ON RWBY WINGS V: ARMAGEDDON
Part V of "On RWBY Wings"
An Alternate Universe RWBY Fanfiction
By Sentinel 28II
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: It is August 2001. Ruby Flight—Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao Long—have made their long journey west with Norn Flight (Pyrrha Nikos, Oscar Pine, Lie Ren, and Nora Valkyrie) to Europe. Now officially dubbed the 77th Tactical Fighter Squadron and reporting directly to General James Ironwood, Ruby and Norn Flights are to help NATO forces defend the Polish frontier from a possible invasion by the GRIMM, led by the enigmatic Salem.
But there are other threats besides the GRIMM. The United States' use of banned orbital weapons during the Battle of Beacon has angered the European Union, who have imposed an embargo on American goods and military reinforcements, at the behest of Jacques Schnee, the head of the powerful Schnee GmbH consortium. While the embargo hurts the economy of both the US and the EU, Ironwood has defied the EU and massed four American divisions in Poland to await the supposed GRIMM offensive he believes is inevitable. Europe is a powder keg, and the only question is who will light the fuse…
Poznan-Krezsiny Airbase
Poznan, Republic of Poland
14 August 2001
Ruby Rose stared at the ceiling tiles, aimed, and threw a pencil straight into them.
"Are you bored, Ruby?" Penny Polendina asked with concern.
"Does it show?" Ruby replied. With effort, she levered herself out of the bunk, jumped up, and missed the pencil. "Shit."
"Ruby, language!" Penny admonished.
Ruby tried again and got the pencil. "Penny, you've been around fighter pilots for literally your entire life. We cuss a lot. Don't you get tired of correcting us?"
"Not at all," Penny said brightly. "My father Pietro tells me that bad language is the sign of an uninventive mind."
Ruby almost told her that Pietro had clearly never been around Taiyang Xiao Long when he stubbed his toe, because her father could be extremely inventive when that happened, but decided against it. Instead, she flopped back onto the bunk. "Just wish the Danish would hurry up and let us know that the C-5 is in their airspace. These missions are boring enough without having to wait around."
"But they are necessary," Penny informed her. "Maintaining three divisions of US Army equipment requires spare parts that only the US Air Force's heavy transports can bring in. And because those transports are very vulnerable to GRIMM attack, we have to escort them in from the embargo line in the North Sea."
Ruby bit back a retort that she knew damn well what the mission was; they had only been flying them every day for a week, to the point that Ruby didn't need her Inertial Navigation System to know every mile of the ground between the coast of Denmark and Poznan-Krezsiny Airbase. When Ruby and Norn Flights—now known officially as the 77th Tactical Fighter Squadron—had divided up the various duties required of the new unit, Ruby had enthusiastically volunteered for the escort missions. Fat, slow transports were GRIMM bait, and it seemed the best way to get some combat time—and catch up to her sister Yang, who was leading Ruby Flight in kills. Instead, the escort missions were a crashing bore. The GRIMM had not bothered with the C-5 Galaxies, C-141 Starlifters, or C-17 Globemaster IIIs. Meanwhile, Yang and Blake, who had volunteered for Vistula River barrier combat air patrols, were seeing action on a regular basis. Despite coming very close to death on so many occasions she had lost count, Ruby didn't seem to realize that her sister and friend's BARCAP missions were a good way to get killed—but then again, Ruby was a young fighter pilot, and death was what happened to other people. She was too young, too cute, and too good to die.
Besides, it wasn't Penny's fault that she talked the way she did. Penny was a clone, and technically she was only four months old. "It just makes for long…very long…days," Ruby moaned.
Penny conceded the point and stared out the window. "At least it's a beautiful day." It was: high summer in northern Europe was arguably the best time of the year for a continent where the rest of the year could be dreary. The sky was clear and blue; beyond the base fence were blooming flowers, green grass, and pleasant forest. Penny's smile became wistful: between her and the fence were the four fighters of the escort force: Ruby's F-16C Fighting Falcon, Qrow Branwen's heavily modified F-117A Nighthawk, Clover Ebi's brand-new F-35A Lightning II, and her own B-1B Lancer—also heavily modified. "I do wish that we were in the air too, Ruby." There was no answer, and Penny saw Ruby had fallen asleep. She raised her voice. "Ruby!"
