Chapter Text
“Ms. Schnee. It’s time to depart. I understood you must pack light, so I only packed two full bags.” Klien held two small bags in his hands, both in white.
“Thank you, Klein,” Weiss said as she looked in the room’s mirror. “How many more stops until I’m free from this?” She asked, fixing a lock of her white hair that had fallen out of place.
“This will be the last concert you need to perform. Your father will no longer have a contract,” Klein responded.
“Thank you Klien. I’ll see you soon again, I hope?” Weiss asked as she stood.
“It should only be three days, and then you will return,” Klein said, as he helped Weiss into her flight suit.
“Only three. Trip aside, this thing they call clothing is awful,” Weiss complained, zipping up the suit.
“While this suit was done to your exact specifications and size, I do understand that the material needed to be robust,” Klein said, as he held the door.
“Hopefully my pilot will be nice, at least to make the trip bearable,” Weiss said, stepping out of the building and onto the pathway to the airstrip.
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Weiss walked along the path. The bitter chill of Atlesian skies never left, especially not in October. She thought she had heard the pilot was from Argus, and one of the first female pilots recently assigned to fighters as part of Atlas’s program to integrate all sections of the Atlesian military. The program was new, but anyone who could get through training was worthy to be a pilot, as far as Weiss was concerned. The sky was clear as could be; it promised to be a beautiful day in the sky. It also promised to blind anyone who looked up, but Weiss borrowed a pair of blue-tinted aviator sunglasses from her sister Winter, and her helmet had a visor. Weiss took a deep breath of air. Just get in the plane, get out of Atlas, sing a song or two, get in the plane, get back to Atlas, and then get the hell out of Atlas. Simple plan.
“My bags, Klein?”
“Of course, Miss. Schnee,” Klien said, as he held out a backpack and a small duffle bag.
“Thank you, Klein. I will see you soon,” Weiss said, taking the bags underhand.
“You will be missed from the manor, I am sure, Miss Schnee.”
“I suspect Father will be the only one to notice I’m gone besides you, Klein,” Weiss said, with a tinge of venom.
Weiss held the bags as Klien turned and departed. She took another deep breath before she took the doorknob in hand. I suppose it’s time, she thought, opening the door.
---
Weiss stepped into the hanger slowly. Stored inside were numerous aircraft, new and old. An old J-80 jet, a… P-82? I thought we put those old piston things’ out of service a few years ago after that affair in Mistral, Weiss thought. A J-94 Starfire looked to be in a state of disassembly, probably for repairs. But what dominated the hangar was the fighter sitting in the centre. It was a big, bulky craft. With two wide and straight wings with nacelles attached to the ends, protruding from a fuselage with a round nose and two air intakes dominating the bottom half of the craft. The shining aluminium was broken up by a red and bronze paint scheme. Two arrows of bronze colour painted backwards like air from the front nose back to the gap in between the engine intakes and the wings. The wings were painted a bright red, starting halfway up the wing and covering the fuselage. As Weiss walked towards the craft, she noticed more details of the plane. The six holes just behind the nose concealing six cannons. Bands of bronze on the fuel tank nacelles, along with a black maple leaf on the tail. It was one of the newest fighters out there- the J-89 Scorpion. More importantly, she spotted the woman who flew it.
Emerging from the other side of the plane, Weiss saw a woman, six feet tall, with bright red hair walk to the nose of the plane. In contrast to Weiss’s designed Schnee colours flight suit ,which despite her sister’s protesting was done in an impractical primary white and slightly more practical dark blue, while the woman’s was a worn tanned khaki with an orange and dark brown patch showing a spear and shield. The woman walked to the closer wing and put a hand on the nacelle while Weiss walked toward her. Weiss walked up to the woman, who turned to face her. Weiss noticed her eyes were an emerald green, and she wore a bronze circlet on her left arm.
Her hair is the brightest red I've ever seen. Weiss thought, seeing the woman’s long flowing hair spilling behind her onto her back in a ponytail. Wait, how is she going to put on her helmet?
“Oh, hello! Are you Weiss Schnee?” she asked with a slight wave as Weiss approached.
“I am. You are?” Weiss asked, offering a handshake.
“Pyrrha Nikos, from Argus,” Pyrrha said, taking the handshake. “It’ll be a pleasure flying with you.”
Weiss noticed the patch on her…chest. An eagle in front of mountains, with a star in the blue sky. “Which unit is that?” Weiss asked, pointing to the patch.
“The 9th Fighter-Interceptor. Stationed at Fort Hypo,” Pyrrha said while she turned towards the plane. “C’mon, our takeoff window is in 10, and we need to get you situated.”
“Of course. Where should I put my bag?” Weiss asked, following Pyrrha to the left side of the aircraft.
