AUTHOR'S NOTES: Back in the air for some dogfight action, finally. I probably need to apologize for throwing about a dozen names of Polish towns and cities at the reader, but it's the only way to keep track of what is going on, strategy wise. Maybe bring up Google Earth while you're reading this? (Geography lesson and a story. Tell me you don't learn anything from fanfics.) Ruby flying in her stockings and Yang without her G-suit has precedent: Phil Rasmussen famously took off during the Pearl Harbor attack wearing his pajamas, while the Blue Angels regularly fly without G-suits-which is pretty impressive, considering the manuevers they fly...
Poznan-Krezesiny Airbase
Poznan, Republic of Poland
20 August 2001
Ironwood's C-21A Learjet had barely come to a halt when the forward door and airstair came down; Ruby Rose did not so much run down them as she jumped. She tore across the tarmac to the hardstands that held Ruby Flight. Behind her, the rest of the 77th TFS—Ruby and Norn Flights, plus Qrow—came piling out after her.
Master Sergeant Arnold Vogelmord spotted Ruby coming. He went to the side of the hardstand and pulled off her flight suit from where it had been tossed over a box. "Evening, Captain!"
"Hey…Sarge!" Ruby puffed. She caught her breath. "What…what do we got?"
He pulled off the heavy ear protection. "The Poles took off about five minutes ago—"
"I know! They almost ran over us on the way in!" Ruby realized there was nowhere to change, and then decided to hell with modesty. She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled down her skirt; Vogelmord, embarrassed at seeing his pilot in her underwear, politely turned away. She blushed; Oscar had gotten her feeling sexy, and she'd worn lacy underthings that were better described as lingerie, all lace and roses and high cut. "What do you got me loaded with?"
"Full load of twenty mike, but just four Sidewinders!" He motioned to his ground crew, who were pulling the AIM-120 AMRAAMs out of their containers. It was not a small missile, and took three of them to heft. "We're loading your AMRAAMs—"
"Leave 'em!" Ruby ordered. "We'll go with what we've got!" She stole a glance into the air, half expecting to see GRIMM descending on the base. "Is she fueled?"
"Sure is, but internal only."
"Good enough!" Ruby pulled her flight suit over her shoulders and zipped it up. Vogelmord handed Ruby her G-suit, and whistled. The ground crew stopped and he waved them off. "Shit," he apologized to his pilot. "Forgot your boots, ma'am. I'll send Vulkan to go grab them—"
"Screw it!" Ruby slapped his shoulder. "Thanks, Sarge!" Ruby pulled off the low heeled dress shoes, handed them to Vogelmord, and ran up the ladder in her stockinged feet. She dropped into the F-16's inclined ejection seat and began strapping herself in. Vogelmord was right behind her with Ruby's helmet, and helped her. Within three minutes, she was ready to go. They shook hands, he dropped back down the ladder and removed it, and she lowered the canopy as she spooled up the engine.
"Ruby Flight, check in. Everyone here?"
"Four," Blake intoned, sounding calm.
"Three!" Yang checked in, a little out of breath. "Still trying to get my damn flight suit zipped up."
"Ruby Two, check?" Ruby asked. Weiss wasn't answering. Finally, after two tries, Weiss checked in.
Ruby switched frequencies to the tower. She didn't check in with Pyrrha or Qrow; it had been agreed on the twenty-minute flight from Zagan that Ruby wouldn't wait for the others or vice-versa: Ironwood had ordered a mass scramble so as not to get caught on the ground by the mass GRIMM attack he expected. There wasn't time for niceties like flight plans. This was an emergency: it was, in fighter pilot lexicon, time to kick the tires, light the fires, and the first one up was flight leader. "Poznan, Ruby, we're rolling." She did a quick check on either side to make sure her crew was clear, then began following Vogelmord's hand signals out of the revetment.
"Ruby Flight, Poznan Tower. You are number one for takeoff. Winds are light out of the north at five miles an hour, ceiling unlimited."
