AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, one of my reviewers demanded more, so more they'll get. Not a huge amount of action in this chapter, but what is there should be pretty interesting.

First, we start off with more Rissa Arashikaze, my OC, but this will probably be the last time she appears in this story for quite awhile; I don't want my OC to overshadow the main RWBY characters. Once her bit with the Red Prince is cleared up, then it's some background on Charles Cheshire, this AU's version of the Curious Cat, and then Ruby has her first meeting with a certain very tall female...

More notes at the end.

The Greenbrier

White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, United States of Canada

13 September 2001

Rissa Arashikaze took a deep drink of her coffee and sat down in the conference room's chair. The sun was just getting over the mountains on a beautiful fall morning, but the beauty was lost on Arashikaze, who was going on four hours of sleep. Some blessed soul had left a full pot of fresh coffee and donuts on the table for her, and Arashikaze wolfed down a donut before she sighed, took another drink, and began her day early.

She touched a button on the three-way conference caller. "Philip, did you get my message about Operation Mordred?"

"Yes, ma'am. Blizzard Lead took off five minutes ago. However, I was told by the director that release must be approved by National Command Authority."

"I understand. Is the President awake?"

"Last I heard his staff was getting him up. I'll let you know personally when he is ready, Miss Arashikaze."

"Thank you. And SACEUR knows?"

"Yes, ma'am. I called him right after I called you." A pause. "Sorry, ma'am; I know you're not a morning person."

"Needs of the many, Philip. I appreciate it. Is our caller online?"

"He certainly is, ma'am, and angry as hell. He's been chewing out our staff for almost an hour now."

"Give me five minutes and put him through." Philip acknowledged, then she got up and switched on the overhead camera. She sat back down, hesitated, then ate another donut as she waited for the computer and the camera to warm up. Finally, all was ready, and Arashikaze waited. The screen came on with static, then resolved itself to show the Red Prince himself. Video conferencing was still not the norm, but the CIA was establishing links with its embassies, and the Red Prince did not spare any expense. Probably needs it to vet his buyers, Arashikaze thought disgustedly. She noticed he was in full uniform, complete with crown, and sitting in his throne. From the placement of the camera, it was on the throne room floor, pointing up at him. Good.

She opened her mouth in greeting, but the Prince cut her off. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "First of all, I have been kept waiting for an hour! Second, I demand to talk to the Director of the CIA, not his minion!"

Arashikaze forced herself to put on a placid face and an utterly artificial smile. "I am sorry, Your Highness," she said sweetly, thinking that for once business was going to be a pleasure. "It is six in the morning here, so most of us are still in bed. I do realize that it is noon in Moravia, and I apologize for keeping you waiting, but it took some time for our staff to awaken myself and President Shawcross. Unfortunately, the director is unavailable. I am Deputy Director of Intelligence Rissa Arashikaze."

The Prince seemed mollified by her explanation. "I see. Arashikaze, huh?" He smiled. "You were the one Captain Rose spoke of. A friend, she said—someone that can get things done."

It took all of her control not to let the surprise show on her face. Ruby Rose? Arashikaze thought in amazement. Then she did survive! But how does the Red Prince know her? "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Highness. Who is this Captain Rose?"

"An assassin!" the Prince shouted. "A woman who killed four of my men!" He pounded a fist on the arm of his throne.

What the hell? Arashikaze folded her hands on her stomach and leaned back in the chair, betraying none of her excitement. "That sounds very irregular, Your Highness. I know a Captain Rose, but she's hardly an assassin. She's a fighter pilot, and not a special forces operative."

"Then maybe she got lucky!"

"Perhaps you could explain, sir?" Arashikaze's voice oozed honey.

"Fine. The night before yesterday, my men captured four NATO pilots trying to cross from Poland to the Czech Republic." Arashikaze fought down a smile. That explained Weiss Schnee's credit card in Pudnik. She now owed the IRS a dinner, but it was not a debt she would mind paying. "They were presented to me yesterday morning—Captain Ruby Rose, Captain Yang Xiao Long, Hauptmann Weiss Schnee, and Captain Blake Belladonna. I never forget a face or a name!"

"Alive, Your Highness?" Arashikaze asked, wanting to confirm it.

"Yes, of course they were alive, you moron!" the Prince shouted. "I let them stay here as my honored guests! I was going to send Rose to you with my good friend Marrow Amin!" Arashikaze wondered if she should buy a lottery ticket; her luck was clearly very good this day. "The others were to stay as my guests…I wanted to hear Weiss Schnee sing…" The Prince now looked very disappointed.

"Understandable, Your Highness," Arashikaze said soothingly.

"I even fed them, and then…then Rose killed four of my men! Then she managed to escape with her friends, and killed another friend of mine—Monika Bylinkar!"