“Just in here,” Pyrrha said, opening a latch to reveal a small space. Weiss went to place her bags only to realise they couldn’t both fit.
“Hang on, just smush them a bit,” Pyrrha said, taking the bags and shoving them in before locking the compartment.
“Hey! You might have crushed something!” Weiss cried out, looking up at Pyrrha.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! We’re just on a tight schedule to beat some storms!” Pyrrha babbled back at Weiss.
“It’s fine, we do need to get in the sky,” Weiss said.
“I already put the ladder for you,” Pyrrha said, putting her hand to hold it in place.
“Thank you,” Weiss said, stepping onto it.
Weiss carefully entered the aircraft’s backseat radar officer position. She made sure not to press any buttons . Let’s not bump into something and eject myself. She sat in the seat and looked over what was in front of her. Only got to read the manual for this. She thought, looking over all the panels before her.
“Getting in!” Pyrrha called out. Weiss looked over the edge of the cockpit to see how Pyrrha was going to get in without the ladder. Weiss watched Pyrrha rub her hands together.
“How are you getting in?” Weiss asked.
“Jump and pull up,” Pyrrha answered.
“You’re going to what?” She can’t possibly jump that high.
“I’m going to jump and use the hand holds halfway up the plane to get in,” Pyrrha said. Weiss watched with amazement as Pyrrha jumped and just caught the footholds under the cockpit. Pyrrha did a pull up on the foothold, grabbing the next one up, doing this multiple times until she could swing her legs into the footholds and get in from there.
Oh my god she just- I- She just- wha-? Weiss’s mind was… scattered, to say the least.
“Helmet on! It’s time to roll,” Pyrrha said cheerily while putting on her red and bronze helmet. She tucked her ponytail into a sleeve built into her helmet.
Huh, that's how she does it, Weiss thought. I should probably get one of those instead of just wearing the helmet wrong and leaving my hair out.
“Right,” Weiss quickly said, sliding on her own white helmet with dark blue racing lines and Schnee emblem.
Pyrrha began to taxi the plane towards the runway, Weiss closed the canopy while she did. Pyrrha stopped the plane with engines running right before the runway. “Tower this is 52-59, callsign Ghost, asking permission for takeoff, route to Borealis.” Weiss heard crackling over the radio before the tower responded.
“Ghost this is Tower, fly heading 290 climb and maintain angels 30. Reports of higher-than-normal Grimm activity in route below angels 15 en route, Readback.”
Pyrrha perfectly readback “Fly 290 climb and maintain angels 30 high Grimm below angels 15 en route.”
“Good copy Ghost, you are cleared for takeoff.”
“Alright Weiss, taking off,” Pyrrha said, slowly moving the plane onto the runway.
“Understood Pyrrha,” Weiss responded. “So, is it going to be a bit of a jolt or-” Weiss was cut off by the roar of the engines, as the plane accelerated down the runway, with afterburner on.
“It’s going to be a bit loud until we have altitude!” Pyrrha screamed.
“A bit!? It’s very loud!” Weiss shouted back.
The Scorpion shot down the runway, passing 150, reaching 200, 230 kilometres per hour, before Pyrrha slowly pulled up the plane and gear. The plane began to rapidly climb. Weiss looked at the instruments and dug through her reading on what to do, before she flicked on the helmet intercom system and switched the IFF communicator to standby.
Weiss looked to the ground. As the plane rocketed off of Atlas, the city of Mantle stretched out below, becoming smaller by the second. One last song. One more stupid trip, and then I can figure out what to do with myself without his input. At least Pyrrha is nice. Weiss dropped the visor of her helmet to block the direct sun from the clear sky and settled in for what should be a basic and easy flight.
A little under 9 minutes late, the roar of the engines decreased slightly as Pyrrha levelled out the plane and moved to regular power, settling in at 30 thousand. "And now, we fly for hours.” Pyrrha looked forwards at the blue sky.
“So, you were one of the first women assigned to the fighter program?” Weiss asked.
“I am. I don’t think it really makes me that special, I just signed up at the right time. Really, I've only been flying for a few more months than my colleagues,” Pyrrha said quickly.
“It’s still impressive to be one of the first at anything,” Weiss said.
“I suppose. Have you had a chance to read through the flight manual?”
“I was only given sections 1 through 3 in case of emergency.”
“There should be a manual back there, since we are going to be flying over Grimm and you’re my radar operator, you should read over section 7.”
Weiss looked around in the cockpit and found a book beneath her seat. “Flight handbook for the F-89D aircraft? Doesn’t the D have rockets?”
Pyrrha laughed a little. “We lost the right flight manual, it’s about 90% the same. Believe it or not, not all of Atlas’s finest get the finest funding.”
