AUTHOR'S NOTES: Whew, I almost didn't think I was going to get this done on schedule, but a big air battle in this chapter, along with...Yang giving romantic advice? It really is armageddon. Some shout-outs to Battle of Britain and Memphis Belle in this chapter.
Keep those reviews coming. I do love reading them-they keep me (and this story) going, as you folks are always giving me ideas and inspiration.
Poznan-Krezesiny Airbase
Poznan, Republic of Poland
27 August 2001
Ruby thought her uncle actually looked pretty good. Qrow Branwen had never been much for uniform regulations (or any others, for that matter), but he was clean shaven now, without his characteristic slump, and the only thing he was drinking was coffee. He even looked well rested, which was better than most of the pilots in the ready room this morning. To Ruby's surprise, Pyrrha was visibly struggling to stay awake, with deep purple bags under her eyes, which was very unusual for her. Everyone else was in various states of tired; nearly everyone had a mug of coffee in front of them. Ruby had her usual—coffee with enough sugar in it to cause hypoglycemia in normal people.
"Mornin', everyone," Qrow said. He was answered with assorted grunts and groans; only Weiss and a surprisingly chipper Marrow—who was not normally a morning Faunus—replied with actual words. "Yeah, I hear you. But if you're tired now, I can guarantee you it's going to get worse before it gets better." More groans and now a few muffled curses. "But I do have some good news for you." Qrow grinned. "Those of us who are Reaper Flight alumni remember Tyrian Callows. He's also the asshole responsible for the murders in Berlin and the shootings at Robyn Hill's election party, not to mention almost killing my ass over Sakhalin. Well, Robyn, Clover and me set an ambush for the little psycho last night, and damn if he didn't fly right into it. He gave us a run, but we got him."
"You got him," Clover amended. "I didn't do much."
"Bullshit," Qrow argued. "You kept him off my ass more than once. You're a lucky bastard to have around. Robyn gunned the fucker, but it was a team effort."
"You killed him?" Ren asked.
"Nah, he punched. Captured him, though. He's cooling his heels in Poznan's hoosegaw for now, but we're gonna transfer him back to the States. No telling what he knows about Salem's operations."
"The question is, will he talk?" Harriet said.
"Everyone talks," Blake answered her. Harriet gave her a genuinely frightened look, Ruby thought; Flying Officer Bree had obviously and abruptly remembered that Blake had once been with the White Fang.
"Back on task," Qrow ordered. "We'll leave Tyrian to the tender mercies of our short friend from Greenbrier." He nodded to Clover, who had assumed the duties of light person in the briefing room, and switched off the lights. Qrow brought up the overhead. "Okay. So here's the deal. We were expecting the GRIMM to hit us around Lodz last night, but it didn't happen. Now we know why. It looks like Salem's building up her forces just south of what's left of Warsaw, and around Kielce. She's going to pincer the 1st Armored." He pointed to the small city about a hundred miles south of Warsaw. "Same thing in the north, though the buildup there doesn't look as bad. She's making her big push in the center." Qrow smiled. "But we're not gonna let her."
He switched to the next overhead. "So this is Operation Cascade. I didn't come up with the name, but it's pretty appropriate. We got some reinforcements from the States, finally, so we're going to hit Salem with B-52s. We'll see how tough she is after the BUFFs get done with her." He used the nickname for the B-52 Stratofortress—Big Ugly Fat Fellow, if one was in polite company. "24 B-52s are taking off from Fairford in the UK right now. We'll pick 'em up at the Baltic coast near Kolobrzeg, escort them to the target, and back out. Shouldn't be too tough. You can bet Salem will pick those birds up pretty damn quick, so we've got to get out in front and keep the GRIMM off the Big Friends' back." Qrow gave a sharp nod. "I used that term deliberately, because this is going to be some World War II shit that we're doing. Those BUFFs are going to be like the B-17s back then—we're the Little Friends, the P-47s and the P-51s. And just like them, we can't outdistance them too much, so we're going to have to throttle back to stay with the bombers."
