"The Germans have crossed the sea. The End is coming. The Bombs are flying. But the American Spirit fights on."

- Unknown

I gotta say, the wind atop these cliffs was peaceful. Unusually peaceful, in my humble opinion. But, the cool air did clear the head. I liked it, just a bit.

Especially if I was about to be launched off a cliff. With no parachute. I mean, I gave my men the pep talk and the plan, but seriously, how the fuck was I going to make it? I'd break my neck on the first branch.

Oh, John, what have you gotten yourself into?

I swear, someday, I'm going to be the death of this whole platoon. Or what was left of us.

Taking a deep breath, I stop staring into the abyss, and return to my position where my men were already prepared. Gear all strapped on, ammo attached. Smart, because there wasn't a fucking chance that we weren't going to lose a few things in the fall. That also included our lives.

Whistling to Bier, I take my place near him. He turns his head towards me, nodding and asking, "So you all set?"

"Locked and loaded, Joe. You?"

"Yep, ammo's strapped to my goddamn chest, as you can clearly see. I'm holding onto the Pig real tight, too. Can't afford to lose it in the fall.", he confided, crouching.

I'd give him credit, he had all hit shit together, he was ready for action, and I mean ready. Bier wasn't a man to fuck with.

Nodding, I pat him, "Good man. Now, let's hope Mann and Fischer got their shit together...where the fuck did they go, anyway?", to which Bier shrugged.

I turned my head all around, and those two were nowhere to be found. You've gotta be fucking kidding me, I told them to stick toge-...I didn't, actually. Eh, fuck 'em, we're about to start soon, anyway.

Next thing I hear is Ozpin announcing, "For years, you have trained to become warriors, and today, your abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest."

Heh, trained for years. Let's see...I enlisted 1963, been in the Army ever since. Technically, he ain't wrong.

Then, the blonde teacher I had come to know as Goodwitch (a very on the nose fucking name) spoke up, "Now, I'm sure many of you have heard rumors about the assignment of "teams." Well, allow us to put an end to your confusion. Each of you will be given teammates... today."

Well, shit, Fischer's intel was right. Bastard really was a CIA agent.

A defeated gasp of surprise I recognized as Ruby's caught my hearing, and I felt a little bad for knowing all this and not telling, but that's gonna blow my cover. Sorry, kid.

Turning my head, I give her a reassuring nod, as if to say "You'll be alright". She smiles and nods, turning back towards the cliff. Well, at least I did something, right?

A sudden, familiar yell rang out as I saw Mann go fucking flying across the sky. It wasn't a scared yell, either. It was his classic Rebel yell, one that he had perfected over the years and he loved to use.

Turning my head to Bier, I smile and say, "Fucking Reb, he didn't even sound scared.", as I watch Mann's silhouette disappear into the treelines.

Bier chuckled, "Crazy fuck is gonna have some fun out here, ain't he? Never seems to be scared of nothin'."

"Not even when we were in Indonesia did he seem scared once. Guess that's his Reb blood, he's too good at his job.", I remember, thinking about some of our actions throughout our service.

"...Yeah, Indonesia wasa fucking hellhole. Japs were good in the tree-Ah, I'm next.", Bier started before realizing that he was about to get his ass launched.

In an instant, Bier went flying from the cliffs and I saw the little dot that was him crash into some trees. Well, here I go, I'm fucking next.

I steeled myself for the fall. I knew how to jump out of planes, I had trained for it, but fuck, I had a parachute then. Here, I was going bare with no support.

Looking over at Ozpin, he gave me a nod. He knew none of us had aura, but he was doing this anyway. Either he just didn't give a shit or he was up to something.

Shaking my head, I turn towards the cliffs and in a few seconds afterward, a sudden force propels my body upward as I see the green below get closer. The wind ran through my hair and under my helmet, blowing it all over the goddamn place as the sound of me falling echoed throughout my mind. I was falling fast, and I may not survive.

I saw the canopy of the forest getting closer and closer as I braced for impact, knowing death may come in a heartbeat.

All I saw was a wave of green leaves and the pain of getting smacked by branches as I hit my target.

