Sirens wailed across Charybdis Air Base. Red klaxons pulsed above the hangar doors and briefing rooms as chaos briefly turned into muscle memory.
Inside the locker room, Emilie, Teppei, Mona, and Ayaka were zipping up their flight suits in a blur of motion. Velcro snapped shut. Flight boots stomped into place. Oxygen masks hung loose at their sides.
Then—just as they were about to bolt for the hangar—a commanding voice thundered across the intercom:
"Wolfsbane! Front and center!"
Everyone froze.
Even the normally unshakable veterans of the 405th Fighter Squadron—Nocturne Squadron—paused mid-prep, turning their heads toward the locker room's entrance.
The base commander himself had entered.
"There's been another strike—Poisson City. We're stretched thin."
He glanced at the four pilots in front of him with a scowl and pulled a coin from his coat pocket.
"So. Which op are you taking on today?"
"But that's not your call to make anymore," he added coldly, his words sharp as broken glass. "Not after the shitstorm around Tepeacac."
He flipped the coin high into the air.
It clinked as it hit the tile floor, spinning violently before slowing… and finally dropping flat.
Heads.
The commander knelt down, retrieved the coin, and locked eyes with Emilie.
"Marcotte International Airport it is."
He stepped forward, eyes scanning the four. "Natlan aircraft are inbound, likely in retaliation for that 'mysterious squadron' hitting their civilian college. And thanks to that, they've decided Fontaine's airports are fair game now."
"Passengers and staff are being evacuated as we speak. You're to intercept and stop those bastards cold."
"Get moving."
He stepped aside.
Before Emilie could say anything, a young pilot—Nocturne 2, TAC name Ritesword—leaned in, a little hesitant.
"Ma'am? What's the commander's problem with you guys?"
Emilie gave a tired sigh, running a hand through her bangs.
"Hell if I know. We didn't fire on that college. We were just operating nearby. That's all."
Ritesword nodded. "Watch your six out there, Wolfsbane."
Emilie offered a weak smirk. "You too, kid."
Helmets in hand, the four dashed out across the tarmac under the scream of departing fighters.
The flight line was already alive. Crew chiefs waved glowing wands under amber floodlights. Fuel trucks and munition loaders were pulling away from their final checks.
Tidal Squadron's F/A-18's were already thundering down Runway 30.
Emilie sprinted up the ladder to her F-14A, slid into the cockpit, and immediately strapped in. The smell of jet fuel, sweat, and worn leather filled the space around her.
Switches flicked. Gauges danced.
"Right engine start." The TF30 howled to life behind her.
Helmet secure, she reached up and hit the canopy switch. It hissed downward and sealed with a clack.
"Left engine start." Another shriek from behind as her twin PW TF30s roared awake.
The ground crew gave the all-clear, pulling back power lines and air carts. Emilie responded with a thumbs-up.
Brakes off. Throttles eased forward. The F-14 lurched forward onto the taxiway.
Teppei, Mona, and Ayaka's Tomcats followed, afterburners flickering in the rising morning light.
Emilie lined up on Runway 30.
"Wolfsbane, this is Tower! You are cleared for immediate departure! Cancel all altitude restrictions. Get your asses airborne! Godspeed!"
Emilie keyed her mic. "Wolfsbane copies. Rolling."
She slammed the throttles forward. The F-14 surged, afterburners igniting in twin columns of fire. The nose wheel bounced slightly as the bird gathered speed.
140 knots.
160.
170.
She eased back on the stick. The Tomcat lifted off, wheels tucking into the fuselage as she pulled up into a steep climb.
With a crisp bank, Emilie turned west—toward Marcotte.
Within seconds, her HUD showed three IFF tags forming into line behind her: Mona on her wing, Teppei wide right, Ayaka taking the rear.
Wolfsbane Squadron was airborne and en route, tearing through the clouds in a tight V formation. Engines thundered. Altitude climbed. Speed surged just beneath Mach 1—fast, but not enough to shatter windows over the civilian neighborhoods below.
Marcotte was waiting. And they'd be damned if they let it fall.
It only took Wolfsbane Squadron two minutes to arrive in the vicinity of Marcotte International Airport, slicing through the cloud layers above the Fontaine countryside.
Teppei keyed his mic.
"Ah man, I still can't believe we flipped a coin for this mission! This is so not funny!"
Emilie kept her eyes on her radar. A cluster of hostile blips appeared off to her right—fast movers.