"What?" Ruby opened one eye, and then yawned. "What is it?"
"I just wanted to say that I too am a little bored." Penny sighed happily. "And to say how excited I am to be working with you in a professional capacity. And as friends."
Ruby chuckled and sat up. "Me too, Penny." She shook her head in wonder that she was even speaking with Penny Polendina. She had first met the redhaired girl at Beacon, but then Penny got killed when her experimental B-1 was infected with a virus and began targeting airliners over Chicago. Pyrrha Nikos had been forced to kill her at Penny's own request. Then, a few months later when Ruby and Norn Flights had arrived over Poland, they had suddenly been supported by another B-1—and found that it was flown by none other than Penny. This was not the same girl, however: both Pennies were clones, experiments of their own by their "father" Pietro Polendina, to mass produce pilots. To Pietro—and to Ruby—Penny was more than just a weapons system. She was a dear friend, and the last week had been spent very productively getting to know Penny all over again, and vice-versa. "Speaking of friends…have you been able to make any since, well…you know."
Penny's smile faltered. "Not…really. I mean, when Ciel Soliel was killed at Beacon…I never knew her, of course, but I don't have anyone like her. And General Ironwood says I really don't have time for friends." She sighed and looked out the window again. "I feel like I wish I could do the things I have to do and the things I want to do. Is that normal? Is that what real girls do?"
Ruby laughed. "That's about as real as it gets, Penny."
"That's an interesting philosophical discussion you're having over there," Qrow Branwen called out. He was sitting at a table on the other side of the room from the bunk. "It's a lot better than what's going on over here." He stared down at Clover's full house, then up at the other pilot.
Clover shrugged. "Hey, told you I was lucky. You're in to me for 200 bucks right now. Want to call it quits?"
Qrow scowled. "Hell no. Shut up and deal. You're either lucky or you're cheating, but either way I'm gonna get you."
Clover laughed and shuffled the cards, then dealt them. He dropped his voice. "I tell you, that niece of yours is one of a kind. I've been working with Penny for the last month, and I've never seen her this happy."
"They all are," Qrow told him. "Been through a lot together."
"Sounds like you helped."
Qrow rolled his eyes. "Nope. I haven't done squat, really. They did the work." He wasn't about to tell Clover that his drinking had nearly killed them all in Turkmenistan. "Once upon a time, I would've drank to that."
Clover dealt the cards. "You shouldn't do that, you know."
"I gave that up. Drinking, I mean." Qrow held up his bottle of water. He'd been dry for almost three weeks now. It hadn't been easy. There had been times his body had been craving alcohol with an intensity that scared him. He'd caught himself going down to the bar, promising that he would just have one drink, and nothing more. Whenever he did that, he would either divert himself to the gym—where usually someone he knew was there, like Pyrrha or Yang—or, if things got very bad, he would call Winter. She was good at making sure he didn't drink a drop, one way or the other. It was getting easier.
"I meant deflect compliments," Clover corrected him. He thumbed at Ruby. "Those kids wouldn't be where they are without you. I read the reports. You've had more of an effect on them than you realize."
Qrow's reply was lost in the sudden ringing of the alert klaxon. Ruby was off the bunk and out the door before even Penny could react, but she was right behind her friend. Clover and Qrow checked their cards, shook their heads, and ran out after them.
Their aircraft were already fueled and armed. The ground crew swarmed over the aircraft, taking off safety pins on the weapons and the ejection seats, removing the covers from the Sidewinder missiles' infrared seeker heads, making last postflight checks. One crewman at Penny's B-1 pressed a button on the converted bomber's nose gear, immediately switching on the INS, aircraft systems, and engines—a useful leftover from the B-1's days as a strategic bomber. As they dashed to their aircraft, a Polish major, the commander of the base's small contingent of F-16s, caught up to Qrow. "Bogies sighted on radar to the north!"
"How many?" Qrow puffed.
"Just four, but they're angling on your transport's track! The C-5 just crossed into Danish airspace."
