AUTHOR'S NOTES: Kind of a short one tonight, but I'm trying to avoid the big weighty chapters (until later, of course). Now that RWBY canon is in hiatus, maybe I can help you get your fix. It's going to be a long, rough wait.

South of the Bay of Gdansk

Near Gdansk, Republic of Poland

19 August 2001

Yang Xiao Long pulled off her oxygen mask for a second, rubbed her nose, and replaced the mask—despite what Hollywood liked to show in movies, pilots rarely removed their oxygen masks in flight. Things could go wrong too fast to risk it. And things were going very wrong very fast.

It was dark outside now, the sun a faint orange line on the western horizon, and that would make acquiring any of the Huntress aircraft difficult—made worse by the fact that Robyn's command flight flew smaller aircraft.

None of this seems right! Yang thought to herself. Sure, Robyn's bunch have always been a pack of smartasses, and Robyn herself is kind of a jerk—at least that's what Ruby said. But to hit one of our transports? That's kind of extreme. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself—Ironwood believed the Huntresses had shot down the C-141 near Stralsund, Germany, and that meant they were now outlaws. Clover Ebi felt the same way. The only concession he had given to Ruby and Pyrrha bringing up the same issue was that the rules of engagement would be guns only, to at least give the Huntresses a decent chance at ejecting. Of course, Yang considered, Clover and Ironwood might be right: there had been no survivors from the C-141.

After the scramble and a hasty briefing next to the aircraft, they'd split the squadron up, with each section going out over a portion of the Baltic Sea. The Huntresses had been noticed taking off from their base at Swidwin and heading north, before the transport had been shot down, supposedly to do a night patrol over the Baltic. The AWACS had lost them over the sea—which was not as difficult as it sounded, as the E-3 had problems with sea return: waves, especially high ones caused by wind, would actually show up on radar and could hide aircraft flying not far above them. It was for this reason that antiship missiles were designed to skim just above the surface of the ocean. The fact that the Happy Huntresses were not showing up on radar certainly made them look like they were doing that very thing—which also made them look guilty. They hadn't returned to Swidwin, and Clover believed that they were running east—towards Kalningrad, formerly part of the Soviet Union. The city had been destroyed by a tactical nuclear weapon in 1962, but Clover mentioned that Robyn occasionally used it as a forward base. The other possibility was Sweden or Finland, which were neutral countries. Because Yang's F-23 and Blake's F-14 had the most fuel, they were given the sector the furthest from Poznan.

It still bothered Yang. She hesitated, then clicked the mike button. "Blake, Yang. Go button base plus five." She hoped Blake remembered the old default from Beacon—the base was always zero—and switched frequencies. Hopefully the AWACS wasn't monitoring this one. Or the Huntresses. "Blake, how read?"

"Five by, Yang. What's up?"

"This doesn't feel right, Blake."

There was silence from the other aircraft, about a mile behind and to the right. "I'm not thrilled about ambushing someone who's just trying to help, if that's what you mean."

Yang nodded to herself. "Then maybe we shouldn't. When we find Robyn, let's try and talk to her."

"How?"

"First things first. Let's find her." Yang throttled back. "You got your TCS on?" She referred to the Television Camera System below the Tomcat's nose.

"Affirm."

"Roger. I'm going to illuminate and sim a missile shot. You watch the Gulf; I bet they're going low and slow down there. See what we can stir up."

"Roger that."

"Go back to button three." Blake clicked her mike twice in acknowledgement. Yang waited a second, then switched on her radar. Ember Celica's synthetic aperature radar was actually better than the E-3's in this situation. To her mild surprise, she picked up four contacts, right where she'd guessed. Now to see if they're who we think. Yang locked on to the lead aircraft and radioed "Yang, Fox Three!" Her finger never pressed the trigger.

In Gambol Shroud, Blake watched the green display in the center of her instrument panel. As soon as Yang shouted the missile call, there was all sort of movement. The lead aircraft climbed hard, and for a split-second, Blake saw the distinctive arrowhead profile of a Kfir. "Blake, tally-ho!"

"Missile shot trashed!" Yang reported. She opened the throttles and waggled her wings at Blake to follow her. She began closing the distance on the Kfir, keeping her eye on the faint star that was the fighter's afterburner. It disappeared, but now Yang had a solid radar lock.

