Fan Fiction ❯ Metal Gear Solid: Sovereignty ❯ Firefight ( Chapter 5 )

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Chapter 5: Firefight


The silhouette of a purple figure slowly grew through the lifting fog. Through an electronic visor,
the man inside the suit set his sights on the nearing facility. The Sovereign Frontier. The barb-
wire fence that encircled the complex was more than capable to overcome, and with no visual on
any sentries in the area, his job became all that much easier.

The powered exoskeleton manned by First Lieutenant Scott Miller stopped in front of the
perimeter fence. As he began to take a step forward, an object in the snow a few feet to his left
caught his eye. "The hell. . ." Scott further inspected the item and realized it was a limp arm of a
dead sentry. He surveyed the area around him to find three other body parts, the rest of the bodies
covered in snow. With no obvious reason for the dead bodies, Miller left them still puzzled.

The man in suit bent to one knee and lowered his head. In one fluent motion, Scott, leapt cleanly
over the fence, all the while doing a suave somersault, and landed near perfect on the other side,
inside enemy territory.

Scott Miller's only weapon was a military-edition Japanese katana, the sheath tied across his
back. It would be all he needed, the exoskeleton itself would be more than sufficient for his
mission.

Just a few hours ago, Scott, first learned of the Codec system specially built into his exoskeleton,
and this would be the first time he would use it, "Colonel, I've successfully entered the facility."

"Any enemy casualties?" came the colonel's response from an American military aircraft some
few hundred miles away.

"No, someone already took care of that for me. All sentries posted on or near the east fence were
previously neutralized."

"Who could have done that?" Colonel Andersen asked the obvious question.

"No idea," Scott was just as baffled as his CO.

"Well, we don't have time to find out. I have to put you through to Dr. Schwartz."

The good doctor's voice filled Scott's earpiece, "I just have a moment; now are there any
problems with the exoskeleton?"

"No, nothing, except for the pain I'm feeling just about everywhere," Scott responded.

"As I said before, that'll discontinue once your body full adjusts to the extra stress. Your muscles
will soon adapt. As long as your breathing and vitals are regular you should be fine."


"Hope so," a hint of skepticism in Miller's voice.

Suddenly the voice changed to a feminine, angelic speech, "Scott–I mean Amethyst, I've been
patched through just to go over mission details. . ." The Lieutenant, just for a moment, was lost
in a daydream about Jessica Langley. Although, he had only met her several hours ago, there was
an undeniable feeling of attraction Scott could not shake, but this was not the place nor the time
to bring it up.

When Scott regained his senses, Jessica, was finishing her explanation, ". . . the main objective is
to find and interrogate Colonel Iosif of the renegade ‘Sovereign Kings'. There are rumors that the
mercenary group, New Dominus, is involved so proceed with caution."

"Got it."

Colonel Andersen once again interjected, "Lieutenant Miller, I've just received word from
Washington. You have no more than five hours before a last resort air strike is initiated."

"An air strike?! But if the terrorists have nuclear capability–"

"Do your job and get the hell outta there! That's all you have to worry about," the colonel sternly
demanded.

"Yes, sir."

______________

The piercing, aged eyes of Shalashaska, or more widely known as Revolver Ocelot, stared Solid
Snake down inside the Russian hangar. Revolver wore his customary attire of an extra in a
spaghetti western, right down to the spurs. The years had not been kind to the former
FOXHOUND operative, that evident in his aging skin, but he still was the Patriot spy who started
it all.

Ocelot stood on the hangar, Colt Single Action Army in hand, smoke rising from the barrel,
indicating he was the one who killed the Russian sentry.

The likelihood of Revolver Ocelot being in the same Russian base, in the same room, just felt to
peculiar to Snake, temporarily shocking the operative. Fortunately he was quick to recover.

"Ocelot!" Snake shouted, his finger on the trigger of the USP.

"You'll have to take it from here," Ocelot responded.

"Hey, you!" came the yell from the other end of the hangar.

For a split second Snake's eyes left Shalashaska, to see six sentries running toward him from the
other end of the hangar. The operative looked back at Ocelot, but the cowboy impersonator was
nowhere to be found. Before Snake could ponder the question, he was forced to roll behind a
nearby cargo box.

"You have no where to go, just give up!"

Although Snake had little chance of alluding all six sentries, it would be something he would
have to try, it wouldn't be the first time the odds weren't in his favor, but he had come out on top
on every previous occasion. What other choice did the protagonist have?

"You have five seconds to give yourself up, or we come after you."

Even though Snake couldn't see the guards, he knew they made their secret military hand signals,
each sentry planted at a particular vantage point. Each one eventually going to converge on the
target.

The five seconds were quickly over and the six Russians began walking slowly toward the agent.
With his window of opportunity closing, he had to act fast. Snake let his soldier genes take over,
the genes given to him from Big Boss. The skill of a legend came out in the next few minutes,
accomplishing something all but a few would deem impossible.

