AUTHOR'S NOTES: The second half of the climax of the Battle of Beacon. This one was rough to write, and will probably be rough to read. In war, there is always sacrifice.

Near Oakdale, Wisconsin

1610 Hours Local

Nora Valkyrie hated to admit to herself, but she was having a grand old time.

Her A-10 was not designed for dogfighting: it was designed to kill tanks and ground-based GRIMM. It was slow, though at low level quite maneuverable, but the Warthog was simply no fighter. That was fine with Nora. She'd broken off from Juniper Flight and gotten down in the weeds, flying just above the treetops. GRIMM that dived away from the main dogfight suddenly found themselves ambushed. Nora's A-10 had been loaded at Beacon with four Sidewinders and two 20 millimeter gunpods; she'd expended the missiles for three kills.

But that was the small fry. As the Wyvern overtook her, Nora was going for the big one. She hadn't fired the titanic GAU-8 30mm gatling cannon she literally sat on, and no A-10 pilot thought a day was complete without tearing something apart with the gun. As the shadow of the huge GRIMM passed over her, Nora grinned. "Fe fi fo fum!" Then she hauled the stick back and climbed.

Though it did not seem like it, the Wyvern had been damaged. One of the systems that was hit was some of its detection gear, and it did not noticed the A-10 until it climbed, moving out of the radar's ground clutter. Turrets irised open and began firing at Nora.

Ren had somehow managed to keep an eye on Nora and still fight the battle around him. He'd gotten two, and managed to flush some of the GRIMM towards his girlfriend. Now he saw her in the shadow of the Wyvern, beginning her run. "Nora, Ren, watch it! Heavy fire!" He rolled his J-10 over and dived.

"No shit!" Nora yelled back, but she was through: the safest place in the battle right now was just below the Wyvern, where its ventral turrets could not bear. She braced herself and opened fire with the 30mm. The heavy, depleted uranium rounds pounded the Wyvern, breaching armor and knocking out a brace of turrets. She had to take her finger off the trigger for a moment, dive a little, then climb again and march more rounds down the GRIMM's length.

The Wyvern's electronic brain recognized that this enemy was its greatest threat. Two Ursai suddenly broke away from pursuing Reese Chloris' Hunter and dived beneath the Wyvern to attack Nora. She saw the first one coming towards her, turned into the attack, and used her gunpods this time. The Ursa exploded under the hail of shells. The second one, however, got in behind her. Nora dived and twisted away. She could ignore a Beowulf's small cannon, but the Ursa armed a heavier weapon almost equal to her GAU-8. She ducked as two shells skimmed over her canopy, and tried a break, but the Ursai was in a good position.

It also didn't notice Ren. He rolled in behind the Ursa. His remaining Sidewinder growled, but he couldn't be sure if it was tracking the Ursa or the A-10. "Nora, Ren. I've got your bandit. Break right on three. Two. One. Now."

The A-10 snaprolled to the right, and Ren fired. The Sidewinder tracked perfectly and hit the GRIMM, which shuddered; he finished it off with the cannon. Ren climbed, gave Nora a quick check, and climbed back into the fight.

"Ren, Nora. I'm making a run on the Wyvern," Jaune radioed. "Cover me?" He made it a question, which for some reason Ren found to be highly amusing.

"We're with you, boss! Nora's in!" Nora climbed and rolled in, this time on the top of the Wyvern. Her run this time was across its buried fuselage, where the cockpit would be if the GRIMM was piloted. Sparks and flames shot back from it as she came off her run. "Nora's off, north to south!"

"Jaune's in," Jaune called out. "Cover me, Ren!"

"Following you down," Ren replied. They were too close for missiles, but the heavier cannon on the Mirage and the J-10—though not as devastating as Nora's—were still effective. The Wyvern, reacting with the digital equivalent of panic, rolled its upper turrets around and opened fire. Its fire control had been damaged by Nora's run, so instead of leading its attackers, it fired wildly. Jaune was missed entirely, but the sheer amount of gunfire meant that someone was going to be hit.

That someone was Ren. The J-10 was hammered from nose to tail, and Ren gasped as he felt something hit him in the leg. He climbed hard, jinking to throw off any more fire, but the J-10's movements were slow.