So did the AWACS. "Ruby Three, Haisla, bogey at bearing zero-eight-one, distance three miles. ROE said no missile shots."

"Lost my head there, Haisla," Yang lied. "Tally-ho on the bogey." She didn't identify it, and ignored the AWACS' calls to do so. "Haisla, Ruby Three, Judy, Judy!" That should shut him up, Yang thought.

There was no moon tonight, but Yang's eyes saw movement. The other three aircraft were still low, running for the shoreline and the natural harbor of Kalningrad. Robyn was turning to meet them, which Yang had to admit was pretty brave—or pretty stupid. The Kfir was a good aircraft, but it was a generation behind Robyn's opponents. Clearly, she was going to buy time for her Huntresses to get clear. Lucky we're not here to kill you…hopefully, Yang thought.

Then a little star detached from the Kfir, and Yang threw the Black Widow as a red button reading IR lit up on her instrument panel. Yang abruptly remembered that Robyn wasn't obeying the rules of engagement; as far as she was concerned, Blake and Yang were here to kill her.

The Sidewinder shot past as it lost lock. "Blake, Yang, I'm out of position! Take her!"

Blake quickly slapped four switches, deploying Gambol Shroud's decoys, and went straight at Robyn, who had rolled left after firing the Sidewinder. The distance closed in seconds, and Blake saw green tracer reach out for the Tomcat; she resisted both the urge to duck lower in the cockpit and to open fire in return. The guns were aimed at one of the decoys, and Robyn must have realized it, because she suddenly ceased fire and broke left. Blake retracted the decoys, broke into the opposite direction and tightened the turn, betting that the F-14 could turn inside the Kfir, which wasn't necessarily a given. It worked: as Blake finished her circle, she saw the Kfir close ahead. Her finger lay on the trigger; a burst of 20 millimeter fire from the Tomcat's Vulcan and it would tear the tail off Robyn's aircraft. Blake hesitated, wondering what the hell Yang's plan was.

Then she had to think about something else, because the speedbrakes above and below the Kfir's delta wing snapped open, forcing Blake into an overshoot. The Faunus let out a hiss, resisting the urge to accelerate away from Robyn, but that might just make it easier for the mercenary to fire another Sidewinder.

Then Yang came in. Unlike the Kfir or the Tomcat, the Black Widow's afterburners gave off no glow. She closed and fired her cannon—directly in front of the Kfir, far enough away to miss, but close enough to scare Robyn. Because they had known they would be fighting at night, Yang's ground crew had loaded every fifth gun round with tracers.

Robyn snapped into a break, too fast for Yang to follow; she climbed, rolled, and got into position for a dive. She didn't radio Blake, but didn't need to: the two women had flown so much combat together that they understood what the other was doing. As Robyn leveled out from the break, Blake was already curving in behind her. Yang dived—but instead of dropping down on Blake's wing, or from the side, she came out of the dive right in front of Robyn, about a half mile ahead. Yang breathed a prayer, reached forward, and switched on every light she had on Ember Celica: the navigation lights to full bright, and the anticollision light to steady. For good measure, she lowered her landing gear, the universal sign of surrender in flight operations. The Black Widow wallowed in the sky: Yang literally couldn't present a better target to Robyn Hill. She edged out to the right and waggled her wings again.

Robyn flew alongside, her nose high to keep from stalling herself. Yang raised the landing gear but left the lights on, glanced behind them—Blake was still in position to shoot down Robyn if it became necessary—looked over at the mercenary leader, and tapped her helmet. Then she held up five fingers. Finally, hoping that Robyn understood, Yang switched her radio to button five again.

"Robyn, Yang, do you read?"

"Roger. What the hell is going on?" Robyn asked.

"Jehovah thinks you shot down that '141," Yang replied, using Ironwood's callsign. "We don't have long before the AWACS sends Ace Flight our way, so listen. Did you shoot down that transport?"

"No!" Robyn shrilled. "God, no. We were out looking for GRIMM at low level over the Baltic. We weren't anywhere near that transport."

"Can you prove that?" Yang wanted to know.

