September 30
14:45 Hours
Petrichor Air Force Base – Crew Lounge
The crew lounge hummed with the low murmur of pilots and ground staff, a calm lull that felt almost deceptive. Emilie and Mona sat side by side on the couch, helmets resting on the table before them, fingers idly tracing the worn edges of the leather padding. Teppei leaned against the wall by the window, arms crossed, while Ayaka stood beside him, watching the clouds drift lazily over the horizon.
Teppei glanced over his shoulder. "Hey Emilie, what do you think of the Tomcats so far?"
Emilie gave a measured nod. "They're beasts. Plenty of power, solid handling at low speeds, and the variable-geometry wings give you flexibility in mid-flight. Perfect for air superiority, and they can handle strike roles too—air-to-ground, air-to-air. You can do both if you know what you're doing."
Mona leaned forward slightly. "You mentioned something earlier about the TF30 engines?"
Emilie's expression darkened slightly. "Yeah. That's the weak link. TF30s are notorious for compressor stalls at high angles of attack. That's why so many F-14As got upgraded to B-models later on—they swapped the engines. These A-models… they demand respect."
Teppei raised an eyebrow. "You mean like what happened to Leah, right? The first Tomcat pilot in Teyvat?"
Emilie's eyes hardened at the memory. "Yeah. Leah. First female naval aviator from Mondstadt. She flew with the MDC Vanessa back when it was still exclusively A-models. On approach, her left engine stalled. She throttled the good engine to compensate… the plane rolled violently. She didn't make it. Her RIO survived."
Ayaka lifted a finger gently. "Flight school reports said she applied full throttle after the stall. That unbalanced thrust caused the uncontrollable roll." She paused, letting the words settle. "And the press backlash… brutal. 'Women shouldn't be in combat aircraft'—that kind of garbage."
Emilie nodded slowly. "Official board cleared her. Put the fault squarely on the engine. Didn't matter who was in the cockpit. The moment one TF30 stalls and you don't catch it instantly, the aircraft fights you all the way down."
Teppei blinked. "Wait… we're flying F-14As, right?"
"Yeah," Emilie confirmed, voice calm but firm. "Just… respect the limits. Smooth inputs. No sudden high-alpha maneuvers unless absolutely necessary. Not easy, but doable."
Before she could elaborate, a sharp knock sounded at the lounge door. A crew chief leaned in, clipboard in hand.
"Wolfsbane, briefing. You've got a new mission."
Emilie was on her feet instantly. "Wilco. Let's go."
Mona rose alongside her while Teppei and Ayaka peeled away from the window. The relaxed calm evaporated, replaced with a tense, anticipatory energy. Downtime was officially over.
Briefing Room – Petrichor AFB
The four pilots entered the briefing room to find Captain Maksim already pacing, arms crossed, tapping a finger against his bicep impatiently.
"'Bout damn time you four showed up…" he muttered.
The pilots took their seats as the large display flickered to life behind him, casting a pale glow over the tactical map of the Bishui Straits. Maksim's gaze swept over them before he began.
"Listen carefully. Natlan's biggest screw-up so far? Not sinking a single one of our carriers. Today, you're going to help them keep it that way."
He cleared his throat and pointed to three flashing icons moving along the border between Mondstadt and Liyue.
"Your mission is straightforward: top cover. You'll escort a task force of three capital carriers—the Remus, Egeria, and the Arkhe. Yes, the same Arkhe you helped extract from Lumidouce Port three days ago."
The camera zoomed in on the fleet's slow progress through the straits. Maksim's finger traced their route.
"They're heading toward the Dornman Straits—critical position. That's where we'll stage the next counterstrike force and link up with joint Mondstadt-Liyue fleets."
He leaned forward slightly. "They're navigating through the Bishui Straits now. Natlan knows this, so expect a strike. Could be fighters, bombers, UAVs—you name it. Your job? Keep those carriers afloat. I don't care how you do it. No one gets through."
He straightened, voice steel-edged. "Understood?"
All four pilots nodded, a silent agreement passing between them.
"Dismissed. Sortie ASAP. Godspeed."
