AUTHOR'S NOTES: And we're back!
I appreciate everyone's patience with this story (at least, I hope everyone's still here). It's been since September that this story was updated. Between just being burned out on the story and work, I haven't had the time or the inclination to work on On RWBY Wings V. I was also going to wait until we had something solid on Volume 9 before restarting this, but with V9 MIA until at least July, it seemed like a bad idea to wait that long. I was playing with fire as it was, leaving a fic in hiatus for this long. (And it's not even the longest I've left a fic in hiatus.) And, with a lot of inspiration over the last few weeks and work easing up for the summer, I decided it was time to jump back into this story and finish it. I was kind of teasing this a little with other stories, and I didn't want to be the George RR Martin of the RWBY fanfiction set, so...here we go.
Oddly enough, when I put this story into hiatus, I never thought this story would be remotely timely, but with the situation in Ukraine...it strangely is.
So put on your flight suit, get yourself some munchies, and strap yourself in, because this ride is restarting!
Hotel Great Escape
Zagan, Poland
4 September 2001
11:32 PM Local
Daina lay on the roof of the apartment building across from the Hotel Great Escape. She watched as Stormavik locked the magazine into the AK-47 he had carried in the duffel bag, along with her sniper rifle. The sound was louder than she would like; they had managed to climb onto the roof by sneaking through the quiet building and finding an access ladder. By the cigarette butts and used condoms that dotted the rooftop, this was obviously a place where people went to be alone...but that didn't mean they wouldn't be interrupted. "You do know if you open up with that thing, we're not likely to get out of here alive."
Stormavik motioned at the cars parked below. "With all those people there, you think that your piddly little Dragunov is going to hold them off?" Daina rolled her eyes, but didn't argue the point. She peered over the top of the low brick parapet that surrounded the flat roof, and saw a SUV pull up. Three people got out—two men and a short woman, all dressed in suits. "Something up?" Stormavik asked.
Daina shook her head. "Just three people." By the way the men moved, they were likely bodyguards, but she wasn't going to blow their cover by firing on them. The trio walked into the hotel, and she was about to drop back down below the parapet when the door opened again. This time, there were five people who came out—three men and two women. They were also in suits, but in the middle was Arthur Watts. Daina was less than half a block away, and easily recognized the scientist in both the streetlight glow, and the ember of the cigar he smoked. She slowly dropped back down and pulled out her radio. "Daina to Schrage. Target is moving, out the front door. Four bodyguards, headed south along the street." Schrage acknowledged, and Daina hefted the Dragunov.
"They're taking him out for a walk," Stormavik chuckled. "This is going to be easier than we thought. We're not even going to need that Hound idiot."
"What the hell?" Rissa Arashikaze said in disbelief. "Are you sure, Johnson?"
The man behind the reception desk nodded. "It was Whitley Schnee at the Schnee Manor. He said they're under attack, and I heard gunfire and flashbangs. I was just about to send out our reaction force."
Arashikaze paused. "That doesn't make sense...why attack the Schnee Manor? Who would do that? The only ones that are there are Whitley and Willow Schnee, plus the Valkyrie girl..."
"I think some fighter pilots are there too," Johnson added. "A couple of them landed at the airport with mechanical issues. The Poles called us about an hour ago. An An-2 landed as well, but that was Polish Air Force—"
"An An-2?" Arashikaze went pale. "Radio, now!" One of her bodyguards ran over to her. As she grabbed the handset from him, she looked at Johnson. "Scramble the reaction force, now!" He grabbed the phone and dialed a number. Arashikaze spoke into the handset. "This is Arashikaze. Get Watts back here right now!" She glanced at Johnson again. "Get the other Johnson to the roof, with his sniper rifle." She handed back the handset, reached into her suit, and pulled out a pistol. "Salem's coming for Watts—that An-2 had the attack force. The Manor attack is a diversion."
Johnson—the one at the desk—hesitated. "Should we send the reaction force, then?"
It suddenly occurred to Arashikaze that the fighter pilots might be Ruby Flight. She rapidly considered her options. The Schnees and Valkyrie are expendable...but Ruby Flight... It occurred to her that Salem might be killing two birds with one stone. "Yes. Send half. We'll keep the other here." As more men and women—this time in US Army uniform—came out of the restaurant, she nodded to Johnson. "You're in command. I'll stay here." He grabbed his own pistol from under the counter and headed for the door.
