AUTHOR'S NOTES: Again, running late. It's tough to write a story about death and destructon when there's so much of it IRL. But we will press on.

Incidentally, Neo has her longest line to date in this.

Rock 22

Near Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada

14 May 2001

1400 Hours Local

Sienna Khan balanced herself between the pilot and copilot's seats as the C-130 flew through a bit of turbulence. She checked her watch. They'd had to move up their attack time, as Salem's "surprise" was running a little early. She didn't like it: instead of going in around dinner time, when JRB Beacon could be expected to be relaxing at the end of the day, the White Fang were attacking in broad daylight, in the middle of the afternoon. Then again, that in itself could be an advantage, and it was certainly working to their advantage to be following Wolf Den 34 past the Mississippi River.

Octavia was flying the C-130; she was the only White Fang operative in North America with multiengine qualification. In the copilot's seat was Roman Torchwick, who had some time on multiengine aircraft as well. Sienna glanced behind her: there were thirty soldiers in the back, all dressed in captured fatigues with white White Fang jerkins.

Sienna reached forward and tapped Roman on the shoulder. He nodded. "Beacon, Rock 22. We've developed engine trouble. We're going to need to put down."

"Rock 22, Beacon. Did you get hit?"

"Ah, negative, Beacon. We've been fighting engine problems for the past week. Had to put in at Hector."

"Are you declaring an emergency, Rock 22?"

Roman hesitated. "Negative, Beacon," he finally replied. "Just playing it safe."

Beacon Tower hesitated as well. After a moment, they came back on. "Roger, Rock 22. You are cleared to land on Runway 03 Left. Visibility is twelve miles with scattered to broken clouds, winds are calm. No other traffic your area."

"Much obliged, Beacon." Roman waited until Octavia had begun her turn for approach, then drew back the throttle for engine number four. "Feathering four?"

Octavia pushed the other throttles forward to compensate. "Why?"

"In case someone is watching us through binoculars." He looked back at Sienna. "Seven minutes." She nodded, took off her headset, and dropped back down to the hold, holding up seven fingers.

Moonslice

Near Black River Falls, Wisconsin, United States of Canada

1405 Hours Local

Adam Taurus grinned behind his oxygen mask as he hurtled over ridges, bending trees in his wake. He'd taken a big chance: he'd flown at high speed and low level since leaving Hector, rather than trying to fly in close formation with the C-130 so their radar signatures would blend together. Adam was betting that the AWACS would be too busy dealing with the Nevermore, and over the lakes and forests of northern Minnesota, the E-3's radar would be degraded. So far, it had worked, but their luck could not hold for much longer.

The assault would begin in two minutes, according to the clock on his instrument panel. As he went over one ridge, he looked at his fuel. The two drop tanks underneath the Moonslice's wings were running close to empty. He'd hold onto them as long as he could before dropping them, to wring every last bit of fuel from them. The Moonslice didn't have a lot of internal fuel.

His Radar Warning Reciever beeped for his intention, and Adam's eyes instantly went towards the threat display. An air search radar was looking at him. "Neo, you'd better be doing your job," he said. He didn't have the fuel to dogfight. Not yet.

Cardinal Flight

Near Tunnel Hill, Wisconsin, United States of Canada

1407 Hours Local

"Whoa, what's that?" Russel Thrush looked at his radar display in the center of the instrument panel. "Cardin, Russel, I've got a bogey bearing zero seven one, twenty miles." There was no response. "Cardin, Russel."

Cardin was still staring at the smoking remains of Dove Bronzewing's F-18. He'd called for his friend a dozen times, but there was no response. There was no beeper or parachute. Cardin could not believe that Dove was gone. He heard Russel's call, but could not find his voice. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

And in doing so, Cardin made two near fatal mistakes: he lost situational awareness, and he flew in a straight line. As a result, he never saw the blood red F-22 suddenly drop out of the clouds. Neo smiled, centered the gunsight between the two engines of Cardin's F-15, and fired a Sidewinder.

