AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry this is running late. I got behind on writing due to the coronavirus craziness, and therefore had to write this today. That and it's a sad, sad chapter. From here on out, things are going to hell, and characters that we love are going to die. But that's war..

Incidentally, the KVLY-TV tower exists.

Transient Aircraft Tarmac

Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada

14 May 2001

1130 Hours Local

"Ready?" Penny Polendina asked Pyrrha. They stood at the edge of the tarmac.

"I am. Are you? This is kind of your big day."

"Yep!" Penny was happy; she would finally get her chance to shine and show what she could do. She had over Lake Michigan, but no one knew about that: this was the Paladin Project's public unveiling. She noticed something about Pyrrha as well. "You seem pretty chipper, Pyrrha. Not that I'm complaining, but what's up?"

Pyrrha could not help but smile. "Let's just say I finally decided to start living my life rather than just existing." She was glad Penny seemed naïve about certain things of life. When Pyrrha had walked from the BOQ towards the flightline, she'd passed Blake, who was headed towards the Officers' Club for lunch. They'd exchanged some small talk, but the whole time Pyrrha was sure Blake knew exactly what she'd been up to. Abruptly, she remembered that some Faunus had heightened senses of smell, and blushed; what if Blake had smelled Jaune on her?

Penny's eyes lit up. "Someone found a boyyyyfriennnd," she sang. Pyrrha said nothing, but the shy smile told even Penny that she wasn't wrong. "So cool! Tell me who it is."

"A lady never tells, Penny."

"Aww."

"Ladies." Both women turned and snapped to attention, saluting General Ironwood as he walked up to them, with Ciel Soleil in tow. "Ready to go?"

"Yes, sir!" both answered.

"Good. Remember this is for the cameras—nothing too fancy. Everyone's nervous after what happened with Captain Long yesterday, so let's keep it professional."

Pyrrha nodded. She handed Ironwood the packet Ruth Lionheart had left for Nora. "Yes, sir. Sir, would you mind giving this to Captain Ozpin? I was going to do it yesterday, but…got distracted."

Ironwood took the packet. He'd heard about Pyrrha's visit with Amber, as had Ozpin. Neither were too upset about it; both saw it as a good thing, especially if it helped both women—Pyrrha to make her decision, Amber to ease her last days. "From Ruth Lionheart?"

"Yes. It's gun camera film from—" Pyrrha remembered Penny and Ciel standing there. "It's gun camera film. You should look over it."

"Very well." He tucked the packet under his arm. "All right. Captain Soleil?"

Ciel stepped forward. "Let's go over this one more time, by the numbers. Penny, you'll take off first. Head directly to Lake Michigan. The drones will be launched from Sawyer AFB, and you will engage at 20 miles. You have twenty AMRAAMs loaded aboard, and there are 24 drones. Any leakers will be Major Nikos' to kill. It's all right if you don't get all of them…but try to. Major, if you feel it's safe to engage with guns, feel free." Pyrrha nodded. She was carrying four AMRAAMs and two Sidewinders, plus live rounds for the gun. "Once you've completed the mission, return home. No funny stuff like buzzing the field, Penny." Penny looked disappointed, but nodded. "Then there will be an interview after you land for both of you. The press is arriving now—" Ciel pointed down the taxiway, where the media was beginning to gather "—but you don't need to speak with them. Wave if you want, but that's all. Understood?"

"Yes," Pyrrha replied.

"Yes, ma'am," Penny added.

"Very good. Ladies, good luck. Should be an easy one today." Ironwood patted the packet. "I'll give this to Ozpin, Major. See you when you get back."

"Sir," Pyrrha asked softly, "have you heard about Yang—Captain Long?"

Ironwood bent down, a little closer. "Things are looking better with that, Major. I think Yang will be all right."

Pyrrha smiled. "Wonderful, sir. Thank you. And about a certain thing you asked me…" Pyrrha closed her eyes, and decided. "I'll do it."

Ironwood smiled back. "Thank you, Major." He shook hands with her, then Penny. Ciel hesitated, then hugged Penny, which took the latter aback a little; Ciel had never really shown much affection for her charge.

Then it was just Penny and Pyrrha. "Well, here we go. Ready?" Pyrrha asked.