"Thanks!" Qrow shouted the information to the others as he turned off to board his F-117. Penny dashed up the ladder into the B-1, while Ruby took her ladder two steps at a time before dropping into the seat. Her crew chief, Master Sergeant Arnold Vogelmord, helped her strap in, one foot balanced on the ladder and the other on the canopy rim. Straps, radio connection, oxygen mask connection, G-suit connection, the spurlike devices on her flight suit boots that hooked into the ejection seat, to keep her legs from flailing if she had to eject—all were snapped into place in seconds. Vogelmord slapped her helmet, slid down the ladder, and quickly removed it as the canopy dropped down and locked. Ruby quickly switched on the INS, waited a second for it to align, then moved up the throttle to idle as the ground crew pulled the chocks. Satisfied that the F-16 was clear of all foreign objects, Vogelmord guided Ruby out of the revetment with hand signals, stood to one side, and as Ruby drew even with him, snapped her a sharp salute. Ruby returned it with similar sharpness, then moved onto the taxiway. "Poznan Tower, Ruby Lead, rolling."
"Roger, Ruby," the tower controller said crisply. "Winds are out of the north at three knots, temperature is 65 degrees, ceiling unlimited. You are cleared to Runway 24 Right, takeoff at your discretion." The controller paused in case she needed to break into the conversation. "Bogies are at 35 miles, bearing one-zero-one, course one-seven-nine, angels 20. Negative squawk. Contact Haisla on channel three."
Ruby checked over her shoulder. Clover was following her, with Qrow and Penny's hulking B-1 just behind the odd-looking Nighthawk. "Ruby to Ripper Flight, everyone get that? Check in." Though she was junior to both Clover and Qrow, they rotated flight lead assignments, and today it was hers. They had named their temporary flight Ripper, because no one could come up with anything else from RCQP, unlike RWBY-the initial of Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang.
"Clover."
"Qrow."
"Penny!"
"Combat takeoff procedure," Ruby ordered as she swung onto the runway. There was no waiting for everyone to get lined up: it was a scramble. Behind Penny's B-1, the Polish F-16s were moving as well: there might be only four aircraft on radar, but there might be others coming in below radar coverage. The GRIMM didn't usually do things like that—subtlety was not in the enemy drones' programming—but GRIMM weren't the only threats, and the Poles in particular knew the lesson of not getting caught on the ground. Ruby pushed the throttle to the stops, was pushed back in her seat as her afterburner lit, and Crescent Rose ate up the runway. She was groomed for GRIMM: two AIM-9L Sidewinders on the wingtips, four AIM-120 AMRAAMs under the wings, and a centerline drop tank. She'd keep the latter as long as she could. It made the F-16 a little heavy, and she didn't rotate the nose upwards until Ruby was two-thirds down the runway. She felt the main gears come free and immediately cycled the gear up, then pulled back on the sidestick and climbed, grabbing altitude, one of the biggest advantages in a dogfight. The altimeter wound steadily, as did the airspeed—the F-16 being one of the few aircraft that could acclerate going straight up—then she leveled out at 30,000 feet and turned north. A quick check behind her showed Clover following her, with Qrow and Penny somewhat lower. Of the four of them, only the F-16 wasn't stealthy.
"Ruby, Clover, call it."
"Roger." Ruby didn't have to think about it. "Penny, you and me are eyeball; Clover, you and Qrow are shooters." She reached forward and switched on her radar. Whoever the bogies were, they would know now that someone was looking at them. With any luck, they would turn south to engage, rather than try to catch the C-5 over East Germany. However, the bogies' radar would only detect Ruby and Penny's radars; they would not "see" Clover or Qrow, allowing the two men to ambush them.
"Ruby, Penny. I am locked onto four targets—targets are classified as one Mirage-type aircraft, one Alpha Jet, one Hunter, one Harrier. Negative GRIMM."
Clover, who had been listening, broke into the conversation. "Penny, Clover. Stay locked, but hold fire. Bogies are the Happy Huntresses."
Ruby switched her radio frequency to Guard, the one frequency everyone listened to. "Unidentified aircraft south of Koszalin, this is Ripper Lead. Identify yourselves." Her own radar beeped for her attention, showing that it was now locked onto the lead aircraft. "Identify yourselves or you will be fired upon."
