AN: If you've read my other stories, you'll see I've reused the same characters in a different timeline. Sorry for that, but I do enjoy using them, and these fanfics of mine are not connected to each other in any way. Enjoy.

September 23rd, 1971

Los Angeles, California, currently under siege by Wehrmacht forces

101st Airborne Division, 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment

Second Lieutenant John C. Tibbets

The trench I'm sitting in shakes and rumbles as the distant rumble of German and American tanks roar, the weapon I'm holding tightens in my grasp, but I manage to hold onto it. These damn German tanks are shaking us around like a can of sardines, but they'd make them pay soon enough...as long as he survived this damned day.

I remembered the voice of Westmoreland, his talk of the "Great Crusade" against the Germans. As he had said, we were the frontline against the death of liberty everywhere, against the facist hordes that wished to destroy our American way of life. The Third World War. And it had made it all the way to my hometown of LA.

It's 1971, and my city is under siege. By the Hun, the Krauts. Fuhrer Goering had finally come for the last bastion of liberty. The Germans were coming South from Mexico, and landing in New York and Florida. Nukes could fly at any time.

A sinking feeling descended on me as I tried to put what I had lost and seen at the back of my mind, and that feeling slowly spread to my gut. Something was wrong here, very wrong. Like everything was about to go crumbling.

Clutching my M16A1 close, I tapped my best friend sitting across from me, Joseph Bier, who was quickly putting on his helmet. He had been distracted, and he looked up at me as soon as I had gotten his attention.

Joseph Bier and I had been best friends since basic training at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Hell, I was from Arizona and I was from California. It was perfect, we were technically neighbors. His folks had come from Germany a long time ago, seeing as "Bier" meant beer in German. The name fits, too. Nobody could hold liquor like he did, 'cept me. We were always trying to outdo each other with how far we were willing to go.

Bier nodded at me, asking, "What's up?", while doing final checks on his M60 machine gun, chambered in 7.62 OFN rounds. I noticed this, reminding myself to do the same with my rifle.

I began doing my own final checks, my 30 round mag chambered in 5.56 OFN was full, my safety was off. Colt M1911 was stocked up on .45 Auto rounds. Perfect.

"I got a bad feeling about this shit, man. Something's up. Like there's something coming. Maybe an infantry attack, armor coming to us? Fuck...maybe we're finally launching the ICBMs.", I confide in him. There was just something off today...we had fought the Germans plenty of times, and had killed some SS cocksuckers before, but today...felt strange.

"...You got a weird feeling in your gut, didn't you?", he looked me in the eyes with a strange expression. Like he knew exactly what I was talking about. Someone just walked over our graves.

"...Yeah, that's exactly what I'm feeling. Something ain't right here...it's...it's pretty quiet, what happened to the gunfire?", I accidentally said loudly.

My entire platoon stared at me from various nearby trenches as I said that, and they themselves started to process that. Just a few seconds ago, there was a fucking storm of AA and small arms fire going on nearby, what the hell? This...this really ain't right, something bad's coming.

And then I heard it. The air raid sirens and the announcement. "Imminent nuclear threat inbound. At 1700 hours, radar detects that German High Command has launched ICBMs at the United States of America in retaliation of launching our own. Seek shelter immediately. God bless America."

The siren continued as gunfire erupted down the street, soon accompanied by the comforting sound of "Battle Hymn of the Republic". The Germans were making a last, desperate charge. And I knew now we were all dead. And that was fine. I was tired, and death would finally take me. But I'd be damned if we didn't go down without a fight.

My men were looking to me, I could feel their stares. Standing up from my trench, I shouted in desperation, "WE'VE COME A LONG, LONG WAY, BOYS, AND WE'VE FINALLY REACHED THE END. AMERICA LIVES WITH US! AMERICA DIES WITH US! FIX BAYONETS!"

The unified noise of bayonets unsheathing and locking in followed, as I did the same. This was it. This was the end. We were going down in history. If Johnny wasn't coming home, neither was Hans. The Battle Hymn of the Republic began it's crescendo.