Arashikaze knew that name: the Herbalist. There was an Interpol Red Notice with her name on it, wanted for drug smuggling and human trafficking. "I am very disappointed in Ruby Rose's behavior, Your Highness—"

"It gets worse!" the Prince interrupted. "After they escaped the castle, they stole my personal B-17 bomber, shot up a good portion of my air force, and destroyed all four of my precious Spitfires! I sent them up to intercept them and bring them back to Ostrava peacefully, and they shot them down!" He shook a fist at the camera, as if it was Arashikaze's fault entirely.

"Where did they go, Your Highness?" He glared at her, and Arashikaze spread her hands. "If I'm going to have them arrested and brought to justice, I need to know where to find them."

"I don't know exactly," the Prince said petulantly. "My radar lost them in the mountains. Their last course was towards Banska Bystrica."

Well, well, well. "That's odd, Highness," Arashikaze said. "Isn't that Charles Cheshire's little hideout? Why would they go there instead of Prague?"

"I don't know that either." The Prince folded his arms over his chest. "Cheshire was here yesterday, and now he's gone. I'd hate to think that he helped them. He's my friend too."

"They probably kidnapped him and forced Cheshire to help them, Highness," Arashikaze stated.

The Prince's face brightened. "I hadn't thought of that. Well." He leaned forward. "I think you are someone I can do business with, Miss Arashikaze."

"Of course, Highness. I've long wanted to make Moravia an ally of the United States of Canada. That was why I instructed your Chamberlain to give you my number a few months ago." Which you never used until now, you utter dipshit. "What can I do for you, Your Highness?"

"Well, first of all, I want those assassins arrested and brought back here so I can deal with them. That's a start," the Prince snapped.

"I'm afraid my President won't allow that, Your Highness. My country has a non-extradition policy. But I can assure you that they will get what they deserve." He glared at her again, and Arashikaze smiled once more. "Highness, may I speak candidly and honestly?"

"You're a spy," he replied. "Spies always lie."

"I am a woman who understands geopolitics, Highness," Arashikaze gently corrected. "You must understand, sir, that my President is…a little old-fashioned. He's Canadian, you know." She shrugged as if that explained everything. "He would not want us helping you because of your certain…activities." Another shrug. "There have been rumors, Your Highness. Human trafficking, young girls disappearing into the night and fog, sex slavery, drugs, money laundering—that sort of thing."

The Prince looked wary. "I'm a businessman as well as a prince," he said guardedly.

"Of course, of course." Arashikaze waved it aside. "Highness, you deal in what the Germans call realpolitik. So do I. We are above such petty things such as morality and societal norms. If we break them—so what! All that matters is the end result. If I overthrow a government in Iran or Guatemala, and hundreds or even thousands die, fools wag their finger at me and say 'You are evil, Rissa!' But in twenty years, in a hundred years, no one will mind; they'll even praise me for it. I protect my country. And so do you. If a few teenage runaways disappear, who cares, eh? They're better off where they end up, assuredly. And if you sell kerasine, well—I'd rather have someone I know who can manage the market rather than some idiot in Chicago playing around with young girls." She spread her hands again in a display of callousness. "Between us, Highness, I don't care about any of that. What I care about is securing an ally on Salem's southern flank. The rest is immaterial."

The Prince threw his hands in the air with a smile. "Finally, someone who understands! It is as you say, but also as you say, it's just business. Very good, Miss Arashikaze—you wanted to know what you can do for me. I will tell you." He rattled off a laundry list of weapons, aircraft, military assistance, and economic aid. Arashikaze nodded as if she was hanging on every word.

There was a polite knock at the door to the conference room, and Philip, one of her aides, walked in. Arashikaze held up a hand. "A moment, Your Highness." He broke off his speech. Philip bent over and whispered in her ear. Arashikaze gave him a nod, then he left. "Your Highness," she told the Prince, "please excuse me. The President wishes to speak with me. Pardon me, but I have to mute you." She dropped her voice conspiratorially. "The less he knows about our arrangement, the better." The Prince grinned, and she put him on mute, then picked up the phone. For once, she was glad they could not do multi-line video conferencing yet. "Good morning, Mr. President." She watched the screen; the Prince was trying to read her lips.

"Good morning, Director Arashikaze. I assume this is important?"

"Yes, Mr. President. It's about that thing I talked with you about last evening." She moved the receiver so it covered her mouth. "I have the Red Prince on the other line. He's admitted to pretty much everything." She decided to leave Ruby Flight out of it; the President didn't need to know about them just yet.

"I see. Is that Shima woman still there?"

"One moment, Mr. President. I haven't had a chance to ask him yet." She switched lines. "Your Highness, my President does have one concern. Is Junko Enoshima still at the Red Keep?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

Arashikaze took on a pained expression. "Ooh, it might be. I'll work it out." Another switch of lines. "She's still there."