Emerald Forest

Goerge Lee Mann

Out of all the things Mann had experienced in his years being alive, ain't nothing had shaped up to being launched into a goddamn forest. Sure, sniping in Africa and all over the place for the Army had been real fucking chaotic at times, but nothing really compared to this, not even being chased by a Kraut helicopter.

When he was a kid in Alabama in the 50s, things were real bad. He had grown up poor, and it was a chaotic time for the rural folk like him and his family, since the loss of the war had caused the economy to stay in it's depression. Things got better when Eisenhower was elected, and things stabilized for a while. And in that time, he had learned how to shoot and hunt to put food on the table, and he expected to be doing that for the rest of his life.

But for the life of him, he had no idea his life would end up here, in another world.

His chest ached as he got his bearings. He was lying on the floor of the forest, grass touching his face. Though he was in great pain, he slowly turned onto his belly and got his bearings.

Sitting up, Mann slowly looked around for his Springfield and M14, knowing he wouldn't survive long without them.

"There you are, old buddies.", he says, his gaze finding both rifles lying near him, unharmed from his crash landing.

He checked the ammo for both rifles, finding the amount that he had with him acceptable. It would be enough to get him through the initiation, at least he assumed so. If not, he was dead.

Smacking his lips, he slings the M1903 Springfield over his back, and shoulders the M14. His sense of direction was off, and he knew it. He was lost, and all he knew was to go to some kind of temple, and to, quote, "Destroy everything in his path", which he'd gladly do.

Mann was tempted to call out for his squadmates, but knew better. Calling out was stupid, it'd give away your position and get you killed. Indonesia had proven that too true for his liking.

Smacking his lips, he set off in a random direction he thought was his goal and walked.

"...Too quiet out here…", he said to himself, listening for any signs of danger. Nothing had yet registered as dangerous, so he thought to himself, maybe a little music wouldn't hurt.

Clearing his throat as he walked, he let loose his Southern drawl to the tune of a familiar song.

"I'll place my knapsack on my chest, my rifle on my shoulder! I'll march away to the firing line, and kill that Yankee soldier! I'll march away to the firing line, and kill that Yankee soldier!"

To him, it was just a song from home, one that made him feel closer to his family's farm out in the country...he knew it was long gone, but he did miss it. A part of him still wanted it back.

His quiet vocals continued as he marched off, clutching his M14 close, ready to pop someone or something's head as soon as he got the chance. The more he thought about it, being in Remnant wasn't so bad. It just felt like another deployment, just the latest tour in a long list of tours. Still had to go shooting, killing for one reason or another. Politics, freedom, and in this case, just plain old survival.

This brought him a short moment of clarity. Ain't nothing too different about this place, just a short change of scenery, but it was the same as before. Mann really wasn't too sure how to feel about this realization. It at least brought him a little bit of...peace, he guessed.

But nothing like that ever lasted long, because soon enough, the sounds of battle snapped him out of his singing and internal thinking. A thin smile spread across his face, excited to get into the action and "let slip the dogs of war".

Slowly sneaking his way over to the sounds, he ducked into a clump of bushes and took aim with his M14...and what he saw made him smirk.

The blonde girl that the Lieutenant had identified as Yang was kicking some black creatures's ass, which he assumed were the Grimm he had heard so much about. Only thing is, she was unnaturally fast. She zipped around, punching the shit out of anything that opposed her, a wreath of holy fire surrounding her. And it was an impressive sight, he could barely keep up with her movements, Yang was simply a blur to Mann's vision.

This irked him somewhat, but he assumed it had something to do with, quote, "soul magic bullshit". Thanks to that, she was almost too fast for him to comprehend. Almost.

No target, magic or not, would evade him.

He aimed down the sight of the M14 rifle once more, centering his shot for the head of the last few Grimm he saw.

"What? You want some, too!?", Yang shouted to the final Grimm as Mann took his chance, unloading two rounds into the stationary Grimm, the crack of the rifle filling his hearing. The recoil was held back by his experienced hands, keeping the barrel level.

It was a clean kill, as the Grimm disintegrated into nothing as he stepped out from cover. Taking a deep breath, he lowered the rifle and looked at Yang.