"Who's coming with us?" Ruby asked. She noticed out of the corner of one eye Nora nudge Pyrrha awake; the Greek girl had nearly fallen out of her chair.
"Six flights. Ruby, Norn, and Ace, of course, and we'll be joined by Hawk, Spider, and Devil. We'll have withdrawal support from Penny's B-1; she'll cover our ass on the way out. Hawk is four Polish F-16s, Spider will be four Danish F-16s, and Devil is four German Typhoons." Qrow looked at Weiss and winked. "The Polish Parliament voted to allow German aircraft to fly over Poland, so we've got the Krauts joining us."
"About time," Weiss replied. "Now we'll see efficiency." That got a small laugh.
"Speaking of the Poles," Nora inquired, "those B-52s are going to do a shitload of collateral damage. What about that? Does anyone care?"
Qrow was about to tell Nora that the GRIMM would do a lot more collateral damage, but decided against it; he knew why she felt the way she did. "Parliament talked about that. They regard it as acceptable. That tells you how serious things are, Nora." Qrow signaled for Clover to bring up the lights again. "I'll be raid commander for the fighters. When we get into the merge, I'll fly top cover and direct flights to where they're needed. That seemed to work pretty good the other day.
"The B-52s are divided into four-ship cells. They're named after colors: Red, White, Black, Yellow, Green, and Orange. They'll be staying pretty tight together, and putting out enough ECM energy to fry your radars. Remember they've got tail gunners with itchy trigger fingers, so don't point your noses at the B-52s or come at them from behind if you can avoid it. If you want to talk to the overall raid commander, her callsign is Blizzard." Qrow saw Weiss' head come up from where she was jotting down notes. "Yep. Your big sis is leading the attack, Weiss, just like she did at La Crosse. Don't ask me how she talked Ironwood into that, but she did.
"Last things: AWACS is changing their callsign today; Salem might have figured out Haisla by now, so they're Top Hat. We've got some tankers fifty miles west of the FEBA; they'll be Tan Anchor. The tankers are mainly there for the bombers, and this close to the front, we shouldn't be needing go juice—but in case you do, contact Tan. Safe bailout zones are to the west. If you get hit over the target and bail out, you'd better be really good at evading or you're going to meet Salem a lot sooner than either of you thought. The closer you get to the front, the better chance you have of the Jolly Greens getting to you. By the way, the base at Lask is closed. GRIMM are too damn close.
"Successful mission code is Gehenna, which Blizzard will transmit. You hear that, we won, but you stay with the goddamn bombers until they're clear, get it? Anyone fucks off early, and I will personally kick their ass after I ground them." Qrow knew the latter was a far more effective threat. "Any questions?" There were none, which surprised him. "Okay, boys and girls, let's go kick some ass."
Yang was surprised to find Pyrrha waiting for her as she left the ladies' bathroom. "Whew. Always good to take a whiz before you get up there." She motioned towards the ceiling. "What's up, Pyr?"
"Can I speak with you? On the way to the aircraft?"
"Sure thing." The two women walked out of the building into the equipment room, where they donned their G-suits and the assorted paraphenalia required for flying modern fighters, including their personal weapons; Pyrrha's eyes widened a bit at the .357 Yang holstered. They grabbed their helmets and walked out onto the tarmac towards the revetments. "What's up?" Yang asked, as soon as they were away from all the others.
"I'm sorry I was so sleepy in the briefing. I'm going on maybe two hours." Yang had noticed Pyrrha's struggle to stay awake as well; her Greek accent also had a tendency to come out more when she was tired, like Weiss' German.
"No sweat off my butt, Pyr."
"I didn't sleep hardly at all last night. I…I think I need someone to talk to." Pyrrha slowed down a little. "I'm…well…I'm interested in Clover."
