AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another long one this time, but there's a lot going on, as we learn what happened to Penny and Oscar, some old friends arrive, and Tyrian Callows is flown out of Europe...or is he?

Schleswig Air Base

Schleswig, Federal Republic of Germany

29 August 2001

Clover Ebi came to attention as a short woman in a black business suit walked down the stairs of the C-21 Learjet. "No reason to do that," Rissa Arashikaze told him. He fell in beside her. "I'm a civilian, Clover."

"You hold high rank in the CIA," Clover told her.

"Still a civilian."

Clover decided he wasn't going to argue the point. He'd had enough of arguing as it was. "General Ironwood expresses his regrets," he said as they walked across the tarmac. "He was going to meet you personally."

"He's sort of running a war." Arashikaze looked up at him. "I'm sort of surprised he sent you though, Major. I expected Winter Schnee."

"She's indisposed at the moment." Clover got in front of the CIA woman, who stopped. "Miss Arashikaze, I need a minute to talk to you."

"Go ahead." She put her hands behind her back.

Clover paused. "I don't know how to put this…"

"Everything's gone to hell in a handbag?" Arashikaze raised an eyebrow. "Salem's been one step ahead of us, as usual? James isn't getting enough sleep and refuses to delegate authority? Captain Rose used JINN, even when she wasn't supposed to? Three times?"

"How did you know?" Clover asked.

"I've known James Ironwood for awhile. And I know when JINN is activated. A little something I didn't bother telling Ruby Flight." She sighed. "I suppose I'm going to have to chew their asses, though from what Legrand told me from Algeria, they may have had a legitimate reason. We'll see. As for Salem, she's always been good. We have to be better." He still didn't move. "Was there something else?"

Clover hesitated, and cursed himself for doing so. He had a foot and several inches on Rissa Arashikaze, and yet he was afraid of her. "Neo Politan escaped," he said, trying to buy time.

"I know. The Germans notified me on the way in." Arashikaze shrugged. "She was always secondary, Major; Watts was the primary objective, and we have him nice and secure. I don't think Miss Politan would talk easily, and she really doesn't have anything that I need right now. The world would probably be a better place if I just shot her in the head and dumped her in the ocean." She took off her sunglasses and looked him in the eye. "Cut the bullshit, Clover. I cut my teeth in interrogation, and I can tell when someone's hiding something. And you are."

Clover took a deep breath. "I screwed up, ma'am. I told Pyrrha about the orders you gave me. To get close to her."

"You did?" Arashikaze was quiet for a moment, then shrugged again. "That's unfortunate. I imagine she didn't take it well."

"She didn't. She wanted to sleep with me, Miss Arashikaze." Clover's face turned red, and he felt strangely like he was back in grade school, confessing some crime to the principal. "I told her no. I can't. And you know why." A note of defiance crept into his voice. There were some lines Clover Ebi would not cross.

"I understand. These things happen." Arashikaze put her sunglasses back on and went around him. "I have things to do, Clover. Return to your unit." She turned back as she reached a waiting car. "Don't worry. I'm not upset. You'd know it if I was."

Poznan-Krezsiny Airbase

Poznan, Republic of Poland

29 August 2001

Ruby was going over Crescent Rose's loadout with Vogelmord when she heard the gunshots. She looked quizzically in the direction of the pilot barracks. "That's weird."

Blake walked up next to her. "Sounded like a pistol." She smiled. "I hope someone didn't have an accidental discharge." It wasn't really funny, the idea of someone shooting themselves in the leg, but they were tired and needed a laugh somewhere.

Ruby snickered. "Got all excited, I guess. It happens." Ruby checked that Yang was out of earshot. "Not to Oscar, though. Nope. He's like FedEx, always on time." Blake smothered a laugh, while Vogelmord politely ignored both of them. She went back to the forms, and was just about to sign them when she heard Nora's scream: "Someone shot Oscar and Penny!"

The icy hand of fear gripped Ruby's body. She dropped the forms onto the tarmac and ran for the barracks, her flight right behind her.

It had been Pyrrha who had found them, attracted by the sound of gunshots. She had walked down the hallway, thinking the same thing as Ruby—someone had accidentally fired off their pistol while cleaning it—and stared as she saw someone short, dressed in German battle fatigues, dash out the door on the other end of the officer's quarters. She gave a shrug and kept walking; it didn't matter. Not much did at the moment. Pyrrha felt very much adrift, as she had after Jaune had been killed, though without the insane longing to die. No, Pyrrha thought as she drew even with Oscar's room, she was not going to kill herself. Not while Salem and Ironwood lived under the same sky as she did.

Pyrrha was walking past when she heard Oscar gasp for help. She turned, her eyes widened, and she dashed into the room. "Oscar! My God!" He tried to sit up, but she gently pushed him back down. His hands were slick with blood, and he kept trying to reach down to the oozing wound. "No, don't touch it!" Pyrrha spared a glance for Penny, who was laying on her side, her head in a pool of blood, her arms over one another and limp. The Greek girl's mind immediately went into tactical mode: she had to save who she could. Oscar was alive, Penny was dead, so she needed to concentrate on the former.

