Dearest Mama,

I know it has been a long time and that you worry for your eldest son.

But you know that a Soviet soldier’s life is not one that can be shared intimately through the postal system without [REDACTED] AND IT IS A SMALL PRICE TO PAY FOR THE HONOR OF SERVING THE MOTHERLAND.

I hope the 100 85 rubles I am able to send you each month is balm for the uncertainty as to whether your Egret is safe.

Anyway, what I can tell you is: I have finally finished boot camp and I’m on my first deployment, in Afghanistan. While you will be disappointed to learn I only scored a D in combat at boot camp, you may be relieved that this means I will not be placed on the front lines. Due to my flair for languages and diplomacy, I have instead been given duty at a small communications outpost, near [REDACTED].

Don’t worry about me, Mama. If trouble does come my way, I will be sure to live up to the name you gave me and Flank it, until it runs head on into something else. Then I will call for backup. An Egret may not be at the tip of the spear, but I am just as proud to be another part of the spear. I hope Papa would have been proud of me too. Every day I strive to honor the Egret name AND THE MOTHERLAND.

Give a big kiss to my beautiful sisters, Weeping and Sewing, and tell little Honking to keep it quiet. With any luck, I will be home before Lenin’s birthday.

Yours affectionately,

Flanking Egret

Dearest Mama,

Hide this letter after you read it, or destroy it. I would hate for any other Egrets to suffer for my strange fortune. Please, do not worry! I am not in danger. But I will not be home for a while.

You will probably not believe my news. I wouldn’t believe it unless it had happened to me.

I am not a Soviet soldier any more. For the record, in case I am court-martialed in my absence, I swear on the grave of my ancestor, Drinking Egret himself, that this was not by choice! I was abducted. One minute I was doing my shift on the radio rig at the Eastern communications post, then I heard a dog bark, everything went black and I woke up floating in the sky, tied to a balloon.

Although they do not have KGB reading our mail, I cannot tell you where I am. Mostly because I do not know, myself.

I have been dragooned into a new army, called the Diamond Dogs. They have me doing work building their headquarters: a converted sea platform called Mother Base. The leader is a man named Big Boss. Apparently he was the one who kidnapped me from Afghanistan, though I haven’t actually met him yet. Other Diamond Dog soldiers tell me that Big Boss only recruits people with valuable qualities, so I must be special. I am not so sure. Captured and put to work? It feels like slavery to me. I suppose it is not much different from the labour press gangs of Minsk.

I don’t know who we serve or where we fight; I've only been here a week. As far as I can tell, only Big Boss goes out into the field. It is a strange army where the grunts stay back at base while the commander fights alone. Stranger still, he does not kill anyone – he takes them, to integrate them into the Diamond Dogs. I can see the logic: inflict losses on your opponent while increasing your own forces. I am sure they will be studying it for years in the military academies.

Anyway, I am far away from any warzone. At least I am not being tortured or left to rot in a cell, like the Motherland does to its prisoners of war. In some ways, I am as safe as I've ever been since joining the military. Diamond Dogs pays too, better than the Motherland, so enclosed you will be happy to find 200 rubles.

Hugs and kisses to all,

Flanking Egret

The day I joined Diamond Dogs

Dear Mama,

I finally met Big Boss. He showed me some CQC! It was just like when we first met, but to my face this time. There was something about the brutally efficient way he struck me to the ground that filled me with admiration. Big Boss is the kind of hands-on leader we are sorely missing in the Motherland.

As I picked myself up off the deck, I reflected upon Diamond Dogs’ mission: to build a fighting force of soldiers, for soldiers. We do mercenary contracts and also animal rescue. All the proceeds go back into Mother Base. True camaraderie – the stuff that the Soviet Army preached, but never practised. Despite my earlier misgivings about being abducted against my will, I am now proud to be a Diamond Dog.

Big Boss noticed I have a B in Intel and switched me into his new Intel team. My commander is Kazuhira Miller, Big Boss’ right hand man. Actually, he’s more like Big Boss’ left hand man, because … never mind. He is also a gifted leader and keeps our spirits up with rousing speeches.

My new squad is a pretty good bunch. It’s mostly made up of fellow Soviets, liberated by Big Boss from servitude to the Motherland. Has there been anything in the news back home about this large-scale military kidnapping? No, of course there wouldn’t be. Pravda’s not even good for wiping your arse.

Big Boss seems to be recruiting for quantity over quality, because there’s a lot of real C and D types here. I recognise some of them from the remedial barracks at boot camp. I thought they’d never graduate. Still, that just makes a B like me stand out more.

There’s a few troublemakers too. I’ve already talked a couple of guys down from fighting each other. Miller told me personally that he appreciates me keeping the peace. An Egret always knows to make himself useful, Mama.

Intel work is easy enough. We scout locations for Big Boss before and during his missions. We have a number of field operatives, although Miller said I am unlikely to be sent into the field due to my low combat rating, which suits me. My specialty is doing plant surveys. Big Boss is quite the plant collector. No matter what he’s doing on a mission, he always takes time to pick the flowers. I also use my radio skills to intercept enemy satellite information and keep abreast of vehicle movements and weather patterns. Sophisticated, eh?