"Ren!" Nora screamed; she'd seen the J-10 get hit, and saw him climb away, trailing smoke. "Ren!" She climbed to get alongside him.

"I'm…okay…" he gritted out. He checked his instrument panel. There were a number of warning lights on, but no fire. He reached into his survival vest with one hand, still flying with the right, and somehow got a bandage out. The blood was soaking through his flight suit.

Nora could hear the pain in his voice, and saw the hole in the canopy. One canard was a ragged hunk of metal, and there were holes throughout the aircraft and wings. She rose up a little more as they leveled out, trying to see if Ren himself was hurt. So concerned was Nora for her lover that she did not pay attention to the sky around her.

The Wyvern was still tracking her, and dispatched another Ursa and two Beowolves to kill the A-10. "Ren, Nora!" Jaune warned. "Check six, GRIMM!" He locked onto the trailing Beowolf and destroyed it with his last missile, but the other two got a clean run at the rest of Juniper Flight. Ren heard the warning, dropped the bandage, and broke left and down, but Nora was too slow. The Beowolf went after Ren, but the Ursa's cannon chopped into the A-10. One engine flamed and came apart, a flap tore away from the starboard wing, and two more shells hit around the cockpit. The heavy armored bathtub that surrounded the cockpit saved Nora's life, but the A-10 staggered. She coughed as she breathed smoke through the oxygen mask, and dived; her onboard oxygen system had been hit. The Ursa turned back for another run, while Ren had to level out or lose the wings. The Beowulf came back for the kill as Jaune hit the afterburner, trying to get in close enough to use his guns.

Then the Beowulf vanished in an explosion. A second later, so did the Ursa.

"Ren, Nora. You're clear. Sorry I'm late." Blake Belladonna flew past Juniper, Gambol Shroud's wings raked back.

Qrow dipped the wing of his F-117. The ground below and behind the Wyvern was dotted with burning remains—aircraft and GRIMM. Luckily, it was far more of the latter than the former. The Wyvern had launched yet more Beowolves, but even it seemed to have exhausted what it had, and fewer and fewer GRIMM were still operational.

That was the good news. The bad news was that nothing seemed to be able to stop the Wyvern. It was holed in places, and there was thin smoke curling behind it, but it was inexorably heading towards Beacon. Assuming it would even stop there. Beacon's defenders were simply running out of ammunition.

"Regency, Crow 13. Have you heard from Beacon?" he radioed the AWACS. "Is the evac complete?"

"Crow 13, Regency. Relay from Jehovah." Ironwood, Qrow thought. "Base personnel are mostly evacuated. Jehovah advises that there is a major traffic jam south of the base at Mauston through Wisconsin Dells."

"Fuck," Qrow said, without keying the radio. GRIMM were programmed to attack any large concentration of people; no one knew exactly how the drones knew, though it was suspected it was through simple infrared detection: a lot of people gave off a lot of heat. A lot of scared people gave off even more heat. Qrow had seen the turrets on the Wyvern: after it got done razing Beacon, assuming that was its actual target, it would tear into the people fleeing south. And after that? Chicago and Milwaukee lay beyond. By then, the reinforcements from Ellsworth and Sioux Falls would be there—they were charging hard from the east—but Qrow wondered if even that would be enough.

"Crow 13, Beacon." Qrow hadn't expected to hear anything else from Beacon Tower; the tower crew had long since been ordered to evacuate. Then he recognized the voice. "Oz?"

"The same. I'm in the tower. Tally-ho on the Wyvern."

"Oz, you'd better get clear," Qrow warned. "We can't stop this SOB."

"I can. All Beacon aircraft, this is Captain Ozpin in the clear. Break off the attack on the Wyvern and retreat to ten miles, I say again, one-zero miles from Beacon. Authentication code is April, time is 2110 hours Zulu."

"Oz—"

"Crow 13, all Beacon elements, that is an order. Ozpin out."

His mouth dry, Qrow knew what Ozpin was going to do. "Oz, no! Don't do it!" As the aircraft broke away from the Wyvern, following Ozpin's orders, Qrow climbed and headed for Beacon.

"Ren, Nora, this is Jaune. You okay? You gonna make it?"

