AUTHOR'S NOTES: Welcome to what I think is the longest chapter I've written in nearly a year. The "Battle of Haven" is too huge for one chapter-this one's already long enough!-so it will be split into at least two chapters. Now get ready for a big dogfight!

Incidentally, I did a slight retcon. In an earlier chapter, I inferred that Emerald is flying a modified Mirage III. Then I realized that even a modified Mirage III is not going to last long against a F-16, so I retconned Emerald back into her trusty Mirage F.1 (a new one, since Coco Adel is currently flying her old one somewhere in North Africa). Mirage F.1s are fairly common, so it wouldn't be hard for Salem to get another one for Em.

So far, this has also been one of the toughest air battles to write. Most dogfights are over in ten seconds or less, but this one has to stretch. Luckily, everyone on both sides is that good, and almost all of them went to Vytal Flag, so it's very much a contest of equals.

Naval Air Station Atsugi

Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan

21 June 2001

Oscar Pine leaned against the ladder of the F/A-18. Beneath the aircraft, in the shade from the sticky afternoon heat of a Japanese summer, the ground crew lounged. He pushed off the ladder and began to pace again.

Lie Ren had been watching him, and finally walked from his J-10 to the ensign's side. "Are you all right?"

"Oh yeah," Oscar replied. "I got two hours of sleep last night, drank like six cups of coffee, had to pee like twenty times, and I'm scared shitless."

Ren smiled. "At least you admit it."

"This is real world, right?" Oscar asked. "We're really fighting today?"

"More than likely."

"Oh shit." Oscar ran his gloved hands over his hair, making it more unruly than usual. "I'm not ready, Ren. Not even close."

"No one is. Just remember your training. Stay with Pyrrha; she's a good wingperson. Cover her tail, and watch your own. She's not greedy, either; she'll let you get kills. If we engage GRIMM, just remember that they are not sentient. They can only do what they're programmed to do. Remember that."

"And what happens if we engage people?'

"Believe you can beat anyone in the world." Ren patted the Hornet's wing. "You have an excellent airplane, serviced by an exceptional crew, and you are a naval aviator. All of that counts for something."

"I'm a noob," Oscar sighed.

"None of us were born in the cockpit." He nodded towards Ruby Rose's red-trimmed F-16. Like the rest of the newly-reformed Ruby Flight, they were just off the runway, ready to scramble. Ren could see Ruby sitting in her cockpit, the canopy open to let fresh air in, drumming her fingers on the canopy rim. The rest of them were on five minute standby. "Ruby had her first engagement less than four months ago."

Oscar's mouth fell open. "You're kidding! She's got eleven kills!"

"She is a very fast learner." Ren patted him on the back. "You'll be fine, Oscar. Besides, you have good genes." He walked back to the J-10.

Oscar sighed again, then decided to do another walkaround, mainly to keep his mind off the very real possibility that he would be dead by nightfall. His Hornet still didn't have any personal symbols on it; he couldn't think of anything. But it was loaded for GRIMM: three external tanks for fuel, four AIM-120 AMRAAMs slung underneath the wings and conformally beneath the fuselage, and four AIM-9L Sidewinders beneath the wings and on the wingtips. There was the gun atop the nose as well. It would be a bit sluggish with three "bags" of fuel, but once in combat, he'd dump those. The Bug-which was what true naval aviators called the Hornet, Oscar reminded himself—was every bit as maneuverable as the F-16. Oscar began to feel better.

Until the scramble klaxon went off.

Oscar nearly wet himself on the spot, but to his surprise, his legs were moving before his brain engaged. He ducked under the nose and was racing up the ladder before he was even quite aware of what was happening. He dropped into the ejection seat as he put his helmet on; right behind him was the plane captain, hands scrambling to fasten him into the seat. Out of the corner of one eye, Oscar saw Ruby's canopy drop down and her engine run up to power with a roar. Oscar quickly hooked up the oxygen feed, the radio cord, and the spurs on the legs of his flight suits to the seat, to keep his legs from flailing around if he ejected. The plane captain tightened the straps, unsafetied the ejection seat, slapped Oscar on the helmet, and slid down the ladder. It was removed as Oscar lowered the canopy. It shut and locked with a hiss. His navigation system was already set, and after a quick check that the ground crew was clear, he moved up the throttle and followed the plane captain's hand signals. Oscar returned the latter's salute and followed Pyrrha's F-22 onto the taxiway.

