MGS1英文官方小说

fengmosn

　　Campbell continued: “there are six hardened members of FOXHOUND, and they’re some pretty rough characters. The guy in charge is FOXHOUND’s squad leader.” Campbell opened a large envelope marked CLASSFIED and handed him photographs one by one as he mentioned the names.

　　Snake blinked. “Liquid Snake?”

　　Campbell nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so. A man with the same code name as you.”

　　“He…he looks just like me!”

　　“Pretty shocking, huh? His skin tone is different, his hair is blond and not black, but otherwise you two do look alike, I must admit.” Campbell turned away, not looking Snake in the eye.
“That’s why we really need you for this mission. We believe you’re the only person who can stand against him.”

　　Snake rubbed his eyes and tried to digest the information. “Tell me what you know about him.”

　　“He fought in the Gulf War as a teenager, the youngest person in the SAS. His job was to track down and destroy mobile Scud missile launching platforms. You were there, Snake. Didn’t you infiltrate western Iraq with a platoon of Green Berets? ”

　　“I was just a kid myself back then.”

　　“The details are classified, but it seems that originally Liquid Snake penetrated the Middle East as a sleeper for the SIS.”
　　
　　“You mean he was a spy for the Brits?”

　　“He never once showed his face in Century House, though. He was taken prisoner in Iraq, and after that there was no trace of him for several years. After you retired, he was rescued and became a member of FOXHOUND.”
　
　　“I thought by that time they were no longer using code names.”

　　“I don’t know his real name,” Campbell said. “That information is so highly classified that even I can’t look at it.”
Snake rubbed the stubble on his chin. He suddenly felt much older than his thirty-three years. He indicated the other photographs.

　　“Who’s else?”

　　“Psycho Mantis, a Russian with allegedly powerful psychic abilities. I’m sure they use him for brainwashing and psychological warfare. Then there’s Sniper Wolf, a Kurdish woman from Iraq who they say is one of the best shots on the planet. Gorgeous and deadly. From Mexico, there’s Decoy Octopus, a master of disguise. He speaks a dozen languages and is an expert in transforming his appearance.”

　　“Talented fellow.” There were two photos left.

　　“Vulcan Raven comes from Alaska; he’s half Alaskan Indian, half Inuit Eskimo. They guy’s a powerful soldier, and not just because he’s a giant. ”

　　“A giant?”

　　“Two hundred and ten centimeters tall.”

　　“Sounds like these guys could open their own circus sideshow.”

　　“He’s also an Indian shaman, practices some kind of voodoo that allows him to control what he calls spirits of the wilderness.”
Snake nodded. “I know about those guys in Alaska. They can command animals to do things. Birds, dogs, you name it Pretty spooky.”

　　“Finally, there’s Revolver Ocelot. A Russian, he’s an interrogation specialist and formidable gunfighter. Strange guy; he dressed in one of those dusters form the cowboy days and wields a six-shooter. They say the Russians trained him to be quite the proficient torturer. You don’t want to get caught alive by him.”
“And Liquid Snake is the head honcho? They don’t look so tough.”

　　Dr. Hunter spoke up. “Don’t forget about their army of genome soldiers.”

　　“I’m afraid to ask.”

　　“They’re a combination of brute strength, intelligence, and DNA sampling. Next Generation Special Forces. We believe they’re all under control of the Psycho Mantis, which is how they were able to accomplish the coup and overtake the Shadow Moses facility.”
“They started out as an antiterrorist special ops unit made up of former members of biochem units, technical escort units, and the Nuclear Emergency Search Team,” Campbell explained. “Their purpose was to respoud to threats involving net-generation weapons of mass destruction, including NBC weapons.”

　　“Until they were added,” Dr. Hunter said.

　　“Who’s ‘they’?”

　　“Mercenaries,” Campbell answered. “And it gets worse. Most of them were form a mere agency that I think you’re familiar with. They were part of Big Boss’s private guard, and after he went down, the military just bought out all their contracts.”

　　Snake winced. “Outer Heaven…” He had a sudden flash of memory. One of his first FOXHOUND missions had been to infiltrate the small, self-proclaimed country in South Africa known as Outer Heaven. The powerful military leader Big Boss had turned coat and organized his own “nation” of mercenaries and renegade soldiers there. Big Boss had been wounded severely after Snake’s encounter with him, but the man had survived, and he went on several years later to mastermind another military state called Zanzibarland. Snake’s second encounter with Big Boss had proved to be the ultimate soldier’s final undoing.