Yang slapped her on the back. "Nice! He kept you up all night, huh?" She leered at a blushing Pyrrha. "Give me all the juicy details. Length, girth, pounding power per square inch!"
"What? No!" Pyrrha looked horrified. "Nothing like that, Yang. At least…not yet. I mean…I kind of…want to…" Her voice trailed off.
"So go for it! He's healthy enough." Yang laughed. "Hell, everyone's getting laid around here. I woke up with my hands on Blake's boobs the other day, and I think Weiss might be getting it doggie style from Marrow. Hell, I think even Rubes has her eye on Oscar, though if he sleeps with her I'll chop his dick off." Pyrrha wisely said nothing. "So like I said, go for it."
"But…it's not right."
Yang wondered if Pyrrha was religious; she herself only acknowledged a God when she was in trouble. "Well, I don't see how it would be wrong."
"What about Jaune?" Suddenly there were piercing green eyes on her.
"C'mon, Pyr," Yang told her. "I loved Jauney too, but you can't be alone forever. God, no one expects that. If you were Jaune and you had bought the farm at Beacon, and he was telling me he was interested in Elm or something, I totally would say the same thing. Shit, if Jaune was interested in my sister, I'd tell him to take his best shot." Yang wasn't sure she would actually allow Jaune Arc near Ruby, if he were still alive, but she was trying to comfort Pyrrha. "Just make sure he wraps it up—no glove, no love—and get your plow cleaned. Simple as that."
"It's not that simple." Pyrrha sighed. "I don't even know if he's interested. Yes, we have coffee, and I thought…but he's seemed kind of distant the last two days. I've kind of signaled that I wouldn't mind going further—at least touching, maybe not s-s-sex," Pyrrha stammered, "but he doesn't seem to pick up on it."
Yeah, like Jaune totally didn't pick up that you were madly in love with him until you hopped into bed with him, Yang thought. Pyrrha might be the best fighter pilot Yang had ever seen, but when it came to interpersonal relationships, she seemed a bit clueless. "Well, we have been fighting a war," Yang pointed out. "He's got a flight to run too, and he's reporting straight to Ironbutt, not Qrow."
"I know, I know." Pyrrha sighed again. "I just wish I knew how to…how to talk to him about such things. At least find out where he stands. If he would prefer not to, that's all right. I just need to know."
"I guess it depends, Pyr. If you just want to screw him, show up at his room door buck naked. If he refuses that, there's either something wrong with him or he's gay." Yang wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "And even if he is, it still might work. I mean…I'd sleep with you." Pyrrha snorted and laughed, taken by surprise, which was what Yang intended. "But if you don't want to go that far, just come out and say it. 'Clover, you're hot as hell and I want to ride you like it's a rodeo.' Maybe something more diplomatic than that, but you get the idea. If he says yes, and he'd be a fool not to, then you've got him and all your base are belong to us. If he says no, oh well, go kick the shit out of a speedbag for awhile, and see if someone else works. Like, I dunno…Vine or that hot Polish lieutenant who does the weather. He could make me rain, I guarantee you."
Pyrrha laughed again. "You're certainly not much for tact, Yang."
"Hey, if losing my arm taught me anything, it's that life's way too short." They had reached their aircraft. "Well, here's my stop. Good luck, Pyr." She touched helmets with Pyrrha.
"You as well, Yang. And thank you."
"Anytime. Just call me the Love Doctor." Yang winked at her and headed for her F-23.
Near Legnica, Republic of Poland
27 August 2001
Ruby whistled in her mask as she watched the B-52s begin turning east: the bombers had not gone directly towards the target, but made a southerly run paralleling the German-Polish border, and were now headed east, to try and throw off Salem, if she was watching the bombers approach somehow. The 24 bombers made an impressive sight, each one ten times the size of her F-16, with eight engines: twice as many bombers as had been at La Crosse, but loaded with the same bombload. Ruby would sooner drink jet fuel before she'd fly a bomber, but she did have to admit the B-52s looked rather stately. They briefly skirted the contrail zone, leaving streams of white condensation behind them before Winter ordered the bombers to climb out of the zone. There was no point in making it easier on the GRIMM. Around the bombers flew the 24 fighters of the escort. Ruby squirmed around in her seat and tried to relax a bit. It wouldn't be long now.