He switched on his radio in time to hear Ruby Flight cleared to take off. Purple shock diamonds, visible in broad daylight, appeared behind the Viper's engine as it opened to full power; Ruby let off the brakes and it roared down the runway. Next to it, on the parallel runway, Yang's F-23 took off as well, a fraction faster than the F-16, as it was a cleaner design. Seconds later, Weiss' F-20 and Qrow's newly repaired F-117 followed them.

Now it was Norn Flight's turn. "Norn Flight, requesting clearance," Pyrrha radioed the tower. "Combat departure."

"Norn Flight, Atsugi," the tower controller replied. "You are cleared for takeoff. Winds are steady from the east at five knots, ceiling is scattered to broken, visibility ten miles. Airspace is clear. Pyrrha is on 23 Left, Oscar on 23 Right. Good luck, Norns."

Oscar tried to control his breathing as he swung the nose down the centerline of the runway. He kept his feet on the brakes as he ran the throttle to the stops. The Hornet's nose dipped slightly, and he could feel the vibration of the twin turbofans behind him. Here we go, here we go, he thought, his heart pounding. This is it, this is for real—

Then he saw Pyrrha's F-22 move forward, and let off the brakes. The F-18 hesitated for a half-second and then was rolling down the runway, the markings becoming blurs beneath him. He checked his flap settings—Atsugi was low and hot, so it would take a bit more lift to get into the air—and then raised the nose. The Hornet came up smoothly off the runway with a little buffeting. Once he was sure it was going to keep flying, he cycled the landing gear up, and the buffeting ended. A quick check of the instrument panel, and he began to slide into the wingman's spot on the F-22's right wing.

"Oscar, expanded box." Pyrrha's voice was clipped, neither friendly nor angry. He cursed himself: they weren't practicing or flying across country, so he extended outwards, enough to cover Pyrrha but not as close. It was a more efficient, fluid formation for air combat. They passed through a cloud or two, then he followed her into the turn west. A quick glance behind and down, and Oscar saw Ren's J-10 and Nora's A-10 below them. "Ruby, Norn. We're up."

"Roger, Norn," Ruby's voice came back. "We're at your eleven high." Oscar looked in that direction, and saw the four aircraft. It was an odd formation to be sure: the small F-16, even smaller F-20, the surprisingly large F-117, and the rather large F-23.

"Joining on your right."

"Ruby, Norn, this is Catseye." The voice spoke in English, but had a Japanese accent. Oscar quickly glanced at the list of radio callsigns in one of his clear knee pockets. Catseye was the JASDF's E-767 AWACS, orbiting northwest of Tokyo. "A large number of GRIMM have been spotted northwest of Hokkaido, heading 190. Raid count is approximately one zero zero. All squadrons in Northern Command have scrambled." 100, Oscar thought with an icy feeling of fear in his gut. A swarm of GRIMM.

"Roger, Catseye." Oscar noticed that Ruby held course.

"Five minutes ago, we detected another group of bogeys over the Sea of Japan, heading 150, angels 18. Raid count on this group is 15. Classify this as a mixed group of GRIMM and manned aircraft by behavior and formation. Catseye has been instructed to scramble you on this group, designated Raid-3. Your signal is Shimmer, repeat, Shimmer."

Shimmer. Oscar remembered the morning briefing. The mixed group was almost certainly this Cinder Fall character he'd heard about, and their target was JINN—whatever that was.

"Shimmer—understood, Catseye. Those are bandits. Interrogative: status of Raid-2?"

"Raid-2 is proceeding as planned. Raid count of Raid-2 is two aircraft—two transports. Target is Ashiya."

Just like they told us this morning. Oscar blew out a breath. Well, that's someone else's problem.

"Understood, Catseye. Will provide assistance as needed, but Raid-3 is our primary."

"Roger, Ruby. Vector for bandit is 090, range 120. Raid-3 course still 150, speed 500. Cannot identify craft at this time. You are clear to intercept; time is 1805 local, 0405 Zulu. Catseye listening, out."

"Thanks, Catseye. Break." Ruby's voice seemed completely different, Oscar thought. There was still the slight squeakiness that he thought was kind of cute, but she was now strictly professional. She's only been at this for four months? he wondered to himself. "Ruby, Norns, push it up! Let's catch Raid-3 over the sea. Keep your bags as long as you can."