　　Campbell contained. “After that they were merged with our own VR unit, Force 21, and retrained. If you ask me, these socalled Next Generation Special Forces should be called simulated soldiers because they have no real battle experience.”

　　“But don’t forget, they’ve all been strengthened with gene therapy, ” Dr. Hunter warned. “Don’t get careless just because they don’t have much experience.”

　　Snake handed the photographs back to Campbell. “I thought using genetically modified soldiers was prohibited by international law.”

　　“Those are declarations.” Dr. Hunter countered, “not actual treaties.”

　　“The interesting thing is that nearly every member of the unit conspired in this attack,” Campbell said.

　　“But how could an entire unit be subverted to rebellion?”

　　“They’re calling it a revolution,” Dr. Hunter said. “Like I said, we think Psycho Mantis had something to do with it.”

　　“Since they all went through the same gene therapy, they probably felt closer than brothers. They see the unit as their only family. They’ll be the usual types of forces: arctic warfare squads, light infantry, NBC warfare squads, and heavily armed troopers.”
Snake shook his head. NBC warfare soldiers handled nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons.

　　Terrific.

　　“And then there’s the cream of the crop,” Campbell added.
“The Genome Combat Veterans. They’ll be dressed in spec-ops black owl Kevlar-armored fatigues. They call themselves Space Seals.”

　　“Why?” Snake asked. “Do they sit up, clap their flippers, and bark for treats?” No one laughed. “The sons of Big Boss. But if they were regular army, they must have been interviewed periodically by army counselors.”

　　“According to their files, they’re all got straight A’s on their psychological tests. They all seemed like fine, upstanding patriotic soldiers.”

　　“But they all took part in the uprising?”

　　“No; several people didn’t show up on the day of the exercises. That’s why there was a resupply of troops.”

　　“There must have been a sign that something was wrong.”
Dr. Hunter said, “There was a report a month ago that they were acting strangely. Apparently, they consulted classified information about the soldier genes and performed their own gene therapy experiments.”

fengmosn

　　“Listen,” Campbell said. “Even the existence of this genome army is a national secret of the highest order. We had been hoping to investigate this thing quietly and deal with it behind closed doors.”

　　Snake sighed and said, “Okay. How many genome soldiers do they have with them?”

　　“Dozens,” Campbell answered.

　　“Don’t tell me,” Snake said. “I’m going in alone.”

　　Campbell allowed himself a smile. “Is there any other way?”Snake turned to Dr. Hunter. “What the hell was in that shot?”
“An antifreezing peptide to protect you from the cold. It also contains nanomachines to replenish adrenaline, nutrition, and sugars. And to top it off, there are nootropics- a class of drugs that will help improve your mental functioning.” The woman’s eyes sparkly; she seemed pleased with herself.

　　“Aren’t you jumping the gun? I haven’t said yes yet.” Snake nodded at Campbell. “Why are you involved in this, Colonel? I thought you’d retired, too.”

　　Snake detecked a slight hesitation when Campbell replied. “Not too many people know FOXHOUND as well as I do.”

　　“Yeah? And what’s the real reason?”

　　“Okay, I’ll be frank. A person very dear to me is one of the hostages. My niece, Meryl Silverburgh.”

　　“What was she doing there?”

　　“She’s one of us, an operative, although a very young and inexperienced one. She was assigned to the Shadow Moses Facility as an intern, so to speak. When several of the base soldiers were reported missing, she was called in as an emergency replacement. No sooner had she arrived than the revolt occurred.”

　　“Has she been in contact with you?”

　　“No. We believe that either she’s in hiding or she’s a prisoner along with oter civilian employees there. I don’t dare think of the, umh, other possibility.”

　　Snake narrowed his eyes at Campbell. “Why would you allow someone so green to be sent here?”

　　“It was her choice. She was my little brother’s girl. He and Meryl’ smother never married, so Meryl used her mother’s last name. My brother died in the Gulf War when she was ten years old, and since then I’ve been watching after her. She’s old enough to make her own decisions, although she’s not even twenty yet. She’s a good soldier, Snake. She’s quite adept at hand weapons, and I think you’ll find she’s quite good at stealth. She knows her way around computers and electric circuitry as well. If you can find her, she could be a valuable ally once you’re inside.”

