AUTHOR'S NOTES: A more reasonable chapter as far as length goes! We catch up with Ironwood and Winter, Weiss and Marrow, and then there's Tyrian...
SACEUR Tactical Headquarters
South of Poznan, Republic of Poland
26 August 2001
Winter Schnee walked into the headquarters tent. Though Ironwood had moved his headquarters to an alternate site south of Poznan, the tent looked much the same. Then again, Winter considered, the general was a creature of habit. "Good morning, sir." She came to attention.
Ironwood looked up from his map. "Good morning, Winter. What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see the situation for myself, sir."
"You should be with Fria," Ironwood snapped, then caught himself. "Sorry, Winter. I didn't mean to sound so harsh."
"I won't be gone long," Winter assured him. "I would like to see Weiss, and then I'll get back to Fria."
"Of course. Though last I heard she was fine."
"Our father is being arraigned today. In Berlin." Originally, Jacques Schnee was to be tried in Poland, but his lawyers had successfully gotten the trial moved to Germany; they argued, correctly, Winter thought, that there was no way he could get a fair trial in Poland. The charges would still be treason, among others, but there was no capital punishment in Germany. "I thought Weiss should know."
"Oh." Ironwood motioned her over to look at the map. Winter kept a tight hold on her emotions, but even she was shocked. He noticed her expression. "It's bad. Salem's got solid penetrations of 30 miles in the northern sector, and nearly 60 in the center. Nothing in the south, but she's been launching pinning attacks there. Miguel Calavera told me this morning that if Salem's forces hadn't been stopped yesterday, they would've overrun his command post by ten o'clock last night."
"Where did she get so many GRIMM?" Winter asked.
"Building them for decades. Aside from the Goliaths—and a new one, which Qrow called a Megagoliath—most of the GRIMM are easy to destroy." Ironwood shook his head. "The problem isn't their numbers. It's that they don't need to rest, or eat, or crap. She can just keep driving and driving until our people collapse from lack of sleep or food. Or they run out of ammunition." He pointed to a piece of paper. "Ammunition expenditures are three times higher than projections. At this rate, we'll burn through what we have in 72 hours. We've started an airlift, but as it is, resupply will be at half for at least a week."
Winter looked at the paper and then the map. "Salem's winning."
"Right now she is," Ironwood admitted. "It's quiet at the moment, but we think it's just an operational pause. She's bringing her reserves up. I talked with the generals this morning—Calavera, Sobieski, Czernicki, Olsen, and Burkhart. Calavera and Burkhart want to pull the center forces back, build a new line along the Warta." Ironwood traced a finger through the center of Poland. "Naturally, the Poles want to fight for every inch. Olsen favors a pullback too to shorten our lines." He sighed. "We need to get the initative back. Put Salem on her heels before she breaks through somewhere. And buy time for reinforcements."
"What did you have in mind?" Winter asked.
Ironwood smiled tiredly. "A B-52 strike would do wonders. And we've got 24 of them in England right now."
Winter gave a sharp nod. "I can be in Fairford in two hours."
"No, Winter. You need to stay with Fria."
Her cheeks burned. "General, with all due respect. I am a leader of pilots. My job is in the air, not playing nursemaid!"
"And if Fria dies?"
"Then I will take over when that happens!" Winter slammed a fist into the map table, an uncharacteristic show of anger. "General, I cannot simply stand idly by while people I regard as friends, my own sister, goes into battle! Yes, Fria and the Winter Maiden are important, but she got along fine before me!"
"And if you get killed in combat?" Ironwood raised an eyebrow. "Who becomes the next Maiden bearer?"
"I don't know! I don't care!" Winter bared her teeth in frustration. "Please, General, let me get into this fight."
"Why? Why do you want to fight so damn much?" Ironwood asked.
"Because it's my duty." Winter paused. "And because…I can't just sit there in that bunker. I must do something. I must do…something."
Ironwood watched her. Winter was nearly in tears. He wondered if it was just that—the desire to do her job, her duty, and fight because she was a warrior—or it was an unconscious desire to prove that not all Schnees were criminals and traitors. Weiss had proven that; for that matter, Whitley had proven himself to be more than just a spoiled brat, if Weiss was to be believed, and even Willow Schnee had been instrumental in bringing her husband down. But Winter would always be fighting a ghost.
"All right," he said at length. "I'll think about it. Make sure you have reliable transportation." He held up a hand. "But Fria is still your first priority. Besides, if things get any worse, we're going to have to use her."
