October 2 – 1000 Hours
Chenyu Vale Air Force Base
The morning sun cut through a quilt of scattered cloud, casting brilliant shafts of light over Chenyu Vale. A brisk mountain wind snapped at the flags on the control tower, rattled loose tarps, and rippled across the corrugated hangar roofs. On the tarmac, ground crews moved with clipped efficiency, the metallic clank of tools and the hiss of fuel lines carrying a subdued urgency.
Inside the briefing room, the air was different—tighter, heavier. Wolfsbane Squadron sat in full gear, helmets at their sides. The room carried that charged silence before a mission, the kind where every cough or shifting boot sounded too loud.
At the front stood Commander Siqin, temporary CO of Chenyu Vale. His uniform was sharp, his posture rigid, voice carrying the weight of an officer who'd given far too many of these speeches.
"Welcome to Chenyu Vale, Wolfsbane," he began, hands clasped behind his back. "I regret not greeting you yesterday, but time is short. As of this morning, you're re-tasked under my direct command. All aircraft currently fueled or on standby fall under my authority."
He pivoted toward the projector screen as it flickered to life. A satellite image resolved into crisp detail: the jagged coastline of Zephyr's Island, its new launch installation outlined in bold overlays.
"A mass driver has been constructed on Zephyr's Island, a joint effort between Mondstadt, Natlan, and Sumeru. Its purpose is peaceful—supporting orbital infrastructure. Today's payload is critical: the Skywarden orbital platform is due for upgrade with a high-energy precision laser, delivered via SSTO scheduled for launch at 0600."
He paused, letting the image shift—red tracks sweeping in from the south, enemy aircraft vectors painted across the sea approaches.
"Two hours ago, Natlan Air Force squadrons were picked up on long-range radar. Vector suggests hostile intent—likely to destroy the launcher, or failing that, cripple the Skywarden program before it gets off the ground. Defenses are minimal. There are no interceptors in place. Trainee pilots are grounded. The only combat-ready unit in range—" his eyes locked on Emilie and her wingmates, "—is you."
The room stayed still. Even Teppei, usually quick with a quip, kept silent.
"Your mission is straightforward: defend Zephyr's Island, the mass driver, and the SSTO launch vehicle at all costs. You will not allow that payload to be destroyed. Fail, and the consequences for Teyvat's space program—and for national security—are severe."
The screen blinked dark. Siqin's voice cut clean through the room:
"Sortie immediately. Come back in one piece."
Chairs scraped back. Helmets were snatched up. Emilie led the way out, boots echoing down the corridor as they spilled into the crisp mountain air.
The flight line was alive. Four Tomcats stood prepped and waiting, their intakes gulping the cool morning air, tails gleaming under the rising sun. Ground crews moved with purpose—hoses snaking free, ladders dropping, last-minute checks scribbled onto clipboards. The tang of jet fuel hung sharp on the wind.
Emilie jogged across the tarmac, her Tomcat towering above her like a living beast. She climbed the ladder two rungs at a time, slid into the seat, and began strapping in. The cockpit smelled of hydraulic fluid and warm electronics—home.
"Helmet," she muttered to herself, locking the visor down. She keyed the comms, voice tight but steady. "Ground, Captain Emilie, Wolfsbane One. Clear to start?"
"Wolfsbane One, clear to start. Both engines."
She thumbed the right engine start switch.
Whine. Click. The compressor spooled, building in pitch until it was a shrill mechanical scream. At 20 percent RPM she nudged the throttle forward—ignition. A deep cough, then the TF30 caught with a guttural roar, exhaust shimmer spilling behind the aircraft. She repeated the sequence on the left engine. Both turbines stabilized, gauges falling neatly into the green.
"Engines hot. Disconnect."
The ground crew chief gave a sharp hand signal, then pulled clear with his team. Emilie gave him a crisp salute before taxiing forward.
One by one, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka came alive behind her, four Tomcats snarling in unison.
At Runway 02, the squadron lined up. Canopies sealed. Afterburners primed. The world outside muted into nothing but the thrum of engines and the slow breathing inside each pilot's helmet.
