AUTHOR'S NOTES: I always have fun writing these, but I had particular fun with this one. More notes at the end!
SACEUR Forward Headquarters
Near Poznan, Republic of Poland
2 September 2001
"General Ironwood?"
Ironwood slowly came back to consciousness. "Yes, what is it?" He checked his watch: he'd been asleep for four hours. It would have to do. He swung his feet off the cot in his tent and sat there for a moment. His aide waited patiently. Once he felt capable of more independent movement, Ironwood looked up at the aide, who handed him a folder of satellite photographs. "Latest pass, sir. Just faxed over."
Ironwood rubbed his eyes and checked over the photos. "How old are these?"
"Thirty minutes, sir."
Ironwood looked at the pictures again. "Get Calavera on the phone."
"Yes, sir." The aide left the tent. Ironwood pulled on his boots, adjusted his uniform, and checked his appearance in a small mirror. He had certainly looked better, but no one was looking entirely strac in the command area anyway. Another downward tug on the tunic, and Ironwood went behind the field desk and picked up one of the phones. The aide's voice was on the line in moments. "General Calavera on the line, General Ironwood."
"Hello, Miguel," Ironwood said.
"Good evening, General." Is it evening? He glanced at the clock; it was almost eight. "What can I do for you?"
"Have you had a chance to look at the latest satellite shots of your AO?" Ironwood had made sure Calavera was in the loop; the commander of the 1st Armored Division was one of the few people he still trusted.
"Just got them. And they confirm the last pass, plus what my scouts are telling me. Salem's pulled back at least ten more miles. It's a slower rate than the last 24 hours, but if she continues at that rate, she'll be back across the Vistula in four days, maybe less. She's still advancing on the northern front, right?"
"Yeah. The northern divisions are making her pay for every mile, but she's still advancing." Ironwood spread the photos across his desk. Something wasn't adding up. "Not even Salem has infinite resources. I don't know this as well as you do, Miguel, but is she shortening her lines? Freeing up some GRIMM to go north?"
"That's my guess, General." Calavera was silent for a moment, and Ironwood could hear the shuffling of paper in the background. "Sir, right now, by taking the pressure off us, we've gotten most of the refugees across the Warta. Hell, Salem's the one trapped against a river now. I could hit her with everything I've got, collapse her left flank, cross the Vistula, and surround her pasty white ass. What do you think?"
Ironwood pulled over a smaller version of the huge map on his map table. His fingers ran across it, checking distances and terrain features. He noticed that his index finger had ended up on top of Belchanow, the huge coal mine where he'd found his nuclear ace in the hole. He also remembered history, during World War II, where the Germans had sliced the Polish Army into what they called cauldrons, encircling them and destroying them. It had been his worry that Salem would do it to the 1st Armored Division, but now it looked like his forces had the opportunity to do it to her. The problem was, Ironwood thought, Salem had read the same books he had.
"Sir?" Calavera prompted.
Ironwood tapped the map. "No," he finally said. "Go ahead and advance cautiously, Miguel, but no attack. Not yet. In fact, if you want to let the 3rd Infantry borrow a brigade, do it."
"Sir, I don't understand. If I may speak frankly…"
"Always, Miguel."
"I'm Army. You're Air Force. We're trained that when an enemy is retreating, when you've got them on their heels, you keep hitting them until they're screaming for mama. And then you hit them some more. You're letting Salem go, sir. Once she's behind the Vistula, with her forces intact…well, General, you're going to need a lot more body bags if we have to force a river crossing."
"I understand," Ironwood replied. "But Salem's been three steps ahead of us so far, Miguel. Is she in full retreat when she was winning? Adjusting her lines, yes—that I get. But a full retreat? I think this is an ambush."
"Begging the General's pardon, but I think you're wrong, sir. I think she's made a mistake, because she thinks we're hauling ass behind the Oder and abandoning Poland—which you have more or less stated, sir. So she thinks we're retreating down here, and that gives her an opportunity to concentrate against the Danes, Poles, Germans and Brits in the north. I say I go after her and at least destroy as much as I can on the left bank of the Vistula. Sir," Calavera added.
