AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm probably updating this too fast-people don't have time to enjoy the last (distressing) chapter or leave reviews. (Which I like. Leave reviews. It makes the author happy.) But in this case, I don't care: I'm having a great time with this fic, and this chapter was a hell of a lot more fun to write than the last one was. For one thing, there's less drugs, and plenty more action. That's right: Ruby Flight is back in the air! Even if it is the most bizarre dogfight they've ever been in.

A slight retcon I made last time I posted: SACEUR's briefing to Pyrrha and company now takes place on September 15, not September 30. I realized that my dates were about to not match up. Chapter 1 has the correct date now.

But first, let's check in on an old friend we haven't met yet in ORW VI...

The Greenbrier

White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, United States of Canada

12 September 2001

Rissa Arashikaze sat with her feet up on her desk, gazing outside at the beauty of the Appalachian Mountains. It had been a beautiful day, and she really should be getting ready to go home. Home. Arashikaze sniffed. Her home was a one-room studio apartment, in an upscale area of White Sulphur Springs. After the destruction of Washington DC in the Third World War, the US government had reestablished themselves at the Greenbrier, but nowadays only the Central Intelligence Agency remained; the rest of the Federal government had moved to Charlottesville. Rissa's real home had been in the mountains of western Montana, but that was long gone.

I need to quit thinking like that, she told herself. It was the mountains, much smaller than the ones she had known, that sent her down memory lane. She was grateful, then, when the telephone rang. She picked it up. "Deputy Director Arashikaze."

"Rissa, this is Garrett McCormick."

Arashikaze swung her feet off her desk. "And what can I do for my counterpart at the Infernal Revenue Service?"

"Oh, like I've never heard that joke before."

"You deserve it, ever since you left honest work here at CIA to go work for Satan."

McCormick laughed. "Something crossed my desk tonight that I thought you would be interested in. My counterpart at Interpol let me know, because he wasn't sure if you knew."

"Know what?" Arashikaze picked up a pen and began twirling it through her fingers.

"Weiss Schnee's credit card was used yesterday evening."

Arashikaze stopped twirling the pen. "That is interesting." Someone knocked on her door. "Just a moment, Garrett." She put her hand on the receiver. "Come in." One of her operatives came in, a woman taller than Arashikaze. "I'm on the phone. Give me a second." The operative nodded and waited patiently. "Sorry, Garrett. I've got half an hour before quitting time, and everyone suddenly wants to talk to me."

"Sucks to be you. Anyway, yes, her credit card was used to buy gas in some little Polish town called…uh…Pudnik." He snickered. "I almost said Pudknocker."

Arashikaze's mind instantly fixed that location: near the Czech-Polish border, but also close to Moravia. "It was probably fraud. Weiss Schnee is missing in action."

"Normally it wouldn't concern the IRS—Weiss Schnee isn't an American citizen—but we've been investigating smugglers and the like using the credit cards of dead American and NATO servicepeople. We've been freezing assets. Then I remembered that emergency broadcast that was made a week or two back by that fighter pilot—what was her name?"

"Ruby Rose?"

"That's it. I remembered this Schnee woman being associated with her, and then I remembered that you were involved with all of them. I figured I'd give you a call and maybe get a dinner out of it, next time you're in Atlanta."

Arashikaze concealed her excitement. "I appreciate it, Garrett. It's probably nothing, but I'll check on it. If it turns into something important, then you can have that dinner at my expense."

"Sounds like a bet, Rissa. Talk to you later." The line clicked off, and Arashikaze got out of her chair, holding up a finger. She quickly took out a huge atlas, dropped it on her desk, and flipped to the map of Poland. She put her finger on Leszno, then moved it south to Pudnik. "She's moving south…but that doesn't make any sense. Why not go to Zagan? Why head towards Moravia?" Arashikaze sighed. If Weiss Schnee was alive, she would head west, not south. It was probably fraud, and if so, that meant someone had found Weiss' credit cards, probably on a corpse. "Damn." She sat back down, then nodded to her operative. "What do you have, Riana? Please tell me it's good news."

"Depends on how you define that." Riana pushed her glasses up her nose. "We just got a call from our asset in Moravia, at the Red Keep. The Red Prince is having one of his business meetings."

Arashikaze nodded tiredly. "He had one last month. Small fry. Even Musou; the Mafia's easing him out of power, and that's Interpol's problem, not ours."

Riana set a folder onto Arashikaze's desk, and opened it, tapping on a photograph. "Junko Enoshima is there."

Arashikaze leaned forward. "So, the self-styled Ultimate Despair finally crawled out from under her rock in Rhodesia. The Prince must have some merchandise she's interested in." She nodded again, this time more excitedly. "Well, Riana, I think I can convince President Shawcross to finally deal with Enoshima, and get a spoiled brat druglord/human trafficker at the same time."

"It would be good to finally nail Enoshima," Riana agreed. "Some of the surviving White Fang are seeing her as Sienna Khan's and Adam Taurus' successor. How will we do it?"

