Snow Leopardess 1 by Always Late (2CP) (2DB)
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Well, it's been a long time coming and I haven't been getting anymore feedback for it. Hope this meets you all's and @konamikode's expectations.
Snow Leopardess 1.
Date: (Turn 1)
"Good work knocking out that artillery unit for the Mujahideen Boss, but we just got a side mission, urgent timeframe." Miller's voice rapidly cut across the iDroid, just audible over the crackling flames of the burning self-propelled artillery around him.
"What is it?" The grizzled hero of Diamond Dogs rose, stowing the Falkenberg rocket launcher. He glanced at the battered MLRS-APC hybrid next to him to confirm no survivors.
"Our intel teams just found the location of a key individual with close connections to prominent black market arms dealers, but she's in a bit of a bad spot. She was making a sale of top-of-the-line MANPADs to some Mujahideen when the Soviets snuck in a short armor company. They're looking to make an example, and the rebels are about to get overrun. If we want any hope of recovering the Principle, we'll need to take out those Russian tanks first. Thankfully their gunships are busy patrolling too far away to get here any time soon. Think you can handle that Boss?"
"Where are they?" He called out gruffly, his good eye scanning across his iDroid's display.
"You should be receiving the coordinates now, it's not too many klicks off. Head over there, take out the enemy forces, and extract the principal and anyone else she has, evac will be at the following rendezvous."
"Got it." Boss whistled for D-Horse, made a running leap into the saddle, and then gripped the reins. "Let's ride." At the command, the living legend and his steed began riding to the north. As he closed in the distant echoes of gunfire and explosions grew louder. He nudged D-Horse to a full gallop, and as he hurtled into view of the valley the operation was located in, his communicator crackling with an incoming message.
"Boss," Revolver Ocelot calmly spoke. "I tracked the some of the supplies we took in a few weeks ago, serial numbers match records one of our CIA third parties had for a shipment she was sitting on. Gave us a lot of good gear for not very much profit."
"She helped us out, huh?"
"Seems so. You could ask what's up before engaging, or just let me and Miller handle it. Your call."
"Understood." Boss closed the line, then descended into the localized hellscape of a warzone.
*****
Brunhild Stahl icy exterior was calm, betraying none of the overwhelming fear she was feeling. "Damn it. They finally caught up with me."
She crawled through the dark muck of sand and blood, back towards the main building her equipment was housed in. As bullets zinged around her and explosions filled her ears, she waded past the bodies of the Private Force mercenaries she'd hired. She forced herself to ignore the squelching sound each movement brought, the noxious smell of viscera and shit all around her, and cursed herself. "I should have seen through the facade. Brigette would never have let father get any wind of her insane plan, and I'm not worth any attention she'd get."
The Russian mechanized infantry advance abruptly parted, infantry hugging walls or storming into buildings while IFVs pulled to the side of the road. Down the gap came a four-strong platoon of what Brunhild recognized as TT77 NOSOROGs. "Killed by a Russian mass production tank, like so many other nameless dead in this graveyard of a nation. If it wasn't so pathetic, I'd almost find it poetic."
Suddenly, the entire Russian left flank stopped firing. Their turrets began to traverse, but targeting what? Brunhild could hear someone briefly scream before it cut out in a strangled gurgle. Fire abruptly resumed, but it was now concentrated among the buildings. She heard the staccato fire of machine guns as the Russian infantry in the center began lay down suppressive fire supporting their comrades, but she couldn't make out what they were aiming at. They seemed to be shooting at something in the middle of their lines. She could see muzzle flashes from within the left flank's occupied buildings slowly grew fainter and fainter.
"He has come." Brunhild turned to see the Mujahideen commander she was supposed to sell a shipment of missiles to before the Soviets blew them up, sitting against a wall, cradling an old Enfield rifle as he kept pressure on a large wound in his side. He gave another wheezing gasp of air, and turned to the arms dealer. "Rest assured, foreigner. You will be safe now. He is here."
"Who?" Brunhild wanted to keep her mind focused, off the carnage around her, but this man had chosen to deal with her despite her heritage, shown every courtesy despite being a woman, and firmly rebuked a man who had made lustful comments about her not wearing their traditional clothes. She could not abandon him. Not when… she had been powerless to stop it happening again.
"Some have called him Shahmaran, the king of the desert snakes." The man softly said, taking his eyes from the woman in front of him and looking upon the battle below. "Others say he is an al-jinn of great cunning. Some have even called him Saladin, as if he was the savior of Arabs and the children of Islam."
