocking the cigarette over the ashtray. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes shut to combat the onset of a slight headache. When he looked up to regard Salamander, exhaustion was written all over his face.
"You said Big Boss ordered the air strike—that wasn't recommended by me. He was acting on his own," Snake started, taking another drag from his Lucky Strike. "I noticed the radio he had used was tuned to your frequency when I was chasing after him in the bunker."
"Chasing after him?" Sal interjected.
Snake nodded. "Me and a small team of Rebels inserted to destroy or disable Metal Gear. We succeeded in the latter, though not without significant casualties. When all was said and done, I was the only one who made it out. I saw the pilot escaping the Metal Gear wreckage, figured it for Venom, and chased him down. Turned out that Venom—Ahab—was Big Boss himself." Snake let out a short, humorless chuckle.
"Imagine my surprise," he said. Snake took another drag before looking Sal in the eye. "He betrayed us, Sal. Betrayed FOXHOUND. He'd been running the whole thing behind the scenes the entire time."
Vukani was disturbed, shocked into speechlessness. Sal's expression was a little harder to read. He leaned back into his chair with a grim narrowing of the eyes and a thinning of the lips, hands curling into fists.
"It doesn't make sense," Sal said, shaking his head. "Why go to the trouble of bringing us in against his own organization if he was the one behind the wheel?"
"Because I'm new," Snake replied. His face screwed up into a scowl. The imaginary burning American flag once more came to his mind, a grinning one-eyed demon saluting in front of it. "He was banking on my inexperience leading to failure, hoping I would wind up dead. He never expected me to make it out. Pretty sure the whole operation was just to give himself plausible deniability in Washington, keep the heat off of his operations for long enough for him to enact his plan," he finished.
"And what was his plan?" Vukani asked.
Snake's hand reflexively gripped, crushing his cigarette. He felt the burning ember on his knuckle, and quickly put it out into the ash tray before setting the tray back onto the nightstand. "The bunker wasn't just housing Metal Gear. There was an entire facility underground for housing nuclear materials and constructing warheads. Turns out Fox's intel was good."
Vukani sank back into his armchair, eyes defocusing into a thousand-yard stare to mimic Snake's. Salamander put his hands on his legs and started rubbing his knees while he kept his attention on the rookie FOXHOUNDer.
"When I was first infiltrating the facility," Snake continued, "I had heard rumors among Outer Heaven's staff about the possibility of an impending coup against the South African government—some kind of war of conquest, just like the Resistance feared. Either they were going to use the nukes in some kind of terrorist action or keep them as deterrence to prevent the UN from interfering with the takeover."
Snake shrugged. "After that, who knows? Whatever the long-term plans Big Boss had for Outer Heaven, they died with him. As for Fox, he and Kyle and the rest of the Rebels were still in the AO at the time of the air strike. I tried warning them to exfil, but after the bombings, it was just…silent."
"Are you saying that you believe them to be KIA?" Sal asked.
Snake shook his head. "I never heard from them after the bombs dropped. That's all I know."
Snake rubbed his wrists to try and make his hands stop shaking. His shoulders hunched in a little as he unconsciously rocked his torso back and forth. He was beginning to feel more awake and alert, and even though he was among allies, he couldn't bring himself to relax. He looked from both of the room's other inhabitants, to the curtained window, to the locked hotel room door, then back to Sal.
"You're sure we're alone?" he asked.
Sal nodded confidently. "Positive. You can rest easy, rookie. The hardest part's over. We'll check out in a couple of hours."
"I'll do it," Vukani volunteered. "I need to head to the front desk anyway to make a couple of phone calls. I need to let Carlton know what happened…and I want to say hello to my son."
Sal nodded with a slight wave. "Do what you need to do."
Salamander stood up, following Vukani to the door, turning his head over to Snake. "I'm going to see about getting some breakfast. You want anything, rookie?"
Snake shook his head. His appetite had completely left him. Sal nodded sympathetically.
"Get what rest you can, Snake," he said. "You've earned it. We'll be back soon."
And just like that, Snake was alone once again.
He tapped his fingers on the mattress. The drugs were starting to wear off—at least a little. He felt a dull aching in his muscles and joints, but it was muted. Experimentally, he moved his arms then swung his legs over the side of the bed. His reflexes still felt slowed, but the drowsiness was gone.
Snake was restless—he knew he wasn't going to be able to fall asleep again even if he wanted to and in that moment, he didn't want to sit still. He stood up, stumbling a little to fight against the numbness. Pins and needles were felt in his legs as he got himself moving again.
Snake looked around the room, saw a bag sitting open next to the desk. Poking up out of it was an atlas. Snake pulled it out. He wanted to get an idea of their itinerary for reaching Victoria West. He opened it to the relevant page and after a few minutes of searching, found Williston, tracing his finger along the roads south by southeast to the city in question.