I am very happy here, Mama. Being a Diamond Dog is better than life in the Soviet army, even if I will not bring honor to the Egret name for my service. I hope the rubles I send offer more immediate comfort.

Your loving son,

Flanking Egret

Miller and Big Boss

Dearest Mama,

Greetings again, most precious Mama!

Give my sisters a big hug and give Honking an extra vigorous noogie, for I have astonishing news – I am in love!

Big Boss brought in a new prisoner. His chopper returned from the field, with “Love Will Tear Us Apart” blaring from the speakers, and I caught a glimpse of her as she was taken to the brig. It was magical. She is the most beautiful and scantily-clad woman I have ever seen. Granted, since I enlisted, she’s one of the ONLY ones I’ve seen that wasn’t on the side of a box.

She is also a fearsome warrior, a sniper of extraordinary talent, or so it is whispered among the Dogs. If she were a Soviet soldier, I’m sure Agitprop would be plastering her image all over the country as an exemplar of the modern warrior woman.

The other Dogs are in awe of her beauty and combat skills and think she is off-limits. Some even say that she has supernatural powers. This leaves an opening for your Flanking! With my multi-lingual, diplomatic abilities, I have a silver-tongued charm that even the gruff Big Boss does not have. If I could just get some time alone with her, I’m sure I could woo her off her feet.

I do not even know her name yet; I have so much research to do! I while away many happy hours planning how to engineer a rendezvous. The brig is adjacent to our Intel platform – do I sneak across? But then, how would I get in? Perhaps I should start a fight with another Dog, to be put in the brig.

I will think of something. Love always finds a way. Hopefully the next time I write it will be to announce my engagement!

Wish me luck!

Flanking

Dear Mama,

Woe! My heart feels like it is in the Siberian salt mines during the depths of winter. My romantic plans have been thwarted.

Getting into the brig was easy enough: All I had to do was hit hapless Sneezing Wildebeest with my lunch tray in the mess – an offence that gets you 10 days in the brig. I actually like Sneezing, but with his E in combat, he is one of the few soldiers punier than me.

Anyway, no sooner had I got myself into the brig than my beloved was taken out. Big Boss has started using her on missions.

Every time I hear the strains of “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, my heart leaps. It means the chopper is returning and maybe she will be brought to the brig so I can actually meet her. But, before the song is over, my hopes are dashed. Every time, Big Boss jumps out of the chopper, has a 5-second shower, then jumps straight back in, whisking her away again.

It is agony. Lenin knows what they are doing in that chopper. Why can’t he give the rest of us a shot? I became a criminal, jeopardising my position at Diamond Dogs, for someone who doesn’t even know I am alive! What a fool I have been!

Yours in sorrow,

Flanking Egret

Dear Mama,

I’ve been released from the brig, having not seen her at all while I was there. Ashamedly, I had also grown resentful of Big Boss. Jealousy does strange things to the mind.

The day after my release, Big Boss visited our platform. Something seemed to be bothering him – he ran aimlessly in circles, smoked a cigar for 12 hours, then drove a jeep off the platform, jumping out at the last second before it tumbled into the sea. I was nervous. Did he know of my feelings? He must have known of my misdeed. Eventually, he approached me. Without a word, he flipped me on my back, knocking me unconscious. When I woke up, I was purged of any resentment or guilt. I blurted out a chirpy “Thanks, Boss!” but he was already crouch-walking away, summoning his chopper for another mission.

I don’t know how he knew of my turmoil – is anybody at Mother Base reading these? – but the fact that Big Boss took time out to visit me personally and make amends through CQC filled me with renewed appreciation for the Diamond Dogs. How could I be mad at Big Boss? He is wonderful. When the chopper arrived, the song playing from the loudspeakers was different: “Take on Me”. This signified to me that the past is forgotten and I can move forward.

Like an egret fishing for a frog, I will put my head down and tail up. I will concentrate on my Intel work and not besmirch my record with any more incidents, lest I be branded a troublemaker. Sneezing Wildebeest is still in the medical bay, being treated for PTSD [Ed. note: This is a real designation that can happen after an NPC is exposed to a "troublemaker."]. I will make amends with him when he gets out. Tomorrow is a new day.

Redemptively yours,

Flanking Egret

My Intel teammates. The guy in the glasses acts like he owns the place.

Dear Mama,

I can’t say much. I am so busy.

The balloons keep coming. They used to just bring animals and personnel, but now they also bring mounted guns, shipping containers, even tanks. The sheer volume of material is incredible. It’s as if Big Boss is methodically infiltrating every single outpost in Afghanistan and stripping it clean of anything that isn’t nailed down. The Soviet economy must surely be struggling to bear such vast losses.

Anyway, must get back. The usual stipend is enclosed. Buy Honking and the girls some Alenko chocolates or something. Isn’t one of their birthdays coming up? Maybe treat them to contraband Snickers instead.

