AUTHOR'S NOTES: See the notes at the end of the story.

Covert Base Hector

North Dakota Dead Zone, United States of Canada

4 May 2001

"My name is Matthew Beck," the security policeman said, spitting blood. "Technical Sergeant, United States Air Force. My service number is 159-17-1802. My birthdate is 22 June 1971."

"You're going to have to do better than that," Sienna Khan warned. She held a pistol to the back of the kneeling sergeant's head. "I've already asked this question once, Sergeant. I want the security codes for this base."

"He's not going to tell you," Ilia Amitola said. She stood behind Sienna, her arm in a sling. She had ejected from her burning F-5 without injury, but hit a tree branch on the ground. The arm was sprained rather than broken. "They have a Code of Conduct. They're not allowed to tell us."

Arthur Watts leaned against one of the helicopters. "We don't need him to tell us," Watts told Sienna tiredly. "I can break their codes. Give me some time."

"We might not have time!" Sienna shouted. "If the Air Force finds out we're here, we're dead!"

Adam Taurus sighed. He was standing next to the Moonslice in the huge hangar at Hector; next to his aircraft was the blood red F-22. Neo Politan sat against the Raptor's nose gear, despondent, unresponsive after learning Torchwick had been captured. Watts had heard it during the trip over on military radio traffic, and it was confirmed by internet news sources by the time the White Fang had taken Hector.

It had not been easy. After the debacle at Mountain Glenn, there were only about 130 White Fang left, and that included Watts, Adam, and Sienna. They had crowded onboard six converted Sea King helicopters, having burned everything in Mountain Glenn they couldn't take with them, and escaped the underground base in the confusion of the GRIMM attack. The last helicopter had been taking off when Ilia ran onto the former South St. Paul airport, having managed to evade back from where she had been shot down. They had linked up with Moonslice and Neo's Raptor and flown into the approaching darkness.

Hector was never expecting an attack. Watts had the correct passwords, and before the defenders of the covert base knew it, White Fang troops were pouring out of the helicopters, angry and better-armed. Their frantic calls for help went unheard—once more, Watts had jammed them, this time using an electronic countermeasures pod jury-rigged under one of the helicopters.

Still, the USAF personnel had put up a fight; Watts, who had told the White Fang that the base only had a single .50 caliber sniper rifle, was as surprised as anyone else when a Javelin had blown one of the helicopters apart. The sniper in the tower had turned six White Fang into mist before Sienna herself killed the sniper with a RPG. When the last pocket of resistance had finally surrendered in the kitchen, 35 of the 50 USAF personnel at Hector were dead, but they had taken nearly fifty White Fang with them.

And since then, Sienna had been killing prisoners. Watts rolled his eyes as she shot Sergeant Beck in the back of the head. "This is ridiculous," he told Amitola. He could not have cared less for the killing, but Sienna was wasting what could be valuable hostages.

There was only one prisoner left, a Faunus. Sienna leveled the pistol at the back of her head. "Give me the security codes—"

"High Leader, that's enough." Both Sienna and the Faunus looked up in surprise as Adam pushed off the Moonslice and walked forward. With a smile, he waved Sienna off. Adam knelt in front of the Faunus. "Do you know who I am?"

"My name is Franceska Malikov," the Faunus said, staring straight ahead, looking past him. "Staff Sergeant, United States Air Force, serial number—"

Adam chuckled. "Sergeant, your Code of Conduct prevents you from answering questions that compromise your honor as a member of the United States Air Force. But surely you can tell me if you know me."

Malikov stared back defiantly, then spoke quietly. "You're Adam Taurus. She's Sienna Khan. All Faunus know you two."

"Good. Stand up, Sergeant; it's undignified." She got to her feet, though she kept her hands on her head. "Now then. We are Faunus, right?" Adam said. He motioned around. "All of us—well, almost all of us—are Faunus. You know what the White Fang was founded for. You know what we're about."

"I do," Malikov told her. "You're terrorists."

Adam laughed. "No, Sergeant. We're freedom fighters. We're trying to free the Faunus, not kill them."

"You're scum."

Sienna snarled and brought up the pistol, but Adam once more waved her away. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Francheska. But maybe you'll change your mind after awhile with us. You'll see that we're not what you think you are."

"Really? How do you explain that?" Malikov pointed to the bodies of the men and women Sienna had shot.