Winter was taken aback. "You'd use the Winter Maiden?"
"What's the point in having it, if not for times like these? We'll deal with the political fallout if we're still alive to see it."
Winter couldn't argue with that logic. "Yes, sir."
"If the B-52 strike fails, we'll have to use the Maiden. But we'll hold that as our last resort." Ironwood smiled. "Go visit your sister, Winter."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Winter came to attention, then began to leave the tent. "Sir…again, forgive my impertience…but when was the last time you slept?"
"You're not my mother, Winter." Ironwood took a breath. "I actually got a good three hours this morning. Slept really well. And yes, I'm eating."
"Very good, sir." Winter nodded and left.
Ironwood watched her go, then sat down behind the map table. He knew he needed to get more sleep. There were a lot of things he did that his staff could do; that was why four-star generals had staffs. Yet Ironwood could not bring himself to assign a colonel or a major something that he needed to keep an eye on; he was a strong believer in the old adage that a commander never asked his subordinates to do something he himself was not willing to do. He just couldn't delegate. Besides, after Beacon, after Lionheart's betrayal, the general wasn't sure who to trust anymore. Winter, definitely. Oddly enough, Oscar Pine—even if he and Ruby Flight had used JINN without permission. Rissa Arashikaze, possibly. Glynda Goodwitch, when she fully recovered—she would be a good one, too. That was about it, Ironwood thought.
Besides, he reassured himself. There was always one more weapon besides the Winter Maiden, and if he could just identify Salem's headquarters, he had no problem using his ace in the hole: the nuclear bomb he'd recovered from the coal mine. Salem would not expect it. Ironwood smiled: she'd thrown the rulebook out the window on day one with her use of poison gas. He was more than happy to return the favor.
Poznan-Krezesiny Airbase
Poznan, Republic of Poland
26 August 2001
Weiss Schnee absently munched on a hamburger before she realized that was what she was eating. She pulled it away from her mouth and stared at it, then shrugged and resumed eating. Back at Beacon, she had once berated Yang and Ruby for scarfing junk food, and here she was doing pretty much the same thing. Weiss almost laughed: she had certainly changed.
"Hey there." Weiss looked up into the face of Marrow Amin. "This seat taken?"
"Go ahead. The rest of my flight is either still in bed or…well, somewhere." They had all collapsed into their bunks around ten, only to be awakened at two in the morning by a scramble—which turned out to be a false alarm—and again at seven, which turned out to be real, but just about the time they climbed into their cockpits, the flights were informed that the Polish Air Force had handled the GRIMM attack. It was rest, but broken rest. Weiss had caught three more hours of sleep before she'd gotten up to eat something.
Marrow had two hamburgers on his plate, along with a mess of French fries, which he proceeded to drown in mayonnaise. Weiss looked a bit disgusted. "It's good!" Marrow protested. "You should try it."
"No…that's all right." She took another bite of her hamburger and watched Marrow. They'd had dinner the night before, and it had been a pleasant experience. Once the Faunus calmed down from his adrenaline high, he was actually pleasant to talk to. Weiss had gotten his entire family history from a single question of where he was from: Marrow was from Calgary; his parents were Kurds who had fled Iraq in the 1980s; he'd joined the USAF because his father had insisted on him doing military service; he'd become a pilot in a fit of boredom; he wore his hair in a man bun because one of his favorite pro wrestlers did. Weiss had thought that she should hook Marrow and Yang up, as they seemed to have the last part in common, but found herself wondering what Marrow looked like naked. And that was when Weiss had excused herself and gone to bed, because if she was having those thoughts, she was clearly exhausted.
Still, she liked him. It occurred to Weiss that she really didn't have any friends outside of Ruby and Norn Flights, and no male friends aside from Ren and Oscar. She'd always ignored the men who had courted her, for the most part, because she was afraid they were only interested in her last name and her money. Jaune was one of the first to treat her like an actual flesh and blood woman, but despite his idiot flirting in those first weeks at Beacon, Weiss had a feeling that his heart had always belonged to Pyrrha Nikos—even if he wasn't aware of it. There was a lot about Marrow Amin that reminded her of Jaune Arc.
Marrow didn't notice her staring at him, chattering on about how he wanted to get a decent night's sleep for once, how the cola was too watered down, and if the GRIMM invasion was going to disrupt the NFL back home and his beloved Stampeders. Then he did notice, but thought she was staring past him. He glanced over his shoulder, and when he looked back, his expression was pained. "Oh, man. That's not gonna end well, eh?"
