AUTHOR'S NOTES: Not going to apologize for ending last chapter on a cliffhanger, but here you go.

Outhouse Mouse, incidentally, was a real aircraft-a B-17. It had the dubious honor of being the first bomber to be sort-of attacked by a Messerschmitt Me 163 Komet, which flew alongside for awhile and left. Ruby and Weiss' bit is also based on a real incident (probably several of them) during World War II.

And there is a small homage to Highschool of the Dead in this chapter as well.

Near Kielce, Republic of Poland

27 August 2001

"Red One is hit! Red One is hit!" Qrow didn't know who it was who shouted it, but his eyes immediately went to the lead B-52—Winter's aircraft. He saw the Manticore climbing away from it, but Qrow ignored that for a moment, watching the bomber. Smoke streamed from the cockpit, but the aircraft kept flying, then began to climb slightly. Smoke began to stream from the left inboard engine pod as well—the Manticore's strafing run had hit more than the cockpit.

Qrow noticed that the Manticore was looping to make another run on Red One, and dived on it, firing two Sidewinders. The GRIMM was blotted from the sky. "Red One, come in!" he called out. "Blizzard, Qrow, how do you read?" Oh, Jesus, Qrow thought, his bile rising, not Winter.

Winter Schnee had been spared by only inches.

The cannon shell detonated against the windscreen, sending fragments spiraling through the cockpit of the B-52. The main part of the shell's fragment hit the pilot in the chest, tearing away half of his left side and killing him instantly; more hit the copilot, going through his visor and hitting him in the face with enough force to rock his head back against the seat and knock him unconscious. The crew seats absorbed more. Somehow, none but a few small pieces struck Winter.

The cockpit depressurized a second after the shell detonated. Everything that wasn't tied down was sucked forward, out the shattered windscreen, and the crews' ears popped painfully. Winter's oxygen mask was ripped off her face. She gasped, both with the sudden lack of oxygen and with the shock of the explosion.

Winter's training kicked in. She first grabbed her mask and got it back on. The next thing she had to do was get control of the aircraft. Reflexively, the pilot had pulled back on the control column, and the B-52 was in a shallow climb. Winter unstrapped—the pressure had equalized—and yelled over the intercom, "AC to bombardier! Get up here now!" Winter reached forward, noticed something out of the corner of her eye, and saw flames beginning to erupt from the number three and four engine. She reached down and pulled the throttles back on those two engines, then moved the others forward to compensate. She would need to put the fire out too, but wasn't sure where the fire suppression system switches were.

The bombardier, a lieutenant, clambered up the latter, his mask plugged into a walkaround oxygen bottle. "Oh, shit!" He saw the cockpit. Besides the smashed windscreen and fragment holes across it, it also looked as if someone had thrown a bucket of red paint across the instrument panel. "Oh God!"

Winter unstrapped the pilot's body, her gloved fingers slipping and sliding on the blood. She tried to lift the body, but she wasn't strong enough. The bombardier saw her struggling, got forward, and somehow the two of them pulled the corpse from the seat, depositing him unceremoniously on the floor of the cockpit next to Winter's jumpseat. Winter climbed into the pilot's seat, ignoring the blood and gore, and quickly surveyed the instruments. Then she realized they were still headed due east. "Get the fire out—" she started to order, but the bombardier had already hit the switches. The number three and four engines coughed one last blast of smoke, then were silent.

"Okay, okay…" Winter took a deep breath and began turning the heavy bomber. Luckily, the B-52 was easy on the controls; even with her inexperience with large aircraft, Winter found she could control the aircraft. Slowly, she brought the bomber around to a new course, northwest, and leveled out. The bombardier helped her reconnect everything, including the radio. "Qrow, Blizzard," Winter finally replied. "We're hit but we're okay." She looked over at the copilot, who was slumped back in his seat, blood streaming down the front of his flight suit. Behind her, blood ran down the cockpit to drip down the ladder to the crew compartment.