"Same way we got Osama bin Laden two years ago: Tomahawk strike. After the shellacking we got in Poland, Shawcross is looking for a victory to buck up the home front, and the new SACEUR will be happy to kick off his tenure with removing a threat to his southern flank. Certainly the people of Moravia won't mind seeing the Red Prince filling a pit." Arashikaze peered at the map. "And our last reconnaissance puts Salem still well to the northeast, licking her wounds east of the Vistula. She isn't in any condition to take advantage of a power vacuum." I hope, Arashikaze added. They had certainly underestimated Salem recently.

"There is one other thing," Riana said. "Our asset also reported that five NATO fighter pilots were brought to the Red Keep as well. No names. He was afraid to transmit for too long."

"Five?" Arashikaze's eyebrows went up. "That's—"

"—Ruby Flight, plus Marrow Amin," Riana finished. "They're the only NATO pilots that are MIA in that area. It has to be them."

"And Weiss Schnee's credit card was used yesterday." She went back to the map. "But why south? Why would they evade south? If they were shot down, the logical thing to do would be to head west. They go to Schnee Manor, and the Schnee butler there makes a phone call."

"Maybe they were afraid they'd be arrested?" Riana shrugged.

"Confirm it, if you can. In the meantime, I'll call the President and get permission to blow the Red Keep off the map."

"Yes, ma'am." She paused. "Ma'am, if that is Ruby Flight, and we wait for confirmation, we could lose Enoshima."

"I know," Arashikaze answered sadly. She picked up the phone. "We do what we have to. Get me confirmation." Riana nodded and walked to the door. "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I love you."

Riana smiled. "I love you too, grandma." She closed the door behind her.

Arashikaze allowed herself a moment to be proud of the young woman her granddaughter had become, then remembered that four women Riana's age might be in her crosshairs by accident. I'll deal with that later. The line clicked on. "Good evening, Mr. President. Sorry to disturb you, but we have actionable intelligence that a target of ours is in the open. I'll need your permission to kill them." Arashikaze could not stand pretty euphemisms for sanctioned murder.

The Cervena Pevnost (Red Keep)

Ostrava, Kingdom of Moravia

12 September 2001

Private Stepan Smetana sighed. Like guards the world over ordered to guard something that probably didn't need to be guarded, he was bored. He and an equally bored Private Antonin Mucha were assigned to the vitally important loading docks…for the Red Keep's kitchen. It took a lot of food to keep the hundred or so staff fed, plus the Red Prince and any visitors he might entertain, but that was hardly strategic, and there was only one truck parked there in any case, a small one at that. Smetana knew he hadn't done anything wrong, so he wondered why he was being punished. He checked his watch. It was just a minute short of midnight.

Mucha looked around for officers, and then he walked over. "Got any smokes?"

"Yeah." He fished cigarettes out for both of them, and lit them. "Did we screw up? Is that why we're out here?"

"Nah, Sarge just did the rotation the other day. Short straw." Mucha blew out a long trail of smoke and adjusted the AK-47 so it sat easier on his back. "Man, I wish we could guard downstairs. At least then we'd have something pretty to look at."

"You know that we have to be corporals to even get down to the basement."

"I know, I know, but…did you see that blonde that came in this morning?" Mucha put his hands about two feet in front of his chest. "Tits out to here. Damn! We could never afford her, but at least we could look." He leaned in conspiratorially. "I hear they make the girls strip for the buyers. I bet she's a natural blonde."

"Stop it, you horny bastard." Smetana shook his head. He had heard the rumors too. Everyone knew the Red Prince was involved in trafficking; no one dared protest it, not unless they wanted to end up dead. Smetana had a sister who was fifteen: he'd heard that the last person to protest had gotten to watch his daughter sold off before he was shot. Smetana didn't know if that was true, but he wasn't chancing it. He didn't particularly like working for the Prince, but jobs were hard to come by in Moravia.

"Oh, that's right. You have a thing for Faunus, you weirdo." Mucha nudged him to let him know it was meant in jest. "There was a hot brunette, too. Catgirl. I bet you wouldn't turn—" He was cut off as his radio crackled. He mumbled a curse word and took the radio off his load-carry vest. "Guard Five. No, no activity. All routine." He paused and listened to the headset in his ear. "Yes, sir. Understood. Guard Five out."

"What is it?" Smetana asked.

"Oh, some idiot heard a gunshot and was wondering if it was out here. Yeah, right. Probably one of those Mafiosos got trigger happy." Mucha shrugged. "Anyway, there were three other girls too. All of them hot as hell. Filip said one of them was a Schnee, but Filip's been drinking brake fluid again—" He was cut off as the loading dock door opened. "What the hell?" He spit out his cigarette and went to unsling his AK.

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Charles Cheshire walked casually out of the door, his hands raised, speaking in Czech. "Are you guarding the truck there?"

"Maybe, who's asking?" Mucha got the AK unslung, but held it low.