"In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea

With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me

As he died to make men holy let us die to make men free

His truth is marching on"

"Glory, Glory hallelujah

Glory, Glory hallelujah

Glory, Glory hallelujah

His truth is marching on"

I took a massive gulp of air as I began to see the final Wehrmacht charge approaching us, and ordered, "CHAAAAARGE!", and I stepped out of the trench and into the battered, bruised streets of Los Angeles. These Kraut cocksuckers knew they were dead, too, surely. They wanted a final moment of glory, too.

My platoon met it's foe in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard, my bayonet meeting the chest of a German conscript. He choked on his own blood as I fired a single round into his chest. I removed him from my bayonet with my foot, and proceeded to stab an officer with it. He coughed blood in my face, so I spit back. He died pretty quick.

I saw Bier hip firing the Pig, that good old M60 into the wave of Germans, he seemed caught in bloodlust, just like me. It made me happy that me and my men were dying together here. A band of brothers, a company of heroes. Even as I felt a blast of heat from behind me, I was happy, and proceeded to stab another man, this time an SS officer.

The roar of the blast wave of an ICBM filled my ears as I continued to shoot into the German waves, and a bayonet found my back. It hurt like hell, even as everything began to go fuzzy. And as I saw the fireball rush towards us, I smiled. God had wiped our world clean.

Meanwhile, somewhere a long way off…

Ruby Rose wanted to be a huntress, no doubt about that. She had wanted it ever since she was a child, letting her mother read her stories about monsters and heroes before bed. She wanted that life for herself, to follow her mother's footsteps as a Huntress.

And she was on track, because she was currently attending Signal Academy and wanted to go to Beacon someday. But for now, she would need to stock up on Dust. Quickly entering into the store known as "Dust 'til Dawn", she put on her headphones and turned on her music.

Unknown forest

September 23rd, 1971 (?)

Second Lieutenant John C. Tibbets (KIA)

The first thing I felt was a splitting headache. A searing migraine that felt like drums pounding in my head over and over. Like a salesman knocking on your front door, it just wouldn't go away. The pain almost made me angry.

I slowly managed to get my bearings of where I was. It was dark, and it was night. I collapsed on some soft grass on the ground. There was something burning a few feet away. From my blurry vision, I could make out it was a UH-1 "Huey", clearly emblazoned "US Army" on the side. Fuck me, what happened? The blast should have killed me.

First, get the fuck up. Next, link up with my men, if there were any left. I could form further steps from there. I'm fucking John Charlie Tibbets, I could get anything done.

I reached for my M1 helmet laying askew, still sporting my drawings and gear on it, including the message of "Cali' Or Bust". My Ace of Spades, my little doodles, even the Zippo lighter with the words, "Presented by W.C. Westmoreland, General of the Army, Chief of Staff", along with the national seal of the USA on it.

Without warning, my vision unblurred completely. I could finally fucking see clearly. It was night, it was dark, and I ain't dead. That meant there were Krauts to fight and ass to kick. America wasn't dead as long as I was around.

Beginning to search the ground for my dropped weapon, I came upon it nearby, as I probably lost it when the nuclear blast slammed into me and my platoon. The M16A1 rifle, a complicated yet pragmatic weapon, that I truly loved. It's kick, it's feel, I fell in love with it. My favorite rifle in the whole, wide world.

Making inventory of my ammo, I found I had about 7 30 round magazines in 5.56 caliber. My sidearm had 5 magazines of .45 rounds. This would have to do for now, but we needed to get back to American lines, if they still existed, as soon as possible. But with that blast...was I the last one left?...No, don't think about that. Focus on the mission. We were...We were…

I struggled for a second, before remembering that I should just find some kind of civilization. "Here we fucking go...", I muttered to the wilderness that surrounded me. Fuck this, I'm going to find my men.

I slid the stick magazine into my M16A1, and slid the firing pin back, and turned the safety off. Shoot to kill. I ducked down into the wreckage of the Huey, scavenging for more ammo. I needed to find my men and more supplies. I think Private Callahan had an M72 LAW. He was sure as hell dead now, so I wanted to see if I could get to his corpse and grab it, if there was anything left of it.