The display flickered off, leaving the room bathed in the muted light of the late afternoon. The quiet hum of anticipation lingered—soon, Wolfsbane Squadron would be in the air again, their new F-14s slicing through Teyvat's skies.
Flightline – Petrichor AFB
Teppei practically bounced as they strode toward the flightline, eyes bright. "Finally! A proper mission. Straightforward too!"
Emilie let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Don't jinx it. Simple escort missions have a nasty habit of going sideways."
Teppei waved his hand dismissively. "Come on! All we do is cover the carriers until they reach the Dornman Straits. Then we're done. Easy money!"
Mona let out a skeptical snort. "You ever notice how 'easy' never stays easy?"
Emilie shook her head, expression sharp. "Focus. Orders first, mission second, then we go home."
Ayaka nodded, eyes still on the horizon. "And now we have better aircraft. We're more prepared than ever."
Emilie smirked. "You got that right."
The four pilots reached their aircraft. Emilie paused at the front of the formation, her assigned F-14A gleaming under the afternoon sun, wings swept back in its pre-flight posture. Fuel topped off, stores loaded—ready for combat.
She climbed the ladder and dropped into the cockpit, helmet tucked under her arm. The familiar scent of avionics and leather filled her senses. Switches, dials, gauges—everything exactly where it needed to be. She pulled the harness over her shoulders, cinched it tight, and locked the buckle.
Helmet on. Heads-up display flickered alive.
Her eyes scanned the hydraulic pressure gauge. Low.
"Manual pump it is…" she muttered.
She grabbed the hand pump beside her left leg, pumping rhythmically—pull, push, pull, push—watching the needle crawl into the green zone. Hydraulic pressure stable.
Canopy lever down. A hiss of hydraulics, a firm clunk as it locked. She glanced left at the ground crew chief and gave a crisp thumbs-up.
The crew responded in kind. Engines clear to start.
She toggled the engine start switch to the right. The right TF30 began to spool, whining at first, then settling into a steady growl. At 20% RPM, she fed in idle throttle; the turbine thundered to life.
Left engine followed. Switch, spool, idle—twin TF30s now humming in unison.
She signaled to remove ground power. Crew scrambled beneath the fuselage, disconnecting hoses and cables. A final thumbs-up confirmed clearance.
Parking brakes released, she began taxiing. One by one, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka fell into formation behind her, four Tomcats aligned for departure.
Runway 27 – Petrichor AFB
Emilie led the pack onto the runway, holding brakes as Tower came through her headset.
"Raven, you are cleared for takeoff. Altitude restriction canceled. Good hunting."
"Wilco Tower. Raven rolling," she replied, voice calm, measured.
She advanced the throttles into afterburner. Twin TF30s bellowed, flames licking the rear nozzles, rumbling through the airframe.
Airspeed climbed: 120… 130… 140… 150… 160…
At 167 knots, Emilie eased back on the stick. The nose lifted. Wheels retracted smoothly, wing sweep still automatic. She banked right, following the TACAN waypoint toward the Bishui Strait.
One by one, her squadmates peeled into formation behind her—Starseer, Herring, and Soumetsu. Four F-14As, sleek and lethal, now slicing eastward through the high afternoon sky.
The escort mission was officially underway.
The radio crackled, squad chatter light, professional. Engines thrummed, the airframe vibrating with raw power.
Ahead, the sky seemed… still.
Too still.
Hours Later…
The four F-14A Tomcats cruised at 1,000 feet in tight combat spread, each pilot scanning their instruments and the murky horizon. Below, the Teyvat Navy carved through the Dornman Strait with mechanical precision—sixteen destroyers flanking three carriers: Remus, Egeria, and the pride of the fleet, the Arkhe, an Ousia-class supercarrier gleaming faintly through the haze.
Visibility was poor. A dense marine haze hung in the air, mixing with the fading sun to paint the overcast sky in deep crimson and gold streaks.
"Hey, how's everyone doing on fuel?" Mona's calm voice came over the squadron net, precise and controlled.
Emilie glanced down at her left console. "Fuel's green. Plenty to finish the mission—nowhere near bingo yet."
Ayaka answered softly, "Same here. Both drop tanks full, no worries."