Weiss blinked, snapping herself out of her fugue. "What's that?" Then she realized he was referring to Pyrrha and Clover, who were having lunch two tables over. "Those two?" Weiss smiled a little. Clover was describing something—like most fighter pilots, with his hands—and Pyrrha was nodding along, a distant look in her eyes and a definite smile on her face. It reminded Weiss of how Pyrrha would look at Jaune, and Weiss' smile faded.
"No." Marrow raised his hands and dropped his voice. "Now don't get me wrong, Weiss. Clover's a good man, best flight leader I've ever had. And I know that Pyrrha's one hell of a girl too—Invincible Girl and all that. But didn't she lose her guy over Beacon?"
"What's that got to do with it?" There was steel in Weiss' voice. She didn't like the offhand way Marrow had referred to Jaune.
"Easy." Marrow dropped his voice a little more and leaned across the table. "Didn't mean nothing by it. It's just that, well, Clover lost his girl too. Not over Beacon, of course. Sea of Japan, I think."
"In the big fight two months ago?"
"No, before then. Couple of months before. What was her name again…" Marrow closed his eyes in thought. "Midori. That was it." He nodded, remembering. "Midori Hayakawa. Yeah, she was a Huntress with the JASDF. Disappeared over the Sea of Japan. MIA." Marrow sighed, sadly. "I've seen it happen before, you know? Good friend of mine in flight school who had lost his girl to a GRIMM attack, fell in love with a girl who had joined up because her guy got killed by GRIMM too. They couldn't work it out, though. Too many memories. Both of 'em on the rebound."
"That's dumb," Weiss commented. She wanted Pyrrha to be happy. The other woman had been through so much, lost so much, given up so much: out of all of them, Pyrrha deserved to be happy. Clover seemed to be a good man for her. "Just because they both lost loved ones? That's dumb, Marrow," Weiss repeated.
"I'm just saying," Marrow said defensively. "Clover, Vine and me got a little tipsy a few weeks back, before you guys got here. Clover said he would never date another girl again. He was tired of having his heart broken." Seeing Weiss' eyes narrowing, he shrugged. "Okay, okay…we were drunk. And he was all crying and stuff. Hard to believe, I know, but he really liked Midori. They were engaged, I guess, when they were on Okinawa together." Another shrug. "Anyway, I hope it works out, but in my experience, it won't. Besides, Harriet's going to be so pissed…"
"How much experience do you actually have, Marrow?" Weiss asked, ignoring the part about Harriet Bree.
"Plenty. I'm a total stud." He grinned at her, thumbing at himself. Few men, however, could stand up to the ice-blue gaze of a Schnee female, and Marrow was not one of them. "Er…well…okay, okay. Not that experienced."
"Still a virgin?" Weiss smirked, though she really didn't know why she had said that. After all, she was still a virgin herself, the last one standing in the 77th Tactical Fighter Squadron.
"No!" Marrow insisted. "I am not!"
He doth protest too much, Weiss thought. Further interrogation would have to wait, however, as the television showed Robyn Hill's face. It had been tuned to the BBC, which was reporting on the situation in Poland. She rose out of her chair. "Could you turn that up?"
"Sure." Clover was closest and he got up to increase the volume. Everyone's attention was now on the big screen TV, where an attractive BBC reporter was interviewing Robyn; according to the words at the bottom, the interview was being conducted at Slupsk, the Happy Huntresses' current base.
"How is the situation in the north?" the reporter was asking.
"We're holding our own. I won't lie to you," Robyn told the reporter, "it was very desperate yesterday. Right now, the enemy seems to have slowed down their attacks, so we're trying to concentrate on evacuating civilians from the Gdansk-Gdynia area."
"And how successful has that been?"
Robyn nodded. "Very. Because the situation in the front line has been very fluid, we're evacuating them back to Stargard and Szczecin. The problem has been assets. NATO forces have been very helpful in that regard—my understanding was that airpower played an integral part in stopping the GRIMM advance down by Lodz yesterday."
"Hell yeah we did!" Marrow cheered. He held up a hand for Weiss to high-five, but she was concentrating on the report.
"Of course, we have to be aware of the most vulnerable of the population right now," Robyn said. "By that, I mean the children." She motioned behind her, where a C-130 with Polish Air Force markings was parked. In front of it were easily three dozen children, sitting in the shade of the wing and looking bewildered. "These are children of men and women on the fighting front. I'm quite happy to report that a private school in Ahlbeck on the German Baltic coast has agreed to take them in. I'll be escorting them there this evening."