Qrow breathed a sigh of relief. Winter was still alive, and he guessed she was now flying the B-52. The formation was now deeper inside enemy territory than planned; the formation had stayed with the lead bomber, with no orders to the contrary. They had turned with Red One, however, and now everyone was heading in the right direction. The problem was, it was now twenty miles to friendly territory rather than just ten.

"Top Hat, Qrow, how's it looking?" It wasn't the right radio nomenclature, but Qrow didn't care.

"Qrow, Top Hat. Delta Sierra." Qrow suppressed a groan; delta sierra was pilot shorthand for dog shit. "Bandits, ten miles south of Bullseye, bearing zero-nine-zero, course two-one-five, speed 550, distance forty miles. Raid count forty." Qrow translated that in his head: there were forty GRIMM ten miles south of Warsaw, moving to cut off the formation. He had about five minutes, maybe less, to come up with something.

There was really only one thing to do. "Little Friends, Qrow—alpha check." The flights quickly checked in: Ruby Flight was down to two aircraft, Ace was at three, Hawk and Spider were at four fighters, and Devil was down two now—including the lead aircraft. Only Norn Flight was at full strength. The problem was that all them were low on missiles; several only had guns left. Qrow himself only had his gun and a brace of Sidewinders.

"Little Friends, listen up." Qrow moistened dry lips. "Come right to zero-nine-zero. Go right at the GRIMM. We'll catch them as far out from the bombers as we can. Spider, stay with the BUFFs; everyone else, follow me." 16 fighters against 40, Qrow thought, with low ammo. It was going to be a massacre, but they had to stop the GRIMM before they got among the bombers again. He glanced over and saw Ruby and Weiss moving into position—they were the closest, and would merge with the GRIMM first. Gonna be a hard day for Tai.

Twenty miles away, Yang and Blake heard Qrow's radio call. They looked at each other across the sky. Neither said anything. Neither had to. The two fighters snapped around, flying back towards the battle. "Blake, go," was all Yang told her. With no oxygen, Yang would have to stay below 15,000 feet, but Gambol Shroud didn't have that problem. Blake clicked the mike twice and began climbing, running up the throttle to the stops; the Tomcat's wings swung completely back. Yang watched her, but then saw contrails above them.

"Qrow, Penny! Squawk flash!"

Qrow was startled by the voice. In the heat of battle, he'd completely forgotten about Penny Polendina. Her B-1 was acting as withdrawal support, but she would've been out of position due to the bombers accidentally continuing east. "Roger that, Penny! Little Friends, parrots on!" He reached forward and switched on his IFF transponder.

"Sweet squawk! Funky and Penny have the intercept!" Qrow dipped his left wing and saw the B-1 roar past, its afterburners lit—Penny had not waited for orders, but had come east on her own initiative. And she had friends. Qrow's face split into a grin as he saw the two F-14s flying wing on the converted bomber.

Penny overtook Ruby and Weiss, then opened fire moments later. The rotary launcher dropped from the bomb bay and began spinning, firing an AMRAAM every half-second. Next to her, the two F-14s of Funky Flight started firing theirs as well. "Little Friends, salvo!" Qrow shouted, and every aircraft that still had radar missiles left loosed theirs as well; Blake, coming up supersonic from the west, added hers to the dozens of AMRAAMs headed east.

The GRIMM were taken by surprise, their own countermeasures and formation swamped by the sheer number of missiles—for once, it was the humans and Faunus that turned the GRIMM's horde tactics against them. Half the formation disappeared before the drones turned away and fled east. Just that quickly, the battle was over.

Qrow took off his oxygen mask for a moment and rubbed his face. It had been a near-run thing. "Thanks, Penny. Thanks, Funky." He had no idea where the two Tomcats of Funky Flight had come from, but he was very glad to see them. Then he strapped the mask back on, and accelerated to catch up with Winter.

Ruby leaned back in her ejection seat, and raised her left hand off her throttle. It was trembling. She wasn't sure if it was adrenaline or fear.

"Ruby, Weiss. Seven o'clock low. Do you see it?"