　　Snake didn’t particularly want a teenage girl an an ally, no matter how good she was at repairing burned-out wall outlets.
He sighed again and asked, “What do I have to do?”

　　Campbell almost couldn’t contain his joy that his most trusted operative had more or less agreed to the mission. “You’ll have two objectives. First, you need to infiltrate the facility and rescue two VIP hostages.”

　　“Your niece and who else? ”

　　“Not my niece. She’s not the objective. If you can find her, great.” Campbell looked down. “But if you can’t, then-”

　　“I’ll find her. Who are the two VIPs?”

　　“DARPA chief Donald Anderson, and the president of ArmsTech, Kenneth Baker. ”

　　Snake nodded. He knew that DARPA was the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. ArmsTech was the corporation that supplied weapons and arms research for the U.S. military. Heavy-duty hostages.

　　“What business did those guys have at a nuclear weapons disposal facility?”

　　“The truth is that secret exercises were being conducted at the time the terrorist group attacked.”

　　“Huh, Must’ve been pretty important exercises if those two were involved. What were they doing, testing some new kind of weapon?”

　　“I’m not privy to that information.”

　　“Well, who’s in charge of this operation, Colonel?”

　　“The president of the United States, Snake. ”

　　“So if the terrorists have a nuke, shouldn’t the president and his cronies issue a COG?”

　　“Not yet. Jim Houseman has operational control and is fully aware of the situation. After you infiltrate, if you determine they possess nuclear launch capabilities, a COG will be issued.”

　　Then it was clear. Houseman was the U.S. secretary of defense and a member of the mysterious OSI, an FBI-like organization that conducted criminal investigations among military employees, soldiers, and related civilians. His service record dated back to the Vietnam days. Snake nodded and said, “I see. And what’s the second objective?”

　　“It’s what I just said. You need to investigate whether the terrorists really have the ability to launch a nuclear strike – and stop them if they do. They’ve already told us they have a warhead, and they gave us the serial number. It was confirmed as authentic
“Isn’t there some kind of safety device to prevent this page of terrorism?”.

　　“Uh-huh. Every missile and warhead in our arsenal is equipped with a PAL that uses a discrete detonation code.

　　“PAL?”
　　
　　“Permissive Action Link. That’s the safety control built into all nuclear weapons systerms. But even so, we can’t rest easy. The DARPA chief knows the detonation code”

　　“Sheesh. That means it’ll be on the front page of the National Enquirer tomorrow. But even if they have a nuclear warhead, it must have been removed from its missile. All the missiles on these disposal sites are supposed to be dismantled, right? It’s not that easy to get your hands on an ICBM. Right?”

　　“That used to be true, Snake, but since the end of the Cold War, you can get anything if you have enough money and the right connections. Do you understand the seriousness of the situation now?”

　　Snake stood and stretched. “Okay, I guess you have me, Colonel. But you owe me. Big time.”

　　“Your country won’t forget it, Snake. By the way, I’m not a colonel anymore. I’m just a retired old warhorse.”

　　“Sure… Colonel. I assume this is a weapons and equipment OSP.”

　　“On Site Procurement is the norm; you know that. We’ll outfit you with a SOCOM going in, though.”

　　“A handgun? Damn, Colonel…Hope that doesn’t put you over budget.”

　　“Cut the sarcasm, Snake. Remember, this is top-secret black ops. Don’t except any official support. We’ll be in constant contact through your Codec, you know, provide you with maps and tactical advice- you know the drill.”

　　“Tell me more about the facility.”

　　“Unfortunately, it’s primarily a hardened underground base. Even with our most advanced intelligence-gathering equipment, we can’t tell what’s happening on the inside.”

　　“Peachy. Who else is on the team?”

　　“Let’s go in the control room. I’ll introduce you. Oh, uhm, after you’re dressed.”

　　The colonel and Dr. Hunter left the room while Snake donned the special skintight suit that had been in the room when he’d arrived. “Ten minutes later, he emerged, looking more like the Solid Snake combat operative Colonel Campbell had known.”