"I could've taken him.", she stated simply, examining Mann with her purple eyes.

"I'm quite sure you could've, ma'am. I'm sure you don't mind the support, nonetheless.", he replied, adopting a cocky smile, pleased with his kill.

It seemed Yang had a similar feeling, adopting a smirk herself, saying, "Guess so...partner."

This Southern Soldier had found himself a teammate.

Emerald Forest

Steven Fischer, CIA

Steven Andrew Fischer. Agent of the Central Agency, a US Government employee. He could be whoever and whatever Uncle Sam needed him to be. Spy, propagandist, interogater? Done. Judge, jury, and executioner? Easy. Soldier? No shit.

So even if he was in another world, he didn't give a fuck. He didn't exactly have a doctrine for this, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to use everything he could to his advantage.

The matter of getting intel on the initiation was a simple enough matter. Walking around while people were going to sleep, listening in to conversations, and putting all the pieces together was a familiar process. He'd done it a thousand times, and through this experience, he figured out what exactly this trial in the woods entailed.

His Army companions were certainly badasses in their own right. Enlisted, drafted, it didn't matter. They'd come into their own, a long way from basic training at Fort Campbell. Lieutenant Tibbets and his men were true soldiers in their own way, even without the...extra training he had given them.

Combining their combat prowess with their killer instinct, and that little CIA tidbits he had given them? They were a force to be reckoned with. Even if they didn't believe it.

So, as Fischer trudged his way through the grass of the Emerald Forest, toting his M1 Carbine, he knew his platoon would be alright out here. Hell, they'd thrive out here. Again, soldiers in the true sense of the word.

He was older than them, and as such had a little bit of experience over his companions, and most of this school's occupants. He could see and hear more than most folk. Reading threats was part of that.

He had already identified some things and people as threats. The girl with black hair and electrifying yellow eyes was one of them. He had caught her, just barely, sneaking glances at Lieutenant Tibbets, and in turn, the whole platoon. This in itself was not the worrying part.

It was simply the way her eyes studied them like a hunter or a predator. He had learned to tell the difference of a look of awe and a look of suspension a long time ago. He'd have to thank Mann for getting Tibbets to go shirtless, else he might have not caught the girl this early.

But he shouldn't worry about that now. All he had to do right now was to shoot the enemy. It didn't matter which enemy. SS, Abwher, Kempeitai, and now Grimm. Killing the enemy was a universal act that only required your will and strength.

And so the agent marched his way through the woods, toting his carbine.

All while a certain bow wearing girl watched from above.

...

Blake's reasoning for watching these men was simple. There was something off about them. Their clothes, their weapons. The way they talked and conducted themselves. It was that of someone who knew what they were doing and how to fight.

Her first contact with them came from their apparent "leader", in which she used the term lightly. They only called him "John" or "Tibbets", nothing to signify a rank or anything like that. But she recognized the signs of a ringleader anywhere, somebody who ran the show and gave the orders.

After all, she had been following someone like that until recently.

Her own observations yielded some results. Their various patches and insignias were nothing she had seen before, and she couldn't get close enough to get a good look. Only a vague outline of an eagle and some letters above it. That, and along with their clothes sporting the words "US ARMY". Nothing she had heard before.

The biggest military in Remnant was Atlas, and the other kingdoms had very small ones, if any. None of them used the terms she had heard.

If she could, Blake would have ignored it and gone on reading. But something was gnawing at her from inside. Call it instinct, call it fate, but it was the same result regardless.

She wanted to know the truth.

Which is why she found herself watching one of the men from a tree, balancing herself on a branch and observing. She was still making her way to the temple, but she wanted to get some other observations in at the same time.

This man was quieter than the rest of them. Calm. Cool. Didn't speak unless he had to. By the way he held his weapon and walked, he was extremely experienced. More than a first year huntsman should be.

That experience was probably why she got caught by him.

A single mistake of stepping on the wrong branch, her weight gave out from under her and she plummeted to the floor, smacking on the ground.

It took her a second to recover, and in that second, she heard the click of a gun and looked up.

Lowering his rifle, the man she had been watching stared at her quietly, eyes obscured by the sunglasses he wore. She was looking him right in the eye.