"Blizzard to Big Friends." Winter's voice sounded in her helmet. "Tighten up. Music on." Ruby saw the bombers begin to close up their formation, each cell in a diamond formation, spaced out to give their tail guns fields of fire, but close enough that their electronic countermeasures protected them. Ruby had her radar on, and watched as it was slowly blanked out on the left side of the screen, turned to static by the heavy jamming of the B-52s.
"Blizzard, Jehovah." It was Ironwood himself. "Your code is Octavia, I say again, Octavia. Time is 1102 Zulu." The mission was on: there was no turning back now.
They crossed the Oder River 20,000 feet below. Winter's B-52 made a slight change in course to the northeast; without communication, the others followed. It was quiet for about five minutes, then Ruby's radio crackled to life again. "Blizzard, Top Hat. Bandits vicinity Bullseye, course two-one-zero, speed 500, angels 20,000 to 30,000, bearing zero-five-five. Raid count is 60, repeat, 60 bandits." Ruby's eyes flicked down to her navigational display: Bullseye was the codename for Warsaw, used because it was easy to remember where it was. Given the varying altitudes, it meant they could expect a mix of GRIMM.
"Qrow to Little Friends. Let's meet them. All flights check in." Qrow began to climb, where he could control the battle.
"Norn Flight." Pyrrha had her flight on top cover; for once, Nora's A-10 and its slow speed was not a detriment.
"Ace Flight." Clover's five F-35s were to the north of the formation.
"Hawk Flight." The four Polish F-16s were to the south.
"Spider Flight." The Danish were out front.
"This is Devil Flight, below and behind." The four German Typhoons were protecting the rear of the B-52s, below them to clear the tail guns.
"Ruby Flight. Joining up on your right side, Qrow." Ruby had kept her flight loose, a fire brigade against any GRIMM that might show up from an unexpected direction.
"Roger that. Little Friends, wall formation. Weapons free. Ruby, Norn, stay where you are; engage any leakers." Ruby clicked her mike twice. They would not be committed to the merge.
The other flights accelerated, to meet the GRIMM further out, and not let the drones close to missile range against the bombers. Some were going to get through, then it would be Ruby and Norn Flight's turn. Ruby took a deep breath, took her hands off the controls a bit, and flexed her fingers. There was always that weird mixture of fear and anticipation when she knew she was going into a fight. Anything could happen: she could shoot down a dozen GRIMM or she could be dead in the next three minutes. She waggled her wings and made a long curve to the south. Quickly, she checked her flight: Weiss was out about a mile to her right; Blake and Yang two miles behind and to the left. "Ruby Flight, noses cold." She wanted them to keep their radars off, despite Blake's F-14 having the advantage at long range; Ruby wanted to surprise the GRIMM.
"Top Hat to Qrow. Bandits now speed 600, angels as before, bearing zero-six-one. Raid count now 75 bandits. Top Hat listening, out." The AWACS didn't want to be a distraction.
"Spider Lead. Fox Three." Ruby looked down over her nose. In the distance, she saw a missile leap out from one of the F-16s. Then another, and another after that, until a barrage of AMRAAMs were heading for the oncoming GRIMM.
Ruby had to consciously not hold her breath as she watched the missile trails; eventually even she couldn't see them. Then little sparkles appeared on the horizon, first one, then many. Qrow reported the raid count now: 34 missiles had been fired; 28 reached their targets. There were now 47 GRIMM going into the merge. Ruby's hands tightened on the stick and throttle as the airspace fifteen miles in front of the bombers turned into a whirl of aircraft and drones. The GRIMM, programmed to kill the bombers, ignored the fighters as much as they could, but their self-preservation programming also came online, and a few began engaging the escorts as well.