The eight aircraft turned west and accelerated.

Misawa Air Base

Aomori Prefecture, Japan

21 June 2001

Leonardo Lionheart turned down the volume on the radio set and leaned back in his chair, his stomach doing its best impression of a rollercoaster. He was playing an even more dangerous game now. He was tempted to get up and make sure Arthur Watts or Raven Branwen wasn't hiding somewhere, but Watts was at the observatory, waiting for Cinder's transmission from Tsushima, while Raven was in the air. He was alone. More alone than he'd ever felt.

I'm sorry, Dorothy. I'm sorry, Ruth, he said to himself. I should have never done this.

The door to the office suddenly opened, and Lionheart nearly jumped out of his chair. The building was supposed to be deserted, his secretary transferred to more important duties, the rest of the base busy with the incoming strike on Hokkaido to the north. He froze, unsure of what to do, but then he saw who it was, and recognized her, although it had been years since they had last met.

"Arashikaze?" he said in amazement. "Rissa Arashikaze?"

She nodded. "I thought you might want some company." She was dressed casually in shirt and shorts, her long black hair combed out, her hands behind her back.

"You can't be here," he told her. "If they find out…"

"They won't."

"If Watts comes back—"

Arashikaze pulled her hands from behind her back. One held a M1911 .45 with an ivory grip. "Then I'll kill him. But I doubt I'll have the opportunity." She settled into the chair across from his desk, the pistol held comfortably in her lap, pointed at him. "I do appreciate the phone call yesterday, Leo. How did you know it was Ashiya?"

Leo chuckled softly. "Watts kept me in the loop. Apparently the White Fang—Adam Taurus' bunch now—let Salem know yesterday afternoon, shortly before Raven Branwen arrived, and Watts was nice enough to let me know…so I would steer Ruby and Norn Flights in the right direction." He nodded towards the sky. "They're not exactly flying into a trap, but the odds will be even. Cinder would very much like to kill Ruby Rose, I understand, and Raven told me her desire to murder her own brother."

"We'll have to leave that to Qrow and the others. Ashiya's been solved. Of course, there is the little matter that you sent most of the JASDF in the wrong direction," Rissa reminded him.

"The GRIMM attack is real," Lionheart told her.

"No doubt. But if we had, say, 30 Huntsmen and Huntresses, we could stop the attack on Tsushima and JINN before it even got started."

Lionheart looked down. "What I did was wrong, Rissa. I think—I thought—Salem's victory was inevitable. I was so tired of it all, especially after Dorothy…and then they killed Ruth." He let out a long, sad sigh. "By that time I was in too deep. The best I could do was pass on what information I could to you. But if Salem knew I'd turned on her—"

"Yes, indeed," Rissa agreed. "Of course, you'd already turned on Ozpin. By all rights, he should be here." She crossed her legs; the pistol muzzle did not waver. "Oz was the forgiving type, Leo. He'd probably say he understood the circumstances, and would say it was all right, then ask me to sweep it under the rug."

"But Ozpin's dead," Leo sighed. "And you're not the forgiving type. You never were."

"Indeed so." She motioned with her head towards the radio set on his desk. "Why don't you turn up the radio? Let's listen to the score."

Lionheart reached forward and paused. "What will happen to me?"

"Turn it up, please," she said.

Over the Sea of Japan

Near Nishinoshima, Japan

21 June 2001

"Oscar, Pyrrha." Oscar gave a start. For the past fifteen minutes as they'd raced west—limited in speed so as not to leave Nora behind—it had been quiet as they'd observed radio silence. "Is your nose cold?"

"Roger that." Oscar's radar was off.

"I'm eyeball," Pyrrha told her. He clicked the mike twice in response, and couldn't help but smile. Pyrrha would use the F-22's superior radar suite to pick targets for him; any enemy would detect her radar, but the Raptor's stealthy design might make it hard to lock on to return fire. Meanwhile, he would be the shooter, ready to fire on any targets she might paint for him.

Oscar tried to relax again; it would still be a few more minutes before the bandits were in range for even a long-range AMRAAM shot. He kept his head moving, however, quartering the sky around them. Visibility could be better: there were broken clouds below and above, with the sun alternately bright against blue sky and hidden behind puffy cumulus.

Yang's voice suddenly blasted through his helmet. "Bandit, three o'clock high!"

