AUTHOR'S NOTES: A slightly shorter chapter than usual, but the next chapter is Yang getting back in the air with her new F-23, and that's going to be a dogfight scene. That would've made it much longer, so instead we get a little more political intrigue, we catch up with Weiss a bit, and an addition to the "cast." (Yeah, I know many of you are just here for the airplanes, but we've got to have some stuff in between.

Some more notes at the bottom.

Near Long Island

New York Dead Zone, United States of Canada

10 June 2001

Weiss woke to the thunderous noise of the An-12's four turboprops. The Antonov was considered the Soviet Union's version of the C-130 Hercules, and apparently both shared the same design feature: they were loud as hell on the inside. She was surprised she'd slept at all. Then she looked at her watch, and her eyes widened: she'd slept for twelve hours.

She rolled out of the hammock lashed to the side of the fuselage and sniffed; she didn't smell very good. She was still wearing the same clothes she'd left Schnee Manor in two days ago. Failing to stifle a huge yawn, she stumbled up to the cockpit, where Rick Tardor sat, flying the aircraft. He saw her come in. "Evening," he said. The light from the setting sun flooded the cockpit.

"Good evening," she returned, and yawned again. "Where are we?"

"Just made the turn around Cape Cod. Should be landing in Harrisburg in about an hour or so."

Weiss leaned against the copilot's seat. "You mean, we've already been to Gander?"

"Yep. Been and gone. You were out like a light, so I didn't wake you up. Don't worry; all they did was fuel up. I grabbed a nap myself." He pointed down into the navigator's station. "Not the most comfortable of spots, but I manage."

"I would've given up the hammock."

Tardor shook his head with a smile. "It's all good, Miss Schnee."

"Weiss," she corrected. "Call me Weiss."

"I think I'd better call you Miss Schnee. Let's keep it professional." He winked, to show her it was nothing personal. "You want to climb down there? We've got pretty good visibility today. Might be able to see what's left of Manhattan."

"No thanks." Weiss climbed into the copilot's seat. "I've been over New York before." She'd actually seen it when she'd flown Myrtenaster from Germany to Beacon. In the Third World War, New York had been hit by three two-megaton Soviet nuclear missiles. Due to the poor targeting of missiles at the time, the Soviets had actually missed Manhattan: one missile had fallen into Long Island Sound, and the other two detonated over Brooklyn and Queens. It hadn't made much of a difference: the shockwaves had blown the tops off of every skyscraper in Manhattan, and the heat pulses had done the rest. Over four million people had died. Radiation had spread across New England, and those who didn't die from that—or the tidal wave caused by the Long Island detonation that flooded the coastal cities of Connecticut—fled north to Maine or west to upstate New York. Then the GRIMM came a few years later. Weiss had read somewhere that the American government estimated that less than twenty percent of New Yorkers alive in January 1962 were still alive by January 1967. The Americans had returned to New York in the less irradiated areas, mainly to salvage the ruins, but reported it as a haunted place, overgrown and dilapidated, and ruled by packs of wild animals. There was a memorial to Jacqueline Kennedy and her children in what had been Central Park, and the Empire State Building still stood, its spire gone—New York City's gravestone. Just thinking about it gave Weiss chills.

Those chills weren't helped a moment later when the radio crackled. Rick leaned forward and adjusted the gain. "It's on Guard." He fiddled with the switches a bit more, clearing up the static. Then it came through, loud and clear.

"Mayday, mayday, Pilgrim Airlines Flight 1014! We are under attack! Our escort is down, repeat, our escort is down! We are under attack by GRIMM! Any station, please respond!"

Rick shook his head. "Pilgrim Airlines. A commuter flight from Portland to New Albany. Sounds like they lost their escort. Poor bastards." The message repeated itself, giving their position. Weiss looked at the navigation display: Flight 1014 was forty miles north of them. No one was responding. There was the sound of an explosion, and Pilgrim Airlines Flight 1014's last transmission was cut off.

"Give me some power, Miss Schnee." She reached down and ran up the throttles. Rick nodded and began turning the heavy transport to the left, further out into the Atlantic. He checked the fuel. "We're going to cut into our reserve, but we should make it."

"We're not going to help?" Weiss asked.

"No way. I'm trying to avoid them."