It was roughly 170 miles away via R63 through Loxton. Assuming light traffic and no delays from opposing forces, it would take them about two and a half hours. Salamander had plotted the route and circled the city in pen.
Snake flipped through the pages to find the map for Victoria West. The town was smaller than he envisioned: Sal had said that the plan was to board a northbound train to Johannesburg—shouldn't a train station with such large foot traffic belong in a larger municipal city, not a town of over eight thousand?
Snake looked all over the city but couldn't find a single northbound rail line. He thumbed through the pages, and the nearest northbound Johannesburg was in the Northern Cape's capital of Kimberley, a three-hour drive north by northeast from Victoria West. Why was Salamander planning on going so far out of his way?
Was he planning to take public transport? A shuttle bus north out of Victoria to connect to a train station at Kimberley? But then why not just drive them all directly to Kimberley from Williston? Snake turned back to the map of Victoria West. Various locations were marked out in pen, some crossed out, some circled. Lists of coordinates and radio frequencies were written along the side of the map around the town's outskirts.
Snake looked over to the alarm clock and remembered Salamander's eye twitching in reaction to Vukani saying they had arrived in Williston just a little over an hour and a half after the firefight in the desert. The eye twitch was a tell—a gesture of annoyance, Snake thought. Snake thought back to his conversation with Sal over the radio yesterday morning when they were making their plans.
Didn't Sal say that he was around five hours out from Williston when he said to meet them there? But Vukani had said he'd brought Snake to the clinic at no later than fifteen hundred hours. How did Salamander get to Williston before them?
A sinking feeling welled up in Snake's gut as he carefully closed the atlas and put it back in the backpack where he'd found it, trying to make it look like it went undisturbed.
About an hour later, Salamander returned to the hotel room, carrying a bag. Sitting at the desk, he withdrew two wrapped sandwiches, handing one to Snake.
"I'm not hungry," Snake said.
"Eat," Sal insisted. "You're going to need your strength for the journey home."
Snake waited a second, then nodded gratefully as he grabbed the sandwich.
"Alright," he relented. "Thanks."
Snake unwrapped the plastic from his sandwich at the same time as Sal, then started opening it up and examining the contents.
"I didn't get a chance to find out what you'd prefer, so I just got the same as mine," Sal said. "What, are you a picky eater?"
Snake put his sandwich back together, shaking his head. "No, sorry. Just…still on edge, I guess."
Judging the food to be okay, Snake took a bite. He sighed quietly in relief and satisfaction. He was hungrier than he'd thought. As the two men ate, Snake looked over briefly to the door.
"Vukani sure is taking a while," he noted.
Sal nodded with a shrug. "I saw him on the way back in. He's still on the phone with his kid. Told me he'd be a few more minutes."
"That's sweet," Snake said.
"Yeah, well, he's going to need to wrap it up soon. Soon as we finish our lunch and take a few minutes to digest, I want us to be heading on our way."
"Mmm," Snake agreed, his mouth full as he quickly scarfed down the rest of his meal. He took a second to swallow, then said, "Actually, I wanted to get cleaned up real quick before we head out. I probably look just as scruffy looking from my week in Outer Heaven as I did during the assault, and I don't want to worry about being recognized if we run into any merc patrols. Do you mind?"
Sal shook his head. "By all means."
"Do you have a straight razor I can borrow?"
Salamander pulled up his backpack from beside the desk and started digging through it with half his sandwich hanging out of his mouth. He paused for a second, and Snake had to consciously keep from tensing up.
"Uhh…yeah, here you go," Sal said, digging out a Thiers Issard with a horn handle and passing it to Snake as he stood up. Before Snake could walk into the bathroom, Sal raised a finger and handed Snake a whet stone.
"I don't remember the last time I sharpened it," Sal explained sheepishly.
Snake nodded in thanks and opened the bathroom door and walked straight forward to the sink. The toilet stood just to his right and half bathtub just beyond it. Snake looked into his own reflection—he was haggard, his face rough. He'd managed to lose quite a bit of weight over the past week. His light brown hair was a long and shaggy mullet, and his face covered with the onset of a beard.
But what caught him most was the eyes. His light blue irises looked dull in the light, his expression sunken and dark. It was a defeated sort of tiredness, like all life and vigor had been sucked out of him.
It reminded him of Big Boss's face just before his death. He hated it.
Snake opened the tap, splashing water into his face. When he looked up, he saw Sal standing behind him in his reflection, leaning against the doorway, his right arm hidden behind his back while his left held the last of his meal.
As Sal consumed the last of his sandwich, Snake opened the razor and began checking the edge before running it against the whetstone.
"So, run your plan by me one more time," Snake said in a light tone. "I want to make absolutely sure I've got the details before we leave."
"Sure," Sal said, watching Snake sharpen the razor. He rubbed the last crumbs off his hand onto his shirt. "We're going to take the R63 to Victoria West. We'll have to pass through Loxton on the way there; another populated area."
