September 24
A new day.
A new mission.
Emilie fastened the last zipper of her flight suit, exhaling as she adjusted the snug fabric across her shoulders and torso. She glanced at herself in the mirror, hand on hip, scrutinizing her reflection.
"Great… I hope Captain Candace is in a good mood after yesterday..." she thought.
She scoffed softly. "But I highly doubt it."
Shoving the thought aside, she grabbed her helmet from the chair and stepped out, her boots clicking against the polished floor as she made her way toward the briefing room.
By the time she arrived, most pilots were already seated. The Base Commander had yet to arrive. Emilie slid into her usual spot beside Mona, crossing one leg over the other.
"Looks like all we're waiting for is the Base Commander, huh?" Emilie murmured.
Mona gave a subtle nod. "That's right."
Right on cue, the doors swung open. Base Commander Courbevoie entered, followed by Captain Candace. The room snapped to attention, every pilot standing with sharp, disciplined salutes.
Courbevoie returned the gesture. "At ease. Let's get this briefing started."
The lights dimmed. The large display flickered to life, illuminating a tactical map of Fontaine airspace surrounding Petrichor.
"Unidentified aircraft has violated our airspace," Courbevoie began, clicking a remote. A silhouette appeared—a sleek, dart-like shape.
"Confirmed as an SR-71 Blackbird." A ripple of murmurs passed through the room. The SR-71 wasn't just any aircraft; its speed and altitude capabilities made it legendary. Emilie's brow furrowed. Fontaine airspace? This wasn't a casual border incursion—it was audacious.
"Despite multiple warnings, it continued its incursion. Our coastal SAM batteries engaged. One missile landed a hit, but the aircraft remains airborne."
He switched the display to a grainy infrared image, showing the Blackbird's sharp, angular lines.
"Your mission: intercept, establish communications, and escort it to a controlled landing. You are not authorized to fire unless given explicit orders."
The screen went dark. Silence hung briefly before Candace stepped forward.
"I'll lead this flight. Emilie, Mona, Teppei—you're with me."
Emilie exchanged a glance with Mona before nodding.
"Wolfsbane Squadron, suit up. Wheels up in fifteen."
The room erupted into motion. Helmets in hand, pilots moved with efficient precision toward the flight line.
Outside, the distant whine of jet engines greeted them, a low rumble building into a sharp, metallic scream.
At the apron, four aircraft waited:
One F-4 Phantom II—Candace's lead jet.
Three F-5E Tiger IIs: Emilie 016, Mona 108, Teppei 204.
Emilie climbed the ladder to her F-5, sliding into the ejection seat and securing the shoulder harness. She adjusted the straps, ensuring a firm but comfortable fit, then slid her helmet down. Her visor fogged slightly with a breath before she sealed the canopy.
Ground crews hustled, clearing stairs and wings.
She flicked the engine master switches. Twin GE J85 turbojets roared to life, spooling up with a sharp, keening howl. Emilie rolled her shoulders, shaking her head.
"For an auxiliary squadron, we need better jets than this…"
The radio crackled.
"Wolfsbane Squadron, follow me to the runway."
Acknowledgements came in quick succession:
"Wilco."
"Roger."
"Roger." Emilie's voice was steady, controlled.
Candace's F-4 Phantom moved first, taxiing with authority. Mona and Teppei followed. Emilie eased her throttle forward, tailing Teppei's jet.
One by one, they lined up at the runway threshold. Takeoff procedures were precise, drilled into muscle memory. Candace accelerated first, F-4 lifting gracefully off the tarmac. Mona followed, then Teppei.
Emilie took a deep breath. Full military power. The J85s screamed, the airspeed needle climbing. At 160 knots, she gently pulled back—nose lifting, gear retracting with a firm clunk.
The four fighters settled into tight diamond formation, skimming low along the coastline. Sunlight glittered on the waves beneath them as their shadows streaked across the water.
The air smelled of ozone and jet fuel. The faint vibration through the airframe reminded her: every motion, every control input, mattered.
This wasn't just a training sortie. This was real. And the sky was about to test them.
They were nearing the target.
Candace keyed her radio.
"This is Wolfsbane One. Approaching the target."
A calm, authoritative voice cut in.
"This is AWACS, callsign Thunderspike. Roger. Bring the bogey to the ground. Do not fire unless authorized."
Candace responded immediately.
"Wilco."
Switching to squadron frequency, she checked in with her flight.
"You got that, nuggets?"
Mona replied first, crisp and professional.
"Wolfsbane Two, roger."
Teppei followed, his usual enthusiasm evident.
"Wolfsbane Three, roger!"
Emilie stayed quiet for a beat.
Candace's voice returned, sharper this time.
"Wolfsbane Four. Raven? You copy?"
Emilie exhaled, keying her mic.