The shriek of his RWR broke Cardin out of his shock, and he slammed the stick to one side, dropping flares. His reflexes saved him: the Sidewinder tracked on one of the flares and exploded. He looked behind the twin tails and saw the F-22 dropping down behind him. "Russel, I got a Raptor climbing up my ass!"

Russel, who had been turning east to identify the bogey, saw Cardin in a hard left break, the F-22 hot on his tail. "Fuck! Where the hell did he come from?" He snapped the stick over and felt the G-suit squeeze hard as he racked the F-16 hard to the left. The Raptor flew into his gunsight: it would be a tough deflection shot, but Russel fired a Sidewinder anyway; if nothing else, it would force the bandit off Cardin's tail.

Neo had seen the F-16 curving in out of the corner of her eye. She skidded the Raptor, using its vectored thrust to suddenly change direction, rotating the nose away from Cardin and her engines away from the Sidewinder, while dropping flares herself. The missile, which never had a great lock to begin with, sailed past, and now Russel was in range. Neo switched to guns and opened fire as they passed head-on. Cannon shells flew down the F-16's underslung intake and along the lower fuselage, and smashed into the engine.

"Oh shit!" Russel shouted. Fire warning lights went on instantly, and he could feel the fighter losing power. "Cardin, Russel, I'm hit. I gotta get out. Sorry." He braced himself, reached between his legs, and pulled the ejection handle.

Neo smiled as she saw the pilot eject from the burning F-16. Now it was just her and the F-15. She pressed the radio button. "Neo to Adam. You're clear."

Base Headquarters

1409 Hours Local

Ozpin's fingers tightened around the phone. "Are you sure, General?"

"We're sure, Captain," Major General Miguel Calavera replied. "We've had to shut down the entire barrier. We're afraid if we switch the SAMs back on, they'll just start engaging everything that flies again. As it is, they shot down two friendly fighters and forced a C-130 to crashland at Camp McCoy, as well as the Nevermore. It's some sort of systemwide computer error…or it's an act of sabotage."

"How so, General?"

"I think we've been hacked."

Ozpin glanced upwards as Pyrrha and Jaune were ushered back in the office by Glynda. Then a light began blinking on the phone; the control tower was trying to reach him. "General, wait one, please." He put Calavera on hold and punched the button. "Ozpin."

"Control tower, sir. Something weird's going on. Cardinal Flight is still over by La Crosse—what's left of them. They're engaged with a F-22, and—and we just lost Russel Thrush. He just got shot down. Russel reported tracking a bogey before then, but we think it was a different contact."

Ozpin went pale. "What's in our airspace right now?"

"Just Rock 22—a C-130 with engine trouble. Landing right now."

"Sound air raid warning. Scramble all fighters."

"Sir?" the senior controller asked.

"You heard me. Scramble everything we have. I don't want to be caught on the ground." The controller gave an affirmative and hung up. He got Calavera back on the line. "General, we may be under attack. I'm putting everything I have in the air. I suggest you go on alert, just the same."

"Will do, Captain. Listen—I've got 2 Troop of Delta Force at Camp McCoy; they were on the C-130 that crashlanded."

"James had mentioned he'd requested them, just in case the White Fang should attack." Ozpin didn't mention that he thought it was overkill. Delta Force were the very best the United States had; they were far better than the White Fang.

"Yeah. I thought about bringing them out here, but if Beacon's under attack, it sounds like you need them more than me. I'll get them to you most ricky tick." Ozpin smiled at the latter; it was an old expression from the Vietnam War that had made it into American military lexicon.

"It can't hurt, General. Thank you. I'll call you back when I know more." Ozpin hung up as air raid sirens began to go off around the base. "Major Nikos, Lieutenant Arc—we're scrambling. Get to your aircraft immediately."

"About Amber, sir—" Pyrrha began.

He held up a hand. "Worry about her later. Go." Both came to attention and then dashed out the door. Glynda began to go as well, but Ozpin stopped her. "Hold on a moment, Glynda."