"You have…you have to stop her," Oscar gritted out. The shock was passing, and now the pain was hitting. "The girl…dressed like a German…German soldier…mismatched eyes…" He was trying to stay conscious. "She took JINN…"

"Mismatched eyes?" That seemed familiar, but it would have to wait. "Help!" Pyrrha yelled. "Medic!"

Elm Ederne heard the yells and ran into the room. "Mein Gott! Schiesse!" She was at Pyrrha's side in a moment, all rivalry between Ace Flight and the 77th forgotten. Pyrrha was trying to fend off Oscar's pawing at his wound, keep pressure on it, and get his shirt off at the same time. Elm pulled a gravity knife from her flight boot and cut the shirt off. Ren arrived next, gingerly stepped over Penny, and grabbed the room phone to call for medics. Nora stuck her head in and ran off to alert the others.

Pyrrha grabbed pillows off of Oscar's bed and elevated his head and feet. Elm used sheets to bind the wound, keeping pressure on. Oscar's eyes fluttered. "Stay with us!" Pyrrha commanded. She grabbed Oscar's cheeks and looked directly at him. "You stay with us! What do you fly, Ensign?"

"Uh…I…"

"What do you fly?" Pyrrha snapped.

"F…F-18…"

"What kind of engines does it use?"

As Pyrrha shouted questions about the Hornet at Oscar and he feebly answered, Penny stirred. All of them turned in stunned surprise as she slowly rolled over. She blinked. "Uggh…I have the world's worst fucking headache right now…" She turned and saw them staring at her. "Oh…salutations. I apologize for my profanity, but it really hurts."

Ren was closest, and knelt next to her, not caring about the blood soaking the knees of his flight suit. Telling Penny not to move, he saw the tear in her skin on her forehead where the bullet had hit. Blood still dripped down the side of her face, which had given Penny a horrific mask of gore. More of Oscar's sheets were sacrificed as Ren made a bandage around her head. Penny tried to get up. "Stay down," Ren commanded her. "You've been shot in the head…I think."

Penny's eyebrows came together in thought. "I believe you're right, Ren. That's very strange." He couldn't be sure if Penny was in shock or genuinely confused.

The medics finally arrived, and not so gently shooed the pilots out of the room as they went to work on Penny and Oscar. Ruby was just behind the medics, and her silver eyes went wide as she saw who had been shot. She tried to get to them, but Nora grabbed her and held her. Ruby could only watch helplessly as her lover and one of her best friends were loaded into stretchers.

Penny was the first out. She smiled up at Ruby. "It looks worse than it is! I'm okay!" Given the sheer volume of blood over Penny's uniform, Ruby wondered how that could be true. The clone lay back down on the pillows and kept insisting she was fine, all she would need was some blood and some stitches, as they wheeled her out the door.

Oscar was next, and Nora let her go. As the medics jogged down the corridor, Ruby kept pace, grabbing Oscar's hand. "What happened? God, Oscar, what happened?"

Oscar gripped her hand, but it was weak. "Got shot…some girl…mismatched eyes, Ruby. Weird eyes." He suddenly grabbed her hand as hard as he could. "She's got JINN, Ruby! She's got JINN…" The effort was finally too much, and Oscar subsided into unconsciousness. His hand slipped out of hers, leaving Ruby standing there.

"Mismatched eyes?" Blake had heard Oscar. She stood with Yang behind Nora. "Mismatched—oh, shit." There was a security policeman there, who had come with the medics. Blake grabbed his arm. "Close the base. Now. Seal it off." He hesitated. "Do it! That's an order!"

Ruby sat in the hospital waiting room, flanked by her flight. Her hands twisted a hankerchief into knots. Weiss put her hand on Ruby's, but that didn't stop her friend's hands from continually moving. Blake leaned back against the wall, while Yang paced, occasionally stopping to stare at her sister, as if there was something she didn't quite understand.

The door opened and Ruby's head shot up, but it went down again as Qrow and Winter walked into the room. Qrow nodded at Yang and knelt in front of Ruby. "You okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah. It was Oscar and Penny, not me." She looked past her uncle to Winter. "It was Neo. She's got JINN."

"We sealed the base, but…" Blake shrugged. "Neo could be anywhere. Or she's already gone."

Winter nodded. "We've begun searching." Her voice was resigned; Neo Politan was a professional assassin, whose job it was to strike and disappear. "If she switches on JINN, we'll find her." Her cellphone rang, and Winter excused herself to answer it.

