AUTHOR'S NOTES: Bringing the air battle to an end. It's been a tough one to write. I also fell behind and lost my cushion (thanks to writing "One Night in Atlas" over on AO3). One or two more chapters after this one to clean up some loose ends.

A few technical notes: BUFF (Big Ugly Fat Fella, in the clean version) is the nickname for the B-52 (Stratofortress is the official name). Beepers are alarms that automatically go off after a pilot has ejected-in theory. Because they tend to go across all frequencies, pilots will sometimes switch them off to keep from jamming up the radio. Ruth's negative beeper could mean that either she didn't get out, or she simply switched them off.

Tobogganing and "towing" were used on several occasions by KC-135 and KA-3 crews during Vietnam. Michael Estocin (who was later posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor) was "towed" back to his carrier by a KA-3 while piloting a badly damaged A-4, in a manner very similar to what happens to Ruby here.

La Crosse

Wisconsin, United States of Canada

3 May 2001

Above La Crosse, the six B-52s spread out slightly. Winter wanted maximum coverage. They were at eighteen thousand feet—a little lower than usual, but she also wanted to make sure they would not short round and hit the Army troops below.

"Pilot, bombardier. We're at the IP, steady on course. Bombs away in three minutes." He touched a button. "Doors open." Behind and below the cockpit the bomb bay doors slowly dropped open. "Stand by."

Winter looked out the cockpit windows. Below here, the forest was filled with smoke where GRIMM had gone down. Fighters milled around. "Witch Lead to all Killbox Alpha elements. Clear the airspace. Keep any remaining GRIMM away from the bombers." Winter smiled. She could see nothing flying that was enemy. The fighter pilots had done their job. Now it was the bombers' turn.

"EWO, pilot, countermeasures."

"Pilot, EWO, countermeasures on." Each B-52 was already radiating enough electronic jamming to fry any radar, but now chaff bundles and flares dropped from the bombers at random intervals.

"On my mark," the bombardier said. He sounded bored. "Three…two…one." A pause. "Bombs away."

Winter felt the B-52 jolt, then begin to rise as seventy thousand pounds of bombs fell from the bomb bay. It lasted about two minutes, then the bombardier reported the bay doors closing. Winter leaned over the pilots as Smitty turned on the bomber's electro-optical viewing system—a fancy name for two television cameras beneath the nose. He pointed them downwards. Winter could just make out the last bombs falling.

A few seconds passed. Then she saw the first detonate. Circular shockwaves reached out from each small explosion, then more and more until they were overlapping—and that was just from her bomber.

Yang pulled up and climbed, quickly leaving behind the river and La Crosse; she had strayed dangerously close to the bomb path, and getting caught underneath B-52s was a way to experience a short and exciting life. Now she had a front row seat.

The first B-52 dropped its bombs, and the last bomb was not gone from the bomb bay before the second started, and then the third. With good visibility and little wind, the bomb run was perfect. She watched in awe as the bombs exploded. She figured each B-52 carried a full load, and remembered the maximum capacity of B-52H from her days in officers' school—70,000 pounds each. With six B-52s, that meant 420,000 pounds of high explosive was raining down on the GRIMM, almost half a million pounds.

The GRIMM ceased to exist. Even the Death Stalkers could not survive the massive amounts of ordnance being dropped on them. Shockwaves snapped the legs off the Goliaths, and they fell to their knees, to be finished off by yet more bombs. The comparatively less armored Boarbatusks were blown apart. The last B-52 timed its drop so that its final bombs landed on the ridgeline only five miles from the tanks of Team Sentinel, rattling the tank crews but doing no damage.

"Witch to Winter," Yang heard Goodwitch say as the B-52s came off the bomb run. "I'll give you some BDA."

"Witch, Yang. I'll follow you down."

"Good idea, Yang. Witch is in, west to east. Yang, follow me in trail." Yang clicked her mike twice and dived, settling in behind Goodwitch's F-22. They came around a ridge, and Yang's breath caught in her throat. What had been a verdant forest overlooking an old highway was no longer: it was the surface of the moon. Highway and valley was gone, replaced by torn earth, splintered trees, and the smoking remains of GRIMM. Nothing moved, let alone fired back. Yang followed Goodwitch into a climb. "Witch to Winter. BDA 100 percent. All targets destroyed. Bravo Zulu, BUFFs."

"That's good to hear, Witch." Yang could hear the relief in Winter's voice. "We are RTB."

