AUTHOR'S NOTES: Chapter 50. Wow. Thank you for sticking with this, everyone. There's a lot more on the way. And I appreciate the reviews on the last chapter!

Fighter pilot slang note: Sierra Hotel is short for "Shit hot," aka the best. It can be used either as a compliment or as a complaint.

Chicago O'Hare International Airport

Illinois, United States of Canada

3 May 2001

Winter Schnee ran from the Gulfstream she had just arrived in from Signal towards the six B-52s. Their engines were already spooling up. She dashed towards the first aircraft; the pilot saw her and instructed the crew below to unlatch the boarding hatch. As soon as it was halfway down, Winter pulled herself into the aircraft, squeezed past the gunner who had opened it, then through the lower deck of the cockpit. She scrambled up the ladder into the cockpit. "What's going on?" she puffed out.

The lieutenant in the pilot's seat turned to her. He had flown with Winter as her navigator from Europe a few weeks before. "Morning, Colonel. We got the alert from Beacon. Strike Package Alpha. Straight from Ironwood, ma'am."

Strike Package Alpha, Winter thought. That means a combined air and ground GRIMM assault. "Very well. Lieutenant, I'm taking command." She reached into a small cabinet and pulled out a helmet and oxygen mask; she was still in her Luftwaffe regular uniform, but that was less of an issue aboard a pressurized bomber. "Start rolling."

"Do you want the aircraft, ma'am?"

Winter smiled slightly. She had the authority by her rank to take over flying, but this was not her aircraft; it was the lieutenant's. "No, she's yours, Smitty. Take her out." Once she had the helmet on and was hooked into the radio, she informed the raid commander—a major—that she was now in command of the flight, and took the jump seat behind the pilot and copilot. As she did so, the B-52 taxied past held airliners and swung onto the runway. "MITO," Winter ordered over the open net. Minimum Interval Take Off would get the entire cell of six B-52s in the air in less than two minutes.

Both the pilot and copilot gripped the throttles and pushed them to full thrust. An alarm went off. The copilot leaned forward. "Engine number five and six are running above temperature. Might have to shut them down."

"Damn," the pilot breathed. "We'll be a scrub if we do."

Winter leaned forward. "We go. Even if we shut down the engines, we go."

"Colonel, we're not supposed to take off without all eight engines unless it's wartime!"

"Lieutenant, what do you think this is? Go."

"Yes, ma'am." The pilot let off the toe brakes and the B-52 surged forward. Winter leaned back in the jump seat, then was pressed back in it as the Stratofortress roared into the air. It had barely left the ground when the second B-52 was rolling.

"Pilot, navigator," another lieutenant called up from the lower deck. "Come right to 110. When we get to the Mississippi, we'll follow it to La Crosse."

"EWO," Winter instructed, "relay a message to Beacon. Let them know we're on the way, but we'll need escorts if there's GRIMM in the air."

"Roger that, Colonel. That probably won't be a problem. There's one hell of an air battle going on up there."

The B-52s, once they were clear of Chicago, joined up in a tight formation, and each aircraft switched on their internal jamming systems. The gunners uncaged the single Vulcan twenty millimeter gatling cannon in the tails. Like their grandfathers had in B-17s and B-24s, the bomber crews were going to war.

Near the Ruins of Red Wing

Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada

3 May 2001

Roman Torchwick saw the burning remains of the Hawk splash into the Mississippi. "That's for Lake Michigan, asshole," he murmured, but his RWR warbled for his attention. He strained against the G-forces to look behind him as he made a hard right break. The F-14's profile was unmistakable. "Well, hello, kitty cat," he grinned beneath the mask. "You know, we really need to stop meeting like this. People are gonna talk."