"Wolfsbane One taking point," Emilie called, voice tight through the comm.
She shoved the throttles past the detent—full afterburner. Twin plumes of flame erupted, the Tomcat surging forward with brutal acceleration. The runway blurred. The stick vibrated in her hand.
120 knots.
140.
160.
170.
At 174 knots she eased back, smooth and deliberate. The nose lifted, gravity falling away as the jet clawed into the sky. She raised gear and flaps, watching the horizon dip beneath her. Instruments: steady.
"Wolfsbane One airborne."
"Wolfsbane Two, airborne." Mona's calm voice followed.
"Herring's up!" Teppei barked, his Tomcat lifting behind her.
"Soumetsu, airborne," Ayaka added, cool and measured.
The squadron slid into a diamond formation, four Tomcats slicing into the morning light. Wings extended, noses leveled east toward the sea.
The hunt for Zephyr's Island had begun.
Thirty-five minutes later, Wolfsbane Squadron cruised low over the waves, shadows skimming the rocky shoreline of Zephyr's Island. The jagged forms of the mass driver and Space Center jutted from the terrain like massive monuments to human ingenuity.
Emilie's eyes scanned the sprawling facility. "Look down there. Those hangars… they're building the Sepharis birds, right?"
Teppei followed her gaze, banking slightly. "Yeah… floating fortresses, even from up here."
Ayaka's voice was measured as her Tomcat slid past. "Massive craft. Like airborne fortresses designed to intimidate."
Mona cut in over comms, calm but alert. "Sumeru and Natlan spearhead the project. With Natlan turning hostile… there's no way this sees completion in a decade."
Emilie exhaled quietly. "War. Progress dies the instant bombs start falling."
Ayaka's gaze snapped skyward. "H-Hey… is that the Skywarden?"
Teppei keyed the radio. "Listen up."
"Yes?" Ayaka responded.
"That thing isn't supposed to be this low, right? It's an orbital vehicle."
"Right."
"Then why is it crawling along like it's on a runway? Shouldn't it be hundreds of kilometers up?"
Ayaka tapped her chin thoughtfully. "It is a low-orbit craft… but it's receiving its payload. Timing is critical for the laser delivery from the mass driver."
Teppei groaned. "Still seems insane. Ground or air threats could wipe it out if someone fires now."
Emilie adjusted her throttle slightly, keeping formation. "Exactly why it's staying low. Precision launch coordination. They can't risk it ascending prematurely."
A crackle over secondary comms interrupted them:
"Three minutes to launch. We're on schedule."
Before relief could settle, another voice, urgent and clipped, cut through:
"Halt the countdown! Enemy inbound! Multiple C-130s and fighter escorts approaching fast! They're attempting to seize the Space Center!"
Mona's tone sharpened. "What!? They're actually invading Teyvat?"
Emilie's IFF pinged new contacts, descending from high altitude. HUD lights flashed red.
"Shit—tanks! They're dropping armored vehicles!"
She slammed the throttles forward; the F-14A roared, twin TF30s screaming into full afterburner.
"Everyone—engage! Priority: transports and the ACVs they're dropping!"
Affirmatives came immediately:
"Wilco! Herring engaging!"
"Starseer engaging!"
"Soumetsu engaging!"
Teppei grinned behind the comms. "So we just shred the parachutes and let the tanks fall like bricks?"
"Exactly!" Emilie confirmed, steadying her aim.
Diving toward the first armored vehicle, she lined up the M61A1 Vulcan. Crosshair centered on the chute. Tracers ripped through nylon and metal alike. The parachute shredded; gravity claimed the tank.
"Tank destroyed!"
She pulled hard on the stick, climbing back to formation altitude.
Ayaka's Tomcat dove beneath a transport, rolling hard to line up behind it. Her call came sharp:
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Two AIM-9 Sidewinders streaked from her rails. The C-130's tail detonated mid-air, fuselage splitting, debris spiraling to the ground.
"Soumetsu's got a transport down!"
Teppei's voice returned, a mix of awe and panic. "One, two, three, four… damn it! I've lost count of chutes!"