Nora coughed, but now that she was lower, she could take off her mask. "Dammit! Twice!" She checked the controls. Other than the tendency to pull towards the dead engine, she was still flying. "I'm tactical." She punched off the gunpods; no point in keeping them now.

"Ren here. I'm hit, but I'll survive." Somehow, managing to fly the airplane at the same time, he found the bandage near the throttle and got it over his leg. It wasn't perfect, but at least he wasn't going to bleed to death now. He hoped. He checked his navigation display. "Suggest we divert to La Crosse."

"Roger that."

Ren heard the tone of Jaune's voice. "Jaune. Go after her." They all knew who Ren referred to.

"Wilco." Jaune's Mirage 2000 turned hard to the south, and engaged its afterburner.

Ruby flew up next to Weiss. Somehow, despite being on one engine, Weiss had bagged three GRIMM. Ruby had only managed one, despite firing three missiles; another she'd put into the Wyvern, for all the good that had done. Her cannon was empty as well. She still had one AMRAAM left. "You doing okay, Weiss?"

"I'm good. I'll need to divert to La Crosse as well."

Ruby spotted the Mirage going south. "Jaune, Ruby. What's up?"

"Pyrrha's fighting Cinder. I'm on my way."

Ruby checked her fuel. It was still good. "Jaune, Ruby. Joining up." He did not acknowledge, continuing to streak away. She looked over at Weiss, who pointed south. Ruby nodded and headed out after Jaune.

"Ruby, Blake, hold on—" Blake called out.

"No time!" Ruby yelled back.

Near Hillsboro, Wisconsin

1610 Hours Local

Pyrrha could feel the sweat pouring down her sides and back, and her breaths in her mask were ragged. The skid had put an incredible strain on her aircraft and her body, and in theory was more than the Fighting Falcon airframe could handle. But there were always things a pilot could do that the designers claimed wasn't possible.

As she climbed to follow Cinder, Pyrrha knew she'd rattled her opponent. Cinder's actions were not panicky, but it was clear that the other woman was now thinking more about survival and getting away, not her mission or killing Pyrrha. She'd gotten into Cinder's head, and Pyrrha intended to stay there.

She briefly considered edging backwards a bit, dropping some speed and letting Cinder get into AMRAAM parameters, but that would give her opponent too much room. Pyrrha was out of Sidewinders; this was going to have to be done with the gun. She throttled up: the F-16 was so light that it was one of the few aircraft that could accelerate in a climb. The gunsight crept onto the broad back of the Raptor, and Pyrrha let it creep further upwards: she would lead Cinder, open fire in front of her, let her enemy fly into a hail of cannon shells. If one should kill Cinder Fall, that was the fortunes of war, and for the first time since Crete, Pyrrha felt no regret over killing someone.

Cinder swore that she could feel the gunsight crawling up her back, knowing she was seconds from death, that Pyrrha Nikos was going to kill her. There was one chance left. Cinder pulled the stick as far back as it would go, dropped her speed nearly to idle, and vectored the F-22's thrust upwards.

The effect was the same as a car suddenly slamming on its brakes. The Raptor flipped backwards, rolling within its own length, falling back towards Pyrrha and risking both their deaths in a midair collision. Cinder fought down nausea as bile rose in her throat, and was pressed back in her seat—but when the F-22 ceased its tumbling, it was now behind the F-16, its exhaust half-filling her windscreen. Cinder's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Oh my God!" Pyrrha shouted, and barely dodged the F-22, rolling aside. In a split-second of horror, she'd forgotten the Raptor could do that. She flung the F-16 to one side, trying to dodge the attack that was coming.

She was a fraction too late. The 25mm cannon shells tore through Milo's engine and left wing before Pyrrha's break caused the rest to miss, but it was enough.

Pyrrha heard her engine die, and the aircraft began to shudder and rattle as the wingtip separated from the F-16. The stall warning screamed in her ears and fire lights came on. The horizon slipped past and the Wisconsin forest filled her canopy. There was the briefest of thoughts, first of Jaune, then of riding the aircraft down. But that made no sense: Milo was dead, but she was alive, and unhurt: she could fight again.