Ruby looked back to Qrow. "I…I have the squadron ready to move. Ironwood wants us to fly to Lakenheath, then back to the States for…for a board of inquiry—"

"I know," Qrow interrupted. "I had it out with Jimmy." He reached forward and hugged Ruby. "It's going to be all right, kid. It's my job to run the squadron, not yours, okay? You did a great job, but now I want you to rest. I'll handle the rest." She nodded.

Winter walked back into the room just as Qrow finished his sentence. "Not just yet, Qrow. That was the general. He wanted to remind you that you are ordered to escort Tyrian Callows' transport to Lakenheath." She glanced up at Ruby Flight, and looked uncharacteristically embarrassed. "He also said that he knows about Oscar and Penny, and therefore will delay the 77th's move of station for another 24 hours." Winter stopped and looked at her phone. "Also, Director Arashikaze landed in Schleswig a few minutes ago, and she will handle the situation with JINN…but she's coming here to talk to Ruby Flight, and Oscar, if he's able. And Pyrrha."

"Oh shit," Yang commented. "Now we're really in for it."

"Qrow?" Winter reminded him. "I'm sorry to nag, but that was an order."

"Call Jimmy back and tell him to fuck off," Qrow growled. "I got a squadron to run."

Yang stopped her pacing and put her artificial arm on her uncle's shoulder. "Uncle Qrow…don't. We don't need more trouble with Ironass. Just fly to the UK and get back. We can handle things here." Blake's ears flicked back; she was a little surprised that it was Yang being the voice of reason.

"Besides, there's still another 12 hours left on Salem's ceasefire," Weiss added.

Qrow held Ruby's hands for a few moments longer, then sighed and got to his feet. "All right. Fuck. Goddamn that fucking asshole." He patted Ruby's head; she didn't respond, then hugged Yang. After a nod to Weiss and Blake, Qrow left. Winter gave Ruby Flight an apologetic look—which surprised Weiss—and followed him out the door.

In the hallway, Winter stopped Qrow. "Qrow," she said quietly, "I know you're angry—"

"No, Winter, I'm fucking enraged," he corrected her.

"Very well. But try to understand. Ironwood is under pressure, from many directions, and your nieces did violate orders—"

"So did I."

"Yes, but…" Her voice trailed off. "Just try to understand."

Qrow was silent for a moment. "Jimmy's always been a hardass, Winter. Sometimes it helps him get shit done. Other times, he does stupid shit because he won't realize he's pushing. Himself, me, everyone. Oz could keep him in check, but Oz is dead." Qrow ran a hand through his hair. "Winter, I'll go do Jimmy's little errand, and then I'm concentrating on running my squadron like I'm supposed to, and Jimmy, Arashikaze, everyone can fuck right off."

"Me too?" Winter asked.

Qrow gave her that lopsided smile that she had fallen in love with, despite herself. "Well…maybe if you ask nicely."

Winter shook her head and laughed softly. "Get out of here, you deviant." She checked the hall; no one was paying attention to them. Quickly, she rose to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

It was another twenty minutes before the door opened again. This time it was a doctor. He was bald, with a face that appeared rather lived in, a big man. Ruby stood, her friends following. "Captain Rose? I'm Colonel Julian Filipowicz, the head surgeon here."

She came to attention. "Sir."

He paid it no attention. "Ensign Pine and Lieutenant Polendina are out of danger. In fact, we'll keep the lieutenant here overnight for observation, but she can probably be released in the morning." He shook his head with a grin. "One of the strangest things I've ever seen in 20 years of practice, Captain. Lieutenant Polendina was shot in the head, but the bullet hit just right, apparently. It deflected off of her skull and ricocheted before it could penetrate the bone; there's probably a bullet lodged in the ceiling in the barracks. There was some heavy bleeding—that's to be expected with a head wound—but other than that and a terrific headache, she's fine. We stitched her up, gave her a few units of blood, and she's raring to go."

Ruby laughed nervously. "Penny always did say she had a thick head!" She knew the real truth, Ruby reflected: Penny's bones had been reinforced, which apparently extended to her skull. Whatever pistol Neo had used was probably a nine millimeter: between the angle of the shot and Penny's reinforced skull, it had been enough to save her life. "What…what about Oscar…er, Ensign Pine?" She felt herself go pale, and felt faint; Weiss put a hand on her shoulder. Oscar was out of danger, but what did that mean?

"His wound was more serious. The bullet penetrated his small intestine, so there was some peritonitis. Luckily, the bullet lodged in soft tissue and we were able to extract it, along with parts of his clothing, to prevent further infection. The damage has been repaired and, barring sepsis—which we are monitoring and administering antibiotics for—Ensign Pine will survive. He won't be doing any flying for awhile, mind; the G-forces of even a normal high-speed turn would cause the wound to reopen, with a high chance that he would die from it."

"Can I see him?" Ruby asked.

"No, not at the moment. He needs rest, Captain. But I am very optimistic that he will make a full recovery." Filipowicz gave Ruby his most winning smile. "We should be able to treat him here, Captain, but if his condition becomes at all doubtful, he will be evacuated to Berlin."