He dove toward another ACV, Vulcan blazing. Another direct hit shredded the chute, the tank's armor collapsing like foil.
"Yes! Another one down!"
Command's voice cut through the comms again, clipped and urgent:
"Destroy all ACVs! Engage all air and ground threats! Do not allow the facility to be overrun!"
Teppei smirked under fire. "Thanks, Captain Obvious! Already on it!"
Engineers' frantic voices cracked over intercom. "Please—we need to restart the countdown! SSTO is vulnerable on the pad!"
Emilie keyed the radio, calm and authoritative. "Herring, Soumetsu—handle the ACVs. Mona and I will sweep the sky, cover the launch zone!"
Two immediate affirmatives:
"Soumetsu, roger!"
"Herring, roger!"
Emilie snapped her F-14 into a hard right bank, HUD scanning the horizon. Two fast-moving contacts closed in head-on—F-20A Tigersharks, likely escorts for the C-130 transports.
She leveled momentarily, then flicked to her XMAA special weapons mode.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three, Fox Three!"
Two long-range missiles streaked from under her fuselage. The Tomcat bucked with the initial launch impulse, afterburners flaring. She immediately broke right, scanning for her next threat.
Two distant explosions bloomed against the morning sky.
"Raven's got two bandits!"
Mona's voice came calm but precise. "Starseer's cleared another two."
Ahead, three Panavia Tornado GR1s cut across the horizon, flying fast and low.
Emilie chose the one peeling right, diving toward the Mass Driver. The Tornado weaved sharply, trying to shake her missile lock, banking left and right. Emilie mirrored the maneuvers with precision, muscles straining under Gs.
The Tornado attempted a steep climbing turn—a fatal miscalculation.
She switched to guns, adjusting lead angle and firing a controlled burst. The M61A1 Vulcan tore through fuselage and canopy. The GR1 pitched forward, crashing into the forest floor in a massive fireball.
"Raven, splash!"
A hard left bank revealed the second Tornado making a run for the Mass Driver. Emilie thumbed the rail switch—Sidewinders armed.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
The missiles streaked after the Tornado, which struggled to climb. Too late. The warheads detonated against the tail section, tearing it away and sending the aircraft into a flat spin before impact.
"Raven's got a splash!"
A flash erupted nearby—an explosion, orange and violent.
"Soumetsu's got your six!"
Ayaka's F-14 surged into formation just ahead of Emilie.
"Thanks for the assist, Ayaka," Emilie acknowledged over the radio.
"Anytime, Captain," Ayaka replied with a warm, confident tone.
Below, the Natlan ACVs were dwindling fast.
Teppei's voice crackled over comms, half-exasperated, half-amused. "Ugh! I never liked tanks! Now I've got one more reason why I hate 'em!"
"I thought we had air superiority, but nooo—tanks raining from the sky like some twisted circus!"
"What even is this goddamn operation!?"
Then, almost sheepishly: "At least they make good targets… but not when they're on the ground!"
Emilie's eyes locked on a lone ACV crawling toward a fortified pillbox like a predator closing in on prey.
Throttle idle. She inverted her Tomcat, nose plummeting toward the earth in a steep, aggressive dive. G-forces tugged at her body, HUD flickering as she acquired a tone.
Lock-on tone screamed in her headset.
There.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Two Sidewinders streaked off the rails, slicing through the air. Emilie slammed the throttles forward, hands working double-time atop the stick, muscling through Gs as she hauled the nose skyward. The F-14 roared, afterburners bellowing as she pulled into a vertical climb.
Moments later, fire and smoke erupted from the forest floor—direct hit.
"YES!" Emilie pumped her fist inside the cockpit.
Comms buzzed again.
"This is Command! All Natlan ACVs are down! Excellent work!"
Another voice cut in, clipped and urgent. "Recommence the countdown! SSTO must launch immediately!"
Teppei's relief was audible through the headset. "Finally! Looks like this mess is almost over!"
Emilie exhaled, eyes scanning the clearing sky. The launch window was secure. The Skywarden, poised and intact, could finally ascend safely.
