AUTHOR'S NOTES: Running late on this one, but I finally got it finished-even if the sun's already up! This time around, we get a look at Ruby's plan to secure Pietro's plane, and the new arrivals at Swidwin.
I'm afraid my Russian is at the mercy of Google Translate, so I probably got it wrong. Apologies in advance.
Berlin-Schonefeld Airport
Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany
1 September 2001
Getting to Schonefeld proved easier than they had thought. May had come up with an elaborate fiction about evacuating children with rare diseases so the UH-1 wouldn't be intercepted, but Ironwood's halt to evacuations only applied to refugees on the ground. The helicopter wasn't even challenged as it crossed into German airspace. May seemed a little disappointed; she had spent some time looking up horrible sounding infections and plagues. The tower at Schonefeld cleared them in without much fuss either—May did at least get to use part of her story by claiming she was delivering doctors evacuated from Poland. In the troop compartment in the back, Weiss, Ruby and Blake wore doctor's smocks they had borrowed from the base hospital.
Blake looked over at Ruby. "Doing okay?" They had to use the intercom to communicate: the Huey was not known for being quiet. The egg-beater noise from the rotors drowned out all conversation.
"Yeah," Ruby replied absently. Seeing Blake's concern, she smiled. "I don't like helicopters. Never have!"
Blake nodded. "You know the old saying—helicopters don't fly; the ground rejects them."
Ruby smiled at that, but inside, it wasn't the helicopter ride that bothered her. While they had been liberating the doctor's smocks, she had checked in on Oscar. He was doing all right: the doctors were releasing him the next day. It would still be a week before they would clear him for even light duties, and probably three weeks before he could fly. Robyn was already talking about evacuating him: without being able to fly his F-18, he wasn't much use to the war effort. Ruby knew that Robyn was right, that Oscar would be safe back in Germany or England—Ironwood wouldn't object, since that was what he wanted anyway—but she didn't want him to leave.
The helicopter flared, and Ruby got her mind back to the here and now. "Okay," May said over the intercom, "I'm going to wait here and keep the engine warm. Once you guys start taxiing, I'm headed out. All right?"
"Good to go," Ruby told her. The helicopter settled onto a pad, and once it was stable, Weiss unbuckled and slid the door open. She had stuffed her hair under a hat; Blake did the same to hide her ears, just in case they were spotted. Ruby's hair would not be noticed, of course. They all climbed out, and Ruby returned May's thumbs-up as they ducked under the rotors and headed for the terminal.
"There it is." Weiss pointed down the tarmac. "Snow Shoe Shipping—the Gulfstream IV, next to the Learjet and the Airbus A319."
"I see it," Ruby said. They changed direction and began walking down the tarmac; Ruby, despite herself, started to jog.
"Slow down," Blake commanded. "No reason to run, Ruby. Running attracts notice, remember? Act like you belong. Relax. No one's looking at us." She had infiltrated enough areas with the White Fang to know that lesson: amateurs always thought people were staring at them and could see through any disguise. The reality was that most people didn't notice or care about other people, as long as they didn't do something to get noticed. Ruby slowed down, though not to the easy walk Blake was doing. She looked bored. Weiss also was trying to keep from furtively looking around, sure that someone would notice her white hair.
The Gulfstream was unguarded, but it was closed up and chocked. "Figured it wouldn't be that easy," Ruby sighed.
"We'll have to come up with something—Blake, what are you doing?" The Faunus had reached over, taken off Weiss' cap, and was busy unraveling her hair bun. "Stop it! Everyone's going to see!"
"I want them to. Take off the smocks." The three women stripped off the smocks; below them, they wore their flight suits. The initial plan was that they would bluff their way past any guards, get aboard the Gulfstream, and claim they were moving it to a new parking space, then take off before anyone could react.
"Y'know," Ruby mused, as she stuffed the smocks underneath the wheels of the Airbus, "maybe we didn't plan this all that well."
"New plan." Blake finished brushing Weiss' hair out with her hands, while the former heiress stared at her like she was crazy. "Weiss, listen to me. You're now your sister. Winter Schnee has been ordered to fly to Zagan and evacuate your mother and brother, on the orders of General Ironwood."
"But…that's preposterous!" Weiss exclaimed. "One, my sister doesn't wear her hair long! Two, she would use a Luftwaffe aircraft, or a US Air Force one, not one that belongs to one of our subsidiaries!"