Oscar's head instantly swiveled in that direction. He saw nothing but clouds, but then he saw Qrow's F-117, which was ahead and above, go into a hard turn and fire a missile. "Qrow, Fox Three!" The AMRAAM was a glowing dot that disappeared into the clouds. Oscar thought he saw a muffled orange flash a second later.

"God, that was horrible." The voice was female, and mocking. "Qrow, if you're going to shoot me, make sure you're not within minimum range. That didn't even come close. Of course, it probably had trouble locking on."

Oscar saw something, just for a moment: high, between clouds, at the one o'clock position. "Raven!" Qrow yelled. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Raven's voice came back. "You've been up to no good, little brother. Planning to attack your own sister."

"Norn Flight, noses cold," Pyrrha snapped. Oscar's hand had been reaching forward to switch on his radar, to try and pick up whoever was taunting them. Then he realized that whoever this Raven was, she might be a stalking horse to see just what Ruby and Norn Flights were bringing to the game.

"No one's attacking anything but Salem's bunch," Qrow snarled at his sister. "And here you are throwing in with them!"

"I told you, Qrow—I will do anything to ensure our tribe's survival. Salem made a good offer. You never tried."

"You've got the Spring Maiden," Qrow growled.

"Yes," Raven confirmed. "Good thing we're on a secure frequency, though. We wouldn't want that to get out."

"We don't have to do this," Qrow said. "Work with us, Raven! Together we can beat her!"

"All that time spying for Ozpin and you still don't know what you're dealing with," Raven replied. Oscar saw the same object again, black and malevolent, flitting in and out of the clouds. "There's no beating Salem." Her voice lost its mocking tone; now it sounded almost resigned and exhausted.

"Raven, this is Ruby Rose!" Oscar was surprised to hear from Ruby all of a sudden. "Listen to me! We've already done the impossible, several times, and we only did it because we worked together! We had people to help us, and to teach us, and we've got each other! Work with us, Raven. We'll have a better chance if we stick together. It's what Mom would've wanted! She wouldn't have wanted you doing this, Raven!"

The radio channel was silent for a long moment. "You sound just like your mother," Raven said sadly. "Because of her, Ruby, I'm giving you one last chance. RTB. Clear out."

It was Yang that spoke. "Fuck you, Raven."

"Very well," Raven sighed.

Suddenly Oscar's Radar Warning Receiver lit up. "Missile inbound!" he yelled, then added, "Threat front!"

"I'm spiked!" Ruby screamed. The F-16 rolled and dived, flares and chaff dropping behind it. Oscar's mouth went dry as he saw a missile emerge from a cloud and dive after her. Ruby came out of the dive and went into a punishing turn; all three fuel tanks flew off the wings and centerline as she desperately tried for more speed. The missile finally lost lock and chased a chaff cloud into oblivion.

"Cinder to the veterans of Beacon." The voice dripped sarcasm. "Hello, boys and girls. Did you miss me?"

"Weiss, tally-ho!" Weiss called out. "Bandits, twelve o'clock level."

Oscar spotted the specks in the distance moments later, but his acknowledgement that he saw them as well was drowned out by an inarticulate scream of pure rage. To his shock, Pyrrha's F-22 suddenly shot forward, her tanks punched off the wings, as she threw herself at the enemy formation.

Ashiya Airbase

Fukuoka Prefecture, Japan

21 June 2001

Adam Taurus emerged out of the C-141 Starlifter's paratroop door, hopped to the tarmac, and took a breath of the humid air. It felt good; the area around Lossiemouth had been cold, and the interior of the C-141 was no better. He was tired but elated. Across the tarmac was a Boeing 707, the other aircraft the White Fang had chartered for the assault. Both were owned by a Faunus transport firm that did not ask a lot of questions; Adam, for his part, didn't ask where the firm had gotten an ex-USAF transport from.

A redhaired Faunus with short horns ran up to him. "High Leader," she reported breathlessly. "Both strike teams have landed successfully. Your orders?"

"Execute the operation," Adam said. Deery saluted and ran off, yelling orders. Adam watched as the White Fang on the 707 quickly disembarked down ropes dangling from the exit doors, unslung their weapons, and began fanning out. Every fourth soldier carried an assault rifle; each team was followed by a weapons section with a light machine gun and four RPGs. Most were armed with submachine guns. None of the platoons were uniform with their weapons; the White Fang had to be content with whatever they could obtain on the open market, or steal.