"Then you have release authorization. I assume that's what you wanted."

She didn't resist a smile this time. "It is indeed, Mr. President. Thank you. I'll let you get back to sleep." He hung up, and she switched to a new line. "Blizzard, this is Storm."

"Storm, Blizzard." Winter Schnee's voice was tinny but recognizable.

"Your code is Gehenna. I say again, Gehenna. National Command Authority authorizes release at your discretion. The time is 1031 Hours Zulu." By having Winter Schnee command the mission, a Luftwaffe officer, they were violating several NATO Status of Forces agreements, but Gale and Shawcross had agreed the night before. As the holder of the Winter Maiden, Winter Schnee could be trusted to be discreet, and the B-52 crew she commanded would be as well. They were over the western Czech Republic to minimize warning time.

"Acknowledged, Gehenna. Launch in ten seconds. Target impact, ten minutes." Ten seconds ticked off. "Greyhound, Greyhound."

"Blizzard, Storm, understood." She switched off that line and turned the Prince's back on. "My apologies that it took so long, Your Highness." Arashikaze did not look at him, but at the clock on the wall.

"That's all right, my friend." The Prince smiled. "So, now that I have told you what you can do for me, please, tell me—what can I do for you?"

Arashikaze did look at him then. "Well, to be perfectly honest, you can die."

She spoke the words so flatly he did not understand at first. "I'm sorry?"

"No, you're not," Arashikaze said. "And that's why you're about to be killed."

He turned pale. "I don't—I don't understand—"

"Oh, it's not just about you," Arashikaze told him. "For your depraved bullshit, you deserve to die, but you were just valuable enough to leave alive, despite your taste for naked teenagers and employing people like the Herbalist. But then you hosted Junko Enoshima, and that gave me the excuse to take you out. I am grateful to Ruby Rose, or Charles Cheshire, for killing the Herbalist, by the way. Saves me the trouble. I suspect it was the latter; he has a reason for that sort of thing." She checked the clock. Five minutes.

"But all that you said!" the Prince protested.

"Some of it was true," Arashikaze admitted. "But if I'm going to burn in hell for the sins I've committed, I'm going to have a lot of company."

The Prince was on his feet, his expression one of desperation. "But Arashikaze! Miss Arashikaze! Some of those—of those girls are here! In the basement! You'll kill them too!"

"Perhaps," Arashikaze answered. "But better by my hand than yours. Do you think this is the first time I've killed children?" He collapsed back into his throne. "You thought you were a player in the game, Prince, but you were just a pawn. And pawns get eliminated."

"Wait, I can help you!" He put up his hands as if to ward off a blow. "Against Sal—"

He was cut off and the screen went to static as an AGM-86D air-launched cruise missile crashed through the Red Keep's skylight. It detonated less than a second later, ten feet above the Red Prince's head. The resulting explosion leveled that section of the Keep, collapsing it in on itself, demolishing the west wing and its guest quarters; Junko Eroshima died in her sleep as tons of stone fell through her ceiling. The high tower fell as well, smashing into the burning wreckage and the entryway; the carillon held, as if a gravestone for the Red Prince.

Arashikaze saw none of this. She picked up the phone and dialed a quick number. "Good morning, General Gale. Commence Operation Mordred." He acknowledged the order and hung up. Finally, Arashikaze allowed herself a genuine smile, then punched another number. "Philip, I need you to set up another conference call. This one might be a little difficult, so take all the time you need."

"Sure, ma'am. Who with?"

"Taiyang Xiao Long in North Carolina, Ghira and Kali Belladonna in Menagerie, and Willow and Whitley Schnee in Herrencheimsee. Tell them who you are, and that it's good news. Let me know when it's ready—I want to tell them personally."

"You got it, ma'am."

Arashikaze got up from the seat and looked at the mountains, grabbed another donut, and poured some fresh coffee.

Today was a good day after all.

Silac Airfield

Banska Bystrica, Independent Confederation of Slovakia

13 September 2001

"That could've been a lot worse." Charles Cheshire stared up at the B-17. They had landed without a hitch, despite one flap not working, one engine out, the chin turret reduced to scrap, and two holes straight through the fuselage and tail.

"Hell, that was nothing for one of these babies. Now you know why they called them Flying Fortresses." Yang reached up and patted the fuselage. "I can scratch that off the bucket list."

"Getting shot at while escaping in a B-17?" Blake smiled.

"Well, the flying in the B-17 part. The rest I could've done without."

Weiss rotated her shoulders. The old bomber had flown remarkably well despite its damage, but it had still taken all of her strength and Cheshire's to keep it from veering off the runway on landing. "Are we safe here, Charlie?" She had finally given in to him insisting on calling him that.