Cinder, Schrage and Horror Show—she still couldn't quite get over that nickname—watched Watts and the quartet of bodyguards come down the street directly towards them. "This can't be that easy," Cinder remarked. "This has got to be a trap."
"Not necessarily," Schrage told her. "He's out there with four guards, far behind enemy lines. I honestly would be a little complacent myself."
"Fair enough. So how do we get these guys?" Not for the first time, Cinder felt out of her depth. She had done covert operations before at Beacon, but that was different—she had trained to be a fighter pilot. This was mud-and-blood, close-range shooting.
Schrage nodded towards the apartment building and the hotel down the block. "Daina takes out the two bodyguards behind Watts." He patted the MP5 he carried; the barrel was shrouded. It would still make noise, but not as much as the RPD Horror Show had in the back. "I'll shoot the ones in front. You drive forward, Watts jumps in, we head out, and Horror Show takes care of any pursuers."
"I guess that's easy enough—" Cinder was interrupted by the bodyguards suddenly stopping in place, as the lead one's hand went to an earpiece. They immediately turned back; one grabbed Watts, and dragged him along as they jogged back towards the hotel. His cigar fell to the street. "Uh oh."
"Shit!" Schrage grabbed the radio. "Daina! Take the shot, now!" He sat up and raised the MP5, then saw a group of people rushing out of the front door of the hotel, headed for the parked SUVs. "Dammit, we're blown!"
"Good." Horror Show opened the back door of the car and dragged out the RPD.
"Fuck!" Daina shouted, and got to her feet. She raised the Dragunov to her shoulder and aimed, even as she saw movement out of the corner of her eye from the opposite roof. She centered the sight on the lead bodyguard, thanked whatever god was listening that there was no wind, and pulled the trigger. It was a hasty shot, but effective: the lead man went down, hit in the chest. She shifted to the person next to them and fired again; that one went down as well, though her shot wasn't a killing one, as the guard gripped a shattered arm.
"Daina, down!" Stormavik, raising up to cover his partner, saw a sniper lean out of the attic windows; the Hotel Great Escape had a sloped roof, with the upper room windows protruding outwards along the roof. The sniper seemed surprised for a moment to see another one right across the street, less than two hundred feet away, and the hesitation cost him his life. Stormavik raised the AK to his shoulder and emptied half the magazine. The window shattered, and there was a scream as the other sniper fell backwards. The report of the AK sounded like artillery in the narrow street.
Stormavik saw that he had been noticed by the men and women below—the reaction force headed to the SUVs. He fired at them as well, using up the rest of the magazine, firing more for effect than actual aiming. The reaction force reacted quickly, finding cover and returning fire with their M4s. Brick dust flew upwards and around them as both Stormavik and Daina ducked down. He reached into the duffel and grabbed a grenade.
The RPD was a light machinegun, an old design generally replaced in more modern armies, but still used by Salem's forces; it was cheap and easy to produce, if not as reliable as newer designs. The huge Russian stepped out from behind Cinder's SUV, aimed, and fired. Despite being a machinegun, Horror Show was remarkably accurate with it: Watts had already dropped to the ground at the first sniper fire, but even if he had remained standing, Horror Show's fire would have missed him all the same. The two remaining agents went down, nearly torn apart by the machinegun.
Cinder was shocked by how fast the firefight had started, but didn't hesitate. She floored the SUV, leaving a trail of burnt rubber as she drove forward, and another trail as she slammed on the brakes. Horror Show was advancing next to the car, firing three-round bursts at any target that showed themselves. There was another thunderous report as a grenade went off—Stormavik had thrown blind, missing the CIA vehicles, but throwing back two people as fragments sliced through skin and tires. Cinder saw the shadowy figure of Daina rise up, get off two accurate shots, and drop back down again.
Schrage opened the door, braced across the roof of the SUV, and finished off the wounded agent as she tried to bring her pistol around to shoot Watts. "Doctor, if you don't mind!" he shouted. Watts nodded, got to his feet, and ran for the SUV; his hands were cuffed, so Cinder reached back and got the door open. Schrage fired a quick desultory shot towards the Americans, then ducked back down into the SUV. "Daina!" he yelled into the radio. "We've got the package!"