"Qrow to Ruby and Norn. Engage now."
Ruby clicked her mike twice again and pushed up the throttle, switching on her radar. She locked onto four of them, all Ursa, who had come in below the wall and were now climbing to meet the bombers, slowing down as they did so because of their heavier weight. Ruby selected the leftmost GRIMM and fired. "Ruby, Fox Three!" The AMRAAM crossed the distance in seconds, and Ruby saw the Ursa burst into flame, stagger as it tried to continue its mission, then roll over towards the ground. "Splash one!"
Ruby throttled back—she was closing the distance a little too fast, and climbed and rolled to further bleed off her speede. "Still with me, Weiss?"
"Right here." Weiss stayed with her through the manuever, her eyes watching the sky around them, letting Ruby concentrate on killing GRIMM.
"Roger." She lined up on another Ursa and switched to Sidewinders. It took two of her four missiles to bring this one down, but it fell out of the air, a torch that exploded before it reached the ground. Ruby overshot the other two and turned hard to the left. "Weiss, take 'em!"
"On it." Weiss dropped in behind the last two Ursa and dispatched both. "Weiss, splash two."
More GRIMM had broken through, and Pyrrha and Oscar met them head on. The lead aircraft was a Manticore—the first they had seen since China—and Oscar saw it open fire on Pyrrha, who dropped chaff behind her. The GRIMM's missiles, fooled by the aluminum strips and the Raptor's stealth, sailed past, but to Oscar's surprise, Pyrrha stayed on a collision course with the Manticore. He was about to yell a warning when suddenly the GRIMM, its programming telling it that its opponent was evidently going to ram, suddenly climbed—and that was when Pyrrha fired, gunsmoke trailing behind her as 20 millimeter cannon shells tore the Manticore in half.
Three other Manticores swept under them, and Oscar turned and dived to get in behind, wordlessly exchanging the lead with Pyrrha. He noticed a Danish F-16 in pursuit, and a Beowulf turning in behind the F-16 to engage it. "Spider Viper behind the Manticores!" Oscar yelled; he didn't know which F-16 it was. "You've got a Beowulf on your tail!"
The other pilot didn't answer, but the F-16 abandoned its pursuit of the Manticores and broke left and right to try and evade the Beowulf, but the GRIMM stayed with him. It fired a missile and just barely missed, the missile distracted by a flare. "Spider Four! Beowulf all over me!"
"Spider Four, Oscar! Dive away!" The F-16 rolled and dived, and Oscar fired a Sidewinder in the split-second he had. The Beowulf evaded that missile and dived as well, losing its quarry. Oscar followed it down for a few seconds, but seeing that the GRIMM was leaving the battle, pulled the stick back and climbed—he didn't want to get too far away from the bombers or Pyrrha. There was a flicker in his peripheral vision, and another Beowulf surged at him, firing its cannon. Oscar head a distinct ping as something on his F-18 got hit, but no warning lights came on, so he turned into the GRIMM. The two passed each other, and Oscar pulled hard to the left to cut across the Beowulf's turn. He dropped in behind this one and switched to guns, but just before he fired, he glanced behind the Hornet's twin tails—and there was a Manticore closing into firing position.
Oscar was now the one to break off his attack. He pulled the stick back again and firewalled the throttle, climbing away from both GRIMM. The sudden climb caused blood to head for his feet, and his vision grayed out for a moment. Oscar bore down with his stomach muscles and blinked to get blood back in his brain, even as his G-suit inflated, and as the greyness faded, he saw a Manticore directly in front of him.
"Oh shit!" He was already switched to guns, and Oscar pulled the trigger almost by reflex. The cannon sawed into the Manticore and hit its cannon magazine. The explosion disintegrated the GRIMM and sent Oscar nearly out of control.