"Safe as anyone is in Slovakia." Cheshire motioned around to the forested mountains that surrounded the airfield. "This whole area disintegrated after the big one. Everyone started carving out little fiefdoms. Hell, Banska Bystrica was taken over for about a decade by an ex-Russian general. Actually turned out to be a decent chap. Organized the place for all around defense, held off the GRIMM, converted the parks to farmland, kept everyone alive. They put a statue up to the man after he died in the '70s. Since then it's been a functioning democracy. Some of these places are like Moravia, with the Red Prince. Some of them are just ruled by marauders and pirates, who kill each other like we change underpants. But if you know what you're doing, it can be a place where you can become a rich man." He patted the bottom of the B-17's nose. "I'll probably sell this bird. Some of my aircraft are antiques, but they don't go this far back. There's blokes back in the Remnant that'll pay millions for an operational Fort."

"Speaking of the Red Prince, is he going to come after us?" Ruby asked.

"Doubt it. We shot up a good portion of his air force. If he does, well…I'm curious if any of his stuff can get through my bunch." Cheshire smiled. "Enough about him. Let's get you five settled in and get some sleep. You're guests."

He started to walk out from under the B-17, but Blake blocked his path. "Yes, we've heard that before. Just yesterday. Then the person in question tried to sell us, literally." She folded her arms across her breasts. All of them still wore the remains of the Napoleonic uniforms they had worn the night before. "I think it's time we had that conversation, Charles Tabey."

Cheshire stared at her, then chuckled. "Fine. But let's at least have it on the way over to the barracks, all right? I'm just as tired as you are." He began walking, and was quickly surrounded by Ruby Flight, Marrow and Little. "You do realize if you kill me, my people will make sure you don't get out of here alive," he warned.

"Yeah, we'll let your corpse know how it turns out." Yang tapped the AK-47 that was slung over her back. "So let's hear it. Why does Blake keep calling you Charles Tabey? Isn't he that rich Faunus that owns everything in Menagerie?"

Cheshire laughed bitterly. "Oh yes. The old man. I hear someone killed him a few months ago. Good riddance—he was insane. Not mad, but mad with power. He would buy and sell anyone if he thought it would gain him more. He would've ruled Menagerie like a king if the Belladonnas had let him get away with it." He glanced at Blake, who walked beside him. "You might can tell that I didn't exactly love my papa."

"I did notice," Blake remarked dryly.

"Well, I am the old bastard's son. Charles Tabey, Junior. Papa wanted me to take over the family oil business after he finally died. Except, of course, he never did. He had every ailment known to man or Faunus, and he just kept living. They tell me he died of ricin poisoning—I'm actually surprised that carried him off, and that he didn't survive." Cheshire shrugged. "I didn't want to be part of any of his damned power games. I had a beautiful girlfriend. I wanted to be an art student. You know, like bloody Hitler." Another laugh. "The old man wasn't having it. I was going to be just like him. I was forced to go into the Royal Air Force, fly C-130s, so I could become his personal pilot. I went along with it—what choice did I have? I thought he was going to kill Susan if I didn't. He wouldn't even let us marry; Papa said he couldn't abide his son marrying a whore. He wanted me to marry you, Blake. But then you lit out for the White Fang and I left the RAF."

"I remember that," Blake said. "My father didn't approve of the marriage. He said I should choose who I wanted to."

"Lucky you. You actually had a decent father." Cheshire shrugged. "I did my four and then we ran. This was in '96. We went to Germany and got married. I thought I was out of his reach. I was wrong. He kidnapped her. He knew she'd die before she left me. He…" Cheshire stopped for a moment, his face wracked in pain. "He…used kerasine on her. But see, sometimes people die from kerasine. That's why I wanted you to look for convulsions, Miss Rose. That's the first sign. People that have a bad reaction to kerasine usually die fairly quickly. Susan…" He set his face. "Susan died in my arms. Damned cliché. Like something out of the cinema. Well, the cinema doesn't tell you that they die frothing at the mouth after they've shit and pissed themselves, does it? But that's what happened to my Susie."

"That's why you wanted the Herbalist dead," Marrow said.

"Exactly. She was the one who supplied the Special K. Susie was one of her first victims. She just hadn't figured out the dosage yet. Took a long time for me to get into a position, but you lot set that up." Cheshire pointed to the ground. "So if you're wondering why you're safe here, besides the fact that I want to hand you to Rissa Arashikaze on a silver platter so she doesn't present my head on one like John the Baptist, that's why. I owe you for that." They had reached the barracks. "Here we are."

"How did you get here?" Weiss asked.