"Wolfsbane Four. Understood."
Candace gave a slight nod.
"Okay… sounds like you're confident. At least."
Teppei couldn't help himself.
"Glad I get to see some action again!"
Candace's sigh carried over the headset.
"Second Lieutenant Teppei, cut the chatter. You need a callsign, too?"
Teppei grinned.
"I prefer Herring, ma'am!"
"Sadly, I may not respond to any other moniker,"
Candace exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
"Well… at least that name suits you. Though I've got a better one in mind—best I keep it to myself."
Teppei groaned.
"Aw, cut me some slack, Captain!"
Right on cue, their IFF displays updated: a single contact appeared. SR-71 Blackbird. Low altitude.
Candace's voice sharpened.
"Tally-ho, nuggets. Target acquired."
She rolled the F-4 Phantom right, banking 50 degrees toward the intruder. The Tigers mirrored her maneuver with practiced precision, formation tight and fluid.
Then came the reminder.
"Remember. You are forbidden to attack. Understood, Raven?"
Emilie groaned audibly.
"No, I don't understand…"
Candace exhaled through her nose, irritation mingled with amusement.
"Second Lieutenant Emilie, did you not hear me? Do not engage!"
Emilie smirked beneath her visor.
"I heard you the first time, Captain. Ever heard of sarcasm?"
They leveled out, closing the distance to the Blackbird. Candace scanned the sky—then frowned.
Teppei had fallen behind.
"Motormouth Herring, where are you?" she keyed.
Teppei's eye twitched.
"Wh-what!? That's your nickname for me!?"
Candace shook her head.
"You've got a knack for comic relief, Teppei. Mind sending our friends in the SR-71 a surrender form?"
Teppei chuckled, rolling with it. Switching to COM 3, he keyed his radio.
"Uhh… hello? Is this thing on?" He cleared his throat, then continued professionally.
"Unidentified aircraft, this is the Fontaine Air Defense Force. Set course to Petrichor VOR immediately."
Candace smirked under her helmet.
"I'm impressed, Teppei."
He continued with mock ceremony.
"Follow the VOR radial. We will escort you to Petrichor Air Force Base. Lower your landing gear to acknowledge this transmission."
The SR-71 banked sharply—ninety degrees—turning toward the Petrichor VOR beacon with calculated precision.
Emilie keyed her mic.
"Looks like they're complying."
Candace gave a brief nod.
"Good."
The Blackbird leveled off, engines humming smoothly, maintaining a steady course. Wolfsbane Squadron fell into position around it, formation tight, eyes sharp. The intercept was clean, professional—but the tension remained. Every pilot knew a single misstep could turn this escort into a fight.
They were hot on the intruders.
AWACS Thunderspike crackled urgently through the radio.
"Alert, Wolfsbane Squadron! High-speed bogeys inbound! Bearing 280, altitude 4,000 feet! Weapons safe—hold fire until further orders!"
Candace's eyes flicked to her radar. Four contacts, fast and closing.
"Hold our fire?" she muttered, then scoffed.
"Tch. Not losing any nuggets today."
The squadron widened formation, maintaining standoff distance. But then—
A sharp, insistent beep tore through the cockpits.
Missile lock warning.
Candace's heart spiked.
"EVERYONE BREAK FORMATION! BREAK FORMATION!"
She yanked her stick back, climbing aggressively. Emilie followed instinctively, pulling Gs as her Tiger II strained under the maneuver. Mona rolled right into a defensive bank; Teppei peeled left, panicked energy crackling over the radio.
"They're firing at us!!"
AWACS remained firm.
"Weapons safe! Hold your fire until further orders!"
Emilie ground her teeth.
"Are you kidding me? They're firing live missiles at us!"
Candace ignored the protest. Her voice sharpened over the squad frequency.
"All planes—engage!"
Emilie slammed the throttles forward, J85 engines screaming into afterburner.
"Raven, engaging!"
AWACS snapped back.
"Captain Candace! You are violating direct orders!"
She ignored them, pulling hard left to line up on the nearest Mirage 2000.
HUD lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
Two AIM-9 Sidewinders streaked away, tailing the target. A fireball erupted mid-air.
"Raven, splash!"
Candace downed another Mirage before keying her mic.
"Shove it, Thunderspike! I'm not losing any more nuggets today!"
The others followed suit. Mona's call rang out:
"Starseer, engaging!"
Teppei's voice cracked with exhilaration.
"Herring, engaging!"
The sky erupted into a chaotic ballet of smoke trails and contrails. Mona and Teppei tangled with the remaining Mirages while Emilie hunted her next target.
The second Mirage snapped into a vertical climb. Emilie reacted instantly, pulling back hard on the stick, afterburners igniting with a roar that shook the fuselage.
