AUTHOR'S NOTES: The air battle continues! This is probably the toughest few chapters I've written. Give me a nice, quiet talky scene anytime. Someone asked me back when I first started posting if I would ever use the MiG-31. Well, in this chapter, you get your wish...though it's not the MiG-31 you were thinking of. You must think in Russian...
Near Northfield
Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada
3 May 2001
Oobleck saw the four MiG-21s below him begin to turn east, to catch up with the train. So far, they hadn't seen him, and Oobleck made sure the situation stayed that way: he hugged the broken overcast, and trusted in the abysmal rear vision of the MiG-21.
Now came the tough part. He switched on his radar and locked onto one of the MiGs, but the MiG's radar warning sensors would be going off on the cockpit. He hoped that the White Fang pilot's inexperience would buy him a few precious seconds, as he fired off one of the Sparrows. The Sparrow was an older missile which used the firing fighter's radar to guide it—which meant that Oobleck had to keep his F-106 on course until the missile hit, rather than simply fire and forget, like he could with a Sidewinder or AMRAAM, neither of which the ancient Delta Dart could carry. It wasn't really designed for this sort of thing.
Luckily, Oobleck's gamble paid off. The Fang pilot spent five seconds trying to figure out where the missile was coming from—two seconds too late. The Sparrow hit, blowing the MiG in half. The other three scattered. Oobleck punched off his external tanks and swung behind another MiG. The distance closed rapidly. He switched to guns, lined up, and opened fire. Twenty millimeter shells sent sparks trailing from the wing, then the wing separated. The MiG rolled over and went into a spin. If the pilot bailed out, Oobleck didn't see him, since he now had the other pair of MiGs to deal with.
Twenty miles behind Oobleck, the remaining four White Fang fighters joined up and also began to turn east. Ilia took the lead, as the pilot with the most flight time; Neo actually had more, but didn't complain.
"Red Fang Lead, this is Black Fang Two! We're engaged with an unknown enemy at twenty miles south of Bullseye! Single bandit, identity unknown!" Like their enemies, the Fangs used an arbitrary point as a center navigation reference—Bullseye being South St. Paul.
"Red Fang Lead, roger," Ilia replied. "Red Fang Three, Four, Five and Six, join up with Black Fang. Buster." The four MiG-21s changed course, resuming their southerly course and hitting their afterburners to close the distance.
Without warning, one of them disintegrated in a fireball. Ilia whirled her head around and kicked the tail; the F-5's rearward vision wasn't all that great either. She saw the Typhoon and F-15 diving on them. "Neo!" she shouted. "Break right!"
Number six, Weiss told herself, sparing a second to see her kill's fireball. The MiG had never seen her, or the AMRAAM she fired. The remaining MiGs dived for the ground to hide against the woods, but she ignored those for now. The F-5 was her target. She followed it into its left break. The F-22 went right, but that was Yang's problem.
Seventy miles southwest of the dogfight, Nora Valkyrie resisted the urge to push her throttle up any more: it was already at the stops, and she might break it if she tried to do more. The A-10 simply was not designed for speed. She felt sorry for Ren, who was cruising along at half power in his J-10, at what for the fighter would be a leisurely pace. "Ren, Nora," she said. "Go on. They need you more than me."
"Negative," Ren answered simply. He would stay with her; he would have stayed with Jaune or Pyrrha, because lone aircraft were GRIMM bait. It had nothing to do with Nora being his girlfriend. Well, almost nothing, he admitted to himself.
Something moved in the corner of one eye. He looked to his left and up. For a split-second in a break in the clouds, a black shape moved. It was moving at high speed, but in the moment he had seen it, it did not look like Goodwitch's F-22, but larger.
"Regency, Juniper Three," he radioed. "Do have anything at my eleven o'clock, bearing one-three-zero, course approximately northeast at high speed?"
There was a pause, then the AWACS answered. "Negative, Juniper. Nothing on scope."
