Duels of The Cobras: The End

"Shit." Snake snarled, rolling over in the grass as the dirt centimeters from his turning leg was coughed up in the hail of another projectile. He had a feeling his enemy would soon get through with tranquilizer darts and move on the real bullets. Then he would be a goner.

Not bad for an old man. Snake told himself, crouching behind the hollow body of a rotted tree and another projectile went through the hollow log, hitting the ground beside him. The purplish dart tip glinted in the sun. Snake lowered the SVD Dragunov to his lap and pulled out the clip. 8 rounds. That was it. He chanced a glance back over the log. Nothing. Just the same as usual. Eva hadn't lied, The End was as elusive as his legends.

This will be the battle to end all battles. The voice echoed in his head again. It was so quiet now. Snake realized he couldn't hide much longer and moved to run. And there was the bird. The End's green parrot. It perched on a whorl in the log, it's pointed beak turned towards the sky and it chirruped. Once. Twice. His little bird spy.. Snake thought to himself. He couldn't win this battle with this bird double-tracking him. He drew out his survival knife, 7 inches of gleaming steel and sank his teeth into the material of one of his gloves to pull it off. After a moment, it came off and he took up a dead twig of wood, placing the glove on it and hung it just enough over the edge to catch sight.

WHAM. The glove was blown off the stick a moment later. The bird screeched, about to fly away. The instant Snake had won himself was enough. He rammed the knife into the bird's feathery chest. It chirruped once more and fell to the ground. He wouldn't take it. Barely any meat to go around. Like the animal he was named after, he ate only what would fill his stomach. No more. He grabbed the glove, pulling the dart from it and dropped it to the ground, slipping it on. He had to move. Now. He kicked at the dirt with his combat boot heel and pulled the pin from the smoke grenade on his belt. He tossed it a good ten feet away. A second later it erupted. His covered his nose and mouth with his hand, closing his eyes and dived blindly for cover. His head struck something, hard.

He groaned, spots in his vision as the smoke cleared. When he shook his head enough to regain his vision, surprisingly, there were no shots. Somehow, miraculously, he had been concealed by a large bushel of high grass. Thank christ for Leaf Camos.. Snake told himself, turning over to his elbows. He tightened when his foot struck something soft, hoping it wasn't the hide of a snake but instead, it was the leather strap of his rifle. He pulled it towards himself with his free foot, but cursed when he saw sunlight glint from the rifle. Surely enough, a second later there was another shot. This time, it was a bullet, it grazed his foot, clipping a chunk of meat out and he gritted his teeth through the pain, groping for the gun and found it as another bullet grazed his arm. The End was too good of a shot to miss twice.. no..

Playing with me. Snake thought bitterly. Playing with me like a cat with a mouse.. He pushed off the grass with his feet and grabbed above him for the branch of an overhanging tree. He dragged himself behind a boulder. Safe.. he thought. At least for now. He reached into his pack for his canteen and sloshed it around as noiselessly as he could, even though he knew the old man knew damn well where he was. He'd wait for hours if he had to. Days, weeks, months if his body didn't yearn for water, and according to legend, the spirit of nature provided for The End enough that he very well would last a month wherever he was near the ridge.

Here's to life. May I keep it long enough to blow this bastard's head off. Snake thought, waving the canteen in a mock tone and downed the stale water he'd taken from the river. He wiped the droplets out of the stubble on his chin when he was done and stole another glance over his shelter. Nothing. No signs. He considered the thermal goggles, but according to Sigint, they wouldn't help with The End's reptilian body temperature.

He dropped the canteen, not feeling enough to take it up and moved to take the rifle when he hissed. He'd miscalculated. The bullet hadn't missed his arm. It had lodged into the skin, but missed the bone. The End's rifle had to have a low muzzle velocity, but low enough to imbed in skin? That sounded like something Ocelot would have done with his revolver bullets. If one of these fuckers sticks in my gut.. I'll probably rot out here. Enough for all the goddamn poison frogs and cobras in the world. Seems I'll be the food of the devil.. he thought, taking out his first aid kit for a dressing. Eat me and go to hell.

He took a wad of the spare gauze and pushed itbetween his teeth and tongue before he cut away a shred of torn fabric from his camo sleeve. The camoflauge itself would still hold up, he could stitch this patch back in with his kit. He bit down hard as the knife went into the circle of numb skin around the bloodsoaked wound. There was numbness, then a flare of pain. Snake groaned into the gauze before he pulled the flattened slug out. Warm air of the jungle seeped into the wound, multiplying the already nerve-wracking pain. He cursed everyone. The Boss, the Cobras, hell, even the Colonel that had seen fit to drag him out here.

Get yourself together, Saladin. He told himself. Get yourself together and let's go get the bastard that shot us in the arm. He nodded to thin air and finished with the wound. There was no more pain after the splash of iodine, only a dull throbbing of numbness. He twitched his fingers a bit and after a few minutes regained control of his arm. He tested once by pulling the trigger of his rifle with the safety on. It would hold up. He looked down at his boot. A square inch of the thick material had been chipped off from the bullet, and the sock underneath was bloodstained, but there was no lasting damage. He pushed himself back under the rock, his rifle with him and turned to face his enemy.