On the radar, the four aircraft turned south, and Ruby checked the range—25 miles, just within AMRAAM range. Her finger closed on the trigger, but then the radar beeped again as the four bogies switched on their Identification Friend or Foe—and it came back friendly. "Unidentified aircraft, buddy spike."
"Ripper Lead, this is Huntress Lead. Glad we got your attention. Wonder if we might drop into Poznan for a spot of tea."
Ruby relaxed her trigger finger. Huntress Lead was Robyn Hill. Then Ruby cursed, because one, it wasn't GRIMM, and two, that had been a damned stupid stunt the Happy Huntresses had pulled. It was a good way to get shot down. She decided to defer to Clover. "Ripper Two, Lead. Your call."
"Ripper Lead, confirm. Break. Huntress Lead, you are cleared to land—ahead of us."
"Roger that, Ripper Two. See you."
It took less than ten minutes to get everyone back on the ground—the Poles had barely gotten a flight up before it was already over. They headed for the Vistula, figuring that if they were up, they might as well go look for trouble. Ruby admired their aggressiveness, but was less than pleased as she radioed Haisla, the Boeing E-3 AWACS orbiting west of Berlin, to assign the escort to someone else. She landed smoothly and taxied back to her revetment, feeling stupid. Ruby shut the engine down and raised the canopy as Vogelmord put the ladder back up. "Quick mission," he remarked to his pilot as he helped her unstrap.
"Yeah, no kidding." She pulled off her helmet and briefly ran her fingers over the scar of bright metal that marred its ruby red surface. It was a souvenir from Beacon a few months prior, when she'd been forced to bail out of the first Crescent Rose at high speed, banging her helmet on the canopy and giving herself a concussion. She'd been lucky: she had rammed the F-22 Raptor of Cinder Fall at equally high speed. Unfortunately, Cinder had managed to survive as well—after shooting down Pyrrha Nikos and killing Jaune Arc.
Ruby climbed out of her F-16, left her helmet on the canopy rim, and walked over to where Clover was standing. They were quickly joined by Qrow and Penny, and then by the four women of the Happy Huntresses. Clover smiled sardonically. "Robyn Hill. Well, if it isn't Poland's hometown hero. Is there a reason why you were on course to intercept a USAF transport?"
Robyn smiled back, with about as much humor. She was tall, with hair so blonde it was nearly white, and piercingly lilac eyes—the same shade as Yang's, Ruby noticed. She had something of an intense beauty, a woman who asked for no quarter and gave none. "Clover, good to see you." Her voice had an strange accent: a mixture of British, which reminded Ruby of Ruth Lionheart, and Midwestern, which reminded her of Oscar Pine. She graced Ruby with a look, then Qrow; she nodded to Penny, who she'd apparently met before. "This must be Ruby Rose and Qrow Branwen." She tucked her helmet under the other arm and held out a hand to Ruby. "I'm Robyn Hill, commander of the Happy Huntresses." Ruby hesitated, then shook the proferred hand. It was a strong grip. "Before we go into why we decided to show our teeth, allow me to introduce the other three members of my command flight. This is Fiona Thyme, Joanna Greenleaf, and May Marigold."
Slightly to Ruby's surprise, all three stepped forward to shake hands. All wore flight suits that looked worn—well-used, Ruby corrected herself. She'd read a little about the Huntresses: there were probably about twenty of them in total, all women, and all experienced. Fiona was a sheep Faunus with a cute face and easy smile; Joanna was tall, crewcutted, and not cute; May was sort of plain, though she might be prettier if she smiled, Ruby thought, except that she wasn't. Only Fiona was friendly, and May noticeably refused to shake hands with either Ruby or Qrow, folding her hands across her chest instead.
"You were saying, Robyn?" Clover asked pleasantly.
"I was hoping to understand why there's been so many transports coming into Polish airspace lately. It's been a courtesy to clear it with us, Clover," Robyn said. "We are one-third of the Polish air defense network."