"Simple. My papa had the brains to realize that if he kept coming after me, I'd see his dirty arse dead, so he disowned me. I changed my name to Cheshire—" he grinned at them "—after my favorite character from Alice in Wonderland. There is a faint resemblance, mind. I started hiring myself out as a pilot. Came here, used it as a base of ops, next thing I know, I'm making money hand over fist and running the place. Before you ask, yes, I worked for the Red Prince. I did his smuggling for him. Never slaves. Drugs, diamonds, pistachios—but never 'live' cargo. I made that clear after I attended one of his naked chess sessions. No more of that. Susan would never forgive me. He had other pricks for that. But I've smuggled for everyone. CIA, BND, DGSE, MI6, Red Army Faction, Shining Path down in South America, and my absolute favorite, the White Fang." He put an arm around Blake, who immediately shoved it off. "See, that's the other way I know Captain Belladonna here, and how she knows me."

"You smuggled for the White Fang," Blake snapped. "For money."

"Oh, not just for money, love," Cheshire replied. "I was more afraid that your boyfriend Adam Taurus would chop my balls off if I didn't. See, my papa supported the White Fang on the sly because it was convenient; I did it out of fear. Oh, I put on a big front about being a ruthless mercenary—which I am—but it was fear." He pointed to the others. "Do they know about him? Taurus, I mean."

Yang held up her metal hand. "We've met."

"He would've cut off more than my hand, Miss Xiao Long. The funny part is that I actually helped him design the Moonslice." He snapped his fingers. "Oh, that must've been you two that finally put him down over the Med. Jolly good show." They couldn't tell if it was genuine praise or sarcasm. "I read about that somewhere. No loss to the world, I assure you."

"It doesn't change what you did," Blake growled.

"Oh? And have you managed to wash the blood off your paws, Blake? You killed a lot more than I ever did. I suppose your friends know about that?"

Weiss stepped forward. "We know. We hashed all this out months ago, Charlie."

"Well, then God bless us, every one." He bowed. "That's the story of the Cheshire Cat. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go to bed. If you get up before me, you are free to wander about the base, but do not go into town unescorted. Do not attempt to call NATO. One other thing about this place: we exist because Salem doesn't think we're a threat and we're not worth her time. If she detects radio transmissions between here and Vienna or Prague, then she might decide that we are worth her time, and my own collection of flying antiques won't save us—or you. Enjoy the base, get some rest. Ah, there you are." A short African-American woman had joined them, walking out of the barracks. "This is Alyx. She'll see you right. Good night then, and fuck off." Cheshire spun on one heel and stalked off.

Alyx's eyebrows rose. "Wow, you ticked him off. I haven't see him this pissed in weeks." She shrugged; her voice had the rich Cajun accent of New Orleans. "Don't take it personally. He gets weepy sometimes. He'll be all right by tonight." She looked them up and down. "I see you've been with the Red Prince. He made me dress like that too."

"Did he try to sell you off?" Weiss snorted.

Alyx shook her head. "No, he knew he'd really torque off Charlie, and then Charlie might turn the whole shebang over to Interpol or something. Anyway, I'll get you some new clothes. The beds aren't as good as the Red Keep's, but at least no one's trying to drug you." She laughed, a high-pitched trill. "I take that back. The beds here are a damn sight better than the Keep's are now."

"How so?" Yang asked.

"Oh, that's right—you folks were still doing postflight. Yeah, the Red Prince must've really pissed off President Shawcross or someone. The Air Force put a cruise missile right through the Red Keep's skylight. Blew it all to hell, and the Red Prince with it." She motioned them inside. "Damn shame, in some ways. The food was good there."

Ruby slept for six hours, but was woken up by the sound of jet engines. She sat up in bed. They were in Silac's version of a visiting officers' quarters; Ruby gathered that there was probably a lot of traffic through the area, given how large it was. They had been given three rooms: Ruby, Little and Weiss paired up in one, Blake and Yang in another, and Marrow got one to himself. Each at least had their individual bed, even if the beds were older than Ruby was and the mattresses were lumpy. The sheets were clean, at least, and in her exhaustion Ruby hadn't cared much.

Weiss was sound asleep, sprawled out over her bed, the blankets pulled over her, the Napoleonic clothes lying in an untidy pile. Ruby almost laughed at it; normally, Weiss was so clean and neat, but she was just as tired as the rest of them. Little was up, however, looking out the window. She was wearing new clothes—the ball gown had not survived the run to the airfield and the oily interior of the B-17. She noticed Ruby and pointed to neatly-folded stack of clothing. Ruby got out of bed, and shrugging, stripped off her panties, which was all she had been wearing. The underwear and clothes were fresh and clean, and fit rather well; they were of obvious local manufacture.