Crap; now what? Ruby thought, as she craned her head around. Then she saw what Weiss was referring to. A B-52 had fallen behind the rest, smoke trailing from several engines. Weiss had called the bomber an it rather than reveal its presence; there was the odd chance that Salem or one of her minions might just be listening in.

Ruby hesitated. One part of her screamed to just leave the B-52. There were no GRIMM around that she could see, and as slow as it was going, it meant a lot of weaving around and slowing down to keep it covered. She was exhausted and—though Ruby truly didn't believe she could die, at least not yet—didn't want to push her luck. Death had already winked at her moments before. It wasn't that far to the FEBA; the bomber would probably make it without her help.

But there were five people in the bomber, and Ruby couldn't just abandon them. She waggled her wings at Weiss, then turned back. She slowed down and took up station alongside the bomber, as Weiss did the same, and saw the pilot turn to look at her through his cockpit windows. She grinned at the nose art: though modern sensibilities hadn't allowed the bomber crews to paint the gaudy nudes of their grandfathers, other subjects were still fine. This bomber carried art of Jerry the Mouse, standing next to an outhouse; the name was appropriately Outhouse Mouse. "Ruby to Outhouse Mouse. We'll take you on in."

"Roger, Ruby. Thank you." Ruby thought she heard tears in the pilot's voice. "Thank you so much."

Winter was shivering. Her flight suit wasn't much protection against the -60 below temperatures outside. The bombardier stood between the seats, ready to help her with the throttles; the copilot was still slumped backwards, though the bleeding had stopped and he was still breathing. "We've got to get down," she told the lieutenant, her teeth chattering.

"Yeah." He wasn't doing any better.

"Blizzard to Big Friends. We're descending. Red Four, take over." As Red Four acknowledged, she put the B-52 into a shallow dive. She took a quick look outside, saw the F-117 drop into formation with the bomber, and instantly felt a little better. "Stand by on the throttles," she told the bombardier. Winter checked the altimeter, grimaced and reached forward to wipe the blood off, then watched it. The cockpit began to warm noticeably. She leveled off at five thousand, then helped the bombardier throttle back.

"Blizzard, Qrow. You're in good guy land. How's she holding?"

Winter keyed her mike. "Doing okay, Qrow." She looked at the bombardier. "Let's check…" It occurred to Winter that she didn't know the copilot's name. She read his nametape. "Let's check Maxwell…" Another quick read; she didn't know the bombardier's name either. "…Lieutenant Quinn."

Quinn nodded and gently took off the copilot's helmet and set it aside. His face was badly lacerated, and one eye was probably gone. She saw bloodstains on his flight suit lower down as well. The lieutenant checked his pulse. "He's still alive, ma'am. Pulse is kinda weak, I think."

"All right. Do what you can for him." Quinn nodded and went to get the first aid kit. "Navigator, AC. New course to Berlin-Tegel."

It took twenty minutes, but finally Ruby and Weiss, and the stricken B-52, were out of range of any marauding GRIMM. "Ruby to Outhouse Mouse. We'll leave you here. Can you make it home?"

"May have to divert, Ruby, but we'll make it—thanks to you two. Beer's on us."

Ruby smiled. It felt good. She saluted the pilot, who saluted her back, and then she and Weiss peeled off for Poznan.

They had landed by the time Winter reached the Oder River. Qrow stayed with her. He'd questioned why Winter didn't land at Poznan herself, but she had never landed a B-52 before, and if she wrecked it, she could possibly block the runways and shut the base down. Tegel had a longer runway in any case.

"Tegel Tower, this is Blizzard," she radioed. "Declaring an emergency. I have one dead, one wounded onboard. Two engines out, unknown damage anywhere else." Qrow had given the bomber a once-over and saw damage around the forward fuselage as well as the cockpit area and the inboard engine pod. Nothing else was on fire and her instruments were well within parameters—as far as she and the crew knew, anyway—but there was always the possibility of creeping electronic or electrical damage. The tower acknowledged her transmission, told her she had clear airspace, and emergency crews were standing by.