"Is it necessary for a squadron commander like yourself to be personally escorting a transport of children?" the reporter asked.
Robyn sounded surprised at the question. "For children, it's always necessary. Besides, my Happy Huntresses will still be on guard over the northern sector." She winked at the camera. "I'll be right back, girls."
Heringsdorf Airport
Mecklenburg State, Federal Republic of Germany
26 August 2001
Tyrian Callows gave a start at the wink. He put down his soda and stared at the TV, but the reporter had already thrown the story back to the newsroom in London. "That's it," he said, then grinned at Neo, Cinder, and Watts. "That's it!"
Watts, who was typing away on his laptop, didn't even look up. "That's bait." Tyrian looked thunderstruck, and Watts sighed. "Tyrian, it's quite obvious. Robyn Hill tells the entire world that she's escorting a transport full of children for a sea holiday—alone. She might as well put up a flashing sign that she's planning an ambush."
Cinder reached behind her and switched off the TV. "As much as it pains me to do so, Tyrian, I agree with the good doctor. Robyn's luring us in."
"She doesn't even know we're here," Tyrian said, pouting.
"She knows you're here," Watts reminded him. "I imagine one of the Huntresses, or Ruby Rose with those silver eyes of hers, identified you as the sniper at Poznan. And we also haven't accounted for all of Crimson Jack Snipe's band. Most of them swore loyalty to Neo here, but there's no honor among thieves or air pirates." He ignored Neo's glare. "It would not surprise me in the least if one or two of them didn't drop a hint to the Polizei or Interpol that the great Neo Politan is in the area. Either that, or Ironwood has put two-and-two together and knows that where there is Arthur Watts, there may be Cinder Fall."
"I'm supposed to be dead," Cinder said.
Watts snorted. "They've recovered the wreckage of your Su-27 by now, my dear. And something tells me that Lil' Miss Malachite isn't above playing both sides of the street. Especially since you haven't delivered JINN to her as promised. She probably placed a call to the CIA or MI6 the moment you and the late, unlamented Adam Taurus left Vladivostok."
"You've just got it all figured out, don't you?" Tyrian growled.
Watts gave him a pitying look. "Yes, Tyrian, I do. Because I'm a genius." He went back to his laptop.
"Not to mention modest," Neo added. The scientist looked up from his laptop, chuckled, and began typing again.
"Well, you're not my supervisor!" Tyrian shouted, and jumped to his feet. "I'll go kill her and be right back."
Watts stopped typing. "I am your supervisor," he said, "because your queen has stated so."
"My queen wants me to create chaos—"
"Which you can do by random murder and mayhem in Berlin—what I told you to do tonight," Watts told him.
"If I kill Robyn Hill, it will ruin the morale of the Happy Huntresses!" Tyrian insisted. "My queen will be very pleased with that."
Watts fixed him with a pitiless stare. "If you get into that Skorpion, I swear by the Almighty and all the angels of heaven that I will tell your 'queen' that you're a damned fool."
"Do what you want. I'm going." Tyrian suddenly pulled a knife from a sheath on his wrist. "And I suggest none of you try to stop me." He backed out until he reached the door of the bar, then opened it and dashed towards the hangar.
"God," Watts sighed. "Salem should have given me a shock collar for that maniac."
"Wait…we can use this," Cinder said. "Baiting a trap is one thing…but what if he pulls it off? Tyrian attacked Ruby and her bunch practically by himself. Yes, the Malachite Gang helped, but from what you told me, they did little more than distract Nikos. Assuming that she only brings a few Huntresses, he might be able to get them all, including Robyn." Cinder rolled her eyes. "And probably shoot down the transport full of children as a bonus, knowing him."
"And if he gets shot down and killed?" Watts considered that. "Hmm. I see your point, Cinder. It is a win-win, at that. And even if he gets captured, it's not like he'll talk."
"Win-win," Cinder agreed. "Neo, dear, would you accompany Tyrian on his mission?"
Neo looked up from her book in surprise, and barked a laugh. "Like hell!"
"I think that's an order, Neo," Watts told her.
Neo looked from the scientist to Cinder. "No," she said simply.
"Very well," Cinder replied. "Then I suppose I'll have to keep Ruby Rose's location to myself, won't I?" She smiled at Watts. "After all, we know where she is, don't we, Doctor?"