"I understand that, Miguel, but I'm not taking a chance. Not yet. Let's give it another 24 hours. Go ahead and prepare an attack plan, but I want to wait. If I'm making a mistake…well, then I'm making one. Don't go off on your own," Ironwood warned. "I've got enough renegades as it is."
"All right, sir. I won't. But I will be bugging your ass by noon tomorrow, General, sir."
Ironwood laughed. "I want you to, Miguel. Talk to you tomorrow."
"Be well, sir." Calavera's line clicked off, and Ironwood hung up the phone. He then called for his aide, who came back into the tent. "Major, contact Colonel Schnee. I want her and Ace Flight to go to…" He checked the map. "Wroclaw. Tell her to prepare for a recon mission from there."
"Yes, sir. General, you should know…we intercepted some messages from Wroclaw to Robyn Hill at Swidwin. Captains Yang Xiao Long, Lie Ren, and Major Pyrrha Nikos are at Wroclaw. They diverted there after Oscar Pine was captured. They were supposed to return this morning, but there were issues repairing Captain Xiao Long's aircraft."
Ironwood rubbed his eyes again. He'd almost forgotten that business. Oscar Pine had been taken prisoner to give Salem the passwords to JINN. He would break soon. JINN wouldn't do Salem much good in Poland—Ironwood had already ordered all codes and frequencies to be changed, and the tactical situation was too fluid. But Salem could do plenty of damage elsewhere with the knowledge she would gain from it. Dammit, Ozpin, he thought. I told you creating that monster was a mistake. "Thank you, Major. Instruct Colonel Schnee to arrest those three. There's a military police unit nearby—let them know they are considered under the colonel's command for that purpose."
"Yes, sir."
"One last thing, Major. I want a secure line to Fairford. I want one of their B-52s flown to Berlin Tegel, and kept under armed guard."
The major looked quizzical at that last, but nodded and left the tent. Ironwood got up and walked over to the map table. His fingers ran across the map until they rested on Warsaw. "She's there," he said to the empty room. "That's where I would be. Far enough forward to keep track of her units, centrally located. And she thinks we wouldn't look there because there's nothing but ruins." He leaned forward. Dropping the nuclear bomb on Warsaw would not only destroy Salem, it would obliterate JINN, too, and aside from the handful of people eking out a bare living in the ruins, the blast would not kill any Polish civilians. The resulting EMP pulse would also be enough to cripple GRIMM in that area; if Calavera was right, he could punch through south of the river, or even simply roll up Salem's forces from the south. If the prevailing winds held, most of the radiation would spread northeast, which would keep the 1st Armored out of the fallout pattern.
What about Oscar Pine? Ironwood's conscience asked him. It sounded distressingly like Ozpin. If JINN is with Salem at Warsaw, that's where he is.
What about him? Ironwood answered, and his conscience was silent.
Over the Baltic Sea
North of Gdynia, Republic of Poland
2 September 2001
Penny felt herself drifting. She was cold—terribly cold—but for some reason, that didn't seem to be that important. She opened her eyes slowly, almost lethargically, and looked up. The sky was a deep blue, practically black, and she could see the stars. That made no sense, because behind her—now in front of her; she seemed to be tumbling slowly, end over end—the sun was setting. She shouldn't be able to see the stars: it was daytime. As her mind processed the strangeness of that, she looked down and saw the distant coastline, and the sea so far below. Again, she knew that was something she should be concerned about, because Penny knew that hitting the water at the speed she was probably going would be like hitting concrete. She was freezing to death, and would shortly die when she struck the water, but Penny just couldn't get worked up about it. She really needed to get some sleep, anyway.