"Why? I need to get into the air too."

"Not yet," Ozpin said. "This is just beginning."

Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)

1411 Hours Local

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but you can't relieve me," the air policeman said, hands behind his back. "Until I get a direct order from my superior officer or from Captain Ozpin, I have to stay at my post."

Ruby almost stomped her foot in frustration. "But Airman, I'm telling you, he told me to tell you that you're relieved!"

The air policeman shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but—" The air raid sirens went off, and the loudspeaker blared "Active air scramble. This is no drill."

The dorm room door opened and Blake stuck her head out. "Ruby? What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know, but we're back on flight status!" She stared daggers at the airman. "Captain Ozpin said so!"

"Let's go." Blake flung open the door. Ruby dashed in and stripped down to her underwear; Weiss was already pulling her flight suit on. Yang was doing the same, as Zwei ran around, yipping, knowing something was wrong, by the urgency of the humans and the noise of the alarm. Blake tossed Ruby's flight suit towards her and grabbed her own. They were all suited up in a minute, even if Yang was still struggling to get her zipper over her bosom as they headed out.

"Hey!" the air policeman said as Yang left the room, his hand going to his pistol. "You can't leave! You're still under—"

Yang fixed him with a look. "Listen, asshole," she snarled. "I'm getting in my aircraft. I'm scrambling with my flight. You have two choices. You can shoot me or you can let me go. Which is it?"

The airman hesitated. As Ruby Flight headed for the stairs, he tagged along, deciding that at least this way he was still technically keeping an eye on Yang.

Rock 22

1413 Hours Local

Octavia smoothly taxiied the C-130 to the transient aircraft tarmac, following the airman guiding her in with hand signals. For added effect, she feathered the number three engine, then stopped the engines entirely. "We're here," she called out.

Sienna cracked her back, checked the M4, and clicked the safety off. "Remember the plan!" she shouted to her soldiers. "I will lead Team One to the pilots' dorms and kill them. Ilia, you'll take Team Two and destroy the aircraft—Roman, you follow them and take your pick."

Roman unstrapped from the copilot's seat. "Sounds like fun."

She pointed to a goateed bat Faunus."Yuma will take Team Three to the end of the runway. If anything gets in the air, shoot it down. Adam should be making an appearance soon, and he'll make a few strafing runs." She didn't like the last part, but continued on. "Blake Belladonna is to be taken alive. Everyone else is expendable. We may run into Cinder Fall's team, but I'm not aware of her movements, so we're not waiting for her. Also, we can expect to get more support from this Salem person, and Neo Politan is on top cover until Roman gets up there to help her. You have thirty minutes! After that, exfiltrate to the north or anyway you can, and meet up at the rally point." She nodded at them. "Good luck. Let's make the humans pay for what they've done! This is the day we've waited for!" She saluted them with an upraised fist. Her soldiers returned it.

Roman opened the rear ramp. The White Fang tensed as one, weapons coming up, hearts hammering. He noticed three or four of the Faunus touch hands, or hold hands for a moment; one hurriedly broke off from the main group to urinate in a bucket. Then the ramp was down. One of the ground crew stuck his head around the side. His eyes widened.

"White Fang!" Sienna shouted.

"WHITE FANG!" they responded, and charged out the back of the ramp.

The first to die were the ground crew that had come out to chock the C-130. With no weapons, they were overrun in a matter of seconds. Next was Ciel Soleil, who was out preflighting her F-15 for a long, sad trip back to Eglin AFB. Ciel and her crew chief spotted the White Fang coming out of the transport; Ciel shouted a warning, and shoved the sergeant out of the way. She went for the .38 pistol in her shoulder holster, but had barely cleared it when Sienna raised her M4 and opened fire. Bullets caught Ciel in the chest and she went down. Sienna quickly jogged towards her as Ciel began to helplessly crawl for the ladder of her aircraft. The White Fang High Leader kicked the pistol aside, turned over the pilot with a toe. Ciel bared bloody teeth at her. "Pika twa, cochon," she hissed.