"Quit thinking logically!" Blake ordered. "Trust me, the White Fang didn't break into all those Schnee factories by being logical. Now follow me. Ruby, smile and don't say anything." Ruby instantly pasted a ridiculous grin on her face and followed Blake and Weiss to the general aviation office.
It was dinnertime, and there were three people on duty. A soccer match was playing on a little television at one corner of the desk they sat behind. Two of them shoved their fast food to one side as Blake opened the door, while Weiss hastily adjusted her hair into something resembling Winter's-if the eldest Schnee sibling was having a bad hair day, that is. "Good evening," Blake greeted them, with an upper-crust British accent that almost made Ruby lose her smile, it seemed so out of character. "Awfully sorry to disturb you, but we have orders to fly D-SSSH to Zagan tonight."
The three people on duty looked at each other. "Orders?" one asked. "From who?"
"General Ironwood." Blake checked her watch. "Again, sorry to disturb your dinner, but we do need to get moving. It's a war zone over there, you know."
"Do you have a flight plan?"
"No, but we can fill one out." Another of the people there—the only female—handed Blake a series of forms. She began to fill them out, making guesses on a few things. "Is the aircraft already fueled?"
"No, ah…what did your say your name was again?" one of the men asked.
"Arryn Zech," Blake quickly said; she'd read the name in the latest installment of Ninjas of Love.
Once more, the three people behind the counter looked at each other. Blake was scribbling away, hoping her guesses were right on fuel consumption, radio frequencies, and such; Weiss was affecting a stern expression like she imagined Winter would be wearing; Ruby was still grinning and feeling like an idiot.
Blake handed over the flight plan. The woman glanced at it, then handed it to the man next to her. He read it for a moment, then stared at Blake again. "Are you a Faunus?"
"Yes," Blake answered, taking off her hat to show her ears; there was no point in trying to pass off her yellow eyes as anything else.
"That's strange. I didn't think the Schnees hired Faunus. In fact, you don't look like the crew who is normally here." He held up the flight plan. "The fuel figures look to be a bit off as well."
"Oh, well…that's because…" Blake found herself flailing. She had never even set foot in a Gulfstream before, so he had her there. She did know that the Schnees did hire Faunus, but it occurred to her that they might not hire Faunus pilots, not even one of their subsidiaries.
"That's quite enough!" Weiss snapped in German. She stalked forward, pushing past Blake, and stabbed a finger at the man. "Now you will listen to me! I am Oberst Winter Schnee of the Luftwaffe, aide to Supreme Allied Commander Europe, and a fighter pilot with a thousand hours in the air! I have been tasked by General Ironwood to get my brother and mother out of Poland immediately, and you are keeping me from that task! Now do you hold a rank in the Luftwaffe, mein Herr?"
"No-no—" the man stammered.
"A shame, then I could simply order you to shut your mouth and do as you are told!" She snatched the flight plan out of the man's hand and slammed it onto the counter. She quickly read over it and shoved it back. "This flight plan is in order. Now you will alert the fuel truck to fuel up D-SSSH, you will have ground crew standing by, and you will do this now!" Weiss bared her teeth. "If you do not, I will contact your superior and have both your job and your head on my desk by dawn! Now is that quite understood, mein Herr?" He nodded hastily. "Good. Now get to it." The three hesitated. "NOW!" Weiss shouted, and all three quickly grabbed phones, computer keyboards, and pencils. Weiss graced them with a bitterly cold, glacial stare, turned on one heel, and walked to the door. "And shut off that damned soccer game!" It was turned off instantly as she left. Blake decided to add a little icing on the cake and gave a hiss as she went out the door, leaving Ruby suddenly alone.
Ruby shrugged. "They're having a bad day," she remarked as she left as well.
Twenty minutes later, May, who had been sitting in the pilot's seat of the helicopter and praying no one noticed her, saw the Gulfstream's lights come on, the chocks were pulled, and the aircraft started to taxi towards the runway. "Well, I'll be damned," she said, and began switching on her own engine.
Swidwin Base Hospital
Swidwin, Republic of Poland
1 September 2001
Oscar Pine flipped through the pages of a gaming magazine. Wow, Metal Gear Solid 2. He leaned back in the bed. Back in Nebraska, he'd saved up enough money from his summer job to buy a Playstation, which had made his senior year in high school a lot more fun—and also endangered his grades and chances of getting into Northeast Community College, to get his minimum of two years of college before applying for Navy flight training. He snorted. Little did I know that I was already guaranteed a slot thanks to dear old Dad. Who I never knew or even met. It still grated on Oscar that Ozpin had pulled strings to get him into Pensacola, when Oscar had been under the impression all this time that he'd made it through skill alone.