"Let's do this." Penny reached out and gathered Pyrrha into a hug with surprising strength, and then both walked towards their aircraft. They came into sight of the press; Pyrrha, used to this sort of attention, waved, but found it surprisingly easy to smile—usually she had to fake one, but not today. Penny waved enthusiastically, not at all fazed by the cameras. She then nodded to the older pilot and turned to walk towards the B-1. Pyrrha had a few more strides to get to her F-16. It was already preflighted, so all she had to do was climb in. Her crew chief helped her strap in; as Pyrrha put on her helmet, she heard the B-1 begin to spool up, the engines rapidly approaching a roar. The chocks were pulled from the Lancer as Pyrrha's crew chief gave a friendly slap to her helmet, climbed down and removed the ladder. She started the engine once she was sure he was clear, made sure the navigation system was working, then waited with her hands outside of the canopy as the bomber began to move forward.

Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)

1150 Hours Local

"Hey, Yang." Blake shut the door behind her. Yang was sitting on her bed, watching a television that had been "midnight requisitioned" the night before from the dorm rec room, a military euphemism for outright stolen. It had been a joint operation of Ruby Flight. "Watching Penny and Pyrrha?"

"Yeah." Yang saw that Blake was carrying something. "Whoa. Is that lunch?"

"Uh huh." She handed Yang the plastic packet. Inside was Shopkeeper's best steak and noodles. "Oh, hot damn," Yang said, unwrapped the fork, and dug in.

"Big appetite." Blake was glad to see it. Even Qrow Branwen had not been able to cheer her up the night before. If anything, Yang had looked more depressed after he left.

"Feeling better." Yang got up, grabbed a soda from the refrigerator, and sat down again, cracking it open. "Slept pretty good, and Ironwood came by about an hour ago. They think they found evidence that shows I didn't know about the live rounds. If that's the case, I'll probably be exonerated. Worst that'll happen is I might get a letter of admonishment." A letter of admonishment was one step below a letter of reprimand; it could damage her career, but not destroy it. She drank a third of the soda. "Someone forged that fucking form."

"Well, that's good news—about you being exonerated, not the forgery. He say anything else? I notice the guard is still outside."

"Yeah, he's got to stay there until the court of inquiry is convened—Ironbutt wants to do that tomorrow. At least they got a hunky guy today. I might want to see if he can 'guard' me really closely. I mean, just in case." Yang wiggled her eyebrows at Blake, who laughed. If Yang was joking again, all was right with the world.

"Where's Ruby and Weiss?"

"Weiss is at the O'Club; she's getting some lunch and coming back here. Ruby got some lunch and then is going to see if she can talk to Ozpin about something. She didn't tell me what it was, but I bet she's trying to find out about you."

"Sounds like Rubes. She's a good little sister. Don't tell her I said that; it'll go to her head."

Blake snickered. "How about your uncle?"

"He took off this morning." Yang didn't tell Blake why. The night before, they had talked about Raven. Qrow had filled in some of the blanks for Yang, though not much more than what Raven herself had. He was already scheduled to fly out to Ellsworth to relieve Glynda Goodwitch in finding out where the mysterious red F-22 went, but promised to come back as soon as he was able. He had told her to try and understand her biological mother, but Yang was having trouble coming up with reasons why. Raven had abandoned her, and that was that; Summer Rose had been her mother, and there was really no other reason to even see Raven Branwen again.

Blake noticed Yang was growing a bit somber again, so sat next to her on the bed. She didn't hug her, just was close enough to let her friend know she was there. "Looks like they're taxiing out."

KVLY-TV Tower

Near Former Blanchard, North Dakota Dead Zone, United States of Canada

1200 Hours

"We're online," Arthur Watts told Sienna Khan.

"Good." She shivered, and not because it was a little cold. There were only a handful of them, and they were standing in the middle of a Dead Zone. If any GRIMM detected them, it would be over in minutes. "How long?"

"I can activate Black Queen at any time," he replied.

"And the broadcast?"

"That as well." He set the laptop down on the passenger seat of the pickup, and stared upwards. "Our abandonment of Mountain Glenn may have been fortiutous. This transmitter will work much better."