Watts picked up on Cinder's plan. "Certainly. I can track her, easily enough. After all, I get whatever the ground radar picks up." When he'd shut down the radars across Poland, he'd also slipped in a spy program. Since the AWACS shared data with the radars, now that they were back online, they were unknowingly sharing data with Watts, too.
Neo stared daggers at both of them. She flung down her book and stalked out of the bar, following Tyrian. The door slammed behind her.
"Trying to get her in the way of a missile?" Watts asked, though he knew the answer.
"She keeps promising to kill me," Cinder replied. "Little Neo seems to forget that it works both ways."
The Baltic Sea Coast
Near Dziwnow, Republic of Poland
26 August 2001
Tyrian squinted against the setting sun, and spotted the C-130 below and to the left, at around twenty thousand feet above the coast. Above it and to the right was the distinctive arrowhead shape of Robyn Hill's Kfir. He did a quick check of the instrument panel of the Skorpion, then the sky around him, through the bubble canopy. There were wispy cirrus above him. Tyrian activated his radar and let it do two sweeps, then shut it back down. He dipped his right wing, and saw Neo's Hawk behind and to his right, where a wingmate should be. "No contacts, Neo. She's alone. Some trap." Neo didn't respond, but Tyrian didn't really care about her. He'd missed killing Robyn at Poznan during the election rally; he wasn't going to miss twice. He wasn't the type to leave survivors when he picked a victim.
He also liked to play with his food. He switched radio frequencies to Guard, which everyone monitored. "Robyn Hill? Hello there! You may not know me, but I know you. For such a little bird, you have quite the impact around here, bringing hope and a smile wherever you go!" He said it in a singsong voice. He then dropped his voice to a growl. "I find that upsetting."
Robyn didn't respond, but he saw the Kfir break away from the C-130 to head in his direction. The transport turned hard to the right, in a far tighter turn than the crew would have if there was anyone onboard. "Sorry, Callows," Robyn finally said. "I really wanted to kill you on my own, but the general insisted that I share. Seems there's some other people you've pissed off."
The Kfir was going for altitude, so Tyrian climbed as well. "There's no one else here, Robyn—" Before he could finish his sentence, his RWR lit up, indicating he was being locked on—not from Robyn, but from two other aircraft. He frantically looked around, then realized why his radar hadn't picked up any other contacts, as a F-35 and a F-117 dropped out of the orange cirrus.
"Tyrian from Neo. 'Bye!" Tyrian's head snapped around to see the Hawk peel away and go into a hard dive, rolling out to head due north.
"Damn you!" he shouted, but Qrow was on him, tracers reaching out in the soft twilight from the modified Nighthawk. Tyrian let out a bellow of pure rage, dodged the gunfire, and returned it with the gunpod slung beneath the Skorpion. The two aircraft went past each other, canopy to canopy—Tyrian in a climb, Qrow diving.
Tyrian hammerheaded the Skorpion around to drop in on top of Qrow, but the heavier Nighthawk accelerated away in the dive. He slammed the throttle forward to catch up, only to see the threat display light up again as Clover slid in behind. Tyrian cursed and broke, but that only took him into the path of Robyn, who fired a Sidewinder at him. Dropping flares, he dodged the missile and rolled out, trying to extend out of the dogfight, but now Qrow was curving in, having used the kinetic energy of the dive to climb back into the assassin's six o'clock.
Tyrian saw that Qrow was closing in for a gun pass—evidently, Tyrian thought, his enemy wanted to ensure that he died—waited a moment, then broke left. It almost was too late: Qrow's shells mostly missed, but one hit the canted tails of the Skorpion, passing through both of them. The tough composites held. Tyrian dived, avoiding a second burst—but now it was Clover who was on him, at good Sidewinder parameters.
Tyrian took a page out of Qrow's book: he hauled the stick back into his lap and engaged his afterburners, chancing that Clover would be a half-second too slow. He was right, and Tyrian was rewarded with the F-117 appearing in his gunsight: Qrow had anticipated Tyrian would climb, but not so quickly. He fired a burst at the Nighthawk, more for moral effect than any thought of hitting, then tail-slid the Skorpion, let the nose fall, and fired one of his four Sidewinders at Clover. The F-35 dodged away frantically as the missile locked onto a flare instead. Tyrian completed his loop, spotted Qrow, who had twisted away from the hasty gunfire, and climbed into the rear of the F-117. Tyrian cackled, fired a second Sidewinder, then dived to try and pick up Clover, who was trying to turn back into him.