Clover nodded. "True, but General Ironwood didn't think that we needed to tell you. It's routine, Robyn. Since the 3rd Infantry Division went back to the United States, the EU has loosened the embargo to allow supply aircraft to land. You're welcome to stay and inspect the cargo when that C-5 gets here, but all you're going to find is spare parts and personnel." He put his hands behind his back. "I get that the Poles look up to you, Robyn, and you're a damn fine combat leader. But we don't exactly have to notify you when we're doing something completely standard operating procedure." Clover's smile widened, which had a tendency to make people notice, especially women: he had a very winning grin.
It didn't work on Robyn. She blew out a breath. "All right, Clover, I was hoping you'd be straight with me, but I guess not. The mine at Belchanow. What did you find there?"
"Nothing. There were GRIMM in the area; we eliminated them. End of story."
"Bullshit," Robyn snapped. "There were US Army troops all over that mine after the GRIMM were eliminated, and now the Army's garrisoning it. And something was taken out of the mine."
"You've been watching it," Clover said-a statement, not a question.
"Not me; the locals, who told me." She poked Clover in the chest. "Poland deserves to know what you found in that mine. That's why we got your attention today, since Ironwood doesn't seem to understand anything else. It doesn't have to be difficult, Clover. Just tell me."
Clover shrugged. "All right. One of the locals, like the ones you mentioned, informed us that there was an old Soviet ICBM left in the mine, when the Russians retreated after the nukes flew in '62. We sent in a NEST team just in case. The missile was dismantled and we took it out for destruction. There was no warhead." He spread his hands. "And that's it. Ironwood's probably going to have my ass for telling you that much. But you're welcome to go into the mine itself if you think I'm lying."
"So why are they still there?" Robyn demanded.
"You're the ones always saying Poland is being neglected, and now you're griping that the US Army is actually moving up to the Vistula?" Clover countered.
She was silent for a moment, then looked at Ruby and Qrow. "How about you there, Pipsqueak? Or you, Five O'Clock Shadow? Either of you got anything to say?"
Ruby wasn't as good as Weiss at freezing stares, but she tried. "Only that you're going to tell your mom that a pipsqueak whipped your ass." Ruby knew she was short, one inch above the minimum required for a fighter pilot; she didn't like to be reminded of it.
Robyn's eyebrows rose in amusement, but May took a step forward, teeth bared. The Huntress commander raised a hand. "Easy. No reason to throw hands."
"Stop it. Look," Qrow growled, "we're here to help Poland."
"And as a potential EU Councilwoman, you should probably focus on getting elected instead of harassing us," Clover added. "Now it's time that you got back to Swidwin, Robyn, unless you're hanging around for the C-5."
"I think you've misjudged the situation," Robyn told him. "You're guests here in Poland, Clover. I want to be kept in the loop of what's going on, and you finding an ICBM isn't routine."
"Then talk to General Ironwood," Clover replied. "Don't go making runs at our transports. You were a second or two from Ruby or Penny lighting you up. And we don't want that, either of us." He inclined his head towards the B-1. "And you ladies know what that monster can do. All of you are hot pilots, no question, but I'd hate to be on the wrong end of two dozen AMRAAMs."
Robyn was silent for a moment, but then gave a slow nod. "All right, Clover. I'll talk to Ironwood. Let's go, Huntresses."
She turned to go, but as she did, Clover spoke up. "Robyn." She looked at him. "Good luck with the election. Seriously."
Robyn gave him a nod, then kept walking—for about four more paces, until she heard someone coming up behind her. May intercepted Ruby before she got close. "Whoa, whoa," Ruby said, putting up her hands. "I just wanted to look at your aircraft up close."
"Why?" May demanded suspiciously.
"Uh…I like airplanes?" Ruby's curiosity had overwhelmed her distrust of Robyn.
Robyn laughed. "Oh hell, why not? Sure. Fiona, escort Pip—" She caught herself, and bowed slightly to Ruby. "Escort Captain Rose to our aircraft."
"Sure thing." Fiona led Ruby out of the revetments and across to the transient tarmac, where the Huntresses' four aircraft were parked. Robyn winced as Ruby started screaming in happiness at the sight of a Israel Aircraft Industries Kfir C.7, a Dassault/Dornier Alpha Jet E, a Hawker Hunter FGA.9, and a British Aerospace Harrier GR.7—as Ruby announced in full, including the manufacturers, on seeing them.