Sienna shot her in the head. Then she pulled a grenade from her web gear, climbed up the ladder to the cockpit, and tossed it in. She ran off as it exploded, blowing the canopy off. She looked at the F-22 parked a few paces distant, and decided to leave it. Roman just might want it. She motioned her troops forward. Her team followed her, as Ilia's team headed for the dispersal and Yuma's group headed for the runways. As they did, they saw a F-15 and a F-14 begin to take off, afterburners leaving a white trail of shock diamonds.

So did Adam. He came over the northern perimeter of Beacon, intending to make a strafing run, but then saw the two aircraft rolling down the runway. He broke off his run and rolled left.

Blake was the first out of the FOQ, followed by Ruby. Ruby's head whipped around. "Whoa! What's that?" Then it turned, revealing its profile. Her silver eyes widened. "Oh, cool! Forward-swept wings! I've never…" Her voice trailed off, as she realized what that meant.

Blake stopped cold. "Moonslice," she breathed. "Adam."

"Fuck him!" Yang shouted. "Look!" She pointed. There were at least twenty White Fang coming up Arryn Avenue.

"Back inside!" Weiss ordered; they were easy targets out in the open. The White Fang saw them, and three of them dropped to one knee and fired. They flung themselves back into the dorm, nearly knocking over Nora, who had been rushing out the stairs, and Velvet, who was running down the hallway, hopping as she pulled on one boot. Bullets shattered the entrance door windows; one ricocheted off and hit the air policeman in the shoulder.

"Shit!" Nora pulled the airman down the hall. Blood was running from the wound, and she put her hands on it. Blake pulled her ribbon off her ears and threw it to her. "Anybody bring weapons?" she asked. She pulled a knife out of her boot.

"They're all locked up in the equipment room!" Weiss yelled back.

Ruby reached over and took the air policeman's pistol out of the holster, checked the clip to see if it was loaded, and slammed it back home. "We got this—eight shots."

Yang grinned wanly. "Well, maybe we can get them to line up in a row."

Adam shook his head minutely; it was almost too easy. He closed the distance fast and switched to guns, aiming for the F-15 first. He pulled the trigger. Twenty millimeter shells sparkled as they hit the runway in front of the fighter, then miraculously missed the cockpit to march the length of the Eagle. Flames burst from holed fuel tanks. The F-15's nose came up, then slammed back down, then skidded off the runway, the canopy separating and the pilot ejecting. Adam swept past and shifted to the Tomcat, but it was already in the air and rocketing into a climb he could not hope to match. He broke away and began to circle back for another run at the dispersal.

Pyrrha and Jaune were running down the street, joined by Ren and Fox Alasdair. They too saw the White Fang and went to cover in the park. "Damn," Fox said. "Anyone bring a gun?"

"Can't say as I have," Jaune replied. Two Security Forces came running towards them, in battle gear—the headquarters guards. The White Fang opened fire on them, and both men joined the four pilots under cover. Bullets sang through the trees and branches, scattering leaves over them. The policemen popped up, fired three shots apiece, then dropped back down.

"May I borrow this?" Ren asked, pointing to the SF man's holster.

"Help yourself," the sergeant replied. Ren took the pistol and grabbed the another from the other policeman. "Who's the best shot?"

"Hand it here," Pyrrha said. He did so, and they added their fire to the two Security Forces. The combined fire was enough to make the White Fang seek cover.

Camp McCoy

Wisconsin, United States of Canada

1420 Hours Local

Major Jacob Gagnon watched as his men loaded their gear into a deuce and a half truck. Sergeant Sean Fletcher walked up to him. "Should be ready to go in about two minutes, sir."

"Good." He looked up at the sky. There was smoke on the horizon, and they could see curls of contrails. "Some kind of air battle up there." He turned as Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata ran up to him. "Major," she said breathlessly, "we just got a report from Beacon. Very strange—they're reporting they're under ground attack."

"Who the hell would be attacking by ground?" Gagnon asked.