"Poznan Tower, thanks." She moved out onto the taxiway and saw Weiss, Yang and Blake falling in behind her. Down the line of revetments, she saw Norn Flight pulling out as well, with Qrow bringing up the rear; he was waiting for the flight ahead, and Ruby wondered if her uncle had even bothered changing out of his dress uniform. Ruby did a quick check as she went by, and she wasn't reassured: Pyrrha's F-22 was clean, which meant either she had a full load internally or was just taking off with the gun; Ren's J-10 carried just two Sidewinders and two AMRAAMs, as did Oscar's F-18; worst of all, Nora was loaded for air-to-ground, with Mavericks, rocket pods, and only a brace of Sidewinders. "Ruby Flight, alpha check," she called as she turned onto the runway.
"Ruby Two, four heats, full gun." Weiss was loaded with four IRIS.
"Ruby Three, ah, two heats, two radar, full gun." That was better, Ruby thought.
"Ruby Four, six radar, two heats, full gun." Ruby twisted around in her seat to look back at the F-14, but Weiss' Typhoon and Yang's F-23 blocked her view.
"Ruby Four, say again?"
"Ruby Four, six radar, two heats, full gun," Blake repeated. Whoa, Ruby thought. Blake's ground crew had broken some loading records. Reading Ruby's thoughts, Blake said, "Ruby Lead, I preloaded." That meant that Blake had Gambol Shroud loaded before they'd gone to Zagan. Trust a Marine to be prepared, Ruby grumbled to herself, at herself: she wished she'd thought of that.
She was already cleared, so Ruby rammed the throttle forward. Lightly loaded, Crescent Rose eagerly leapt into the air after only going halfway down the runway. Ruby stood the F-16 on its tail—partially to gain altitude at any incoming bandit, and partially because it was so cool to do so. She leveled off at 25,000 feet. "Haisla, Ruby, checking in."
Fifty miles to the west, over a strangely dark Berlin, the AWACS orbited. Luckily, Watts could not hack the E-3—Ruby hoped, anyway. "Ruby, Haisla, what's your flight?"
"Ruby Flight is one Fox Sixteen, one Typhoon, one Fox Twenty-Three, and one Fox Fourteen." She couldn't help but smile beneath the mask. Next to Norn Flight, Ruby Flight probably had the weirdest makeup of any unit in Poland. Ruby corrected herself: there was always the flying museum that the Happy Huntresses had. They were still back at Zagan; Robyn had scrambled her aircraft from across northern Poland, but her command flight was staying with her. Glad to know she trusts us so damn much, Ruby groused.
"Ruby, Haisla, roger. Assume orbit at Waypoint Alpha."
"Er, Haisla, Ruby…we don't know where that is," Ruby admitted; they'd left their maps on the ground, and naturally there had been no briefing. "Kind of in a hurry."
"Understood, Ruby. Waypoint Alpha is at Kepno." Ruby checked her navigational display: Kepno was about sixty miles to the southeast. As she heard Pyrrha check in, Ruby switched on her radar. Ahead of her were several groups of blips, all orbiting around waypoints. That didn't seem right. She waited for Pyrrha to finish—the AWACS sounded a bit confused at the presence of Nora's A-10—then broke in. "Haisla, Ruby, do you have trade?"
"Negative, Ruby. Nothing on scope yet."
As Ruby turned east, she thought that was very strange.
Schnee Manor North
Zagan, Republic of Poland
20 August 2001
"What do you mean there's nothing out there?" Ironwood shouted into the radio handset. Not trusting Jacques Schnee's phone network, he had instructed Winter to bring a Hammer Ace satellite radio backpack, in case he needed to communicate with his command post.
"Nothing, sir," one of his lieutenants reported. "We've got four AWACS in the air to cover the loss of ground radar, and they're reporting clean scopes."