　　The control room was the hotbed of mission activity. Workstations were arranged in a circle, with each member of the team positioned at a designated station responsible for a single aspect of the mission. As commander, Campbell usually remained in the center of the circle, having easy access to each workstation.
First, Campbell introduced Snake to a very young Chinese girl who sat at a bank of computers. Snake thought she was definitely a babe but way too young for him.

　　“This is Mei Ling. She’s our communications officer, specializes in image and data processing. Besides mine, you’ll hear her voice a lot through the Codec’s in-ear transmitter.”

　　“Hello,” she said with a smile.

　　The codec, he reflected, was an ingenious invention. The Codifying Satellite Communication Systerm incorporated anti wiring coding, digital real-time burst communication, sonarutilization, and radar. Normal communication was instantly codified, compressed, and transmitted in a bust one microsecond in length. However, Snake could receive it in real time, unscrambled and decoded. Special earplugs received the transmission and stimulated the small bones of his ear so that no onebut him would hear the sound. And he could contact any member of the team with a speed-dial button corresponding to his or her code frequency.

　　Snake thought Mei Ling resembled a manga character come to life. He shook her hand. “I didn’t expect a designer of world-class military technology to be so cute.”

　　She gave him a sideways glance. “You’re just flattering me.”
“I’m serious! Now I know I won’t be bored for the next twenty-four, er, eighteen hours.”

　　“Hmm, I can’t believe I’m being hit on by the famous Solid Snake.”

　　Campbell led Snake to another computer bank, switched on a monitor, and fiddled with a knob until the image of a woman in her thirties appeared on the screen. She had short blond hair and East European appearance.

　　“This is Nastasha Romanenko, our nuclear weapons expert. She analyzes military hardware and ordnance. She’s you tech guru via Codec, Snake.”

　　“I am so very glad to meet you, Snake,” the women said.
Snake pinpointed the dialect. “Ukraine,” he said.

　　“How did you know?”

　　“I guessed, Is that where you are? Ukraine?”

　　“No, I’m in sunny southern California. LA.”

　　“Lucky you.”

　　Campbell continued. “Dr. Hunter you’ve already met. She’ll be the medical officer on the mission. Did you know her grandfather was Hoover’s assistant secretary in the FBI?”

　　“Is that so?” Snake asked. “And that gives you the qualifications to be chief medical officer?”

　　“No, but remember, I’ve already seen you naked.”

　　“Do I get a prize for that?”

　　Dr. Hunter gave him a wicked smile and retorted, “Well, if you make it back in one piece, maybe I’ll let you see me naked.”

　　“Whoa! Colonel, when do I start?”

　　“Settle down, Snake. Do you have any questions? Real ones, that is?”

　　“No, but I wish you’d rustle Master Miller out of retirement. I miss his cranky pep talks.”

　　Snake had hoped hat former FOXHOUND trainer and mentor, whose real name was McDonnel Benedict Miller, would be present. Miller also had retired to the Alaskan wilderness, but Snake had not crossed paths with him in years.

　　Campbell chuckled. “Snake, you’ll be happy to know that Master Miller has agreed to support you with aid via the Codec.”

　　“You found him?”

　　“Not exactly. But we’re in touch. Don’t be surprised if you suddenly hear his voice when you’re surrounded by a dozen genome soldiers.”

　　A navy serviceman entered the room and saluted. “Colonel, we’re approaching the launch site.”

　　“Thank you, Ensign,” Campbell said. He returned the salute and addressed Snake. “Get the rest of your gear on. We don’t have much time.”

TODAY

　　AND HERE HE WAS. Less than twelve hours earlier, he had been dreaming of huskies and berries. Now he crouched behind a filtration tank, ready to make his move.

　　Snake heard boots on metal somewhere above him. He carefully peered around the side and saw two soldiers at the other end of the cargo dock. A man wearing a brown trench coat was with them as they approached the freight elevator.

　　“I’m going to swat down a couple of bothersome flies,” the man told the soldier, speaking with polished elocution. “Stay alert. He’ll be through here; I know it.”

　　“I see someone wearing a duster,” Snake whispered, the Codec picking up his words, “I think it might be Revolver Ocelot.”

　　“Can you get a positive ID?” Campbell asked, his voice somewhere in the recesses of Snake’s ears.

　　The man in the trench coat stepped into the elevator and turned around, facing Snake.