Blake knew what that meant, as she felt her bow twitch.

Her new partner reached out his hand to help her up, simply stating, "Awfully long drop, isn't it?"

She took it.

Emerald Forest

Joseph R. Bier

Joe "Richie" Bier. The platoon's finest machine gunner. Master of the M60 and all its features, was walking through an alien world.

Well, he assumed it was an alien world. He had heard John's random theory that this place could be their land far in the future. He didn't really know how plausible it was. He didn't think he was smart enough to figure it out. He'd leave that to "Intelligence Officer" Fischer. The stiff pricked Spook could probably do it.

John and him hadn't gone to college. Hell, John had once implied he failed Math in high school. Nobody really thought Mann had even gone to school. Not that it was his fault. The end of the Second World War had taken a heavy price on the US, especially the rural areas like where Mann had lived. He and John were lucky.

Not by very much, though.

Bier had a habit of overthinking shit sometimes. It was infuriating, to be alone with his thoughts and to get trapped in a cycle of weird questions he didn't want to solve and trains of thought he didn't want to ride.

But he couldn't help it. Especially when it had to do with the wellbeing of his platoon. All three of them. Well, two. Fischer didn't say anything about his own personal life. Understandable.

John had been through too much in too short of a time. In 1963, his first year in the Army, he had his girlfriend break up with him, his sister disowned him, and lost a whole bunch of men to Hans Huttig's fanatical SS.

Bier didn't usually sleep until late, and woke up in the middle of the night to get water occasionally. The night before, he had woken up in time to see John's daily nightmares. It happens every night nowadays. Especially towards the day the Germans blew them all to Hell (or in this case, Remnant).

Bier patted him, and it had calmed him down, just a bit. But he couldn't solve any of it. He knew why.

Tibbets felt guilty. About his platoon, his family, and maybe even America itself. In recent weeks he had gotten more and more defensive of America and anything about it. Maybe he was still coping with the end of the war. Maybe they all were.

And Mann? Mann was always cocky and joking, but it was a front. There was pain under it. Just a bit.

Bier did his best to help his brothers, but it was never completely enough. It was better than nothing.

So that's how he was both machine gun support and emotional support. Just what he did.

Realizing that he was riding a train of thought again, he snapped out of it and raised the M60. He had to keep eyes and ears peeled. Not only was he carrying ammo for the Pig, he also had the rockets for the M72 LAW. Especially important, considering that was their only heavy ordnance remaining. He could admit that back at the Huey crash site, they weren't able to scavenge and check everything, and he certainly wanted to go back and check for more supplies, but for now, they'd have to make do.

A sudden force slammed into him at an incredible speed, knocking his ass on the ground and causing him to drop the machine gun. Whatever slammed into him had fallen as well, and so he turned and drew his sidearm at it.

It was Ruby, of all people, and she was looking him in the eye.

Looks like Bier got himself a partner.

Emerald Forest

Lt. John C. Tibbets

My vision was swimming as my head pounded.

I must have hit my head on a branch, considering the horrible headache I was having. It was like I was getting brain fucked by some invisible force.

Sitting up, I realize that despite the fall, all my gear (and limbs) were still attached, and I let out a sigh of relief. If nothing else, I had defense against whatever was lurking out in these here woods.

I picked up my M16 once more, and flicked the safety off. Full magazine, just as before. Reaching for my bayonet, I hooked it onto the barrel, considering I might get into close quarters combat if I wasn't lucky.

Don't get me wrong, I'm an experienced fellow and I can handle a blade, a gun, and my fists. But I'm not going to stab black, evil animals when I've got a select fire, All-American rifle to end it from afar. I'm not stupid, I wouldn't last five seconds without my guns.

But against a human combatant? Call me the Horseman of War. Ain't nothing that walks on two legs that'll beat me...Hopefully.

So here I was, shouldering my rifle and keeping the barrel ready to snap up at any second. A familiar feeling, just another combat patrol. No German artillery going to blow me to hell, no Jap ambush waiting for me. Just me, my rifle, and my mind. Just as it should be.

Nothing is standing in the way of my platoon and I.