"Wolfsbane, engage!"
She slammed the throttle levers forward into full afterburner, the twin TF30s roaring behind her as she broke right. Ahead, a pair of F-14B Tomcats sliced through the clouds.
Her squadmates responded in rapid succession:
"Wilco, Starseer engaging."
"Herring engaging!"
"Soumetsu engaging!"
Emilie dropped in behind one of the F-14Bs. The radar tone began to stabilize—she had a lock.
But the enemy flight split formation immediately, one of the Tomcats breaking right.
"Shit," she hissed, yanking the control stick and following the right-hand bird. The two Tomcats wove through the mist-laced skies, slicing through bands of low-altitude cumulus.
Then the enemy F-14 suddenly pitched up into a vertical climb.
Emilie followed it up, pulling hard on the stick, her speed bleeding fast. The climb pushed her into the upper limits of her aircraft's angle of attack.
Her HUD blared.
Lock tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Twin AIM-9 Sidewinders screamed off the rails, their white smoke trails slicing through the sky in pursuit of the fleeing jet.
Emilie nosed over quickly, snapping into an aileron roll and leveling out as she descended. Seconds later, a fireball erupted in the air behind her—shrapnel and twisted metal spiraled down from the explosion.
"Splash for Raven."
She banked left sharply, catching sight of the second F-14B weaving low toward the civilian air corridors.
Then her radio crackled.
"This is Marcotte Tower! Red Alert! All aircraft, cancel all departures and arrivals immediately! Evacuate the airspace!"
"Airborne commercial flights, divert and do not approach the airport!"
Emilie sped past a civilian Boeing 737 MAX 8, the shockwave from her afterburners rattling the airframe.
A moment later, an alarmed voice came over the civilian ATC frequency.
"This is Air Fontania 1013! A high-speed aircraft just blew past—barely 600 yards from us!"
Banking hard left into a 90-degree turn, Emilie flipped to her 8AAM loadout and locked on.
"Fox Three!"
A single active radar missile leapt off the rail. The enemy F-14B, attempting to jink into a vertical escape, was too slow.
The missile struck the cockpit directly—obliterating the airframe in a single concussive blast. There was no way either pilot survived.
She pulled right again, rolling into the next heading.
"Raven has another bandit down."
Marcotte Tower's voice came back over the airwaves:
"Fontania 1013! That was an allied fighter! Follow TCAS collision-avoidance procedures!"
Fontania 1013 responded, confused.
"Allied fighters? I thought the war was still far from mainland Teyvat… let alone the capital of Fontaine..."
In the distance, another explosion thundered through the sky.
"Starseer bagged a target!"
An enemy F-16 spiraled downward in flames, slamming into the riverbank below.
The command net came alive.
"Tidal Squadron, Nocturne Squadron, follow Raven's lead! She's flight lead for this operation!"
Lynette—Nocturne Two, callsign Ritesword—chimed in:
"Raven, this is Ritesword, Nocturne Two. Nocturne Squadron is following your command!"
Emilie grinned. "Right on time."
She keyed the squadron frequency.
"Tidal and Nocturne, engage the enemy at will!"
Teppei laughed in mock sentimentality.
"Awww, look how peaceful it is! I'm choking up here!"
Ayaka, scanning the runways below, furrowed her brow.
"H-Hey! There are Mirage 2000s departing from the east apron! Who's lifting off?!"
Fontaine Capital Defense Command responded, voice urgent:
"That's the Fontaine Capital Air Defense Squadron. They're en route to Poisson City to spread neutralizers in response to a chemical attack."
"You, along with Tidal and Nocturne Squadrons, are tasked with defending Marcotte International Airport."
Emilie took a glance at her radar—four new blips, closing fast. F/A-18s inbound.
She flipped back to her 8AAM loadout and snapped to intercept. Three locks. Tone.
"Fox Three, Fox Three!"
Three missiles howled off the rails. Emilie pitched down slightly, punching through the incoming enemy formation head-on.
The missiles tore through the airspace and struck the three Hornets dead center—direct hits. Explosions shredded the air, and debris began raining down toward the fields north of the airport.
Ayaka's voice cracked over the comms.
"D-Dang..."
Teppei chimed in next.
"I guess the other side of that coin must've been just as bad, huh?"
Emilie nodded grimly. "Right."
Teppei groaned.
"Not that things are better here at all…"
Ayaka's radar lit up again—new contacts.
"Hey! New blips by the airport!"
Teppei swept his radar.