　　“Negative. Wait. He turned this way. Colonel, it’s not Ocelot.”

　　It was the leader himself- Liquid Snake.

fengmosn

3

THE MAN KNOW AS Master Miller rolled his fists against the punching bag and produced a pounding, steady rhythm that might have come from an African or a Latino rock band. Working out in his makeshift gym three hours a day not only kept his aging body fit, it gave his reclusive life focus and purpose. After all, separating himself from the hustle and bustle of the “real world” did have a few drawbacks. Miller would never admit it, but there were times when he left utterly alone. Most days that was a good thing… and others, not so good. For his money, exercise was the cure-all.

　　With a distinguished career serving in the SAS, the Green Berets, the Marine Corps, and FOXHOUND, Miller was one of those soldier whom you could take out of the military, but you couldn’t take the military out of the man. It was why he was FOXHOUND’s authority on survival training. The fact that he was of the third-generation American-Japanese ancestry made no difference to the top brass. The guy was a patriot and an American through and through. He had a reputation of being an ornery SOB and the epitome of the loud, aggressive drill instructor, but each and every one of his recruits would forever utter his name with respect.

　　As Miller continued to pound the bag, he heard one of his huskies howl. That wasn’t unusual. There were wolves in the wilderness where Miller had chosen to build a house, and his huskies often did their duty by scaring the beasts away. But suddenly the howl cut off sharply, as if something had silenced the dog with finality.
　　
　　Miller grabbed the punching bag to still its rapid pulsation. He listened carefully but heard only the wind, which had picked up considerably in the last few hours. Never one to ignore a premonitory warning, Miller moved fluidly across the gym floor and to a clipboard, checked that it contained a full magazine, and racked the slide. He then climbed the stairs to the ground floor and sprinted to the central alarm systerm control box.

　　It was dead. Miller punched buttons on the monitors, but each of the six screens was blank. There was no way he could see what was outside the house.

　　Someone had to be damned good to find him, he thought. Like Solid Snake, he had built a home in the far eastern Alaskan wilderness, near the Canadian border. There was no easy way to reach the place, and the one and only road leading to the structure was covered in several feet of snow. Besides, his security cameras would have picked up any vehicle traversing the path a mile away.
Miler turned and leaped over the couch in his living room. He lay prone on the wooden floor, listening and waiting for the sound of intruders. By hiding behind the piece of furniture, perhaps he would have the element of surprise in his favor.

　　But after five minutes there was noting. Could he have imagined it? Should he go check on his dogs? But if it was a false alarm, why would his security systerm be on the blink?

　　No, something was definitely wrong. Call it Zen, call it a six sense, call it bullshit- Master Miller knew someone was in the house.
Then he noticed the sweet-smelling odor. It reminded him of a dentist’s office. Laughing gas? No, this was different. But whatever is was? It couldn’t be good. He had to get out of the house, and fast. Unfortunately, he was wearing gym shorts, tennis shoes, and a tank top. Outside it was minus thirty or forty degrees Fahrenheit.
Miller rose and attempted to jump back over the couch but immediately felt the effects of the gas. His reaction time was much slower, and his head felt like a helium balloon, ready to float to the ceiling with out his body. He stumbled to get to his closet, don something warm, and jump through the escape hatch to the ice cave beneath the basement, Miller struggled to run across the room.

　　The smell was much stronger now. Miller thought it was probably sevoflurane, one of the most powerful and popular gases used in modern anesthesia.

　　Miller’s feet felt like lead bricks as he tried to life them. With a rapidity that surprised him, a wave of confusion enveloped his brain, and the horizon tilted. There was a sensation of falling, but it seemed to take forever. He didn’t feel the crash as his face smacked into the floor.