Cheshire put his hand out. "Charlie Cheshire. I do business with the Prince…if you know what I mean. Anyway, my colleagues and I just bought some fine bitches, but my goddamn truck broke down, and I've got to get these ladies to the airport or Musou will have my nuts on a plate. You know Musou, the Mafioso?"

"Sure, but why do you need the food truck?" Smetana's hand stopped on his sling; it seemed odd, but there was a lot of odd things that happened at the Red Keep.

"I told you, Sergeant, mine's gone for a burton," Cheshire said, purposely giving the private a promotion, "so either I get the bitches out to the airfield or I get tossed into the Oder with an anchor around my neck. Do a guy a solid, huh? The keys in the ignition?"

"I don't know," Smetana replied. "We could call it in, get you a driver—"

"Listen, bloke, I don't have time for that! You know how long that will take? You talk to your sergeant, he talks to the leftenant, he talks to the captain, on up the line. Musou told me that if they aren't to the airport in 30 minutes, he's going to have my arse. I can make it worth your while."

"Yeah? How?" Mucha demanded. He raised the rifle slightly.

"Fine!" Cheshire laughed. "You boys drive a hard bargain. Yo, Mike! Bring 'em out!"

The door opened again, and to the stunned surprise of the guards, five women walked out. They all wore bathrobes, and all wore blank expressions. Behind them was a stern-faced dog Faunus, tapping a bloody metal bar in his hands, wearing an ill-fitting red tunic. "Stop," Cheshire commanded, and the girls came to a halt, staring into space. Cheshire stepped back. "Listen, boys. This is the merchandise. I don't have time for you to get too frisky—especially not with these two, the redhead and the mouse girl." He slapped a short woman with reddish hair on the shoulder. She blinked, but otherwise did not react. "Pretty sure they're virgins. Those sheikhs pay a lot for those." He motioned to the blonde in the lead. "Her…well, you'll take one for the team, won't you, doll?"

"Yes," she said in a monotone. "I will take one for the team, master."

"See?" Cheshire checked his watch. "I got maybe five, eight minutes. You get to feel up her a bit, we get the truck, and you don't have to call it in to your superiors and I don't have to wait to get my balls lopped off. Sound good?"

"Sounds good to me!" Mucha set his AK down, much to Smetana's distress. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mucha just made a rude gesture. "Oh, shut up, Stepan, and go ogle those Faunus tits."

Cheshire's eyebrows rose. "Oh, you like Faunus? Well, I got you covered, man!" He pushed one of the girls out of the line, and to Smetana's surprise, it was the very Faunus brunette Mucha had been talking about earlier. "What do you have to say to this fine young soldier, ah, miss?" The girl slowly dropped to her knees and held out her arms. "Er, yeah! There you go, soldier. Go ahead."

Smetana didn't move. "Something's wrong here…"

Mucha had gotten the robe open on the blonde, to be confronted by a thin blouse. She smiled at him. "Do you want to see my breasts, master?" She began unbuttoning the tunic, and her bosom strained at the buttons that remained. She was not wearing a bra.

"Anton, we have to call this in!" Smetana unslung the AK.

"The hell we do!" Mucha snapped.

"Please, er…master," the Faunus catgirl said hesitantly. "I will do anything for you."

"Anton, why are they wearing shoes? None of the girls we've seen—" He stopped as suddenly there was a pistol pointed at his head. "Oh shit."

"Yeah," Cheshire said. "You're a good soldier, Stepan, but I will blow your brains out if you don't drop that AK and get on your knees." Smetana did as instructed.

"Wait, what's going—" Mucha turned, but then Yang punched him in the gut, then followed it up with a knee to the face. The guard went down and did nothing but start groaning. Blake got up and efficiently stripped Mucha of his radio, tossing it aside, then handed the AK to Yang. Weiss and Ruby stepped forward and did the same to Smetana. Little stood in place, still under the effects of kerasine, though now she looked confused more than blank. Marrow dropped the bar and ran down the ramp to the truck.

"Master? Really?" Weiss asked Yang.

"Hey, that's what they say in those stupid animes where the girls get mind-controlled." She grinned. "I thought my performance was pretty damn good, unlike Blake here."

"Not funny," Blake growled. "I've seen too many Faunus slaves, Yang. I want to puke now."

"Sorry."

"Sort it out later," Ruby ordered. "Let's get out of here. Little, follow me."

"Okay." Little obediently followed Ruby to the truck. The women climbed in the back and shut the door.

"C'mon, Charlie!" Marrow waved from the driver's seat. "The keys were in the ignition."

"Huh, my lucky day." Cheshire raised the pistol. "Not yours though, kid." He shot Smetana in the head, then did the same to Mucha before racing into the passenger seat.

"Why the hell did you shoot them, dumbass?" Marrow yelled at him as he put the truck in gear and began backing out. "We managed to slip through the kitchen with the girls acting like they were hopped up on kerasine, and now they probably heard those damn shots!"

"I might still have to do business with this asshole!" Cheshire pointed at the Red Keep. "I can't if his guards tell me I made off with his latest merch, now can I?" He put the pistol between them. "Now just get to the damn airfield. It won't be long before they find the Herbalist's body."