He led the Tomcat back over the train, trying to sucker her into a missile trap, but was forced to break away when the warbling turned into a screech as Blake fired an AMRAAM at him. Roman swore, used the Harrier's thrust vectoring to make a hard turn to throw off the seeker head; the missile hit the ground. Torchwick found himself head to head with the F-14. Both opened fire with guns as they went past, but neither hit. Once more, he threw the Harrier into a hard turn—this sort of knife fight was something he excelled in, and once more knew Blake was making a huge mistake: she was trying to fight him on his own terms. He came around and was rewarded with a spreadeagled view of the F-14 in front of him.

Torchwick was only carrying Sidewinders this time; the White Fang's small amount of AMRAAMs had gone to the F-22 and the Moonslice. That was fine, Torchwick thought, since the Tomcat was at perfect parameters for a Sidewinder shot. He fired two, just in case, and both tracked perfectly; the F-14's wings were raked back, but Blake was still out of kinetic energy.

Both missiles sailed directly through the Tomcat, and Torchwick, with a savage curse, knew he had been had. He chopped the throttle and thrust vectored upwards, switching to guns, as the F-14 dived on him from above. The 25mm cannon fired, but again, nothing happened.

Two feints? Where the hell—Torchwick's answer came a second later as he felt the Harrier shudder from cannon hits, and was suddenly thrown to one side as half the tail came off. He had the briefest glimpse of a third Tomcat flying past from under him, and knew what happened: Blake had not turned or climbed, but dived, trading altitude for speed. While he was distracted by the two holograms, she had been coming in from below.

The Harrier's engine wound down, and alarm lights went off all over the instrument panel. The aircraft was seconds away from losing power, stalling, and flat spinning into the river. Torchwick sighed. "Neo's going to be so pissed at me," he remarked, then braced himself, reached between his legs, and pulled the ejection handle.

Blake shut off Gambol Shroud's holograms, and couldn't stop a wide smile as she saw Torchwick eject from the doomed Harrier. "Blake, splash one. Ruby, where are you?"

Ruby dived on the train. Her missiles weren't of much use against ground targets, but she still had the gun. She pumped the flare button twice, dropping them to decoy any missiles, and made her run. Her cannon shells hit the last car in line, a tank car she set aflame, but the rest just chewed up ground. She broke off her run and climbed, spinning and rolling to further throw off the White Fang on the train. A missile was fired, but it went well wide.

"Ruby, Russel. Sorry about that. Joining up on your port side." The other F-16 came up beside her. "What's the plan, boss?"

Ruby was taken aback for a second. She had never commanded anything but Ruby Flight before, and now she had Russel Thrush asking her for orders. Well, this what you do now, Ruby Rose, she told herself. Then she heard Blake's call. "Blake, Ruby, we're about five miles south of you, angels, ah, ten thousand."

"Roger. I see you." Within moments, the Tomcat was flying on her right side. Ruby thought a moment. "Okay, here's what we'll do. Russel, you roll in, and I'll cover you. Blake, hold high in case the Fangers have got any more fighters around."

"Roger that," Blake said.

Ruby took a breath. "Russel, we're in." The two F-16s peeled off. Ruby took the lead, but her dive was more shallow and not nearly as fast, and she dropped flares. She was throwing herself out as bait. She dropped a wing, and saw White Fang white uniforms around the back of the train. The burning tanker car had been decoupled, and was falling behind the train rapidly; it exploded seconds later.

Russel suddenly flattened his own dive, throwing off the White Fang; he was past the last car before they realized his real target was the locomotives. Ruby saw gun smoke leave a thin trail behind the F-16 as he opened fire, and strikes sparkled off the second of the two locomotives.

"Russel, break off now!" Blake yelled. Russel did not question the call, and broke away. Ruby was about to ask why, but then saw: the train turned a curve and disappeared into dense forest; had Russel continued his run, he would've hit the trees. He twisted away from small arms fire. "Ruby, Russel; I got some hits."

"Roger, I saw that." Ruby edged ahead and waited for the train to clear the forest. It did, and she could see that metal plates were set around the engines. "Fuck," she cursed, not realizing the radio button was still down. "That thing's armored."

"This is never going to work," Russel called out. "Now what?"