Each team had been briefed on the long flight from Menagerie, over the Russian Dead Zones, then over China, disguised as charter cargo flights: they would seize the control tower and all entrances leading away from the airfield itself. Once that was secure, teams would then go into the base itself and destroy the powerplant and telephone exchange, as well as take hostages. By that time, Adam expected that the Japanese Ground Self-Defense Force would attack, and he would fall back to the main perimeter and stop the attacks cold. He intended to hold Ashiya for about six hours—long enough for Japan and the world to get the message that the White Fang were far from dead, and long enough for Cinder's team to secure her objective. Once that was accomplished, the White Fang would load themselves back into the 707 and the C-141, with their hostages, and fly to Vladivostok, held by the Malachite Gang and escorted by Cinder's team. The JASDF would not attack with hostages at stake, and in any case would still have their hands full with GRIMM attacks at Hokkaido.

It was a good plan, but like all good plans, it had to work.

Adam walked around the C-141. A team of White Fang soldiers, dressed in coveralls rather than their black combat uniforms, were pulling out Moonslice. As much as Adam had wanted to fly the whole way, the fighter simply didn't have the range, and this was the easiest way. Luckily, the Moonslice had been designed with this in mind: the wings were folded over the top of the fuselage, like a carrier aircraft. It traveled fully fueled, Adam risking the danger of fire over the danger of taking too long to refuel on the ground. Other Fang troops were hauling out boxes of missiles. One nodded at Adam. "We should have her ready to go in about 20 minutes, High Leader."

"Good. Shave that time down, chief," Adam told him. "I need to get in the air and have a look around." The chief saluted and started yelling at his group to go faster.

Adam moved away from the C-141 for a short distance, out of the shadow of the tail. In the early evening sunlight, the tarmac shimmered with heat, and he felt himself beginning to sweat. The tarmac was empty, which was a bit of a disappointment: he'd brought along several of the surviving White Fang pilots, in the hopes that they might capture a JASDF fighter or two. There were none, but that wasn't too surprising, as Ashiya was a training base. There were only two squadrons of T-4 trainers based here, and the T-4s weren't normally armed. He looked across the runway, his mask shading his eye, and he squinted. Normally the two squadrons had their trainers lined up on the hardstands across the runway, but they were empty.

Empty? he thought. It's like they evacuated the base. But how could they do that…unless… Adam felt an unfamiliar emotion: fear.

Unless they knew we were coming.

He dashed back to the C-141. "Radioman!" A Faunus with a backpack radio ran up to him. Adam grabbed the radio off the pack, and shouted at the chief. "I need that ready yesterday, chief!"

Over the Sea of Japan

Cinder saw the F-22 getting steadily larger. "Nikos," she said aloud. She'd actually sort of forgotten that Pyrrha was still alive. She'd also forgotten that she'd been the one to kill Jaune Arc, but it seemed that Pyrrha was bent on reminding her. Cinder threw the Su-27 into a flurry of defensive maneuvers, dropping flares and chaff behind her, but Pyrrha made no move to fire any missiles. She's lost her temper, Cinder observed. She's going to kill me with her guns. There was a brief pang of fear—after all, she'd come within a hairsbreadth of being killed by Pyrrha Nikos over Beacon—but Cinder fought it down. She was the best, and now it was the time to prove it.

They passed canopy to canopy, and both women immediately pulled into turns. Pyrrha, through a red haze of hatred, was flying by instinct, and her fingers automatically used the Raptor's thrust vectoring to cheat the turn tighter. She didn't notice that Cinder's fighter was doing exactly the same thing.

Ruby did, and Ruby could also tell that Pyrrha had lost control of herself. She pushed up the throttle and climbed, rolling over the top to try and get in a shot on Cinder. "Pyrrha, Ruby! I'm on my way!"

Her RWR shrilled for her attention, and for the second time in less than thirty seconds, Ruby found herself dodging another missile. Luckily, the Sidewinder was easily decoyed away by a flare, but as Ruby rolled out, she saw a Mirage F.1 fly past, the wings marked with the personal emblem of Emerald Sustrai.

"You're not going anywhere near her," Emerald radioed.

Yang had lost sight of Ruby in her climb and in the sun, but she spotted an A-4 splitting wide of the Mirage. I have a bad feeling I know who that is, she thought. It was confirmed a second later. "Hey, Blondie—it's Mercury. Remember me? I owe you for shooting me down."

