Author's Note: This is the last of the flashback chapters, by now it should all be caught up and any new equipment will be revealed around the Vytal Festival. I'm not using a real fighter ace guys, I'm sorry. If I were going to use a real dude, it would have been Erich Hartmann, call it a personal preference, but for this story I won't be able to make it work with a real person as a major character, note I said major. I did manage to find another Beta-reader, but it never hurts to having more than one if anyone still wants to beta-read. If notm then enjoy the story.

Beta-read by Karaya 2

Disclaimer: I don't own RWBY.

Red Crow

"And God said, "Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the expanse of the sky."" Genesis 1:21

"He crashed somewhere in the Euphrates where he was then picked up by a passing Cav Scout platoon," said Winter.

Grant takes a step closer to the one-way mirror and takes a long look at the single occupant of the room. Sitting at the table was a lightly battered German pilot with a fully intact, well-kept Luftwaffe flight uniform with the leather jacket and all.

"Though he speaks our language, both Vale common and Mantle," Ironwood adds, "His uniform resembles nothing we have in our military. This lead us to the conclusion that-"

"He's from Earth," Grant finishes.

"Which is why we asked for you," Ironwood finishes.

Grant turns back to Winter and Ironwood, "What did you find?"

Winter turns to the evidence table and starts going down the list.

"From what we recovered off of his aircraft and when we searched him," Winter mutters, "We found his wallet, his dog tags, a field book which contains his records, some other miscellaneous equipments, some survival rations, a flare gun, and one nine millimeter pistol with two spare magazines.."

She ends at a Walther P38.

Winter continues on, "From what we have, we discovered that his name is Major Peter Vogel, he is….er was 27 years old, he is from a country called….Germany, and his blood type is A+."

"It seems he also went through the same de-aging process you did when you first arrived," Ironwood told him.

Grant remained silent as they continued on.

"He was unconscious for a full twenty-four hours after his rescue," Winter informs, "When he finally awoke, we chose to contact you."

"What does he know so far?" asks Grant.

"Well…." Winster sharply inhales, "He knows he's not on his home planet anymore, and in the time it took for you to get here, we managed to give him a brief overview of Remnant and its history."

She picks up another folder and hands it to Grant.

"That should make things a little easier for you," Winter adds, "We thought it would help if he met someone from his world."

"Whenever you're ready Captain," Ironwood nodded.

It had been some time since Peter had woken up, and in that time, he had, had his whole world view shifted on its axis. Firstly, he is no longer on Earth, he figured that part when he was surrounded by things he didn't recognize, and the fact everyone told him so only hammered in that fact. Second, everything he knew was now gone and for the first time in a while, Peter felt lost and wasn't sure what was instore for him.

Suddenly, the door opened and in walked a boy, barely 17 years old in a green, camouflage pattern uniform. The left side of his heart had the label "Atlas EF '' and the right side had his name which read, Anderson, a strangely American name which differed greatly from the color based names all over the place. He squints at the rank insignia at the center of his chest which was the familiar twin-bars which were indicative of an American captain.

"Hello," he politely greets in a familiar Southern American twang.

"Hallo," Peter greets back.

"Do you know where you are right now?" he asks.

Peter nods and replies "I believe I am in the kingdom known as…..Atlas?"

Anderson nods.

"I'll get straight to the point, I am sure you have a lot of questions," he says as he takes a seat at the table.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"Captain Grant Anderson," he replies and raises his hand. "American 1st Armored Division."

Peter just stared at it suspiciously before Grant slowly retracted it back. Peter wasn't one to normally act ungentlemanly like this, but this time, things were different.

"American?" he asks.

So maybe he wasn't in another world, it was just an elaborate hoax and he had really been captured by the Americans. Peter was confused now at this point, he didn't know whether to be relieved or scared. Last he had checked, he was at war with the Americans and now here he was sitting in front of one.

Grant pauses and nods, "I'm from Columbus, Georgia specifically."

That about confirmed it for Peter until Grant says "There has been quite some that has passed, so this may be a bit of a shock."

"What do you mean?" Peter asks softly.

He was confused again, time passed from what, he couldn't possibly have been out that long.