Teppei leaned back in his seat, voice casual. "And what did I tell you? Nice, simple mission. No drama. Already at the Dornman Strait!"
A crisp voice cut through the comm:
AWACS Thunderspike:
"All aircraft, be advised—we've reached the outer perimeter of potential enemy strike range. You are cleared to RTB."
A brief pause.
"Wolfsbane Squadron, remain on station. Hold above the carrier until the refueling tanker arrives."
Teppei squinted toward the horizon, spotting a Liyue-based squadron peeling off and banking northwest toward home. "Hey! They're heading back already! Can we go too?!"
Thunderspike's voice carried a faint exasperation. "Wolfsbane, I repeat—maintain position. Tanker on station shortly."
Teppei groaned. "Ugh… seriously?"
Emilie's eyes sharpened, scanning the radar. Multiple unknown contacts appeared, bearing 015, low altitude, fast movers.
"Got something on radar—multiple contacts. Bearing 015, low altitude, fast movers," she reported.
"Same here," Mona replied, tension creeping in.
"Wait—are our radars getting spoofed?" Teppei complained, tapping at his display.
"No," Ayaka interjected, voice steady but firm. "Same contacts here. This is real."
Teppei slumped. "Seriously… why didn't command warn us enemy aircraft could hit us outside projected range?"
"Hey! Emilie—" Teppei started.
Ayaka interrupted. "You mean Captain, Teppei."
Emilie sighed. "No need for that, not now. Eyes sharp."
Then came the urgent call:
AWACS Thunderspike:
"ALL PLANES—ALERT! INCOMING ENEMY AIRCRAFT. SCRAMBLE IMMEDIATELY AND RETURN TO CAP POSITIONS. PROTECT THE FLEET AT ALL COSTS!"
Emilie's expression hardened. Throttles forward—military power. The TF30s roared, afterburners spooling.
"Wilco. Raven—engaging!"
"Starseer—engaging!" Mona responded, voice tight with focus.
"Herring, engaging!" Teppei shouted, excitement barely contained.
"Soumetsu, engaging!" Ayaka confirmed, voice a touch shaky.
The four F-14s split with coordinated precision, diving toward their intercept vectors.
Emilie locked onto a high-flying AV-8B Harrier II. She yanked the stick hard back, Tomcat snapping into a steep climb. Weapon selector switched to SP/PH—long-range semi-active radar missiles.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!" she barked.
Two Sparrow missiles surged from the belly pylons, contrails streaking through the haze. Two direct hits—Harriers shredded mid-air, fragments raining into the ocean.
"Raven's got a splash!" Emilie confirmed. She leveled off, scanning for more targets. Three low-flying Harriers vectoring directly for the carriers pinged her radar.
From the Arkhe, urgent comms:
"Unable to launch aircraft! Intercept incoming attackers!"
Teppei dove toward a Harrier. "I got this! On my wa—"
Emilie was already descending. Lock. Tone.
"Fox Three! Fox Three!"
Three LRAAMs streaked toward their targets, impact eruptions lighting the dusky sky.
"Direct hits," came the tower's confirmation. "Thanks, Raven!"
Teppei groaned. "Damn… she's got it handled!"
Encrypted enemy chatter crackled:
"Make one pass at a time. Fly hard, fast, and shoot straight. Like you stole it."
Mona maneuvered aggressively after a Harrier weaving erratically. She cut inside its turn. Radar chirped.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Sidewinders screamed from her rails, detonating behind the Harrier cockpit. It broke apart, plummeting into the sea.
"Target down," Mona confirmed, rolling sharply.
"Perfect ambush conditions," she muttered.
"Yeah…" Emilie grimaced. "Low sun, low visibility—they planned this."
Teppei kept morale high. "Don't let it get to you! Let's take 'em out!"
Ayaka, gripping her controls tightly, whispered to herself. "Come on… you can do this…"
Emilie's voice cut through. "Ayaka. Don't think—just fly. Trust your instincts."
"R-Right!" Ayaka steadied.
Emilie painted another trio of Harriers on her radar. She banked hard left, almost 90 degrees, compressing her ribs. Two targets broke away. One stayed on course.
Lock.