Ironwood rubbed his temples. This made no sense. "All right, Lieutenant. Keep me informed." He hung up the headset and leaned against a table. There was a polite clearing of a throat, and he looked up at Reinhard Sleet, Camilla Dias, and Jacques Schnee, who were still seated at the long banquet table. Winter stood behind and to one side of Ironwood, right where an aide was supposed to be. Penny was there as well, looking thoroughly worried and bewildered at the same time. Robyn Hill was not there, but she had left to go talk to her Huntresses; Ace Ops had flown out just behind Ruby Flight, in another C-21, to Berlin where their F-35s were. "Power is still down across Poland, and eastern Germany. Pretty much everything between the Vistula and the Elbe is without power. Places with emergency power are online, but that's all."
"What kind of danger are we in?" Dias asked.
"Our ground radars are supplemented by air radar—our AWACS," Ironwood explained. "Watts can't get into those. But right now, they're reporting that there is nothing on radar."
"You expected something, General." Sleet didn't ask a question, but made a statement.
"Yes. I expected us to be hit with everything. So far…nothing."
"Why?"
Ironwood hated to admit it, but he had to. "I don't know."
"Perhaps it's merely accidental," Jacques said. His earlier swagger was gone. Having been caught on video collaborating with a criminal meant his days of freedom might be numbered.
"Shut up," Ironwood growled.
"Surely we must be able to trace this Watts character somehow," Dias said. "Find out where he's hiding."
"We will," Winter told her. "But more than likely he's going to be mobile."
Ironwood resisted the urge to slam a fist into the table. It was happening again. Watts had caught him unaware again. He heard the door open behind him and turned. "Yep, still here everyone." Robyn Hill returned to the dining room. She had changed from her ladies' business suit to her tailored flight suit, which Ironwood had to admit to himself rather flattered the tall woman's figure. "My command flight is waiting at Zagan, but since my bunch isn't detecting anything either, I figure I have some time for questions—for you, General Ironwood."
Ironwood almost told her to go to hell, but remembered Oscar Pine's advice, of all things. He got his temper under control. "I'm listening, Miss Hill."
"Very good, General." She ticked off the points on her fingers. "How do a disgraced scientist and a serial killer pilot find each other, especially when they're both supposed to be dead? Why would they target you? And why are you working so hard to hide Commando Solo from them—and us?" It was the second time Robyn had brought up Commando Solo, Ironwood thought. Then again, Robyn had contacts all over Poland, and if she had spotted the EC-130 at Poznan, it wouldn't have taken her long to figure it out. She got uncomfortably close to him. "I used to think you were hiding something to cover your own ass, General. But now, I think there's something bigger going on here. You're not protecting you; you're protecting Europe. Maybe the world. And now?" Robyn met his gaze without flinching. "Now you're frightened what might happen if you tell the truth."
He hesitated. Before he could say anything else, the Hammer Ace beeped for his attention. Winter picked it up. "Colonel Schnee." The room was silent as she listened. "Yes. Thank you, Lieutenant." She put down the headset and turned to Ironwood. "Haisla has picked up a formation of GRIMM near the ruins of Przemsyl, about a hundred miles east of Krakow. Raid count is fourteen, unknown type."
"Is that all?" Ironwood asked.
"So far."
"Winter, is there a—" Robyn pulled a map from the knee pocket of her flight suit, and spread it out over the table. The two councilmembers joined them; Jacques rose, but Winter stopped him with a cold look, and he remained in his seat. Ironwood tapped his finger on Przemsyl—or where the city would be, had it not been radioactive ruins—and then on Krakow, the closest intact city. "Probably here. The air GRIMM will soften up our ground defenses, and follow up with a ground assault." He swept a hand up the long bow of the Vistula River. It bulged to the east, making a long curve to what had been Warsaw, before turning west to a town named Torun, then making a straight line north to the Gulf of Gdansk and the Baltic. "Our main defense line goes from Krakow to Lodz to Torun. If Krakow falls, it unhinges that line. This," he said, spreading his hands over the map, "this is what I was afraid would happen. We need to hold Krakow."