She closed her eyes again, but was then startled when there was an explosion of noise, seemingly all around her. Penny's eyes flew open and she saw Ruby Rose's F-16 circling around for another pass. She narrowed her eyes. Damn Ruby anyway! Penny thought hazily. Can't she see I'm trying to sleep! Dad's going to be so angry at me if I don't get enough sleep—
The thought of her father suddenly penetrated the languor soaking Penny's brain. "Hypoxia," she said aloud, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask she still wore. She had to get the oxygen working or she wouldn't have to worry about impacting the water or freezing to death: she would be brain-dead from lack of oxygen long before that. Even thinking all of that seemed to take precious energy, so Penny deliberately slapped her thighs as hard as she could, using the pain in her numbed limbs to concentrate. She grabbed the knob on the emergency oxygen supply. It was still frozen. "Come on!" she shouted. "I am not going to die like this!" Her vision was starting to swim again. She put both hands on the knob and turned it. There was an audible squeak as her enhanced strength forced the knob to turn, and it went easier the second twist. She felt cool air against her lips as oxygen began to flow. Penny gulped it down like it was a feast, and her vision began to clear.
Ruby came by again, at a safe distance so Penny wouldn't be hit by the jetwash, and jazzed her throttles. Penny arrested her tumbling by getting herself oriented face down, putting out her arms and legs, slightly bent. She then waved at Ruby, to let her know she was alive. The F-16 waggled its wings and began a slow circle around her as she fell. Now that her brain was working again, Penny could guess that she was around 40,000 feet now.
Still too high. Penny put her legs together and her arms flush against her side, and dived like an arrow. She still needed to get to warmer air: the oxygen mask could freeze, with every one of her exhaled breaths forming ice condensation on it, and then there was the little matter of frostbite.
It was actually fun, Penny thought. She was now descending rapidly, the air buffeting her, her red hair fanning out from under her helmet. It was still a beautiful evening, and she could enjoy the sunset from up here like no one could on the ground. She thought about doing some acrobatics, just for the thrill of it, but decided that might be tempting fate a little too much: if it hadn't been for Ruby blasting into her consciousness, she would already be dead.
Penny counted to herself, and when she thought she might be at about 20,000 feet, she once more put her arms and legs out to slow herself down. Gradually, she felt herself slowing down to something more reasonable, though impact even at this speed would be fatal. She reached up and grabbed the parachute handle. Sure would be sad if I came all this way for the dumb parachute not to work, Penny mused, then pulled the handle. The nylon streamed from the backpack and blossomed into a full canopy. Penny braced herself for the sudden decleration, and it was as tough as she remembered from the simulator. The parachute opened with a whump, and Penny felt herself actually going upwards for a moment, before gravity reasserted itself. She checked the parachute canopy: it looked good. She tested the risers; they worked fine.
"Well," Penny said with satisfaction, "hard part's over." She put both hands over her head and clapsed them together to show Ruby, who was still orbiting her, that she was all right. Another wiggle of wings, and Ruby increased her orbit to give her more room. Penny rested her still-numb fingers on the risers, crossed her legs, and relaxed. It would be a few minutes before she reached the water, and she might as well enjoy the view. She hoped her father and Maria were all right.
"Brace, brace, brace!" Maria shouted. "We're gonna hit hard!" She deployed the flaps to full, to try and slow down as much as she could.
Pietro grabbed what had been the Gulfstream's wet bar, crossed his arms, bent over, and put his head down as far as it would go with the straps and his rather copious stomach in the way. Bend over and kiss your sweet ass goodbye, he thought.
Maria hauled back on the control wheel and flared the Gulfstream as best as she could: the Baltic Sea was still whitecapped, and ditching in these conditions was problematic at best. The fuel gauges read zero, but she wanted to get down while she still had some power to play with. She kept the nose up, trying to hit as flat as she could. The problem was, with her poor remaining eyesight, she couldn't tell just how close to the water they were.
Despite all that, Maria almost made it: another twenty feet would have put her in the trough between two waves, allowing the Gulfstream to hit flat. Instead, a wave hit the tail. Instead of a smooth ditching, the Gulfstream slammed into the waves. Maria was caught by surprise and pitched forward, slamming her head into the instrument panel.
With a sound of screaming metal, the tail snapped and broke free. Pietro was thrown back into his seat, which swayed but somehow stayed anchored to the floor of the aircraft. A lot of the computer equipment, hastily installed, did not: much of it broke loose and hurtled forward, but luckily, the equipment around Pietro held.