　　With one final effort, Miller crawled a foot or two before the darkness overcame him.

brightxy

真有毅力，佩服

Kissdreams

+1  我自愧不如。

fengmosn

呵呵
b兄说笑了 你翻译英文小说的工作量也不小啃 更何况偶干的这件事没啥技术含量 纯苦力话
大致估算了一下速度 基本七一小时能录入两页
除却现在放假不说 平时5点下班回宿舍 吃完饭也就6点左右 一直到晊七12点睡觉偶都没啥事情 游戏玩腻了 一天晊七录入个5 6页是不成问题的
今天因为在淘宝七找手办的了不少时间 就偷懒了一下 第三章只有3页不到

Kissdreams

[quote=fengmosn;497903]b兄说笑了[/quote]


b兄！b兄啃！！！[s:11] [s:11] [s:11] [s:11]

brightxy

[quote=kissdreams;497908]b兄！b兄啃！！！[s:11] [s:11] [s:11] [s:11][/quote]
正太小样的，信不信我帮你惃方丈打出来的肺痨再加重一层[s:30]

0479

进来支持楼主

fengmosn

4

SNAKE EYED HIS surrounding and double-checked them. with the map grid that appeared on the Codec, which was strapped around his wrist. The cargo dock was in a hollowed-out cavern that was supported by metal latticework. There was an empty berth at which government supply ships could dock. The approximately seventy-five-foot platform was dotted with large shipping crates, which were scattered across the space all the way to the freight elevator. The rest of the facility probably was built into the ground as well as in structures above the surface. Liquid had disappeared into the elevator, so that was obviously the only access to the surface level.
Snake drew the Mark 23 Model 0 SOCOM from its holster and checked the chamber. Locked and loaded. In Snake’s opinion, there was no pistol with better accuracy and resilience than the .45-caliber SOCOM. The laser-aiming module was particularly nice. Ironically, in a perfect world Snake would never have to draw the thing. If everything went as smoothly as possible, not a single shot would be fired.

　　Fat chance.

　　Snake holstered the gun. It was time to make his move. He slipped around the water filtration tank and crawled under the large pipe running along the wall of cavern. Some kind of vermin droppings lined the perimeter, and Snake frowned.

　　“Colonel, I see animal feces. Are there rats here?” he asked.

　　“Negative, Snake,” Campbell replied. “We already checked with vermin control; those are droppings form brown mice. They’re harmless; they won’t bite. Apparently, everyone who works in the facility is used to them. Be alert. We’re picking up three- on, four guards patrolling the cargo dock. Where did Liquid go?”

　　“He popped into the elevator. It’s amazing. Other than the difference in skin tone, the guy could be my twin.”

　　“Snake, he’s going to be a formidable enemy. His code name is the same as yours, so you’ll be evenly matched, more or less.”

　　“Yeah, but it will be the solid versus the liquid.”

　　“Right,” Snake said. He continued to study the Codec ground plan when he heard the sound of boots nearby. He froze and peered over the pipe to see one of the guards. The man was mask and was armed with a FAMAS assault rifle. The guard moved to the edge of the dock, looked across the water, and sneezed. Snake crept behind him, said “Gesundheit,” and executed a silent stranglehold. The guard’s neck snapped, and his weight drooped limply into Snake’s arms. Snake dragged the body behind the filtration tank and left it there. He heard more small space between the tank’s outside lip and the platform. A solider must have heard something, for he was walking carefully toward the edge of the dock. Snake rolled out from under the tank on the opposite side, stood, and stealthily inched his way around so that he was behind the guard.

　　Another stranglehold, another dead guard.

　　Snake dragged the corpse behind the tank, searched the man, and found a pack of commercially made American cigarettes.
Yuck.

　　Snake preferred a nicotine-based mix of chemicals and plant leaves that he had made especially for him. They were also somewhat smokeless, which was an asset on a mission. He’d been temped to swallow a pack before leaving the submarine but hadn’t relished the thought of regurgitating them upon arrival. No, for smokes he would have to depend on the usual On Site Procurement, no mater how awful the brand that he found was.
He took the cigarettes and slung the rifle over his arm.

　　“Snake? Naomi Hunter here.”

　　“Yes, Doctor?”

　　“Just reminding you that the genome soldiers have highly developed sense of hearing and vision. They’ll come running at the slightest noise. I suspect they’re equipped with the same antifreezing peptide I gave you. ”

　　“That’s not going to stop me from putting them on ice.”
The colonel interrupted. “Snake, five minutes ago we launched a diversion to keep them from paying too much attention to what’s happening at sea. Two F-16’s took off from Galena and are headed your way. The terrorists’ radar should have already picked them up.”

　　Could that have been what Liquid Snake meant about swatting down flies?