HUD lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
Missiles streaked away. She pitched over into a vertical descent, throttles to idle, then pushed forward again, leveling out just as an explosion rocked the sky behind her.
AWACS barked.
"Captain Candace, hold your fire!"
Candace scoffed, lining up another target.
"Not bad, Raven." Then, to AWACS:
"Shut that trap of yours, Thunderspike!"
Missile away. Another direct hit.
Then—another radio transmission.
"Four more fighters inbound, recon plane's location."
Teppei groaned.
"Are you kidding me? There's more?!"
He fired. Missile away.
"Splash one!"
Candace smirked.
"Not bad, Herring. Another one coming soon."
Teppei shook his head.
"My only regret is not flying with a sunnier captain today."
AWACS's voice cut through again.
"Wolfsbane Squadron! HOLD YOUR FIRE!"
Ignored.
Mona dove from above, inverting sharply to intercept a MiG-21. The enemy jinked left and right, but her lock remained steady.
HUD lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
Twin missiles slammed into the MiG fuselage.
"Starseer, splash!"
AWACS reported:
"Enemy recon plane is shot down."
Candace smirked.
"Aww… got tired from our little bandit party?"
Emilie lined up another MiG-21. Head-on. Engines screaming, she steadied her breath.
HUD lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
Twin Sidewinders streaked forward, impacting directly. She passed through the resulting fireball, banking left toward the remaining two targets.
Candace's calm voice reminded them:
"Watch your six. Stick to fundamentals. Don't get cocky."
Emilie ascended steeply after her next target, Tiger II's airframe whining under the stress. The MiG snapped into a dive; she inverted, following into the descent.
Teppei grunted under sustained Gs, inadvertently broadcasting over the radio:
"GAAAAHHHHHH! ARGGHHHHHH!"
Candace chuckled.
"Hey, Wolfsbane Squadron. Planes functioning normally?"
Emilie gritted her teeth.
"Hell no! These birds are too analog!"
Teppei chimed in.
"Yeah! We need something with actual tech!"
Candace sighed.
"Doesn't matter. Keep fighting."
Emilie banked hard, HUD lighting up.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Three!"
Missiles lanced away. A fireball bloomed.
"Raven's got a bandit!"
Another explosion.
"Starseer's got the target!"
Finally, AWACS reported:
"All unknown aircraft destroyed."
Emilie exhaled, leveling out. Candace keyed her radio.
"All planes, report."
Emilie: "Yes."
Teppei: "Loud and clear."
Mona: "Affirm, ma'am."
Candace nodded.
"Good. Looks like we all made it. To commemorate, you keep 'Raven,' Emilie. You're not bad at all."
Emilie allowed herself a small smirk but remained focused.
The four jets regrouped, formation tight as they headed back to Petrichor Air Force Base.
Mission complete—for now.
Hours later, all aircraft had returned to Petrichor Air Force Base without incident. The adrenaline of combat had faded, leaving fatigue—and a gnawing sense of unanswered questions.
Inside the crew briefing room, Emilie returned from the bathroom, drying her hands on her flight suit. She paused, frowning, noticing an absence.
"Where's Captain Candace?"
The base commander, a man with sharp eyes and the weariness of countless missions etched into his face, looked up from a stack of documents.
"I was just about to address that," he said, exhaling as he set a folder aside. "Captain Candace had to report to Base Headquarters in Marcotte. Higher-ups want her there immediately."
Emilie raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"That's above your clearance, Lieutenant." His voice was firm but not dismissive. "What happened today is now classified at the highest level. Central Command has issued a gag order. No discussions. No reports. Nothing leaves this room."
Silence hung like a storm cloud over the pilots, pressing against them with the same weight as the cockpit's crushing G-forces.
"Dismissed," the commander finally said. "Await further orders."
Without another word, the pilots stood and dispersed, moving silently toward their quarters.
Alone in her room, Emilie set her flight helmet on the desk and removed her glasses. She walked over to the window, leaning against the cool glass as the evening breeze swept across her face.
She exhaled sharply, mind racing.
What's going on…?
She replayed the day's events in her mind: the aircraft they had encountered. Mirage 2000s. MiG-21s. None standard issue for the Teyvat Air Force. Certainly not Fontaine's.
Why were they in Fontaine airspace?
Her gaze drifted across the dark waters beyond Petrichor's coast, the ocean stretching into the distance, hiding whatever forces lurked beyond the horizon.
Across that ocean…
Her eyes hardened.
That's Natlan airspace.
Her breath caught.
Are they… Natlan aircraft?
No proof. No confirmation. Only suspicion—but her gut told her the answer was clear.
Across those waters lay Natlan's maritime territory. Beyond that, a fortified airbase. A staging ground.
A cold weight settled in her stomach.
Was this an accident? A rogue unit? Or…
The first sign of war.