"Where? In the air? Ground units? Over water?! Where!?"
Marcotte Tower's voice came back, this time sharp with concern.
"This is Marcotte Tower! To the military transports parked at Freight Apron North—state your callsigns and squadron numbers immediately!"
Fontaine Defense Command broke in:
"This is command—be advised, we haven't authorized the deployment of any allied transport aircraft to civilian airports at this time."
Just then, everything escalated.
"Tower to all units! We have armored vehicles disembarking from those transports—tanks and APCs!"
"Shit! They're opening fire! It's the enemy—enemy ground vehicles!"
In the cockpit of her F-14A, Emilie gritted her teeth. Her hands slammed the throttle levers forward, igniting the afterburners.
"Fuck," she muttered.
Teppei's voice crackled over the comms.
"Hey Emilie! Did you hear that!?"
Emilie let out a frustrated groan.
"YES! I HEARD IT!"
Teppei continued, panicked.
"This is the middle of Fontaine! Broad daylight! How the hell are they doing this here!?"
No time to ponder. Emilie shoved her control stick forward, diving at a shallow angle toward the first enemy transport parked near the cargo terminal. Her HUD painted the target—a C-5 Galaxy, still offloading vehicles.
She flipped the weapon selector to AIM-9 Sidewinders.
The targeting tone chimed—lock.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Two Sidewinders shot off their rails, screaming toward the target.
Impact.
The missiles struck the aircraft mid-fuselage. The C-5 erupted in a thunderous explosion—its forward half split open like a tin can, nose section crumpling as it collapsed to the tarmac on its side.
Emilie pulled back hard, roaring through the inferno of black smoke and fire. She banked right, circling for another pass.
Mona dove toward a line of taxiways. Her radar highlighted a moving convoy—tanks, APCs, and what looked like at least one mobile SAM unit. Her HUD lit up with multiple threats.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Her Sidewinders streaked toward the tanks. A split-second later, they hit—armor-piercing warheads detonated, flipping two tanks into the air.
Mona snapped the selector to guns and nosed down.
BRRTTT!
She squeezed the trigger and sent a stream of 20mm tracer rounds screaming toward the convoy. Her crosshair passed over an APC—direct hits. The vehicle burst into flames. The nearby SAM's missile canisters caught fire and cooked off in a chain reaction.
Mona flew through the smoke, flames licking her wings, then performed a graceful aileron roll.
"Yes! Enemy convoy down!"
Off in the distance, another boom—Emilie's F-14 soared through another plume of black smoke, the wreckage of a second C-5 Galaxy collapsing behind her.
"Raven's got another transport!"
Above, a Panavia Tornado spiraled out of the sky—Ayaka's voice cut in.
"Soumetsu has a Tornado!"
The aircraft slammed into the taxiway in a fireball, but Ayaka's voice didn't sound victorious. Something was off.
"Hey... is it just me, or are we being tricked? This airport was fine when we passed by earlier!"
Emilie keyed the mic.
"You're right. Their target was never the terminal or the flights—they're trying to capture the airport. Set up shop, use this as a forward base, and push into Fontaine's mainland from here!"
Meanwhile, Teppei was locked in a deadly dogfight.
A lone F/A-18 was glued to his tail, matching every evasive move.
The two jets weaved through the skies like dancers in a lethal ballet. Teppei groaned as G-forces pulled at him.
"Agh! I'm stuck! This F-18's on my ass!"
Then, Emilie appeared like a specter, lined up on the Hornet.
"Herring, disengage! I got this!"
"Right! Disengaging!" Teppei broke right.
The Hornet turned left—both aircraft split in opposite directions.
Teppei glanced at his radar. His eyes narrowed. They were about to merge again.
He pulled into a tight turn, sweat running down his cheek. A glint in the sky—there it was. The F/A-18 was coming around to face him.
He flicked to guns.
He waited.
Then—
"Guns, guns!"
He pulled the trigger. His M61 Vulcan roared.
The tracers slashed across the Hornet's canopy. One round punched through the glass and struck the pilot directly.
Instant kill.
The now lifeless Hornet nosed over and spiraled down—smashing into the airport riverbank in a plume of dirt and fire.
"Nice shot, Teppei!" Emilie called.
Teppei performed a tight aileron roll.
"Yahhooo! Thanks, Captain!"
Ayaka dove low, lining up the final C-5 Galaxy.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Two missiles launched cleanly. She pulled hard right, breaking away.