"Okay…okay," Ruby said. "Thanks, Doc." She shook hands with him. He gave her an understanding look that showed he knew there was far more here than a commander concerned with the life of a subordinate, and left.

Ruby collapsed into a chair. "God," she whispered. "Thank you, God."

Yang looked in the direction of the departed doctor, then back to her sister. "Rubes…what's going on?"

"Oh my God, Yang," Weiss breathed. "Are you that dense? She loves him."

"Wha…huh?" Yang's mouth dropped open, as she realized what that meant. "She…my sister's...huh?" She looked to Blake for confirmation, and the Faunus nodded.

Ruby wiped her eyes, then laughed despite herself. "Geez, Yang, you mean you actually fell for all my bullshit? And yeah, I…I…I do love him." The words felt strange to Ruby. She had said them in the height of passion as Oscar made love to her, but that was different; she'd always told herself things said at those times didn't really count. This was different.

Yang did nothing for a full minute. "Huh," she finally said. But there was a strange note of acceptance in the single word.

Over the Baltic Sea

20 Miles East of Sassnitz, Federal Republic of Germany

29 August 2001

"This is fucking stupid," Qrow Branwen remarked as he flew up alongside the C-130. It was painted overall light gray, with no markings, and had taken off out of Stargard, where Tyrian Callows had been held for the past few days. "This asshole doesn't even need an escort. Salem doesn't give a shit about him. Ironwood's just sending me to Lakenheath, and then he'll keep me there so he can bully poor Ruby, the son of a bitch…"

Qrow kept up his maledictions as they flew over the water. He looked down at his navigational display. They would need to turn west here soon, to make the run over Denmark, then the North Sea to Lakenheath in Britain. It would be a little less than two hours there, and then two hours back. Well, maybe Ruby and her people can get some damn sleep. He yawned behind his oxygen mask. He needed some sleep as well. They probably all did. But that was what Salem did: she simply overwhelmed her opponents by wearing them out. He remembered the run out of Russia to Norway with Ozpin, with Salem's GRIMM hot on their heels, never a moment to rest or get a break. Even Summer Rose's ebuillence had broken down under that pressure; Raven had been impossible to be around, and Qrow knew that, had it not been for the Night Raven they were stealing, and the fact that she was married to Taiyang and pregnant with Yang, his sister might have committed desertion. He pulled off his oxygen mask and rubbed his face for a minute, then put it back on.

"Crow 13, Haisla, come in." The AWACS' voice in his ears startled him.

"Crow 13, go ahead." Qrow was using his old callsign today.

"Be advised, report from Polish Navy—Sea Feilong reported your area, position approximately three-zero miles north of Kolobrzeg, bearing zero-seven-four."

"Roger. Thanks. Break. Bane Zero-One, Crow 13, Sea Feilong sighted. Recommend increasing altitude to angels twenty."

"Crow 13, Bane 01—wilco." The C-130 began to climb slowly. Qrow easily matched it. Sea Feilong were more of a danger to ships, but they carried a SAM battery. It was still a ways off, but Qrow wasn't taking chances. He didn't trust Salem to keep a ceasefire. Her goal was the annihilation of humanity, not some sort of peace treaty. Of course, Qrow mused, the politicians were desperate enough to grab any straw of hope, any sort of end to the perpetual war against the GRIMM.

Qrow was still wondering if Ironwood was going to fall for Salem's lies when suddenly Haisla blasted into his helmet again. "Crow 13, Haisla! Bandits, bearing zero-seven-four, speed 600, closing fast! Raid count twenty!"

"What the fuck?" Qrow shouted. He turned on his radar, turned in that direction, and gave it one sweep. The AWACS wasn't getting a bad read. There was a solid mass of aircraft heading in his direction. "Haisla, Crow 13! Type of bandit?"

"Crow 13, they're Lancers!"

"Oh shit." Qrow felt his stomach grab his spine. Lancers were the smallest GRIMM, little more than a circular wing, a turbofan, and a nose packed with explosives. They were more missiles than aircraft, designed to destroy themselves in bringing down bigger targets. They weren't very effective against fighters that could outmaneuver them, but against a transport like the C-130, they would be deadly. Qrow smiled grimly at the transport. Your Queen isn't coming to your rescue, Tyrian; she's coming to kill you. "Bane 01, get down on the deck! I'll hold them off as long as I can." Qrow turned into the threat and opened the throttle; at least the Lancers wouldn't be able to detect him. "Haisla, I'm gonna need help."

Clover flew his F-35A southwest towards Poznan, though he was still well north of Berlin. He was only paying half-attention to his flying. He was angry, but he wasn't sure who at: himself, Arashikaze, or Pyrrha Nikos.