Ostrava-Mošnov International Airport

Ostrava, Kingdom of Moravia

13 September 2001

Getting onto the airport itself proved to be much less difficult than getting out of the Red Keep: it was after midnight, and it didn't take much convincing by Marrow and Cheshire for bored guards to let them into the air cargo area. Once inside, they abandoned the truck and headed for the restricted hangar where the Prince's private aircraft collection was. There were no guards there, and plenty of shadows to hide in: the guards were over by the general aviation section of the airport, where the Red Keep's latest visitors had parked their Learjets and Gulfstreams.

"Now I see why you didn't want to make a try for one of those," Weiss told Cheshire.

"Yeah. Too well guarded. I figure no one's going to care about the Prince's old aircraft." Cheshire shrugged. "Of course, I'm curious how we're going to get past the lock on that door. There's no way in hell he left it unlocked for us."

"I took a course in advanced lockpicking," Blake said. Cheshire smiled at her and started forward, but she grabbed his shoulder. "Hold on a second."

"Blake, we don't have time," Ruby pointed out.

"We have time for this. Remember that the last two people who claimed to be helping us either tried to sell us to Salem or sell us as sex slaves." Ruby couldn't argue with that logic. Blake pulled Cheshire back down. Her yellow eyes glowed in the half-darkness. "Who are you?"

"Charlie Cheshire. I told you."

"Bullshit," Blake snapped. "What's your real name?"

Cheshire sighed, and gave her a wry smile. "Charles Tabey, Junior. For someone who was wigged out on kerasine at the time, you figured that out back at the Keep. Congratulations. Can we go now?"

"Fine. But we're going to have some words about this," Blake snarled. "After you." He nodded and started forward again.

They crabwalked to the hangar, staying in the shadows. Ruby suddenly grabbed Blake. "Camera!" she hissed. Everyone instantly stopped. She pointed upwards. There was a camera, not on the Prince's hangar, but on the one next to it, facing the door. They weren't in its arc yet, but in a moment they would be. "Any ideas? We can't shoot it. It's got a mike attached too."

"I got an idea," Yang said. "Follow my lead. Blake, you pair off with Weiss. Marrow, you pair off with Ruby. Little, um…you just stay right here, okay?"

"Okay." Little smiled. "I don't know where here is, but okay." She stared up at the stars. "Ooh, pretty."

"She's starting to come out of it," Cheshire explained. "What am I doing, exactly?"

"Play like I'm high on kerasine again, and you act like you're drunk off your ass."

"That's not going to work," Weiss put in.

"It'll confuse the hell out of 'em, maybe buy some time. C'mon." Yang got up and began walking woodenly towards the hangar, into the arc of the camera. "Oh, master," she said breathily, and stopped. "I want you so much, master…"

Cheshire jumped up and caught up to her, then staggered and collided with the wall of the hangar. "Woo, I'm a bit sloshed, love. You just stay there, yeah?" He motioned drunkenly towards Blake and Weiss. Before Weiss could react, Blake grabbed her braid and yanked her forward, starting to stagger as well. "Oh yeah," Cheshire exclaimed, "we're gonna have a party. You pick 'em, gorgeous."

"Fuck yes, I do," Blake slurred. She shoved Weiss in front of the camera. "Smile and wave for the camera, bitch!" Weiss stared popeyed at Blake for a moment, then turned in place, plastered a smile on her face that Tyrian Callows would have found unsettling, and began waving robotically. Marrow just picked Ruby up like a sack of rice and threw her over one shoulder. Ruby got the idea and went limp, her arms dangling down around Marrow's rear.

"What happened to her?" Cheshire flapped a hand at Marrow and Ruby.

"I don' know. I gave her too much Special K," Marrow said, and nearly fell, which wasn't an act; Ruby had not only gone limp, but was now doing a good impression of dead weight. Yang reached forward and started trying to pull Cheshire's shirt off, moaning about how she wanted to please her master. "Steady on, love! Gorgeous, you got that door open yet? I thought you brought keys!"

Blake's back was to the camera, covering the doorknob. It was a simple lock, and nothing Weiss' hairpins couldn't take care of. "I'm unlockin' the fuckin' door!" she shouted. "Now you just hold on. This ain't easy when I'm fuckin' drunk, you shithead!"

Weiss continued to wave at the camera. "Hurry up," she whispered through clenched teeth. "I can't keep this up much longer!"

Blake twisted her ersatz lockpicks, and the door clicked open. "See?" She raised her hands triumphantly and fell backwards through the door, kicking her feet in the air. "I toldya I had the fuckin' keys! Now come in here and we can have ourselves a fuckin' orgy!"