"Blizzard, Qrow. I'll stay with you on the letdown."

"Roger, Qrow." Winter laughed softly; she was going to owe Qrow Branwen something after this. She began a long, gentle turn on course for Tegel. "AC to crew," she said over the intercom. "I've never landed a B-52. If you want to bail out, I understand."

"AC, EWO," replied the electronic warfare officer. "I think I speak for everyone when we say we'll stay with you, ma'am."

"Very well. Crash positions." She glanced over at Quinn. "Strap into the jumpseat. I'll need you on the throttles."

"You got it, Colonel." He strapped into the jumpseat, trying to ignore the body at his feet.

Winter leveled out the bomber and controlled her breathing. She had always watched the crews of the B-52s she had flown in, including Ironwood's, just in case she needed to do this. Now that paid off. It took a moment of searching, but she found the flaps and the landing gear levers. She raised the seat a little. She'd kept her visor down with a 300 mile an hour wind coming through the shattered canopy, but now she raised it, wincing with the chill but not wanting to chance the tint of the visor throwing off her depth perception. She and Quinn throttled back together. "Okay…gear down." She pulled down the gear levers. Below her, the two main gear assemblies dropped and rotated into place. Or were supposed to: an alarm flashed for Winter's attention, showing the forward main gear was not locked. "Verdammt," Winter swore. "Qrow, Blizzard, what's our forward gear look like?"

The F-117 dipped down. "Looks okay to me, Blizzard." Qrow's voice held a note of concern: just because it looked fine didn't mean it was.

It would have to do. Winter swung onto the downwind leg and reached for the flaps. "Don't forget the dragchute on the rollout," Quinn reminded her, and she hastily nodded. She had forgotten the B-52 used a dragchute.

Just as she finished the turn, the copilot suddenly came awake. Delirious with pain, blind in one eye, he panicked and grabbed the control wheel, hauling it back. Winter, taken by surprise, found her wheel in her lap, and the B-52 climbed. She shoved it back down, but the copilot was stronger, and his delirium gave him added strength. "Grab him!" she shouted. Quinn was already trying: he got his hands on the copilot's arms and pulled them away. Winter got the nose back down, though airspeed had dangerously bled off. The copilot was fighting the bombardier, and flung him back. He seized the wheel again, pulled back again. "We're going to crash!" he screamed.

"My airplane!" Winter yelled, trying to get through to him, but the copilot kept screaming that they were going to crash. The B-52 began to wallow, headed for a stall, and at the altitude they were at, there would be no time to recover. Quinn was trying to get up and reach the copilot, but the sudden climb had caused him to fall back against his seat; he unstrapped and lunged forward.

Winter put her left arm around the wheel and leaned forward, using the weight of her body to shove it down. With her right hand, she drew her pistol and hit the copilot in the face with the butt, as hard as she could. He kept struggling, so she hit him twice more. Finally, he let go of the wheel, screaming in agony, and grabbed his face. Quinn practically draped himself over the copilot.

"Hold on!" Winter shouted. She dropped the pistol and got the nose down enough, then flared at the last minute. In horror, Winter realized she was going to land long, and flung the bomber at the runway.

The B-52 hit hard, bounced, and slammed down again, with enough force to blow the tires of the forward landing gear. The tires tore themselves apart as Winter stood on the toe brakes and deployed the dragchute; Quinn got a hand free and pulled the throttles back to idle. Qrow, flying alongside, had watched in horror as the bomber had gone through its gyrations; now he saw the tires disintegrate and white sparks fly back from the landing gear itself as its aluminum and magnesium melted under the friction. Flames erupted next, but the bomber began to slow. It went off the edge of the runway and dug its nose into the ground, but finally, Red One stopped.

Qrow flew around to land on the parallel runway, even as he watched the firefighting crews roll up to the bomber and began dousing it with foam. There was no way to get out through the bottom hatch, so Quinn reached up and popped the overhead emergency hatches. By the time he levered himself out, there were already firemen there to help. Winter shut off everything and pulled the remaining fire extinguishers, just in case. A burly fireman squeezed into the cockpit and cut the copilot free; he was unconscious again, bleeding from his face where Winter had hit him. Winter unstrapped, but didn't leave the aircraft until she was sure the copilot would get pulled free; this was her ship, and she was its captain.