"What we need," Robyn said forcefully, "is to evacuate Krakow. There's a large civilian population there, General."
"I agree, Miss Hill," Ironwood replied, "but not yet. I have one regiment of the 1st Armored Division there right now, plus three Polish infantry regiments. I'll need to reinforce with the two armored regiments at Katowice and Gilwice to the west. I need those roads open—not choked with refugee traffic."
"You just said that Krakow's important, and you're only going to defend it with three regiments?" Robyn asked, her voice rising. She pushed her hand across the map. "Why not send the whole damn 1st Armored down there?"
"Because that leaves me open around Lodz. I only have three American and four Polish divisions, Miss Hill. If I still had my fourth division—" Ironwood looked pointedly at the councilmembers "—I wouldn't be spread so thin."
"But you need to hold Krakow! Protect the people, General—isn't that why your divisions are even here?" Robyn was nearly yelling at this point.
Sleet came around the table and got between them. "Just a moment, please!" He turned to Ironwood. "General, I don't understand. You're talking as if the GRIMM have a plan. They're not sentient. They're just robots. Whatever programming they have, they simply react."
"They're like locusts," Camilla put in helpfully.
Sleet nodded. "Camilla's right, General. And you're talking as if they have some sort of overarching strategy."
Ironwood again hesitated, his conscience warring with his fear of compromising operational security and causing a panic. Winter opened her mouth, then shut it again, afraid of going against the general's orders.
It was Penny, who had been quiet and forgotten, who stepped forward. "General?" she said in a small voice. All eyes went to her. "Sir, with respect. The panic you were worried about? Sir, that's happening, with the power out. The secrets we've kept? They're about to be in the open anyway. You should tell them, sir." She looked at her shoes. "That's what my father would say if he was here, sir."
Ironwood stared at her for a long moment, then glanced at Winter. She gave a nod so short that the others probably missed it; Winter would always back him up. "All right." He pointed to Jacques. "But I want him out of here before I say anything further."
"This is my house!" Jacques protested. "And I am a councilman of the European Union—"
"Security!" Winter shouted. A moment later, two of the Schnee company security men arrived. She walked to her father. "Gentlemen, my father is under arrest. You will handcuff him and take him to his bedroom, and lock him in. He is not to be let out unless I order it."
The security men hesitated, and Jacques shot to his feet, trying to regain control. "This is ridiculous!" he yelled. "You can't arrest me! On what charges?"
"Conspiracy," Ironwood answered. He looked at Sleet and Camilla. "Wouldn't you agree?"
"We would," Camilla replied. "However, there is the matter of jurisdiction."
"We are at war," Ironwood said. "Therefore, I have jurisdiction. Jacques Schnee is a threat to my troops and the security of my operations zone. Wouldn't you agree, Councilwoman?"
It was twisting the law a bit—in theory, Ironwood would have to declare martial law for that to work—but Camilla nodded all the same. "I agree."
Winter raised an eyebrow at the security men. Both quickly walked forward, pushed Jacques to the table, and handcuffed him. His protests fell on deaf ears as he was hauled out.
"And now that that is taken care of…" Ironwood motioned towards the seats. "Councilmembers, Miss Hill…I suggest you sit down for this one. Because I'm going to tell you one hell of a story."
"You said 'she's coming' earlier, General," Robyn reminded him. She did not sit.
"I did," Ironwood agreed. "Her name is Salem."
Ruby and Norn Flights
Near Kepno, Republic of Poland
20 August 2001
"Ruby, Norn, Haisla. I have trade for you." Ruby, who had been in a lazy orbit over the dark landscape of Poland below—at least there was a half-moon, providing some illumination—gave a start.
"Ruby, go," Ruby answered.