Ren blinked, but he knew he had seen something. Then Nora interrupted his thoughts. "Ren, Nora, three o'clock low." Ren looked in that direction, dipping his wing to get a better look. It was Goliath GRIMM, six of them. "Regency, Juniper Three. Contact report. Six Goliath, heading east, location…" He consulted the map display on his instrument panel. "Two klicks east of Blooming Prairie."
A new voice came on the line. "Juniper Three and Four, this is Jehovah." Ren recognized Ironwood's voice, broadcasting from Beacon. "Turn east now. We're getting all kinds of GRIMM reports. We need to know what's out there."
"What about the rest—" Nora began.
"That's an order, Juniper Four. Jehovah out."
Joint Base Beacon
Wisconsin, United States of Canada
3 May 2001
Ironwood had joined Ozpin in the control tower. Both men watched as Creamer Flight lifted off from the runway. "Coffee Lead will be rolling momentarily," the senior controller told Ozpin. "Captain Adel had some last minute ordnance loaded. Air to ground."
"Very well." He turned to Ironwood. "James?"
"I'm turning Juniper Three and Four east. They won't get to the dogfight in time anyway. We need to find out where all these GRIMM are coming from." Ozpin glanced at a notepad the general had put in front of him. Beowolves 12, Nevermore 2, Goliaths 6. The two met eyes. "Do you think this is the attack we've been expecting?"
"Possibly." Ozpin pulled out a map and grabbed a pencil. He did some quick figures. The train, unless it was stopped, would reach La Crosse in less than an hour. The Beowolves, unless they were stopped, would reach La Crosse in half an hour, the Nevermore in a little more than that, and the Goliaths would take almost two hours. "It's not a coordinated attack," he murmured to Ironwood, so low only the other man could hear him. "Not like her."
"Even Salem isn't perfect," Ironwood whispered back.
"I expected the attack to hit during the main part of Vytal Flag."
"Ruby Flight might've tripped it early." Ironwood smiled wanly. "Those girls do seem to attract trouble." He reached forward and switched his headset to a new frequency. "I'm not taking chances, Ozpin." Ironwood paused until a voice came up on his headset. "O'Hare, Beacon. This is Jehovah. Get Strike Package Alpha rolling ASAP. I authenticate Mike Oscar, time is 1130 local, 1730 Zulu." He put a hand over the mike. "I'm scrambling the B-52s."
"Captain, sir?" The senior controller motioned for Ozpin's attention. "Sir, Juniper Three just reported in. They've spotted Boarbatusks."
"How many?"
The controller swallowed nervously. "At least fifty. Possibly more."
Ozpin looked over his shoulder at Ironwood, who even looked worried. "It appears we'll need those B-52s, James."
Near Mountain Glenn
Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada
3 May 2001
Though Yang, deep down, wanted a good fight with the Raptor, her training took over from sentiment. She wasted no time as the F-22 moved away from her: she locked on—or tried; Ember Celica's radar was having trouble locking on to the stealthy aircraft—and fired an AMRAAM.
It guided true, and for a second, Yang thought the dogfight would be over before it started. Then the F-22 suddenly rose up, turned within its own length, and was now suddenly head to head with the F-15. The AMRAAM, unable to match the move, flew on to parts unknown.
The two aircraft shot past each other in a moment. Yang had the briefest of sights of a pink helmet; Neo had hers of a yellow helmet and the bright yellow nose of Ember Celica. Then they were past.
Weiss realized that she might have made a mistake, and wondered if it was too late to switch dance partners with Yang. The F-5 pilot was good. Weiss had fired a Sidewinder only to see it decoyed off, then missed with her gun as the F-5 forced her into an overshoot. Making matters worse was that the MiGs were not heading east or south as she had hoped, but were in a loose circle, waiting to pounce as soon as she turned her back. Weiss was rapidly becoming too busy. She threw Myrtenaster into a hard climb, extending out, trying to get some room.