But it wasn't over.
An urgent alert blared through the comms, shrill and insistent:
"Alert! Multiple cruise missiles inbound!"
Ayaka's breath caught in her throat.
"Cruise missiles!?"
The Tomcats' IFF panels flickered—just for a fraction of a second—but it was enough to confirm the threat: multiple unknowns. Emilie's heart skipped a beat.
"…Holy shit. That's a lot of fucking missiles!"
She slammed the throttle forward, engines screaming.
"Everyone disperse! Shoot down every single cruise missile!"
She keyed the radio. "Command, where the hell are they being launched from!?"
The response crackled through, strained but controlled:
"Standby, Raven. Just keep them away from the SSTO!"
Another voice—urgent, panicked—cut in:
"This is the Space Center! ETA to launch in two minutes! Hold them off!"
Emilie's radar pinged the first missile—a sleek, high-speed cruise slamming toward the mass driver.
No time to cycle through weapons. She flicked to guns and squeezed the trigger.
The M61A1 Vulcan tore the air, tracer rounds stitching a lattice across the sky. A few rounds missed, a lucky hit shredded the missile's guidance fins. It erupted in a brilliant fireball.
Smoke washed over her canopy as she arced wide, rolling into a pursuit of the next inbound missile.
Full afterburner, Mach climbing. Target centered on HUD.
She switched to Sidewinders.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
The missile streaked after its prey, carving the sky with a hiss of energy.
Emilie banked sharply right, eyes sweeping the HUD. Two more cruise missiles were on converging vectors.
Another explosion shook the air, the shockwave nudging her Tomcat off course, but she countered instantly—trim, stick pressure, afterburners nudged slightly higher.
Speed climbing. The Tomcat screamed past Mach 1, skimming low beneath the mass driver's steel support beams. Gs pushed at her body as she flipped to her XMAAs. Four missiles now lined up ahead.
HUD tone chimed. Four locks confirmed.
"Fox Three, Fox Three!"
Four long-range missiles erupted from her belly pylons, streaking toward the incoming threats like bloodhounds.
"I'm out of special weapons!" she barked over the net.
Throttles back to idle. Dorsal and ventral airbrakes popped. She banked sharply left, wings auto-sweeping back to full span as her speed bled off.
Four distant flashes lit the sky—simultaneous explosions across the horizon.
Mona's voice broke in, calm but tense.
"Four hits, Emilie!"
She retracted the brakes, nudged the throttle forward, never letting her jet stall, eyes scanning, fingers poised on the next engagement.
Command's voice cut through again, clipped and urgent:
"This is Command! The cruise missiles are being launched from beyond radar range! Keep the helm!"
The Space Center erupted with chatter:
"We're about to launch the SSTO!"
"Final pre-flight checks! All stations, report!"
"Guidance?"
"Go."
"Navigation?"
"Go."
"Flight control, telemetry, comms, propulsion—do we have a go?"
Silence, then sudden chaos: an explosion erupted near Emilie's six.
"Herring's got a missile!" Teppei's voice cut through, half-laughing, half-yelling.
Another report came through seconds later:
"All team leaders report: all systems go!"
"Commence the countdown!"
Emilie exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. The sky ahead was still alive with threats—but for now, the SSTO had a chance.
Another burst of static tore through the comms.
"Soumetsu's got a target!"
Then came the countdown—mechanical, relentless, each number slicing through the cockpit tension:
Ten…
Nine…
Eight…
Seven…
Six…
Teppei groaned, slumping slightly in his seat.
"Come on! Has it launched yet!?"
Five… Four… Three… Two… One…
The SSTO's engines roared to life, igniting a plume of fire that blurred the horizon. The massive vehicle thundered down the rail, accelerating with a deafening surge.
"We've got movement!" Emilie's voice cut across the radio, sharp and controlled.
Her eyes caught a glint—sleek, deadly, approaching fast. A cruise missile, on a collision course with the SSTO.
She shoved the throttles forward—full afterburner—and surged ahead, the F-14A's nose pitching slightly as the engines bellowed in protest.