I started off slow walking at first. Yes, I'm experienced, but be that as it may...this place was alien to me. All I had was a vague sense of where the relics and temple were, but other than that? Blind as a bat. I'm not gonna go running and shooting...not yet. That's Plan B.

Plan A consisted of me marching my ass in a random direction and making contact with my boys. If not them, then at least a dumbass student that'll carry my ass to the temple. I had no qualms with that.

So until then, I was alone with my thoughts. Something I wasn't too excited about.

My boots crunched against dried leaves and branches with almost every step, each time drawing paranoia of being tracked and ambushed, my corpse left in a hole to be eaten by the vultures. Maybe some crazy hobo would come and have some private time with my body, to make things worse.

...I'm really going off the deep end, aren't I?

Maybe so, regardless, I've got a job to do. Heh, if Mom and Dad could see me now...well, Dad probably wouldn't give a shit. He was cool with anything, within reason. Mom might be worried, but she was always worried about me. Probably because I'm her son.

Both gone now, surely. The War took care of them...Dad rejoined the Air Force, considering the Army Air Corps didn't exist anymore. Flew in jet aircraft for the first time in his life, hadn't flown any place since 1945. I still remember when I heard he got shot down over the Mexican border, dueling with Luftwaffe jets. What's that line from the Air Force song again? "We live in fame, or go down in flame"?. That's how he went out, I hope. Lyle Tibbets, my dad. Badass to the end.

Mom probably died at the same time I "died". I wasn't sure if I qualified as dead or not. I'm certainly living and breathing now, but still...I know for a fact that I got impaled by a bayonet just before the bombs dropped. But still, as far as I know, the blast of the nukes probably got her before anything else.

I hadn't really come to terms with that yet. Things have been happening so fast, I can barely keep up. I had been more affected by how we were the "Last Americans" rather than the fact I was the last member that bore the name of "Tibbets". That didn't feel right. My sweet old Mom, never could even hurt a fly, driven out of Austria as a young girl, fled to America, only for the Krauts to come to the USA. God rest her soul. She was a good mother. A good person. Much more than I ever could be.

I let out another sigh. I can't think about this right now, I'm getting sidetracked. Need to get to the objective. Need to find the relics.

I continued my journey, at least until I stopped myself when I heard rustling from a nearby brush. It was loud, noisy. And whatever it was, it was big.

Raising my rifle, I aim down the iron sights via the carrying handle. My eyes were fixed on the target and nothing else. Let it come to me, it'll eat my lead.

And that's when I saw my first Grimm.

Poking its head out, I only could see the bone plate attached to its head and the pitch black of its body. Razor sharp claws, teeth bared. It would certainly intimidate a lesser man.

I am not a lesser man. And I sure as hell ain't a pussy.

It soon noticed me, and tensed up. It was scanning me, looking for weaknesses in me. It didn't think much of me, as it opened its mouth.

It didn't even get the chance to growl.

The recoil of my rifle kicked in as I let off a burst of 6 rounds, 5.56 OFN rounds tearing into it's flesh and bone. The shells exited, spilling to the ground as I saw the life leave it's eyes and it dissipated into nothingness.

First kill on Remnant. How did I feel? I felt good.

Smiling, that familiar feeling of bloodlust was starting to kick up. And it wasn't going away. I needed more.

Well, at least that's what I was thinking when I felt someone bump into me from behind, swiftly turning around, bringing my rifle to bear, I was met with light blue eyes and extremely pale skin.

I immediately recognized her.

It was the white bitch from earlier. The one I had become fond of flipping the bird at.

And I was looking at her right in the eyes, her glaring at me in surprise and anger.

"You've got to be fucking joking.", I say.

AN: I apologize for the delay, I've been extremely busy due to school and classes. Regardless, I'm not giving up yet.

On tonight's episode, we learn a bit about the platoon's background and motivations, including how their brains work. They've been paired up, and soon enough teams will be formed. Can't wait.

Further down the line, we'll start to see why exactly the Americans are here and how they got there. That'll be great.

And with that, I'll take my leave with a quote.

"You're not gonna stop me from getting my Triple Big Mac Heart Attack Combo Meal!"

-Hermann Goering, during the invasion of McDonalds