AUTHOR'S NOTES: I was hoping to get to Delta Force's assault on Salem's palace (man, that sounds cool), but I realized there were a few things I needed to take care of first before I got into that-we need to set up the Hound and Cinder's assault on Schnee Manor first. (That also sounds cool. To me, anyway.) Still, there should be action enough in this chapter to keep you going. I don't know how much of my HALO jump narrative is accurate, but I did my best.

Hotel Great Escape

Zagan, Republic of Poland

4 September 2001

8:10 PM Local

"Good evening, Doctor Watts." Arthur Watts looked up from his workbench to see Rissa Arashikaze. "I trust your quarters are adequate?"

"If being in the basement of a hotel is adequate, yes." Actually, Watts thought the accomodations weren't bad, especially compared to his musty cell. The Hotel Great Escape was not exactly five-star—it was an older building dating back to before World War II, when the area was still part of Germany—but it was nice enough, even in the basement. He was given a small bedroom of his own, with adjoining bathroom and shower, and a full workbench and tools, plus a computer and internet connection. All in all, Watts had certainly stayed in worse places in the employ of Salem; the only difference between working for Salem and working for Arashikaze was that the latter had bars on the windows and guards on the doors. "I must admit the climate is better, and so is the view." He motioned at the window; at least here he could see outside, even if it was a small window.

"Glad to hear it. How goes the work?"

Watts held up the Maiden bracelet—or a copy of it. "Almost finished. As I told you, I need to see the actual thing to be certain. I'm working from memory at this point, from Amber Tardor's bracelet that Cinder Fall had."

"And as I told you, Doctor, you'll have it. Penny Polendina's upstairs." Watts started to get to his feet, but Arashikaze shook her head. "Not tonight, Doctor. She's had a rough few days, so she's getting some rest. Hypothermia has a way of wearing you out." She nodded towards the computer. "How's the side project I assigned you going?"

"Oh, getting into Lil' Miss Malachite's accounts and tracing them?" He wheeled his seat over to the computer. "A little harder than I anticipated, though I must compliment you on the high speed of the internet here."

"You're piggybacking off the Schnees."

Watts smiled. "Ah. I forgot their summer home wasn't far from here." He brought up a few websites for her to look at. "Malachite's based her finances off that of the White Fang—or the White Fang based theirs off of hers. Dummy companies, all doing legitimate business, and all funneling their money to her." He leaned back in his chair. "No wonder they call her the Spider. She's got webs everywhere. For instance, I had no idea those were her daughters that worked at Junior's Club in Madison. Made a stop there on my way to Mountain Glenn a few months ago."

Arashikaze nodded. "Well, if it was easy, I would've gotten someone else to do it." She leaned against the wall next to the computer. "Doctor, how does Salem procure aircraft?"

Watts took a moment; the sudden question was a surprise, but he suspected that she had intended it that way. "She has several means of doing so. Malachite is one of them. Darvaza, that place in Turkmenistan that Ruby Flight seems to have destroyed, was another. I believe she also has contacts throughout the European underworld, and it wouldn't have surprised me if even the Branwen Tribe was involved. Salem might as well have been called the Spider as well."

"Black widow, perhaps."

"Her first name is Natasha," Watts chuckled.

Arashikaze smiled thinly. "A fellow person of culture. That's well and good, Doctor, but she's fielded aircraft we've never seen before. Not old MiG-21s or F-5s or other things she's procured from her various sources, but completely new designs—that fighter Cinder flew over Japan, or the second Night Raven." She leaned over. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me about that?"

Watts returned her smile, with about as much humor. "And if I don't, I suppose you'll start breaking fingers? You're not in a good position to negotiate, Miss Arashikaze."

"Neither are you, Arthur. After all, I don't need you." She met his eyes. "Ironwood suggested I shoot you in the head and dump you in a ditch. I rather like that idea. Especially since Polendina is coming around to my way of thinking. I don't really need you to hack the Winter Maiden if I have the Winter Maiden, do I? As for the Malachites, I'm sure I can find someone equal to your skill at Georgia Tech…or maybe even in the Branwen Tribe. Raven Branwen owes me a death, after all."