"You said that the rebels, SANDF and Outer Heaven have been fighting. Who's got control of the region we're passing through?"
"Well, right now Victoria West is under government control, and they've been working to suppress the rebels in the area to make sure they keep the peace for the sake of the refugees."
"Shouldn't the Rebels and SANDF be working together?"
"The Resistance isn't fighting with the government's backing, and there's been rumors of some infighting—two much factionalization and competing goals between the two groups. The only thing they agree on is that Outer Heaven needs to be taken down, but not everyone agrees on how to go about it. The government are worried about the Rebels being a destabilizing force that'll cause more problems than they'll solve if they're allowed to roam free, and it's SANDF who are working to set up official channels for safeguarding the refugees from the Northern Cape and outlying.
"SANDF aren't ordered to shoot the Rebels on sight like with the mercs, but there have been some arrests, and that's led to some fighting as the Rebels refused to lay down arms while they fight for their neighborhoods against Outer Heaven. The whole thing is one big shitshow—a three-way civil war. Luckily, with Victoria West and the Johannesburg rail lines under military control, it should be relatively safe if we just keep our heads down and act like displaced refugees."
Snake stopped sharpening, laying the blade across his thumb to check the edge. He looked into the eyes of Sal's reflection. "Uh-huh," he said. "And as for Loxton?"
"There are Rebels in the area, and an Outer Heaven FOB several clicks to the northwest that was attacked on the day of the assault, so we may see some activity. The radio channels have been pretty quiet since yesterday though, so I'm hoping we'll get through as long as we're quick about it and don't waste time."
"And then we board the train to Johannesburg—" Snake started.
"—while avoiding military checkpoints wherever possible," Sal finished.
Snake nodded, putting the blade's edge near the scruff growing on his neck. "It's a good plan," Snake said.
"Thank you," Sal said. "I do try."
"There's just one problem, though."
"What's that?"
"There are no trains to Johannesburg running through Victoria West."
There was a moment of tense silence between them.
"Hey, Sal…" Snake said.
"Yeah?"
"How'd you manage to get here before me and Vukani, despite the fact that you said you were over five hours away when I approached the Outer Heaven camp?"
Sal answered with a shrug. Snake looked at how Sal was leaning so that his right arm was around the doorway behind the wall.
"What're you hiding back there, Sal?"
It all happened so fast. Snake turned to let the stabbing of Sal's knife pass his stomach as he leaned out of the way. He then grabbed the wrist of Sal's knife hand and held it close, swinging his straight razor in a slice toward Sal's jugular.
Sal leaned back with his neck to avoid getting cut, and Snake stepped forward to try to loop his foot around Sal's ankle while putting the hand with the razor behind Sal's head, using the momentum to pull Sal forward and smash his forehead into the mirror. Cracks splintered in the glass.
Sal retaliated by using his free hand to grab Snake's wrist, extended the arm and pulled up at the elbow. With control of Snake's arm, Sal swung him around and threw him toward the bathtub with Snake too weakened to resist.
Snake felt pain explode in his back as he collided with the tiled wall and fell into the tub, pulling the shower curtain and the rod it hung on down onto himself. His hand had let go of the razor at some point in the fall, and he lost track of it.
He didn't have time to fumble for it as Sal was already upon him, wrapping the plastic shower curtain around Snake's head and yanking it back, pulling up Snake bodily as he began to suffocate. Snake couldn't get purchase on the plastic with his teeth, his mouth gaping open like a fish as he started to involuntarily panic.
His lungs were on fire, and his vision was already starting to grow dark as his limbs reflexively thrashed. His eyes were bulging, his tongue felt like a useless worm in his mouth, desperately poking at his face's plastic prison to search for some kind of give to the barrier.
Is this how I die? Snake thought to himself. Battered and broken in a bathtub, no air in my lungs?
He felt the flesh of his hand burn as something cut into them; his fingers felt purchase on a handle and grabbed it. He put the blade over his open mouth and cut open the plastic, before swinging wildly up and behind him. He felt the plastic begin to slacken, and Snake swung his elbow back to where he hoped Sal's head was.
Sal lost his grip on the shower curtain, and Snake grabbed what he believed was an arm, lowered his center of gravity, and threw the body over his shoulder, sending it crashing into the wall, knocking off the towel rod as he collapsed to the floor.
Snake's vision started coming back, and he quickly tore off the shower curtain to give himself more room to breathe. He coughed hoarsely, and both men took a second to get their wits about them again.
It was Snake who recovered first. He stumbled to his feet and stepped over the side of the tub, grabbing the heavy and solid porcelain lid off the back of the toilet tank with both hands. As he stepped closer to Salamander, Sal had just started to grab the dented towel rod that had broken off the wall too late to prevent the force of Snake's swing with the solid chunk of porcelain from colliding with his face, knocking out several teeth and spraying blood out the open doorway across the carpet of the hotel room.