"Compare the takeoff logs and the shootdown time. And our fuel rate. Now tell me, Blondie—what's Ironwood doing with a Commando Solo?"

"This isn't truth or dare—" Yang began, one eye on her radar. They were in a slow circle now, close enough that probably the F-23 and the Kfir's radar blips merged on the AWACS' scopes, but even though her radar hadn't picked them up yet, Ace Flight's F-35s had to be on the way.

"The Commando Solo is there to broadcast on Jehovah's behalf," Blake broke in. She had figured out what Yang was doing and switched frequencies as well. "He doesn't know who to trust yet. We're not out to get you or the Huntresses, Robyn! The people who murdered those people in Poznan yesterday at your rally, probably whoever actually shot down the C-141, they're trying to divide us."

"Who's they?"

"We can't tell you that yet," Yang answered.

"Bullshit!" Robyn exploded.

"Look, dammit!" Yang shot back. "We're trusting you that you didn't kill that '141. You need to trust us that the Commando Solo and everything else is to help you. We just need a little more time." She checked the radar. It got a return: at least one of the F-35s was getting close. "We'll look into the shootdown and tell Iro—Jehovah. Promise." She rolled away from the Kfir. "Now get low and get lost! We'll lead them in the wrong direction!"

"Roger." A pause. "Thanks." The Kfir dived away, headed as low as Robyn could get. Yang broke hard and flew due north, Blake turning to follow.

Poznan-Krezesiny Airbase

Poznan, Republic of Poland

19 August 2001

"You lost them?" Ironwood slammed a fist on the desk. "You're flying two fourth-gen fighters, and you lost a bunch of museum pieces?"

Yang and Blake were standing at attention. Flanking them in the squadron ready room, on either side, were the rest of Ruby and Norn Flights, along with Ace Flight and Winter Schnee. Only Qrow wasn't present; he had flown to Stralsund at Ironwood's request to take over the crash investigation. The general had driven over from his field headquarters to personally debrief them. Ruby stepped forward. "Sir, it's not as easy as it sounds—with the sea return and all—"

"Captain, I am quite aware of the limitations of radar over water. I also know that the radar on the F-23A and the F-14GS are designed to have superb coverage over land or water." He took a step forward himself. "Which means either you two, Captain Xiao Long and Captain Belladonna, are complete and utter morons, Robyn's got some sort of secret stealth device, or you let them go." Harriet Bree snickered, though Clover silenced her with a look. "So which is it? I'm pretty sure Robyn doesn't have the money for stealth, and your combat record doesn't hint at being moronic, which means what, exactly?" Ironwood raised an eyebrow. "It means you two just stood here and lied to my face. What's the punishment for that, Colonel Schnee?"

Winter opened her mouth to reply, but Yang rolled her eyes. "For God's sake! Yes, we let them go!"

Ironwood leaned against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. "Now we're getting somewhere. Disobeying a direct order to bring down the Huntresses, failure to respect a superior officer, and lying to a superior officer…I think I've got grounds for a court-martial here, ladies." He saw Blake's ears wilt and Yang glance at Ruby. "Don't look at her, Captain. Your sister can't help you now." Ruby looked at Yang helplessly; Ironwood was right. Technically, Yang and Blake had disobeyed Ruby's orders as flight leader as well. "So maybe you'd like to explain to me why you did all that—you especially, Captain Belladonna. You've got a Navy Cross. Seems kind of stupid to throw a career away over a mercenary with more bluster than brains."

Blake adopted the attitude that she had when berated by the drill instructor at Parris Island. She braced at attention so hard her back hurt. "Sir! We determined that the Happy Huntresses are not guilty of the charge of shooting down the C-141, sir!" she barked.

"And how did you determine that?" Ironwood asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Pretty quick thinking in the middle of a dogfight. Oh yes—I should probably add failure to communicate with the AWACS and Ace Flight to the list of charges."

"Sir! Compare the time when the Huntresses took off from Swidwin to the time that the C-141 was shot down, sir!"

Ironwood sighed. "Captain, I know this will shock you, but we generals do not get these stars because we are rock stupid. I already did that. There was enough time for the Huntresses to take off, orbit over the Baltic, and intercept the C-141."

"Sir! But not the fuel, sir!"