He didn't love Pyrrha, Clover thought. He liked her, thought she was beautiful, and enjoyed being around her. For fighter pilots, beggars couldn't be choosers: there were only so many female fighter pilots; units like Ruby Flight were somewhat unusual. Finding one that was available, attractive, and loved to talk shop was quite a find. Even if Arashikaze had not ordered him to get close to Pyrrha Nikos, Clover could see himself easily doing so. But since it had been an order, they had started their relationship off with a lie. He'd wanted to tell Pyrrha earlier that it hadn't been Ironwood who had given that order, but it was clear that she wouldn't have listened.

Clover sighed. Midori Hayakawa, on the other hand, had been as perfect as a girl could be. Blake reminded him of Midori—they both were Faunus: Midori had been a cute fox girl, tall, with soft ears and red hair. He chuckled to himself, remembering the time she had shown up at his dorm room at Kadena, wearing a kimono, a fake fox tail, and nothing else. He liked to play with her ears, and try out his Okinawan, which made her giggle. When they both had a day off, they would spend it exploring Okinawa, or maybe get a hotel room and watch anime in between "sessions," as she called it; Midori had been a self-professed otaku, with a weakness for big robot shows.

Then he'd been suddenly transferred to the United States, with a promotion and orders to form Ace Flight, and Hayakawa had disappeared only a few days later. He knew now, with a painful bitterness that stabbed at him every day, that it had been Leonardo Lionheart, feeding information to Salem, who had laid a trap for Midori like the two of them had with dozens of Huntsmen and Huntresses. He probably would have been killed too, had Ironwood not selected him for Ace Flight.

Clover knew he shouldn't, but after a quick check of the sky, he reached into a pocket of his flight suit and pulled out Midori's picture. He looked at it for awhile, occasionally breaking away to check the sky around him, his instrument panel, and the HUD. She was smiling back at him, her eyes closed, a grin on her face.

No, Clover realized, Blake didn't remind him of Midori. Pyrrha did.

"Ace Lead, Haisla, alpha check."

Clover hastily stuffed the picture into his kneepad pocket, then answered. "Haisla, Ace Lead is one Fox 35, four heats."

"Ace Lead, Crow 13 is under attack from Lancers, raid count twenty, bearing zero-six-nine, distance fifty. Buster, I say again, buster." The AWACS was telling him to get to Qrow as fast as he could.

"Haisla, Ace Lead. On my way." Clover turned in that direction and slammed the throttle to the stops, all business again.

Robyn Hill, by pure chance, had been going through the various frequencies—mainly out of boredom. She had used the ceasefire to evacuate her base at Kalningrad; if Salem renewed her offensive, there was a very good chance she would be cut off there. The Huntresses' dependents were headed for Sweden, while she, Joanna Greenleaf, May Marigold and Fiona Thyme headed for their old base at Swidwin. Ironwood hadn't asked for the Huntresses' help, but he was going to get it anyway.

Then she heard Haisla's warning to Qrow. Robyn considered it for a moment. The other aircraft in her command flight had short legs, but her Kfir could make it. "Robyn to Flight. I'm going to go help Five O'Clock Shadow. You folks keep going."

"We'll come with you, Robyn!" Fiona insisted.

"Negative—you don't have the juice. I got it. See you back at the barn. Joanna, you have the lead." To forestall any more arguing, Robyn firewalled her own throttle, dumped her drop tanks into the ocean, and headed for Qrow's position. "Haisla, Huntress Lead. I am buster for Crow 13. Huntress Lead is one Kfir with four heats. Huntress is supersonic; ETA six minutes."

"Huntress, Haisla. Much obliged." The AWACS gave her vectors, and Robyn wished she could go faster. Six minutes was an eternity in combat.

Tyrian Callows held on as best he could in the mesh seat he was strapped to in the C-130. So were his guards. He was handcuffed, his scorpion tail strapped to his back so he could not strike with it, and his feet chained to the seat. He looked over at one of the guards. "What's happening? What's going on?" He knew exactly what was happening—either his queen was trying to rescue him, or she was going to kill him to spare him from being tortured. Still, he reasoned, Salem might need a bit of help in either objective.

"Your damn boss lady is trying to kill us!" one of the guards shouted back.

"Unchain me!" Tyrian put a pleading tone in his voice.

"Not fucking likely!" the guard replied.

"Just the ankle chains!" Tyrian begged. "If we get shot down and have to ditch, you're going to trap me on the plane? Leave me to drown?"

The guard hesitated, then pulled a set of keys from his belt. The three others covered Tyrian as the guard reached forward and unshackled the ankle chains. "That's all, okay?" Then he was thrown to the floor as the C-130 leveled out, barely a hundred feet above the water.

"That's fine," Tyrian said with genuine gratitude. "Thanks."

The Lancers were at least strung out, Qrow reflected; if they had attacked all at once, all of this would probably be academic. Four came in line abreast, aiming for the C-130. None of them detected Qrow. This is going to take some careful timing, he thought, because he only had his cannon and four Sidewinders.