The momentum of Snake's swing caused Snake to fall over onto Sal's body and lose his grip on the lid which fell to the floor with a loud thunk. He quickly grabbed Sal's knife from the floor next to them and pulled himself up to straddle Sal's torso and pin one of his arms with his knee. He raised the point of the knife to hover over Sal's neck.
"Why?" Snake demanded, breathing heavily.
Sal coughed, spitting up blood and chunks of teeth. "'ig 'oss's orders," he said. "Ha' to 'ie up loose enns. Couldn't let his involff-ment ge' ou'." Sal's voice was slurred—he was having difficulty speaking coherently with the broken jaw.
"Hope it was worth it," Snake said.
"Following that man froo hell itsel', to build his falhalla on earth?" Sal looked up defiantly. "Yeah, I'd say it's worth it. I 'old you, rookie, durin' training: truss no one but da mission."
Snake plunged his knife into the soft flesh between Salamander's ribs, then again through the chest, then finally through the neck. Each time the knife emerged from Sal's body, blood flowed freely onto his hands, up his arms, onto his face.
When his work was finished, there was no life left below him anymore, just Salamander's bulging, glassy eyes staring up at him in a mocking glare, as if to ask, did you finally learn your lesson, Rookie? Do you finally get it now?
And he did get it—Snake got the message, alright.
Snake stood up. His hands were no longer shaking. His breathing was even, his body completely and utterly still, save for the heavy breathing from the exertion.
He looked into the damaged mirror to his right. A horrible grinning face loomed back at him through a curtain of blood and hair, eyes wide, staring with the glee and the triumph of a predator that had just secured its final victory over its prey and eaten its fill. Snake had seen the face of this monster before in his dreams. He recalled the last thing it said to him—that by the time this was all over, he would belong to the Demon, become the Demon.
In this moment, Snake understood what the monster had meant.
Today, Solid Snake had finally, truly earned his name.
He wiped the blood on his hand onto the mirror. He didn't want to see that monster's face anymore. He turned on the tap and began washing his face and hands, scrubbing as hard as he could until the caked-on blood stopped running off of him. Once the blood was gone, he wordlessly dragged Sal's body over to the bathtub and dumped it inside.
After grabbing Salamander's wallet and card keys from his pocket, he covered the body with the shower curtain. He walked back into the hotel room, grabbed a spare set of clothes out of Salamander's duffel bag, and got dressed. He had to tighten up his belt because Salamander was about a size too big for him. He then grabbed the bag and backpack and walked out of the hotel room into the parking lot.
He pressed the button on the key fob and walked over to the back of a baby blue 1991 Volkswagen Citi Golf hatchback. He opened the rear door and tossed in the bags and closed it. As he did, he looked down at the ground and noticed a small trace of red with a hard edge to it, looked like part of a footprint.
Looking up the sidewalk, Snake saw more small red spots on the concrete. He followed them around the corner of the building toward a dumpster. On the side of the dumpster were three red fingerprints.
Snake swallowed. He knew what he was going to find, but he had to see for himself. He opened the lid and found Vukani, neck cut and wrapped with razor wire, and multiple stab wounds in his gut, bleeding freely. The wounds were deep and fresh, with bits of intestine peeking out.
His shirt was a deep crimson, his eyes bulging like a fish as his head was propped up by a garbage bag and looking downward in a macabre pantomime of a puppet who'd just lost its strings and was left discarded and slumped over.
The smell assaulted Snake's nostrils in waves, and he let the lid slam shut as he doubled over with tears in his eyes, trying his best to keep his morning breakfast in his stomach. After a few seconds of dry heaving, Snake collected himself and wandered listlessly back to the Citi Golf, opened the door, and grabbed the atlas from Sal's backpack before collapsing into the driver's seat.
He thumbed back to the page where he'd traced the route. Sal had said that there was fighting in the region, but Victoria West was under government control. Of course, given that Sal had just tried to kill him, it could all be bullshit for all he knew.
He opened the glovebox. Inside was a 9mm HK USP and a box of 9mm pistol rounds. He closed the glove box and checked the console, finding a walkie talkie. He turned the pages of the atlas over to Victoria West and tuned the radio to one of the frequencies on the list before putting the radio and the atlas aside.
Salamander had wanted to go to Victoria West. With no other immediate course of action in front of him, Snake decided that he was going to try and find out why.
He turned the ignition and drove away from the hotel and out of Williston.
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY EIGHT – 1142 HOURS
VICTORIA WEST
A military contingent had created a checkpoint around the outskirts to process the refugees and send them to temporary living quarters in the wake of the Rebels' attack on Outer Heaven's outposts. When the refugees first started arriving, the local municipal government housed the ones who showed up first at the local hotels and motels and churches, but once these spaces quickly filled, the migrants were forced to make do in the outdoors on the streets and in the outskirts with whatever rationed supplies SANDF gave them.