"Fox Two!"
Sidewinder flew true. The Harrier's empennage exploded. The rest tumbled into the sea.
Something gnawed at her gut.
"…Hey, did they know exactly when to hit us?" Emilie radioed.
"Timing's too perfect," Mona replied.
Ayaka added, "Something's off… not sure what."
Teppei popped another Harrier. "Got it!"
Emilie leveled out, nose diving toward a head-on Harrier merge.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Sidewinders fired. Bandit vaporized mid-air.
Enemy chatter:
"We're losing aircraft fast—these bastards know how to fight!"
Comms lit up:
"Soumetsu's got three!"
"Starseer downed two more!"
"Herring confirmed three!"
Ayaka found herself behind a nimble F-35C Lightning II, rolling violently. Despite being in an older Tomcat, she stayed glued to its tail.
"I-I'm getting dizzy!" she gasped.
"Hold it together, Ayaka!" Emilie barked. "Fly the jet!"
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Three! Fox Three!"
Her SAAMs streaked toward the F-35, hitting its tail. The stealth fighter spiraled into the clouds.
Ayaka's eyes widened. "YES!"
Teppei glanced down. "H-Hey! Deck Tomcat launching!"
Emilie caught it instantly. "Perfect. More teeth in the fight."
Mualani's familiar voice cut over comms, cocky:
"YAHOO! I'm here! Come at me, bastards!"
Teppei exhaled. "Finally! What took you so long!?"
But the celebration ended abruptly.
AWACS Thunderspike:
"Alert! Multiple bogeys inbound! Carrying long-range anti-ship missiles! Defend the fleet at all costs!"
Emilie's eyes flicked to radar. Two fresh blips—closing fast from the south.
"Got 'em. Head-on!"
She throttled back to idle, flipped into a hard 180, nose slicing through the air. Tomcat groaned but held true. Once leveled facing the southern threat, she slammed throttles forward—afterburners screaming—charging toward the approaching F-35C Lightning IIs.
"Hey Emilie! We just finished cleaning up the last pack of Harriers. Coming in from the west!" Mona called over the squad net.
Emilie scanned her radar—friendly blips were converging behind her. A grin spread beneath her helmet.
"Perfect timing," she said.
"All units, form up! Synchronized strike," she ordered.
She eased back on the throttles, popped the spoilers to bleed speed, letting the others catch up. One by one, the wings snapped into formation.
To her left: Mona and Mualani.
To her right: Ayaka and Teppei.
All four F-14As growled in anticipation, engines screaming in concert. Emilie scanned the formation, then nodded once.
"Switch to special weapons. XMAAs. Volley fire on my mark."
Clicks and confirmations echoed in the cockpit as each pilot toggled their long-range air-to-air loadout.
IFF refresh.
Ten hostile signatures. Ten F-35Cs. Twelve o'clock high.
"I got visual on IFF," Emilie reported.
"Same here," Mona replied.
"Visual confirmed," Ayaka added.
"Bogeys dead ahead," Mualani confirmed.
Emilie's jaw tightened. "Hold fire… wait for radar tone…"
Beep—beep—beep.
Steady tone.
"Fox Three!" Emilie barked.
Two XMAAs tore from her ventral pylons, streaking toward the incoming wave.
"Fox Three!"
"Fox Three!"
"Fox Three!"
"Fox Three!"
Eight more missiles followed, fanning out in precise arcs, a silent wall of steel and guidance computers. Ten missiles—all predators slicing across the sky.
Then… impact.
One kill. Another. Another.
Explosions lit the overcast horizon in rapid succession.
"AWACS, confirm!" Emilie barked.
A pause. Then:
Thunderspike:
"All bandits down. Outstanding work, strike group!"
Emilie pumped a fist. "Hell yeah!"
Cheers erupted over the net.
"Perfect coordination!"
"Great work, team!"
"Goddamn awesome!"
"Fantastic fucking work, everyone!"
"We're clear!"
Thunderspike:
"All planes—RTB to carrier formation. Await tanker support."
Emilie nodded. "Wilco, Thunderspike."
The five Tomcats banked north. But as they realigned, alarm tones screamed in every cockpit.