"White Fang. A whole bunch of them; at least forty, possibly more. The tower's still on the air, and they report possible air attack as well."

"The White Fang?" Fletcher wanted to know. "This deep into the Remnant?"

Gagnon whistled. "Break out your kit!" he shouted. "We're going into a fight! White Fang are assaulting Beacon!" His men didn't question the order; they began immediately pulling weapons out of their storage, and grabbing magazines. Fletcher sketched a hasty salute and headed for the truck.

"Anything else, Captain?" Gagnon asked.

"Not yet, sir." She paused. "Major, you're going to be outnumbered."

Gagnon smiled. "We're Delta. We're always outnumbered."

Bighorn-Vlata smiled back. "Well, sir, excuse me for asking, but…I doubt the White Fang brought antitank weapons with them." She nodded towards the 1st Armored Division patch on her shoulder.

His smile widened. "How soon can you be ready?"

"Get going, sir. You ever see an Abrams at full speed? We'll be along presently."

He slapped her shoulder. "Much obliged, Captain."

Front Gate

Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada

1423 Hours Local

Airman Michael Naiseth waved down the approaching car. It came to a halt as more gunfire erupted in the distance. Naiseth ducked out of pure instinct as a strange forward-swept wing fighter roared overhead. He went up to the driver's side window. "Get back!" he shouted. "Base is closed, dumbass! We're under attack! Move your ass!"

The window rolled down and Cinder Fall stared back at him calmly. She was wearing her flight suit. "Airman, I am Major Fall. Let me onto the base. I need to get to my aircraft immediately."

The name sounded dimly familiar to the airman; there was something about Major Fall being wanted by the base commander. He looked behind him; the other three men at the gate were about to activate the heavy steel fence that would seal off the front gate. He glanced at the rank on her shoulder, then saluted. "Go on through, ma'am. Park as soon as you can and be careful. We've got reports of White Fang coming up the main drag. If you go down Neath Street, you might could work your way around to the dispersal. You have a weapon?"

She nodded. "In the glove compartment."

He waved her through. "Good luck, ma'am."

"Thank you, Airman." He held up a hand, and the guard getting ready to throw the switch waited as Cinder accelerated through the gate. The fence clanged shut behind her, and rubber squealed as she swung onto Neath Street. She found a parking spot behind the hospital, holstered the pistol she'd been hiding behind the driver's side door, got out, and knocked on the trunk, then opened it.

Mercury Black coughed and got out. He was holding a pump shotgun. "Can't believe you made me ride in the trunk."

"And if one of the guards had recognized you? You're supposed to be dead, remember?" She looked back towards the front gate, now out of sight behind another administration building. "Go find Emerald. If she's not at the VOQ, she's probably in the jail. Stay out of sight if you can."

Mercury hefted the shotgun. "You sure Emerald's that important?"

Cinder nodded. "We're not leaving her. She knows too much. Get her—and don't kill her, Mercury. We need friends right now, not more enemies."

"Okay. Where are you going?"

Cinder pulled out the pistol again, reached into a pocket, and withdrew a silencer. "I have a doctor's appointment."

Regency 26 (E-3A AWACS)

Eberle Line Track 4, Near Clear Lake, Iowa, United States of Canada

1425 Local

"Are we getting anything from Beacon?"

"Only that they're under heavy ground attack, sir! White Fang!"

"That can't be right."

"Beacon is now reporting being under air attack as well. Unknown aircraft."

"Cardin is still engaged with the Raptor—"

A1C Heather Cummings tried to ignore the uproar around her and concentrate on her sector scan. Her part was still western Minnesota; she wondered how she and the other controllers had missed two fighters. The F-22 made sense, but it was stealthy, and the intermittent radar return had made the crew of Regency 26 think it was Crow 13, still somewhere over southern Minnesota, whoever that was.

Cummings saw a blip come into view on the northwestern edge of the E-3's radar, roughly around what had been St. Cloud, Minnesota. "What the heck is that?" she murmured to herself. It was moving fairly fast, but the radar return was sketchy, as if it was something else that was stealthy. The E-3 was getting enough of a return to track it, but not enough to identify it.