Even with a cool ambient temperature in the 70s Fahrenheit, the sun beat down upon the town as Snake carefully navigated his car around the various tent cities and shantytowns that had erupted around the small town with the refugees' arrival. Snake tried his best to keep a respectful distance from the sea of despondent faces that watched him carefully from afar—in a place of such quiet desperation and fearful circumstances, driving an unaffiliated working vehicle put a target on his back.
Without any identification documents, Snake was forced to bribe the soldiers into letting him through. He opened Sal's wallet to see what was inside, and before he could utter a word of protest, the guard had simply confiscated the whole thing and waved him through.
Now, if Snake ended up needing to bribe any more officials on his way to the U.S. Embassy, he would be out of luck; he'd need to either find more money elsewhere or figure something else out.
It was stupid of him to open it within arm's reach. Snake didn't fight it—causing a scene here in this pressure cooker of stress would be a good way to get his brains blown out. Better to keep a low profile and draw even more attention to himself than the car already brought him.
He checked the map again. Salamander had marked a church as his destination. When he pulled up on the address, he moved to park across the street, only to see a man waving him around to a nearby driveway.
The man looked to be about in his mid-thirties, dressed in corduroy pants and an open denim shirt with a white undershirt and leather gloves hanging out of his front pocket. His denim shirt and jeans were covered in dried oil spots, and his undershirt was closer to grey from sweat. The man had a perpetual squint on his rough, dried-up looking face as he motioned for Snake to drive over.
Snake's suspicion increased, and he glanced over at the gun that he'd pulled out of the glovebox and placed on the passenger seat. Making a decision, he slowly turned onto the driveway and parked at the end of a fenced alleyway that the man pointed to. As he opened the door and climbed out, he quickly grabbed the pistol and tucked it into the back of his pants, pulling his shirt over it. He grabbed the keys out of the car and rolled up the window before slamming it shut and locking it.
The man approached Snake on the dusty path. His dark, wrinkled face attempted what he probably thought to be a friendly smile but looked more like a grimace.
"'Lo there," the man said. "You're the guy, I take it? Salamander, they said. Funny, I thought you'd be taller."
Snake nervously stood up a little straighter out of his hunch to try and fill out his stolen clothes a little more, even though hurt a little to adjust his posture like that. He looked the man up and down. The man looked to be no immediate threat. He hedged, "How d'you guess that?"
The man pointed at the Citi Golf. "Recognized the car. Had the same paint job as they told me. Same licence plate."
Snake nodded. That made sense. "So, that makes you the contact."
"That's me," the man confirmed.
"You're Outer Heaven?"
The man shook his head. "Third party. Me and your boss go way back. Been pulling smuggling jobs for him for years, though it's not often he has me transport a person. Call me Booker." He extended a hand to Snake. Snake shook it.
Booker looked over Snake's shoulder. "Where's the other guy? Weren't you supposed to bring someone with you?"
Snake pulled out a cigarette from his pack of Lucky Strikes and lit it. "Other guy didn't make it," Snake said, taking a drag. "Turned out to be a turncoat, had to get flushed out."
Snake felt a stab of pain in his midsection and winced, putting his hand to his side and leaning over slightly. Booker looked at him with curiosity.
"Are you good?" he asked.
Snake nodded with gritted teeth. "Yeah," he answered. "It's just been a hell of a week."
Booker chuckled. "I bet," he replied.
Booker then started to look a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his head. "Okay, so listen. Ordinarily I would take payment half upfront, half when we arrive at our destination. But like I said, the Boss and I go way back, so when he asks for a favor, I have no problem extending it to him on faith—I know he's good for it. Only now, we've got two problems. The first being that the Boss never specified a destination—he said that there was a place for you with him if you wanted it but wanted to leave the decision up to you. The second problem though, is a bit thornier. You, see, the Boss is—"
"Dead," Snake finished for him.
Booker narrowed his eyes. "How'd you know about that?"
"It's been two days," Snake said with a shrug. "Word travels fast."
"You don't look too broken up about it."
Snake pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his tired eyelids. "Looks can be deceiving," he said. "It's been a long week, Booker."
Seemingly satisfied with Snake's answer, Booker's expression became more solemn. "Fair enough. It's a real shame, you know. He was a great man, even though he and I came from different worlds."
"You knew him well?"
"Sure. Served in his army, once upon a time back in the '80's. Left for personal reasons—I was in it for the money, and eventually I was ready to retire and move on to something else. I wasn't made for the world he wanted, and I like keeping my head right where it is and flying under the radar. Some people just aren't made for the spotlight. He never begrudged me for leaving, though. He made sure I was set for life. When I decided to become a pilot, I returned the favor by helping him ferry supplies and contraband every so often; and like I said, he was always good for the money."
Is that how Big Boss smuggled in American weaponry into Outer Heaven, Snake wondered? Did he have an entire network of smugglers? Just how far did his influence reach?