Sienna joined him in looking up. The KVLY-TV Tower was the tallest structure in the world: a thin steel tower stretching over two thousand feet into the sky, held in place by guy wires as thick as those on a suspension bridge. Because it stood on an otherwise featureless plain, it gave coverage well over the horizon. To their surprise, it was still fairly well-maintained: they had found documents on the tower at Hector, where a team of USAF personnel went out every three months to inspect it, GRIMM permitting: it had strategic uses—one of which was broadcasting emergency instructions, which was exactly what Watts intended to use it for now. "I'd read about this when I was little," Sienna said, "but I thought it had been destroyed years ago."

"As soon as the broadcast is made, we'll return to Hector and launch the main phase of the operation." They turned as one of the White Fang soldiers came out of the tower's operations shack. "Sir, it's on the radio. The Paladin demonstration has started."

"Good." Watts sat down in the truck, picked up the laptop, crackled his knuckles, and began typing.

Near Manitowoc, Wisconsin

1215 Hours Local

Pyrrha held position below and to Penny's right as they crossed the Lake Michigan coast, and they began a turn over the water, in a shallow climb. She admired the B-1's sleek lines; it didn't look quite of the earth. "Pyrrha, Penny," the other girl called out. "Contact. Multiple bandits, bearing 080, angels ten, range eighty."

"Roger that, Penny. Come left to 080, let's close." The two aircraft began the turn, the B-1's wings sliding backwards. Pyrrha hoped that Penny wouldn't try to outdistance her; the Lancer was almost as fast as the F-16, and the B-1 was running clean, with everything internal.

In the bomber, Penny checked the instruments; everything was excellent. She could let the computer fly the intercept—the people on the ground would never notice—but it was more fun to "hand fly" the aircraft. Their closing speed was well over the speed of sound, and although the AMRAAMs were still out of range, Penny ordered. "DUST, lock on bandits, first ten." A soft chime let her know the DUST system had activated. The onboard radar swiveled inside the nose, locked onto all 24 drones, and the DUST system picked the ten contacts it deemed the most threatening. To enhance its ability, it drew on a satellite orbiting two thousand miles above them. Carried within the satellite signal was Watts' commands.

Without warning, the B-1's control column was wrenched out of Penny's hands, with enough force that if she hadn't let go, she might've broken her wrists. The bomber abruptly made a hard right break, right into the path of Pyrrha. "Skata!" Pyrrha shouted, but before her brain had finished processing the situation her hands were already moving, rolling the F-16 down and to the left. The fighter lurched as it hit the bomber's jetwash, but she compensated. "Penny, Pyrrha, what are you doing?"

"I don't know!" Penny was startled enough to forget procedure. She grabbed the controls and tried to bring it back on course, but it barely budged. The B-1 was now heading south and accelerating. "Pyrrha, Penny! Something's wrong!"

Pyrrha pushed her throttle forward and closed the distance. She looked over the bomber quickly; there was no visible damage. "Vytal Flag, Vytal Flag, knock it off!" she shouted. "Something's wrong with Penny!"

"Range Control, acknowledged," the controller said. The drones immediately slowed down, no longer moving towards them; they were unarmed in any case. "Penny, Range Control, are you declaring an emergency?"

"Range Control, Penny, wait one." She pulled back on the controls, but once more, it did almost nothing: the B-1's nose came up just a little, the airspeed bled off, but it quickly snapped back into place. Her fingers flew over buttons and switches, but nothing responded. She tried to run a diagnostic, then switch off DUST, then pulled the throttle back, but it did not budge at all. "Oh shit," she breathed. "Oh shit."

"Penny, Pyrrha, what's going on?"

Penny felt fear crawling up her throat. "Pyrrha, Penny. I've lost control of the aircraft. Repeat, I have no control of Paladin."

"Can you get back control?"

"Negative." With horror, Penny knew what was going on. "Pyrrha, Paladin thinks I'm dead. It won't acknowledge control inputs, diagnostic, anything. It's locked me out. Wait one." She couldn't log into the onboard computer anymore, but she could tell where they were going. "My new course is one-seven-two, speed 500, angels five. Radar is on, DUST is on. Searching for targets." Pyrrha looked at her own radar. There was nothing in front of them that could be targeted. There were certainly no threats. Then she reached out with a finger and traced the line of their course, and her breath nearly caught in her throat. "Penny, Pyrrha. Try to go to port."