"So much for the Invincible Girl," she sighed, braced herself, and pulled the ejection handle. The canopy separated, flying backwards to smash itself against the tail, and then Pyrrha felt rather than saw herself leave the aircraft. It was a clean ejection, mainly because the F-16 was no longer going particularly fast, and she rode the seat a few thousand feet before it automatically separated. Her parachute opened above her, and Pyrrha quickly checked herself. Her limbs were intact and her back felt fine, so there had been no spinal compression or flail wounds. She watched sadly as her beloved Milo fell into the woods and exploded.

Then she looked up. The F-22 was coming back around.

Cinder got her breath back, did a quick circle to ensure the aircraft hadn't been damaged, then saw Pyrrha's parachute. She thought for a moment: Pyrrha Nikos had been a fine opponent, the best she'd ever faced, and the chivalrous thing to do might be a quick flypast, a salute to an honorable enemy.

But Cinder Fall was not chivalrous. That had been burned out of her a long time ago. Pyrrha Nikos was too dangerous to live. She had been chosen to be Amber's successor, and that alone made her a threat. She felt a pang of sorrow, but Cinder swung around and centered the gunsight on the little dot under the parachute. "It's unfortunate you were promised a power that was never truly yours," Cinder sighed. She glanced at the little black box on her right wrist. "But take comfort in knowing I'm going to use it in ways you never imagined."

Pyrrha saw the F-22 getting bigger, its nose pointed directly at her. She had the wild thought of drawing her Beretta and taking a shot at it, but there was no point in it. She was going to die. She smiled at her own death. It made sense. She'd killed the air pirates in their parachutes over Crete, and now she would share their fate. Karma.

"Do you believe in destiny?" Her words to Jaune came to her lips. She did not close her eyes. Pyrrha faced her demise head on and waited for the cannon shell to end her life.

Then suddenly the F-22 broke away, sparks flying from its wing, fragments falling away from it as it dived away. A Mirage 2000, resplendent in blue and gray, roared past, cannons blazing.

"Jaune?!" Pyrrha exclaimed.

Near Mauston, Wisconsin

1610 Hours Local

James Ironwood held Glynda Goodwitch's hand. It was cold and limp. IV lines ran to her arms, pumping blood in, and an oxygen mask lay over her face. Her skin was waxy. He looked up at the medic, who already knew the question. He shrugged.

The flap to the tent came open, admitting Major Jacob Gagnon. "General? You'd better come listen to this."

Ironwood gave Goodwitch's hand a squeeze, and he left the aid tent. It had been set up by a National Guard unit coming up from Wisconsin Dells, and the wounded in the hospital at Beacon had been transferred here. A landing zone had been established in the woods, and as Ironwood followed Gagnon, he saw a UH-60 there, rotors turning, as a stretcher was brought out of the helicopter. A flash of blond hair and a flight suit: it was Yang Xiao Long. Two medics held IV bottles above her as well, and the four stretcher bearers ran towards the tent. Then they were gone, and Ironwood continued on after Gagnon.

The area around them was chaos. This had always been a chokepoint for Interstate 90 as long as Ironwood had visited Beacon, where the woods and the low ridges shoved the four-lane interstate towards the Wisconsin River gorge. Now all four lanes were choked with people trying to get away. News of the Wyvern, even sight of it in the distance, had spread quickly; in its wake came panic. No traffic was moving on the interstate. Ironwood had ordered all military personnel except his remaining security police off the road, setting up a new command post in the woods. Even as he watched, people were starting to get out of their cars and run down the median, dragging luggage and children behind them, ignoring the security forces' calls to stay calm.

Ironwood ducked into the command post, a tent set up between four armored personnel carriers. A soldier he didn't recognize was at the radio, and handed a headset to Ironwood. "It's on the air channel, General," the radioman explained.

Ironwood listened and his eyes widened. "Oh my God." He reached across the radioman and switched the set to transmit. "Ozpin! This is Ironwood! I know what you're doing and I'm ordering you not to!" There was only static. "Come in, dammit! Ozpin!" When there was still no reply, he slammed the headset down and ran out of the command post, immediately looking to the north.

His cellphone began to buzz. Ironwood pulled it out of his pocket, looking at it strangely; he'd put it in his pocket just before the White Fang had attacked, and completely forgotten it was there. The number was unlisted. He opened the phone. "Hello?"

