Chapter 9: Ironclad

The cool, early morning air didn't seem to bother General Ironwood. Not because he had donned a new set of military attire, but more likely because he didn't care about the temperature right now. He paced back and forth atop the roof of the small hospital that functioned as the headquarters for the coalition force of the Atlesian Military and Vale's remaining defensive forces. Moments like this were incredibly rare. The steely veteran never took time away from his work. Even the so called recreational activities, like spectating tournament fights, came with a catch. The tactician in him would not forgive a missed opportunity to gather critical combat data from his nation's formerly well-kept secret. The thought made him cringe.

That woman from the broadcast... The things she'd said about hiding military ambition under the guise of a young girl… It had never been his, or anyone else's intention to infiltrate anything by utilizing Penny. Such a tactic would have been shrewd, in a pinch, but these were times of peace. Or… they had been. Now it was all up in the air. The CCTS was crippled. Short-range radio transmissions were the only form of communication available to him outside of hand-delivered messages. Scrolls were designed to work almost exclusively with the CCTS. He was no tech specialist, but Ironwood was pretty sure that they would need some kind of software update to work as radios. That would take time, if it was possible at all.

Although it hadn't risen yet, the red glow of the morning sun cast an eerie light over the horizon. Activity in Vale had died down in the last hours of darkness. The last of the transport ships was accounted for when it arrived full of students who had received startling injuries. They were all still being treated or evaluated by any available doctors based on the severity of their injury. The thought of so many students, civilians, faculty and servicemen being wounded or killed made Ironwood clench his fist. No amount of troops or warships could have prevented this. He had been played like a fool. So many of the units he'd brought to protect Vale were just… stolen away… turned against him. He recognized what this would look like from an outside perspective. Confusion? Deception? Invasion?

Ironwood knew he was fortunate, even in this mess, to have the trust of some of the most powerful individuals in Vale. Glynda, Qrow… even Ozpin respected him as an equal. Qrow was easily his harshest critic, but he knew the truth about the Atlesian units. He was a professional. Even though they'd had their differences, they could function as allies. Without a second thought, Qrow had saved him from a giant griffon that was bearing down on him from behind. Even with these small comforts in the back of his mind, the General couldn't help but question the fate of Qrow and Ozpin. All of the ships were accounted for, save for the one Qrow had taken back to Beacon… and that was hours ago.

This single night felt like a few months worth of time passing. The last time Ironwood was in contact with anyone other than Glynda was at the crash site in Vale. He'd issued orders to all of them before heading off himself to take inventory of the situation at the site of the warship he'd seen go down.

Finally done with pacing, the General put his hands on the ledge at the end of the building and looked down at all of the activity below. The flurry of movement he observed was in stark contrast to the scene aboard his last remaining warship.

It took him longer than expected to make the journey. Ironwood was driven to get to that ship. Of course, he wanted to ascertain the fate of his crew, but he also needed to send a distress message back to Atlas. His warships were modern, with many levels of redundancies built into them. Principal among these was a powerful radio antenna built into the nose section of the ship. It wasn't necessary as long as the ships stayed within reasonable range to the CCTS towers, but for extended expeditions, it was the only way to get a message out. If it had survived the crash, the antenna could be repurposed as a hub for anyone in, or even near Vale. It was hardly ideal, but it was a far better alternative than what was effectively walkie talkies.

His hope was quickly dashed upon arriving at the crash site. He'd seen the ship crash from a distance. It appeared to impact nose first, but he had to be sure. So, he trekked across Grimm-ridden city blocks until the massive warship was in front of him. Ironwood had spent years around these ships. They always looked bigger from the ground. Not that he was used to seeing them like this, just that they were much more intimidating from up close.

In this case, intimidating was not the best descriptor for the pile of burning scrap metal in front of him. He'd been correct in his analysis of the ship's crash. Nose first. If the crushed front-half of the ship wasn't enough of an indication of its condition, then the fires put any lingering doubt to rest. Either way, Ironwood needed to get on that ship. He had to be sure.

There was a gaping hole just forward of the command deck, on top of the ship. Any substantial impact in that location would most likely have disabled the antenna, directional controls, and most probably the dust reactors powering the ship. Outside of internal system damage, most of the window panes surrounding the command deck were shattered, so the General would be able to get inside that way. And so he did. It wasn't overwhelmingly difficult to climb up the side of a metal warship, especially considering what his arm was made out of.

The scene inside was… staggering. Emergency power was still active, but the red hue emanating from the secondary lights established a haunting atmosphere. There were a few lifeless bodies scattered across the deck. The ships were huge. But during times of peace, and for a general display of power, such as what the Atlesian military had been employing, only a skeleton crew was required to operate the ship. Even still, it was clear that these men had been attacked. They were not killed in the crash.

Ironwood quickly moved toward the main computer. It was the only interactive console kept online by emergency power. He attempted to access the antenna controls, then the dust reactor. The guidance controls would be useless from the ground, so he didn't bother. The computer couldn't communicate with any other systems. The ship was completely out of commission. He cursed the way things had come to pass, before promptly switching to the next item on his mental checklist, his personal quarters.

Being unsure of the intentions of the people responsible for commandeering the ship, he had to make sure that any sensitive information was secured. This included encryption and decryption codes, as well as the names and ranks of high-value Atlas personnel. He quickly located and procured the documents he required. They were left exactly the way he'd filed them. While in his chambers, the General quickly retrieved his formal military attire. He'd change later, but at some point he would need to look a little less… beaten. Only one thing was left to do. The prisoner.