"In that toy?" Yang turned towards him. "You couldn't beat me before, Merc, and you were in a '16. Let's see what you got."

Raven rolled the Night Raven upside down. The dogfight was degenerating into individual contests, which didn't surprise her: this was a unique fight, where everyone on both sides knew each other, and nursed personal grudges. She'd been surprised the Invincible Girl of Greece had thrown herself at Cinder, but that was fine—Raven considered it a win if they both died.

She saw a F-18 heading to the south, skirting in and out of clouds. I wonder who that is? Nobody she'd known of in either flight flew a Hornet. In any case, they were running out of the fight, so they were no threat for now. She saw Qrow's F-117 climbing to meet her, and smiled. Far below, flanked by GRIMM, was Hazel's aircraft, and the J-10 and A-10 were going for him. That left one person without a dance partner. "Vernal," she said, "take the Schnee girl. She's in the F-20."

"Roger." Raven caught herself wishing she could watch that fight—Vernal was flying a F-5, but an upgraded one. It would largely be an even match.

At the moment, however, she had more pressing matters. She dived on her brother. The distance closed rapidly, and Raven fired off a few probing shots from the twin 20 millimeter cannon slung beneath the fuselage. She dodged as Qrow fired back; she'd forgotten his Nighthawk had been modified. They passed each other, but Raven continued her dive, picking up energy; she could not allow herself to be pulled into a turning fight with the F-117, as the Night Raven was not really a dogfighter. Nor did it have the best rearward vision: she looked down at one of her multifunction displays, which displayed the view behind her, and saw Qrow entering an orbit, waiting for her to start her climb. "Sorry, brother," she sent. "Sometimes family disappoints you."

"We're not family anymore," Qrow growled.

"Were we ever?" Raven returned, and hauled back on the stick. She rammed the throttle forward, and the Night Raven quickly passed through Mach 1 as it aimed for the sky.

"Hey there, Schnee," Vernal radioed. "Long time no see."

"Nothing personal, Vernal," Weiss replied, and began setting up for a Sidewinder shot.

"None taken. Let's see what that Schnee name really means."

"I'm more than a name." Weiss fired. The Sidewinder shot off the right wingtip, homing on the heat given off by Vernal's canopy. She then acclerated, closing into gun range if the missile missed—which it did, as the F-5 suddenly went into a split-S. Weiss followed as her missile doggedly chased a flare.

Ren and Nora were far below the dogfight. Unlike the rest of their friends, they'd stayed together in a mutually supporting pair, not allowing themselves to be drawn apart. The problem was, it looked like they were about to have no choice. "Nora, Ren," he said, "five Beowolves, eleven o'clock low. They're climbing."

"Take 'em, Ren!" Nora yelled. "I got…whatever the hell that is." Nora spared Ren a brief glance as he peeled off to attack the GRIMM, then returned her attention to the drab painted aircraft. The nose looked a bit like her own A-10, complete with bubble canopy, and it was straight-winged like the Warthog, but the engines were buried in the wingroots, and it had a single tail. An A-37? she thought. No, by golly, that's a damn A-9! Holy shit, I didn't know there were any left! She remembered reading about the Northrop A-9, the failed competitor to the A-10. She thought the few prototypes built had been scrapped, but apparently not. The two aircraft were built to the same specifications, and both had 30 millimeter cannons.

"This is going to be interesting," she mused.

Contrary to Raven's belief, Oscar was not running away. In fact, he was doing something very sensible, considering he was terrified.

Pyrrha had completely forgotten about him in her singleminded rage to kill Cinder Fall, and in the merge, he'd quickly gotten confused as to who he was supposed to support. Then he spotted five GRIMM low against the water, stealthfully positioning themselves to drop in behind Ruby Flight. He dumped his drop tanks and headed in that direction, putting himself in a shallow climb. He hoped no one thought he was a coward, but he remembered one of his flight instructors at Pensacola, a tough old former Skyhawk pilot with a shaved head and a voice that sounded like he gargled with drain cleanser. It's better to retire and save your aircraft than push a bad position. Well, he wasn't retiring, but he was getting into a better position.