Winter finally was pulled out of the cockpit and onto a firetruck, where she clambered down the ladder and moved away from the aircraft. Only then did she finally collapse to the grass, pulling off her helmet and letting it fall. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably. As the remains of the pilot were pulled out, Winter rolled over onto all fours and threw up into the grass, heaving until there was nothing left. She was still like that when Qrow found her.

He knelt down next to her. "Hey, beautiful. You okay?"

"Huh?" For a moment, Winter didn't recognize him. "Oh…oh yes." She rolled back onto her bottom. Qrow saw the dried blood all over her and his eyes widened. "It's…not mine," she assured him. There were a few tears in her flight suit, a few cuts. "Well. Not all of it, anyway."

"C'mon, Winter. Let's get you to the medics."

Winter nodded and tried to get up. She couldn't. She looked down quizzically at herself. "That's very odd. I can't seem to stand." She next looked up at Qrow. "I don't know what's wrong, Qrow."

"The adrenaline's worn off," Qrow told her, then reached down, and gathered her into a hug. He grunted with exertion and picked her up, carrying Winter towards the ambulance.

Poznan-Krezsiny Airbase

Poznan, Republic of Poland

27 August 2001

Weiss walked into the ready room of the 77th TFS. "My sister's all right. She just has some cuts and she's exhausted." She collapsed into one of the chairs of the ready room. "I can sympathize. Ruby, are you—" Weiss glanced behind her. Ruby was sound asleep in one of the seats. Weiss fought down a laugh. Her head was leaning on Oscar Pine's shoulder; he was also sound asleep.

Pyrrha came in and she snickered at the sight of Ruby and Oscar. "Oh my. Aren't they cute?" she whispered to Weiss.

"Yes, they are," Weiss said wistfully. She wished there was someone who she could fall asleep next to. She supposed she could see if Marrow was up to it, but one shared dinner and one shared lunch did not an intimate relationship make. "What's with the formal uniform?"

"Ironwood's on his way. He wants to congratulate us personally."

"What's up, bitches?" Nora strode into the ready room, then spotted Ruby and Oscar and dropped her voice. "Aww." She motioned over to Ren, who came in behind her. He smiled at the two pilots. Pyrrha noticed they seemed a little more relaxed today; whatever had come between Ren and Nora seemed to have been patched up. "Hey, Pyr," Nora said softly, grinning. "I'm ahead of Ren."

"By one half-kill," Ren said, a look of concern on his face.

"Still counts!" She kissed him on the cheek.

"Shh," Weiss hissed at them, putting a finger to her lips.

"You might want to wake them up," Ren replied, with a quick check of the hallway. "Yang and Blake are on the way. And Yang's not in a good mood after getting shot up."

"Where's Ace Flight?" Pyrrha asked. Ren shrugged.

Weiss sighed—she hated to break up such a cute picture—and leaned across the seat to shake Ruby. "Ruby," she said clearly. There was no response. "Ruby!" She raised her voice. Ruby still didn't respond, but Oscar's eyes slowly opened, and he blinked. "Ruby, wake up!"

Oscar, about half-awake, tried to help. He pushed Ruby's head off his shoulder, but all that did was ensure the girl's head fell straight into his lap. Oscar let out an eep of surprise, while Weiss snorted and Pyrrha turned pink. And naturally, that was the point where Yang, who was busy loudly griping to Blake about the damage to Ember Celica, walked in, to see her sister with her face squarely in Oscar's crotch.