Oscar's thoughts were interrupted when a nurse walked into the room. "Good evening," she said, her English heavily accented—which was no surprise, in a hospital staffed mostly by Polish people. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, pretty good," Oscar said, which was true. His stomach still hurt where the suture scars were, but he was eating solid food again, even if it was soft solid food. They had taken him off the IV, finally.
"Good, good." The nurse opened up a small pack and took out a hypodermic. "I am sorry, but I must give you the shot. It is for the pain, yes?"
"I'm really not in that much pain, ma'am," Oscar told her.
She spread her hands. "Doctor's orders, Mr. Pine." Before he could stop her, she had already grabbed his left wrist and jabbed him with the needle in his shoulder. He winced and looked at the nurse; Oscar hated needles, and learned that the best way to not think about being stabbed was to distract himself with something. A pretty girl, preferably one named Ruby Rose, was the best way. The nurse was somewhat pretty, at least.
Then Oscar realized he had never seen her before. The Swidwin base hospital was small, and Oscar had quickly gotten to know the staff; this nurse was not one of them. He also remembered that they usually gave him a shot in the other arm. "Hey, which doctor ordered me to get a shot?" The nurse didn't answer. "Which one? Hey!" As she pulled out the needle, he grabbed her wrist. "Who are you? Who sent you?"
"Please to be quiet," she answered, and pulled her wrist away. Oscar tried to get up, but suddenly his limbs felt like lead. The room seemed to move away from him, and time seemed to slow down. "Hey," he said again, but his words were slurred. His hand fell limply away from the nurse, and Oscar's eyes rolled back as he passed out.
The nurse checked his pulse, then walked briskly to the door. A burly man walked in. Quickly, they stripped Oscar to his underwear, and stuffed him into a flight suit, careful not to disturb his bandages. Then he was put in a wheelchair, covered in a blanket, and wheeled out of his room. The nurse pulled a radio from her pocket. "We're on our way."
They were almost to the entrance to the hospital when another nurse—an actual one—stopped them. "Hey, you there. Where are you taking Ensign Pine?"
"He's being evacuated," the man rumbled. "Robyn's orders."
"She hasn't told us anything," the nurse said, but was ignored. She watched the three of them leave, then walked over to the nurse's station and picked up a phone.
Yang walked down the flightline, past the Night Raven—she didn't even want to look at the thing; it reminded her too much of Raven Branwen—and to where Robyn had parked her new aircraft. She gave a low whistle. Robyn heard her and came out from under the wing, where she had been helping secure a 500-pound bomb. She dusted off her coveralls. "Hi, Yang."
"Hey. Just wanted to tell you that Operation Steal Shit was a success." That wasn't the actual name—they hadn't given it one—but Yang thought it was kind of nifty.
"Good to hear. I just hope your sister's plan works." She knelt to make sure the bombs were being fused correctly. There were six under both wings, on a Triple Ejector Rack, with every third bomb loaded with a "daisy cutter"—an extended fuse that would detonate the bomb above ground level. The pressure wave was sometimes enough to destroy ground GRIMM without even touching them.
"So this is your new ride?" Yang ran her fingers over the thin wing. "F-20. Nice."
Robyn straightened up. "Yeah. Got this one through Morocco, of all places. My normal source in eastern Germany just up and fell off the earth." She shrugged. "Ah well. Crimson Jack was always a shady son of a bitch." She shook one of the wingtip Sidewinders, to make sure it was secure. "First time seeing a Tigershark?"
"Oh, hell no," Yang replied with a grin. "Weissy had one, until she got it shot out from under her over the Sea of Japan." She pointed at the tail. "Cool marking, too. Flaming unicorn head—sweet. Wish I could paint mine all over my tails."
"The yellow nose is a nice touch—" Robyn's radio, hung on a clip on her coveralls, let out a noise. She picked it up. "Yes, Robyn here." She paused, and her eyes narrowed. "What? I gave no such order. There's no reason to evacuate him. Where is he?" Another pause. "Right. No, it's probably a balls-up, but get security out here anyway. I'll take care of it until they get here." She put the radio away and turned to Yang. "Some fool just wheeled Oscar out of hospital, saying I ordered him to be evacuated." She started to walk towards the other end of the tarmac. "I hope Ironwood isn't playing games."