“What squadron of Atlas would get messed up manuals though?” Weiss asked, flipping open the book.
“The squadron Atlas doesn’t want,” Pyrrha replied simply before she slightly adjusted course.
Weiss looked down at the book. Opening it to the index, Weiss flipped a page to review the flight controls. “I’m opening to look at the fire-control syste-” She opened the page past the index and froze. That shirt is skintight. There is a woman in skintight clothing in this flight manual.
“Weiss? Is your headset good?” Pyrrha shouted for Weiss to hear without the intercom system.
“My- My headset is fine,” Weiss responded calmly.
“You okay then?” Pyrrha asked, worried slightly.
“Why is there a... scantily clad woman on the first page?” Weiss asked, quickly flipping past that page.
“Gets the guys to read it- Wait did they censor the flight manual they gave you?”
“The copy I was given did not have… that,” Weiss said
“It’s an interesting detail, unfortunately for you they probably don’t make a version with guys in it,” Pyrrha chuckled.
“Th-this version is ah…acceptable,” Weiss stammered.
“Switch on the radar and play around with it whenever you feel like it. We’re going to be here for a few hours,” Pyrrha said.
“Right, I’ll test it,” Weiss said, jumping at the chance to take the topic anywhere else. She flicked it on and looked at the circular screen. She turned dials to see changes and messed with switches for a bit.
“Pyrrha? What’s the rest of the airbase like?” Weiss asked while stowing the radar set and stretching the best she could in the small cockpit.
“Well, it’s pretty chaotic, and pretty small. Everyone there is pretty much family after a few weeks, there’s one head, and one ATC. They’re alright, the guy on tower, his name’s Oscar, he became an ATC about a year ago and is pretty green, but he knows his stuff.” Pyrrha adjusted the course a bit to remain on target.
“Who’s the director?” Weiss asked while she looked at the functions for the switches on her control panels.
“That’d be Qrow. He’s like the rest of us, really. Angered too many people above, and in his case, promoted to the middle of nowhere.” Pyrrha sighed. “He does well enough, bit of a drinking problem though.”
“What really goes on base, day to day?”
“Well, there's about… what, 40 people on base? Plus, the leadership, and a few are, well, obsessed. A new plane came in for testing a bit ago and got assigned to Ruby, she’s been messing with it at all hours of the night. There's some balance between the sane and not, though. How’d you end up touring stations?”
Weiss knew the correct answer. Weiss also knew the real answer, but a random pilot, even if friendly, would be no help there. “The Schnee Dust Company wants to bring joy to the Atlesian armed forces through providing entertainment including my singing,” Weiss recited like a record player.
“And you got assigned to a remote base like ours?” Pyrrha asked, confused about why a high-profile singer would get sent to just about nowhere.
“Yes,” Weiss responded firmly. What's Pyrrha going to do about it? She can't fix this name, and I can't even start until I'm out from under him.
“You said someone named Ruby was obsessive? What’s she like?” Weiss pictured who someone willing to spend days optimising the details of an aircraft would be like. Serious, collected, meticulous, were thoughts which sprung to mind.
“Ruby is 17-” Pyrrha started.
“Minimum enlistment age is 18, isn’t it?” Weiss interrupted. How could they let someone so young in the military? It’s completely illegal!
“Getting there.”
“Of course, my apologies.”
“She proved herself in every trial. Been flying since she could touch the controls, apparently. Passed everything with flying colours, set records, she specifically requested for Boreal because her sister Yang is there. She arrived, and then the military found out she had lied about her age. They figured they already spent enough money on her, that she could just live in the middle of nowhere. She’s actually legally constrained to the airbase until she hits proper enlistment age because of the deal they worked out.”
“She has an… anti-restraining order? A constraining order?” Weiss was puzzled. The Atlesian army was the pinnacle of order. Did the air force inherit the chaos?
“She’s 17, has endless energy, is 5 foot 4, and she wears a corset under her flight suit—She claims it pushes blood like an additional layer to her G-suit.”
“And this Ruby, is one of the best pilots out of training, and she wears a corset under her flight suit?” Corsets don't work like that at all. Not even close, they're anti-flight suits, really, Weiss thought.
“She’s quite impressive,” Pyrrha responded cheerfully.
“Okay, Yang is her sister? Is she sane?”
“She helped me rig this beauty, so I’d say about half and half. Yang is one of the best mechanic’s you’ll find, she can jerry-rig anything. Can you do a look down scan?”
“If she’s the best, why is she at a random base? And yes,” Weiss asked, switching the elevation to down and broad.
“Well, she likes fixing things without asking, and improving things without asking, and absolutely never filing the proper paperwork for anything.”