"But they'll die!" Weiss blurted.

"They're already dead. Besides, what are we supposed to do in this old crate? We're not in your Typhoon or my '15."

"No shit," Weiss growled. "But we could act as a communications relay—"

"And get our ass shot off by the GRIMM, and then we'd be trying to crashland in a dead zone!" Rick shot back. "Look, Miss Schnee, I hate it too. But we go over there, and we're dead too. Got it?" He tightened the turn a little more. "Sorry. My bird, my rules."

Weiss sighed. He was right, of course. The An-12 was no dogfighter. They would just add to the body count. She stared out into the setting sun, feeling as helpless as she had in her father's house.

Princes Street Gardens

Edinburgh, Lower Scotland, Menagerie

11 June 2001

"Ah, Sienna." The ancient Faunus rose from his seat at the fountain, and kissed Sienna Khan's hand. "It is always a pleasure to see you."

"Sir Charles," she bowed respectfully to him. "The pleasure is all mine."

Sir Charles Tabey smiled, revealing a mouth of teeth that were too perfect—not surprising, since they were false. There were very few "original Faunus" left; the minority that had survived the GRIMM Wars in Europe had mostly passed on, their lives shortened by the fighting and the stress of surviving a world that didn't want them. Tabey was one of the exceptions: starting off as a foot soldier in Nicholas Schnee's army, rising to a position of leadership through sheer skill, helping to found Menagerie, then building a business empire based on North Sea oil. He was bent over, his ears drooping over his gray hair, and took Sienna's arm to steady himself, but she was under no illusions: Tabey might be physically frail, but he was mentally as sharp as ever, and still every bit the ruthless businessman that would crush any and all opposition. He'd been one of the White Fang's earliest supporters, when Ghira Belladonna was running it—the two Faunus disliked each other, but they were willing to be allies of convenience. Sienna felt the same way about Tabey. It was an alliance that had paid off handsomely.

"So, what brings you all the way to Edinburgh?" Tabey asked, although he already knew.

Sienna dodged the question. "Are you sure you feel like walking? We could stay by the fountain. Maybe you should rest."

Tabey laughed, and motioned with his cane at Edinburgh Castle, rising above the park on a knoll. It dominated the city, and it was Tabey's home. "My dear, rest will come all too soon for me. I want to stay active as much as I can while I'm still above ground."

"I'm glad to hear you recovered from the flu."

Tabey suddenly looked at her. The jade eyes were sunken, the eyes crinkled with age and pain, but they blazed with an intensity that made even Sienna miss a step. "Sienna. Are you going to tell me why you're here, or are you going to continue to pretend I'm an old fool?"

Sienna smiled thinly. "Nothing gets past you, Sir Charles."

"Plenty gets past me, Sienna. Just not things in my backyard."

"I'll be presenting my evidence to the Council tomorrow," Sienna said. "Ghira Belladonna has been delaying it, but he's out of tricks now."

Tabey nodded. "He's gathering evidence against you, my dear. Rather disturbing evidence, mind." He looked at her again. "I've heard the rumors, that you were at Beacon, and led the White Fang attack."

Sienna shook her head. "Preposterous. I'm not a fighter."

"Your combat record in the Fourth Indo-Pakistan War would seem to disagree." He laughed. It was more of a cackle, the laugh of a vastly amused old man. "Oh yes, I know about that, Sienna. I know who trained you. Why do you think I supported you taking over after Ghira stepped down?"

"Then…" Sienna paused. "Then you knew I would take the White Fang in a more, ah, militaristic direction?"

"Mm." He stopped for a moment, popped his knee, and continued. "Of course. Ghira's approach to equal rights was sound, but it was often too kind. Too nice to the humans. I saw in you the fire of youth, what I once had, and the willingness to make the humans notice us. Even if it meant violence. That made the humans take us more seriously, which was of enormous help to me."

Sienna was shocked. She had always known Charles Tabey was a shrewd politician, and a man without scruples—but she thought she was using him to gain her own power. It never occurred to her that he might be using her. "I…didn't think you approved."

"I do…to a point." His hand gripped her arm with surprising strength. "Attacking the Schnees? That's one thing. The occasional heist, the occasional raid, even the occasional assassination. I can understand that. But an attack on the scale of Beacon?" Tabey shook his head. "That was foolish, my dear. Damned foolish."