"Formation of bandits detected near Rzeszow, distance 160, bearing three-zero-zero, course one-eight-zero, speed five hundred. Raid count is fourteen—twelve Beowolves, two Taijitu. Target is believed to be Krakow."
Ruby quickly worked out time and distance in her head, and didn't like the answer. Even if all nine aircraft went supersonic—seven, she corrected herself; Qrow's F-117 was not supersonic, and Nora's A-10 was even slower than him—they would get there just too late. The Taijitu, the GRIMM light bombers, the smaller version of the immense Nevermores, would get at least one run at Krakow. Then she looked out of the canopy at Pyrrha's F-22, down and to her left. "Norn Lead, Ruby Lead."
"Norn Lead, go," Pyrrha replied.
"Norn, take Ruby Three and Four and buster for target. We'll come up as fast as we can. You're the fastest of all of us, and Ruby Four's got the most missiles." In theory, she knew she should run the plan by Qrow first, as squadron commander, but there wasn't time.
Pyrrha didn't question the plan, trusting Ruby's judgement. "Understood. Ruby Three, Four, join on me." She didn't wait for an answer, but accelerated. Even without its afterburners, the Raptor could crack the speed of sound, and Pyrrha engaged her afterburners. Yang and Blake accelerated as well.
"Ruby Flight, Norn Flight, follow them, best speed!" Qrow's F-117 dropped down from where it had been orbiting above them, invisible in the darkness and to radar. "Norn Four and I will catch up." He was ceding command to Ruby.
Pyrrha glanced down at her instrument panel as her speed exceeded twice the speed of sound. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it, as there must have been fifty years before; the F-22 went through the Mach barrier without so much as a bump. She was thankful for the moonlight, which at least gave her some sense of the ground sliding by below; had there been no moon, the darkness could easily make even the best pilot get confused and fly into the ground, convinced they were flying straight and level.
She hated to do it, but Pyrrha activated her radar: it made the F-22's stealth somewhat useless, as the GRIMM would now know where she was. The radar quickly found the GRIMM formation and locked onto the four closest targets. She had two AMRAAM and two Sidewinders, and knew Yang had the same; with fourteen targets, that meant every shot had to count. The Taijitu were the biggest threat to the people below; the Beowolves were secondary. The problem was, they had to get the Beowolves to get to the Taijitu. As the closing speed exceeded the speed of sound, Pyrrha began pulling the throttle back. "Yang, Pyrrha, slowing down." Two clicks of the mike; Yang was listening. "Blake, hang back, engage at long-range. We'll draw off as many fighters as we can; take shots as you are able, but the Taijitu are your objective."
"Roger." Blake also slowed down and began a circle to open the distance: loaded with four Phoenixes, she was already in range. The problem was, she had to be able to sort the Taijitu from the Beowolves. She switched on Gambol Shroud's radar, and deployed the decoys. This should give them something to think about.
Yang watched the distance spin down. She'd turned on her radar as well; the GRIMM knew everyone was here now, but she didn't care. 28 miles. 27 miles. Her radar beeped as it locked onto the two nearest targets. Four Beowolves had split from the main formation and were accelerating to close, to intercept Pyrrha and Yang as far away from the two bombers as possible. "Padlocked on the two rear bandits," Yang called out.
"Padlocked on the front two," Pyrrha replied.
"Blake, Fox Three!" Yang couldn't resist looking over. Two shooting stars appeared in the darkness, then shot upwards as the Phoenixes climbed to 60,000 feet to find their prey. Blake had to keep her radar on for now, to give the two big AIM-54s a chance to lock on with their own, and Yang saw on her radar that some Beowolves were now running towards her. The Faunus took no chances. "Blake, Fox Three!" Two more missiles dropped away from the F-14's centerline and roared away. The bombers were forty miles off, well within the Phoenixes' parameters.
"Pyrrha, Fox Three." Yang thought Pyrrha sounded bored. The doors on the F-22's fuselage opened for a split-second and shoved two AMRAAMs into the slipstream, where they ignited a half-second later. The missiles shot forward, too fast to see.