"Great," Joanna groaned. "A bigger airplane nut than Fiona." She glanced at Robyn. "What now? You believe him?"
"Clover?" Robyn nodded. "Yeah, I do. It jibes with what our people at Belchanow said. He's not telling us everything, but he told us enough. But that's not the only reason we landed." She pointed beyond the Huntresses' aircraft, to a C-130 parked in a hangar, festooned with antennas. "I want to know why there's a Commando Solo EC-130 here, and what Ironwood's going to do with it. The GRIMM don't watch TV."
"I'm on it," May said—or tried to. Her voice was drowned out, and all three ducked as a yellow-nosed fighter came out of nowhere, roared over the runways at fifty feet, climbed, and went into a victory roll. "What the hell is that?"
"Oh wow!" Fiona yelled from down the tarmac. "A McDonnell Douglas/Northrop Grumman YF-23A Black Widow II!"
Berlin-Tegel International Airport
Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany
15 August 2001
Pyrrha Nikos poured herself a mug of steaming coffee, smelled it, and gave a beatific sigh. It was 0600, and she needed the coffee, as black as night. She carefully balanced as she walked to her seat in the newly-minted 77th TFS ready room, but before she could sit, she noticed Marrow Amin staring up at her. His blue eyes were wide and begging, and his tail wagged furiously. Pyrrha groaned and handed him the mug. "Sure, have it," she sighed, and went back for another cup. Marrow thanked her with another puppy look, and began sipping the hot liquid. "That's good stuff." He turned in his seat to Yang and Blake, who sat behind him. "Hey, about yesterday…you two ever think about branching out a little? You know, fly wing with someone else? Your styles don't really mesh—"
Blake frowned. "What are you talking about? Yang and I have been flying with each other since Beacon." Then she nearly yelped when Yang crushed her into a hug.
"Blake is my BFF!" Yang yelled at Marrow. "You stay away!" She rubbed her cheek against Blake's. "I wuv her so very much! Mmmm." She kissed Blake's cheek; the Faunus girl just rolled her eyes, though she was clearly fighting a smile.
"Uh…okay…" Marrow went back to his coffee, not sure what to make of that, and saw Weiss Schnee sit down next to him, with her own steaming mug. "Oh, hey, Weiss—"
"Get bent," Weiss said and leaned back in her chair.
Clover walked in front of the gathered pilots. "Well, now that Marrow has struck out three times, I think it's time to start the morning brief." He nodded to Pyrrha as she sat on the other side of Marrow; his tail began to wag again at the prospect of being stuck between two beautiful women. Yang reached forward to yank Marrow's tail, but Blake slapped her hand away. "Elm, Nora, if you don't mind…" The two ladies left off their description of a battle and took their seats.
Clover checked off everyone in the room. Though technically his own Ace Flight was not a part of the new 77th TFS, they attended the same briefs and worked together. Qrow Branwen was the squadron commander, if reluctantly, while Ruby and Pyrrha commanded the two squadron flights, but Qrow hated doing briefings. "All right. Good morning everyone. Let's go over the day's schedule. First some good news for Ruby. I talked to the general last night, and he agrees that, with the lack of GRIMM intercepts of our transport flights, that you're no longer needed on escort duty. Feel free to go out on BARCAP with Yang, Blake and Marrow today."
Ruby shot both hands into the air. "Woo-hoo!"
"And speaking of BARCAP," Clover continued, "congrats to Yang, Blake and Marrow for their kills yesterday. Good work, you three."
Yang gently nudged Weiss' chair with her boot. "As official squadron scorekeeper, Weissy, what's that put us up to now?"
Weiss sipped her coffee. "Blake is at 19, I'm at 20, and Yang leads Ruby Flight with 23½ kills." She looked sidelong and smugly at Ruby. "And Ruby is sitting nicely, but lastly, with 18 victories."
"Dammit," Ruby grumped.
"I've only got seven," Marrow said helpfully, but Ruby only glared at him.
"Shut up, FNG," Harriet Bree said from behind Blake and Yang.