Ruby climbed; Russel and Blake joined up again. Think, Ruby, she commanded herself. We can't take out that train, but something ground to air can—wait, Nora! Nora might be too far to talk to, so Ruby tried to contact Regency, only for the channel to be filled with Cardin Winchester's voice. "I GOT THE SON OF A BITCH! I GOT THE SON OF A BITCH!"

"Sierra Hotel," Oobleck cut in. "Now shut up and go get another! I have two of them cornered over here!"

"This is Pyrrha, splash two—"

"Weiss, Yang, did you—"

"What—"

The channel was filled with voices. Finally, a loud voice quieted them all: Ozpin's, using the more powerful ground radios that overrode the aerial sets. "All Vale aircraft, this is Beacon. Silence on the channel." Once that was accomplished, he spoke again. "Go Channel Five." Hands all over Minnesota switched to the new channel, which to their surprise, was clear from jamming. "Sun, Juniper, Coffee and Creamer Flights: marshal at Rochester and engage GRIMM, designation Killbox Alpha. Cardinal: finish off remaining bandits and assume CAP over La Crosse, designation Killbox Bravo; engage any leakers. Ruby: destroy the train ASAP, then join up with Sun and Creamer. Oscar Oscar: return Beacon, buster. All Rochester flights will go Channel Three; all others this channel. Winter Flight is on its way, ETA two-zero minutes. Regency has control. This is Beacon, authenticate Oscar Zebra, time is 1900 Zulu."

Ruby waited to see if there was any more instructions, then got on the channel. "Weiss, Yang, close up if you're clear; we're southwest of Red Wing, bearing, ah, three-zero-zero, about fifty miles. Russel, rejoin Cardinal. And thanks."

"Roger that, Ruby." She saw Russel throw her a salute as he peeled off, lit his afterburner, and raced northwest.

"Regency, this is Ruby," she radioed next. "We're not going to stop this train; we're loaded for air-to-air, and it's armored."

There was a slight pause. "Ruby, Regency; roger that. We're chopping Coffee Lead to you; ETA five minutes." Ruby wasn't sure what Coco Adel was going to be able to do, but presumably Regency knew better than she did. Ruby Rose was not a patient woman, but she now she had little to do but wait, and watch the train below her. It roared through the ruins of Wabasha; there were sixty miles to go before they reached La Crosse.

Near Alma

Wisconsin, United States of Canada

3 May 2001

Karelia Bighorn-Vlata took off her helmet for a moment and gloried in the feel of the wind in her hair. Her M1A2 Abrams was headed south for La Crosse at fifty miles an hour, the treads singing on the reinforced roads. Behind her, her team of seventeen Abrams and M3 Bradleys trailed behind her, all going at full speed. Ahead of them, military policemen cleared the road of traffic; there was no stopping Team Sentinel. Colonel Evan Ridinghood had detached Team Sentinel to reinforce the bridge crossing at La Crosse on his own initiative, after listening to the frantic reports of the pilots above Minnesota. After a few minutes of feeling the breeze, she replaced the helmet.

Beside her, Sky Lark held onto the loader's machine gun for dear life. He had come down on the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi River, unhurt except having the hell scared out of him. The local police had delivered him to Team Sentinel, which were headed more or less his way anyway. Now he was having another scare: the United States Army, he decided, was made up of lunatics. He was pushed painfully against the side of the hatch as the tank took a curve without slowing down, and drifted through it like a street racer.

Karelia toggled her throat mike. "Nate, slow down a bit through the curves and quit showing off for Flyboy here. The guy's had enough for one day." She looked over at Sky and tapped her helmet. When he couldn't get the CVC mike to work, she leaned over, bracing her legs against the hatch sides, and helped him. "How are you doing, Lieutenant?"

"You're crazy!" was all Sky could get out. Karelia laughed.

"Yo, Cap," Nate sang out. "We got someone ahead of us." About half a mile up the road, she could see someone frantically waving for their attention. She dropped down into the turret and switched frequencies. "Sentinel Six to Sentinel elements, halt and take five. Nate, stop tank."