The F-5 climbed after her and closed the range. "Come on, come on," Weiss chanted to herself. She waited a second longer than she dared, then struck the left rudder pedal and hammerheaded the Typhoon. Her aircraft shuddered on the edge of a stall, then fell out of the sky. The F-5 shot past, having fired a Sidewinder a fraction too late. Weiss opened the throttle to stay in control, gaining airspeed and energy, and began to climb again, expecting to see the F-5 rolling out to find her. Instead, the F-5 had perfectly aped her maneuver and was coming down after her. Making matters worse, one of the MiGs had broken off and was now rushing in as well from above. She would be sandwiched between them.
Then the MiG became a target. A Sidewinder streaked out of the overcast and struck the MiG in its right wing. The MiG tumbled into a fireball and exploded. Weiss had a brief glimpse of a camouflaged F-16, then her radio crackled: "Pyrrha, splash one."
The F-5 opened fire, its nose guns winking with tracer. Weiss threw her Typhoon into a flurry of maneuevers, getting out of the lethal cone of cannon shells. She snapped the stick hard left into a hard break, but as she strained against the press of gravity to check her canopy mirrors, the F-5 was still there.
Yang knew the Raptor would turn inside her, even as she broke left: the F-22 had thrust vectoring and the Silent Eagle didn't. She was drawing her opponent into a trap. She saw one side of the Raptor's fuselage collapse inward and knew the weapon doors were opening. Yang slammed the stick into her right knee and hit the rudder pedal, throwing her F-15 hard right. Neo swore as she overshot and immediately went into a left roll, trusting her instincts. Both pilots made a complete circle and ended up going directly at each other. Neither anticipated the other's speed, both switched to guns, and both missed. Yang reversed her turn; so did Neo, and the result was another head on pass. Yang missed again; Neo did not even bother firing.
Like with Blake, Yang thought. Well, maybe the same trick will work with whoever this is. She pulled the throttle back and pulled her nose up as they entered the third circle, which would force the F-22 into an overshoot.
Neo noticed it, and realized she was not using the F-22's abilities, and was fighting the way her opponent wanted her to. As the two aircraft crossed again, Neo snapped into a hard climb. Before Yang could react, the Raptor was already six thousand feet above her and leveling out, daring Yang to follow her.
Yang didn't accept the challenge, rolled, and went into a shallow dive towards Weiss and Ilia. Neo couldn't believe her luck—the F-15 was presenting a perfect target—rolled over, and dived on Ember Celica. She tried to lock on, but the Silent Eagle was nearly as stealthy as her own aircraft, and the distance closed too fast for an AMRAAM shot anyway. A wide grin split Neo's lips as she switched to guns; it would be better this way. She centered the gunsight on the wide spine of the F-15 when suddenly the speedbrake on the back of her opponent popped open. Neo shot past, before she could even pull the trigger, and now she was the hunted. Yang retracted the speedbrake and switched to guns as well. The Raptor hung in her gunsight like a pinned butterfly. "All over, bitch!" Yang crowed.
Neo knew her next move might be her last. She threw the F-22 into a climb, thrust vectored, and hung there, engines roaring. To Yang, it was if the Raptor had simply stopped cold.
"Oh SHIT!" Yang screamed, and slammed the stick forward, clearing the tail of the F-22 by a mere two feet and avoiding a collision. As she did so, Neo spun the Raptor in place, pushed the throttle forward, and was now behind Yang, the F-15's glowing afterburners a perfect target as she switched to Sidewinders.
Weiss was very happy that the MiGs were no longer a problem, as they were busy trying to evade Pyrrha and Jaune. She had her hands plenty full with the F-5.
Every time she had tried to break away, the White Fang pilot had rolled, keeping her speed and position behind Myrtenaster. She could climb away, but that would also leave her a hot target against a cold sky, perfect parameters for a Sidewinder shot, and there was no longer enough room to dive; she would hit the ground. For the first time in her life, Weiss considered quitting: she was going to be shot down anyway, and if she ejected, at least she might get rescued.