"James."

"Ozpin! Thank God. Where are you?"

"At the tower." Ozpin sounded matter-of-fact. "Listen. How far away are the refugees?"

"Most of them have made it to Mauston, but there's still a few stragglers—"

"And the base?"

"Completely evacuated. I thought you were already out. Someone even broke out Emerald Sustrai; I think it was one of Cinder—"

"That doesn't matter now." Ozpin's voice became tired. "Remember what I said about the Fall Maiden, James? Where I have control of it? Well, I didn't tell you the good part." He chuckled. "I have to hook it to a satellite communications rig. My cane can't actually talk to the Maiden satellite. It just so happens that the only one close is at Beacon Tower." Ironwood heard Ozpin doing something in the background. "Uplink should be complete about the same time the Wyvern is overhead."

"Oz, no. No. You're going to call in the strike on top of yourself. You can't. For the love of God, you can't."

"For the love of God, I have to, James."

Ironwood felt the unfamiliar sting of tears. "Ozpin, please…"

"I'm sorry, James. Thank you for being my friend. Please find Oscar. Tell him about me, all right? Tell him I'm proud of him."

"I can't—"

"You will. Goodbye, James." The line clicked off.

Near Hillsboro, Wisconsin

1615 Hours Local

Jaune stayed on the F-22 as it reversed its turn and stayed at low level. He'd hurt the Raptor—it wasn't trailing smoke, but it was definitely wounded. He fired again, thought he saw some strikes, and then suddenly the fighter went straight and level and slowed. He shed some speed himself and got in behind it; it remained in level flight. He didn't think he'd hit the cockpit, but maybe he had. It was even starting to lose a little altitude. His cannon were empty anyway, so he selected a Sidewinder—his last—and lined up.

His finger had tightened on the trigger when suddenly the Raptor broke to one side, so fast it left him in shock for a moment. Jaune twisted around in his seat, and broke left.

Cinder saw the Mirage overshoot and smiled. Jaune Arc. Pyrrha taught you well, but not good enough. As he broke left, she simply turned back into him, noticed the controls of the F-22 were a bit sluggish, and fired an AMRAAM. She was a bit close for the shot, but it was all she had left, besides a few cannon shells, and she was saving those for Pyrrha.

Jaune cut the turn tighter, hearing the RWR screaming that he was locked on. He strained against gravity, urging Crocea Mors to turn harder. He dropped chaff, but the AMRAAM ignored it. The missile cut across the turn.

"Dammit, Pyrrha," Jaune said. The missile impacted behind the cockpit, and the Mirage vanished in an explosion.

"JAUNE!" Pyrrha screamed. She strained to see if there was an ejection, or a parachute, or anything. There was nothing. "Oh, God, no!"

The Raptor came around again. This time Pyrrha did pull her pistol and began firing it, even though it was far out of range. She cried, screaming unintelligibly, no longer caring if she died. "Kill me, you bitch!" Pyrrha howled. "Kill me!" Then she saw the wink of sunlight off a canopy above and to the left. A quick look—it was another F-16, one with red wingtips. "Ruby, no! She'll kill you too!"

Ruby saw the fireball that had been Jaune Arc. The F-22 came around in a lazy turn, the nose pointed at the parachute. Ruby frantically looked for options, but there weren't any. Her cannon was empty; she was too close for her one remaining missile, and by the time she got into the parameters to use the AMRAAM, Pyrrha would be dead.

She had one weapon left: her airplane.

"Sorry, Crescent," she said, and dived, aiming for the Raptor. It was an impossible attempt, to ram the other fighter—the Raptor was bigger and flying slow, but it was almost like trying to hit a bullet with another bullet. And yet, Ruby knew she could. Her eyesight narrowed to the gray cruciform shape of the F-22.

Cinder did a few twitches of the stick as she turned and climbed away from Jaune Arc's funeral pyre. There was definitely something wrong with her aircraft. It was now even more sluggish, and a quick look behind showed that her tails and tailplanes had been hit with cannon fire. Jaune had gotten his shots in after all. Still, it was flyable as long as she didn't need to do any sudden maneuvering—and killing a mostly stationary target like Pyrrha Nikos wouldn't require any.