"Roger." Nate stepped on the brakes gradually, and the Abrams came to a slow stop. The man in the road was wearing a flight suit. His hair was an orange-red and he was soaked to the bone. There was no sign of a helmet or parachute. "Who the hell are you?" Karelia yelled out. She laid a hand on the commander's weapon—a Browning M2 .50 caliber machine gun.

Roman Torchwick noted the movement and kept his hands raised. He had landed in the river, quickly abandoned the parachute before it dragged him under, and let both current and his own swimming carry him to the Wisconsin side. He hated to leave his tailored, decorated helmet, but he reasoned his only chance of getting out of this with his skin intact was to act like he was a USAF pilot. His flight suit was the same shade and type. When he saw the tanks approaching, he gambled: it was doubtful that the Army would know the name of Roman Torchwick.

"I'm Lieutenant Gray Haddock!" Torchwick shouted. He had used the alias before. "Got shot down by those fucking air pirates—some asshole in a pink and white Sea Harrier!" Torchwick put a smile on it, and he had a very winning smile. "Can I get a lift?"

"Sure, hop aboard." Karelia disconnected her CVC, climbed onto the forward hull of the Abrams, and helped Torchwick up. "It's a bit cramped, but we'll drop you off when we get to La Crosse."

"Much obliged." He went down into the turret and sat next to who he presumed was the gunner, a thin corporal that looked like the stereotypical American Teen. He cracked bubblegum and handed Torchwick a bottle of water, which he gratefully took. With a lurch, the Abrams started up again and began to accelerate.

"Friend of yours?" Karelia called across to Sky, with an incline of her head in Torchwick's general direction. The Malaysian pilot stole a glance down in the turret, looked at the Army captain, and shook his head. "Didn't think so." Casually, she reached into a shoulder holster and laid a Colt M1911 .45 pistol on the turret top, then ducked back down into the turret, motioning for Sky to follow. She braced against the hatch sides, with both feet on the turret floor. "Say, Lieutenant," she said in a half-yell to Torchwick, "what outfit you with?"

Torchwick had dreaded this question, and seeing the flight-suited man leaning down from the loader hatch, knew he was in trouble. "O'Hare," he yelled back. "They sent us up here from there."

"Really?" Sky asked. "You must've gotten up here pretty quick. I got shot down by that Harrier, too. What do you fly?"

"F-16," Torchwick answered.

"Hey, that's cool!" Sky exclaimed. "So what was your graduating class number?" Sky knew that every graduating USAF pilot class had a number, from hanging out with the rest of Cardinal Flight.

Torchwick knew he was caught. He briefly considered shoving the tank commander into the gunner, who sat looking rather concerned at the proceedings, then scrambling out of the commander's hatch and taking a jump into the ditch. But even assuming he managed to do that, there was nothing stopping the column from dropping off a squad of infantry to look at him. And finally, there was the fact that the tank commander was now pointing a pistol at his head. He put up his hands. "Okay, you got me. How did you know?"

"Your hair. Way out of regs, even for the Air Force," Karelia answered. "Who are you?"

"I'm the world famous air pirate Roman Torchwick." He smiled across to Sky. "I'm the guy who shot you down. No hard feelings?"

"None," Sky answered. "You should shoot him, Captain."

Karelia shook her head. She handed her pistol to the gunner, climbed down fully into the turret, and jerked Torchwick's hands behind his back. Without cuffs or zip ties, she used a spare helmet radio cord and tied his hands securely. "Didn't know you were into this sort of thing," he quipped.

"Not as much as I like running over people in my tank," she told him. "The screams really get me off." Both of them were thrown to one side as the turret suddenly rotated right. Had Torchwick's hands been free, he might have used the opportunity, but now he was just pushed down further onto the grimy turret floor. "What's going on?" Karelia yelled at her gunner.