Roman Torchwick had been captured after attempting to destroy Vale with the cooperation of the White Fang, utilizing the Grimm as a spearhead for the attack. Interrogation tactics were useless. The man was not capable of honest, meaningful conversation. Instead, he used sarcasm and stall tactics to antagonize his captors. As Ironwood made his way through the red-lit halls of his former bastion of strength, he considered the conceivable ways that Torchwick could have escaped. There was no way to be completely sure that he was behind this, but it was the possibility that made the most sense. His assumptions were confirmed upon arrival to the detainment pod. Roman was gone, no trace of him anywhere. Again, Ironwood cursed the events of this day.

His focus was broken by the first rays of direct sunlight hitting the roof from over the horizon. The warmth was welcome, but with it came the light of day. With the light came the realization of the sheer magnitude of the crisis in Vale. The choice to establish the hospital building as a headquarters for the safe zone had been hastily made. It was small, and couldn't accommodate all of the people displaced by the circumstances of the previous day. Some had taken to finding shelter in the grounded transport ships. Others were slumped against whatever they could find for support, attempting to get some rest. The General shook his head in disbelief. This was a civilized nation. These people did not deserve to be relegated to the level of the average rodent. At this moment, a message runner appeared behind him with news from below. With very few working radios and scrolls that were more useful as paperweights, this is what they had resorted to.

"Sir, the head surgeon reports that the last of the critically wounded have been stabilized. There were… some casualties… during the course of the night, but everyone currently under our supervision is in a stable condition," the runner concluded.

Ironwood turned to face the messenger. "Thank you, I'm glad to hear that we've helped all that we can. What's done is done. The casualties are… unacceptable… but at the same time out of our hands. You are dismissed." The General watched the runner turn to head back inside, before stopping him. "Young man. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to visit some of the more seriously wounded patients. Can you take me to them?" He decided that he'd spent enough time pacing on the roof. Until he heard from Qrow or Ozpin, he'd do his best to raise the morale of those within the safe zone.

The two made their way down a flight of stairs and through a double door, moving to their right down a long hallway. "Room 226," the messenger started. "She's the last one that the surgeons helped. I guess she was on the last ship to arrive." Ironwood had been busy planning with Glynda during the night. As such, he hadn't been able to observe the arrival of each individual ship.

The General dismissed the messenger again, after acquiring a list of room numbers that he could visit to try to be of some moral support. He knocked, waited, then opened the door after a moment of silence. Apparently, the occupant was still caught off guard. He recognized her, but it took a moment for his weary mind to process her name, and to call into question why she was standing at the end of the bed in what seemed to be a trance. "Miss… Belladonna? Are you… feeling alright?" he asked, stepping further into the room.

A few more steps revealed the true nature of the situation. This wasn't Blake's room. The General's gaze was immediately drawn to the patient's vibrant golden hair, then to the bandage on her right arm, or what was left of it. He then noticed that she was asleep. Blake looked down, then turned to Ironwood, "Fine," she said. "Just checking in on her. I was about to leave, anyway."

"I don't mean to impose, she's your teammate. I don't want to-" She cut him off.

"Really, I was just about to get out of here. The rest of my team is still out there somewhere, and I don't want to cause any more trouble." She walked demonstratively past the General with her head down the whole way, then ran back towards the stairs leading down.

When she was out of sight, Ironwood looked back at Yang. He had no idea what could have happened to her. "Her… arm," he thought to himself, slowly moving to the opposite side of the room. Having a seat on the vacant bed, he looked at his own arm, then back to Yang, "I'm sorry that this happened..." He removed his glove, revealing the cybernetic hand. "But it's not the end for you. I can't speak for what did or did not happen back in that tournament, but I promise that when you're ready, you're going to come back stronger than ever." He stood up again and looked toward the window. The sun had risen enough now that it was beginning to light up the whole room. Ironwood moved to the window with the intention of blocking the sun so that the injured young huntress could rest without distraction.

As he pulled the curtain closed, the low hum of a transport ship became audible, accompanied by a slight rumble. He looked out the unblocked portion of the window for the source. Before he could find it, two soldiers ran past the door to the room, towards the stairs. The curtain was closed completely now, and Ironwood began to walk briskly toward the door, whilst pulling his white glove back over his exposed metal hand. A third soldier came around the corner, trailing a significant distance behind his comrades. He noticed the General closing the door to the room and promptly stopped to offer a salute. "General, an armored transport ship is closing in from the direction of Beacon. It bears the insignia of the Atlesian Military. Judging by the trajectory, I think it's going to land on the roof."

The General nodded. "I see. Go, find Glynda, and inform her that Qrow and Ozpin will be arriving momentarily. We'll need to debrief them about last night's events." The soldier responded in the affirmative, saluted again, and headed back down to search for Professor Goodwitch. Ironwood moved with a purpose now, back in the direction from which he originally came.

He emerged from the access door on the roof in time to see the transport ship line up its final approach. A dozen soldiers were already gathered near the soon-to-be landing site. The lieutenant in charge of the men clearly understood Atlesian Debriefing Procedures. Ironwood ordered the soldiers to clear a path to his and Glynda's planning room down on the first floor. No one was to be allowed into the halls.

As the ship's hatch opened, the General made eye contact with Qrow, as he held the unconscious young Ruby in his arms. The look that they exchanged said everything that needed to be said about the outcome of the mission.

Ironwood sighed, almost ashamed of what he had to do. "I need everyone on board this ship to come with me. Debriefing procedures begin immediately."