Once dressed, Ruby joined Little at the window. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

"I think so," Little replied. "Everything's just a haze since we went to the bathroom after dinner." She shuddered. "Those men…they came in while I was…well, you know. I tried to fight them, but they were stronger, and they had that needle, and then…I just don't remember much after that. Everything felt…weird, but good at the same time. Like whatever was happening was good, and I didn't really care." She shivered again, and looked at Ruby, her eyes wide in fear. "Am I an addict?"

"I don't think so," Ruby said softly. She waved Little out of the room, not wanting to disturb Weiss. Part of Ruby wanted to just go back to bed, but she also wanted to move around and get some fresh air. Her dreams had been an odd mishmash of men in black, tall women, and the Red Prince, with Rissa Arashikaze for good measure. She was tired, but not that tired.

They went outside into the sunshine, and Ruby felt better. "Are you okay?" Little asked.

"Yeah. But I tell you something, Little, when we get out of this, I'm renting a hotel room and sleeping for a week."

"Heh, me too. I can't wait to get to Miami so I can just lay on the beach and doze off." Little looked up at the clouds. "Will you ask that Cheshire guy if I'm addicted to kerasine now?"

"It probably takes more than one dose, Little, but I'll ask him."

"Did I do anything weird?"

Ruby chuckled. "No, Little, you didn't do anything weird. My sister, Weiss and Blake got dosed too, but they're okay." Ruby saw movement over by some hangars across the tarmac. "Let's go exploring." She said it both to get Little's mind off of what happened at the Red Keep and out of curiosity.

They walked across the concrete tarmac, which was warmer than when they had landed. "Good day for flying," Ruby remarked, looking up.

"Do you like to fly?" Little asked, then knocked herself in the head. "That was a dumb thing to say. Of course you do. You're a fighter pilot."

"It's not dumb. I love to fly." Ruby sighed wistfully. "I love to fly so much that being on the ground feels weird. Like I belong up there but not down here." They walked past a huge hangar. Inside was the B-17, with mechanics already working on it, and two Boeing 727s, with no markings. The next hangar was smaller, but held a C-130 and an ancient Boeing C-97 Stratocruiser, neither with any markings either. "Oh wow!" Ruby gushed. "You don't see many of those around anymore!" She walked up to it, but a guard appeared. He didn't say anything, but Ruby stopped before she entered the hangar.

"What is it?" Little asked.

"A C-97." Ruby knelt and looked towards the rear of the fuselage. "Yep, thought so—it's an old KC-97 tanker, converted to a transport. Probably ex-Air Force, I bet." She straightened up. Little was smiling, but once more looked extremely confused. Ruby waved at the guard. "Hi! Okay if we look around?"

He nodded. "Just stay out of hangars!"

"No problem!" Ruby led Little down the rows of other hangars. Some were closed and locked, but the ones that were open were more than enough for Ruby; it occurred to her that she had been trying to get Little's mind off her problems, but Silac's collection was doing the same for her. "Holy crap!" The open hangars they passed held fighters: a F-5F Tiger II, the two-seat version of the aircraft Roman Torchwick had tried to kill her with over Beacon; a Hawker Hunter, bringing back memories of Reese Chloris; an old Italian G.91Y attack aircraft, one of the smallest of its type; a handful of A-4 Skyhawks. It was the next to last hangar that made Ruby cheer out loud. "Whoa, hot damn! That's a—"

"—Tomcat!" Little finished excitedly, and Ruby turned to look at her. "What? I've seen Top Gun." She walked closer to it. The F-14 squatted in its hangar, hungry and fast looking even standing still. There were a few mechanics playing cards around it. They ignored Ruby and Little. "This is like the kind of plane that Maverick shot down the GRIMM with at the end! It was so cool."

"Yeah," Ruby agreed, "though they weren't GRIMM. They were just F-5s painted to look like GRIMM."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. It's stupid and inaccurate and doesn't make any sense, but…" Ruby grinned at her friend. "I've seen it a hundred times, easy. Dad actually wore out his VCR tape. I love that movie. I kinda wanted to be Maverick when I was a kid, but I knew my mom could kick Mav's ass." She shrugged, feeling a wave of melancholy come over her at the memories. Somewhere back at their home in Patch was a picture of Ruby, all of three years old, hugging the landing gear of Summer Rose's F-16. She remembered that day, little more than a toddler, walking out, grabbing the gear, and proclaiming that this airplane was hers now. Summer had laughed and carried her up the ladder, showing her the F-16's cockpit, though not letting her sit in it; there were too many things a three-year old could break. Yang, five and a half, had yelled that the F-16 was boring and she wanted to see the F-15s. Not long afterwards, Summer had disappeared. The last memory Ruby had of her was lying in bed, trying to stay awake as Summer read her a story. She couldn't remember what the story was.

"Ruby?"