Watts kept his face calm, but inside his bowels were roiling. He was not the type to be easily rattled, but one of the directors of the CIA telling him he was expendable was something he was afraid of. "I don't know much…"

"Besides, there's a bonus in it for you." Arashikaze straightened up. "Like I said, Arthur, I'd much rather have you working for me than against me."

"Certainly." He scooted back to his workbench. "Again, I don't know much; Salem tends to keep things compartmentalized. Most of her resources are devoted to constructing GRIMM. Before you ask, I don't know where her headquarters is."

"I wasn't asking. Yet. Keep talking."

"She does have access to producing her own aircraft, and she rescued as many designers from the various design bureaus as she could after the war—Mikoyan-Gurevich, Sukhoi, Antonov, and so on. She's recruited others from India and China, like she recruited me. However, she lacks the ability to mass produce manned aircraft. Drones are much cheaper and easier." He smoothed his mustache. "There is one man in charge of all of it. I've never met him; Salem doesn't allow him to have visitors. Not even Cinder has met him. He has a design bureau, factory, something, somewhere in Russia. I have no idea where," he said truthfully. Salem had never told him that; her trust only went so far.

"What's his name?" Arashikaze asked.

"Ambrosius. I doubt that's his real name, but that's what Salem called him." He watched her face; there was nothing there that indicated that Arashikaze recognized the name. Then again, she was likely very good at hiding things.

"I see. Well, I suppose it makes sense she wouldn't trust you with everything. I certainly don't." She walked to the door. "I'll be heading out, Arthur. I will make sure Penny is made available to you tomorrow. She won't like it, but she'll do as she's told. I can trust you can make up some bullshit story to hand her. You're good at that."

Watts' smile widened. "Quite so. Good night, Director."

"Good night, Doctor." Arashikaze left, but paused before she closed the door. With a glance at Watts, she told the guard, "Give the good doctor some exercise after midnight tonight. Let him walk around town, if he likes. Four guards on him at all times; if he tries to escape, shoot him." Another glance. "Oh, and get him some cigars." She closed the door and locked it.

Watts got up and stretched. He had been craving a smoke, at that. He walked around the room, then sat at his computer. He waited for the internet to connect, then opened up one of the dummy America Online accounts Salem used. He knew his communications were likely monitored, but the account was one that was linked to the Malachites, so he would be covering his tracks. Salem needed to know that Penny Polendina was in residence. "You're not as smart as you think you are, Arashikaze," he whispered, almost below the range of his own hearing, let alone any bugs that might be present.

Near Wielun, Poland

4 September 2001

8:20 PM Hours Local

Blake watched through the undernose television camera system as the tanks slashed through more of Poland's landscape. A few companies of Sabyrs had made a stand, but the 1st Armored was only slowed down a little by them. As for air support for the GRIMM, it was nonexistent. Blake still had a few missiles left, but for the past twenty minutes, she had been a spectator.

She was therefore surprised when her low fuel light came on. Blake stared at the red light on her instrument panel, then the gauge itself. She hadn't checked it because she shouldn't have had to. The F-14 Tomcat was originally designed as a fleet defense interceptor, with plenty of loiter time; Gambol Shroud was lighter than the standard Tomcat in any case, even if it had the same amount of fuel. She should have a few hours of fuel left, but according to her gauges, she had about thirty minutes left—and that was assuming she didn't need to use the afterburner. Granted, she'd used a lot of fuel in low-level combat, but that was not right. Blake reached out and tapped the gauge, but it stubbornly did not change. She sighed. "Dammit." Blake keyed her radio. "Ruby Lead, Ruby Three. I've got a fuel problem."

"Ruby Three, Ruby Lead," Ruby came back. "What's the problem?"

"Not sure, but I'm at bingo fuel." Blake kicked the tail of the Tomcat around, to see if she was leaving the telltale white plume of a fuel leak. There was nothing there. "In fact, I'm at bingo minus one." Bingo fuel was the minimum needed to return to base. She was actually below that point now.

"Ruby Three, Huntress Four," May Marigold chimed in. "I'm at bingo plus one." Harriers were notoriously short-legged when it came to fuel.

"Roger that." Ruby switched frequencies. "Dragon Lead, Ruby Lead. Hey, one of my birds has a fuel problem, so we're going to have to RTB. Can you guys handle this?"