He shook his head free of the shock and looked up. He could see blue sky and the ocean, which was rapidly rushing in through the hole where the tail had been. Pietro unstrapped. "Maria! Maria, the damn airplane's flooding! We need to get the hell out of here!" There was no response. "Dammit!" He dropped to the cabin floor and began pulling himself by his arms forward into the narrow passageway to the cockpit. Water came in behind him, over his feet, though he couldn't feel it.
Pietro crawled into the cockpit and nearly threw up at the remains of the pilot. He grabbed the throttle console and dragged himself up. "Maria!" Her head lolled over on one shoulder, blood trickling from the side of it. Bracing himself with one hand, he reached up and pulled on the straps. "Come on, Maria!" Water was now pouring into the cockpit, even as it washed up and over the cockpit windows. He grabbed the seat controls and dropped the seat as far back as it could go, then somehow managed to pull her free of the seat. The ocean was up to his waist now. Pietro stole a glance behind them: the cabin was rapidly filling up. "Maria, we're going to have to swim for it," he said, mainly to calm the panic that was rising as fast as the water. He found a loose strap, quickly tied a knot in it, wrapped it around the still unmoving Maria, then hauled her back into the cabin, banging her feet and legs against the throttle quadrant.
Pietro waited until the cabin filled a little more. "Maria, if you can hear me, take a deep breath!" He filled his lungs with enough air as he could, then put the strap between his teeth, and dived below the surface, dragging Maria with him.
As a scientist, Pietro could appreciate irony. By flooding the aircraft, the water had put him into the one position where he could physically do something. Had Maria crashlanded ashore and the Gulfstream been on fire, he would have been able to do little but try and crawl away from the flames. Here, he could actually swim. Pietro used his arms—more powerful than they looked after years of being his only means of propulsion—and swam through the cabin. The water was murky, but he could see well enough to make his way to the hole where the tail used to be. It was more narrow than he'd hoped, but Pietro was under no illusion that he could wrench one of the fuselage doors open underwater, assuming that they hadn't warped with the impact. He said a prayer, thought this is going to be hard on Penny if we don't make it, and grabbed the torn sides of the hole.
Metal sliced open his hands, but Pietro ignored the pain: he was good at that, having ignored pain for years. His lungs already felt like they were on fire, his chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it, but he pulled them through. Somehow, they managed to get through the hole without snagging on any protruding metal, or hydraulic lines, or any of the other parts of a wrecked aircraft, and into the open water. Pietro grabbed the lanyards of his lifejacket—which the now-dead young pilot had insisted that they wear—and pulled. The CO2 cylinders discharged and filled the lifejacket, propelling them upwards. Pietro expelled the air from his nose on the way up, which wasn't more than about fifteen feet, his teeth still gripped firmly on the strap.
They surfaced. Pietro took a quick, deep breath before a wave rolled over them, and dunked his head beneath the surface to grab Maria. To his relieved surprise, she was conscious, and was already inflating her lifejacket. He surfaced again, ducked under another wave, and spit out the strap as she surfaced next to him. "What the hell happened?" she spluttered. "How did we—oh." She realized what had happened. Maria grinned at Pietro. "You magnificent bastard!"
Pietro grinned back, then began coughing. He spit blood into the water. "How are you?"
"I have a hell of a headache!" She looked around them as the waves started to turn a greenish-yellow. "Dye marker. Hope those idiots up there see it…didn't think to bring any flares."
"Or a raft." Pietro shivered: it was early September, but the Baltic was still cold. He coughed again, harder. His left arm felt suddenly numb, and not from the water. "Oh no," he said quietly, so low Maria could not hear over the waves, "oh no."
Even if he had yelled it, Maria would not have heard him: the air was split by the sound of twin turbofans, as a black F-14 Tomcat shot past overhead. Maria waved her arms for all she was worth. The fighter turned around and made another pass, then rocked its wings back and forth. "Yeah! Hot damn!" Maria cheered. "Jolly Greens are on the way, Pietro—Blake's got them in the air already, I bet; good old Jarheads! Let's get drunk tonight! I think we earned it." She slapped him on the shoulder, kicking her legs, ignoring the throbbing pain from her forehead. "Pietro, we are definitely getting too old for this shit." Then she noticed his head was bent forward. "Pietro?" She reached over and grabbed his shoulder. "Oh shit," Maria breathed, noticing the purplish tinge on her friend's lips.