Heh. If Dad could see me now, Oscar thought, and just like that, he wasn't scared anymore. He'd read about Oscar Ozpin, and it occurred to Oscar Pine that this situation wasn't all that different than what his father had faced over Norway—though these GRIMM were Beowolves and not Nevermore, and he was flying a F-18, not an old F-8. Oscar cracked his neck, determined to make the father he'd never met proud.

Oscar positioned himself upsun, rolled, and dropped in behind the GRIMM. The five drones began a gentle turn, and the leftmost one lagged slightly behind the others. Oscar remembered something else, this time what Ruby had said: when you're gunning someone, and you think you're close—get closer. He throttled back and closed the range, thinking that if his butt tightened up any more, his anus was going to start biting at the ejection seat.

Suddenly, the Beowolves began to split up: they'd finally detected him. He stayed on the one he'd been pursuing and opened fire with the gun. The M61 Vulcan made a sound like ripping paper and Oscar was blinded for a second by the gun gas going back into his windscreen. Then it cleared, and the GRIMM's starboard wing was a mass of flames. It slewed in midair, the wing separated from the aircraft, and the drone spun down towards the ocean. Oscar broke away, found another Beowulf trying to get in behind him, quickly selected a Sidewinder, and fired. The Beowulf turned into a comet, and headed down to join the other one in a terminal dive for the water.

Oscar glanced behind him as the RWR warbled, and between the canted twin tails of his Hornet was yet another Beowulf. Cannon shells spun over his head in little fireballs, and he flung the F-18 away from the Beowulf in a hard climb. Another GRIMM flew right in front of him. Oscar couldn't help but scream, and reflexively pulled the trigger. Another Sidewinder flew off the left wingtip and blew the Beowulf to pieces; somehow, he dodged the fireball, though he felt something hit the F-18. No warning lights came on, and he continued his climb.

"Oscar, splash three!" he called out jubliantly. This isn't too bad, he thought happily. He rolled out, but then saw the other two Beowolves coming after him. He didn't think GRIMM could be angry, but these two looked it.

In retrospect, Weiss Schnee thought to herself, she should have realized Vernal would be a good pilot. After all, she was Raven's second in command. Weiss also made a mental note that she really should stop engaging F-5s, since this was the second time in her life one was doing its best to kill her.

For the third time, Weiss dodged away from Vernal's cannon fire. The F-20 had the older F-5 in acceleration, the Tiger II was slightly more maneuverable. Quit fighting the way she fights, Weiss told herself. It didn't help that she was a little rusty, and the Tigershark still somewhat unfamiliar.

Weiss split-S, going into a dive. Vernal came after her, but the F-20 was quickly out of range, and her Sidewinders couldn't guide with the Sea of Japan reflecting back the day's heat. Instead, she pulled up at the same time Weiss did, turned with the F-20, and fired a Sidewinder. It failed to guide, thrown off by Weiss' rolls and a flare. Vernal closed the distance to open up with her cannon, but Weiss dived again, then pulled up into a hard break. Vernal cursed as she overshot, and Weiss settled behind the bandit.

Cinder was wondering if she had made a mistake—by getting up that morning. She fired a Sidewinder at the F-22—Salem's technicians had reverse engineered the all-aspect AIM-9L—but Pyrrha dodged it effortlessly. They went into a scissors, both trying to alternately throw the other out front or force them to break off, whirling, the advantage changing several times in mere seconds. Cinder finally had to pop the huge speedbrake on the back of the Su-27, not to force Pyrrha out front, but because the Raptor was coming dangerously close to ramming her. She retracted the speedbrake, but the F-22 suddenly seemed to tumble in front of her, and cannon shells whirred past as Pyrrha opened fire in mid-spin. Cinder climbed away, even as she felt the Flanker rock with a hit. She let the fighter drop backwards into a spin, playing possum, then, as the Raptor dived on her to finish her off, suddenly brought the Su-27 out of the spin, used the fighter's massive wing area to deaccelerate, and Pyrrha overshot. Cinder opened fire with her own cannon and thought she saw a strike, but if she had hit, the Raptor showed no signs of damage. Pyrrha broke hard right, and Cinder laughed out loud as she skidded behind the F-22, finally in a kill position.

Ruby had found herself fighting not just one, but three Mirages in the course of about fifteen seconds, and remembered Coco telling her that Emerald's last Mirage had been modified like Blake's Gambol Shroud. The problem was, neither Ruby nor Crescent Rose could tell which one was which. She'd already fired off an AMRAAM to find it chasing a ghost. The only good thing was that Emerald was having no luck getting in behind her, as Ruby kept twisting away. Like so many dogfights in this strange battle of former acquaintances, they were evenly matched.