"They're humans, Francheska." Adam shrugged, as if Malikov had been asking about why an anthill had been kicked.

"They were my friends!" she shouted.

Ilia stepped forward. "Don't kill her. We can use her as a hostage."

"For who?" Sienna asked. "Everyone else is dead. Did you see anyone bail out?"

"Torchwick."

Sienna almost said that Torchwick could go hang, but with Neo there it would be inadvisable. In fact, the small woman was standing now, walking towards them. "They're not going to trade a nobody sergeant Faunus for the most wanted air pirate in the Remnant."

"She could still be valuable."

"I agree," Adam said. "Humans are one thing, High Leader. A Faunus is one of us." He turned back to Malikov. "Were you the only Faunus on base, Francheska?"

Malikov put her face in her hands. "Please," she begged. She stepped closer to Adam. "Please. No more."

Adam went to put a hand on her shoulder, but without warning, Malikov kicked outwards, aiming squarely for Adam's crotch. He turned to the side, and it turned a devastating hit to just a graze. He still sucked in his breath in pain and doubled over.

The hangar froze for a moment, as Malikov took a step back, hands raised in defiance. Watts let out a guffaw of laughter, followed by Sienna, then Ilia, then Adam himself. He straightened up, a bit of pain on his face. "Oh, that was good!" he grinned. "That was very good. I like you, Francheska. I think we'll keep you around—"

Everyone jumped as a gunshot rang out. Malikov's head snapped backwards, and blood sprayed across the floor and Sienna's boots. The Faunus' body hit the floor as the gunshot continued to echo around the hangar. Adam looked around. Neo stood, arm leveled, a snubnosed .38 in her hand, her face twisted in hate. "They have Roman," she snapped. "Fuck them all." Then she holstered the .38 in her survival vest and walked back to the F-22, where she sat back down and returned to staring into space.

"Apparently Miss Politan doesn't believe in the brotherhood of Faunus," Watts commented.

"A waste," Adam sighed. He motioned towards some of the nearby White Fang, their jerkins dirty and bloody, their eyes bright with exhaustion. "Take the bodies away and bury them somewhere that won't be easily seen. We have to get everything undercover before the next satellite pass, or the next USAF aircraft arrives." He pointed to a burly White Fang with a bloody bandage around his head. "Berk, do an inventory. Find out what's left. Food, weapons, uniforms, the lot."

"Yes, sir." No one seemed to mind that Adam, not Sienna, was suddenly in charge.

"Watts, crack those codes. We can bet that the Air Force checks in with Hector on a regular basis, and we'd better figure out what code words they use." He crooked a finger at Ilia. "Amitola, come with me." Ilia did not pale, but her facial color noticeably took on a lighter hue.

They walked out of the hangar into the hallway connecting it to the control tower. He stopped her by putting a hand out, then forcing her back to a wall. She recognized the tactic: Adam had used it on Blake on occasion. "Why did you sabotage the Moonslice?" he asked, without preamble.

"I-I didn't—"

Adam shook his head slowly. "Ilia, Ilia, Ilia. Don't lie to me. My crew chief confirmed it. So have others. You were the only one near it, 'preflighting' it." He thumbed open the katana. "You know how I value the truth, Ilia."

Ilia could not meet his eyes. "Yes, Adam. I did sabotage it. I had to. You had no chance in that dogfight. Not even you."

"No. That's not the real reason." He leaned closer to her, his mask an inch from her forehead. "What is the real reason, Ilia?"

Ilia hesitated, then her eyes became misty. "It was for Blake."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. You always did have more than a little affection for Miss Belladonna." He touched her cheek; Ilia shrank away from it. "Were you trying to get me killed, so you could have Blake all to yourself?"

"N-no," Ilia protested. "I-I don't want you killing each other, Adam. I don't want you killing Blake. She's my friend."

The fingers ran down her cheek. "She deserted our cause, Ilia. Every military shoots deserters. And traitors."

"Please…" A tear gathered in the corner of her eye, and he brushed it away.

"Ilia, don't worry," Adam said gently. "I don't want to kill Blake. I never have. I love her too, you see. I don't want Blake dead. Only punished, so she realizes the error of her ways. And she will, Ilia. She'll come back to us. Both of us." He kissed her forehead. "I forgive you, Ilia. You were just trying to protect our friend, and that's commendable. But don't do it again. Ever. Leave Blake to me, all right?" He drew himself back to his full height, and pulled his arms down. "Let's get back to work, and put this behind us. No more will be said."