Goodwitch returned to altitude. "Regency, relay to La Crosse: all GRIMM destroyed. Stand down from alert." After the AWACS acknowledged, Goodwitch had one last thing to do. "All Killbox Alpha elements, form on me. Flight leaders, do a check in. Ruby?"

"Ruby Flight, check in," Yang heard Ruby call out.

"Weiss."

"Blake."

Yang keyed her mike. "Yang." They'd all made it. In fact, if her calculations were correct, she was in the clubhouse now—Yang was an ace too. Stick that in your ear, Rubes, she thought good naturedly.

She listened to all the other flights check in. Juniper was short Nora and Pyrrha, but they were nearly back to Beacon—they would be fine. Cardinal was short Sky Lark, but that was also known; Yang had seen his parachute come down near some Army pukes, so he was probably okay too.

"Creamer Lead," she heard Cinder Fall say. "Creamer Four is down. She bailed out about a minute ago. Negative beeper. All other Creamers fine." Negative beeper, Yang thought, seeing the vivacious Ruth Lionheart in her mind's eye. That could mean anything, though.

"Sun Lead." That was Sun Wukong. "All in. Sage and Neptune are already RTB."

"Coffee Two? Yatsu?" Witch asked. Coco was already back at Beacon, having somehow gotten home.

It was a moment before Yatsuhachi came back up. "Witch, Yatsu. Coffee Three is not checking in."

"Coffee Three, this is Witch," Goodwitch said. "Check in." Nothing. Goodwitch repeated herself. "Regency, have you heard from Coffee Three Alpha or Bravo?" The AWACS replied in the negative, then tried to contact either Fox or Velvet. There was no answer. Goodwitch repeated the call once more. "Jolly Greens, are you listening?"

"This is Jolly Green 83. Roger."

"Jolly Green, Coffee Three and Creamer Four are down. Negative beeper."

"Witch, Jolly Green 83, Jolly Green 84 has a flare about thirty miles south of Killbox Alpha. No ground fire, so we're moving in." Yang breathed a sigh of relief. That should be where Ruth bailed out at. If she could fire a flare, she was at least uninjured enough to do so. "Location on Coffee Three Alpha and Bravo?"

"Unknown, Jolly Green. We didn't even know they were down."

Yang looked at her fuel gauge. Except for maybe Blake's F-14, her Silent Eagle had the most fuel of any aircraft in the air. Everyone else had to be short, but she still had at least two hours left. "Witch, Yang. I can RESCAP. Fuel's good."

"Witch, Blake. I can stay as well." The F-14 was designed for long patrols as well.

"Roger. Yang, Blake, assume RESCAP." They would cover the vulnerable Jolly Greens as rescue combat air patrol—RESCAP. There probably wasn't anything left to oppose them, but RESCAP also provided more eyes. They had to find Fox and Velvet. Shit, Yang thought, if they even got out. And if they did, we gotta hope the GRIMM didn't get them, or they didn't land in the bomb pattern. Wonder what got them?

Then a bad situation got worse. "Witch, Ruby. I think I might have a problem here. I'm at bingo minus eight." Yang's eyes quickly found the red-trimmed F-16. There was a puff of white smoke behind it, then more. Her throat tightened. Ruby was losing fuel.

"Ruby, you're trailing fuel." Weiss had noticed it as well. "Can you make Beacon?"

A second or two passed, the longest seconds in Yang's life. "Negative."

A new voice entered the channel. "Ruby, this is Brown Anchor. We're at bearing three zero zero, ten miles. Can you make it?"

"Yeah—roger that, Brown Anchor! Heading for you right now."

"Brown Anchor, Witch," Goodwitch sent out. "Meet her halfway if possible, on my authority." Goodwitch was taking a chance. Tankers were not supposed to cross into the Dead Zones under any circumstances.

"Roger that, Witch."

"Blake, RESCAP on station." Yang heard the radio call, and had to shut Ruby out of her mind. She had to cover the Jolly Greens.

Ruby watched her fuel gauge with increasing alarm. Not really alarm, she thought to herself—just a lot of concern. She didn't remember getting hit, but in the confusion and excitement of the battle, it could have happened. But she was losing fuel, and if she didn't get some in five minutes, she was going to be joining Sky, Ruth, Velvet and Fox on the ground. She could glide over to Wisconsin, so assuming she wasn't hurt in the ejection, she would be all right, but she didn't want to leave Crescent Rose unless it was life or death. The gauge hovered maddeningly just over zero. There was always a little bit left in the tanks that didn't show up on the gauges, or so fighter pilot superstition always held.