“So, she’s good but hates bureaucracy? I guess she makes sense to be with you all then.” Is Pyrrha the only one on base who isn't completely renegade? “I’ve done a scan, there's 1 object at 12 thousand, 14k away flying away from us and gaining altitude.
“Yang is also a qualified pilot- Commercial, not military licensed, but I know she’s managed to get military flying hours. Her magnum opus is probably making a prop plane be a jet. What’s their climb rate?”
“Is there anyone approaching sane at the airbase? How does that even work?” Weiss couldn’t understand the existence of this airbase. Any other branch of the military would’ve thrown all of these people out on day one, let alone the fact that jets shouldn’t even work with piston engines. “Jets don't even work that way." Let's see… “Climbing at 45 meters a second.”
“Yes, there is actually a sane pilot on base, and you can rig a jet that way, with enough wizardry. I’m sure Yang would love to give you a run down on it.” Pyrrha laughed a bit. “They’re climbing up into our flight path, looks like we can engage. We should be able to intercept in a minute thirty if we do a shallow dive and hit - Grimm aren’t too smart, they like to get above you, even if it means endangering themselves in the process. “
“If they constantly do stuff that gets them killed, why do military leaders taut them as massive threats?” Weiss asked, while staying focused on the radar scope. “Still climbing, same pace and direction.”
“Intercept in a minute fifteen, copy. The issue isn’t lone Grimm, it’s when they get in packs, or the occasional rare smart one. Well, a single unattended Grimm can still wreak havoc. Minute.” Weiss could feel the airframe slam, rather than cut, through the air, pitching down and accelerating with gravity to meet the enemy Grimm.
“Let’s make this clean,” Weiss said nervously. Pyrrha knows what she's doing. Pyrrha will kill on the first pass.
“Agreed. Pleasure flying with you, Weiss—I suppose you get to be a fifth on your way.” Pyrrha said confidently.
It’s good to know Pyrrha’s confident. What I have is musical talent, and I suppose reading a radar scope.
“Get ready, I can see it!” Pyrrha called out. “She makes pretty big bangs!”
Wait, does the plane have a name? And a gender? Weiss thought. “Lock-on achieved by the auto track! It’s your shot!” Weiss called out.
“Good copy, time to go is 20,” Pyrrha calmly responded.
Weiss watched over Pyrrha’s head as the Scorpion streaked through the air towards the Grimm. Weiss looked at the Grimm- its stubby fuselage and swept wings began to pull to the left to evade, but Pyrrha deftly turned into its path. Weiss could make out 3 large cannons from the front of the enemy aircraft as it attempted to evade. Weiss checked and made sure the target lock was holding through the evasive maneuver, so Pyrrha would have an easier time knowing when to open fire. As the range closed to a kilometer, Weiss felt the craft shudder as a continuous thunder of fire and lead flew from the six cannons, a picture perfect 2 and a half second burst ripping straight through the central fuselage of the enemy. Pyrrha angled the craft into an arcing dive, flying below the carnage. As Weiss passed under the remnants of the Grimm, she saw the fiery explosion give way to a ball of fading smoke, as parts flew above and behind their tail. Weiss grunted at the G-forces of the dive giving way to their altitude rising again. The sky seems bluer. Deeper, maybe? More calm. Distant, I guess. It's not like I killed anyone, it's a Grimm, so why does this entire affair seem to suddenly be so magic? She let go of a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“I suppose I am a fifth of the way now, thanks to you,” Weiss said.
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Hello, anyone who dealt with my writing long enough to finish chapter 1. Now, I’m going to talk about nerd stuff, so I’d you just want a story, you can stop reading now.
Firstly, Pyrrha is flying an F-89B Scorpion, that has the fire-control system of the D installed and functional on it. How does that work? Find out on base in the next chapter! However, if you have notes/suggestions/ways to say I’m wrong, comment below so I can try to improve the flight actions of the involved jets. My goal for the combat of this fic is to be as realistic as possible to flight performance, while damage will work more like the main show- Aura and Semblances exist in this universe and can and will affect planes. Specifically, how? — stay tuned.
There are already a good number of references in this chapter- Pyrrha’s patch is in reference to the 449th Fighter-Interceptor, a squadron which flew F-89 Scorpions as escorts to B-36 Peacemaker bomber/reconnaissance aircraft over the north pole. That’s actually where this fic came from—the ship North Pole, over the north pole. The F-89 was an obvious choice due to its 2-seater configuration. Yang’s Piston powered jet is real! Her pet project is refurbishing an old Mikoyan-Gurevich I-250, which used a traditional piston/propeller to drive a compressor. The compressed air was channeled into an early jet engine. As for Ruby, as far as I am aware, no USAF pilot has flown missions in a corset, though I am aware of incidents where Pilots went only underwear with flight suits.