"Huh?" Ruby saw that Little looked concerned. "Oh, sorry. Just remembered something." She knelt again and looked under the nose. "This is an old Turkey. F-14A model. Doesn't have the TCS. Bet it's got the old engines, too."

"I thought it was a Tomcat," Little said.

"It is, but the Navy guys call it a Turkey. Look at the rear. See how the tailplanes hang down? It looks like a turkey."

Little snickered. "Now that you mention it…"

The mechanics were starting to get irritated, so Ruby tugged Little along. They left the hangar. The last one was apart from the others, and the main door was closed, but the side door was open. From the inside, they heard the sound of an acetylene torch. Curious, Ruby headed in that direction, Little in tow. She stuck her head inside and gasped in utter surprise, and not just because of the aircraft inside.

It was a Gloster Meteor, one of the oldest jet fighters in existence; only the Messerschmitt 262 was arguably older. The Meteor had been built during World War II, but never clashed with its German counterpart in air battle, though it had been used successfully against V-1 flying bombs. The huge engines, bisected by the straight wing, belied its status as an early jet, when jets were primitive, but the Meteor was sleek, the single tail high to clear the jet exhaust, and four recesses in the nose where four 20 millimeter cannon were installed. One wingtip was missing, and that was the other surprise in the hangar.

Ruby shielded her eyes from the torch's blue flame until it was snapped off, and she could see the person wielding it. They were easily the tallest person Ruby had ever seen, aside from professional wrestlers on television: the mechanic stood seven feet tall, if not more. It wasn't until they turned slightly to see who was in the hangar doorway that Ruby realized the mechanic was female; she wore a shapeless overall and a heavy apron and welding gloves. Her head was shaved, and as she raised her welding mask, Ruby saw that the woman was considerably older than her: the face was not unattractive, but lined with deep wrinkles, especially around the eyes. She smiled. "Hello." She noticed Ruby was still checking out the Meteor. "Does that one interest you?"

"I didn't think there were any of these left. I thought they were all lost." Ruby stepped further into the hangar. "How'd you get it?"

"Nothing is ever truly lost, if you know where to look." The mechanic took off the heavy mask. "And what of you? Are you lost?" The smile grew wider, almost as if she was reassuring Ruby that she was only joking. Ruby couldn't place the accent. It sounded somewhat British, but there was something else behind it. Ruby had heard the accent before, but she couldn't place it.

"No, no," Ruby replied. "I'm just…we got in here this morning, on the B-17, and my friends…we just wanted to explore some."

Little stepped into the hangar as well, but she did not look like she wanted to be there, clearly intimidated by the mechanic, who loomed over her. "Ruby…I don't think we're supposed to be here."

The mechanic's eyes flicked over to Little. "Are you her friend, little one?"

"Yes. Ruby is my friend. I'm helping her get home." She smiled sheepishly. "Even though I don't know where her home is or how we're getting there yet."

"May I?" Ruby reached out to touch the Meteor.

"Of course. It seems to suit you."

Ruby ran her hand over the bright metal. It had no markings, but there were inspection panels open. Clearly the mechanic was restoring it for flight. In modern air combat, the Meteor would be at a severe disadvantage, with its slower speed, straight wings, and gun-only armament—but it was still sleek and impressive. "Wish I could take this baby up," she mused.

"It's not ready yet. You are a pilot?" Ruby nodded. "Then you could choose any of the aircraft here." The mechanic pointed down the line of hangars, if they could have been seen from inside the one they were in.

"I already have an aircraft," Ruby told her, then caught herself. "Well, I did, anyway."

"And yet here you are. You seem to be searching for something."

Ruby went around the wing. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Around here, they call me the Blacksmith." The mechanic sniffed a laugh. "A joke. Forgive my enigmatic ways…the others think me strange, and so it amuses me to act strange."

Little was still standing at the doorway, unwilling to get remotely near the Blacksmith. Ruby spotted a collection of patches on the wall and went to look. "Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I do mind, young miss, but since you asked politely…" The Blacksmith pointed east. "That way. Once upon a time."

Ruby stopped, but not just because she had reached the patch collection. She recognized the accent. Oh shit, she thought, yeah, I know who she sounds like. Salem. She speaks English really good, but there's that weird accent. The Blacksmith is Russian. Does that mean… Ruby wanted to thump her own head like Little had. Okay, Rubes, now you're just jumping at shadows. Just because she's Russian she's working for Salem? That's silly. Geez, I need some sleep.