Foulke's voice was confident. "Hell, Ruby Lead, there's nothing going on but watching the Army pukes earn their pay. We can handle it just fine. Thanks for the assist."

"It was fun, Dragon!" Ruby laughed. "We'll do it again sometime. Ruby Flight, form on me and let's head for the barn." Truth to tell, Ruby was bored out of her mind, so she was happy to call it a day. She turned northwest. The sun was setting, and her bunk was calling her. Too bad it's empty, she sighed to herself. She looked east. Ruby tried to pray every day, even if she wasn't always able to; she considered herself a Christian, even if she didn't get to church very often. She said a prayer now, for Oscar—a quick one, whispered hurriedly, but Ruby figured God would understand.

Then she contacted the AWACS. "Top Hat, Ruby Lead. I have an aircraft in need of go juice. Any tankers our area?"

"Negative, Ruby. No tankers are available to you at this time." The AWACS controller sounded apologetic, even as he emphasized the to you part. Ruby bit back a curse. Ironwood would have made sure of that. He might be allowing Ruby Flight to operate in his Area of Operations, but he wasn't going to help them.

"Roger that, Top Hat," Ruby replied, seething. She checked her map. "What about Wroclaw?" She smiled at that; Wroclaw was where Yang, Ren and Pyrrha were.

"Ah, negative on Wroclaw, Ruby. Wroclaw is closed—not just to you," the controller insisted. "I have no information other than it is closed at this time."

Ruby wondered what that was all about, and hoped her sister was okay. She'd tried to call before they took off from Swidwin, but there had been no answer. "Wait one, Top Hat." Ruby checked her navigational display, then her map again. "Top Hat, Ruby—what about Zagan?"

"Zagan is open, Ruby Lead. And, uh…not restricted." Quietly, the AWACS was telling her that her flight was unlikely to be arrested if they landed there.

"Many thanks, Top Hat. I owe you a case of beer."

"We'll collect, Ruby Lead. Your course is one-nine-one. Listening, out."

Well, well. Ruby returned to her flight frequency. "Ruby to Rubies. Good news and bad news. Bad news is no tanker, and Wroclaw's closed. Good news is Zagan isn't, and no one's likely to rat us out. Ruby Four, can you make Zagan?"

"Ruby Lead, affirm," Blake replied.

"Huntress Four, can you ask if your boss is okay with us diverting there for the night?" Ruby didn't say it out loud, but she knew Weiss and Blake were thinking the same thing at the moment: the Schnee summer home was not too far from Zagan's airfield, and it would be good to check in on Nora; Weiss wouldn't mind looking in on her mother and brother, either.

"Ruby Lead, you want me to ask Mom if you can stay over at your friend's house?" May laughed. "Will do. They make a good breakfast there."

The Palace of Science and Culture

Ruins of Warsaw, Poland

4 September 2001

9:30 PM Local

Oscar finished the bowl of food. He'd had to eat with his fingers; it was corn gruel of some kind, enough to keep him alive, but only just. He drank half of the bottle of water.

"I disobeyed her, you know," Hazel Rainart rumbled. "She wanted me to break all of your fingers, as you heard. I haven't. But I will, unless you give me something to work with."

Oscar set aside the bowl. He was still dressed in the ill-fitting overalls. The one advantage of being locked up and kept awake was that he had a lot of time to think. He and Hazel had reached an odd sort of understanding, possibly because Hazel had realized that Oscar had never known Ozpin. Part of what Oscar had been thinking was why Hazel was with Salem at all. "Have you ever wondered why she recruited you, Hazel?"

"Yes. A new world order. Where people like my sister don't die because of a war that never ends."

Oscar shook his head. "You heard what I said in there. Salem doesn't care about a new world order. She cares about destroying the world. She wants to die, Hazel. Ozpin got her pregnant, and she lost the baby when World War III broke out. She barely survived Cuba, and she took so much radiation she should be dead, instead of just…whatever she is now. It drove her insane. Now she just wants to end the world, destroy humanity, because she thinks we don't deserve to live. Not after what she saw."

"How do you know all this?" Hazel thundered.