Then Cinder caught movement at three o'clock high. It was a F-16, out of the sun, growing bigger and bigger. Cinder pushed the stick to one side to break into it, but the Raptor merely went into a gentle turn, as if she was landing at Beacon on a cloudless, easy day.

It was then that Cinder realized the F-16 wasn't stopping.

The collision was soundless, the noise muffled by her helmet and the canopy, most of the noise left behind her. Ruby wasn't suicidal, and had aimed her strike to lead with Crescent Rose's left wingtip. The F-16's wing crashed through the junction of the F-22's right wing with the fuselage. Crescent Rose's wing was sheared off, tearing away to take off most of the tail, while the Raptor's right wing folded upwards and over the fighter's back. Both instantly went into spins, while the F-22 burst into flames.

Cinder knew she had to bail out. She braced herself, cursing, and ejected. The force of ejecting from a spinning aircraft caused her left arm to come off the side of the seat and hit the canopy frame, snapping it instantly. Then the F-22 exploded as the fire reached its remaining missiles, and the fireball roared after Cinder. She almost cleared it, but as the seat separated, the flames reached her. The nomex flight suit protected most of her, but the fire found other fuel—the rubber hose and mask, and Cinder's hair that hung out of one side of her helmet.

Cinder felt pure agony as the flames crawled under the helmet, caught the mask on fire, and scorched her skin. She reached up with her good arm and tore the mask away, but her skin was blistering, she could see the flames in her left eye, she must not scream, she told herself, she must not scream—

But then it was too much, and Cinder did scream. And the fire found something else to burn.

Ruby let her fighter do two revolutions, waiting for the horizon and the forest below stop swapping places, and pulled the ejection handle. Nothing happened. Mouth dry, she pulled again. This time she felt the seat fire, but as she ejected, the seat hit the canopy, which hadn't separated clean from the fuselage. Whether or not Ruby had succeeded she never knew, because the world went suddenly and completely black.

Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin

1620 Hours

The Wyvern seemed to slow as it reached Wyvern, barely doing 150 miles an hour. Ozpin watched it from the windows of the tower, and drank one last cup of coffee. "So that's what you were working on, Salem. That's your big stick. Well, I have one too, my love."

He set the mug down reluctantly, sat down in the deserted control tower, and picked up his cane with his left hand. In his right, he took out the dogeared picture of Salem. "We didn't have to do this, Salem," he sighed. "It never should've come to this. I still love you. Oddly enough, I think you still love me." The tower grew dark as the Wyvern blotted out the sun. Ozpin kissed the picture, looked up, and smiled.

And hit the red button on the cane.

Seventy miles above Alabama, retrothrusters fired on the Fall Maiden. It was a rather plain looking satellite, for all the world resembling a communications satellite, which was the intent. While on its trip over eastern Africa, it had gotten the arming notification. Small explosive bolts blew off the nose of the satellite, exposing the long tungsten rods. As it slowed, its own targeting sensors came online, and received the coordinates it was meant to open fire on. The Maiden rotated downwards, and as it reached the southern border of Wisconsin, lined up on the coordinates, and fired five times, its preprogrammed engagement package.

The five rods, each one twenty feet long, were ejected into the atmosphere, where a combination of their own propulsion from the satellite and gravity accelerated the rods to fifteen times the speed of sound. Their passage through the atmosphere left brief lines of white-hot trails behind them. They were still acclerating when they hit the Wyvern ten seconds later.

All five lanced through the giant GRIMM, tearing through armor, fuel cells, and ammunition like tissue paper before burying themselves across Joint Base Beacon. There was no explosion from the rods, as they carried no warhead, but just their passage sent tons of earth rocketing into the air like a meteor strike.

Explosions ran the length of the Wyvern as the magazines touched off and spread. The GRIMM seemed to hesitate, it shuddered and dipped downwards, then went up in an explosion so powerful that shockwaves flattened buildings around the base, caused trees to snap off at their base three miles away, and was enough to buffet and send people to their knees as far as Ironwood's position at Mauston. Qrow dived hard to escape the shockwave, and barely succeeded. The remains of the Wyvern crashed into Beacon; it would burn for five days until nothing was left.

The body of Captain Oscar Ozpin, United States Navy, was never found.