Yang fell in beside her. "Could be. I think he likes Oscar the most out of all of us mutineers." Robyn raised an eyebrow. "He knew Oscar's dad pretty well." Yang didn't feel like getting into that story at the moment.
"There they are." Robyn slowed her gait as they drew even with the Night Raven on one side and Fiona's Alpha Jet on the other. "There's six of them besides Oscar. That's odd." Yang saw what she was talking about. She spotted Oscar, in a wheelchair, his head lolling to one side. Around him were six other people, four men and two women, one dressed in a nurse's uniform and pushing the wheelchair. Yang put a hand on Robyn's shoulder. "Something's wrong. Look at the way they're surrounding him."
Robyn nodded. "Like they're guarding him." She cocked her head to one side. "That's strange—that's the crew of the An-12 that came in earlier, after the Night Raven." She glanced to one side, where the Night Raven sat. Copper Baxter was preflighting it; he'd agreed to cover the dusk strike on the GRIMM to the north, the one Robyn was to lead. Ren was going along too, his J-10 bombed up, while Pyrrha and Yang were also on escort duty—though Baxter had laughingly told them that it wasn't necessary, with the Night Raven's capabilities.
Robyn raised her voice. "You there! With Ensign Pine! Stop!" The six of them didn't even hesitate. Robyn moved to intercept them. "I said stop, dammit! That's an order!"
Yang caught movement in the corner of one eye. With a fighter pilot's reflexes, she grabbed Robyn and shoved her to the tarmac, a second before Baxter would have shot her in the back of her head. Robyn landed wrong and screamed, but Yang was pushing her beneath the little converted trainer, while she struggled to pull her own pistol and go prone at the same time. The heavy .357's front sight caught on the holster, and Yang found herself staring down the barrel of Baxter's PPK. There was nowhere to run.
He hesitated. "She's not the silver-eyed one," he murmured, almost to himself. "She's the sister of the silver-eyed one. She's the sister. Not to be spared." He seemed to come to a decision and raised the gun again, as Yang finally managed to pull the revolver free. Why am I always about to be killed by redheaded Faunus was a stupid last thought, Yang grumbled to herself.
Then Baxter ducked as a bullet spanged off the side of the Night Raven. Robyn's security force—two of them, anyway—had arrived and opened fire at the man pointing a pistol at their employer. Baxter ducked behind the landing gear for cover, but Yang leveled the .357 at his head. She didn't know what the Faunus had been babbling to himself, but resolved to ask his corpse.
But then it was Yang's turn to find cover. Five of the six people around Oscar had suddenly pulled guns and were firing on Robyn's security force. Yang shoved a cursing Robyn aside, braced against the ground, and pulled the trigger. Ruby hadn't been the only one Taiyang had trained to shoot: the bullet caught one of the women, who was firing a machine pistol, high in the chest, taking her off her feet and dropping her in a welter of blood.
A bullet richocheted off the concrete next to her, and Yang fired a hasty shot in Baxter's direction. The four remaining enemy crew—that was how Yang thought of them now—were spraying bullets, mainly to keep everyone's head down. Baxter fired off another shot in Yang's general vicinity, then scrambled up the second ladder; for the first time, Yang realized the Night Raven's second, backseat canopy was open, and knew with horror what was happening.
The head of one of the men with the machine pistols snapped back and he dropped to the tarmac, his brains sprayed on the once gray concrete. Yang looked around and saw Pyrrha braced against the nose of Robyn's F-20, her Beretta in hand. The nurse shoved Oscar's limp body up the ladder, where Baxter stood to grab him, even as the two remaining crew crowded close. A bullet whined past, and Yang shouted "Wait! Don't shoot Oscar!" The firing ceased, out of fear of hitting him.
Yang rolled out from under the Alpha Jet and came up on one knee, pointing the .357 at Baxter. "Give him back!" she shouted.
Baxter looked at her, and she swallowed involuntarily. There was something in the Faunus' silver eyes, something that was just wrong and unnatural. "No," he growled, and pulled Oscar into the second cockpit.