Then she saw more blips appear. They sprang into existence in front of the first contact. Then more. She had to notify the senior controller, but seeing him busy for a moment, she took the initiative. "Crow 13, Regency 26, are you still out there?"

A gravelly voice replied. "Still here, Regency. I don't have my transponder on."

"We've picked up a new contact, bearing, ah, one six zero, speed approximately four hundred, angels…ten thousand. There's new contacts in front of it. We can't get a good fix on them—okay, now we've got jamming." That side of her radar went fuzzy. The E-3's radar would burn through the jamming, but it would take time. Jamming, however, definitely meant enemy. "Can you check it out?"

"Roger that. What was your raid count before the jamming?"

"Approximately eight to ten small bogeys, one intermittent larger one." She tried to pick out the blips in the snow of the jamming. "Crow 13, I think they're GRIMM." She didn't know about the large one, but the smaller ones' profile looked like Beowolves. Heads turned in the E-3 as she said the dreaded word.

"On my way."

Crow 13

Near the Ruins of Eden Prairie, Minnesota, United States of Canada

1430 Local

Qrow Branwen headed northwest as fast as he could. His evasion of the Patriot had left him nearly back to former Rochester, and he'd been giving the Mississippi River Barrier a wide berth. As soon as he heard the call that Beacon was under attack, he'd begun to head east, but then the call from Regency came in. Qrow hated to turn around, but if it was GRIMM, that was a bigger threat than whatever Beacon was facing.

He climbed as he headed for the contact. GRIMM radar systems were not all that great, and the stealthy F-117 would hide him. Probably, Qrow mused. He went through a bank of clouds, leveled off at twenty thousand feet, and dipped the pointed nose of the Nighthawk down; visibility out of the F-117 was not the best.

When he saw it, Qrow blinked. He opened his visor and rubbed his eyes. It was still there. His modified Nighthawk did have a radar, but he didn't dare switch it on and announce his presence to every GRIMM within fifty miles—and there would be a lot of GRIMM to announce it to. Qrow relied on his eyesight, but he couldn't believe his eyes.

It was, quite simply, the biggest GRIMM he had ever seen. It was at least five hundred feet long, with a wingspan of probably four hundred feet: a wide delta, like a Nevermore, but far larger than even that. In front of it, like pilot fish around a shark, were a dozen Beowolves.

How did…where the hell did that come from? Qrow thought. We would've detected something that big being built in the Dead Zones. Unless…oh fuck. Unless that came from Salem herself. There was scattered intelligence, nothing solid, that Salem's lair, if it existed, was somewhere in Siberia, in the rubble of what had been the Soviet Union. It could've come from there, though it would've been launched over a day ago. We would've detected it over the Cascadia Barrier, though, we would've—

Then he remembered the report of the sinking of the USS Cushing.

As Qrow watched, two more Beowolves appeared, and with growing horror, he realized he was looking at an airborne aircraft carrier. He thumbed the radio button, hoping the damned thing wouldn't detect him. "Regency 26, Crow 13. I've got your bandits, including the big one."

"Roger, Crow 13. Understand bandits." That meant he was sure they were enemy, and Qrow had never been more sure in his life. "What is it?"

"Raid count is 14 Beowolves, and…some big son of a bitch. Regency, I've never seen anything like this." He read off the dimensions. "Be advised, I am not drunk," he added.

The controller's voice was silent. "Understood, Crow 13. Uh…can you intercept?"

"Not a chance, Regency. I wouldn't do anything more than piss that thing off."

"What would you classify it as, Crow 13?"

Qrow hesitated, searching for a good codename. "Regency, classify new aircraft as Wyvern." It sounded good to him, though wyverns were supposed to be small dragons, not this monster. He couldn't think of anything else.

"Course and heading?" Regency asked.

Qrow licked suddenly dry lips. "Beacon. It's headed for Beacon."