Grant leans closer and asks "What is the last thing you remember?"

Peter closes his eyes and he is instantly met with flashes of his burning plane as he struggled desperately at trying to regain some form of control over his aircraft.

"It was Operation Citadel," he breathes, "I had been hit and I was losing altitude fast."

"Kursk?"

Peter slowly nods, Grant chose to remain silent and Peter continued.

"Then I found myself in this white room, similar to that of an office with a strange man behind a desk covered in paperwork. It was….stragen, like a dream," He sighs, "Then I woke up in a hospital bed and I had found out I had de-aged 10 years."

Grant hums and adds "I thought the same thing when I crossed over." He looks back to Peter and says "Did he tell you anything? The man at the desk."

"He told me that I had died and had been chosen and sent to another world," Peter replies, "He also said that any questions I have should be answered not long after my arrival."

Grant pauses for a moment before deciding to break out the ice, "As you can see, I am not wearing the standard US uniform."

Peter nods.

"The war is over, it's been over for sometime," Grant says softly.

Peter takes a deep breath and nervously asks "How long?"

Grant takes a hard look at him before rolling "80 years my time."

Peter slightly slumps back in his chair as he contemplates what he has just been told.

"I take it my country lost?"

Grant nods.

"I'm not surprised," Peter sadly smiles, "When I went down, sentiments over Germany's victory were becoming more….pessimistic."

"Are you going to be alright?" Grant asks concerningly.

Peter wasn't quite sure how to answer.

Grant offers sympathetically, "We're willing to offer counseling to help you cope with the change. Let me tell you, it is not an easy one, I've been there." Grant pauses for a moment to let the silence settle, "Did you have any family? Wife, children?"

"Nein, nein," Peter murmurs he immediately thought of his parents

"Death…." Peter mutters, "He told me that….in our world, we are dead and there is no way for us to go back."

Grant nods and says softly "I'm sorry."

"How many others are there?" asks Peter,

"Me and five others, three Americnas, two Russian, but we're from the same era, so not quite the Russians and Americans you would be familiar with," Grant replies, he closes the folder and continues "We're gonna try our best to help you in your transition.'"

Peter glances up finally for the first time, "The bright side is that you're mostly healed, they told me you got your aura unlocked…." he looks at him questingly.

"They explained it to me," Peter confirms.

"You should be released from the hospital soon, but there are still a few things we need to brief you on about this world," Grant explains, "We're going to be working with you in your transition, they thought it best since we are all in the same boat."

Peter glances up at Grant as he stood up from his seat.

"Thank you," Peter says.

Soon, Grant had left the room leaving Peter on his own again, it was just him and his thoughts.

One Week Later:

It was a nice day in the garden and Peter thought it would be nice to go for a walk. As he sat there in contemplative silence as he took in his surroundings. For the first time in years, he wasn't in a war, at least not for the moment. His time in Atlas had gotten him caught up on history, both here and home, on dust, and a fully fleshed-out explanation of aura and semblances. Super powers and monsters a side….it's a pretty nice place, almost reminds Peter of home….almost.

"Room for one more?" a voice calls out.

Peter looks over and sees Grant walking up.

"Oh, uh, of course," Peter scoots over making space for Grant.

"How are you holding up?" asks Grant.

"It's not home," Peter muses, "But you could do worse."

"I thought the same thing when I first got here."

"The General gave me an offer," he murmurs.

"I heard," Grant replies. "You gonna take it?"

Peter thought about it for a moment.

He shook his head, "I don't know." He lets out a tired sigh, "My life has been with the Luftwaffe, never been without it." He turns, "I have no idea what I'm going to do now that I'm out."

Grant remains silent before asking "What is your passion, Peter?"

Peter was surprised by the bluntness of the question, but didn't show it.

"Say, if you entered military life today," Grant explains, "What would you miss the most?"

"Flying," Peter answers, Peter meets Grant's eyes, "You see, I was never a major subscriber to my nation's politics, my only true passion was me being in the air with me behind the controls."

"You could be a Bullhead pilot," Grant offers.