Ruby knew it was time to step back into the conversation. "General, Captain Belladonna's right. The Huntress command flight was all that was up today. The others are still at Swidwin."

"I am very aware of that, Captain Rose."

"I'm sure, sir," Ruby said soothingly. "But the four aircraft in Robyn's flight—a Kfir, an Alpha Jet, a Hunter and a Harrier—they're all short range. They wouldn't have had the fuel to go all the way to Stralsund, then all the way to Kalningrad. And Yang—er, Captain Xiao Long—said that the Kfir wasn't carrying wing tanks." Ruby hoped that Ironwood wouldn't see the flaw in that statement: Robyn dropped her tanks before engaging Blake and Yang, but could have kept them to shoot down a slow, unarmed transport.

Clover coughed politely. "Sir, Captain Rose is right. The fuel consumption is off."

"Not to mention it seems out of character for Robyn Hill, sir," Pyrrha added.

Ironwood was silent for a few moments. He let out a long breath. "You didn't hear Robyn in my tent this morning. It got pretty ugly." He gave them a short nod. "All right. If the Huntresses didn't shoot down the C-141, then who did? Central Europe hasn't had an air pirate problem in decades, and Sweden keeps the Baltic clear of any bands who might still be operating from Finland. There were no radar returns from the AWACS over northeast Germany, either." He held up a hand as Blake began to say something. "Yes, Haisla was not looking for an attack from behind them, and ground radar has limitations. But it still makes no sense—except that the Huntresses made the attack."

Yang sighed; in for a penny, in for a pound. "General? There's one other thing."

"Oh God," Weiss groaned quietly.

"We, um…we actually talked to Robyn. If you look at the AWACS radar logs, they'll show the two radar signatures merging. It's because I was flying right next to her and I radioed her. She told us that she didn't do it."

"And you believed her." Ironwood didn't make it a question.

"Sir, I—" Yang began. Blake cleared her throat. "We," Yang amended, "we do believe her. I mean, why would she do it, sir? She knows there's nowhere to run, that we'll hunt her down. Yeah, she shot at us—but she thought we were there to kill her. And I did everything but drop trou in front of her to get her to talk, rather than shoot us down. She had me dead to rights…and didn't take the shot. She talked instead. Sir." Yang aped Blake's iron attention pose. She was not about to tell Ironwood about telling Robyn about the Commando Solo. They were in enough trouble.

Ironwood smoothed his beard while regarding both pilots. "Why didn't you just tell me this right off the bat, instead of lying to me?"

"Sir," Blake said. "We thought you would be pissed, sir."

The general chuckled. "Well, you're right about that." He pushed off the desk. "All right. I believe you—and, for now, Robyn Hill. But if there's another transport shot down, I'm going to hunt them down and kill them all. The last thing I can afford is to have to fight the Happy Huntresses and Salem. And God help you two if there's another shootdown, because He's the only one who will." He faced them squarely. "Next time, you tell me the truth. Don't sit there and lie. I'm a lot more inclined to listen to people when they're straight with me. I'm a big boy; I can handle it."

"We're sorry, sir," Yang told him, sincerely.

"I know, Captain, which is why there won't be a court martial or a letter of reprimand…this time. That said, I'll let Captain Belladonna explain the Navy term 'in hack' to you, because that's what the two of you are in." He motioned to the door. "Dismissed. Get some sleep." Everyone in the room came to attention, then turned and left.

Except for Oscar Pine, who hung back. "General, permission to speak with you privately?"

"Sure." Ironwood inclined his head at Winter, who brushed past Oscar and left. Before the door closed, they heard her cell phone ring. "What is it, Ensign? You're not in trouble; you had nothing to do with this."

"No, sir." Oscar hesitated. He wanted to say something, but he was just an ensign, barely old enough to drink; Ironwood was a general with thousands of hours of flight and combat time.

Ironwood sensed his discomfiture. "You know, we didn't always see eye to eye, your father and I, but…right now, I wish he was here, giving me some advice."

"Sir, with respect. I don't know what my father would've said, but I can tell you what I think. If, er, you don't mind, sir."

Ironwood smiled. "Speak freely, son."