The missiles found their mark. The transport aircraft split in half, cockpit shattered, nose tilting and resting on its side.
"Target hit! Target hit!"
Silence. Then Mona's voice came through.
"Why is Natlan doing this? Is it because of what we supposedly did days ago?"
Emilie keyed her mic.
"Again, we didn't do that. That was the so-called 5050th Squadron. Not us."
Then, a new voice over the radio—civilian frequency.
"Fontania 1013, go around! You are not permitted to land!"
The pilot of 1013 replied, stressed.
"We can't! We're running on reserve fuel—we need to land!"
Tower snapped back.
"Oh come on! Are you even listening!? This is a warzone! Cargo terminal's a smoldering crater, and the whole damn airport's full of shell holes!"
Mona groaned.
"Ugh... if that's their reason, are they really going to stoop this low? Why are people so damn stupid?"
Emilie sighed bitterly.
"Reminds me of that pilot in the rebellion war... told her wingman to ditch their plane in a stadium after taking a hit. Some people just lose the plot."
Suddenly, her RWR screamed.
LOCK WARNING.
"Shit!" Emilie snapped her stick back, initiating a steep vertical climb. The Tomcat strained as it neared stall speed.
Then—rudder pedal slam, throttle split—she executed a hard yaw to the right, pulling off a brutal post-stall maneuver.
The missile whooshed past, missing by meters.
She exhaled in relief—then looked back.
The aircraft that fired on her exploded mid-air. A friendly F/A-18 dove past the fireball.
"Raven, this is Ritesword. Got your six!" Lynette's voice crackled.
"Thanks!" Emilie replied.
Then—another alarm. Her whole jet began to shake.
"Huh? What the hell!?"
Mona's voice cut in.
"Raven! Your right engine's spitting flames!"
Emilie's stomach dropped.
"Compressor stall!" she barked.
She scanned her engine gauges—the TF30 on the starboard side was dead.
But before panic could settle, a new voice chimed in.
"This is Central Command—enemy forces neutralized! Control Tower, confirm?"
A pause…
Then—
"This is Tower... we're clear! Repeat, we are clear! Thanks to Wolfsbane and the 405th Squadron!"
Command returned.
"Roger. Wolfsbane, Nocturne, and Tidal Squadrons, return to base. Nice work."
Emilie exhaled and got to work. She carefully pulled the right throttle to fuel cut-off, then toggled the engine restart switch.
The turbine began to spool.
She eased the throttle forward—ignition.
The engine came back online. She throttled both back to idle, equalizing thrust.
Her wingmates formed up around her.
Off her right side, Mona coasted up, knocking gently on her canopy with a gloved fist.
"Hey Emilie! Need a new pair of pants?"
Emilie laughed.
"Sorta. Just goes to show our planes are kinda flawed, huh?"
Teppei came in.
"Couldn't agree more! If I flat-spun with both engines out, I'd just give in!"
Mona scoffed.
"No, Teppei—you eject."
The four jets soared in formation, banking east—heading back toward Charybdis Air Force Base.
The smoke of Marcotte International faded behind them.
Minutes Later
Charybdis Air Force Base
The sky was beginning to fade into hues of twilight, casting a soft orange glow over the sprawling runways and hardened aircraft shelters of Charybdis Air Force Base.
The flight line was chaos—crews scrambled in every direction, towing refuelers, inspecting damage, and guiding jets into temporary parking positions. Ground crew buzzed around like ants under pressure. The usual organized rhythm had collapsed into a frantic dance of activity.
Amid the swarm of personnel and the constant roar of auxiliary power units, the battered and soot-streaked F-14A Tomcats of Wolfsbane Squadron stood out like wounded beasts. Parked dead center on the tarmac, their presence alone made it clear: they'd been through hell.
Captain Emilie dropped down the boarding ladder of her jet, her boots hitting the concrete with a solid thud. The heat radiating from the aircraft still simmered against her back as she stepped away and took a long, exhausted breath.
"Man…" she muttered, brushing her bangs aside, "I don't want to go through that shit again."
A few moments later, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka approached, walking alongside each other in step. Their suits still carried the grime of combat, visors unlatched, helmets tucked under their arms.
"No kidding," Mona said with a weary sigh, eyes narrowed in thought. "A compressor stall at low altitude? You were lucky. Good thing Ritesword swooped in when she did."
Emilie gave a tired nod, glancing off toward the dispersing aircraft. "Yeah… I really ought to thank her for that."