"I didn't attack Beacon," Sienna insisted. "That was Adam Taurus. I cautioned him against it, because it would invite the wrath of the American government, and others. He regards them as paper tigers. And while I admit their lack of response has proven him right, I too did not approve of an attack on that scale. We lost many people there."

Tabey waited until he was finished, and laughed. "Adam is more skilled than I thought. He can even disguise his voice as yours." He smiled up at her. "It was you, Sienna. I know your voice. So do many others. You're still free here, in Menagerie, because you've managed to fool some of the people all of the time. But you have badly overplayed your hand when you made that broadcast."

Sienna stopped walking, bringing the older Faunus up short. "I am presenting evidence to the Menagerie Council tomorrow that it was Adam Taurus. Not me."

"Mm. And Ghira will be presenting evidence that it was you." Tabey sighed. "Sienna, a word of advice from an old, dying Faunus. There are things out there that you never want to see. Never want to even think about. You have allied the White Fang with one of those things, and it will be the death of us."

"Do you mean Adam?" Sienna asked.

"No. Something worse than him. Far worse." He withdrew his arm from hers, and leaned on his cane. "You showed promise, Sienna. Great promise. I was willing to overlook your zeal for the cause of Faunus, and have you take my seat at the Council after I step down in three months. But now I see that I was wrong."

"You can't do this," Sienna protested. "What about the White Fang?"

"What about them? Goodbye, Sienna. My advice is to find a very deep hole, and put yourself in it. Once the Council disavows you, then it will be open season on the White Fang—you, Adam, and all the others. If the British don't get you, the Americans will."

Sienna's lips drew back in a snarl. "The Council will support me, you old fool."

Tabey cackled again. "The odd thing is, Sienna, that they just might. But they will not when I vote against you. Ghira and I will easily sway the others—Ghira, with his rather forceful personality, and I, with my rather substantial money." He smiled humorlessly. "Faunus are so easily led. It's one of our fundamental flaws." He turned his back on her and walked away. She watched him disappear behind a stand of woods.

As Tabey drew even with a pond, he noticed a young Faunus female standing on the side, feeding the ducks. Not for the first time today, he wished he was younger: she was quite attractive, with hair so blond it was almost white, and cat ears poking out of the hair. His eyes dropped to her legs: it was a warm day, and she was wearing a short skirt. She noticed him, and smiled politely; he was surprised to see her eyes were pink—an albino. Such Faunus were quite rare. She turned to say something, but her umbrella slipped out of where she had leaned it against herself, came up and hit him in the shin, point first. Tabey winced in pain.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" she said, pulling the umbrella back. "Are you all right, sir?"

Tabey massaged his shin. It hurt a little, but far less than his other hurts. "I'm all right, my dear. No harm done."

She shook her head. "No, sir, it was my fault. Can I help you? Call an ambulance?"

Tabey laughed. "For a mere poke? Please, young miss. I'm not so old that an umbrella will kill me." He kissed her hand. "Seeing your beauty makes up for the pain."

She looked down at her white boots. "I'm very sorry, sir."

Tabey patted her hand, winked at her, took one last admiring look at her legs, and began walking away. He returned her wave as he turned the corner, taking the long path to his castle.

Ten minutes later, Sienna came up to the albino, still feeding the ducks. "I saw that. Well done, Neo. What did you do?"

Neo did not look at her. "Ricin," she said casually. "I injected him with it when I hit him with my umbrella. The symptoms are identical to a heart attack. He'll be dead by morning."

Sienna nodded. "A heart attack brought on by overextertion. Poor man. He shouldn't be climbing up to his castle at his age." Neo shrugged. "Very well." Sienna knelt, picked up some crumbs of bread, and threw them to the ducks as well. "What do I owe you? I understand your usual fee is substantial, but I will happily pay it. Swiss bank account?"

"No," Neo said, her casual tone gone entirely. "I only want two things. The first is an airplane. A fighter." She stretched and put the umbrella under her arm. "The White Fang can't get me a Typhoon, but a Hawk will do nicely."

Sienna did not nod, but dipped her fingers in the water. The ducks began to drift away. "A Hawk should be no trouble. What's the other thing?"