"That's the spirit!" Cheshire dragged Yang into the hangar and flicked the lights on as he did so; she had actually managed to get his shirt open and was dragging her tongue across his chest. Marrow walked into the hangar, still carrying Ruby. "Hey, you with the face!" he yelled at Little, who stopped counting the stars for a minute and stared at him. She pointed to herself. "Yeah, you. C'mon. Now!" Little jogged forward and followed him into the hangar, leaving Weiss still waving at the camera. Blake snarled at her to get her bitch ass inside, and Weiss retreated into the hangar, kicking the door shut as she did. She flexed her fingers to get feeling back into her hand. "Bitch ass?" she asked Blake.

"Sorry. Spur of the moment."

Cheshire buttoned his shirt. "Are you a frustrated actor, or what? You're really embracing the part." Yang grinned back, and bowed elaborately.

Marrow set Ruby down, who stared slackjawed at the hangar, as if she had been injected with a double dose of kerasine. It was not a drug, however, but what was parked there might as well have been to Ruby.

The hangar was large, and had five aircraft in it. Four were Supermarine Spitfires. The fifth was a B-17 Flying Fortress. "Holy…shit…" Ruby gasped. "They're…they're all Mark Nines…" She touched one reverently. "Oh my God…I've never seen a Spitfire before for real." Then she walked forward to the B-17, as if in a trance. "A B-17…G model. It's got the undernose turret." She ducked under the fuselage. "Oh wow, it doesn't have a ball turret—that's a radar. It's configured as a Mickey." Ruby went back towards the tail. "They're even camouflaged right! This B-17's in the colors of the 93rd Bomb Group, same as the Memphis Belle! And the Spits have invasion stripes!"

"Wait," Weiss asked Cheshire, "we're taking that?" She pointed at the B-17.

"Unless you've got a better idea." He twisted the lock and opened the forward crew hatch. "Let's not dally; we've got maybe ten minutes now. Right now airport security is asking just what the hell is going on, but they're going to call the Keep, and then we're in deep shit." He swung upwards into the hatch. "Get aboard, then!"

"Anybody multi-engine qualified?" Yang wanted to know. She thumbed at one of the Spitfires. "I can fly one of those, but not this big bastard."

"I am," Weiss replied. They dropped their bathrobes; Yang and Weiss had managed to keep the two AK-47s hidden under them. "I'll take this, to keep honest cats honest." She tossed the AK into the hatch and climbed in.

"Blake, you take the waist guns. Marrow, you and me need to open the hangar doors. Ruby!" Yang yelled. "Quit jilling off over the damn plane and let's get the hell out of here!"

Ruby ran out from under the wide tailplanes of the B-17. "It's got a Cheyenne tail turret!"

"Outstanding. You're manning it." Yang shoved Ruby towards the rear fuselage hatch, then tossed Little in. "Little, you go sit there, okay?" She pointed to the radioman station. Little did as she was told, and Blake moved past her into the cockpit. "This thing's authentic."

"It's also gassed up and ready to fly. The Prince likes to take it up and impress guests. I've been up in it a few times." Cheshire pulled out the flight manual and began going through the startup sequence as Marrow and Yang began pushing open the hangar doors; Marrow turned off the lights, which might give them a little extra time before someone noticed.

"You know how to fly it?"

"Yeah—my dad, may he roast in hell, used to own a DC-6 and I flew him around. The Prince let me fly this bird." He thumbed back towards the guns. "Check and see if they're loaded."

"Wait," Weiss repeated herself, "the guns on this antique are real?"

"The Prince spared no expense. He had some of his other planes tow targets so we could shoot at them with the fifties." Cheshire thumbed switches. "Starting three." The number three engine, the right inboard, started to turn, then coughed smoke from the engine and began to spin up to speed. Weiss grabbed the manual and began doing the copilot's job, while Blake pulled shut the nose hatch. "Starting two."

"Fuel boost on," Weiss reported. "Hangar doors open." Yang and Marrow both dashed back, avoiding the spinning propellers, and tossed the chocks aside. They climbed in through the fuselage hatch, dogging it shut. "We don't want the lights on, do we?"

"Leave 'em off. One's turning…and four. All engines running." He checked over the instruments. "Everything looks good. Takeoff positions." Yang and Ruby sat down next to Little, while Marrow squeezed past Blake and dropped into the nose. Blake stayed between the pilots' seats, electing herself flight engineer, even though she had never flown in a four-engined propeller plane in her life. "Here we go."

Cheshire eased the throttles forward and taxied the B-17 out. The engines thrummed as if eager to get into the air themselves. The old bomber moved forward down the taxiway, and headed past the tarmac. Floodlights began to come on and point at the bomber, but the guards on the opposite side of the airport were too far away and too unsure of what was happening to fire. "Blake!" Cheshire said loudly, over the engines. "Get in the dorsal turret—see those aircraft over there? Those fighters? Light them up!"