Winter Schnee sat in the jumpseat behind the pilot of the lead B-52; from where she sat, she couldn't see much of the battle, but tried to keep a mental picture of it in her head. It was near impossible in a melee like this. She keyed the intercom. "Navigator, AC. Distance to target?"
"AC, ten miles."
The copilot glanced out of his windows. "Red Three's hit!" Winter leaned forward to look. The B-52's nose was gone, the cockpit wreckage from a missile hit; the bomber pitched upwards and began an uncontrolled climb. Winter saw three ejections before the B-52 rolled over and headed for the ground.
"Blizzard, White Two. We're hit." Winter heard the voice in her earphones. The pilot sounded calm. "Two engines out. Charlie Mike." The B-52 could easily fly with six engines and still maintain formation.
"Roger, White Two. Big Friends, Blizzard. Close formation," Winter radioed. Red Four moved into position where Three had been moments before.
"Ruby Lead, two Manticores, three o'clock!" Weiss shouted.
"Roger, tally-ho!" Ruby replied. The GRIMM seemed everywhere; it was easily the biggest battle she'd been in since Beacon. Every time Ruby picked out a new target, she found herself under attack, or worse, headed towards the bombers, whose tail gunners were already firing at anything that got within their range. The gunners were trained to recognize friendly aircraft, but in a brawl like this, few of them were going to take the time to differentiate that twin tails and two engines meant a F-18 or a F-35 and not a Manticore or an Ursa.
Somehow Weiss had stayed with Ruby through the maneuvers. "Weiss, I'll take the leader, you get the other dude!" Ruby shouted. She skidded in behind the Manticore from the left; Weiss barrel-rolled and came in from the right, boxing in the GRIMM. The drones split away from each other, one diving, the other climbing. Ruby stayed on her Manticore, saw that she was too close for her Sidewinders, and switched to the gun. She opened fire and saw strikes, and closed in to finish it off.
"Ruby, break right!"
Ruby didn't question it; she twitched the side stick, and the F-16 instantly went into a hard right break. She checked the mirrors: it was a Beowulf, its cannon winking at her. She tightened the turn, but one cannon shell came so close to her canopy Ruby was sure she could actually see it. She dived, but the GRIMM stayed on her.
Yang saw her sister in trouble; she'd been trying to stay with Blake in the fight, but she left the F-14 and flew towards Ruby. Yang pushed the throttles into afterburner; Weiss, who had dispatched her Manticore, was out of position to help her wingmate. Ruby came out of the dive and twisted back towards the bombers, the sheepdog needing help from the sheep. It gave Yang an opening. "Yang, Fox Two!" The GRIMM disintegrated a moment later.
"Yang!" Blake had managed to get herself untangled from a fight with a persistent Ursa that had taken two Sidewinders and the gun before it finally went down. She hammerheaded over and saw Yang splash her Beowulf, but there was another rolling in behind her. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw a F-16 going down in flames, but she couldn't help whoever that was. "You've got a Beowulf at your five! He's firing!" Blake saw a spark from the F-23: the Beowulf had scored a hit. She tried to get a lockon with an AMRAAM, but couldn't tell if the missile was looking at the Beowulf or at Yang.
Yang suddenly pulled the nose up. The Beowulf, its computer brain surprised, overshot, so close the two nearly collided. Yang simply dropped the nose back to level flight and hip-shot a Sidewinder, blowing apart the GRIMM.
Blake caught up and saw a hole behind the cockpit. Her heart rose into her throat. "Yang, Blake, you're hit."
"I'm okay!" Yang coughed. "Think the oxygen system took a hit. Getting hard to breathe."
"Yang, Ruby! Get below fifteen thou and RTB. Blake, stay with her," Ruby ordered. It meant cutting Ruby Flight's fighting strength in half, but no one flew alone in a combat area.
"But—"
"Blake, Qrow. That's an order."
"Sorry!" Blake called out, and followed Yang into a gentle dive, out of the battle.