"Roger." A pause. "Nothing. It swings me back as soon as I try."

"Penny, can you switch channels? Go to channel three."

"Negative. I have no control. Paladin is coming right to one-six-nine, speed increasing, angels seven. Radar is still searching for targets; DUST has slaved the first ten missiles to the radar." Penny's voice was even, a test pilot who understood something was wrong with their aircraft and trying to work the problem—or at least give out information for those who would be later investigating it.

"Penny, you're on a direct course for Chicago-O'Hare," Pyrrha said.

"Roger, concur. Radar has…" Penny paused. "Radar has locked on. New target at range one hundred. Speed increasing to max, 700."

Penny's own radar did not have that kind of range. "Beacon, Pyrrha. Paladin is locking targets at range one hundred, bearing one-seven-two. That is over North Chicago. Are there any bogeys or bandits?"

The controllers at Beacon had been watching the situation unfold. "Wait one, Pyrrha, we're checking." Pyrrha's fingers tightened around her stick and throttle; they were traveling over a mile every ten seconds. "Pyrrha, Penny, Beacon." The controller's voice had risen an octave. "Paladin is spiked on a civilian airliner, repeat, buddy spike, buddy spike."

"Penny here." She waited until the controller had finished. "Paladin remains locked on target one, now locked on target two, two miles behind target one."

"Mother of God," Pyrrha exclaimed. The Paladin was locking onto the airliners in the approach pattern to O'Hare. At 25 miles, it would begin firing. "Penny—"

Penny overrode her. "Pyrrha, you have to shoot down the Paladin."

"What? No!"

"Pyrrha, you have to!" Penny shouted. "We'll be over land in five minutes. After that, there's no telling where the aircraft will go down."

"Roger that." Pyrrha mouthed some vile Greek curses under her breath, and fell back into trail. "Let me know when you're ready to punch out, Penny."

"Negative. I can't eject. I can't get out." Penny's voice was sad, not panicky or upset. She sounded more disappointed than scared.

"What are you talking about?" All radio etiquette was forgotten now. "Punch out!"

"I can't," Penny replied. "Paladin is not equipped with an ejection seat, and we're going too fast to get out manually." Pyrrha could hear Penny's sad smile in her voice. "I'm sorry, Pyrrha. I'll try to make it easier for you."

"I can't do it!" Pyrrha cried.

"Range now fifty, landfall in three minutes. Pyrrha, do it."

"No, please God, no…"

"It's okay, Pyrrha. There are others. Pulling back now." Penny reached forward, grabbed the control column with both hands, and hauled back as hard as she could. It overrode the Paladin's programming for just a moment, and the B-1's nose rose into the air, shedding airspeed. "Shoot! Shoot!"

Pyrrha had already settled the gunsight over the B-1. The radar was locked on, and warbled in her ears. Penny was giving her the best target she was going to get. "Oh God," Pyrrha said, the tears streaming over her oxygen mask, "forgive me."

She pulled the trigger four times.

The AMRAAMs leapt off the rails. They were near minimum range, and their radar seeker heads only saw an easy target, even as the Lancer dropped back to level flight. They closed the distance in seconds. The first struck the B-1 in the right engine pod beneath the wing, blowing off most of the wing assembly. The second hit the tail. The third landed squarely in the Lancer's spine. The fourth landed just behind the cockpit. The entire bomber and its full load of fuel and missiles vanished in a massive explosion. Pyrrha climbed hard to clear it. As she rolled upside down, she watched what little remained of the aircraft fall into Lake Michigan, well short of the beach.

"Pyrrha, Beacon—"

"This is Pyrrha. Target is destroyed." Pyrrha's voice was flat, almost robotic. "Time is 1823 Zulu, 1223 local."

There was silence on the channel. "Pyrrha, Beacon," the controller called out. "Any survivors from Paladin One?"

"Negative."

"Understood, Pyrrha. RTB Beacon."

"Roger." Pyrrha turned on course for the base. She switched off her radio, and let out a primal scream of pure sorrow and rage.