"On it." Blake climbed into the dorsal turret and swiveled it around to bring the twin Browning .50 caliber machine guns onto the targets. In the floodlights, she saw ten L-39 Albatros light fighters parked, wingtip to wingtip; even over the engines, she could hear the sirens going off across the airport. She aimed down the ring sight and opened fire, marching the bullets first left, then right. The heavy rounds sliced through thin metal, touching off full fuel tanks; three exploded. Blake left off firing after two sweeps: the flames would now do the rest, and she was sure she had holed at least all the L-39s once. As Cheshire swung the B-17 around onto the active runway, Blake saw a few guards running onto the grass and the other taxiways, raising assault rifles; a quick burst from the machine guns made them think better of it.

"Here we go!" Cheshire and Weiss both grabbed the throttles and together pushed them forward to the stops. He let off the toe brakes and the B-17 surged forward, sweeping past the parked aircraft. Weiss called out decision speeds, then yelled, "Rotate!" Both Cheshire and Weiss pulled back on the control wheels, matching each other's movements. The tail rose off the ground first, then the main wheels, and suddenly they were in the air. The perimeter fence swept past and Cheshire raised the landing gear. "Which way?" Weiss asked.

"North."

"Into Poland?"

"Nope. We just want them to think we're headed that way." He reached forward. Not everything on the B-17 was from World War II; there were a few modern instruments on it as well. He switched on the transponder. "We'll fly up to the border and climb, then switch that off and turn southeast. Let's hope their ground radar is set up just for civilian aircraft."

"Not west?" Weiss said suspiciously.

"No, we don't have the fuel." He pointed to the fuel gauge; it read half tanks. "The Czechs are pretty trigger happy these days too. We'll head for Banska Bystrica—my home base. If the Prince comes after us there, he's bloody daft, because that's my territory."

Blake climbed down from the dorsal turret, and dug her fingers into his shoulder. "Damn you, Tabey, you're screwing with us, just like Jinxy did—"

"I'm not!" Cheshire shouted. "For fuck's sake, woman! Do you think I'm bloody daft? Banska Bystrica is safe as your mother's arms."

"It's also closer to Salem!"

Cheshire ignored Blake for the moment, checking the altitude and heading. "Good enough. We have to keep it under five thousand AGL, or we'll freeze. This thing doesn't have oxygen." He switched off the transponder. "All right, Weiss, turn southeast to heading two-eight-zero." He shrugged off Blake's hand. "Either kill me or get back. If I wanted to sell you to Salem, I would've let the Herbalist string you out on kerasine and bought you back there. I would've told the Prince that Marrow could go to NATO, and the four of you would've made him thousands on the open market."

"Five," Weiss corrected as they made the turn. She was surprised how responsive the big bomber was.

"I think he wanted to keep Little for his naked chess games. He asked me when I got there if she had a family, and was pretty happy when I told him no. Cheeky little pervert, isn't he? Mommy and daddy issues." He began leveling out the B-17. "Blake, as soon as we land at Banska, we can take a day to rest—we're all going to need it—and we fly you to Vienna, or we can drive there. Getting across the border to Austria is a lot easier than trying to fly into Prague, with the Czech Air Force primed for GRIMM."

"What's this we stuff?" Marrow called up from the nose.

"You're going to need me to cross the border, and I need you to clear things up with the CIA before Arashikaze Tomahawks my arse." He threw Blake a grin over his shoulder. "We, ah, had a misunderstanding the last time she used Banska for a base of ops. She told me that as soon as she'd settled with Salem, she was going to kill me extremely slowly. I believed her, but I think she might just spare herself the trouble and blow my little base up with a cruise." He cracked his neck. "All right, there we are, nice and smooth. We should be good here." He took his hands off the control wheel and blew on them. "Pretty cold." He threw another switch. "The Prince installed internal heat, but it doesn't do much. Better than nothing, yeah?"

Blake nodded. "Better than nothing." She gripped his shoulder again. "Tabey, or Cheshire, or whatever you're calling yourself…you try to screw with us, and I will end you. Understand?"

"I'm not stupid, Blake." Cheshire returned to the controls.

Ruby put her bathrobe around Little's. The mouse Faunus had finally fallen asleep, and they gently laid her on the fuselage. The vibration of the engines was enough to make anyone sleepy, and none of Ruby Flight had slept much in the last 48 hours. Ruby was too excited to sleep, though. She took up position at the right waist gun. On the B-17G, the waist positions were enclosed by plexiglass. The ground slid by beneath them, with fog settling into the valleys; the moon was setting behind her, and the sun was a pink line on the horizon. The two combined to make it just light enough to see. "Wow," she breathed.

Yang came up behind her and stared out the window as well. "Hey, Rubes." Their eyes met. "We're flying again."

"Heh, yeah. Feels good." The sisters shared a laugh. Yang turned around and manned the left waist gun, moving it around. "This is cool! I've never flown on a B-17 before!"