"And that brings us to our second problem," Booker continued. "Big Boss never employed me directly through any official channels, he didn't use his government contacts or Outer Heaven. I was always strictly off the books. Now that he's gone, the money that was supposed to be coming in is going to dry up—which means, there's still the matter of payment."
Snake sighed heavily. "I don't have any money on me. The cash I had was taken at the checkpoint so I could get safe passage into town."
"Well, that is a conundrum, isn't it?" Booker said.
There was a moment of silence between the two men.
Snake swore under his breath and shrugged. "So, that's it, then? I'm just shit out of luck—favor's null and void?"
"'Fraid so. I've still gotta eat, after all."
"Damn it," Snake cursed. "Fine. I'll figure it out on my own."
"Alright, listen: I'll tell you what I can do. I've got an extra can of petrol I can spot you. Should be enough to get you at least to Hopetown."
"I'll take what I can get," Snake nodded gratefully. He added, "I owe you one," only slightly insincerely.
Booker nodded. "Come on, let's go grab it from my truck."
As they walked, Booker asked, "So, where will you go, Mr. Salamander, when all this is said and done? Will you join up with Big Boss's forces, like he offered?"
Snake barked a sarcastic laugh. "Why would I do that? With Big Boss dead, what would be the point?"
"So, then you'll be going back to America, I take it?"
Booker opened a padlocked chain hanging on a chain-link gate and swung it open to admit them both to a small lot where a Toyota was parked. When they reached the vehicle, Booker climbed up over the tailgate and emerged with a 5-gallon fuel can that he handed off to Snake.
Snake answered as he accepted the gift, "Don't really have anywhere else to go at this point."
"Aren't you worried about what might happen if they discover your deception over there?"
I'd be more worried about what you'll do if and when you discover mine, Snake thought to himself. He gave a noncommittal shrug as an answer. Quietly, they walked back to Snake's car.
Suddenly, an explosion rattled the ground, followed by gunfire and distant screams. Snake and Booker ran to the opening of the alleyway and looked down the street to see the Magistrate Courthouse under siege by a small contingent of Outer Heaven forces. SANDF were scrambling to defend the building while the local police worked to evacuate the scared and confused civilians.
"I think that's my cue to leave," Snake said as they both rushed back to his car.
"Agreed," Booker replied. He opened the gate at the other end of the alley and pointed down River Street. "Take the dirt roads off of River Street and detour around the prison along the bottom of the hill until you reach the neighborhoods on Umfula Ongzulu Street. You can use that to get back onto the N12 highway going north."
"Got it," said Snake.
"Be careful, though," said Booker. "I've heard through the grapevine that there is a Rebel presence in the area, and they've only been getting more aggressive lately. If they see an opportunity to strike at Outer Heaven, they may join the fighting and escalate the situation."
"Good to know," Snake replied.
"Stay safe, Salamander."
Snake almost felt bad about lying to Booker. Almost.
"You too," he responded.
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY EIGHT – 1633 HOURS
HOPETOWN
It took Snake about an hour longer to get to Hopetown than it otherwise would've with a more direct route. Outer Heaven had been conducting a counteroffensive from Britstown all the way to Beaufort West and Prince Albert, seeking to take control of the western borders of the Northern Cape province and restrict traffic of refugees moving out of the region, and more importantly, SANDF military resources moving in.
When the Outer Heaven convoys started assaulting SANDF military installations, they had taken the government forces by surprise with artillery, forcing SANDF to quickly retreat and regroup along the borders.
The Resistance, for their part, responded by conducting hit and run attacks on troopers moving along the N12 and N1 highways, setting up ambush raids and leaving IEDs to try and cripple the Outer Heaven vehicle divisions. The drawback was that this made traveling on the main highways much more dangerous not just for the Outer Heaven mercenaries, but for SANDF and civilian vehicles as well.
This had drawn the ire of both parties, and soon the western edges of the Northern Cape was caught up in a three-way battle royale as Outer Heaven and the Rebels both tore up the landscape with craters and SANDF met both parties with deadly force as they desperately pushed for greater control while awaiting reinforcements from Kimberley and Bloemfontein.
When Snake reached Hopetown, he had made a wide berth to approach from the west, forced to park his car on the top of a plateau as he quickly found himself running out of gasoline. Left with no other alternative than to walk, he pulled a pair of binoculars and laid prone at the edge of the cliff to observe the municipality from afar.
The cracks and bottle rocket pops of distant gunshots sounded haphazardly over the air, punctuated by the occasional booming thunder of explosives. Many of the houses and larger buildings had wide holes punched into them or had caved in onto themselves. The circular fields on the other side of the town were scarred by craters, and plumes and streams of smoke rose from the neighborhoods to pollute the air.
The smell of smoke and spent diesel fuel carried on the wind, along with a faint metallic tinge that Snake recognized from the taste to be blood. Littering the streets among the rubble were bodies of all types—not just men and women in uniform, but that of the civilians and children as well: as those who were unable or unwilling to evacuate were forced to shelter in place in their homes in the hopes that the next rocket would miss them or else risk getting cut down by gunfire on the open street.