Then she saw the tanker. It was one of the older KC-135s, probably older than Ozpin, but still serving. The dark camouflage stood out against the blue sky and scattered clouds. As she watched, the tanker began to turn. "Brown Anchor, Ruby Lead, tally-ho."

"Roger, Ruby; got you in sight." She saw the boom lower from the back of the aircraft.

Got to do this in one shot. Ruby made a quick check of the sky around her—Weiss was well off and to the right. "Weiss, fuel state?"

"I'm fine, Ruby. You're losing more fuel." Ruby kicked the tail around, and could see the white stream behind her.

"Brown Anchor, Ruby. You sure you want to try this?" Ruby really didn't want to eject, but a stray spark hitting that fuel stream might blow up both aircraft. She could eject, but the tanker crew couldn't.

"We got you, Ruby." The tanker crew wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Roger." Ruby took a breath, eased up the throttle a little, opened the refueling door on the F-16's spine, and closed in on the tanker. The boom came down above her. Another quick check of the sky and the instrument panel. Ruby now had to be truly an extension of her aircraft: she had to watch the boom, watch the spacing to avoid a collision. The boom's tip went over the canopy, only three feet away, and she had to resist the urge to duck. The boom operator knew his job, though. "Ruby, up a bit, little more speed." The boom closed. "Little more up." Ruby moved the stick. "Contact." She felt the boom hit home. Ruby stole a glance at the fuel gauge. It went up just a little. "You're receiving."

"Brown Anchor, not getting a lot here. I think I'm losing it almost as fast as you're giving it."

There was a pause. "Ruby, we'll tow you home."

Ruby sighed. "Roger, Brown Anchor. Thank you." It wasn't a real tow, of course, but Ruby would remain on the boom all the way back to Beacon.

Blake swept over the forest below. It was dense—it would have been dense even before the nuclear war, but now, it was overgrown and thick. She split her time between her own eyesight and the TCS below Gambol Shroud's nose.

"Jolly Green 83, Ruby Three. Tally-ho on the crash site." Blake saw Yang's F-15 fly low over a small ridge and waggle her wings. Blake was there a moment later. The Tornado had hit the top of the ridge, but there was nothing left of the aircraft besides a blackened streak. Usually there was a tail left, but not in this case. Blake could tell that the aircraft had hit flat, but there was no way to tell if the canopy was still there. She throttled back and went around again, dipping the F-14's wing. The TCS was not as helpful as she'd like.

Then Blake saw the flash. "Jolly Green, Ruby Four! Flash at my three o'clock low!" She dropped her flaps, going as slow as she could without risking a stall. If there were any GRIMM left, they could not miss. She was less worried about that as she was about the flash. It could be anything—a shiny piece of wreckage, old or new, a random piece of metal, a GRIMM, or a signal mirror. Then she saw the flash again. Blake raised her flaps and began a tight circle around where the flash was. "Coffee Three Alpha, Coffee Three Bravo, this is Ruby Four," Blake radioed. "Come up. Fox, Velvet, come up on Guard."

There was nothing. Blake made another circuit, and noticed Yang was doing the same thing at a higher altitude, then dropped flares. "Coffee Three Alpha—"

Static crackled. "Ruby Three, Coffee Three Bravo!" Blake recognized Velvet's British accent, even through the tinny survival radio. "Sure is good to hear your voice! Coffee Three Alpha is here with me. Popping flare." A thin trail of smoke came up from the woods, to burn red.

"Tally-ho on the flare!" Blake called out happily. "Jolly Green 83, do you have the flare?"

"Roger that, Ruby Four. Coffee Three Bravo, we need you to pop smoke."

There was a pause. "Popping smoke," Velvet said, and Blake saw purple smoke curling up through the trees. "I have a purple," Jolly Green 83 called out. "Coming in. Coffee Three Bravo, say condition."

"I'm okay," Velvet said, forgetting radio parlance for a moment. "Fox is hurt."

"Rubies are holding high," Blake said, and followed Yang into a holding pattern. The Jolly Green—officially known as the Sikorsky MH-53J Super Jolly Green Giant—whirred in from the east. It stopped and hovered over the thin wisps of purple smoke. As Blake made another orbit, she saw the tiny figure of the parajumper go out on the cable; at the base of it was a flower-shaped, metallic device called a jungle penetrator. It would force its way through the trees by weight, then could be folded out on as seats. The cable and the PJ went down into the trees.