"You shut up!" Marrow shot back. "You've only got 14!"
"That's double what you have," Harriet cackled.
"Children…" Clover got them back on track, with a warning glance at Harriet. She liked to haze Marrow, who was the newest member of Ace Flight, but she occasionally took it too far. The last thing Marrow needed was to get what fighter pilots called buck fever—having such a desire to gain aerial victories that they would take unnecessary chances. He hoped Ruby, who was the youngest person in the room and yet one of the most experienced, at least had better sense. "Okay. BARCAP's top priority is still the Vistula Barrier. Robyn Hill's already pissed; let's not give her any more reasons. In fact, we're going to push our BARCAP further south, between old Warsaw and Krakow. Her Huntresses will cover Gdansk and Gdynia. The Poles will cover Gdynia to Warsaw. Should be plenty to go around. We'll stage from Poznan as usual." All three flights had been commuting from Berlin-Tegel to Poznan; space was at a premium at the forward base, and there was a lot more room at Tegel. The accomodations were also a little more pleasant; Ruby and Norn Flights had moved into a newly opened hotel a block from the airport. "That puts me, Qrow, Penny, Yang, Blake, Ruby, Marrow, and Harriet on BARCAP today.
"Moving on to item two," Clover said. "We're still facing a ground threat, with Centinels and Sabyrs trying to cross the river near Tarnow. Vine, Elm and Nora, you're going to stay on close air support—the Army loves what you're doing. Ren, are you okay with flying top cover for our CAS, or you want to fly BARCAP?"
"I'm fine," Ren said laconically. Nora elbowed him and grinned, which faded a little when he didn't return the grin.
"Item three. Pyrrha, are you sure you're okay with handling public relations?"
Pyrrha nodded. "It's actually quite lovely. I was in Cologne yesterday…what a charming town."
"And how many marriage proposals did you get this time?" Nora asked.
The Greek girl blushed. "The usual…five of them. One of them even gave me homemade gyros." Everyone laughed. Ironwood had reluctantly ordered that someone from the 77th go out on public relations around western Europe; Ironwood needed all the help he could get. They had all been surprised when Pyrrha had volunteered, but in retrospect, realized they shouldn't have been: Pyrrha, after her heroics at Crete, was a household name in Greece and well known elsewhere. The combination of her outgoing personality and natural beauty—plus the fact that she was flying the only F-22 Raptor in Europe—made her a natural fit for the role. Ruby had wondered how she would handle going back into the limelight: after Jaune's death, Pyrrha had been possessed with something of a death wish, and certainly a raging determination to kill everything in her path; she didn't want to be around anyone but her own close friends. Since seeing Jaune Arc's memorial in Algiers, however, a welcome change had come over Pyrrha. She was more relaxed, less angry, and smiled a lot more. It was more than just her coming to terms with her former lover's death, however.
Yang echoed Ruby's thoughts. "And it gives Pyrrha more time to have 'coffee' with Clover," she smirked.
Pyrrha's blush deepened, and Clover gave an elaborate sigh. "It is just coffee," Clover assured them, which was true. Though they certainly found each other attractive, when they got together—which was frequently—they only talked. It was pleasant.
"Uh-huh," Yang said. She threw Oscar a look, and the young ensign shook his head quickly, knowing what was coming. "Just like Oscar and Ruby were only—"
"Yang, shut up!" Ruby shouted, but everyone just laughed. It was a standing joke that never failed to amuse everyone, except Ruby and Oscar. The rumor was that the two of them had hooked up in Algiers, something both vehemently denied…though Ruby had been in Oscar's room that entire night.
"And speaking of Ensign Pine," Clover said, clearing his throat. "Oscar, you'll be welcoming Funky Flight from the Kennedy today. The EU is letting the US Navy deploy some flights around too."
"Okay," Oscar said, a little disappointed. He had hoped to get in more flight time, rather than acting as Ironwood's liasion with the 77th.
"Four planes, yee ha," Elm grumbled.
"Actually, two…but they're both Tomcats, so there you go," Clover answered.
"I thought Flynt was Air Force?" Blake asked.