Yang's heart beat faster; she wasn't bored. "Yang, Fox Three!" She pressed the trigger, though only once; she didn't trust that the missiles wouldn't guide on the same target. The F-23's bay doors worked the same as the Raptor's. There was a distinct clunk. She'd closed her eyes so she wouldn't be blinded by the missile exhaust, but Yang opened one. There was nothing. The bay doors were closed, according to the light on the instrument panel, but there was no missile. "What the hell?" Yang said aloud, then realized what had happened: the AMRAAM had glitched. It had been launched, but the missile motor hadn't lit off, and it had simply fallen away from the aircraft, hopefully not to land on some poor Polish farmer's head far below. "Missile shot trashed!" Yang filled the air—but luckily not the radio net—with horribly filthy words.
"Pyrrha, splash one." Yang left off cursing and saw a yellow explosion blossom for a moment, then die. Pyrrha had drawn first blood. A brief flash of moonlight on wings as another Beowulf dived, trying to get away. The manuever didn't save the drone: Pyrrha's second missile found it a moment later and blotted it from the sky. "Splash two."
Then Yang saw the other two Beowolves. Her metal hand switched to Sidewinders, now acting without Yang's conscious thought. The two GRIMM came straight at her, so she rolled to the right, taking them down the left side. The lead Beowolf fired two missiles, but the closing rate was too fast and Ember Celica too stealthy, so both went ballistically past. The drone pulled into a tight turn to get in behind Yang, but the second GRIMM was a trifle too slow, and was thrown away from its leader.
Pyrrha, who had climbed, saw Yang and her two GRIMM below her. "Yang, take the slow one—I've got the other."
Yang, puffing into the mask, clicked the mike twice, too busy to acknowledge. The GRIMM, detecting the F-23 bearing down on it, climbed. Yang counted one second off, then snapped upwards, seeing the Beowolf's glowing tailpipe. "Yang, Fox Two!" She pulled the trigger and, though Yang considered herself agnostic, threw out a quick prayer anyway.
It was answered. The Sidewinder worked perfectly and guided into the Beowolf, blowing it apart. She threw Ember Celica to the left and dived. Now she had to trust Pyrrha. "Pyrrha, splash three." A quick glance behind, and a Beowulf was tumbling, on fire. One kill for me, three for Pyr, Yang thought. Two missiles left for me, one for Pyr.
"Blake, splash one Taijitu!" The Faunus' voice was elated, and Yang saw the briefest new star on the horizon, followed by a fireball that headed downwards. the first two Phoenixes had scored.
Blake, now that the last two Phoenixes could guide themselves, accelerated and joined the fight. It was still three to eight, but those were workable odds. She checked the radar display in the center of the instrument panel, and saw with alarm that there were now only four Beowolves and the remaining Taijitu. That made no sense, unless…
Blake dropped the nose of the Tomcat and searched frantically, her Faunus night vision far superior that her human friends. Then she saw them: four Beowolves, below and climbing—right behind Yang and Pyrrha. "Oh shit!" she yelled, and mashed the radio button. "Yang, Pyrrha, four Beowolves at your five, climbing!"
Yang had ended up out in front, Pyrrha behind. The latter kicked the tail of Crocea Mors around, but the Beowolves, either by accident or design, were squarely in her blind spot. "Pyrrha, no joy!" she cried, even as her Radar Warning Receiver whined for her attention as the lead GRIMM locked on and fired.
"Pyrrha, break right!" Blake screamed. The F-22 rolled hard, its stealth saving it as the first missile spun past. The other lost lock, but then found a new target: Yang. "Yang, break left!"
"Motherfucker!" Yang shouted, and pulled hard. That missile missed, but detonated anyway as its proximity sensor detected something nearby. Yang felt the stick wobble in her hand as something hit the aircraft. No alarms or warning lights came on, so Yang had to ignore it.