"Ruby, Qrow. Five Beowolves, nine o'clock high."
"Roger, on my way." As Weiss slid back into position on her right, Ruby headed back in the fight.
Qrow was flying sedately upside down at 40,000 feet, coordinating the battle through the F-117's bifurcated canopy. It was a maelstrom of swirling fighters, missile trails, tracers, parachutes and smoke. Two F-16s and a Typhoon were down; Harriet and Vine were headed back with battle damage, and now Yang and Blake. Two B-52s were gone, though the crew had managed to bail out of Black Two; three others were damaged and trailing smoke—and yet the bomber crews kept on, just as their grandfathers had over Schweinfurt and Berlin, the B-52s closing ranks and continuing their mission. Then he spotted four Ursa heading in from behind the bombers. Qrow's eyesight was almost as good as Ruby's, but he couldn't see anyone close enough to engage. "Big Friends, heads up, four bandits, six o'clock level!" He pushed the stick forward and began to dive, knowing he wouldn't make it in time.
"Qrow, Nora! I'm on them!" Nora had sent Ren on ahead and hung back, anticipating that the GRIMM might just try a sneak play. Her patience—something Nora Valkyrie was not known for—now paid off. She roared in, laughing: normally, her A-10 only carried two Sidewinders, and when she thought she might be getting into an air battle, she normally loaded gunpods and rockets. Not this time: Nora had her ground crew load Magnhild with twelve Sidewinders. She heard the Sidewinders growling as they sensed the GRIMM's heat and she salvoed six missiles: all six hit, blasting three Ursa from the sky.
The last one was too close for her missiles; the Sidewinders might track on the B-52s, which were giving out enough heat to light up a city. She pushed the A-10 as hard as it would go, and opened fire with the 30 millimeter cannon. The Ursa flew to pieces before it could fire, and Nora careened through the bomber formation, praying no nervous tail gunner would light her up. Luckily, the A-10 was a very recognizable aircraft, and she got through unscathed. "Woo-hoo! Nora, splash four!" Ren's going to be so pissed! Nora thought to herself: she'd just passed him in kills.
Winter instinctively ducked as the A-10 missed her B-52 by a few dozen feet, enough for the bomber to wallow in the jetwash for a split second. "God Almighty!" the pilot yelled out. "What the hell is a Warthog doing up here?"
"Pilot, bombardier. One mile to target. Thirty seconds to bomb release."
"Roger, bombardier. Bay doors open." The pilot reached out and thumbed a switch. Winter felt the B-52 noticeably slow as the bomb bay doors opened into the slipstream. "Holding steady on the run."
"Twenty seconds. Ten. Five. Four…three…two…one…bombs away."
The B-52 rose as it discharged seventy thousand pounds of bombs against the massed GRIMM 20,000 feet below them. Seconds later, the remaining bombers added their payloads. Winter said a brief prayer—not just for her own crews, but for any Polish civilians that still might be below them, unable to escape the GRIMM, or just hunkering down and hoping the enemy would pass them by; now they might be killed by her own bombs. Despite her reputation and demeanor as an uncaring, cold woman of Teutonic efficiency, Winter Schnee did have a heart.
It took about fifteen seconds. "Pilot, bombardier. Bombs clear."
"Roger that. Closing bay doors."
Winter switched on her radio. "Blizzard to all elements. Your code is Gehenna, repeat, Gehenna." It would have to wait for an afternoon reconnaissance aircraft to determine how effective the B-52s had been, but Winter doubted much of anything could live under the hurricane of bombs that was now hitting the target. She wished Salem was there, but that would be asking for a miracle.
"We've done our job for God and country," the copilot said. "Now we're flying for ourselves." He helped the pilot begin to turn the heavy bomber to the northwest, to egress the target area as fast as they could. It wasn't far to the FEBA, only ten miles, Winter thought.
Then something blocked out the sun. Winter got the briefest glimpse of a Manticore firing its cannon before the world exploded around her.