"Yes, sir." Ilia followed Adam back into the hangar.

Commanding Officer's Office, Joint Base Beacon

Wisconsin, United States of Canada

4 May 2001

"Captain Ozpin, you are to be commended for your rapid reaction to the attack on the Mississippi River Barrier."

Ozpin stood behind his chair, leaning on his cane. There was no reason to be standing, but he felt the need to. The voice came from the speaker on his phone. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary."

"And you as well, General Ironwood."

Ironwood, who was sitting across from Ozpin's desk resting his head on folded hands, nodded, although Secretary of Defense Jason Terasoma could not see him. "We did our duty, Mr. Secretary. If you want to thank someone, thank our brave pilots. We'll be sending in commendations within the next week."

"Of course, General. I'll make sure those will be expedited."

"Mr. Secretary, if there's a way you could also coordinate with the State Department regarding Pyrrha Nikos' immigration request…" Ozpin added.

"I'll do what I can," Terasoma replied. "State gets nervous when we make requests. But I'll do everything I can." There was a pause; both men heard paper being shuffled. "So then Vytal Flag will go as scheduled?"

"Yes," Ozpin replied. "But once more, I must protest it being broadcast."

"Nothing secret will be recorded, Captain," Terasoma reassured him.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Secretary. I just don't feel comfortable with the trainees here having to worry about what looks good for the cameras rather than doing their job."

"Emphasis to them that it's not necessary, Captain. We're not following them into their barracks. This isn't reality TV. We just want to show the people of the world that their militaries stand ready to defend them against the threat of GRIMM."

"They should already know that," Ozpin snapped, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to. "This isn't the Olympics, Mr. Secretary—"

"Captain." Terasoma's voice hardened. "Vytal Flag is being recorded. That comes from the top. President Shawcross wants it. Vice-President Dunkelman wants it. The EU Council and Jacques Schnee want it. I can keep going, Captain. This is happening. End of discussion."

"Yes, sir." Ironwood could see Ozpin was seething, but this was his duty as well.

"No more of that, Captain Ozpin. I don't like chewing out someone, especially someone that's due for promotion. Overdue, actually."

"Not necessary, Mr. Secretary." Ozpin knew what Terasoma was referring to. A promotion to Rear Admiral would be a graveyard promotion, after which Ozpin would be eased out of the Navy altogether, put out to pasture. He had been able to duck promotion so far, relying on his war record and his ability to game the system, but the hangman would eventually find him.

"We'll talk about it after Vytal Flag has concluded," Terasoma was saying. More shuffling of paper. "General Ironwood, though Captain Ozpin retains command of JRB Beacon and Vytal Flag, we would like you to remain in temporary command of the Vale Air Defense Region until the exercise ends."

"Very well, Mr. Secretary."

"And afterwards, you'll be pleased to know that the EU has accepted your promotion to SACEUR."

Ironwood's head came up, shock on his face. He hadn't expected that. Ironwood had made some enemies, highly placed enemies, in the European Union, and though he was on the short list for promotion to the highest military command in Europe—Supreme Allied Commander Europe, or SACEUR—he figured that those enemies would block him from command. SACEUR would cap his own career, although he would be one of the youngest men to ever hold the job. "Th..thank you, Mr. Secretary."

"Let's see, there was just one last thing here…oh yes. As both you gentlemen are aware, Vytal Flag is a rather expensive undertaking, and the deployment of the 1st Armored Division to Wisconsin, while necessary at the time, has cut into our emergency funds for the military budget. Therefore, it is my decision, and the Joint Chiefs, that all but one brigade be withdrawn back to Texas. General Calavera will remain in command, under you, General Ironwood. We'll also be redeploying the B-52s back to Fairford and Barksdale."

Ozpin closed his eyes. "Mr. Secretary, I hate to sound like a broken record, but once more I have to protest."

Terasoma sounded surprised. "Captain, weren't you against the deployment in the first place?"