"Is he?" Brunhild moved towards her baggage, opening one of the suitcases and searching for the medical kit.
"No. He is not a man of any god," the aged commander answered, his gaze distant. "He has no love of the Communists nor of the capitalist West. He came because we paid him… and because he saw a people in need."
Brunhild paused, thinking. What a reversal, the man she was looking for had come to her. If the Mujahideen was right, to save her. "How…" She softly spoke,"Can I repay your protection, sir?"
The rebel leader gave a wet, rasping chuckle. "To let the world know I died protecting a beautiful guest against rapacious foreigners." The laugh quickly broke into a bloody cough, and as Brunhild moved forward with a bandage, he waved it away. "I have lived a good life. My wives are all gone. My sons are all dead or men of their own. I go to submit before Allah. And hope my life has been to His pleasing."
A massive explosion rocked the room, showering the occupants with glass. Brunhild ran to the shattered window. Outside, two nearby tanks were destroyed, and a third was driving erratically while a fourth was shooting at the Russian support vehicles. The remaining Mujahideen cheered as the Russians broke in the confusion, and rushed from their positions to drive the invaders out of their homes. The third tank crashed into a building, embedding itself halfway into the structure before the engine sputtered and died. As the Russian survivors scrambled onto what remained of their vehicles , the surviving tank's hatch popped open, and the man with a piece of shrapnel embedded in his forehead Brunhild had sought emerged from inside. She turned to inform the commander, but as she turned, she saw the man had finally passed away. She knelt by his side, and whispered in his ear. "The world lives on hope, so I shall as well."
Her curiosity getting the best of her, she picked up the man's rifle. She could tell it was a Mark Three Star, was stamped for RSAF Enfield 1915, and had several markings on the buttstock.
First was just scratched letters, likely from a knife. 'Last gift from friend at Somme'. Second was more neat-looking etching, 'received Khyber Pass, 1918.' Finally was a small bronze plate screwed into an inlay cut below the first messages. 'Taken at Bagh, May 3, 1919. Allah gives, regardless of the son.' Gently, Brunhild lifted the rifle from the deceased warlord's hands and slung it over her shoulders. She then gathered herself, brushed off what dust she could, straightened her hair, and prepared to meet the man she hoped would make all the difference in the world.
"Cool, calm, and collected. Cool, calm, and collected."
********
As Big Boss walked past the cheering men and women of the town, he saw a woman emerge from where the iDroid map marker said the local command center was.
"That's her Boss." Miller chimed in.
Brunhild was a startlingly pale woman, wearing a torn and bloody business suit. Thankfully, it looked like none of it was hers. But what Boss focused on the most was her expression, her body language.
She was like an ivory statue. No minor eye movements, no facial twitches to indicate train of thought, no unconscious movements in her limbs. That meant she either had legendary self-control, or she'd been through far worse incidents than the Soviet Army headhunting her.
"You are Big Boss, correct?" Brunhild's voice was not quiet, but lost much of a penetrating tone from how flat it was.
Boss nodded.
"Excellent. My name is Brunhild Stahl, and I have a proposition for you." The first sign of any emotion Snake noticed came as she slightly inhaled before continuing. "I wish to provide my services to Diamond Dogs, in exchange for a few small things."
"Careful Boss, she's not some lost little lamb. I found out she's not only done deals with the CIA, but the KGB and Mossad. She's a chip off her dad's block, and that isn't a compliment." Ocelot cautioned. "Those prominent arms dealers Miller mentioned? Turns out the main link is her father, a major player in the developing black market for military hardware. Just get her back to base and we'll take care of the rest."
"What kind of things?" Big Boss asked Brunhild. He wondered if hiring Diamond Dogs or selling some weapons might be her price. Or if she had something else in mind.
"While I'd rather discuss the full details back at your base, I do not mind telling you now that I am able to provide you with a list of less than savory individuals exacerbating local conflicts and where they may be found."
"If she's willing to freely give up that much, the rest shouldn't be too hard to get. I don't see a problem." The Russian interrogator advised.
"Okay." Snake agreed, and noticed her eyes crinkle and her mouth slightly turn up. Clearly, she was quite satisfied with this.
"Alright Boss," Miller took over from Ocelot. "Get her Fultoned and we'll be good to go. Ocelot's already getting set up."