As if summoned by the thought, a young woman in a Nocturne Squadron flight suit approached, helmet tucked under her left arm. Her stride was hesitant, but purposeful. The crest of her squadron patch—Fontaine's insignia stylized in dark violet—stood out sharply against her sleeve.
"Umm... Captain Emilie?" she asked, voice light but sincere.
Emilie turned, surprised, then nodded. "Yeah, that's me."
The pilot scratched the back of her gloved hand awkwardly. "I… I just wanted to say—" she glanced at the others briefly, then back at Emilie "—I'm glad to see you safe again."
Emilie couldn't help but chuckle. "I should be the one saying something."
She stepped forward and extended her hand. "Thanks for saving my life up there."
The other woman looked at the gesture for a moment, eyes wide, then reached out and shook Emilie's hand with both nervousness and pride.
"I… Uh… You're welcome!"
Emilie grinned. "What's your name?"
The woman straightened up reflexively, a hint of formality kicking in.
"Second Lieutenant Lynette Snezhevna. Callsign Ritesword."
Emilie gave her a firm nod, still holding her gaze.
"Thank you, Lynette."
With a small smile, Lynette gave a quick nod before stepping back.
The five of them turned and began walking together back toward the main building, past rows of grounded jets, glinting canopies, and the fading sunlight reflecting off the sea nearby.
Charybdis AFB – Briefing Room
The debriefing room was packed shoulder to shoulder—pilots, intel officers, and squadron leaders filled every seat and stood along the walls. The projector hummed, a glowing map of coastal Fontaine still flickering on the screen.
The base commander stood front and center, arms crossed, tone grim but steady.
"Everyone—good work out there. That was a hell of a mission," he began. "The enemy forces that attempted to seize Marcotte International have been confirmed neutralized. Transports down. Ground troops eliminated."
A quiet murmur rippled through the crowd, some exhaling in relief, others still tight-jawed.
"As for follow-on threats to mainland Fontaine, Nocturne and Tidal Squadrons executed a textbook intercept and successfully pushed them back before they crossed into urban airspace."
The commander paused, flipping a chart. The mood in the room shifted as his tone grew colder.
"But that leaves the bigger questions—how did they get in? Why attack Marcotte? And why now?"
No answers came—only the quiet whine of an air conditioner and the sound of boots shifting against tile.
"The investigation is underway. All units should be on high alert until we know more."
He turned to a side panel, pulling up a new image.
"Additionally, the chemical attack at Poisson has been contained. The neutralizing agent was deployed successfully, and all civilian casualties avoided."
He let the next words hang heavy.
"The suspects have been confirmed as a Natlan Commando Unit. They were planning to link up at Marcotte if the operation had succeeded."
A low gasp broke from someone in the back. Eyebrows furrowed across the room.
The commander's voice grew more forceful. "These weren't rogue cells. This was coordinated."
He looked around the room. "You all did your part. Now get some rest."
He nodded toward the Wolfsbane crew.
"Wolfsbane Squadron—you'll return to Petrichor tomorrow. You've earned your break. Dismissed."
With the loud scraping of chairs and the shuffle of boots, the pilots began filing out.
Runway 30 – Shoreline
Later that evening, away from the noise and steel, the crew of Wolfsbane found themselves near the edge of the base—where the end of Runway 30 met the ocean. The crashing waves played softly against the rocks, the breeze from the sea carrying a salty calm.
The four pilots walked slowly, side by side along the shoreline, their voices quieter now, thoughtful.
Emilie was the first to speak, eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Something's off… way off."
Teppei nodded. "You're telling me. Transports slipping into Fontaine airspace like it's nothing? That's not a tactical slip—that's an inside job or a major intel failure."
Mona was silent for a moment, tapping her chin in thought. "I've got a feeling... I just don't know what it means yet."
Ayaka looked to her, curious. "What kind of feeling?"
Mona shook her head, brushing the hair from her eyes. "It's just… something big. Like we're only seeing the edge of something deeper."
Teppei kicked a pebble into the surf, frowning. "Natlan's pushing hard everywhere. Land, air, intel… but we're supposed to be allies, damn it."
Emilie crossed her arms, her gaze still locked on the water.
"This wasn't just an isolated op. Someone wanted this war to escalate."
She turned to the others.
"Someone's pulling the strings behind all of this."
And with that, the waves continued crashing in the distance—quiet, steady, ominous.
As if the sea itself was keeping secrets.