"I was, but that was when we were under the impression that the GRIMM threat was at manageable level—"

Terasoma laughed. "Didn't your forces just wipe out the largest GRIMM attack on the Barrier in ten years? Didn't they just reduce the White Fang and the Torchwick Gang to a footnote in history? The emergency's over, Captain. I wanted to withdraw everything from Wisconsin, but President Shawcross requested that we keep at least one brigade on station."

Don't, Ironwood mouthed to Ozpin. Ozpin was about to remind Terasoma that it had been the government that had insisted on moving the entire division to Wisconsin in the first place. Of course, the accident of the attack—and Ozpin was convinced that it had been an accident—made them look smart in doing so. Ozpin shook his head in frustration, but answered, "Very well, sir."

"Good. I know you're not enthusiastic about it, Captain, but your responsibility is Beacon and Vytal Flag. Leave the rest to Ironwood there and us." Another pause. "I think that will be all, gentlemen. I'm looking forward to seeing what this year's exercise will deliver. We'll put on a good show for the taxpayers. Good day, gentlemen." The line clicked off.

"Say what you want to, Ozpin," Ironwood smiled.

"No thank you. The level of my cursing would melt the paint off these walls." He settled for slamming a fist on the back of his chair. "James, they're just reacting. All they've been doing is running around like the proverbial headless chicken, and complimenting themselves when it somehow goes right. First we're told the Torchwick Gang wasn't a threat, and then, after our pilots have done the heavy lifting and risked their lives, they send in Delta Force to Cleveland. We're told that the GRIMM threat was low by our intelligence sources, and the government panics and sends an entire division up here because of a relatively small attack on the Barrier last month. Now, when the GRIMM threat turns out to be much higher, and barely we stop it largely with the forces that were already here at Beacon, they decide everything's fine and pull everything back."

"You don't think she's done." Ironwood made it a statement, not a question.

"Are you referring to Salem or Sienna Khan, James?" Ozpin asked.

"Both."

"Sienna has gone to ground again. I doubt we'll find anything in Mountain Glenn, even when Delta goes in to check out the place. He's right that the Torchwick Gang is largely gone, but I doubt we've heard the last of the White Fang. Sienna's message still resonates with many Faunus, and I suspect she'll replace her losses in men quickly. And if Captain Long's and Captain Belladonna's reports are accurate, she might be able to replace her materiel losses quickly as well." Ozpin moved around to his chair and sat down heavily. "I don't think Salem planned this attack. I think our assessment is correct. Ruby Flight tripped it early. It was too uncoordinated."

"She's not perfect, Ozpin. As well you know."

Ozpin nodded tiredly. "I do. But she's also not stupid. I don't think this was the main attack. Something worse is coming."

"That's what Torchwick said. And strangely enough, I believe him." Ironwood got to his feet. "I need to meet with Calavera. Is OSI still handling the investigation into the computer break-in?"

"Yes. So far, nothing."

"Let me know."

"Of course, James." Ozpin got to his feet and extended his hand. "Let me congratulate you, at least. SACEUR is quite something. You're following in the steps of some great men—Eisenhower, Patton IV, Abrams…"

The General took the hand. "Sure. Unless we fuck up something with Vytal Flag." Ironwood chuckled. "Still, worth it just to watch Jacques Schnee gnash his teeth. Winter's heading back to Germany later today to visit her family, see if there's anything to that White Fang business. I'm sure she'll throw that at him." He rolled his eyes. "How that bastard became the most powerful man in Europe, I'll never know."

"Money and lots of it." Ozpin sat back down. "All right, James. Dinner, later?"

"Sounds good. I'll buy." They shared a laugh at that. Ironwood threw Ozpin a half-assed salute, and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Ozpin turned in his chair, and spent some time staring at the window on the flightline. He watched Crescent Rose being towed to a new hardstand. "Silver eyes," he murmured. Then he turned back to his desk, pulled out the worn picture of the shyly smiling blonde woman, and rubbed a finger over it. "Salem," he whispered, "what are you thinking?"

That's the end of "On RWBY Wings." I've already posted the first chapter of the second "season," titled "On RWBY Wings II: Vytal Flag." The story of Ruby Flight is far from over. I'll keep writing as long as someone keeps reading.

Thanks to everyone who has read this story, left reviews, and lended their expertise and ideas. I hope you'll stick with the story. And thanks to Rooster Teeth and especially the late, great Monty Oum for creating such a wonderful series, such great characters, and allowing people like me to play in it a little.