Wroclaw Airbase
Wroclaw, Republic of Poland
2 September 2001
"Well, I admit this is something new for me." Pyrrha held up her hands. There were handcuffs around her wrists. "I've never been arrested before. Ren?" He shook his head. "Yang?"
"Yeah. I tore up a few bars in my time. 13 arrests, no convictions." She delivered a savage kick to the door. "This is such bullshit!"
Pyrrha leaned her head back against the wall. The Wroclaw airbase had a jail, but this wasn't it. After Yang had been informed of difficulty in repairing her F-23-the big Polish sergeant from the day before finally had to call from help from Poznan—they had cooled their heels for a frustrating six hours before being cleared to return to Swidwin. As they had walked to their aircraft, three HMMWVs with US Army Military Police placards had pulled up, disgorged a platoon of heavily armed men and women, and Major Nikos, Captain Xiao Long, and Captain Lie were informed that they were under arrest, with a charge of disobeying direct orders and theft of government property. The lieutenant in charge of the MPs was polite about it, at least. He had them handcuffed and read their rights under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, but instead of placing them in a cell, they were allowed to stay in a more comfortable ready room…albeit handcuffed, with three guards on the door and two more on the window. Yang had begun to pace the room, Pyrrha tried to relax, and Ren stared out the window. To her pleasant surprise, he seemed to have lost his anger from the day before. Maybe our talk helped.
Yang kicked the door again. Pyrrha was about to tell her to stop—they might put Yang in leg irons next—when the door opened anyway. Yang stepped back, hands up to fight, but instead of the expected MPs, there was only Colonel Winter Schnee, wearing a tailored gray flight suit and a cast on her arm. Pyrrha and Ren stood at attention, but Yang only graced Winter with a furious look.
"The three of you, follow me," Winter ordered.
"Go fuck yourself," Yang snarled.
"If you want to fly again, follow me," Winter repeated, and her tone of voice brooked no further argument, not even from Yang. Reluctantly, she fell in behind the colonel. The three pilots were flanked by their guards as they walked into one of the Polish squadron ready rooms.
"Well, now. This is quite the sight." Harriet Bree smirked at them.
"Harriet. Enough." Vine Zeki's voice was quiet as usual, but it had its intended effect. Marrow Amin looked apologetic and embarrassed, his tail drooping at the sight of them, but it was Elm Ederne who surprised them. She rushed forward and grabbed Ren's hands in her own. There were tears in her eyes. "I'm so, so sorry!"
"Er…" Ren wasn't sure what to make of this. "I'm sure this will be cleared up, Oberleutnant—"
"Never mind this!" Elm held up the handcuffs, nearly lifting Ren off his feet. "Nora! I was so sad to hear what happened!"
Ren went pale. "What…what are you talking about?"
Elm's eyes widened. "Oh, mein Gott. You don't know. Oh, no...you don't know."
Ren staggered and would have fallen had it not been for Elm holding him up. Yang's mouth fell open, and Pyrrha felt a cold wave of fear rush through her. "Christos," she murmured, nothing less than a prayer. Not Nora. Please God, not Nora.
"No, wait!" Marrow came forward, hands raised. "She's not dead!" He hit Elm's shoulder. "Geez, Elm! Scare the poor guy to death, eh?"
"What happened?" Ren suddenly grabbed Marrow by the front of his flight suit.
"Whoa, easy." They got another surprise: the person who spoke was Harriet. She also put up her hands defensively. "Valkyrie got hit over by Pila yesterday. Had a bad bailout—had to go through the canopy. She got tore up bad, arms and legs."
"Nothing broken," Elm put in. "No internal injuries, either. Just…well, you know," she finished lamely.
"Jolly Greens got to her…though they had to fight their way through the GRIMM to do it. We were there, though." Harriet's smirk became a proud smile. "God, you should've seen it. She controlled us like a damn FAC. I got one of the bastards in a strafe as they were pulling her onto the chopper. It was awesome." She saw the look in Ren's eyes and backed off a step. "What Valkyrie did, not my strafing run. Though that was pretty cool too, if I may say so myself."