Blake's mouth was dry. If any GRIMM had escaped the B-52 strike, they could not pass up such a tempting target. She kept her eyes on the forest around the Jolly Green, praying there would be no movement or ground fire.

There wasn't. Moments later, the cable came back up, and even at the distance they were at, Blake could see the PJ, Fox and Velvet. The PJ was holding Fox onto the penetrator. "Regency, Jolly Green 83. Coffee Three's recovered. Repeat, two pilots in the clubhouse."

"Make that three, Regency!" Jolly Green 84 sang out. "Creamer Four's aboard and won't stop talking."

Blake grinned. "Jolly Greens, Ruby Four. Let's get the hell out of Dodge." She and Yang crisscrossed over the helicopter as it turned east and headed for the river.

Joint Base Beacon

Wisconsin, United States of Canada

3 May 2001

It was only ten minutes, if that, but for Ruby Rose, it was the longest ten minutes of her life. Not only did she have to stay connected to the KC-135, but she had to stay connected as it entered a shallow dive. It was called tobogganing, and one mistake could end up with two wrecked airplanes. Ruby solemnly promised never to make fun of tanker crews again.

"Beacon in sight," Brown Anchor called out. "Ruby Lead, we're going to drop you off here."

"Roger, roger," Ruby replied in relief. "Hey, Brown Anchor, I owe you guys a case of beer." She was underage to buy it, but she'd find a way.

"We'll hold you to that," the boomer replied. "Disconnect…now." The boom came out, and raised back towards the tanker. Ruby closed the refueling door and descended faster as the tanker turned south, towards its base at O'Hare.

"Beacon, Ruby Lead," she called out. "Declaring emergency. Need straight in approach. Fuel critical."

"Ruby Lead, Beacon," the controller replied, calmly. He had been handling emergencies all day. "You are cleared to Runway 03 Right. 03 Left is blocked due to crash. Cleared for straight-in approach. Winds are calm, visibility 20 miles. You need no longer respond to transmissions." The controller was not going to distract her. Since conditions were good, he probably would not need to.

Now it was a race. Ruby lowered the landing gear, which caused drag, which ate into her fuel. She switched off the low fuel alarm. She hated to drop her flaps some, but she was coming in too fast. More drag. Ruby found herself breathing hard into her mask. The runway was right in front of her, but if her engine died, she would have to eject. Just a little more, Crescent Rose. Just a little more.

The "piano keys" of the runway threshold slipped underneath the F-16. Ruby counted down the altitude in her head, then felt the main gears touch the runway. The aircraft slowed, and she popped her speedbrakes to slow it more. Then, gently, she put Crescent Rose's nose gear down. It was actually one of her better landings; she didn't leave a puff of smoke. "Whew," she said. "What a day."

She taxied into the hardstand, passing the wreckage of Coco Adel's Mirage F.1. It lay on its side, one wing bent upwards, the nose cone gone. The canopy was gone, but the seat was there and empty, which meant Coco had at least survived the crash. Ruby was one of the last to come in, and the crowd that had formed around the others parted to let her park. As she turned into the hardstand, the engine finally died; inertia carried her into her parking space. Once it had stopped, Ruby reached out and patted the instrument panel. "Good job today, baby." She opened the canopy and looked up into her burly chief's grinning face as she pulled off her oxygen mask and helmet. "Sorry, Chief, I dinged her up again."

"No sweat, Lieutenant. We'll fix her. You okay?"

"Yep!" Ruby followed the chief down the ladder and was instantly surrounded by dozens of people. "How many?" Neptune asked. Ruby shrugged and held up a finger. Everyone cheered anyway.

The crowd parted again as Myrtenaster taxied in, canopy up and refueling probe out—Weiss' subtle way of giving everyone the finger. They followed her to the revetment next to Ruby, who was glad to be alone for a moment.

Then the air was split by the sound of jet engines. Ruby ducked involuntarily as Gambol Shroud came over at a thousand feet, wings raked back, beating up the base in approved United States Marine Corps fashion. As she climbed away, Yang, not to be outdone, came over in the same fashion, but threw Ember Celica into a victory roll.

Ruby jumped in the air, her yells of triumph drowned out by the roar of the F-15's engines.