Ren stepped back from the imminent explosion, dragging Nora out of the blast radius. Weiss tried to get smaller in her seat. Pyrrha protectively took two steps forward, in case she needed to throw herself between an enraged Yang and Oscar Pine. Blake's cheeks bulged and both hands went to her face as she tried not to laugh. Yang's eyes seemed to turn red, but she was frozen, unable to form words. Oscar let out another eep and knew he should try to leap backwards out of the chair, but Ruby was still lying on him. Finally, Ruby stirred and lifted her head, and to Oscar's utter horror, a thin strand of saliva connected her lips to his groin. "Oh," Ruby said blearily, smiling at her sister. "Hey, Yang."

"H…he…yo…you…" Yang was trying to get the words out.

Ruby looked at Yang, wiped her eyes, then her mouth, then looked at Oscar. Her eyes flew open as she realized what it looked like. "Oh, shit! No, Yang! Not what it looks like!"

"I'm gonna kill you," Yang said slowly. No one was sure if she meant Ruby, Oscar, or both.

Blake couldn't hold back any longer. She exploded into laughter, screaming laughter, so powerful that she pounded the doorjamb in mirth. Ren let out a small chuckle, then Nora started laughing, then the hilarity swept into Weiss. Pyrrha, grinning, held up her hands as Yang went from enraged to confused. "Yang, Ruby and Oscar fell asleep, and she fell over when Weiss woke them up. Nothing more."

"Besides," Nora guffawed, "it's not like Ruby would be giving Oscar a blowjob in the middle of the ready room! They're not—" Ren quickly grabbed Nora's mouth, just in case she was about to say something they would all regret later.

Ruby nodded vigorously. "I don't even know how to do those," she lied. Oscar was nodding just as strongly.

Blake had slid down to the floor and was rolling around, barely able to breathe. Weiss stood and put a hand on Yang's shoulder. "Yang? No kill I, Yang." After one more look between her sister and Oscar, Yang finally hung her head, then started laughing too.

"What's going on down here?" Clover Ebi stuck his head into the ready room from the other entrance, opposite from where Ruby and Norn were gathered.

Yang played it perfectly. "Ah, nothing. My little sister was just blowing Oscar, that's all."

Clover's eyebrows raised as he walked in. "Well, I guess that's one way to unwind after a mission." He took a seat. Ace Flight followed in his wake as Yang reached down and hauled a still-giggling Blake to her feet. Marrow squeezed past Ren and Nora and dropped into the seat next to Weiss, his tail wagging. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. Elm leaned against the wall, moving her legs up and down to get the circulation going—the F-35's cockpit was simply not built for a big girl like her. Harriet stomped in and flung herself into a chair, her expression that of a three-year old who has had a favorite toy taken away. Vine was last, as always, sitting down behind Harriet, as if he would need to grab her.

"Hey, Harriet," Ruby greeted her. "How's your bird? You okay? I heard you took a hit."

"Fuck off," Harriet snapped.

"That bad?" Nora asked. Harriet glowered at her.

"It's going to be in the shop for awhile," Vine told them. "She took some cannon hits in the wing. Nothing too serious as far as flying, but the F-35 is still brand new—and the stealth composites require special tools to fix. We have them here, but it's not as easy as fixing, say, Gambol Shroud."

Blake wiped her eyes. "Good old aluminum. I swear my crew patched the holes with beer cans."

"It flies, doesn't it?" Harriet growled. "I'm going to be grounded while you others just rack 'em up."

"Harriet, that's enough," Clover told her. "We'll get you another bird from the RAF."

"Whatever."

Blake was about to say something when she was suddenly hit by something red, blue and khaki. She staggered back, barely keeping her feet. "What in—Neon?"

"Nyaaan!" Neon mewled, something that Blake was never sure was an act or some vestigial cat instinct. "Hello there, fellow Faunus!" Blake turned red as Neon kissed her, then swept into the ready room. "Nyaaan! Hi, Schnee!" she kissed a stunned Weiss, then Marrow, whose tail wagged even harder. "Yuk!" Neon proclaimed. "Dog!" Then she turned to kiss Yang, only to be seized by the blonde; Yang made a preemptive attack, grabbed the Faunus' cheeks, and kissed her first, which stopped Neon's smacking rampage. Neon stepped back, blinking in shock, as Yang threw both hands in the air. "Yes! I shut up Neon Katt!"