Kimberley—along with its railways into the eastern and northern provinces—was still in SANDF's zone of control for now, but it was still more than 70 miles away. If Snake was going to get there, he'd need to secure transport, and that would mean wading into the bloodbath below.
He grumbled, sighed, and slowly—painfully—pushed himself up into a kneeling, then a standing position. He gingerly walked over to the back of the car and grabbed his gun and a bottle of painkillers. He popped off the cap, swallowed a couple of tablets, and took a swig out of a plastic water bottle he'd pilfered from Sal's bags.
"Alright," he said to himself, trying to psyche himself up as he quickly checked the magazine and chamber of his USP. He took a breath and let it out.
"Here we go."
Snake tried to keep himself as low as possible as he descended the track alongside the plateau towards the nearest house. It was a slow thirty minutes where his knees kept screaming at him for the abuse he was putting them under. Crouching and swiftly moving for such a long period was not exactly a comfortable prospect, even disregarding his previous injuries.
When he finally reached the first house, he drew his weapon and held it close to his chest as he crept along the exterior wall. He leaned around the corner, saw no immediate threats, and rounded the corner to move to the front yard.
With Kimberley and the eastern provinces under SANDF control, he believed that it would be safer to obtain transport closer to the northern end of the town, near 7 de Laan or Thamboville. It would be about a 35–40-minute walk, assuming no engagements. With the amount of enemy territory that he had to navigate, that 2-mile distance might as well have been a chasm.
The front yard was a wide barren desert spot, devoid of cover or concealment save for a single large tree. It would be Snake's first hurdle as he made his way to Church Street. He sprinted up to the tree, peeked between two of the low branches near the trunk at the roundabout ahead—a small green oasis in a field of brown—and quickly scurred across the first branch of the road to another large tree in the oasis, taking a second to look for hostiles and sprinting to the other side of the road, underneath the tree cover of the neighborhood on the opposite side.
So far, so good.
Running between the houses under the rare foliage, he quickly hopped the fence of a still standing house to hide as he heard the engine of an approaching Outer Heaven LAV. Snake peeked through a hole in the fence as the armored vehicle trundled through the muddy dirt road while escorted by four Outer Heaven troopers wearing flak jackets.
Patiently, Snake waited for them to pass. Once they were further down the road, he stood up to keep moving.
To his left, towards the house, he heard a cough. Snake wheeled around, pointing his gun at the scared faces of a young woman and a girl, who were peeking out from over the open windowsill of a house whose norther wall had been knocked down. The girl's eyes widened, and the woman frantically raised her hands.
Snake saw her opening her mouth to beg for her life, and he immediately lowered his weapon to put a finger to his lips, narrowing his eyes to signal, "don't say a word."
The woman nodded and whispered in the young girl's ears. The girl tearfully put her hands over her mouth in response.
Snake got up to leave, but his conscience weighed down his feet. Internally, he battled with himself. He cursed under his breath. He couldn't leave them behind for Outer Heaven to find. He looked over to the young woman and anxiously waved them over.
Obediently, the woman took the girl's hand and ran up to Snake, crouching behind the fence. Snake whispered in Afrikaans, "Don't be scared. I'll lead you to safety. But you have to do exactly as I tell you. Understand?"
The woman nodded.
"Is there a way to get away from this house through the fence without climbing it?"
Instead of answering, the woman led Snake to a side gate on the north side of the house. Snake motioned for them to wait and looked ahead at the Outer Heaven vehicle patrol. He turned to the woman.
"In order to get out of here, we need to get to the northernmost part of town." He pulled the atlas from his backpack and traced it with his finger. "Those mercenaries are in the way, so we're going to cut all the way across to…what is this building, a school?"
The woman nodded, pointing at the green oval next to it. "That's the football pitch," she said.
"Okay. There's a lot of exposed space on the other side of the school, so when we get to the schoolhouse, we'll turn left and go north to eventually cross Wild Street, then go right to cross the N12 to the northeast side of town. It's going to be dangerous, so we'll need to be fast. Got it?"
The woman nodded. Snake looked to the child.
"Are you going to be okay with your kid?"
"Sister," she corrected. "And we should be fine."
"Okay. Stay close, move only when I tell you to, and make sure you move quickly when you do. If we make it further north, the SANDF forces should be able to help you."
"O-okay."
Wordlessly, Snake watched the Outer Heaven patrol move still northward on Fleet Street, silently counting down to the woman and girl with his fingers. When he got to one, he pointed across the street for them to cross, with him following closely behind, gun raised. Their footsteps were masked by the LAV's engine in the distance. They moved slightly north toward the vehicle patrol before turning a sharp right onto a long dirt road.