"Which you frequently do." Vine looked at Pyrrha. "We radioed the Happy Huntresses after we landed. They said Nora was in surgery, but we were told this morning that she would recover."
Ren sagged into a chair. He muttered something in Chinese, and put his head in his hands. Pyrrha sat next to him, leaning against him, since she couldn't hug him while handcuffed. "When can I see her?" He stared at Winter. "I want to see her. You can send me to whatever jail you want afterwards, but I have to see her."
"I don't know where she is," Winter admitted, which was a lie. She knew the Snowball Shipping Gulfstream had landed at Zagan and had taken Nora to her family's manor. Her mother had called her as a courtesy. Ironwood didn't know that, and in a rare bit of rebellion, Winter had kept the information to herself. "But you are to be taken to Spandau as soon as a transport aircraft arrives. Your fighters will be flown by other pilots to Berlin." Her voice softened just a fraction, which Weiss would have pointed out was a violent show of emotion for Winter Schnee. "I'll make sure that you get to talk with her over the phone." Ren angrily stood, but Elm interposed herself between him and Winter, and he slowly sat back down, his head sagging back into his hands. Winter blew out her breath. "Listen to me. I don't like this situation any more than you do. But I am under orders. You are to be taken to Spandau, and placed in the prison there, awaiting arraignment or transport back to the United States."
Yang snorted. "Yeah. Just following orders, right, Colonel?" She inclined her head roughly southeast. "I seem to remember a place not too far away down the road. You know, the last time Germans just followed orders." She made a show of trying to remember the name. "What was it again? Ausch…witz? Something like that."
Winter's face darkened in rage. "That's enough! I told you I don't like doing this! And there is a way out."
"Let me guess," Pyrrha said. "We agree to fly to Lakenheath. We give our word that we will not return here." Winter nodded. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but I believe that order of General Ironwood's is an unlawful order, and therefore I, in good conscience, cannot obey it."
"Goes for me, too," Yang added. Ren said nothing, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"Then I'm afraid you will be taken to Spandau. I am sorry." Winter's sorrow was genuine; she knew these people were her sister's friends, and superb fighter pilots. Yang's words had struck deep. Every German struggles with that, she thought to herself. When do we say no? I'm hardly putting them in a cattle car, but what if Nikos is right? What if General Ironwood is wrong? Especially with what he is planning, what Ace Flight and I are here to look at…
"At least tell us you're going to do something to rescue Oscar," Yang said, sitting down. "You can't just leave him."
Winter hesitated. She couldn't tell them about Ironwood's nuclear bomb; not even Ace Flight knew about that. Their orders were to reconaissance Warsaw, test its defenses, ahead of nuclear release. The latter appalled Winter, but she knew it might be the only way to stop Salem—unless they could convince Penny to use the Winter Maiden. and even then. That made her right fist clench involuntarily.
Pyrrha mistook Winter's fist for anger at them. "Colonel Schnee, please. If there's been satellite passes…they might have been able to track the Night Raven's exhaust plume. Even if we can't find him, you're here for a reason. We've fought that aircraft before—Yang has performed a close inspection of her mother's version of it. We know its capabilities! Let us help you, Colonel." Pyrrha shrugged. "After that, you can arrest us."
"I…I have…" Winter could not finish the sentence. I have orders sounded so wrong, now.
Yang saw that the elder Schnee sibling's ice was beginning to break up. She motioned at Ace Flight. "Hey, we'd do it if it was one of them. Even Harriet."
Harriet shook her head. "We don't let feelings get in the way of making the right call. God knows how many people would get killed trying to rescue your friend. I liked the kid, but assuming Salem didn't just cut his throat, he's probably being hung up by his balls somewhere in Siberia by now. Trading all those lives for one man is stupid."
"No, it's not." Everyone turned as Ren rose from his seat. "No, it's not," he repeated. "He's our friend. We will do whatever it takes to find him, because we care about him."