"Because JINN showed it to me," Oscar answered.

"JINN. Programmed by Ozpin, no doubt." Hazel began to pace angrily again.

Oscar took a deep breath and got to his feet. He held out his hands. "Hazel…I'd rather you didn't…but if you don't believe me, do what Salem asked. Break my fingers. Torture me some more. Keep me awake for a few more days. I don't care, because my answer will be the same."

"That's not the point," Hazel said. "Ozpin programmed JINN. It's full of lies."

"You dumbass, why won't you see it!" Oscar exclaimed, frustrated beyond reason. "She's using you, Hazel! That's why she came for you. She knew you'd believe her. You're so pissed off about what happened to your sister that of course you would believe her. Anything to get back at Ozpin."

Hazel turned, grabbed Oscar, and slammed him against the wall. "Don't you tell me what I think, you little bastard!" He slammed him again. "You might not be responsible for what happened, Oscar. But someone deserves to be punished!"

"Yeah, maybe!" Oscar shot back. "But who? Ozpin's dead! All you're doing is punishing people who had nothing to do with it! You're helping her destroy people, Hazel! Good people! You think Gretchen would want that? Not the way you've described her." He forced himself to meet Hazel's eyes. "You haven't done what you have for justice, Hazel. You've done it for yourself. Salem pushed you to think it would help you get revenge for Gretchen. Well, has it?"

Hazel held him for a moment, then let him fall to the floor. "Nice words. But if Gretchen's death taught me anything, it was never to trust anyone associated with Ozpin."

Oscar hung his head. "Goddammit, Hazel. I've told you, I never even knew him."

"But you work with people who did. And they're still doing what he wanted them to do." He was silent for a long minute, his back to Oscar. "How do you think Salem's going to destroy the world?" Hazel finally asked.

Oscar rubbed his tailbone; he'd landed on it hard. "She's already doing it. NATO's divided. The embargo hurt relations between Europe and my country. Ironwood's determined to pull back and abandon Poland; people like Robyn Hill and Ruby are determined to hold onto it. You have a whole alliance dedicated to stopping the GRIMM, but how many nations are actually over here fighting? I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, Hazel. Hell, there were guys in my training class who think it's high time we let Europe fend for itself. And I'm sure there's people over here who think Americans are a bunch of stuck-up, meddling assholes. And then there's the White Fang dividing up the Faunus—maybe the Fang's done, but you don't patch up that sort of hatred over night. Adam Taurus is dead, and so's Sienna Khan, but there's going to be others. Salem's not going to do the heavy lifting besides what she's doing now, Hazel. She's going to let us tear each other apart."

Hazel was quiet again, leaning against the wall, his back still to Oscar. "Vesuvius," he murmured. He shook his head, and turned around. "All right. Let's say you're right. Let's say she just wants to destroy the world and kill us all. Prove it."

Oscar let out a long, exasperated sigh. He had one card left to play. "JINN. Use JINN."

Hazel laughed. "I must have hit you harder than I thought. That's the whole point of why I've been beating you."

"All you have to do is walk up to JINN and speak her name. That's it."

Hazel's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"Nope." Oscar sagged up against the wall. "You wanted to know. There you go. Can I go home now?"

Hazel knelt down in front of him. "That can't be right. Salem has probably said JINN's name a hundred times."

"But she hasn't said it to JINN. And if she has, I bet there's a failsafe where she can't access it. My father—Ozpin—was smart like that, from what Arashikaze told me."

Hazel sniffed a laugh. "After all that, and you've just given Salem the password."

"No," Oscar corrected, "I'm giving you the password. Go up there and switch her on. I bet she's got information on Gretchen Rainart you don't even know. But before you ask her that, ask her about Salem and Ozpin's meeting in Norway back in 1978 or so. That's when Salem told Ozpin she was going to kill everyone in revenge."

"Revenge? Revenge for what?"

"Surviving," Oscar answered.

Hazel stood. "I have a better idea." He pulled Oscar to his feet. "You come with me. Salem's seeing off the Hound and Cinder—we have some time." He pushed Oscar out in front of him as he opened the door.

Neither saw Emerald Sustrai in the shadows.