"Train to the right side. That area's supposed to be abandoned, but it's going like hell."

Karelia got back on her CVC. "Loader, load HEAT. Gunner, stand by to engage, but hold fire until I tell you." Sky squirmed out of the way as the burly loader reached back into the Abrams' magazine and slammed a shell home in the breech. "Up!" he shouted.
"Out of range!" the gunner called out.

Torchwick struggled to his knees and managed to get Karelia's attention by slamming into her. She seized a handful of his flight suit, but he shouted, "Be careful with that train!"

"Why?" she yelled back.

"Because it's loaded with enough explosives to dig a new lake!" Torchwick told her.

She put the pistol to his head. "Where's it going?"

Torchwick rolled his eyes. He was not afraid of the pistol, and actually smiled at the thought of getting back at Sienna Khan a little. Thanks to her, his operation was in ruins. "La Crosse. There's White Fang onboard, and they're going to use it to blow a hole in your lines. Literally."

"Shit." Karelia climbed past Torchwick. "Gunner, don't engage!"

"Out of range anyway, Cap."

She switched frequencies to the team net. "Sentinel Six to Sentinel 44. I need a relay to Beacon, now."

Ruby spotted Coco's desert painted Mirage headed down the valley at the same time Coco spotted her. The Mirage climbed to meet Ruby Flight, now back together again. Ruby broke off worrying about Yang—her sister seemed unusually subdued on her check-in—to talk to Coco. "Coco, Ruby. I sure hope you're groomed for air-to-ground."

"Roger that, Ruby." Coco rolled onto her left wingtip. Her wingtips carried Sidewinders, as did two of her wing stations. The other stations were loaded with rocket pods, and the centerline held a huge gunpod. A Pave Claw! Ruby thought with exultation. The Pave Claw was a gunpod that held the same mammoth Avenger 30 millimeter gatling cannon used by the A-10.

"Sierra Hotel, Coco!" Ruby said. "Okay, target is the train below. The locomotives are armored; our twenty mils won't do squat. The train's got White Fang all over with small arms and Stingers. We'll distract them while you run at the locos."

"Roger. Sounds like fun."

"Blake, you and Yang hold high while Weiss and I make our run. Coco, as soon as we're off to the east, you come in." Coco clicked her mike twice in response.

"Roger, wilco," Blake replied.

Ruby thought Weiss' Mauser cannon might hit harder than her Vulcan. "Weiss, if you're okay with it, you go in first, and I'll follow in trail. Okay?"

"Roger, Ruby." Weiss hoped Myrtenaster was all right. It was flying just fine, but she knew she had to have overstressed the airframe in the fight with the F-5.

"Coco, head out. We'll go in three minutes."

Coco clicked her mike again and acclerated away from Ruby Flight. Below, the ground had deepened to a valley, with the railroad hugging the narrow flatland between the river and the forest-covered mountains. Ruby checked her onboard clock, waited three minutes, then gave Weiss the go. The Typhoon dropped into a shallow dive; Ruby counted to five and followed.

"Ruby Lead, Regency. Relay from Beacon; prepare to copy."

"Little busy, Regency."

The AWACS ignored her. "Relay from Beacon as follows: train filled with high explosives, engage with caution, but destroy target as soon as possible. Acknowledge."

"Oh shit!" Ruby screamed. "Weiss, Coco, break off! Break now!" Weiss instantly pulled up, a second before she would have opened fire on the middle of the train. To avoid hitting Myrtenaster, Ruby broke left and swung out over the river.

Her message had not reached Coco, because the train had curved behind a ridge. Coco rolled in, using the ridge as cover, and so didn't hear Ruby's message. As it turned out, the White Fang were too surprised to see a Mirage coming down the track at a hundred feet head on at the train to fire back at it. Coco pulled the trigger and held it.