"Understood!" she radioed back. "We'll buy you some time! Meet at the rally point!" It had been agreed when planning the operation that a rally point would be established northeast of Zagan, in the woods; getting back in the An-2 was never going to be likely.
Horror Show fired a long burst with the RPD, then tossed the machinegun to the side, shoving Watts into the SUV and somehow squeezing in next to him. Cinder didn't even wait for the doors to close: she shifted into reverse, spun the SUV around so hard that Schrage was nearly thrown out, and accelerated down the road.
Arashikaze ducked as the windows in the front doors to the hotel shattered under a hail of bullets. "Someone's got a damn machinegun out there," she mused. She grabbed her own bodyguards. "Stay here! I'm going to the roof!" She holstered her pistol, flung open the door to the stairwell, and rushed up the stairs.
She reached the upper-floor window a minute later, taking the steps two at a time. She was about to yell at the other Johnson as to why he wasn't suppressing the firing from across the street, but then saw why. He was dead, splayed out on the carpeted floor, which was rapidly staining red from the four bullet wounds across his chest.
Arashikaze stepped over the body, dropped to her stomach, and grabbed the sniper rifle. It was a L42, the last development of the ancient Lee-Enfield rifle used by British forces in World War II—a bolt-action rifle, but a very reliable one. Arashikaze wormed forward, rose slightly, and braced the L42 on the shattered windowsill. She looked through the telescopic sight, and waited until a target presented itself.
She didn't wait long. A figure appeared from behind the bullet-holed parapet across the street. Arashikaze had time to notice that the figure was female, blond and not unattractive, and carried a Dragunov. A second later, a burly man rose up next to her, with a grenade in his hand, one finger curled around the pin. He was the more immediate threat to her people, so Arashikaze made a minute shift to the right, blew out her breath slowly, and pulled the trigger. She realized she had not quite compensated correctly: instead of the bullet hitting the man between the eyes, it hit him in the throat. It didn't matter, since the shot still tore through his trachea, severed an artery, and exited through his spine. The man dropped like an unstrung puppet, and Arashikaze shifted left, working the bolt to chamber a new round.
Daina saw Stormavik go down next to her, simutaneously with the sound of the crack from a bolt-action rifle. Smoothly, she switched targets from the people below to the window of the hotel, and saw the barrel of the L42, with a fall of black hair behind the scope. She settled the scope on the crown of that hair, and her finger began to squeeze the trigger.
Daina was a fraction of a second too slow. The last thing she would ever see was the flash of the muzzle of her target, as the bullet went through her left eye, her skull, and her brain.
The Palace of Culture and Science
Ruins of Warsaw, Poland
11:50 PM
"That's it, huh?" Yang Xiao Long looked across the broad avenue towards the massive structure. "Reminds me of pictures of the old Empire State Building."
"Ended the same way, too." Otome Higurashi crouched next to her. She looked through her night vision scope. "Hmm...only four guards on the main entrance." She shook her head. "This looks too easy." She tugged Yang down behind a mound of dirt and cracked concrete, what was left of the foundations of Warsaw's central train station. Most of the buildings in the area had been leveled by the nuclear blast; only the Palace and four floors of a bank to their left had survived remotely intact. The The parklands behind the bank had been long since cleared and planted for food by those people still living among the ruins. Other than the cluster of four guards around the entrance to the Palace, however, the devastated city seemed deserted. It had taken Team Metal the better part of two hours to move their way through the what was left of Warsaw, and they had seen only one patrol—four men in camouflage uniforms with AK-47s. Had Team Metal wanted to, the patrol could have easily been taken out; the men were walking around with their rifles slung, smoking cigarettes, chatting about women and Salem. The ones on guard duty at least had their AKs out, and none were smoking, though Yang could distantly make out conversations in Russian, on the winds.
Otome turned to the rabbit Faunus that had remained with Yang since they had dropped in. "Trix, c'mere." She crossed over to Otome, who pulled a handset out of the radio pack on Trix's back. "Wraith, Princess. I've got four contacts at the front door."
"Concur." Yang glanced around the wreckage towards the bank. Somewhere in the ruin was Wraith's sniper team.
"Any cameras that you can see?"
"Negative."
Otome rubbed her eyes. "Chaser, Princess. In position?"