No! she shouted at herself. You're a Schnee, and it will be a cold day in hell before a Schnee falls to a damned White Fang!
There was one trick left. Weiss breathed a quick prayer, hauled the stick back into her stomach, and stepped down hard on the left rudder pedal. Warnings went off in the cockpit, warning of an imminent stall. She slammed the stick all the way forward.
Ilia had found her opponent to be the best she had ever fought—and she had been trained by Kali Belladonna. It had taken all of her skill to somehow keep her F-5 behind the Typhoon and not overshoot; she knew that her little fighter was outclassed by her opponent, and if she gave the other pilot the slightest opening, she was dead. The MiGs were no longer a factor; she had shut out their cries for help as they were hunted down by the F-16 and Mirage 2000. They would at least buy Ilia time with their lives.
It was about over, though. Ilia had noted the Maltese crosses on the fuselage and wings of the Typhoon, and the Schnee snowflake crest on the tail. The German was good, but Ilia had herded him—or her—into a position where there was no escape. She readied to fire her two remaining Sidewinders.
Then her opponent did the impossible. It rose, rolled left, then seemed to spin in place. Ilia was shocked, but only for a second—and a second was all Weiss needed. She held down the trigger as the F-5 shot past, the 27 millimeter Mauser cannon punching holes the length of the fuselage, barely missing the cockpit. Weiss then opened the throttles, hanging on the sheer power of her engines, Myrtenaster screaming at the edge of a flat spin. The control surfaces bit into the air as Weiss let the nose drop a little to build up airspeed, then she roared back into level flight, bending the trees in her wake.
Ilia heard the left engine clatter and whine down, then the F-5 shuddered as the left tailplane separated from the aircraft. Fuel ignited to flame. Ilia sighed, tightened her straps, straightened her back, and pulled the ejection handles on either side of the seat. She blacked out as twelve times the force of gravity pushed her down into the seat, then she was clear of both canopy and aircraft. She came to as the seat separated and the parachute opened with a thump.
Ilia quickly checked herself. Her back hurt, but her legs and arms were intact; too many fighter pilots broke limbs on ejection. She turned in her parachute at jet noise, and saw in horror that the Typhoon was coming back. There was nothing to do but wait for the cannon shell that would tear her soft body into pieces.
The Typhoon went past without firing. Ilia saw the pilot raise a hand to her brow in salute. The Faunus returned the salute. "Well," she said aloud as the Typhoon hurtled away, "mercy from a Schnee. Who'd have thought?"
I'm dead, Yang thought. There was no way the Raptor pilot could miss, not with Sidewinders at this range. To Yang's surprise, she did not feel panic or fear, only disappointment that she was going to lose. This is going to be hard on Dad and Ruby.
"Bye-bye, dum-dum," Neo spoke as her finger tightened on the trigger. Without warning, her ears shrilled with the sound of a missile lock. Her hand was moving before her mind even engaged, dodging left, away from the threat, finger coming off the trigger and ruining her shot. Yang didn't question her sudden salvation: she came out of afterburner and split-S out of the fight, even as the F-22 turned hard. Two missiles shot past, just missing the Raptor. Neo looked up and her breath caught in her throat.
The aircraft was a glossy black, with red highlights, but no markings. It had broad delta wings, with a dogtoothed leading edge, and the intakes set far back, over the wings, with twin tails on both intake fairings. A long nose ended in chiseled edges of a first-generation stealthy aircraft, with canards on either side of the cockpit. To Neo's terror, her radar did not even recognize the aircraft's existence. It wasn't there, and yet it was, and it was beginning to turn in her direction.
Neo Politan was not easily frightened, but fear seized her. In panic, she dived away from the strange aircraft, lit her afterburners, and ran for all she was worth to the west.
"What the hell is that?" Yang asked, as she saw the aircraft from below. It made a hard turn, its afterburners glowed, and it shot into the clouds and disappeared.