As Brunhild reached out to accept Boss' offered Fulton kit, the dust in the air abruptly aggravated her scarred lungs, forcing her into a harsh cough. When she pulled her hand back, it was covered in flecks of blood.
"Boss, if she's in that bad a shape, we shouldn't Fulton her." Miller promptly responded. "Call Pequod in the chopper around. We'll get a doctor ready at base."
Snake grunted, turning to the Diamond Dogs hopeful. "Just wait. Pequod will be here so-"
"I am fine." Brunhild wiped the blood off her hands with a handkerchief and looked him dead in the eye. "You Fulton all your recruits. So I will as well."
Boss' eyes widen slightly. Did she want to be a soldier? Not a contractor?
"What? Snake, I don't think she's talking about coming to Mother Base for a business deal. She may be serious." Miller echoed Boss' thoughts.
"No." Big Boss could immediately see a change in bearing from Brunhild. Her expression looked alot more pensive, and all the small tells of anxiety previously missing were present. Boss concluded this was her equivalent of a panic attack.
"A Fulton isn't some barrier to entry. It's just a tool to better remove personnel and material from an area." That lessened the panic on Brunhild's face, but didn't appear to completely satisfy her.
"You don't need to be the best physically to be in Diamond Dogs." Boss said, gesturing to his arm. "If you're good enough, you'll find some place to fit in." As Pequod roared into sight and gently came into a landing, Boss almost missed the response Bunhild muttered to herself.
"That's what I'm scared of. That I'm not capable of being good."
Word count: 2200
Snow Leopardess 1.
Date: (Turn 1)
"Good work knocking out that artillery unit for the Mujahideen Boss, but we just got a side mission, urgent timeframe." Miller's voice rapidly cut across the iDroid, just audible over the crackling flames of the burning self-propelled artillery around him.
"What is it?" The grizzled hero of Diamond Dogs rose, stowing the Falkenberg rocket launcher. He glanced at the battered MLRS-APC hybrid next to him to confirm no survivors.
"Our intel teams just found the location of a key individual with close connections to prominent black market arms dealers, but she's in a bit of a bad spot. She was making a sale of top-of-the-line MANPADs to some Mujahideen when the Soviets snuck in a short armor company. They're looking to make an example, and the rebels are about to get overrun. If we want any hope of recovering the Principle, we'll need to take out those Russian tanks first. Thankfully their gunships are busy patrolling too far away to get here any time soon. Think you can handle that Boss?"
"Where are they?" He called out gruffly, his good eye scanning across his iDroid's display.
"You should be receiving the coordinates now, it's not too many klicks off. Head over there, take out the enemy forces, and extract the principal and anyone else she has, evac will be at the following rendezvous."
"Got it." Boss whistled for D-Horse, made a running leap into the saddle, and then gripped the reins. "Let's ride." At the command, the living legend and his steed began riding to the north. As he closed in the distant echoes of gunfire and explosions grew louder. He nudged D-Horse to a full gallop, and as he hurtled into view of the valley the operation was located in, his communicator crackling with an incoming message.
"Boss," Revolver Ocelot calmly spoke. "I tracked the some of the supplies we took in a few weeks ago, serial numbers match records one of our CIA third parties had for a shipment she was sitting on. Gave us a lot of good gear for not very much profit."
"She helped us out, huh?"
"Seems so. You could ask what's up before engaging, or just let me and Miller handle it. Your call."
"Understood." Boss closed the line, then descended into the localized hellscape of a warzone.
*****
Brunhild Stahl icy exterior was calm, betraying none of the overwhelming fear she was feeling. "Damn it. They finally caught up with me."
She crawled through the dark muck of sand and blood, back towards the main building her equipment was housed in. As bullets zinged around her and explosions filled her ears, she waded past the bodies of the Private Force mercenaries she'd hired. She forced herself to ignore the squelching sound each movement brought, the noxious smell of viscera and shit all around her, and cursed herself. "I should have seen through the facade. Brigette would never have let father get any wind of her insane plan, and I'm not worth any attention she'd get."
The Russian mechanized infantry advance abruptly parted, infantry hugging walls or storming into buildings while IFVs pulled to the side of the road. Down the gap came a four-strong platoon of what Brunhild recognized as TT77 NOSOROGs. "Killed by a Russian mass production tank, like so many other nameless dead in this graveyard of a nation. If it wasn't so pathetic, I'd almost find it poetic."