Keeping my eyes wide open, I shoved a good amount of M16A1 and M1911 magazines into my bags and I began to spot corpses here and there, I could make out a couple bodies of...my men. Fuck. I couldn't be the only survivor, right? I'm sure some of these guys were part of the helicopter. I wouldn't be able to live with myself otherwise. I saw folk I knew among them. Private West. PFC Jones. Corporal Eastwood. Fuck me. I had known some of their families...and I spotted Private Callahan and the LAW. He was burned to a crisp, but I did grab the launcher and some ammo. Fuck me, the rifle and the launcher were hard to carry.

I pushed this to the back of my brain. I didn't need guilt. I needed ammo. I needed orders.

And then I heard a familiar voice whisper, "Flash.". I recognized the signal, whispering back, "Thunder."

Rising out of the bush came my old friend, PFC Joseph R. Bier. He had fucking made it.

"Death never could take you, eh, John?", he smiled at me. Fucker was just as fine as I last saw him. Bastard was still a little taller than me, as well. Fucking cunt. But still, I was glad to see him.

"Not in a million years, Joe. I'm the God of the Airborne, the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse and Grim Reaper all rolled into one. I'm your Lieutenant, Bier.", I cockily went through my bragging speech that I had dreamt up in case somebody thought I was dead. Oh, how good it felt to use it. Hell, I was just happy he was alive and I wasn't alone.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Listen, you spot anyone else out here? I managed to find Mann and that CIA spook Fischer, we formed up near the plane and we're taking inventory on ammo and what guns we can take.", he asked me, toting his M60 Light Machine gun. Good for fire support, and perfect for crowd control.

I shook my head sadly, answering, "Eastwood. West. Jones. They're KIA. Other than that, nobody else. We're FUBAR."

"Damn it. Well, Lieutenant...what are your orders?", Bier asked me.

"We're gonna kick some ass, that's what."

15 minutes later…

And so we were assembled. Three GIs and one CIA spook named Steve. Not Captain America Steve, mind you. I had worked with Fischer for a good while beforehand, ran some ops behind enemy lines in Indonesia...I ain't supposed to talk about that, but that's neither here nor there. Point is, he was reliable. I was glad he made it out. Almost forgot we were running with him and that all that juicy intel of his. He stopped us from walking into ambushes more that a few times.

Another old friend was George Lee Mann. He got out of the combat zone alright, mostly. He burned his face real bad from the blast wave, but his eyes were unharmed. That was good, considering he was the best shot among us. The M14 Self Loading Rifle was his chosen weapon. I've tried it before, it's not bad, considering it was my standard rifle for a good while.

And there was good old me. The CO. The Lieutenant. The Big Boss. The Horseman of War, as Bier had sarcastically called me once. As cheesy as it sounds, I admit I kinda thought it was cool.

I gathered our little band of merry men near the gathered weapons we had found and piled up, and ordered, "Listen here, assholes. We probably won't be able to come back here for a while, so here's the deal. You take about two weapons if you can, take a lot of ammo, and we'll try to get the rest later. Mann, you're taking Eastwood's M1903. You're our best shot, but we don't have a lot of .30-06 to spare, so you might have to cut some fights close, and I mean close."

"You give me a target, and I'll kill 'em. Simple as that.", bragged Mann in that accent of his."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bier, you're keeping the M60, but I may need you to hold onto the rockets for the M72 I'm taking with us. That's our only Anti-Air and our only Anti-Tank weaponry, so we're not leaving it. Got it?"

"Yes sir, yessir. You got it, John.", Bier agreed simply.

"Mm-hmm. Fischer, I know you got room to carry more than that pistol, so I'm having you take an M1 Carbine. Make sure to keep us supplied with ammo, considering you're gonna be carrying most of our ammo. We keep this little system we got going, we should last long enough to make it to some kind of civilization. Now, forward! We're heading West until we can get sig-"

I stopped. The moon was directly over us now, and there was something very, very, wrong.