"I want to know where Cinder Fall is." Neo turned and walked away before Sienna could answer.

Yokosuka Naval Hospital

Naval Base Yokosuka, Yokosuka, Japan

11 June 2001

"Uncle Qrow!" Ruby Rose exclaimed happily. She practically skipped into the hospital room and went to hug him, but Qrow waved her off. "Easy, kiddo," he warned her. "Still not healed up yet." He looked past her and saw Pyrrha Nikos standing in the hallway. He nodded to her, and Pyrrha stepped hesitantly through the door. "Hello again," she chirped.

Ruby settled for squeezing his hand so hard it hurt. "So glad to see you're feeling better, Uncle Qrow. I came by day before yesterday, but you were still pretty groggy."

"Is everything all right?" Pyrrha asked.

Qrow nodded. "Oh yeah. Some internal bleeding, but nothing major. I should be out of here in a day or two." He downplayed it. Actually, the doctor had told him, once Qrow was out of surgery and lucid, another two hours and Qrow would've been dead. But he figured his niece didn't need to know that. "How's my Nighthawk? I hear you were flying it."

Pyrrha took a chair. Both she and Ruby were in uniform; Qrow noticed that Pyrrha was now wearing the dark blue of the USAF, rather than the lighter blue of the Greek Hellenic Air Force. "It's being repaired. I'm afraid I wasn't able to do much with it, as it was badly damaged." She gave a hesitant smile. "In any case, my F-22 should be ready to go soon as well."

"And Crescent Rose is already fixed!" Ruby added. "Took her up this morning. It was great." She squeezed his hand again. "Sorry I wasn't here more. They've been debriefing the hell out of us. I don't know if you know, but…" Ruby smiled, which felt to Qrow like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "…we captured a GRIMM."

Qrow's eyebrows rose. "You're shitting me."

"Nope! That Nuckalevee! We got it intact. Turns out its self-destruct system doesn't work any more, because it was so old."

"Unfortunately," Pyrrha said, "it's also so old that it doesn't really tell us much about modern GRIMM. It's at least 20 years out of date. It even still has vaccuum tubes." She shrugged. "But it's better than nothing, I suppose."

"Pyrrha!" Ruby whined. "Quit being such a party pooper! We captured a frigging GRIMM!"

"Sorry," Pyrrha apologized.

"Glad to see it worked out." Qrow reached up and tousled Ruby's hair. "Ya did good, kid. Your mama would be damn proud."

Ruby's smile faded a little, and she glanced at Pyrrha. Pyrrha caught the look, and knew the reason why. "Well," she announced, standing up, "I should be going. Ren and Nora are going shopping in Tokyo today, and I promised them I would tag along." Qrow knew forced cheer when he heard it. "Good to see you're doing better, Major Branwen."

"Thanks, Pyrrha." She nodded and left, closing the door behind her. Qrow raised an eyebrow at Ruby. "Why did you want her out of here?"

"Well…this." Ruby reached into a pocket and handed Qrow the piece of paper she had found at Kuroyuri, the one written by Summer Rose. Qrow read it twice, then leaned back against the pillow. "Son of a bitch. So she made it that far," he breathed. He reached up and wiped away a tear. "We thought maybe she went down over the Sea of Japan, but maybe…maybe she got into Siberia after all."

"Siberia?" Ruby leaned closer. "Uncle Qrow…can you tell me what Mom was doing?"

He shrugged. "It's top secret, but Oz is dead, so I might as well." He touched her hair again, this time more gently. "Summer volunteered to look for Salem's base. We think it's somewhere in old Russia. Summer flew from Alaska to South Korea. Then she flew northeast to hook back into Siberian airspace. We…we figured that GRIMM got her over the Sea of Japan, like I said." He shook his head, with a sad smile. "But not Short Stack. Your mama was too damn good to get tagged out by GRIMM. And if she made it to Kuroyuri…"

"Do you think maybe the Nuckalevee got her?"

"I doubt it. We searched that area after she disappeared." He looked pained. "Then again, we managed to miss a damn steel monster that was twenty feet tall, so I guess it's possible we missed a crash site. But I really think Summer did make it to Siberia." Suddenly, he grabbed Ruby's hand and held it tight enough to hurt. "Ruby, don't you even think about hopping in your '16 and following her. Maybe when I'm healed up and Reaper Flight is ready—and maybe not even then. We've sent multiple flights over Siberia, and none of them have come back."