Qrow watched the Sidewinder sail off—the missile had never guided on the ducted, cooled exhausts of the Nighthawk—and whistled softly in his oxygen mask. "Forgot how good this fucker is," he growled. Tyrian had taken control of this dogfight, using his opponents' superior numbers against them, slashing at each in turn. "Clover, Qrow!" he radioed. "Extend out!"
"Trying," Clover responded, his voice pained against the G-forces he was taking, trying to turn inside the Skorpion and throw Tyrian off his tail. Suddenly, the assassin broke away, and Qrow saw Robyn rolling in, then just as quickly break off her attack before she fired anything; Qrow realized she'd spoofed Tyrian, locking on with her radar despite being too close for AMRAAMs. Qrow dived at Tyrian, who broke away, but Qrow had anticipated that: Tyrian made a hard break, too hard for the F-117 to keep up, but it brought him back into Clover's range. As Qrow climbed and strained against the Gs to keep the Skorpion in sight, he saw a fireball detach from the F-35 and head for Tyrian—with DUST and a helmet sight, Clover didn't need to be aimed directly at the Skorpion. "Got you!" Qrow yelled, but he was wrong. Tyrian turned into the missile, rolled, and dumped flares in a pinwheel. Confronted with half a dozen heat signatures, the Sidewinder went stupid and chased the flares.
Still, the impressive maneuver had only slowed Tyrian down, and Qrow pounced. He fired his gun again, knowing he was nearly out of ammunition, and saw the sparkle of strikes—but the Skorpion again bounced out of his gunsight, though Qrow saw a thin bit of white smoke now trailing from the aircraft. Tyrian was losing fuel.
Tyrian cheated the break tighter than the Nighthawk could follow once more, and ended up going head to head with Clover. Both exchanged gunfire, too quick to hit the other, and Tyrian broke right this time, expecting to find Qrow attacking him next. Instead, Qrow went into a shallow dive, baiting a trap: if Tyrian turned to follow, Clover would be on top of him. On the other hand, Tyrian was now out of position to engage Clover: as he realized Qrow was baiting him and turned to reacquire the F-35, he saw that Clover was in a hard climb, daring Tyrian to come after him, and leave him open to an attack from Qrow.
Tyrian did the smart thing: he used the Skorpion's ability to turn inside any of his opponents, racked the aircraft into a skid, then firewalled his throttle to head due west, breaking off the fight.
He'd forgotten Robyn.
Robyn had kept herself out of the turning, twisting fight between the three men, knowing her Kfir was at a disadvantage there, and bided her time, guessing that Tyrian would get target fixated and forget she was around. She'd been right: as he streaked for home, she dropped in behind him, and fired two Sidewinders.
Tyrian snickered to himself: he might have been surprised by her sudden reappearance, but Robyn had fired too soon. He gave himself a precious split-second, then dodged left, dropping the last of his flares and dumping the gunpod to give himself just a bit of lesser drag. He looked to the left, to laugh at the mercenary for overestimating himself, only to find himself looking directly at the Kfir's nose.
Robyn had deliberately fired her missiles early, then once more taken a chance, a 50-50 one: she'd gone left. Luckily, so had Tyrian, and she had a perfect spreadeagled target in her gunsight. She pulled the trigger. The Kfir bucked as both DEFA 30mm cannon fired; the shells chopped through the small Skorpion, catching it behind the canopy and tearing through both engines. The Skorpion leveled out, the nose rose into a stall as the engines flamed out, the aircraft tumbled once, and headed for the ground.
Robyn half expected the insane Tyrian to ride it down and die in the crash, but instead she saw the canopy separate and he ejected. She throttled back and circled, watching the seat separate and a parachute billow out. The shock of the ejection had evidently knocked Tyrian out, since he swung limply beneath the canopy; it was too much to hope that he'd broken his neck. She rolled away from the parachute, reversed her turn, and lined up the tiny little figure in her gunsight.
"Robyn, Clover. Hold your fire. We don't shoot at parachutes. We'll take him alive." The F-35 began to orbit the parachute.
Robyn broke off her gun run. "You should let me kill him. You're going to regret this, Clover."
MORE AUTHOR'S NOTES: Tyrian's dogfight is loosely based on Werner Voss (one of Weiss' heroes) and his epic dogfight between his Fokker Dr.I and as many as eight British SE.5s-most of them flown by aces. Also, I couldn't resist a little Mad Max Fury Road reference. Watts is genre savvy...