–South Africa, 1995
On the edge of an unforgiving desert, where the dry dirt meets the trees along a coast of nourishing water, a fortification stood to oppose the world. The compound consisted of three installations, stretching from the depths of the dry plains to a small opening on the waterfront. It could have easily been a dock, but was instead lined with a fence and filled with crates that surrounded an industrial opening into the southmost side of the complex.
Fenced as it was, the outdoor section was hardly ever guarded, as the powers that be reasoned that no one would be so stupid as to attempt an entry onto the grounds through the small storage area. It was upon this notion that a pair of lurking eyes, peering through the treeline from across the waterway, relied.
With not a moment to lose, a man in olive fatigues waded into the water, crossing to the edge of the fortress before scaling the fence line, gripping the exposed fingers of his gloved hands in the chain linked mesh and hurling himself feet first over the barbed wire top, landing on the concrete of the fortification. The maneuver left the man unscathed as he faced, armed with only a pack of cigarettes, the installation known as "Outer Heaven."
He ducked behind a steel crate, catching his breath, as he switched on his radio and pressed a finger to his earpiece, his piercing blue eyes examining the fortification, "This is Snake. I'm in." His skin hadn't been exposed to the sun of the region long enough to develop a tan, and his dark brown hair was damp, not from the water, but from the sweat of the humid jungle.
The voice of Snake's commanding officer came in over the line, "Good work, Snake. Operation: Intrude N313 is a go."
"Copy that." Snake nodded. He struggled to catch his breath, not from the exertion of hopping the fence, but at the realization that this was it–he was in the deep end now. He wouldn't have communication with Foxhound until the operation was complete. Getting in was the easy part, now it was time to do what needed to be done.