KVLY-TV Tower, North Dakota Dead Zone

1225 Local

"And that's that," Watts sighed. "Hated to do that. There was a lot of my time and trouble put into the project. But…they should've listened to me."

Sienna couldn't find her voice. The entire incident had been broadcast live over radio as well as TV, and they had heard Penny's death. Even the High Leader of the White Fang was stunned. "The pilot..." she began.

"Weapon system," Watts corrected her, an edge in his voice. "That was completely unnecessary. It was Pietro Polendina's idea to use a human pilot, not mine. I wanted it completely automated! Well, he's reaping the benefits now, isn't he, the old cripple!" Watts was shouting, realized it, and calmed himself. "Well. Enough about that rubbish. Sienna, your broadcast awaits."

"Yes…yes, of course." She quickly walked into the shack. There was no place to sit, so she simply leaned against the table, took the microphone that was held out to her, and waited. She didn't need cue cards; she'd been rehearshing this speech for months. One of her soldiers threw Watts a thumbs-up, and he typed in a quick command. Every television signal from Winnipeg to Sioux Falls to Beacon was now overriden.

"This is not a tragedy," Sienna began. "This is not an accident."

Commanding Officer's Office

Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin

1230 Local

Ozpin stared at the television feed. It had been showing Pyrrha's camera pod, on the centerline of the F-16; the B-1, thankfully, had not been so equipped. The television stations had cut the feed, but not before everyone watching it had watched Penny Polendina die. Ironwood, behind him, had fallen back against the window jamb in shock. The talking head on the TV, who was trying to figure out what had gone wrong, suddenly derezzed and was replaced with a black queen chess piece, against a blood red field. "What in God's name?"

"This is not a tragedy. This is not an accident," the female voice said. It sounded dimly familiar, but he couldn't pick it out; there was the slightest hint of a British accent. "This is what happens when you hand over your trust, your safety, and your children to men and women who claim to be our guardians…but in reality, are nothing more than fallible human beings."

The door flew open, admitting Glynda Goodwitch. She was still in her flight suit; she'd arrived only a few minutes after Pyrrha and Penny had left. Ozpin looked up. She shook her head. "They can't cut the feed. Someone's hijacked the signal."

"You have handed over absolute power to people who cannot be trusted with it," the voice continued. "They cling to this power in the name of peace, but do we have peace? They built a robot killing machine, stuck a poor, innocent girl inside of it, and forced the Invincible Girl of Greece to kill her when it failed and began mercilessly targeting civilians. And this is what we trust our safety to against the GRIMM! We are not safe. You are not safe."

"Goddammit," Ironwood snarled, "who the hell is that?"

"And in this critical exercise, in the frontline at Vytal Flag, command is given to a tired old man, who refuses to retire. A man who began the Huntsman/Huntress program, but one who has lost control. His pilots claim to carry themselves with honor and mercy—and have done neither. Today was avoidable; yesterday was outright murder as Captain Yang Xiao Long killed Lieutenant Mercury Black in revenge for a minor slight. Perhaps Captain Oscar Ozpin felt that Vytal Flag would cause you, the public, to forget his near failure to protect La Crosse from a GRIMM attack. Or perhaps this was the attempt of America's elected leaders to convince you that they control the frontiers. To be honest, I do not know or care who is right or wrong. But peace is fragile, and the leaders of our nations conduct their business with barely concealed contempt for one another, with iron gloves, often at the behest of corporations like the Schnee Company.

"I am from Europe, and I can assure you that the situation there is no better. We are constantly on the brink of war, and yet we, the citizens, are left in the dark. So I ask you, citizens of the world: when it is demonstrated that your leaders are no longer in control, that all their military might cannot stop the GRIMM…who do you think you can trust?"

KVLY-TV Tower, North Dakota Dead Zone

1245 Local

Sienna switched the microphone off and walked out of the shack. "Well?" she asked Watts.

"Well put, High Leader." He scooted over to the passenger seat. "Shall we go? I imagine this area will shortly be filled with a great deal of GRIMM. We're not their target, but they're not terribly intelligent."

"Let's go." She climbed into the driver's seat and nodded towards one of her men. "Brian, let Hector know to start loading the C-130. We leave in three hours."