Suddenly, the entire Russian left flank stopped firing. Their turrets began to traverse, but targeting what? Brunhild could hear someone briefly scream before it cut out in a strangled gurgle. Fire abruptly resumed, but it was now concentrated among the buildings. She heard the staccato fire of machine guns as the Russian infantry in the center began lay down suppressive fire supporting their comrades, but she couldn't make out what they were aiming at. They seemed to be shooting at something in the middle of their lines. She could see muzzle flashes from within the left flank's occupied buildings slowly grew fainter and fainter.
"He has come." Brunhild turned to see the Mujahideen commander she was supposed to sell a shipment of missiles to before the Soviets blew them up, sitting against a wall, cradling an old Enfield rifle as he kept pressure on a large wound in his side. He gave another wheezing gasp of air, and turned to the arms dealer. "Rest assured, foreigner. You will be safe now. He is here."
"Who?" Brunhild wanted to keep her mind focused, off the carnage around her, but this man had chosen to deal with her despite her heritage, shown every courtesy despite being a woman, and firmly rebuked a man who had made lustful comments about her not wearing their traditional clothes. She could not abandon him. Not when… she had been powerless to stop it happening again.
"Some have called him Shahmaran, the king of the desert snakes." The man softly said, taking his eyes from the woman in front of him and looking upon the battle below. "Others say he is an al-jinn of great cunning. Some have even called him Saladin, as if he was the savior of Arabs and the children of Islam."
"Is he?" Brunhild moved towards her baggage, opening one of the suitcases and searching for the medical kit.
"No. He is not a man of any god," the aged commander answered, his gaze distant. "He has no love of the Communists nor of the capitalist West. He came because we paid him… and because he saw a people in need."
Brunhild paused, thinking. What a reversal, the man she was looking for had come to her. If the Mujahideen was right, to save her. "How…" She softly spoke,"Can I repay your protection, sir?"
The rebel leader gave a wet, rasping chuckle. "To let the world know I died protecting a beautiful guest against rapacious foreigners." The laugh quickly broke into a bloody cough, and as Brunhild moved forward with a bandage, he waved it away. "I have lived a good life. My wives are all gone. My sons are all dead or men of their own. I go to submit before Allah. And hope my life has been to His pleasing."
A massive explosion rocked the room, showering the occupants with glass. Brunhild ran to the shattered window. Outside, two nearby tanks were destroyed, and a third was driving erratically while a fourth was shooting at the Russian support vehicles. The remaining Mujahideen cheered as the Russians broke in the confusion, and rushed from their positions to drive the invaders out of their homes. The third tank crashed into a building, embedding itself halfway into the structure before the engine sputtered and died. As the Russian survivors scrambled onto what remained of their vehicles , the surviving tank's hatch popped open, and the man with a piece of shrapnel embedded in his forehead Brunhild had sought emerged from inside. She turned to inform the commander, but as she turned, she saw the man had finally passed away. She knelt by his side, and whispered in his ear. "The world lives on hope, so I shall as well."
Her curiosity getting the best of her, she picked up the man's rifle. She could tell it was a Mark Three Star, was stamped for RSAF Enfield 1915, and had several markings on the buttstock.
First was just scratched letters, likely from a knife. 'Last gift from friend at Somme'. Second was more neat-looking etching, 'received Khyber Pass, 1918.' Finally was a small bronze plate screwed into an inlay cut below the first messages. 'Taken at Bagh, May 3, 1919. Allah gives, regardless of the son.' Gently, Brunhild lifted the rifle from the deceased warlord's hands and slung it over her shoulders. She then gathered herself, brushed off what dust she could, straightened her hair, and prepared to meet the man she hoped would make all the difference in the world.
"Cool, calm, and collected. Cool, calm, and collected."
********
As Big Boss walked past the cheering men and women of the town, he saw a woman emerge from where the iDroid map marker said the local command center was.
"That's her Boss." Miller chimed in.
Brunhild was a startlingly pale woman, wearing a torn and bloody business suit. Thankfully, it looked like none of it was hers. But what Boss focused on the most was her expression, her body language.
She was like an ivory statue. No minor eye movements, no facial twitches to indicate train of thought, no unconscious movements in her limbs. That meant she either had legendary self-control, or she'd been through far worse incidents than the Soviet Army headhunting her.