Shouts could be heard in the distance back on Fleet Street, followed by an explosion and more gunshots. The girl whimpered as the young woman covered her sister's mouth, trying not to scream herself. Quickly and methodically, Snake led them from house to house until they reached a turnoff at the far end, behind a Guest House.
They cut through the trees around the building, which had been torn in half by a mortar strike earlier in the day. The rooms inside were littered with bodies, and the elder sister held the younger to her chest to face the child away from the carnage. The air was even thicker with the taste of blood than ever before.
On the other side, they reached Erasmus Street, turned left towards Mark Street, then sprinted to the schoolhouse with the red roof.
"Psst! In here!"
A man waved to the three of them from the open front double doors of the school. Internally, Snake felt some relief. Perhaps he wouldn't have to worry about escorting the sisters all the way to the other side of town after all. At the man's urging, the three made their way inside through the doors and followed him down the main hallways.
Snake asked the man, "Are you with SANDF?"
The man shook his head, pointing to his white armband. A Resistance member.
"Who are you," the man asked suspiciously. "You're not local."
Snake replied, "Just someone who's trying to get out of here alive."
Soon after, an explosion struck the wall to their left, blowing open a hole. Snake moved to shield the sisters from the shrapnel and debris, screaming in pain as something sliced into his back. As he fell over, Snake dragged himself toward the hole, leaning out. He saw SANDF personnel raising their rifles in his direction, and quickly fired, putting down two men and sending the rest back into cover.
Out of nowhere, an explosion sounded as the LAV arrived from the west, firing upon the position where the SANDF were last seen. A mortar whistled overhead and landed atop the LAV, destroying it and killing three of the Outer Heaven troopers escorting it.
The sisters both grabbed Snake by the arms and with great effort, dragged him further down the halls until they reached the doors into the courtyard, where more people with white armbands lay in wait with a huddle of civilians. A few of these Rebels manned a mortar tube and were launching ordnance danger close at the enemy vehicles.
"Somebody please help us," the elder sister screamed as she strained to drag Snake out towards them.
Some Rebels ran back into the hall towards the open hole to engage what was left of the Outer Heaven and SANDF forces outside, while another couple of men sprinted up to them with a stretcher. Snake could feel himself losing consciousness.
He fought to stay awake as he started to register some new voices discussing him.
"Who is he?"
"I don't know. He's armed, but he's not wearing a SANDF uniform. Doesn't look like a Rebel, either."
"Do you think he's Outer Heaven?"
"If he is, then why are we treating him? We should kill him and be done with it."
"He was protecting civilians. When was the last time you saw a merc trooper do that?"
The voices were getting quieter, more muffled. Snake was fading, fast. His ears perked as he heard one more voice join the fray and he realized that this one sounded familiar—a man he'd fought to rescue, what felt like a lifetime ago.
"Snake? Snake, is that you?" The voice turned away from him. "Jennifer, get over here!"
Snake blacked out. He didn't know for how long. The next thing he knew, he was in a moving vehicle. He couldn't tell where they were going. A new voice, this one feminine. He heard her say something about an infection.
"Ah, he's awake! Wait, no, I'm losing him again," said the first voice. "Come on, Snake, stay with me!"
"W-where are we…where're we goin'?" Snake mumbled.
"I'm taking you to the safe house in Kimberley where I can treat you properly," said the woman. "You're not allowed to die on us yet, Snake. I won't let you."
But by that point, Snake had already closed his eyes, his senses returned to the void as he succumbed to exhaustion.
A/N: And with that, we have another chapter completed. This one took me a while to get through, not so much because the writing of it was difficult, but because I've been dealing with some personal stuff lately that's been keeping me away from writing for a few weeks.
I had plotted out the beats pretty much exactly how I wanted them to go way in advance, with this chapter experiencing only a couple of minor changes when I finally put it to page-originally Snake's rescue by Jennifer was going to take place in Victoria West rather than Hopetown, and his injury was going to be at the hands of the Rebels mistaking him for an Outer Heaven trooper; I ended up changing this when I got to the actual scene because the part I threw in at the last minute of Salamander going to meet with a pilot in Victoria West made it so that the Rebels fighting in Victoria West no longer made sense due to its status as a SANDF refugee outpost.
Next chapter's already been plotted out, and it should act as a bit of a reprieve from all the action scenes as we'll be focusing on Snake and his Rebel friends coming to terms with what happened when Outer Heaven HQ was destroyed while Snake himself recovers from his many injuries. Once again, I don't know when I'll have it done and thus won't make any promises with regard to deadlines, but my hope is that I'll have it ready by next month. Assuming I keep to the roadmap I've made for myself, there should only be about four or five chapters left to go, including the next one, and I hope to have him out of South Africa and back home by the end of the next two chapters.
The end is in sight, folks. As we get closer to it, I want to thank everyone who's stuck with me this far in reading it. It's been a long and rewarding journey, and I look forward to seeing where I take things next after this story is finally over.