Qrow waited one second, then turned hard into the Lancers, locking on with the infrared sensor in the F-117's nose. The Sidewinders, despite being in the internal launch bay, were fed the information from the IR sensor, and growled. Qrow fired twice, the weapons bay doors opening just long enough to discharge the missiles. Both guided and hit, blowing two of the Lancers out of the air.

Now the Lancers knew they were under attack, but Qrow threw the Nighthawk into a climb. The GRIMM's tiny electronic brains instantly lost the target, so they rather stupidly decided there was no enemy, and reacquired the C-130. The two Lancers curved in to take their target from the rear. Qrow looped and dived. He got a break: one of the Lancers misjudged the C-130's altitude and flew into the water, skipping across the waves and disintegrating. The other bore in for the transport. Qrow split-S, dropped in behind it, and gave it a quick burst from his gatling cannon. The Lancer exploded and went into the water, though even in death it came distressingly close to the C-130.

"Crow 13, Lancer at five o'clock!" one of the C-130 crew yelled. Qrow saw that some of the GRIMM had overflown the target, then come in from the west—and he was out of position. Qrow threw down his flaps, risking a stall, and tried to get back around, but knew with certainty that the Lancer would hit the C-130 before he could do anything about it.

Then the Lancer exploded. "Clover, splash one!"

"Good to see you, kid!" was all Qrow had time for. There were three more Lancers angling in from the east, and three more from the west. "Clover, I've got the ones from the east."

"Roger that!" Clover saw one Lancer making another run from behind, throttled back, let it edge ahead, then fired his own cannon. The GRIMM exploded. He saw Qrow destroy another with a Sidewinder, but there were two more going straight for the C-130. Clover rapidly considered which were the most immediate threats, thinking in four dimensions, and swung over to help Qrow. A snap shot with the cannon downed yet another Lancer, but now Clover knew he was out of ammunition; he was down to three Sidewinders.

Abruptly, both men realized one Lancer had slipped through. It skimmed the water, so fast and small neither Qrow nor Clover saw it before it was too late. It suddenly climbed and hit the C-130 in the number one engine. The engine exploded, flames shooting from the remains, even as the propeller separated and went into the ocean. Somehow the wing held, but Qrow could see fuel streaming from it, even as the crew quickly hit the onboard fire extinguisher to smother the fire. "Bane 01, Crow 13, how bad?" Qrow struggled to get the words out, as he threw the Nighthawk into a barrel roll to get in behind yet another Lancer.

"Lost number one engine!" the pilot replied. He threw the C-130 into a hard left turn, risking losing the wing, but it threw off the Lancers for a precious second. "Going to try to make Kolobrzeg!"

Qrow fired off his last Sidewinder, destroyed one more Lancer. Now he was down to the gun—whatever ammunition he had left, which wasn't much.

Clover was trying to catch one of the Lancers doggedly going for the transport, lining up for a Sidewinder shot—but the missile was tracking on a heat source, and he couldn't be sure it was the Lancer or the smoking C-130. Desperately, Clover began dropping flares and edged closer to the Lancer, trying to make himself the bigger target. It worked—a little too well. The Lancer suddenly realized there was another target that was closer, made a brief evaluation, and blew itself up. Clover swore and broke away, but felt the F-35 shudder as it was hit with fragments. The aircraft's onboard computer helpfully informed Clover that the rudder on his right tailplane was hit, but he already knew that: the controls were feeling a little sluggish.

"Clover, Crow, you're hit," Qrow told him.

"Roger," Clover said tightly. "Still tactical." He looked up through the canopy and saw two more Lancers now coming in nose on. "Two Lancers, twelve o'clock level."

"Seven Lancers, nine o'clock high." Qrow shook his head. "Ain't no way." Then he saw one of the GRIMM at nine o'clock blossom into a fireball.

"Robyn, splash one! Sorry I'm late, boys!"

"Well, hot damn," Qrow laughed. "We might just get through this after all."

Robyn throttled back, sparing a quick glance at her fuel gauge; the J79 turbojet gulped fuel, and she was not going to make it to Swidwin. She decided to worry about that later; there was work to do. Robyn rolled the Kfir up and around to kill some of her forward momentum, dropped in behind a second Lancer, and opened fire with the Kfir's twin 30mm DEFA cannons. The GRIMM blew apart. The third one in the formation broke left, headed towards the C-130, but Robyn simply reversed her turn and opened up again. The heavy cannon tore this GRIMM apart as well. "Splash three!" she announced, grinning behind the mask. The fourth Lancer in the formation had been separated from the others, while there were three more behind and to her right. Robyn knew those could wait for a few seconds, and went after the fourth GRIMM.

"We gotta shut down number two!" Tyrian heard the C-130 copilot say. "Temps are in the red!"

"Right, feather two," the pilot agreed. "May have to put this bitch on the beach if we can't make Kolobrzeg. Crash positions!" he yelled back into the troop compartment.