Mercury zipped up a duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. "Oh come on, Em. You believe him? Oscar's a prisoner. He'll say anything to keep Hazel from beating on him." He pushed past her to the door of his room.

Emerald followed. "After what I just told you, you're still going to Syria?"

"Yeah, because those are Salem's orders, and I'm not going to get hung up by my balls for disobeying her. Let that moron Hazel get her pissed off, not me. Cinder might be able to get away with failure, but I damn sure can't."

"But Mercury—"

Mercury stopped in the hallway and looked at her. "Look, Em. Even if Oscar's telling the truth, what are we supposed to do? We can't stop her. What am I supposed to do, kick her in the face? Hazel tried that and she beat the shit out of him. Then he got in line. The big guy's not going to pick fights he can't win, and neither should we." He hefted the duffel to a better position, and started walking again. "Salem's given us three hots and a cot, and that's a damn sight better than being in jail, which is where I'd be, or starving in the street, which is where you'd be. So just drop it, Em." He let her catch up. "Besides, Oscar's a lying little shit. Salem's not ending the world—"

"Of course she is!" Tyrian Callows stepped into the hallway from his own room, a suitcase in his hands. His scorpion tail moved, almost impatiently.

"Oh, shut up, you crazy fuck," Mercury groaned. "Wish I knew who I pissed off to be saddled with you."

Tyrian walked backwards, his usual insane smile pasted on his lips. "Oh, you act surprised! But it's true, it's true!" He cackled. "Salem is destruction incarnate. A goddess of death. Our mistress wishes to see the end of it all—and there's no ideal more beautiful!"

Emerald's eyes were wide in terror, her mouth open in shock. Mercury just shooed Tyrian away. "You're batshit. You're nuts."

"I may be," Tyrian agreed, his voice suddenly, dangerously normal—as normal as his voice got. "But if you can't see that I'm right, if you couldn't see our Queen's plan from the start…then you are the one who's nuts, Mercury Black." His tail moved forward, separating Mercury and Emerald. "Now you stay, Emerald dear. Mr. Black and I have a date with a desert."

Mercury looked back as Tyrian herded him away. He threw her a salute, mouthed take care of yourself, and was gone.

Liberty Bell 23

Between Wroclaw and Warsaw, Republic of Poland

4 September 2001

9:40 PM Local

As a rule, Yang avoided flying in C-130s. It was nothing against the aircraft itself: as garbage haulers went, Yang reasoned, she could do worse. But the C-130 was part of the USAF she barely associated with—important parts, true, but not something a fighter pilot was around much. It was nothing personal, and, Yang admitted to herself, her unease at being inside a "Herky Bird," as it was known, was twofold: one, the possibility that one day she would end up having to fly these things, and two, since she wasn't at the controls, she didn't trust it.

The MC-130H Combat Talon was different from most C-130s she had been on. The radome was different, more blocky, hiding a terrain avoidance radar that was better than Ember Celica's. It was festooned with other sensors that were secret enough she wasn't cleared to know what they were. The entire aircraft was painted a light gray different from transport Hercules. One thing it wasn't was stealthy: some brave crews had been flying this aircraft around Warsaw all day at high altitude, trusting that Salem wouldn't send GRIMM after a single aircraft. If she did, the Combat Talon was helpless. Yang knew that, about twenty miles behind the transport were the fighters of Norn and Ace Flight, but that didn't make her feel all that much better.

And then there were the people she was surrounded by. She'd guessed that Delta Force was an insular bunch—a close-knit group that practically lived with each other. In that respect, they were a lot like Ruby Flight. Yang remembered feeling a little resentment at Oscar Pine's presence: he hadn't been at Beacon. He'd earned his way in after Nishinoshima, and now she would have to earn her way into Team Metal. For now, they either didn't pay her any attention, or glared at her as an interloper, a fighter pilot playing soldier because their team commander felt pity for her. She knew what they were thinking: fighter pilots made movies, Delta made history.