"You are Big Boss, correct?" Brunhild's voice was not quiet, but lost much of a penetrating tone from how flat it was.
Boss nodded.
"Excellent. My name is Brunhild Stahl, and I have a proposition for you." The first sign of any emotion Snake noticed came as she slightly inhaled before continuing. "I wish to provide my services to Diamond Dogs, in exchange for a few small things."
"Careful Boss, she's not some lost little lamb. I found out she's not only done deals with the CIA, but the KGB and Mossad. She's a chip off her dad's block, and that isn't a compliment." Ocelot cautioned. "Those prominent arms dealers Miller mentioned? Turns out the main link is her father, a major player in the developing black market for military hardware. Just get her back to base and we'll take care of the rest."
"What kind of things?" Big Boss asked Brunhild. He wondered if hiring Diamond Dogs or selling some weapons might be her price. Or if she had something else in mind.
"While I'd rather discuss the full details back at your base, I do not mind telling you now that I am able to provide you with a list of less than savory individuals exacerbating local conflicts and where they may be found."
"If she's willing to freely give up that much, the rest shouldn't be too hard to get. I don't see a problem." The Russian interrogator advised.
"Okay." Snake agreed, and noticed her eyes crinkle and her mouth slightly turn up. Clearly, she was quite satisfied with this.
"Alright Boss," Miller took over from Ocelot. "Get her Fultoned and we'll be good to go. Ocelot's already getting set up."
As Brunhild reached out to accept Boss' offered Fulton kit, the dust in the air abruptly aggravated her scarred lungs, forcing her into a harsh cough. When she pulled her hand back, it was covered in flecks of blood.
"Boss, if she's in that bad a shape, we shouldn't Fulton her." Miller promptly responded. "Call Pequod in the chopper around. We'll get a doctor ready at base."
Snake grunted, turning to the Diamond Dogs hopeful. "Just wait. Pequod will be here so-"
"I am fine." Brunhild wiped the blood off her hands with a handkerchief and looked him dead in the eye. "You Fulton all your recruits. So I will as well."
Boss' eyes widen slightly. Did she want to be a soldier? Not a contractor?
"What? Snake, I don't think she's talking about coming to Mother Base for a business deal. She may be serious." Miller echoed Boss' thoughts.
"No." Big Boss could immediately see a change in bearing from Brunhild. Her expression looked alot more pensive, and all the small tells of anxiety previously missing were present. Boss concluded this was her equivalent of a panic attack.
"A Fulton isn't some barrier to entry. It's just a tool to better remove personnel and material from an area." That lessened the panic on Brunhild's face, but didn't appear to completely satisfy her.
"You don't need to be the best physically to be in Diamond Dogs." Boss said, gesturing to his arm. "If you're good enough, you'll find some place to fit in." As Pequod roared into sight and gently came into a landing, Boss almost missed the response Bunhild muttered to herself.
"That's what I'm scared of. That I'm not capable of being good."
"You don't have to."
"I have calculated the cost of gasoline for both routes back to your base, and determined this is cheaper. I desire no special treatment." Brunhild insisted.
"Your call Boss." Miller deferred.
Big Boss thought about things for a few moments. He observed that Brunhild remained still, but her eyes were slightly narrowed and her lips pulled taut. Anxiety, he figured. She really wanted him to say yes.
Boss made up his mind, and pulled the cord on the Fulton kit.
The backpack-mounted balloon inflated, and Bunhildt slowly floated into the air. "This is fi-" The balloon abruptly dipped as Pequod in the Blackhawk above snagged the line.
All Snake had time for was to see the woman's expression go completely bug-eyed and utter "Oh no" before being yanked into the sky.
He really hoped she was fine.
"I have calculated the cost of gasoline for both routes back to your base, and determined this is cheaper. I desire no special treatment." Brunhild insisted.
"Your call Boss." Miller deferred.
Big Boss thought about things for a few moments. He observed that Brunhild remained still, but her eyes were slightly narrowed and her lips pulled taut. Anxiety, he figured. She really wanted him to say yes.
Boss made up his mind, and pulled the cord on the Fulton kit.
The backpack-mounted balloon inflated, and Bunhildt slowly floated into the air. "This is fi-" The balloon abruptly dipped as Pequod in the Blackhawk above snagged the line.
All Snake had time for was to see the woman's expression go completely bug-eyed and utter "Oh no" before being yanked into the sky.
He really hoped she was fine.
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