"Why did Mom go alone?" Ruby asked.

"She convinced Oz that the GRIMM might not think a single plane was a threat." He gripped her hand enough that Ruby pulled free, her hand aching. "Dammit, Ruby. Don't you fucking disobey me. That's an order. You are not going to look for Summer on your own. I've already had to bury your mom in an empty grave, and we damn near had to bury your sister. If your papa loses you, it'll kill him. And Yang." He stabbed a finger in her face. "You get killed, Ruby, and I will kick your ass in hell for the next two thousand years."

Ruby chuckled. "Okay, Uncle Qrow. I promise." In actuality, Ruby had not considered flying into Siberia alone. It would truly be a suicide mission. There was no place to refuel, no place to replenish any weapons stores, nothing. She wondered if Qrow was still holding back. Or maybe even he doesn't know. Mom might've kept it from him, her and Ozpin. She wouldn't have gone off on a suicide mission, though—not with little me, Yang, and Dad at home. She looked at the note again.

"At least it's something," Qrow said.

"Yeah," Ruby sighed.

There was a knock on the door. "Pyrrha must've forgot something," Ruby suggested.

Qrow raised his voice. "C'mon in!"

The door opened, but it was not Pyrrha, nor Ren or Nora. Instead, it was a young man, about Ruby's age and height, with skin slightly tanned by a lot of exposure to sunlight, but not enough to hide freckles. He was dressed in US Navy khakis, with only two medals, but golden wings pinned above them, and the single golden bar of an ensign on both lapels. Ruby noticed his green eyes, which were kind of strange looking, with flecks of gold in them. He looked a little familiar…and kind of cute, she found herself thinking. "Excuse me," the ensign asked, "I'm looking for Major Qrow Branwen?"

Qrow sat up in bed. "That's me."

The ensign's hand came up to salute, then remembered he was indoors, and instead just came to attention. "Major Branwen, sir. I am to report to you." He glanced at Ruby, noticed her rank, and her name embossed on its small board. "Captain Rose. Sorry to interrupt."

Qrow's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Report to me? Who the hell are you, pipsqueak?" He was being rather disrespectful—superior officers were not supposed to refer to subordinates as pipsqueaks—but Qrow was so surprised that anyone would be reporting to him that he forgot about the proprieties of military rank. Not that he made it a point to remember in the first place.

The ensign didn't seem to notice the insult. "Sir. I'm Ensign Oscar Pine, sir."

Qrow stared, popeyed. "You're shitting me," he said for the second time in ten minutes.

"No, sir. I am not shitting you, sir."

Ruby looked from her uncle to this Oscar person, and then back. "Who is he?" she wanted to know. Qrow began to laugh. He gripped his side in pain, but kept laughing. "Uncle Qrow!" Ruby exclaimed.

Qrow stopped laughing, but was still grinning. "Captain Ruby Rose, this is Ensign Oscar Pine," he rather unnecessarily introduced. "He's Captain Oscar Ozpin's son."

Ruby's eyes widened. She stood up, took two steps forward, and looked Oscar up and down. He was still at attention, but looked back uncomfortably. She finished her inspection, then turned back to her uncle. "You're shitting me," she said.

AUTHOR'S NOTES, PART II: Neo's subtle attack on Charles Tabey is based on a real incident (possibly more than one), where a KGB assassin killed a defector with an umbrella tip laced with ricin. Pyrrha's reference to the Nuckalevee using vaccuum tubes is a reference to the West learning that the MiG-25 Foxbat-which was supposed to be an unstoppable fighter-still used vaccuum tube technology at a time when the West had been using solid-state electronics for a decade. (The Russians weren't doing that just to be primitive: it gave the Foxbat enough sheer radar power to "burn through" jamming.)

I kind of apologize for the NYC infodump, but it's too easy to forget in this story sometimes (I know I forget it!) that this world of Remnant has been through a nuclear exchange. I used Nukemap online to determine casualties and damage, and it's staggering. And the Soviets really did have 2-megaton warheads on their missiles in Cuba. I borrowed a bit from the movie and novel "Fail-Safe," in which JFK's wife and children are in New York when it gets nuked.