"It is not the same thing," Peter shook his head. "Those aircraft don't feel like my plane, they feel like delicate toys compared to my old rugged fighter. Also, if I were to be a pilot, I would have to subscribe to a strict set of rules limiting my freedom severely."

He glances upward towards the bright blue sky.

"You see," he murmurs nostalgically, "Up there, there's only me and my plane, only I have control. Sure I have orders, but in the end my actions are mine alone and any mistake I make could send me crashing thousands of feet down to the earth. Up there, I loved every moment, the adrenaline in my veins as I pulled high-g maneuvers, being able to see the ground below me, treading that fine line between life and death."

Peter turns back to Grant and smiles, "Anything else just….doesn't really compare."

Grant gets up and says "Follow me."

"Excuse me?" Peter blinks in confusion.

"I want to show you something."

Light breaks through the darkness as the massive doors opened revealing a large, well lit hanger.

"The General said I should give you this offer personally," Grant explains.

Peter looks on in awe, he looks back at Grant.

"Go ahead," Grant motions him forward.

At the end of the hanger, was Malarkey standing by and some engineers running around him, all doing their jobs in front of them stood two, unmistakable airplanes. They were unlike anything he had seen before, they had similarities to the planes of his day, and yet looked decades ahead as well. He wouldn't even be surprised if they could fly in outer-space!

They were both void of any propellers, meaning the only other thing they could be were jets which he had only ever seen once in Berlin during an air show. They had needle noses and sleek, delta shaped wings, and they were massive, easily twice the size of his BF-109. The one on the right was painted an industrial gray and had two massive, box shaped intakes that stuck out from the wings while the other was sunk further back and had a blue camouflage pattern. They were simply beautiful pieces of machinery with every angle fine tuned to maximize their aerodynamics.

"Peter," Grant calls out as he walks up from behind him. Allow me to introduce you to…." he points to the left, "The McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle…." and to the right, "Sukhoi Su-27 Flanker. These planes were built with advancements from over 30 years of lessons learned from World War 2 and on. The F-15 went into service in 1972 and the Su-27 in 1985, even still in my time, they are considered two of the best fighters ever made. They are each able to go twice the speed of sound and can both carry over two dozen missiles. Their electronics and radar allow them to engage targets well beyond their line of sight in any weather, they both are able to climb to 30,000 feet in 60 seconds, and have flight ceilings of 60,000 feet."

"How were you able to build them?" Peter almost whispers.

"Hm?"

"How were you able to build them here?" Peter asks.

"Malarkey," Grant calls over and motions for an explanation.

"The resources and industrial, military complex of the Atlas Kingdom along with some very detailed plans," he explains.

"But that's not enough to accurately reverse engineer something," Peter protested as he knew they were leaving something out.

'You're right," Grant smiles, "Our friend from beyond gave us a hand. Did Death tell you about the brother gods of this world?"

Peter shook his head.

"It was Space for me actually," Peter replies.

Grant shrugs saying "Same thing." He then asks "Did they go on some rant about how the two gods were screwing around and how we were beginning to send them here to fix it?"

Peter nods again.

"Death didn't tell us much," Grant starts, "But he told us exactly what we needed and thus gave us something along to help."

Malarkey walks up and hands him a datapad.

"You see, while in most scenarios, a perfect copy of something is pretty much impossible," he continues, "But Death being Death, means he can talk to anyone he wants and thus…."

"These are the personal engineering notes for these planes," he breathes.

"It's how we were able to build as much as we have in such a short amount of time," Grant finishes. "It's not perfect, but it's pretty close."

"And we're the only ones who can see it," Malarkey ands, "For some reason the original files show up as blank to whoever's not us sees it, or at least whoever is not authorized and only they can determine that…..which they also chose to not tell us about."

"You want me to fly them?" Peter asks.

"Yes and no," Malarkey answers confusing Peter.

He walks over to the F-15, "You see, these have already entered service and are about to go into production, but for CAS rolls instead, that's close air support for our boys on the ground. We built it as a strike-fighter."

"Strike-fighter?" Peter asks.

"It's a multi-role fighter that can either be outfitted for air-to-air combat, or for close air support and surgical precision strikes," he explains.