"What the hell does that mean?" one of the guards exclaimed.

"Put your head down!" Tyrian demonstrated, getting into the correct crash position. It also had the effect of hiding his hands from the four guards. Methodically, Tyrian dislocated his right thumb and slipped his right hand free of the cuff. The pain was tremendous, but pain never bothered Tyrian Callows.

"Hold on!" the pilot shouted. "It's about to get dicey!"

"Two Lancers, dead ahead," Clover said. "I got the one on the right." Qrow clicked his mike button twice, and Clover smiled; it was good to be working with the veteran again. Clover took a breath and pulled the trigger, releasing a Sidewinder. The missile guided true, and another Lancer became a fireball. Qrow had to wait a bit longer, and Clover watched for a split-second: the F-117 and the Lancer were closing each other at supersonic speeds, and the GRIMM was programmed to ram its target. He was about to yell at Qrow to fire when gunsmoke streamed back from the gun nestled in the belly of the Nighthawk. It was the most difficult shot Clover had ever seen—head-to-head, almost firing a bullet at another bullet—but Qrow had not survived nearly two decades of air combat to miss shots like this. The Lancer was hit in the right part of its circular wing, went into an uncontrollable spin, and began to come apart as it just missed the Nighthawk, to explode far behind it.

"Splash two," Clover puffed. "One heat left."

"Clover has the lead. Crow 13 is Winchester." Qrow was now completely out of ammunition, but he took up position on Clover's wing all the same, as Clover turned back into the fight.

"Robyn, Fox Two!" Robyn destroyed another Lancer with a Sidewinder shot. There were now only three left—that she knew of, anyway—but with Clover down to one missile and Qrow out of everything, it was on her to finish the job.

Robyn threw the Kfir into a hard left turn, grunting as her G-suit squeezed her. The G-meter pegged at seven before she brought the fighter out of the turn, but now she was positioned to attack the last three Lancers. She locked onto one of them, the middle Lancer, and fired—and then saw the last GRIMM in line suddenly swing towards her, as if it had finally decided enough was enough. She broke away, knowing she was a fraction too late.

Her Sidewinder hit one Lancer at the same time the other exploded next to her.

Robyn's break was not entirely in vain: it saved her life. Fragments from the Lancer's warhead tore through the Kfir, but none hit the cockpit. The nose pitched up even as she heard the engine audibly disintegrate behind her. Her instrument panel was alive with warning lights, warning of the loss of oil pressure, hydraulics—but the worst one was the fire warning light. "Oh, dammit," Robyn groaned, tightened her straps, made sure her legs were secure, then reached between her legs and pulled the yellow handle.

"Shit, Robyn's hit!" Qrow exclaimed, as he saw the Kfir rise up and begin to tumble. The canopy came free and the ejection seat rocketed free, just as the fighter became a windmilling torch. "You're on the last one, Clover! Haisla, Crow 13, scramble the Jolly Greens; Huntress Lead is down." He saw Robyn's parachute open. "Good canopy."

"Clover, Fox Two!" Clover was taking no chances: he fired both of his remaining missiles. One would have sufficed: both Sidewinders tracked in and destroyed the last Lancer. "Splash…whatever!" Clover laughed. "All bandits destroyed! You're clear, Bane 01!"

There was no response from the C-130.

The C-130 crew had risked a right turn to dodge the debris from the last Lancer Qrow had destroyed, and that was when Tyrian struck. He threw himself across the cargo hold in such a fashion that the guards hesitated, thinking he had been thrown out of his seat. That second's hesitation cost them their lives.

Tyrian's left hand darted forward and tore the MP5 out of the first guard's hands. He threw himself backwards and opened fire. All four guards were wearing body armor, but Tyrian was not aiming so much as spraying. All four were hit, though only one died instantly, the first guard, hit between the eyes. Some of the bullets missed and went through the thin sides of the C-130, depressurizing the aircraft; since it was already low, the effect was not as dramatic as it might have been at twenty thousand feet, but it was still enough to make everyone's ears pop painfully.

Tyrian lunged forward again, throwing the now-empty MP5 at the second guard, who was on the floor gripping a bleeding leg. Tyrian grabbed the pistol off the dead guard and shot the second in the face, then dispatched the other two, even as the last guard managed to get off a burst with his submachinegun. One bullet skimmed Tyrian's left arm, but the Faunus only laughed and finished him off.

All four of the C-130's crew were in the cockpit; they heard the shots and felt the depressurization, but did not immediately realize they were gunshots. They were too busy trying to keep the aircraft in the air. Tyrian snapped his dislocated thumb back into place, pulled off the straps that held his tail, and stalked forward. The cockpit door was open, and he killed both the loadmaster and the flight engineer with the pistol before the pilots knew what was happening. Tyrian swung the pistol onto the back of the copilot's head, but had a better idea, and lashed with his tail. The stinger struck the copilot in the neck, and the venom took effect almost instantly. Faunus scorpion venom was not immediately fatal, but it was immediately painful. The copilot screamed in pain as all his muscles contracted at the same time. The pilot turned in alarm, then found himself facing the barrel of the pistol. Tyrian wore an insane grin. "Get out of that seat," he hissed.