Missile alerts.
"H-Hey! What the hell!?" Teppei shouted.
Lock warnings flashed across instruments.
"Thunderspike, say again—what's happening!?"
Thunderspike (urgent):
"ALERT! BALLISTIC MISSILE INBOUND!"
Ayaka's voice cracked. "A—A ballistic missile!? From where!?"
From the eastern horizon, a high-altitude contrail cut through the clouds.
Then—a flash. Bright. Blinding.
Then several.
Emilie barked into comms:
"EVERYONE! CLIMB! CLIMB HIGH—FULL BURN!"
She throttled fully, afterburners screaming. The Tomcat pitched hard, nose climbing steeply as the airframe groaned under G-forces.
The others followed, wings sweeping back automatically as they raced higher.
Chaos unfolded across the net.
"Allied squadron down! What the hell hit them?!"
"One carrier is listing! She's been struck!"
Mona's voice trembled. "The decks… people are going overboard…"
Mualani's tone was grim. "Anything below five thousand… just gone."
"New missile detected!" Thunderspike called again.
"Shit! Another one!?"
Emilie shouted: "ALL PLANES! CLIMB ABOVE FIVE THOUSAND! NOW!"
"ALL CARRIERS! EMERGENCY MANEUVERS!"
Emilie checked her altimeter. 3,500 feet. "Climb, climb, climb!"
Ayaka yelled over comms. "Mualani, are you sure about that altitude?!"
"YES! Five thousand minimum! That's where the burn stopped!"
Mona looked down, stomach in knots. "The decks… they're burning. People falling…"
Teppei's voice cracked. "Another ship's hit—shit, a destroyer!"
"Keep climbing! Higher's better!" Emilie snapped.
They pierced 5,000, then 6,000 feet to clear the danger envelope.
Thunderspike began a countdown:
"Ten seconds to impact…"
Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five… Four… Three…
Emilie gritted her teeth, pressed into the seat by G-forces. Two… One…
Impact.
A blinding white explosion bloomed across the ocean, consuming everything below. Ships vanished in a flash of heat and light.
"The Remus… she's hit! She's sinking!"
Mualani's voice shook. "H-How… how could this happen?"
The net crackled with panic.
"The Remus is going under! Abandon ship! ABANDON SHIP!"
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!? LIKE MAGMA RAINING FROM THE SKY!"
"Arkhe—surviving planes, report in!"
Emilie keyed comms. "Wolfsbane One, copy! Entire squadron intact!"
Mualani replied: "Tempest here. I'm okay. Broke off with Wolfsbane…"
Emilie glanced down. Smoke, fire, floating wreckage.
Of the three carriers, only two remained. Of sixteen destroyers, just four still floated.
The waters of the Dornman Strait had become a graveyard.
And the Emberhowl pilots knew, with sickening clarity, that this was only the beginning.
Emilie checked her fuel gauges.
"Shit. I'm dry. No way we're making it back to base," she muttered.
"Same here," Mona replied, voice tight. "On fumes."
Ayaka's voice followed, calm but measured. "Bingo right now."
Teppei exhaled sharply. "Me too…"
Thunderspike's voice came through, grave and clipped.
"Wolfsbane, we can't get a tanker to you. Your only option is North Dornman Air Force Base. Proceed northeast."
Teppei barked in frustration. "HEY! Are you even listening!?"
Ayaka sighed. "Teppei… you ought to start calling Emilie 'Captain' now."
Teppei muttered, reluctant. "Forget it…"
He hesitated, then exhaled again. "If she's captain, I wanna hear her start talking like one. I mean… damn. I miss hearing that voi—"
Emilie snapped. "You ungrateful little shit, Teppei. This is the second goddamn time I've pulled your sorry ass out of a flaming tailspin—and this is how you talk to me?"
"You oughta be thanking me, not flapping your jaw like we're still in high school. You keep screwing up, I'll be the one zipping your body bag shut."
Teppei froze. "I… uh…"
"…Right. Sorry, Captain…"
Mona shook her head, voice sharp. "She's the captain now, Teppei. And I'll be damned if she doesn't deserve it."