The operative could sense a guard coming from his right. Snake popped out from behind the
cargo box, USP in hand, and before the sentry could react, Snake fired three bullets into the
guard's chest. The agent holstered his USP, and handled the AN-94. While walking backwards
toward the steps he had come from, a sentry appeared from behind the fighter jet, only to be sent
to the hangar floor in a puddle of blood.

The other four sentries halted hearing the cries of their comrades, but they soon continued, wary
of the danger. Snake, half-hidden by the metal steps, waited for a Russian to stumble into his
view. Before that happened, the operative spun to his left, and discharged a sustained blast of
7.62mm slugs into the face and chest of a Russian trying to creep on the operative.

In the heat of battle and his adrenaline pumping, it would take a hell of a lot to stop the legend's
onslaught.

A clanking patter caused Snake to look down to find a smoking frag grenade ready to explode
only a few feet away. Without a second thought he rose and ran across the hangar. All the while
being shot at by the remaining sentries. Snake dove forward following the loud explosion caused
by the fragmentation. It wasn't smart for Snake to use a grenade, there being a number of
flammable items in the hangar, like the fuel tanks and the projectiles under the SU-27's wings,
but the sentries seemed to care less.

Snake, now on the other side of the jet behind the movable stairs used to gain entry into the SU-
27's cockpit. To his right was another fuel tank, making it unlikely the Russians would use
another grenade, but that didn't stop them from firing.

The shots, just for a moment subsided, giving Snake the chance to peer out from behind cover
and see where the enemy actually was. The operative had only a split second before he ducked
behind the steps once again. In the short period of time, Snake, made out three sentries. One was
a regular patroller, but the other two were from the attack team, equipped with riot gear and
Deserts Eagles.

The soldier knelt waiting for the break between shots, the sentries obviously not trained to fire
while their comrade reloaded, the effective old military technique. Snake swung out from behind
cover and fired at the far-right sentry, all but one bullet hit his riot shield.

"Son of a–" The stray bullet caught his right arm causing him to drop the Desert Eagle.

Snake knelt once ,more and let the sentries senselessly fire at the mobile steps. Not wanting to
wait any longer, the operative threw a flashbang grenade over his shoulder and, with a bit of good
luck and aim, it landed right at the feet of one of the Russians. All three sentries were temporarily
blinded.

Th agent rose, AN-94 in tow and fired a sustained burst at the middle, patroller sentry. Hearing
their comrade's cries they knew they had to act fast, before their vision cleared. They fired
blindly until one bullet hit a nearby fuel tank, exploding into a ball of orange flames, throwing
one of two guards right into the wing of the Sukhoi. Just as the remaining sentry regained his
composure, a Universal Self-Loading Pistol slug became lodged in his skull, ending his
unfulfilled life.

Snake scoured the hangar, dead bodies and splatters of gore filled the once clean jet station. He
began walking slowly toward the exit door, wary of any lingering sentries.

Before the soldier swiped the card key into the slot, he went over the unlikely turn of events that
just ensued. Revolver Ocelot, the one person who began the widespread production of Metal
Gears worldwide was here. Had Snake's eyes deceived him? Did he really see Shalashaska? If
the protagonist did, was it possible the Patriot spy was helping him? What plausible reason
would Ocelot have of helping Snake complete his mission. It all seemed too far-fetched, but far-
fetched scenarios was something Snake had more than once experienced.

The operative knelt and contacted the only person he could talk to.

"Revolver Ocelot. . . that's surprising," came Otacon's response.

"He must have sent here by the Patriots, but why?" Snake questioned.

"Definitely possible. An attack against America is an attack against the Patriots. But aid you in
your mission, that just seems. . ."

"Fuckin' weird?" Snake interjected.

"That's one way to put it."

"Whatever the reason, he's helping me to help himself."

"How would assisting you, help him?"

" . . ."

"Oh, I forgot to mention. I intercepted a call from the Pentagon going out to the UN. The Air
Force is planning an air strike within five hours if the Sovereign Kings don't surrender. I'm sure
five hours is reasonable time limit.."

"Reasonable? You're not the one risking his life against a bunch of fanatical terrorists," Snake
replied in his gruff voice.

Snake terminated the connection as he slid the card through the slot, and he walked through the
open door.

_______________


Russian Colonel Iosif Dzhugashvili sat in a brown leather chair, in the colonel's quarters,
obviously disturbed. Colonel Iosif had his elbows on the desk in front of him, his eyes trapped in
a blank stare. In the far corner was a bed, with sheets neatly folded, a bed that obviously hasn't
been used in a while.

A flurry of emotions filled his already over-loaded psyche. Committing one of the worst terrorists
acts in history can be taxing on one person. The thought of the dozens of men he brought in to
the war came about. Men with families, discarded it all, all for a chance to help in the salvation
of their country. Men, who if not killed, would certainly be placed in jail.