It was time, Ruby decided, to do something crazy.

She picked up the Mirage in a turn. There were two of them, but Ruby guessed that the lagging one was the hologram; Blake's projections tended to lag behind her F-14 as well. She threw caution to the wind and flung herself at the Mirage, even as Emerald turned into her. The wingroots of Emerald's fighter sparkled, and Ruby waited for the cannon shell that would end all of her problems. She didn't fire herself, but just kept coming on.

Emerald, for her part, also remembered something: Ruby Rose had rammed Cinder Fall at the Battle of Beacon. "Madre de Dios!" she screamed, and pulled up. Ruby's snap shot with her gatling cannon missed, but she twisted and got in behind the Mirage, its glowing afterburner a perfect heat signature.

Then she saw something just for a half-second out of the corner of one eye: Cinder's Su-27 sliding into perfect parameters for a fatal gun pass on Pyrrha. Her brain processed the eyeblink, and Ruby, before she'd consciously realized it, broke off the climb, rolled away, did a half-loop, and fired an AMRAAM at Cinder.

Cinder's finger was caressing the trigger when suddenly her RWR went off. She saw the missile boring in and rammed the stick into her right knee so hard it hurt, engaging thrust vectoring at the same time. The AMRAAM lost the lock and spun off, and Cinder took a deep breath. God, that was close!

Then her canopy splintered.

Cinder felt rather than heard the twenty millimeter cannon shell pass by an inch from her left ear inside the helmet, miss her shoulder by even less, and pass through the windscreen, leaving a hole there as well. She rammed the stick into a dive, which saved her life as Pyrrha sliced more cannon shells through the sky she'd been in, tearing away a few inches off the left tail of the Su-27. Pyrrha overshot again, narrowly missing her opponent; she'd been close enough to make out the marking on the back of Cinder's helmet, which was what she'd been aiming for. "Skata!" Pyrrha shouted in rage.

Cinder reversed her turn as she pulled out. She had to put some distance between her and the maddened Greek. Then she saw Vernal's F-5 cross in front of her, followed by Weiss' F-20. "Maybe I've been dancing with the wrong partner," she said. One finger switched back to AMRAAMs; another fired.

Vernal had run out of tricks, and Weiss knew it. She was firing her cannon, the twin 20 millimeters in front of the cockpit actually a bit easier to aim, and Vernal kept dodging. What the bandit didn't realize that Weiss wasn't trying to hit her: she was herding Vernal into Sidewinder parameters.

She saw the missile a fraction too late. Instinctively, Weiss turned away from it, which ensured the missile hit her tail rather than right in the center of the F-20. The AMRAAM exploded a millisecond later.

The force of the explosion threw Weiss forward in her straps. The entire tail flew up and backwards, along with one of the horizontal stablizers, throwing the Tigershark into a spin. A glance into the rearview mirror showed nothing but flames.

Yang, in her own desperate fight with Mercury, saw the F-20 turning into a torch. "Weiss!" she screamed. "You're on fire! Get out of it! Get out of it!"

Weiss heard the warning, and knew there were only seconds before the flames reached the fuel tanks. The spin was causing the horizon to roll around madly, clouds and sky switching places with the water. She braced herself as best she could, reached down for the eject handle between her legs with both hands, thinking Colonel Montero is going to be so pissed as she pulled the handle.

The F-20 exploded.

The force of the explosion knocked Weiss unconscious. The ejection seat had fired at the same time the explosion happened, and it sent the seat tumbling end over end. Somehow, the fireball did not consume her; she was saved by the nomex fire-resistant flight suit and her helmet. Her oxygen mask was torn away, and then the seat separated, but that was what it was designed to do. As the seat tumbled away, it pulled lanyards free and Weiss' parachute deployed automatically. The whumpf of the 'chute opening brought her back to consciousness. She blinked, and felt something warm trickling over her lips. Dazed, she brought up a gloved hand to her nose; it came away bloody. Then she looked down.

One leg looked fine, though the foot was dangling weirdly. The other was twisted at an odd angle, the foot ninety degrees off kilter. That's very odd, Weiss thought before the black curtain of unconsciousness returned, I can't feel my legs.