Oscar summoned up his courage and did exactly that. "General, the path you're heading down, where you're the only one with the answers, where you do the thing you think is right no matter the cost…well, at the risk of being disrespectful, sir, it's not going to take you anywhere good. According to what the others have told me—Major Branwen in particular—Ozpin thought like that, and it didn't end well for him." Actually, it had been JINN that had told Oscar that, but he was taking Ruby's lead on this one, and staying silent on the subject.

Ironwood nodded. "That's quite the mouthful, Ensign. I appreciate your candor. But we have to stop Salem. Nothing matters more than that."

"Some things do, sir." The general's eyes widened at Oscar's impertience, but he plunged on. "Keeping our humanity, sir. It makes us different from Salem. She lost hers. We can't do the same."

Ironwood stared at Oscar strangely, and the ensign was sure that he had figured out Ruby Flight's secret. Instead, he began to pace. "Sometimes I worry that's her greatest advantage, Ensign. Without humanity, does Salem still feel fear? Does she ever hesitate? When she hit Beacon with that Wyvern and the White Fang…well, I'll obey my own rules and be honest, Oscar. I might as well have been here for all the good I did. Hell, the only material thing I did to assist the defense of Beacon was kill a few White Fang who were trying to kill me, and even then I had help. Then I had to watch Ozpin call in an orbital strike on himself, while I sat there and fucking watched." For a moment, Oscar saw, Ironwood wasn't standing in the ready room at Poznan, but at the evacuation site, watching his friend and mentor sacrifice himself to destroy the monster GRIMM that was over Beacon. The mask of command slipped, and James Ironwood was suddenly very human. "I've never felt so…helpless. So afraid. And by God, Ensign, I won't ever again."

"Yes, sir. But one thing my instructor at Pensacola taught me: it was okay to be scared, but you can't let the fear control you. Not during night carrier landings or a dogfight or a flat spin or whatever. But sir, if you don't mind me saying…I'm just a nobody ensign with a famous dad, but—"

"Spit it out, Oscar," Ironwood said.

"I think the best thing you could do is sit down and talk with the people you're most afraid to. Sir," Oscar hastily added. The door opened and Winter walked in, though she waited patiently for them to stop talking.

"Now you are starting to sound like your father," Ironwood laughed. He put a hand on Oscar's shoulder. "Okay, okay. I'll think about it. The question is, if Robyn and her bunch of merry mercenaries didn't shoot down the transport, who did?"

"Actually, sir, you won't have to think for long," Winter interrupted. She tapped the phone in her hand. "That was my father—or rather, his spokesman. Jacques Schnee wished to formally invite you to dinner at our family summer home in Zagan, tomorrow night, with himself and two other members of the EU Council. Actually, he's invited everyone—everyone in the 77th TFS and Ace Flight, even Robyn Hill."

"Wonderful," Ironwood groused. "What the hell for?"

"Well, according to my father's spokesman, you're to be questioned over your actions to this point." Winter was shaking with rage. "And if they don't like your answers, the EU Council will vote on whether to break off diplomatic relations with the United States."

Heringsdorf Airport

Mecklenburg State, Federal Republic of Germany

20 April 2001

Cinder Fall stepped out of the shower and was toweling herself off when Neo Politan stuck her head around the corner. "Watts wants to talk to us."

"I'll be out in a minute. Tell him he can damn well wait."

Neo smiled savagely. "With pleasure."

Cinder took her time drying herself off and getting dressed in the locker room. It was part of the small airport complex, the home of European Warbirds Limited, which maintained a small fleet of older aircraft for movies and airshows. It was where Robyn Hill obtained a good portion of her parts for her own aircraft, and Robyn didn't ask too many questions where they came from. The company's owner was also a former air pirate who had financed Roman Torchwick, and was more than happy to help Torchwick's former lover—which was something Robyn didn't know.

Finally, once she was dressed in casual clothes, a jacket thrown over her artificial arm and her hair combed down to hide the ruin of the left side of her face, Cinder walked out into the dining area of the facility. It was furnished like a thousand fighter pilot hangouts in the world, with cheap wood paneling, a mirror behind the well-stocked bar, pieces and paintings of aircraft on the walls, ceiling fans made of old propellers, and pithy fighter pilot sayings hung up around the paintings. Watts sat at the bar, a tumbler of bourbon next to his laptop, studiously ignoring Neo, who was toying with her umbrella. Both of them knew the umbrella hid a poisoned blade. Behind the bar was Jack Snipe, known as Crimson Jack for his bright red hair and beard, although Cinder wondered if the name originated for other, more sanguine reasons.