Flanking

Dear Mama,

So many changes since I last wrote. Where to begin?

Big Boss is no longer scouring Afghanistan of Soviet gear. He has shifted operations to Africa. I have been surveying a whole new range of plant life.

They do things differently in Africa, Mama. Children are used as soldiers. It is shocking. Big Boss, ever the humanitarian, has been freeing child soldiers where he finds them and taking down the warlords who use them. The children are brought back to Mother Base to be taught the ways of peace.

That’s not to say they aren’t shown some tough love. The other day, Big Boss was chasing one of the cheeky twerps all over the R&D Platform to give him a spanking for something.

Africa has made its mark on Big Boss too. He has gone lethal – only a few times, but it’s something he never did in Afghanistan. He is still a hero to me, but perhaps a little less so.

Meanwhile, it is getting more competitive within Diamond Dogs. The adult soldiers floating in from Africa are highly skilled: mostly As and above, with even the odd S-plus! We have only so much space at Mother Base, so some of the Cs and Ds must be discharged to make room.

The new Intel recruits can make the radios do things I didn’t know were possible, like tracking the field of movement of individual soldiers. I’ve learned some of their new tricks, but I’m worried I won’t be able to keep up. If the balloons keep bringing in As and above, I will be phased out.

Hopefully Miller recognises the other benefits I bring to the team, such as keeping the troublemakers from lashing out. Maybe I should volunteer for a combat mission or something.

Your loving son,

Flanking Egret

Dear Mama,

Does no one return from Africa without disease?

Big Boss brought back some virus from a mission. It’s caused an epidemic in the close quarters of Mother Base. Nearly a third of the Diamond Dogs have been put in quarantine. I was spared – most of the affected soldiers were among the newer recruits. I guess you can have an A-plus in Intel but still a D-minus constitution. My biggest feeling is relief, both that I was not sick and that the brainiacs aren’t showing me up each day with their accursed radio skills.

It’s getting tough for us Bs, Mama. All the Cs and Ds are gone. Worse still, Big Boss went on a list-management spree and discharged all the troublemakers and unhygienic soldiers in one hit, regardless of qualification. Apparently the orders were issued from his iDroid while sitting on a toilet in an African airbase! How’s that for multi-tasking? It is bad news for me, though, as I will no longer be able to distinguish myself with my diplomacy.

Now I am truly at the bottom of the pile. I worry I will be discharged soon, or worse, catch this horrible virus.

Say a covert prayer for me, Mama. But do not get caught! I do not wish you to be sent to the salt mines merely for wishing me luck.

Your nervous son,

Flanking

Picked, scanned and processed! Another good day's work.

Dear Mama,

It looks like I’ll be staying a while longer. Big Boss has undertaken some large-scale construction projects, expanding the capacity of Mother Base and building another Forward Operating Base somewhere. A whole bunch of soldiers were sent to the other FOB. It is good to have some elbow room again! And some breathing space.

Out in the field, things are getting weird. The support squad reports seeing strange things when they do supply drops. It's the stuff of ghost stories. I don’t want to scare you with it, because I don’t know if they are just telling tall tales.

Big Boss is behaving more erratically too. Last week he went out into the field with a water pistol. He’d better not get himself killed. I mean, he is the greatest soldier of all time, but that’s no excuse to get cocky.

Yours,

Flanking

Dear Mama,

Well, I am finally about to see some action. I have been volunteered for a combat mission at long last. We are going to secure a large amount of fuel resources; Big Boss needs them to upgrade his new FOB.

I don’t know why I was selected after avoiding combat all this time. Miller said they needed people with good Intel, but I fear it is because they see me as expendable. Despite that, I am not too worried, as we have a 98% chance of success. The squad will be headed up by 15 crack A-pluses, so they should keep us safe. Besides, other troops have returned from missions with increased capabilities, so maybe I will go up to an A in Intel and be able to match it with the radio whizz kids. Anyway, the mission should only take 3 days or so. I will give you a full report when I get back.

Yours, in arms!

Flanking

Dear MRS EGRET ,

Please play the enclosed cassette tape [Sins of the Father Vocals: Donna Burke Composer: Akihiro Honda Selected by: Hideo Kojima] while you read this letter. We feel that this song sets the right tone and emotion for what you are about to read.

We regret to announce that your SON , FLANKING EGRET , has perished in service to the Diamond Dogs. More specifically, HE was KILLED ON A COMBAT MISSION.

The deceased was an integral part of the Diamond Dogs team and will be terribly missed. Just the other day, Big Boss told me how much he appreciated the deceased’s HAIRSTYLE around Mother Base and signature WORK ETHIC .

We are sworn to avenge all Diamond Dogs who perish in service. Until such vengeance is achieved, we feel the phantom pain of their loss, as if they were an amputated limb. We will exterminate the parasites who seek to undo the Diamond Dogs and show no mercy!

We are eternally grateful for the service of FLANKING .

Please find enclosed a box of the deceased's personal effects and this souvenir Diamond Dogs banner.

Sorrowfully yours,

Kazuhira "Benedict" Miller—dictated but not read