"He's doing the exchange pilot thing," Yang told her, remembering her last run-in with Funky Flight at Las Vegas, which had been a pleasant one.
"And finally…Weiss, you requested the day off to meet with your sister?"
"If you can spare me," Weiss said.
"Sure thing," Clover replied. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, that's it for today. Let's go do it to them before they do it to us."
Schnee Manor (Herrencheimsee)
Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany
15 August 2001
Jacques Schnee opened his newspaper; he was old-fashioned, and preferred the feel of newsprint under his fingers, rather than looking up the news on the internet—even if Schnee Manor had one of the fastest wi-fi internet speeds in Germany. He scowled at the article on the upcoming EU Council election: he was in the lead over the other four candidates, but his lead, once commanding, had narrowed considerably. The other two men were not worth worrying about; they were too far behind. Robyn Hill was a different story: she was now only two points behind in the polls, within the margin of error. To his disgust, the slight thaw in diplomatic relations between the European Union and the United States had benefited her, not him. Jacques didn't understand it: he was the head of one of Europe's largest consortiums, a well-respected man of society, rich and well-connected with the politicians of the EU, and he was on the verge of being tied with an upstart, British-born, American-raised mercenary pilot, the self-styled defender of Poland. "And who gives a damn about the Poles anyway!" Jacques shouted.
A further diatribe was interrupted by a polite knock on his door. "Who is it?" he snapped.
The door opened, and Whitley Schnee stuck his head through the door. "Just me, Father. You have a visitor."
"I don't want to be disturbed and you know it," Jacques growled at his son. "Why did you let anyone in?"
"I didn't," Whitley insisted. "He…let himself in." The door opened further, and Whitley stepped aside. Jacques scowled, but then he blinked in utter surprise.
"He's definitely yours," Arthur Watts said, smoothing his mustache. "A spitting image of you. Creepily so."
Whitley chuckled. "Would you like me to call the Politzei, Father, and have this smartarse kicked to the curb?"
"No…no, that's not necessary, Whitley. Leave us alone, please, and shut the door. And don't tell your mother."
"She's passed out anyway," Whitley told him. "Sir." He bowed to Watts with enough flourish to make it insulting, and shut the door.
Watts chuckled and strode across Jacques' office. "What is it with your children, Jacques? All of them defiant little brats. You should've beat them more." He leaned against the huge desk. "Or perhaps you beat them too much, and now they hate you and hold you in contempt."
"You're supposed to be dead," Jacques said, ignoring Watts' commentary on his parenting ability.
"Well, that's what I wanted people to think." Watts went over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink.
"Feel free with my brandy," Jacques snorted.
"Oh, I will." Watts sampled the brandy. "Mm, quite good. Your tastes haven't changed, Jacques. Your problems, however, have. Namely your Ironwood problem."
"That bastard is costing me more money every day with this damned embargo."
"Which, as I recall, was your idea in the first place," Watts pointed out, accurately.
"Yes!" Jacques slammed a fist onto the desk. "Because after the Americans made fools of themselves at Beacon, I thought I could take advantage of that for votes!" He had no idea why he was being honest with one of the most dishonest men in Europe, but Jacques needed to vent to someone, even if it was Dr. Arthur Watts. "I'd end the embargo tomorrow if I wasn't trying to get this damned Council seat!"
"Well, now, we don't want to do that." Watts crossed over from the desk to the small sitting area, where a series of couches surrounded a table. There was a chessboard on it, and Watts bent down to pick up the black queen. "Jacques, as one old friend to another…how would you like to have your cake and eat it too?"
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Welcome to Book V of the "On RWBY Wings" saga! Hard to believe I'm up to season 7 now of canon RWBY. It's been a long, fun road, and I hope to keep it going. For those of you who have read the other stories in this series, welcome back, friends. For those of you new to "RWBY Wings," you can read the other chapters at your leisure, but I made this first chapter a bit talky for that reason. Please drop me a review-we authors love to read those and hear from you (at least I do). Who knows...you might even make it into the story.For those of you unfamiliar with fighter pilot patois, FNG stands for Fucking New Guy. Harriet's not at all PC. Finally, Whitley's use of "smartarse" shows his British schooling at Eton.