Emilie said nothing after that. She just kept flying. Steady. Focused. A silent oath burning in her chest: I will never lose a lead flight again.
Mualani quietly peeled off, returning to the fleet, leaving Wolfsbane climbing through smoke-stained clouds toward North Dornman. Toward survival.
Twenty minutes later…
Fuel gauges were scraping the bottom of the barrel. Emilie's eyes flicked to the fuel flow meter—every digit a countdown. The Tomcat's tanks were dry as bone. From the clipped silence on comms, the others weren't faring any better.
Below them, the scars of a long-dead war stretched across the ashen landscape.
Mona broke the quiet first, voice distant. "Those craters… still here."
A beat. "Can't believe it's been fifteen years…"
Emilie exhaled, eyes tracking the ghostly black rings scorched into the land. "Yeah… I remember it like it was yesterday."
She paused, voice heavy and gritty. "The Khaenri'ahns… launched seven goddamn nukes… on their own territory. Just to keep our ground forces from breaking through."
"They buried themselves up north… entombed their own cities under radioactive hell."
"Six of those bombs hit major Khaenri'ahn cities—gone in seconds. Vaporized. Nothing left but glass and ash."
"And the seventh?" Mona asked, though she knew.
Emilie nodded grimly. "Landed right here… in what's now North Dornman."
Heavy silence over comms.
Mona whispered: "The Khaenri'ahn War… was a nightmare."
Emilie's eyes scanned ahead. "Airfield's in sight. Prepare for approach."
She throttled back into landing configuration, flaps down full. Drag grabbed the big Tomcat, slowing her through the thin, smoky air. Landing gear lever—clunk, clunk, clunk. Three greens: down and locked.
Mona chuckled softly over comms. "Look at that… back to where we first trained together."
Teppei, quieter than usual, added, "Yeah… it's been one hell of a ride."
Emilie gave a small smile behind her O₂ mask. "Damn right."
Ayaka murmured, "Feels like a lifetime ago…"
The four F-14s touched down almost simultaneously, wheels screeching against concrete, drag chutes unfurling tails, slowing the massive aircraft. One by one, they taxied to the apron, engines spooling down.
Snow drifted under the dim red-orange floodlights. Rows of F-5 Tiger IIs stood frozen in the dust like museum relics—the same jets they trained in days before Tomcats.
Emilie climbed down, snowflakes sticking to her helmet, then pulled it off. Cold bit at her exposed skin. Boots crunched over the frozen tarmac.
The others joined her, silent, breathing the frigid air.
"What do you know…" Mona murmured. "It really has been forever since we were last here."
"Yeah," Teppei said, eyes sweeping the field. "Back when we were just air force nuggets."
Emilie's voice was low, tired. "Captain Candace was the one who molded us."
Teppei half-laughed, half-sighed. "And now… you're wearing the captain's crown."
She glanced at him, expression unreadable. "Right…"
She tugged her flight suit higher and turned to the group. "Come on. Let's head inside before we freeze our asses off."
They walked together down the apron. The base was eerily quiet, a ghost of their past, snow muffling their boots.
Inside, warmth hit them like a wave. The base commander, sharp-eyed with a faint scar down his cheek, greeted them.
The four gave a crisp salute.
"At ease. You'll stay here for the night. Depart tomorrow."
Emilie nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you. We appreciate the help."
As they headed to the spare quarters, the commander called again.
"Oh—Captain Emilie?"
She turned. "Yes, Commander?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, you're bringing the nuggets back here to Petrichor Air Force Base. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
He grunted. They continued down the hall.
Emilie entered her quarters: small, spartan. She set down helmet and gloves, unzipped her flight suit, letting her arms slip free. Sweat clung to her undershirt despite the cold.
She dropped onto the narrow bed, rubbing her face.
"Goddammit…"
What was supposed to be a simple escort op had turned into a full-scale naval ambush, capped by a ballistic missile strike from nowhere.
She stared at the ceiling.
"…But how the hell did they know?"
The mission had been top secret. Only Teyvat Air Force had knowledge of the rendezvous. Natlan wasn't supposed to be there.
Yet… they were.
Her jaw tightened.
"…But how?"
Snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the base in silence once more.