"Affirm." Chaser's squad was in blocking positions around the museum's approaches to the west; they didn't have enough people to block the roads to the Vistula River to the east. There weren't many of the Delta operators, but there didn't need to be. "No contacts."
"Roger." Otome held the handset for a moment. "Soap, what do you think?"
The burly SAS trooper shrugged. "I don't think it's a trap. Salem's not expecting a ground assault. She doesn't even know we know where her headquarters is."
"All right." Otome looked at Yang, and the radio pack she wore as Team Metal's newly minted Joint Terminal Attack Controller, or JTAC. "You know, Yang, I have to admit it didn't quite think this through. We need you to go in with us on the main assault, because of JINN and Ensign Pine. Problem is, you're not going to be a very good JTAC in there."
Yang actually had thought of that, back in Wroclaw, but she hadn't brought it up for fear she would be left behind. "Er...nope." She tried to put a smile on it. There was a muffled groan behind them, where Huma's team was pulling security. The Persian woman had been promised that, with Yang along, she would not have to act as team JTAC and could instead join in the assault.
Otome sighed. "I'll just have to take it. I can command more effectively out here anyway." There was a noticeable sound of relief from Huma. She picked up the handset and crawled back up to the top of the mound. "Metal, Charlie Mike. Wraith, send it." She watched through the scope. Wraith's sniper rifles made no noticeable noise at this distance. All four guards went down in near-unison. One lightly stirred, and was shot again for their trouble. "Okay, go!" Otome waved her assault team forward. Trix—who was the team's hacker—dropped the radio pack off with another Delta member, while Yang handed hers to Otome and followed Trix over the mound.
Yang's heart was pounding, and not entirely from exertion. It was a dash down an open boulevard in near complete darkness for almost two blocks. There were gnarled trees in the parkland around the Palace, where entire enemy squads could be hiding, and the everpresent threat of GRIMM orbiting somewhere above, waiting for Delta to make its move before springing an ambush. Yang felt like every eye in the world was on her as she ran down the street, trying to keep hold of the MP5, keeping her eyes on Trix's ears. Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids kept repeatingly insanely in her head. There was cover on the street in the form of an overgrown hedgerow and one or two rusted remains of cars, but none of the Delta operators stopped. It was a short sprint, chancing on no one being around, to cover the ground to the Palace as soon as possible. Yang waited for the bullet that would end all of her problems.
It didn't come. Instead, they reached the steps, ran up them, and finally stopped in front of the massive, scorched building. Yang dropped to one knee, catching her breath for a moment; some of the other troops checked the bodies to make sure they were dead, then rendered the AK-47s unusuable.
Yang took a breath and made her way up next to the door. Soap checked around it. "No cameras." Much to Yang's digust, the SAS trooper wasn't even breathing hard. He tentatively checked the door. "New lock. Electronic."
Shogun, Team Metal's close quarter combat specialist, looked at the lock. "We could blow it, but that would make noise."
"I can bypass it." Trix pulled out a pack of tools.
"That's going to take time." Shogun inclined his head towards the bodies, which were being dragged to one side, leaving dark blood in the starlight. "Eventually there's going to be a shift change."
"Five minutes, Trix," Soap instructed. "We'll blow the lock if you can't."
"Got it." Trix began working on the screws holding the lock's faceplate on.
Yang leaned against the wall, willing her heart to stop racing. C'mon, Oscar. Still be alive. You're not breaking my sister's heart.
The technicians in the command post turned as Hazel Rainart half-dragged Oscar Pine into the darkened room. The big man glared at one of the techs, at the large map board in the center of the room; the others were manning the consoles on either side of it. "Is she here?" he rumbled.
"Ah, no, Comrade Rainart. She's back from seeing off Comrade Fall and the Hound, but she just pulled up to the back entrance. She'll probably be here in ten minutes or so, if you'd like to wait."
"That's fine. We'll wait in there." Hazel shoved Oscar towards the inner room, Salem's own command post, behind a thick armored door. Oscar, his hands still bound, stumbled and nearly tripped over the bottom seal of the door.
"Do you mind if I wait there too? I need to talk to Mistress Salem." Hazel turned and saw Emerald Sustrai come in. He noticed her eyes were wide; there was fear there.
"I mind," Hazel growled.