The moon was fucking broken. Broken, like shattered glass. Now if you'll excuse me if I didn't know, but I didn't think we had sent an atomic B-52 to the goddamn moon.

"What in the goddamn?!", I spoke aloud.

Elsewhere, Beacon Academy

Professor Ozpin had lived a good while and seen a good deal of things. Some good, some bad. He had regrets just like everyone else. More than most people, actually. But that was unrelated, because in his long years, he had never seen an outlier like this before.

A strange aircraft had appeared in the sky and crashed due to a Nevermore attack. This in itself was strange, but all the markings and uniforms of the men were something else. This was a military aircraft, surely, but nothing like Atlas. It had rotors and bore a message on the side, "United States Army", and for a second, he thought they were being invaded by another world. But soon enough, the whole crew of the craft was dead from either the crash, their wounds, or Grimm. He had told Glynda to inspect the site after she finished with Ruby Rose, and if necessary, take her to the site for time's sake.

Sipping his coffee, he stared at the camera as about four men dressed like the crew of the aircraft had suddenly appeared on camera, and began to march towards Vale after stockpiling on unknown weapons and ammunition. His other cameras showed that Glynda had not quite arrived at the dust shop robbery where Miss Rose was currently dealing with the attempted robbery on her own. At this rate, the strange soldiers and Miss Rose would converge just as Glynda would. Taking another sip, he said to himself, "A most curious development...just who are you all?"

September 23rd, 1971 (?)

Unknown city

Second Lieutenant John C. Tibbets

I had good news and bad news. Good news being that we had found a city. Bad news being, we had no idea where this city was. People looked at us like we were freaks, and nobody seemed to recognize the words "US Army" that were pinned upon my chest. Either we were in some really isolated land, or...well, I didn't have any other explanation. There shouldn't be a person in the world who hadn't heard of the Third World War, that final, titanic struggle between the German Reich and the United States...unless...was this place Earth in the future?

It would make sense, wouldn't it? Nobody recognized us because we had been dead for God knows how long.

I voiced my idea with Fischer, the smartest among us, and he only shrugged and replied, "Kid, let's worry about that later. I don't think even my brain could handle that."

I sneered at being called kid, I was a fucking commisioned officer. He may be a Gman, but I was still in charge of the platoon. But then I remembered this was his way of being a dick. I flipped him off as he smirked quietly. I hated how calm he was all the time, but it was a useful skill. I could keep calm in some bad shit, to an extent. I was still human, and I wasn't trained like a goddamn CIA agent...maybe I was a little jealous.

All these people were dressed so weird, all these fancy colors and hair and some...animal ears. Probably some kind of radiation mutation. Kraut nukes had fucked these people up, surely. They would nudge each other and point at us, and I swear I heard one of them say, "Those are some strangely dressed huntsman." Huntsman, eh? That was a pretty cool title, but I doubt we qualified as whatever that meant to these people.

I nudged Mann, our Alabama native, and pointed at some bigass tower in the distance, and said, "Fuck me, that's impressive."

"Mm-hmm, looks pretty cool, Lieutenant. Ain't nothing like I've ever seen, though. I heard you talk to Fischer, you think this place was America?"

"I'd be inclined to think so, you got a better idea?"

Smacking his lips, Mann shook his head and continued, "Nah, it would make sense. It's not like we're in a different planet...right?"

I was silent, because that seemed possible as well, when it sure as hell shouldn't. But this creeping idea of this place being another world was slowly creeping on me. Just how different was this place?

My thoughts were interrupted as the sounds of gunfire and fighting roared from the next street over, and me and my men went on high alert. Here we go, first fight here.

Running over to the source of the noise, we aimed our weapons at...a little girl and a blonde woman talking. I am so confused.

The little girl in red adopted a look of curiosity at us, and the blonde gal just stared in a confused neutrality. However, Blondie seemed to recognize us somehow, which was unnerving.

I managed to spit out, "I-I'm sorry, we heard guns and we came to see what was going on...uhh…".

I couldn't seem to spit anything else out as little girl in red visually examined our weapons and Blondie simply stated, "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

I gulped. Fuck me sideways, this just got interesting.