Blake flung herself at the GRIMM formation, determined that they would fire no more missiles. Two of the Beowolves broke away and met her charge head on. She resisted the temptation to duck lower in her seat as the cannon shells—tiny little green flares of death—crisscrossed above her canopy. The GRIMM were shooting high, their sensors distracted by the decoys, but at the last moment, must have realized they were chasing ghosts. The Beowolves split, one going high, the other low. Blake held course for half a second, then rolled and dived, a quick glance at her altimeter telling her she wasn't going to dive into the ridge below.
She was betting that the GRIMM would pull up before it hit the ground as well, and she was right. The Beowolf came out from under the F-14's nose, and her Sidewinders began to growl in her ear as their seeker heads picked up the heat of the enemy. "Blake, Fox Two!" she called, and pulled the trigger. The Sidewinder flew off the rail—and missed, unable to break the GRIMM out of the ground clutter. Blake bared her teeth and dropped her flaps for a moment, keeping the Beowolf out front.
"Blake, Yang, there's a GRIMM on your tail!" Yang was in a hard turn, trying to get back around. Pyrrha had gone into a climb, pulling the remaining two Beowolves after her: the GRIMM could not match the Raptor's climb rate and gave up, but it bought a few precious seconds. In her haste to get into the air, Yang had left her G-suit behind. Blackness crowded her vision, and she bore down hard and screamed as loud as she could to keep oxygen in her brain. As she came out of the turn and her vision cleared, Yang idly wondered if she'd born down too hard; this was not a time to have a gastric accident.
Blake heard Yang's warning, but she was determined the GRIMM in front of her was not going to escape a second time. She fired again, and this time the missile guided. The Beowolf broke left, but this only made the Sidewinder's job easier: it snaked into the drone and hit it right in the middle. The GRIMM disintegrated as its fuel tanks touched off, and Blake blinked as she flew past the fireball. "Goodbye, asshole," she murmured, blinked a few more times to get her night vision back, and looked behind her. The Beowolf fired its cannon, and she climbed away from the tracer. "Yang, shoot this fucker off my tail! I'm dragging him!" Though it went against every instinct and common sense, Blake pulled the throttle back, dumping speed.
"Roger, Blake, rolling in!" Yang readied her last Sidewinder, but realized as it growled, eager to go hunt, that the seeker might be looking at the GRIMM—or it might be looking at the Tomcat. "Blake, no joy, I can't tell who it's tracking!"
Blake pushed the throttle back up and climbed as another cone of tracers tried to get her. The Beowolf followed her into the climb. Blake had the odd sensation of her rear end puckering as she waited for the shot that would end all of her problems. Then she finally rolled right. "Get him, Yang!"
"Yang, Fox Two!" It was a split-second shot, because the GRIMM was outlined against the dark night. The missile tracked perfectly and the Beowolf vanished in a fireball. "Yang, splash two!"
The AWACS had been waiting to break into the fight, remaining quiet to avoid distracting the pilots. "Blake, Haisla, your other Phoenixes missed. Taijitu still in the fight. Time is 2230 local, out."
"Shit," Blake growled. She joined up on Yang. "Raid count now five."
"Seven," Yang corrected. "Two Beos were biting at Pyrrha's ass."
"They still are!" Pyrrha yelled. She had dived back into the fight, only to find the two Beowolves had waited in ambush—which was much better than their usual programming. Now both were on her tail, and it had taken all of her considerable ability to stay alive. She had flown at the bomber, selflessly hoping it would turn away, but that only left her sandwiched in between two flights of GRIMM.
"Yang, take the GRIMM to the east! Pyrrha, Blake, hold what you got; I'm at your six high."
"Roger," Pyrrha panted into her mask. Yang didn't acknowledge, but Blake saw the F-23 curve away in her peripheral vision.