Before she could fire, he swung monkeylike into the forward cockpit. She tracked him, but then had her feet yanked out from under her by Robyn. The move saved her life, as the remaining two opened fire again. Both of them reached into their pockets and tossed grenades—one over the Alpha Jet, to land near Robyn's security; the other was supposed to land near Pyrrha, but took a wild bounce towards the F-20's left wing. All firing ceased for a second, as everyone realized that, when the grenade went off, they would all die in the sympathetic explosion of the bombs.
Ren saved them all. He had rolled up next to Pyrrha, prepared to add his own pistol to their firepower, when he saw the grenade. In one single move, he dropped his pistol, smacked the grenade out of midair like a volleyball towards the taxiway, and rolled into a ball. Pyrrha did the same as the grenade detonated, its fragments spalling around them, making a metallic clang as one hit the F-20's nose—but none hit the aircraft's ordnance or either person.
The move bought Baxter just enough time. As the nurse finished strapping Oscar in, he closed the second canopy, and all three of his compatriots moved away from the aircraft as he started the engines. The two kept firing to keep everyone's head down, now joined by the nurse as the Night Raven's landing light switched on, nearly blinding Yang, who was trying for another shot at the cockpit. The nose wheel turned to one side and the aircraft's nose swung away from them.
One of the men grabbed another grenade, only to fall dead before he could pull the pin; more of Robyn's security had arrived. The nurse fired at the newcomers, only to go down next as Joanna Greenleaf shot her in the chest. The last man, realizing he was alone, stuck the machine pistol's barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
"Shoot the tires!" Robyn shouted, as the Night Raven went down the taxiway, but the bullets missed; the tires were small targets, and the security force was afraid of hitting something explosive, like the aircraft's fuel tanks. Yang, blinking away the spots in her vision, went over to the nurse, kicked away her pistol, and knelt next to her. The woman was dying, a bullet through her lung, and pink froth appeared around her lips. "Who the hell was that?" Yang asked. "Who the hell sent you?"
The woman's voice was a whisper, said through bubbling blood. "The Hound." She smiled, showing bloody teeth. "Czarina…Salem." Then her eyes went sightless.
Yang stood up, watching helplessly as the Night Raven, now out of range, still taxiied towards the runway. "Yang!" She turned at Pyrrha's voice. "Don't just stand there! Get in the air!"
Yang had no idea what that was going to accomplish, but she ran towards her F-23 all the same. Robyn saw her; Yang noticed the mercenary commander's left arm hung limp. "Take my helmet!" Robyn shouted, pointing with her good arm towards the F-20. Yang understood, grabbed Robyn's helmet off the canopy rail, and continued running towards the Black Widow even as the Night Raven swung onto the runway itself.
Yang practically dived into the cockpit of her fighter, quickly pulling on the borrowed helmet and putting on the oxygen mask. Sergeant Jung Freud, Weiss' crew chief, helped her strap in even as Yang switched on the INS and started the engine. "You're not wearing a G-suit," Freud said.
"I'll go without it," Yang answered. "Move your ass, Jung!" The German girl slapped her helmet, dropped down, and pulled away the ladder as Yang brought the engines to full power and closed the canopy. The ground crew didn't even have time to pull the chocks: Yang rolled over them.
She got onto the taxiway as the Night Raven's afterburners engaged and the interceptor took off.
The Hound checked his instrument panel for any warning lights as he turned east; he'd had to take off to the west, into the wind, to avoid any more ground fire. As he made the long turn, his threat display showed that the SAM batteries defending Swidwin were trying to lock on, and failing due to the stealthy design of the Night Raven. So was something else: the AWACS. The Night Raven wasn't completely invisible to radar, only resistant to it; certain wavelengths could pick it up, even if those wavelengths wouldn't hold it for long. Below, on the runway, he saw the F-23 turning onto the runway; behind was the F-22 and the J-10. The Hound briefly thought about dropping down and strafing them, but that endangered the mission, which was to get Oscar Pine back to Warsaw and the Hound's Mistress. The rest of his team was dead, but they were expendable, and had known it when Salem had given them their orders.
The Hound considered his options. He could stay high, accelerate to Mach 3, and easily outdistance his pursuers to Warsaw—but if the AWACS got enough of a return off his aircraft, he would lead NATO right to his Mistress, and that interfered with his orders as well. The other option was to go low, using a combination of the Night Raven's stealth and the ground return to lose the AWACS; he would still be supersonic, but not at Mach 3—there would be too much air resistance, and no time at all to dodge any sudden obstacles, like a power line. The F-22 and F-23 could supercruise: they would catch him.