To cover her momentary discomfiture—she thought she could feel the Blacksmith's eyes boring holes in the back of her head—she gazed up at the patch collection. It was large. Ruby recognized most of them. She spotted the Fighter Weapons School patch that Yang had on her old flight suit—probably glowing in the dark with radioactive mold by now, Ruby mused. There was a Top Gun patch, a GRIMM in crosshairs. All of the 4th Fighter Wing's squadrons were represented, the wing stationed at Signal Air Force Base, where Major Oum was. She even spotted the Playboy Bunny of VX-4, Blake's old squadron. She saw an Air Force Systems Command patch, which reminded her of Penny. There were several variations of Huntress and Huntsman patches, personal symbols she didn't recognize, and Ruby found herself wishing she had one of her flaming rose symbol to add to the Blacksmith's collection.

And then the patch jumped out at her. One moment, it was lost in all the others, and in the next, it might as well have screamed for her attention. Ruby grabbed the shelf in front of her, because she suddenly felt very faint.

The patch was a flaming rose, but in silver.

Ruby willed her pounding heart to stop. She whirled on the Blacksmith. "Where did you get that?"

The huge woman strode over; each step would be two of Ruby's. She peered at the patches. "Do you like that one?"

"The silver rose! That one! Where did you get it?" Ruby demanded.

The Blacksmith reached out and slowly pulled it off the wall, replacing the stickpin that had been holding it there. She gazed at it a little longer, then handed it to Ruby. "It was given to me."

Ruby held the patch reverently as tears streamed down her face. There were still threads attached to it, and on the back was velcro; it had been taken from a flight suit. It was worn with age, but the silver was still bright. "Who…who gave this to you?" She looked up at the Blacksmith, sobbing. "Who gave this to you?"

The Blacksmith gently put a hand on Ruby's shoulder; her hand could have palmed Ruby's head. "Easy, young one. That was given to me by its owner, the one who bore that symbol. She painted it on the tail of her aircraft, like most Huntresses, above the data block." The Blacksmith paused. "It was a F-16, now that I recall. One of the first ones, a small tail."

Ruby sank to her knees, clutching the patch to her chest. Little ran forward and put her arm around her. "Leave her alone!" she yelled at the Blacksmith.

The tall woman ignored her. "Miss, look at me." Ruby raised her chin, and Blacksmith blinked a few times. "Ah, I can see it now. Silver eyes. Similar hairstyle and color. You must be her daughter."

"Summer Rose," Ruby sniffed. "She was my mom."

"I knew your mother—briefly," the Blacksmith began. "It was in 1977." She held out her hand, and reluctantly, Ruby handed the patch back to her. "Oh, I remember your mother very well, Miss Rose. She gave this to me. There were others with her, but she was the only one to give me a patch—" She was cut off by the earsplitting screech of a siren. It was quickly picked up by others until it echoed around the base.

"What's that?" Little held her hands over her ears.

"Air raid," Ruby and the Blacksmith answered at the same time. They stared at each other. "Who's hitting us?" Ruby asked.

The Blacksmith sighed, returned to her workbench, and began packing up the torch. "You should get back to the barracks, both of you. There is a bunker there."

"Who's hitting us?" Ruby repeated.

"I heard that the Red Prince is dead. I doubt it is GRIMM, and NATO has no reason to attack. That leaves only one real possibility." The Blacksmith looked up at the ceiling. "The Jabberwockies."

AUTHOR'S OTHER NOTES: Uh oh.

A few little notes. The part with Arashikaze is one of my favorite things I've ever written in this story; good does not mean nice, and Rissa is not even all that good. I've based her a bit on Josh Brolin's character from the Sicario series, and she's every bit as ruthless. (Iran and Guatemala were two nations the CIA did overthrow or help overthrow the governments during the Cold War.) The Red Notice by Interpol does exist; it is something of a "most wanted" list.

Charles Tabey Jr. is based somewhat on Chuck Katt, the main character in the old adult anthropomorphic comic Omaha the Cat Dancer. His father was just as ruthless in that comic as well; this is the same old man that Neo poisoned with ricin back in ORW III. Susan was Omaha's real name in the comic, and Charles Jr. called himself Chuck; he was a much nicer, uh, cat. Charles Cheshire is far more ruthless and vindictive than Chuck in Omaha.

Top Gun does exist in the ORW universe! This isn't the first time it's been mentioned, and like most fighter pilots, Ruby is a huge fan, even if they love pointing out the inaccuracies in the movie. Now we have the Blacksmith as well in this story; since she can't be a godlike metal construct, I based her appearance on Master Tech Nicia Caii in my Battletech stories. She also mentions that Summer Rose flew a "small tail" F-16; this is a reference to the early F-16As, which had a smaller set of tailplanes. This made them less controllable, but compared to modern F-16s, even more maneuverable. Finally, Ruby's story about grabbing the F-16 and calling it hers? That's based on a true story: me! I did that to a F-4 Phantom when I was Ruby's age, and yes, I've still got the picture my dad took. My love of military aviation started very early!

Next chapter is well and truly dogfight time!