"Bravo Zulu," Flynt Coal laughed, walking in, followed by another pilot only Yang recognized as Kobalt Ivori and another pilot no one knew. "What's up, guys?" He shook hands with Blake and Weiss, then hugged Yang. He introduced Kobalt and Kobalt's Radar Intercept Officer, a short Asian man who incongruously wore a cowboy hat; Yang noted in passing that he was even a little bow-legged, like he had just finished riding a horse.

"How about these guys?" Ruby exclaimed. "Show up out of nowhere to save the day!" She hopped over the row of seats to hug Flynt. "Where's Penny?"

"She had to divert. Hung missile on her launcher. Should be okay." Flynt nodded at the RIO in the cowboy hat. "Ruby, this is Kobalt's backseater, Jiro Mikasa."

"Konnichi wa," Ruby said, deciding to use some of the Japanese she'd picked up.

"Whatever, man." Mikasa clasped her hand. His accent was as Southern as grits and okra. "I'm from Victoria, Texas."

Blake, who had ended up halfway in and halfway out of the ready room, heard footsteps behind her. She suddenly spun out of the doorway and snapped to. "Attention on deck! General officer present!"

Conversation ceased as everyone either came to attention or got up and came to attention. James Ironwood gave Blake a nod and strode into the ready room. "At ease," he said with a smile. "Have a seat. Don't mean to interrupt the revival." Despite his words, everyone sat in silence. Ironwood took up a position at the front of the room. "Well, I am happy to announce that I have mostly good news tonight. Bomb damage assessment shows that the B-52s flattened the GRIMM around Kielce. That whole area is gone." He saw a hand go up. "Yes, Lieutenant Valkyrie?"

"Collateral damage?" Nora wasn't letting that go.

Ironwood turned somber. "Substantial, I'm afraid. But much less than it would be if the GRIMM had gotten loose in the 1st Armored's right flank or rear." He put his hands behind his back. "That said, that flank is secure. Tomorrow we'll find out of Salem intends to stand and fight with her back to the Vistula or not, because General Calavera intends to take the offensive. We can roll up the GRIMM center, then concentrate on the penetration to the north."

"Did Winter make it okay?" Ruby asked. Weiss remembered her friend had been asleep.

"Yes, she's fine—a little banged up, but she's all right. Her B-52 will need to be evaluated to see if it's a writeoff or not, and one of the crew died. She landed at Tegel, along with Colonel Branwen." Ironwood pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. "I suppose the history books will say casualties were acceptable—four fighters lost, three bombers lost, four bombers badly damaged, and two fighters damaged. The Jolly Greens managed to recover nine aircrew. The others either didn't get out or fell beyond our reach." No one asked if Salem would honor the Geneva Conventions; her use of chemical weapons seemed to imply that she wouldn't. "Penny is fine as well; she landed at Wroclaw." Weiss raised a hand, but Ironwood had anticipated her. "And yes, Hauptmann Schnee, the B-52 you and Captain Rose escorted out landed without incident at Rhein-Main." He set the sheet aside. "Ladies and gentlemen, you have done something incredible today. You helped turn the tide against Salem. I will never forget—and neither will the world."

There was a polite knock on the open door, and a sergeant stuck his head in. "General Ironwood, sir? I'm very sorry to interrupt, but there's something on the television you need to see." Before Ironwood could reply, the sergeant walked in, reached up, and switched on the TV set into one corner of the ready room. "It just came on, sir. Across all channels, even Armed Forces Network."

The television screen took a moment, then came into view. There was nothing but white letters reading STAND BY FOR AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT in English, German, and Polish. "Who would be making an announcement?" Ironwood wondered aloud. "I wasn't notified—"

Then the words disappeared, to be replaced by a simple background of purple silk. Into the camera's view stepped a tall woman, with bone-white skin and red eyes, dressed in black body armor.

"Good evening, Europe and the world," she said in English. "I am Salem."