　　Time to move forward. Snake moved to the edge of the tank and then darted to the nearest crate. He stopped, listened, moved to the opposite edge, and dashed once again to the next closest crate. He continued in that way, sprinting from container to container, gaining yardage toward the end of the platform. When he was at the penultimate crate, he dropped to the ground and peered around the edge at floor level.

　　The elevator had just descended and opened. The third and fourth guards were patrolling from left to right directly in front of it, on a path some six feet away from the last crate. There was no way to sneak up behind the men, so Snake waited until they turned and began walking away from him. He bolted across the floor to crate closest to the elevator door. There he waited a few seconds for the guards to turn again and walk slowly toward storm. He surprised them by stepping out from behind the crate and standing directly in front of them.

　　“Merry Christmas,” Snake said as he delivered two powerhouse punches, left and then right, into the guards’ faces. The soldiers plopped to the floor. “I forgot to tell you- Christmas is early this year.”

　　Snake took hold of one man’s arms and dragged his body around the crate. He repeated the process with the other guard. As soon as the limp figures were stuffed tidily into a corner, a siren sounded throughout the complex.

　　“Great,” Snake said. “Either they know I’m here, or something else is going on. Colonel, I’m taking the elevator.”
He stepped into the open cubicle and pressed the button for the surface level. The ride took less than ten seconds. The doors opened to a massive space, the focal point being a Mi-24D Hind-D gunship residing in the middle of a landing pad. Snake looked up and saw that the roof- a sliding slab of reinforced metal- was retracting so that the helicopter could take off. Blocks of snow fell in from above; Snake could see that it was snowing heavily outside.
He moved out of the elevator and slipped along the wall and into the shadows, avoiding the sight lines of two guards at the end of the platform. He crouched in the shadows as a female voice he didn’t recognize spoke. “Snake, weather conditions are bad. A blizzard is hitting your position just about now.”

　　“Who’s that?”

　　“Oh, sorry. Mei Ling here. I’ll be monitoring the weather as well as your communications devices.”

　　The door had retracted completely, and the entire room lit up like Time Square. Guards moved out of the way as the rotor on the Hind began to rotate, building to speed in seconds.

　　“Colonel, there’s a Russian gunship here in a state- of –the –art heliport. And someone’s crazy enough to fly the thing in this weather.”

　　A good pilot could handle a Hind-D in a lizard. The machine was know for tis agility and speed. Snake had heard that it was the most difficult combat helicopter to shoot down. Its offensive capabilities were formidable as well, as it possessed a Phalanga-P antitank missile complex and machine guns.

　　The landing lights around the helicopter rotated in place and pointed upward, creating a tunnel of beams to guide the pilot off the helipad. Even through the beast was large for an assault chopper, it gently as the pilot fought the strong wind, but whoever was flying the vehicle knew what he was doing. After a moment, the chopper was up, had moved out of the open roof, and was gone.
Snake took a moment to light one of the cigarettes. As expected, the commercial stuff was horrible and nearly made him cough. But bad tobacco was better than no tobacco, so…

　　Campbell said, “Snake?”

　　“Yeah?”

　　“Liquid Snake fancies himself an expert pilot. He was a big ego and probably insist on flying it in lieu of anyone else. I suspect he’s after our fighters. That means the diversion is working.”

　　Mei Ling commented, “I’m surprised our pilots can fly in that storm.”

　　Campbell answered. “The Air Force in Alaska is trained to fly in these conditions. They’re some of the best of the best, so to speak.”

　　“Hey, guy, I don’t mean to interrupt this lively discussion, but dose someone want to tell me where I’m supposed to go?”

　　Dr. Hunter spoke. “Snake, the DARPA chief, Anderson, was injected with the same GPS- transmitting nanomachines as you, so you should be able to track his signal with the Codec. We’re not picking him up yet, but you should be able to once you’re farther inside the complex.”

　　He checked the device around his wrist and noted a faint signal.
“He’s on a different level,” Snake said. “And he’s a lot farther inland. I’ve got to get into the bowels of this place.”

　　Mei Ling said. “Then you’ll have to cross the heliport, Snake. We see there’s a lot of genome soldier activity in the place so watch you’re a-, uhm, your back.”

　　Snake grinned.

　　“There’s another large space north of you. Looks like some type of hangar. You’ll have to cross that as well to get into the main facility. It’s crawling with guards, too.”

　　Great.

　　“Piece of cake,” Snake said.