Yang steadied herself against the swaying of the Combat Talon and saw her reflection in one of the windows. She looked the part, at least. She was clad in a black uniform—what little of it could be seen under the armored vest, gloves, kneepads, elbow pads, radio pack, and parachute. Below all that was a specialized heated suit that would ward off the 50 below temperatures outside; even her underwear was specially designed for the mission. Colonel Higurashi had suggested she cut her hair, but Yang had balked at that; instead, it was gathered and stuffed uncomfortably under a helmet. Her eyes were hidden behind goggles, while the rest of her face was hidden by an oxygen mask, which in turn was plugged into the HC-130's internal oxygen system. Topping it all off was her .357 in a leg holster, and the MP5 secured to the top of her reserve parachute pack. Yang liked that, anyway: it was a wicked looking weapon, something Chuck Norris would've carried, with a flash suppressor and curved magazine. The others carried either more MP5s or heavily modified M4s—with the exception of Wraith's sniper team. They carried specialized rifles; Yang wasn't sure what they were, but they looked nasty.

She sat back down and tried to breathe normally. This was so much different than what she was used to—plus she was jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft, which was also unnatural. It brought back hazy memories of when she had ejected after Adam Taurus had shot her down, and blown off her arm. She only remembered pulling the ejection handle, and seeing her hand lying on the rudder pedal. And the nightmares.

One of the Delta troops walked towards her, almost waddling under the weight of equipment. It wasn't until he bent down in front of her that she even recognized him as Chaser. He leaned forward, pulled off his mask, and raised her helmet. His breath steamed in the cool air of the C-130's cargo bay. "How are you?" he yelled into her ear. The C-130 was extremely loud on the inside.

"Fine!" Yang threw him a thumbs-up.

He tapped the side of his helmet. "Get wired in! We jump in six minutes!"

"Got it!" He dropped the helmet back over her ear, put his mask back on, then readjusted the MP5 to a better position; Yang realized the way she had it, it would've hit her in the face when her parachute opened. She reached up and switched on her radio headset. Chaser watched her. "You receiving?"

"Five-by."

The person next to her leaned over; it was the SAS man, Soap. Yang hadn't even recognized him getting onboard. "You done this before?" His voice implied she hadn't, that she was a burden, and that she would be better off staying aboard the Combat Talon, all in four words.

That ticked her off. "I made a high-speed ejection in a F-15 with my arm blown off." She held up her artificial arm; just a hint of the yellow paint could be seen at the wrist under the glove. "Good enough?"

Soap nodded. "Good enough." Yang nodded, realizing she'd been paid a compliment.

Higurashi walked out to the ramp. "Switch oxygen." Everyone unplugged from the C-130's oxygen system and into their own internal supply. It only held ten minutes of usuable oxygen. She raised both hands. "On your feet!" Chaser yelled. Everyone stood and faced forward, and Higurashi tapped both of her shoulders. "Equipment check!" Everyone checked the settings on their weapons, made sure anything loose was stowed, made sure their masks were secure and goggles down. Then they checked each other's parachutes. "Sound off, equipement check!" Yang was towards the front, deliberately: no one among the Delta troops trusted a fighter pilot with checking a parachute. However, Soap checked hers and slapped her on the shoulder. "Two okay!" Yang shouted. Her heart was pounding, and she suddenly felt like she needed to go to the bathroom.

Higurashi stepped back towards her team. There was a brief rumble and then the ramp of the MC-130 opened. Wind whipped at them, and Yang felt a blast of freezing air even through her thick outfit. She checked the altitude sensor strapped to her left wrist: it read 36,000 feet. The interior had been darkened during the trip; outside was even darker, though on the horizon Yang could still see a faint band of orange. She wished she'd left a note for Ruby, or her father, but supposed if something happened, Pyrrha would tell them. Yang found herself smiling. Heh. I'm gonna make Rubes feel so guilty about rescuing her boyfriend.

Higurashi got down on her knees and moved onto the ramp, checking the sides. Yang flexed her legs, both because they felt a bit cramped and out of nervousness. Satisfied, the colonel got back to her feet and stood between the two lines of troops. Yang felt herself breathing hard: she would be one of the first ones out the door. She checked the other line: Chaser nodded back. That made her feel a little better.