Harriet did not back down. "You know, I really had you pegged as the most level-headed of the bunch, but I guess you're just as naïve as they are." She shook her head. "Feelings don't matter; the job matters. You know that. When you lose someone in your flight, you move on. You replace them. Next man up, like when Marrow took over Tortuga's spot and Colonel Schnee…" Harriet's voice broke, but she quickly moved past it. "When Colonel Schnee—"
"You don't believe that," Pyrrha said softly. "You're furious about losing Clover. You miss him terribly."
"You don't know anything about me!" Harriet shouted. "Shut the hell up!" Rank was instantly forgotten.
"That's enough, both of you—all of you." Elm tried to calm things down, though she glowered at Pyrrha. "That was low, Major."
"I should bust you in the face!" Harriet shrilled. "What the fuck do you know, huh? What the actual fuck do you know?"
Winter opened her mouth to discipline Harriet, but she was interrupted by the door opening. "Excuse me?" A woman stuck her head into the room. "I'm looking for Oberst Winter Schnee, Luftwaffe."
"I am she," Winter said.
"Oh, good." The woman walked in and came to attention. She was wearing US Army Battle Dress Uniform—the latest digital pattern, not the older Woodland one. She wore colonel's eagles, but no unit patches or other identifying marks other than the USC flag. Pyrrha noticed there was not even a nametape on the breast pocket. She was a woman of average height, black hair cut short—which reminded Yang of Blake—and Asian features. "Guten abend, Oberst Schnee. I'm Colonel Otome Higurashi." She stuck out a hand.
Winter shook it, a little mystified, then realized who the colonel must be. "Ah, yes, of course. Hello." She paused. "This is not a task I wish to do, Colonel Higurashi, but these are the prisoners." She motioned towards Yang, Ren and Pyrrha.
"Prisoners?" It was Higurashi's turn to look mystified. "Oh, them!" She leaned back out of the door and waved in the three MPs there. "Release the prisoners, please."
"What?" Harriet screamed.
"Colonel, this is highly irregular!" Winter snapped. "These people are under my jurisdiction. I have orders from SACEUR himself!"
"Yes, Colonel Schnee, I understand. My orders come from a slightly higher authority." She reached into one of her breast pockets. The MPs hesitated, but Higurashi motioned them to continue. She unfolded orders and handed them to Winter. "From Director Arashikaze, operating under National Command Authority." Yang and Harriet, the only two Americans in the room besides Higurashi, exchanged a shocked look. National Command Authority meant the President.
Winter read the document. She blinked, twice, then handed the orders back to Higurashi, in a daze. "Who did you say you were again?" she whispered.
Higurashi maddeningly didn't respond, but waited until the MPs had uncuffed Yang, Ren and Pyrrha, and then left. She shut the door behind them. "This doesn't leave the room," she said, firmly but quietly. "I've been told everyone in here has been read into the existence of the Joint Inter-National Network—JINN?" She checked each one for confirmation; everyone in the room nodded. "Good. Because my team and I have been ordered to recover it. Intact. Along with Ensign Oscar Pine, United States Navy, if possible and practical."
Yang's grin almost split her face; it was picked up by Pyrrha and Ren. "Yes, but who are you?" Winter repeated exasperatedly. "What unit?"
"Sorry. 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta," Higurashi explained, as if discussing the weather.
"Jesus Christ!" Harriet exclaimed.
"No, though we could certainly use Him on this mission," Higurashi smiled. "Delta Force. I assume you've heard of us?"
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hate to introduce another OC. I'd originally thought to have the Delta Force commander be a thinly disguised Captain Price from Call of Duty, but decided that was kind of dumb. Then I was going to have it be Raquel Marin from GenLock, but she's actually too old in the series to be leading troops in the field. So I went with one of my characters from a fanfic I wrote over 15 years ago (!). I hope no one minds too much.
Pietro's rescue of Maria was because I thought he needed a Big Damn Hero moment, since there is no "Amity Tower" in this AU. People may ask how he is able to swim without the use of his legs, but Franklin D. Roosevelt was an avid and superb swimmer, and he too was confined to a wheelchair. The part with Pietro using the strap between his teeth is pure historical fanservice for me-it's based on then-Lieutenant John F. Kennedy towing a badly burned member of his crew through the water, after the sinking of PT-109 in 1943.