Blake switched to the gun and closed in. The Beowolf detected her and tried to split away, making it a deflection shot, but it was too late: Blake's Vulcan cannon tore a wing away. She didn't bother riding her kill, staying on the other Beowolf. "Pyrrha, dive for the deck and get ready to break!" The other pilot didn't reply, but Blake saw the Raptor go into a shallow drop. The GRIMM easily followed, but then Blake called, "Break now, Pyrrha!" The F-22 skidded, coming dangerously close to the trees on the ridge below, almost invisible in the darkness, but it gave Blake her shot. She used the rest of her cannon ammunition to destroy the Beowolf. "Blake, splash, um, three?" She wasn't sure in the confusion of the battle.
"Yang, Fox Three!" Yang's last AMRAAM worked, and it found yet another Beowolf. There were now three Beowolves left and the Taijitu—and Blake realized in horror they were over the Vistula. Krakow was directly behind them.
They'd failed.
"Pyrrha, Yang, Blake!" Ruby's voice blasted through their earphones. "Break off and squawk flash, now, now, now!"
Yang, who had used all her missiles, but was determined to get at least one gun kill this night, heard the panic in Ruby's voice. She broke off and climbed hard, fighting the pull of gravity to switch on her IFF. Blake and Pyrrha did the same, both clearing the area. "We're sweet!" the Faunus shouted, abandoning radio protocol in haste—Ruby rarely got scared, and if she was, there was a good reason. She looked to the north, where the remaining Ruby and Norn Flights would be, and her jaw dropped.
It wasn't one or two shooting stars; it was a constellation of them. For a wild moment, Blake thought Penny had arrived with her B-1, but it wasn't her: instead, Ruby had ordered Ren and Oscar to salvo their AMRAAMs like a shotgun blast, one desperate attempt to stop the GRIMM before they reached Krakow. There were four targets, and six AMRAAMs. Blake crammed on the power, ignoring the fact that she was using a great deal of fuel and providing a perfect, glowing target for any marauding Beowolves who might also be out there; AMRAAMs would guide on anything to their front, and she was entirely too close.
Ruby's gambit succeeded—almost. The three remaining Beowolves vanished as each took two missiles. The larger Taijitu survived the barrage and continued to close in. It was still a mile from its bomb run, but now they had to be concerned that if it was shot down, the laden bomber would still crash into the city.
Weiss knew it too. She alone hadn't fired a shot, Ruby telling her to clean up with her heatseekers if anything survived. Something had, but Weiss' finger froze over the trigger, in her mind's eye seeing the Taijitu falling like a meteor into the city's suburbs and killing hundreds when its bombs detonated in the crash. Then she had an idea, and rammed the throttle forward.
Blake came out of afterburner and came around; she still had missiles left. To her horror, she thought Weiss was going to ram the GRIMM as she hurtled towards it. Fear closed her throat as she watched the purple glow of the Typhoon's afterburners light up the sky, all too close to the bomber.
At the last moment, Weiss shoved the stick to the right, missing a head-on collision by mere feet. Her plan had worked: the Taijitu's self-preservation program, designed to keep it on a bomb run but not be destroyed before it, kicked in, and the bomber rolled to the left, abandoning its run and taking it north of the city, where there was far less population. "Ren!" Weiss struggled out, fighting the Gs as Myrtenaster audibly groaned with the strain.
"Ren, Fox Two!" Two Sidewinders detached from the J-10, impacting the Taijitu seconds later. The bomber flew on, wounded and trailing flames. "Take him, Oscar!" Ren instructed, overshooting the bomber.
Oscar didn't use missiles. He dropped in behind the Taijitu and raked it with his cannon. The GRIMM staggered and finally went down, going up in a huge explosion when it hit the ground. "Oscar, splash one Taijitu."
"Haisla, Ruby, clear skies." The relief was palpable in Ruby's voice.
"Girls," Yang theatrically yawned over the radio net, "it's been one hell of a night."
It sure has, Blake agreed silently. But is it the first of many?