Okay, Yang thought, flexing her hands, okay. Any moment now, any moment now…here I go, Dad—

The light set on the side of the ramp flashed to green. "Go!" Soap yelled, and gave her a shove. Yang, before she even knew it, ran forward, right off the ramp. She didn't even jump, just fell. The C-130 disappeared behind her and she was suddenly in freefall. Below her were scattered clouds, and dimly, the ground. She could see the Vistula in the distance if she twisted around, and the ruins of Warsaw. She hoped the Combat Talon crew was on target, which was a small open area west of the city itself; if they were wrong, she was either going to end up going into a forest, which was bad, or tangled irradiated wreckage, which was a lot worse.

Yang tried to relax, and checked the sky around her out of instinct. All around, the Delta team was falling as well, in the same face-down, arms splayed attitude she was in. The cold was seeping through her suit, but it wasn't too bad. She checked her oxygen meter, which showed she was getting good air, then her altitude gauge, which now read 28,000 feet. She would deploy her parachute at 3000 feet, which didn't leave much room for error, but that was a HALO jump. The nice thing was, Yang thought, if there were any prowling GRIMM around, or enterprising member of Salem's group who happened to be looking up, the freefall meant they wouldn't have much time to react.

It would still take a few minutes, so Yang, without much to do as she fell at terminal velocity, looked around. She grinned. Hey, this is kind of fun, actually. She was tempted to do a somersault, but that wasn't professional and she might lose something. She did bring her arms in a bit and dived for a second, before returning to the proper position. Okay. Not going to lie, this is fun. "Wooo-hooo!" Yang yelled. No one could hear her through her mask; she'd forgotten about the radio.

"Clear channel, whoever that was," Higurashi snapped.

Oops. Yang was still grinning, and she tried not to laugh out of sheer enjoyment. She'd done jump training as part of her fighter pilot qualification, but that was from aircraft at a much lower level; this was taking quite a bit of time, or it felt like it.

Yang went through a cloud and giggled despite herself, her fingers sweeping through the gossamer strands. Raindrops briefly clouded her goggles, and she wiped them as she came through the bottom of it. The ground was a lot closer now, easily seen, even in the darkness, and she checked her gauge again. Five thousand. Here we go, Yang…four…okay, close enough for government work. Yang reached in, grabbed the lanyard, and pulled. For a second nothing happened, long enough for Yang to murmur, "Oh, shit," before she felt the pack open and the parachute stream behind her. It caught the wind with a whump and dragged her upwards, the straps digging painfully into her shoulders and crotch. Ow! Good thing I'm not a dude. She checked the canopy; the parachute was black as well, hard to see, but it felt right and she figured it looked all right too. Yang pulled on the risers, then checked the ground; she was on target. Okay, feet together here, get loose—don't want to bust anything. Man, I'm going kinda fast; I hope that's normal…okay, here's the ground, and here we—

Yang hit the ground, collapsing as she did so, but her feet slipped and she made a perfect three-point landing—feet, knees, and face. Dammit. The parachute fell over her like a shroud, but Yang was on her feet and working her way out from under it. There was almost no wind, so she had no trouble gathering in the parachute, remembering her survival school training. Once the parachute was secure, she started unstrapping, dropping off all of the equipment she now no longer needed. Parachute and oxygen tank came off, along with the mask. Yang knew she wasn't supposed to bury it—there was no time and they hadn't been issued entrenching tools—so she shoved it under a hedge.

"Yo, Air Force." Yang nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd noticed Delta troops coming down all around her, but not someone right behind her. She whirled around and was nearly face to face with Trix, the rabbit Faunus girl. "Nice landing. You good?" She was already ready to move.

"Uh, yeah," Yang whispered back. She got the radio set unpacked and into a position on her back. It was heavy. Trix shook her head and helped her get everything set straight, then slapped the MP5 into her hands. "Okay…Yang, right? You need a callsign."

"Suds," Yang blurted before she even realized it.

"Suds?" Trix's eyebrows went up. "Well, hell, we've got a Soap, we might as well have Suds. Follow me, Air Force. We got some miles to cover."

Yang nodded, blew out her breath, made sure the MP5 was on safe, and headed out to follow Trix. As they crossed a hedgerow, she heard distant engine noises, but they were to the south, something high-performance. It couldn't be Norn or Ace, who would be to the west. Wonder who that is. Then Trix was motioning her forward, as they arrived at the rally point.