Had he made the right decision? Would he even survive the next couple hours? After the initial
high of "saving Mother Russia", he had spun into a slight depression, and doubt was a constant.
It was him versus the world, and he knew it was nearly impossible to win. The thought of all the
man who came before him who perpetrated similar acts, all of whom failed eventually. Der
Fuhrer was cornered by the Allied Forces, and took his own life. Would that be his fate?

What was his future after day's end? It wasn't as if the world's nations were going to just going
to proclaim him dictator of the world. The most likely concept was war. The option visited again
and again by man, and probably always chosen as a first and last resort. How could he even think
the half-baked plan Gurlukovich thought up could work. Although, Iosif did have the upper hand.

Metal Gear.

He had no idea hot to operate the machine, he needed the scientist who had refused to help for a
second launch. The scientist had no real reason to live, he helped attack his very own country. No
bribe could persuade him now. Even if Iosif wanted to launch, there was still the other problem.

The Colonel's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the wooden door of his quarters swung
open. Charles Gangstein stepped into the colonel's quarters, and, without a word, sat in the chair
across from the colonel, staring him straight in the eyes.

"You called?" Gangstein coldly whispered.

Colonel Iosif asked, "Gangstein, something has been bothering me since you brought in the
Americans' machine. If you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you steal a 40-ton, nuclear
battle tank?"

Charles smirked, "I never I said I stole anything. We got you what you asked for, that's what
important. No questions asked."

"Very well," responded the colonel, not fulfilled with the answer. "Well, that brings me to my
next point." the colonel's eyes, if it was possible, filled with another wave of malice, "I was just
curious to know why Solid Snake's rotting head isn't mounted on my wall right now. Instead the
filthy American is wandering about my facility, killing my comrades."

Gangstein rose from his chair, and vehemently slammed his fists straight through the wooden
desk. A man with a short fuse, "You're telling me about your fuckin' foot soldiers! My friend,
my comrade, is dead. So, if I were you, I wouldn't cry about a bunch a' fuckfaces you picked up
off the street and handed a gun."

Colonel Iosif, obviously startled, was forced to stand from his chair, "Get the hell out of my
office!"

The colonel and the mercenary were locked in a deadly stare. The tension between the two
increased with every passing second. The common dislike they held for each other was more than
apparent. They each challenged the other's authority, and it was only matter of time before one of
the two went over the edge.

"Fine, fine," Gangstein waved a threatening index finger at the colonel, "but remember this: I
will deal with Snake on my terms, and you will not interfere."

Charles turned and began walking toward the open door.

"Or what?" the colonel dared to ask.

In a split-second flash, Gangstein, stood at the Colonel's side, with his fist cocked, but the
mercenary quickly stopped any form of attack. Colonel Iosif held a Makarov pistol, pointed
directly at the blonde-haired man.

"What? You're going to shoot me?" Gangstein backed up and spread out his arms. "You actually
think your pistol's bullets can harm me? Give it a shot. Shoot me."

Iosif had his finger on the trigger, but could not fire. He knew even he did, it would do no more
than further anger the mercenary. Charles' bodybuilder-like physique made his appearance
border on invincible. So the colonel simply holstered the pistol.

"That's what I thought," Gangstein said as he lowered his arms and made his way over to the
door.

The door was shut, presumably made so by Gangstein's sudden speed burst. The mercenary,
seemingly effortlessly, connected his right fist with the middle of the wooden door, turning it into
a projectile as it was ripped from it's hinges and flew into the corridor wall, some seven meters
away.

Gangstein had won that battle, but there would be more to come.
__________


Solid Snake found himself outside in the brisk, Russian air. The sky was a beautiful light blue.
The sun was out, and shone on the operative. The sudden rush of sunlight had a somewhat
calming effect on Snake, the warm rays washed away whatever nicks and bruises he had. A
feeling of rejuvenation filled the protagonist, little did he know at the time, he would need it.

Snake stood on a platform, leading out of the hangar door and onto a large empty, snow-covered
field. Except for several boulders, the field, about half the size of a football field, was scarce of
any life. On both sides of Snake were large, concrete walls, each to large to scale. The one on his
left acted as a divider between the large plane doors of the hangar and the side door. Across the
plain, were a set of large metal doors, peculiarly unguarded. Although, there were four
surveillance cameras placed proportionally on the two cement walls. The cameras would be
easily avoidable, with help from the large boulders.

The agent walked about 5 meters before he instinctively ducked behind a boulder in order to
evade a camera's sight. Snake waited for the camera to rotate and continued. The soldier soon
stopped in the his tracks as his eyes focused on a figure across the field.

The man's face was shrouded by a cowboy hat, making it difficult to recognize him. The spurs
were familiar, the cowboy suit was familiar, even the dual, old-fashioned Colt Single Action
Army revolvers were nothing new, but there was something different about this man.

Was it or wasn't it Revolver Ocelot. . .