The Hound smiled. So be it. He opened the throttle and dived.
"Yang, Swidwin Tower. We have a visual—Night Raven is descending, repeat, descending. Moving very fast."
"Roger that. I've got the lead." Yang climbed, dipping the Black Widow's left wing, her eyes scanning the ground below. The sun was setting, casting shadows over everything, but the Night Raven was not a small aircraft. She saw it, the setting sun reflecting off its glossy black steel. "Tally-ho on the Night Raven! Ten o'clock low, bearing, ah zero-eight-eight!"
"Yang, Pyrrha!" Yang could hear Pyrrha's voice straining against the G-forces of takeoff. "No missiles, guns only!"
"Roger!" Yang had already known she couldn't use the missiles nestled in the F-23's internal bays: their only chance of saving Oscar was to try and force this Hound to land, which meant shooting out an engine or otherwise crippling the aircraft. Oscar looked like he was drugged. Maybe he'll wake up and punch out. It was a minimal chance, but it was better than just watching the Night Raven fly into the sunset with their friend. "Doesn't mean I can't scare the son of a bitch," Yang said aloud, and switched on her infrared sensor. The Night Raven might be stealthy, but its twin engines were not shrouded like the F-22's or the F-23's, and gave off plenty of heat.
Yang accelerated, grunting against the Gs, remembering she didn't have a G-suit on. She dropped in behind the Night Raven as the enemy aircraft leveled off at just under a thousand feet, and locked on with her IR sensor.
The Hound saw his threat display light up, and knew he was being targeted by infrared. He didn't think his enemies would simply shoot him down, not with their friend aboard, but there was the possibility that they would prefer killing Oscar Pine rather than letting him be delivered to the Mistress. He pushed up the throttle a little more, checked the rearward facing camera. Ogon zadney raketa, he thought.
Yang closed the distance into gun range, switching to her cannon. She saw something detach from the wing, screamed an oath, and pulled the stick into her lap. The missile went harmlessly past, and Yang thanked Raven for her tour of the Night Raven in Palmdale—and the knowledge of the rearward defense pod.
She rolled out and tried to find the Night Raven again. "Okay, asshole," she said, watching him open the distance, "let's try that again." She switched from guns to radar, and fired an AMRAAM.
"Yang, no!" Pyrrha shouted, as she saw the dot of the AMRAAM shoot forward towards the Night Raven. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched, sure she was about to see another friend die, the image of Jaune Arc's Mirage disintegrating in her mind's eye. But then she saw the Night Raven suddenly break to the left, presenting its planform against the sun. The AMRAAM exploded in a field, and Pyrrha found herself smiling: Yang knew the missile wouldn't home in, but had fired it to panic the enemy pilot into breaking.
She was out of position. "Ren, Pyrrha! Take him!"
Ren was still loaded with bombs. There had been no time to take off the safeties on them, which was in this case a good thing: hoping there was no unfortunate souls below him, Ren reached forward and stabbed a red button on the instrument panel, the emergency release. It dropped everything, even the rails, cleaning the J-10 of everything external. The fighter instantly surged forward, and Ren closed in. He centered the gunsight over the left engine. Hope this works.
Ren squeezed the trigger, but the Night Raven broke again, spoiling his shot; the shells missed by only inches, but they still missed. He gritted his teeth and stayed on the interceptor's tail. "Ren, Yang, watch for his rear firing thingy!" his radio crackled. Ren ignored her.
The Hound saw the J-10, but had a feeling his foes knew his aircraft, and so didn't bother with the second and last rearward defense pod. Instead, he reached out and thumbed a switch. A tiny antenna recessed into the fuselage behind the second cockpit began transmitting.
"Follow my leader," the Hound smiled, and dropped even lower, weaving around hills, power lines and treetops.
"This bastard's good," Yang mused. "Ren, Yang, back off!"
"Negative."
Dammit. First Pyrrha, now Ren. Juniper Flight's getting all death wish again. Yang closed in, staying high and right. As if she had read Yang's mind, Pyrrha's F-22 went high and left, boxing in the Night Raven. Yang switched frequencies to Guard. "Night Raven, Night Raven, this is Ruby Two. You're not going to make it. We will shoot you down. Drop your landing gear and return to Swidwin. You will be treated as a prisoner of war, by the Geneva Conventions." Which Salem didn't sign, so I might just blow your damn head off anyway.