"You took long enough," Watts said.

Cinder ran her real hand down her hip. "Takes awhile to dry these long legs." She was wearing shorts, and any man would have been hard pressed not to admire Cinder Fall's legs, which the flames had not touched. Watts was not hard pressed, and indulged in a long look. Cinder sat on a chair facing the bar. "Vodka," she signaled to Jack.

Watts tapped the laptop. "The news is all over the shootdown of the Starlifter." He grinned under the mustache. "And from all the traffic and the scramble of USAF fighters in Poland—but not the Poles—I think we've fooled Ironwood into thinking that it was the Happy Huntresses."

"Why wouldn't he be? We fly virtually the same aircraft. Granted, I flew my Sabre, which Robyn Hill doesn't have in her inventory, but Neo flew one of Jack's Hunters. In any case, I doubt the transport crew got a good look at us before they went down." Cinder accepted the glass of vodka.

"I didn't hear anything on Guard frequency," Watts confirmed. "There doesn't seem to be any other reports of air combat, but I know Ruby Flight was up." Cinder saw Neo stiffen at that, and knew her own artificial hand was twitching. So close. Yet she knew that her borrowed F-86 was not going to be a match for Ruby Rose's F-16. Neo's Hawk was another story, but Cinder needed a new aircraft. Jack was working on it, but it would take time. "I don't recommend you do anything about that," Watts warned, mainly Neo, but echoing Cinder's thoughts. "Not yet. Besides Ruby and Norn Flights, you also have a group of elite pilots under Ironwood's personal command—Ace Flight, flying F-35s."

"Fuck," Neo cursed, and stabbed at the bar with the umbrella.

"There's time," Cinder soothed her—though, since Neo had promised to kill her, getting the diminutive assassin in the way of a missile might not be a bad idea. "We'll get our shot." When Salem makes her move, she wanted to add, but Jack was there. "For now, we should lay low in any case. Someone might have gotten a read off of us, sea return or not."

"Well, I helped you, hacking in and getting the transport's flight plan," Watts said, finishing his bourbon. "Now you can help me, as we agreed when you contacted me. And our patron." It was a subtle way of reminding Cinder, and Neo, who they were working for. He turned to the latter. "Neo, dear, would you mind terribly infiltrating stately Schnee Manor tomorrow night? Not Herrencheimsee, but their summer home in southwest Poland." He slid the glass toward Jack, who refilled it. "No wetwork, just information gathering. It seems that Jacques Schnee is celebrating his little victory with a soiree with General Ironwood. I'd very much like to hear what they're saying."

"Why?" Neo asked.

"Because you owe me one, darling," Watts smiled.

"I owe you exactly jack shit," Neo smiled back. "And not this Jack." Crimson Jack snorted a laugh.

"Oh dear," Watts sighed, with mock gravity. "And here I was thinking that I can expedite the discovery of a new aircraft for Cinder. Not to mention the recovery of JINN." He admired the rings on his fingers. "Something tells me Ironwood won't be traveling without it. If not him, then his flunky Winter Schnee."

"Tell me why I care," Neo yawned.

"Because I do," Cinder snapped at her. "And without me, you don't get your shot to avenge your dum-dum." Neo scowled.

"Look at the bright side," Watts snickered. "At least you'll get to score some great hors d'oeuvres."

AUTHOR'S SUPPLEMENTAL: Actually, Robyn's Kfir is of the same generation as the standard F-14 Tomcat-they actually first flew around the same time-but the Kfir is broadly based on the Mirage III/5 series, while Blake's F-14GS is practically a new aircraft.

And in case you're curious what "in hack" means-it's a Navy term for confining an officer to the ship as nonjudicial, unofficial punishment. It doesn't go on the officer's record, though the CO will probably keep it in mind. Maverick, in Top Gun, is mentioned as being put in hack twice. In this case, looks like Yang and Blake aren't going anywhere for awhile...except for Schnee Manor, of course.