"Please," Emerald said. Her voice was pleading, enough that some of the techs stared at her for a moment. Hazel gave her a strange look, then thumbed towards the door. All three went in, then Hazel pushed the door shut, though he did not lock it; closing it was suspicious enough.
Oscar looked almost as terrified as Emerald did. They were in the heart of the beast now, and the reason for the abuse that Oscar had taken was right in front of him: the silver case of the Joint International Information Network. It had remained shut since Neo Politan had recovered it and given it to Salem; the latter did not have the passwords...but Oscar did, in his own way.
"We don't have much time," Hazel said to Oscar. "So let's see if you're bluffing."
"You're sure?" Oscar asked.
"Are you?" Hazel replied. "This was your idea, remember? To show me?"
"What are you doing?" Emerald said. "Salem will be here any minute!" She glanced furtively at the door. "Hazel, I talked with Tyrian, and he—"
"Quiet. Let's find out what I'm doing, because I don't know myself." He folded his thick arms over his chest.
Oscar took a deep breath and winced; his ribs still hadn't recovered from Hazel's beating. He opened the case, folding open the small screen and keyboard. The screen was blank. "JINN?" he said clearly.
Nothing happened, and Oscar swallowed involuntarily; he and Hazel might have reached something of a rapport, but that would end very fast if he thought that Oscar had lied to him. Then there was the familiar sound of a computer drive spooling up, followed by lasers activating on the sides of the keyboard. The lasers came together, and slowly, a female hologram coalesced into place. She was completely blue, elfin, and naked. "Hello, Ensign Oscar Pine," she said in a friendly tone. "What information do you require?" Oscar found himself waving at her, to which the hologram smiled after a moment and waved back. He looked over his shoulder at Hazel, who stood there, mouth open in shock. Emerald's expression was about the same. JINN looked past Oscar, towards Hazel and Emerald, and she took on a rather unfamiliar expression of confusion. "How very odd," JINN said. "I do not recognize those people behind you, Oscar." Another pause. "Would you allow me to access offsite databanks? The connection here seems to be unstable, as we are several dozen feet underground."
"Hazel? You had a question?" Oscar prompted.
Hazel smiled. "Actually...I think it's been answered."
"Why is she naked?" Emerald whispered in amazement.
Before JINN could go into her usual spiel about her state of undress, Oscar held up a hand. "Okay, so what now?"
Hazel closed his eyes, and to Oscar's surprise, he laughed, quietly. "I've been such a damned fool. Such a damned fool." He opened his eyes. "What now? I'm going to do what I should've done days ago. What Gretchen would have done." He nodded towards the console. "Shut it down, and let's go. I'm getting you out of here." He looked at Emerald. "Unless you have any objections, Sustrai?"
"Wait." Emerald walked forward. "JINN—is that your name?"
"Yes," the hologram answered. "JINN is my name. It stands for—"
"Never mind that!" Emerald threw another scared look at the door. "Tyrian Callows told me that Salem intends to wipe out humanity. She's going to kill everyone. That's not true, is it?"
JINN paused, and her expression became a sad one. "Yes. It is true. Salem intends worldwide destruction and the end of the human race. According to what I was programmed with by Captain Oscar Ozpin, this is due to a sense of survivor's guilt and a mental breakdown caused by her disfigurement, a miscarriage, and the trauma of accidentally helping to start the Third World War. She revealed this to Ozpin himself in Norway on May 28, 1977—the last time Ozpin and Salem ever met."
Emerald took a step back. "Oh my God...that's...Tyrian wasn't lying...it wasn't crazy talk."
Oscar stared at Emerald. "What do you care? You work for her!"
"I...I...not..." The thief seemed unable to get her breath. "I didn't join for this...not to be part of something like that." Emerald staggered backwards, almost running into Hazel, then grabbed the door handle. Before Hazel could stop her, Emerald had pulled back the door. Even with her slight strength, the armored door was counterbalanced so well that she was able to open it. "I've got to tell Cinder—"
"Tell her what?" Emerald slipped and fell. Standing in front of her, her hands folded in front of her black cloak, was Salem. "What did you need to tell Cinder, Emerald?"
ADDITIONAL NOTES: The reference to the "two Johnsons" is a shoutout to the FBI agents in Die Hard. I was originally going to have Rissa kill Daina through her scope, Carlos Hathcock style, but that's kind of a cliche now.
Probably update about once a week, unless the muse stirs up things before then.