"We'll crash if I do," the pilot argued. He wasn't lying: both hands were on the control wheel.

Tyrian put the pistol to the copilot's head. "Do it or he dies."

The pilot set the autopilot—it was better than nothing, and would keep the C-130 level for at least a few seconds—unstrapped, and got up. As Tyrian pointed the gun at him, the pilot grabbed at it, in a fast and brave move. Unfortunately, it was also a vain one: Tyrian simply shot him in the chest, twice, then shoved the dying pilot out of the way and climbed into the pilot's seat.

"You…fucking…" the copilot struggled out.

"Do shut up," Tyrian replied, and emptied the pistol into the copilot's head. He then flicked off the autopilot and held on as the C-130 tried to pull to the left and down.

Qrow circled Robyn's parachute; as he swept past, she held her hands over her head, clasping them, to let him know she was uninjured. He smiled as she hit the water and immediately cut the 'chute free; a dye pack activated on contact with the water, turning it yellow, and on his second pass, he could see Robyn was floating on her back, her lifejacket inflated. The Baltic was cold even during the summer, but as long as the helicopter got to her in twenty minutes, she would be fine.

"Bane 01, come in," Clover called again. Qrow waggled his wings at Robyn and then caught up with Clover, flying on the C-130's left wing. "Crow, Clover—I can't raise Bane 01. It's flying all right. Maybe they lost their radio. Closing in for visual contact." Even if the C-130 had lost its radio, Clover and the pilot could communicate with hand signals to get back on the ground.

Qrow dipped the nose of the F-117 a little; he could see the beach ahead, about six miles off. He slid in behind and to Clover's left. "Clover, Crow. You've got some stabliator and tail damage."

"Roger; she's a little heavy. Will RTB as soon as we get Bane taken care of." Clover edged forward, skillfully moving ahead of the C-130 a little to look over at the cockpit. Qrow flew alongside, trying to see as well; they were a little close, he realized, but both he and Clover were good enough pilots that there was no danger, and certainly Bane 01's crew had proven themselves to be good as well. Do a little Thunderbird shit here, Qrow laughed to himself.

"Bane 01, come up on Guard." Clover flashed his wing lights to get the crew's attention.

He did. Tyrian looked over and saw the F-35, which was easily close enough for the Faunus to recognize Clover's helmet and his personal emblem on the tails of the F-35. A sane pilot would have realized that the C-130 was no dogfighter and thought of another way to escape. Tyrian was not sane: he only saw an enemy of his queen, and was more than happy to sacrifice his own life if it meant killing one of those enemies.

Tyrian twisted the control wheel to one side. Clover, taken completely by surprise, only had a split-second to realize he was about to be rammed by what was supposed to be a friendly aircraft, and another split-second to realize that there was nowhere to put the F-35: if he dived, he would go into the water; if he broke left, away from the C-130, he would hit Qrow. Clover did the only real option: he climbed. It might have been enough, if his aircraft had not already been wounded; as it was, the sudden maneuver only ensured that the forward fuselage of the C-130 hit the rear of the F-35. The impact tore away most of the tail of the Lightning, sending it tumbling over the top of the transport, even as it tore a gaping hole in the fuselage. As the F-35 rolled over, it hit both engines on the C-130's right wing, destroying those as well, then cartwheeled into the sea.

"Oh God!" Qrow yelled, even as he peeled away from the C-130 before it could hit him as well. He climbed and leveled out, and got a split-second view of the F-35 hitting the water and flying into pieces as it struck the surface. The C-130 went down as well, but at the last minute leveled out and hit the ocean flat, bouncing once and then settling, the aircraft's back broken. It floated, but even as Qrow watched, it began to sink.

"Haisla, Haisla! Both Clover and Bane 01 are down! Need Jolly Greens here now! Expedite, expedite!" He circled, then saw a parachute open just before it hit the water. "Clover is out, repeat, Clover has ejected!" A dye marker opened around Clover as well, and Qrow nearly hit the water trying to see if the other man was still alive. He pulled up, and came around again, even as the C-130's tail suddenly rose up before the transport took its last plunge for the bottom.

Qrow had plenty of fuel. He circled the crash site, directing the helicopters to where Clover floated, knowing that he was the priority; Robyn could wait. He was not moving, the parachute streamed behind him in the water. The two MH-53s arrived quickly enough, and split up: one went towards Robyn, the other towards Clover. Qrow felt cold as he saw a pararescueman jump into the sea and swim towards the downed pilot.

Robyn Hill was recovered, unhurt except a few bruises. Clover Ebi was recovered, but he was dead.