"Me neither!" Ruby grabbed the other waist gun. In her mind's eye, she imagined herself swathed head to toe in heavy gear, helmet, thick gloves, insulated and heated flight suit, flak jacket, heavy boots;, and oxygen mask; the B-17 wasn't pressurized, and usually flew at 25,000 feet, where an exposed hand would freeze to the metal of the gun. Her grandfather on the Xiao Long side had flown P-47 Thunderbolts, but the grandfather on the Rose side—who had died before Ruby was born—had flown B-17s over Europe and B-29s over Japan. She felt an odd kinship with the man she only knew from pictures. There were contrails on the lightening morning horizon. Heh. Just like during the war! Those would be Messerschmitts—or maybe Focke-Wulfs. She could only imagine the fear her grandfather and his crew, which would be as young or even younger than her, would have experienced. The skin of the B-17 was so thin that a screwdriver could punch through it, and the German fighters had been armed with machine guns and cannon. Weiss' grandfather flew Bf 109s, Ruby remembered. Wouldn't it have been weird if our families fought each other—

She froze, because she spotted four dots on the horizon, and they were getting bigger. "Uh oh."

Yang had been lost in her thoughts as well. "What?"

Ruby pointed. "There."

"I can't see anything."

"They're there…they're turning." Ruby dashed forward, as best she could; the walkway across the sealed bomb bay was not conducive to hurrying, and she had a nightmare of falling off and then through the bay doors. "Charlie!" She made it to the cockpit. "Those Spitfires—did the Prince keep those fueled up and loaded with ammo?"

Cheshire looked back at her strangely. "No, not that I know of. I mean, they're operational—he actually used them when some anti-monarchists tried to overthrow him last year. They're slower than the L-39s; better for antipersonnel work."

"Ruby!" Yang shouted from the bomb bay. "They're turning—parallel course!"

Ruby scrambled into the dorsal turret and peered out. Her eyesight was better than Yang's, but even Weiss saw them now. "Tally-ho!" she called out. "Bandits, three o'clock high!"

Ruby saw one of them briefly turn, giving her a planform view for a second. The elliptical wing was unmistakable. "Spitfires!"

"Jaysus!" Cheshire exclaimed. "They're not here to escort us, that's for certain. Damn! Should've shot them up too. He couldn't scramble the L-39s, so he sent up the bloody Spits!" He laughed. "Now where's the bloody justice in that, I tell you!"

Ruby dropped down from the turret. "We're going to have to fight 'em! Dammit!" The realization hit her that she was going to have to help shoot down classic aircraft that couldn't be replaced. "Dammit to hell!"

"I've seen this movie before," Weiss sighed. She started to get out of the copilot's seat. "I'll take the tail turret—"

"I'll need you to pull me out of the seat if I get hit!" Cheshire shouted. "You stay, please!"

"I've got the tail!" Ruby threaded her way back to the rear of the fuselage.

"I'll take both waist guns!" Yang began using both hands to charge the machine guns.

"Dorsal turret for me." Blake resumed her position.

"I got the nose guns!" Marrow grabbed the single .50 caliber sticking out of the nose and pulled the charging lever back; he also controlled the chin turret.

"I bet this is going to be the strangest dogfight you've ever been in." Cheshire tightened his straps and advanced the engines. The B-17 couldn't hope to outrun the Spitfires, but every little bit helped.

"You'd be surprised," Weiss replied.

Weiss wondered if the Red Prince's pilots had studied history: during World War II, the Luftwaffe had learned that the most vulnerable spot on the B-17 was directly from the front. The earlier B-17s had lacked heavy nose armament, and any shot from the front quarter would hit something vital—the nose, the engines, and the cockpit. She heard Blake move the turret to face forward, and the B-17G's chin turret made a frontal attack a little more difficult. Still, she hoped they had failed history.

They hadn't. The four Spitfires formed line abreast, just like the Germans had during the war; the irony was not lost on Weiss. "Here they come!" she shouted, then remembered the dogfight with Tardor and the An-12 over California. This time, it would be up to her friends. All she could do was keep a grip on the control wheel and duck as the Spitfires came straight at them, their wings winking with cannon fire. The smell of cordite filled the air as both Blake and Marrow opened fire with their turret guns.

The Spitfires were past before Weiss could really see them through the windscreen, splitting into two pairs. The B-17 rocked as they did so, and both she and Cheshire looked at the instruments. Everything was still fine.

"Nose is hit!" Marrow shouted. "I'm okay, but the chin turret took a hit! I think it's gone!"

"Something is," Cheshire confirmed. "She's feeling nose heavy." Weiss heard the dorsal turret whir again as Blake engaged something to the right.

"Yang! Bandits, two o'clock high!" Yang barely heard the shout from Blake, but she saw them anyway. She raised the Browning and pulled the triggers. The gun bucked in her hands, but she had fired too soon; the Spitfires flew past. "Ruby!"

Ruby kicked the turret to the left and fired the twin tail guns, but she had forgotten to lead her targets, used to a computer doing it for her. "Goddammit!" she exploded. "You wouldn't fly so damn fast with a Sidewinder up your ass!" Ruby saw the other pair of Spitfires curving in from behind, but the Prince's pilots cannily split their two-ship, forcing her to choose which one. She fired at the one on the left and missed again, but threw off the pilot's aim. "Yang, bandit, seven o'clock level!"