There was silence, and then the Hound simply replied, "No," once more.
"Not much for vocabulary, are you, fucker?"
Suddenly the Night Raven leveled out, and for a moment, Yang thought the Hound was actually going to surrender. Then the aircraft broke directly into her, as if he was trying to ram her F-23. Yang rolled away, cutting her speed, and felt the Black Widow shudder as it hit the Night Raven's jetwash.
"Norn Lead, Haisla, bandits, bandits, bearing zero-nine-one! Raid count four Beowolves!" The AWACS hadn't gotten the call regarding the new callsigns, but Yang knew what that meant: GRIMM. They're here to help that bastard. Did he summon them or something?
"Yang, Ren, this is Pyrrha. Stay on the Raven. The GRIMM are mine." The F-22 snapped into a hard left bank.
"Yang, he's going high!" Ren warned. The Night Raven shot into a climb.
"I'm on his ass!" Yang yelled, and climbed after the interceptor. Her Sidewinders were growling, but she switched off the IR sensor. Oh, you shit. If you didn't have Oscar onboard, I'd scatter your Faunus butt all over Poland.
Then Yang realized the Hound was pulling out of the climb, turning, pulling the nose down, forcing her to overshoot. The hunter had become the hunted. Yang broke right, into the Night Raven, even as the other aircraft opened fire with its heavy 23mm cannon. Yang felt Ember Celica shudder with hits. "Dammit," she groaned, as the two aircraft passed each other. Instinctively, she pulled off some speed and turned back into the Night Raven, but it was diving away. A quick check of the instrument panel: no lights. Whatever the shells had hit, it wasn't vital.
As Yang looked for her enemy, she saw a white contrail in one of the canopy mirrors. She kicked the tail around and looked. It was coming from Ember Celica: she was losing fuel, rapidly.
The Hound went for the deck again, rolling out, but now Ren was back on his tail. He fired his cannon, more as a warning than trying to actually hit him. The Night Raven simply got lower, into a river valley, skimming the water. Ren doggedly stayed on his tail, trying to think of a way to bring down the enemy aircraft without killing Oscar.
Without warning, Ren's RWR went off. His eyes instantly went to the red light flashing for his attention: SAM. There's no SAMs around here—unless—
Ren broke away, his fingers frantically dropping chaff and flares behind him. "Norn Three, Norn Three, on Guard! Buddy spike! Buddy spike!" Then he saw them: missiles descending from above, HAWK missiles, designed to kill like their namesake. Ren slammed the throttle forward to the stops and climbed, turning into the missiles, praying he had moved fast enough; if he hadn't, he would no longer have to worry about his issues with Nora, or much of anything at all.
He had. The sudden climb had thrown off the HAWKS' targeting, and the SAMs couldn't compensate. They could not turn with the J-10, and shot past him, hitting the ground and exploding a second later. Ren climbed more, and the RWR warning suddenly went off: the Army battery commander had heard him, or didn't have any missiles left to shoot.
Ren looked around, but couldn't spot the Night Raven. "Yang, Ren—no joy."
It wasn't Yang that answered, but Haisla, the AWACS. "Ren, relay from Lask. Night Raven spotted low level, headed east, crossing FEBA." The controller sounded sad. "Recommend you do not pursue, repeat, do not pursue."
Ren's fingers tightened around the throttle and stick. He had plenty of fuel. He could go after the Hound, find him, bring him down. If Salem got hold of Oscar…Ren paused. What could Salem possibly want with Oscar Pine? He knew no secrets, and in fact knew less than himself, or Yang, much less Pyrrha. Any one of them would be far more valuable.
"Ren, Pyrrha. All bandits destroyed. RTB." Pyrrha's voice was even, controlled, but it was clearly an order. He still hesitated, still kept the J-10's nose pointed east. Below him was the FEBA, the Forward Edge of the Battle Area, the current watermark of Salem's drive to the west.
"Haisla, Yang. Diverting to Wroclaw. I am declaring an emergency. Losing fuel, got wing damage."
Ren shouted the most vile Chinese curse he could think of and wrenched the J-10 back west. Yang was his current wingperson, and he would not leave her. He glanced back east, towards the distant Vistula River. He pressed the radio button. "Oscar Pine, this is Ren. We will not leave you. We will not leave you."