The Pave Claw roared as it sent 150 rounds of depleted uranium tipped armor piercing rounds into the front of the train. The jury-rigged armor was shredded under the onslaught and the rounds tore into the engine, igniting fuel. As Coco flew over the top, she paused for a half-second, then fired again, into the center of the train, hitting a tank car, which erupted in flame. The speed of the train caused the flame to be sucked back into the cars, loaded with black powder and dynamite.

Aboard the train, Perry died a hero's death. His last act was to yell at his White Fang comrades to abandon the train as he hit the brakes to slow down, even as the crippled engine began to tear itself apart. Some made it, diving into the ditch, risking broken bones instead of certain death. Others never heard the order and fired ineffectually at the Mirage up to the moment when the entire train went up in a tremendous explosion.

The explosion blew outwards, flattening trees on the ridges like a tornado was passing through them and igniting others; an entire section of cliff was blown upwards, then fell back onto the burning remains of the train and the track. Flames shot upwards, carrying with it pieces of train and bodies; Yang watched in stunned horror as an entire wheel assembly from one of the boxcars spun crazily past—and she was at seven thousand feet altitude. Perry's courageous act had been in vain: any White Fang that had made it off the train were pulped by the shockwave.

Coco felt like a giant hand had grabbed her Mirage and thrown it. It spun crazily across the valley with enough force to tear the Pave Claw pod off the centerline and one of her flaps off the left wing. Her engine flamed out before it relit with a bang, and her helmet was thrown against the canopy hard enough to break it. It took every amount of flying ability she had to keep the Mirage in the air.

Ruby was far enough away to see the explosion and the actual shockwave rippling across the Mississippi towards her. She turned away as hard as she could and firewalled the throttle. The shockwave still caught Crescent Rose, but with much less violence than it had hit Coco. Once the buffeting stopped, she turned back, now over the Wisconsin side of the valley. "Holy…" Ruby couldn't even finish the sentence. Where the train had been was now a mushroom cloud slowly rising into the sky, with an entire ridgeline aflame.

Blake and Yang were similarily stunned, so it fell to Weiss to make the call. "Regency, Weiss. Target destroyed."

"I fucking guess!" Yang finally found her voice.

Ruby flew over the tank column and rocked her wings. No one waved back, as everyone outside their turrets had rapidly dropped down into them, slamming shut the hatches when the explosion happened. She caught up with Coco. "Coco, Ruby, you receiving?"

There was a pause, then Coco came up, breathing heavily. "Roger…roger, Ruby. Still here. Ya lahwy!"

"You okay?"

"Give me a lookover."

Ruby flew alongside. The once pristine camouflage was blackened in places, the Pave Claw pod was gone along with the centerline pylon, one flap was missing, the rudder looked shredded, and the nose pitot boom was skewed. She told Coco the damage. "You gonna bail out?"

"Negative. I'll try to make Beacon. Go on, Ruby."

Ruby threw her a wave, then rejoined Ruby Flight, flying past the black cloud. Pieces still rained down into the river, and flames spread down the track. There was nothing left. "Ruby Flight, check in."

"Yang."

"Weiss."

There was no response from Blake. Ruby called again, and finally Blake came up. "Blake. Blake, checking in."

"You hit?"

"Negative. Charlie Mike." Blake spared one last look at what had been the train, and possibly some of her former friends.

"Regency, Ruby. Coco is RTB Beacon with heavy damage. We're still committed." Ruby reached up and wiped some sweat from under her helmet with her glove. It was already a long day.

"Ruby, give me your state."

"Wait one." She checked her fuel gauge, then asked the others of Ruby Flight how they were doing on fuel. Dogfighting took a lot, but all of them still had enough—for a short while, anyway. "Regency, Ruby has about 30 minutes of playtime."

"Roger, Ruby. Proceed south to Killbox Alpha and rendezvous with the other flights. We'll get a tanker scrambled to you over Brown Anchor if you need it."

Ruby checked her kneepad map. Brown Anchor was just south of La Crosse. "Regency, what's the raid count on GRIMM?"

Regency didn't answer for a moment. "Ruby, I think it's all of them."