Yang whirled around and grabbed the right waist and opened fire, but again was too slow. This pilot did not let themselves get distracted, and had a clean run. The cannon shells skimmed the left wing and slammed into the number one outboard engine. Smoke and flames instantly poured backwards. "We're hit!"

Cheshire grabbed the control wheel and hauled it back as the B-17 suddenly wanted to turn onto the dead engine. "Feather one!" Weiss reached down and pulled back the first throttle, feathered the prop, then moved the other three to the stops to compensate. She reached up and pulled the fire extinguishers, dousing the fire in the engine. She barely twitched as two more Spitfires flashed by just ahead of them, their run spoiled by Blake's fire; they too had failed to lead their target.

Blake ducked down and screamed at the top of her lungs. "Yang! Coming back around, eleven o'clock high!"

Yang flung her gun to the right and saw the two Spitfires coming in. Cheshire suddenly turned into the fighters and nearly lost control of the bomber, but Weiss was there to help. It was enough to throw off the Spitfires' aim—but not Yang's. She held down the triggers. Her fire caught the nearest Spitfire just behind the cockpit and shredded the tail. The fighter pitched upwards, stalled, and dropped like a rock, the tail tearing away; Yang didn't see a parachute as the Spitfire fell through the fog and exploded. His wingman broke off and turned to fly parallel with the B-17, out of range. "Splash one!"

The two rightside Spitfires came in again, firing; it was Weiss who turned into them this time. She wasn't quite as successful, and the bomber shuddered as it was hit through the fuselage and tail. Yang, still on the left waist, could not get to the right waist in time. The Spitfires split up, one curving around to attack the vulnerable starboard side of the B-17; the other climbed, did a superb hammerhead, and rolled out to attack the tail.

The problem was, Ruby had noticed the climb out of the glasshouse tail turret, and, just as she would in her F-16, knew what her opponent was going to do next. As the Spitfire leveled out, Ruby filled the air in front of it with .50 caliber bullets. The pilot flew into the hail of fire and the fighter disintegrated, falling away in three pieces in the B-17's wake. "Splash two!" Ruby shouted.

The other Spitfire rolled in to the right, but Yang was now on the waist gun and opened fire. The fighter climbed, and presented a perfect spreadeagled target in Blake's ring sight. Her teeth chattered as the twin Brownings bucked in their mounts, tearing holes through the wings and fuselage. The Spitfire flamed and stalled, but this time the pilot bailed out. "Splash three!"

"Twelve o'clock high!" Weiss sang out, and Blake spun the turret in that direction, but the Spitfire was now going low, to make a curving climb and fire into the belly of the B-17. Normally, the ventral ball turret would take care of that, but this bomber lacked one—it had a dummy radar station instead. "Marrow!" Weiss screamed.

Marrow had seen the Spitfire, and deliberately held his fire, lining the enemy fighter up in the sight. He waited a painful, precious second, then opened fire a second before the Spitfire did. His aim was better. The bullets shattered the canopy and killed the pilot. The fighter's momentum carried it just past the B-17, missing it by mere feet, then it went into a shallow dive that terminated against the side of a foggy ridge. "Splash four! We got 'em!" Marrow exulted.

Blake rested her head against the sight. "You're supposed to say 'We did it.'"

Weiss let out a breath. "Please, no one quote Star Wars. That didn't end well for me last time."

Yang felt air through the fuselage, and realized it had been holed. "Oh shit." She ran forward, squeezed through the bomb bay, and knelt next to Little. A shell had come through the upper right side of the fuselage and gone out just to one side of the radioman's station; had Little been sitting there still, it would've blown her in half. Lying on the floor, it had missed her by a few inches. Yang opened both bathrobes to make sure the mouse Faunus had not been hit by shrapnel. She was unhurt, but stirred. Her eyes opened and fixed on Yang, bright and clear. "Oh, hi, Yang," she said, and yawned. "Where are we? Did I miss anything?"

AUTHOR'S ADDITIONAL NOTES: Oh yeah, I found the ten minute mix of "TIE Fighter Attack" from Star Wars. I hope my neighbors like that piece, because I played it for an hour straight. If you're going to be inspired, be inspired by the best.

Rissa Arashikaze's granddaughter makes an appearance here; Riana Arashikaze was the main character in my aborted "Evangelion Evolution" story. I don't think I'll use her in this story much (and she's certainly not a time-stopping mage), but it was fun to write her again, and give Rissa a little more humanity. The line about Osama bin Laden was a reference to the Clinton Administration's attempt to kill Osama in 1999; in this timeline, they succeeded, and of course 9/11 was just a beautiful Tuesday that Ruby Flight escaped Poland on. Junko Enoshima is from Danganronpa, which I've never actually seen; I looked up "Most Evil Anime Characters Ever," and she was on the list. Reading about her, Enoshima sounds like a piece of work, so she ends up here as a convenient target for the CIA.

Finally, Ruby in the hangar is me visiting any aircraft museum. I make yearly pilgrimages to the Pima Air and Space Museum.