"Like my 109," Peter comments, growing more interested.

"You see back home, we never got a chance to really see these things in action, you know Cold War in all," Malarkey explains. "You read that brief right?"

Peter nodes, it still shocked him about how much his home world had changed since the end of the war.

"The US Airforce felt that since they didn't have any pressing air targets, it would be much more useful if they modified some of their F-15s to perform bombing missions. The F-15, it turns out, is perfect for this. Without dust, it has a payload capacity of 23,000 lbs."

Peter's eyes widened in shock, that was well beyond any bomber from the war.

"I fear to hear what your bombers are capable of?" Peter breathes. "You want me to train fighters in these?"

"Yes," Grant says simply, "You can train a guy with his missiles, radar, and lectures all you want, but we can't teach them dog-fighting. You of all people know that nothing will ever match real experience."

Peter ponders for a moment as Grant continues.

"Peter," Grant states, "You are the Red Crow, you were an amazing fighter ace with 130 kills to your name. You know the game better than anyone, I'm talking engagements, rules, everything."

"I'm listening," Peter replies.

"We're not just talking about fighting Grimm anymore, a real war is coming and I want my guys to have every advantage they can get," Grant continues, "I'm not asking you to fight, but we need trained fighter pilots."

"So, which one?" asks Peter.

Grant blinks in surprise, that was surprisingly easy, "Just like that?"

"You're giving me a job where I get to fly these beauties and I don't have to risk my life shooting down enemy planes," Peter reasons, "Like I said, my passion is flying, wouldn't hurt if I got paid for it….even if I have to teach brand-new pilots. So which plane would you like me to teach them in?"

Grant replies, "The F-15's speed and avionics make it ideal for interception whereas the Su-27 has a greater range and maneuverability thus making it the more ideal long-ranged fighter. The F-15's a multi-role while the Su-27 s going to be our air superiority. Please note that we want them to engage the enemy aircraft and knock out as many as they can before they get into dog-fighting range, but it's a skill we still want them to know. We'll provide you all the manuals on the electronics, the aircraft, and the missiles you need."

"Also, on a further note, these are heavy fighters and they are rather expensive, we do have plans for a cheaper light fighters later down the line," Malakey adds from off to the side, "But we aren't expecting a large batch of fighter pilots right away. So we'll start off with the heavies and work our way down, making our budget worth it."

"So what's the catch?" inquires Peter.

There's always a catch.

"Well….." Grant sighs, "For your cover to work, you may be asked to join a Huntsman Academy. Specifically the one here in Atlas."

"The place where they train children to hunt monsters?" Peter quirks an eyebrow.

"How good are you in a fight?" Grant asks, "I'm not gonna ask about your aim seeing as how you've shot down over a hundred planes."

"I can hold my own," Peter replies. Peter offers a handshake, "Okay, I'm in."

Peter smiles warmly and Grant returns the handshake.

"So…." Peter draws, "If we have fighters with such a long range, I assume you have plans for a strategic bomber of sorts as well? Otherwise you kind of lose the main purpose of having air superiority save for cargo escorts and the such."

Off to the side, Malarkey is seen bringing up a schematic of a long, tubular looking lane with a massive wingspan. All it said was "Project B.U.F.F." as the title.

"I think we have something in mind," Grant replies.

Author's Note: Damn, I haven't written this much in such a short period in a very long time. I just got bored with playing video games for a bit, and it didn't help that Epic Games deleted my character in Borderlands 3, erasing 60 hours of work. Also a new semester and I was working on homework and decided I would rather write than play in my free time. The last time was when I was still writing my Red vs Blue story Through New Eyes where I was churning out a chapter a week. There's a reason I am not doing that, firstly, that story was basically the original RvB script with the reactions of my own characters, that is not what I want this story to turn into. Okay this is the last flashback, we are heading back to Beacon the next chapter. I'm gonna avoid the stealth planes, firstly, I don't see them lasting that long service wise, the B1 Lancer and the B2 are planned on being retired in like ten years whereas older planes like the F-15 are getting more upgrades so….if that's anything to go by. See you guys later and remember ...Big Brother is watching.