"There's one last missile!" Mona's voice snapped through the comm, sharp, urgent.
Emilie didn't respond verbally. Her mind was singularly focused, calculating closure rates, intercept vectors, and missile speed.
"SSTO passing Checkpoint Four!" came a ground observer's call.
The missile was closing faster than she anticipated. The SSTO loomed below—a massive streak of fire and metal on its launch rail. Emilie's F-14A sliced through the air, precision flying now critical.
Her HUD screamed a tone: lock confirmed.
"Fox Two!"
A single AIM-9 Sidewinder detached, streaking after the incoming missile with a hiss of compressed air and propulsion. Emilie pulled hard on the stick, banking steeply to the right, climbing to avoid the missile's residual shockwave. The air pressure tugged at her harness as G-forces pushed hard against her body.
The missile erupted in a fireball mere meters from the SSTO. Flames licked the air, smoke trailing behind as the shockwave rolled beneath her wings. Emilie kept her flight path precise, ensuring no collision with the now-accelerating craft.
Below, the SSTO reached the end of the mass driver rail. With a tremendous roar, it lifted off, the nose angling skyward, piercing the clouds like a lance of molten steel. Its trajectory intersected with the Skywarden, docking flawlessly with the precision laser payload.
Emilie exhaled sharply, slamming her fist against the cockpit side in triumph.
"Yes! Hell yes!"
The comms were alive again, tense but elated.
"SSTO status report!?"
A long pause followed—every second stretching like hours.
Then:
"All systems nominal. We're clear. Climbing steadily."
A cheer erupted over the channel.
"I see it… She's climbing. She's really climbing…"
"Congratulations, everyone!"
Command finally came through, calm but approving:
"Wolfsbane, you did well. Return to base."
Emilie keyed her mic, voice steady, controlled, finally allowing herself a breath.
"Wilco. Returning to base."
The other three aircraft fell into formation on her wings as she gently banked right, course set for Chenyu Vale Air Force Base. Engines hummed steadily, afterburners throttled back.
Below, the Space Center's facilities glimmered in the morning sun, intact. The threat had passed—for now.
Mission accomplished.
The four fighters and the twelve rookie jets finally touched down on the tarmac of Petrichor Air Force Base.
The mission was complete.
The SSTO was safe. The rookies were accounted for. Every objective met.
Emilie climbed down the ladder of her F-14A Tomcat, the twin engines ticking softly as they cooled in the crisp night air. She popped off her helmet, ran a hand through her damp, messy hair, and pushed it back, letting a long, tired sigh escape her lips.
"Man… what a day…" she muttered, glancing up at the moonlit sky. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "I'm gonna savor that first bottle of beer when I get to the mess hall…"
Teppei strode over, helmet under his arm, throwing up his hands in exasperation.
"Escort mission turns into a scramble at North Dornman, then rookies' escort, and then a goddamn space center defense on Zephyr's Island? Please… I do not want a day like that again."
Mona followed behind, arms crossed, a weary but amused expression on her face.
"I'll drink to that," she said.
Emilie adjusted the zipper on her flight suit. "Let's report in to the Commander first. Then showers and rest."
The four made their way across the flight line, boots clanging faintly against the tarmac, and entered the main building. Up the stairs to the operations floor, they knocked once before stepping into Commander Courbevoie's office.
The sharp-eyed officer regarded them with his usual no-nonsense glare. Their salutes were crisp; they relaxed only when he gestured them to stand at ease.
"Good work out there. All four of you," he said. His eyes swept the annotated map of Zephyr's Island on the wall. "The fleet took a hit from that unexpected barrage. We got lucky."
Teppei stepped forward. "Sir, about those cruise missiles… Do we know where they came from?"
Courbevoie's face darkened.
"They were launched from a submarine. Designation: Leviathan. A Faxi-class. Submarine carrier platform."
Mona's brow furrowed. "Submarine carrier?"
"Yes," he confirmed. "We believe it has VLS capability and possibly a flight deck for UAVs. Specifications remain classified, even to us. But one thing is clear: Natlan's naval capabilities are evolving faster than anticipated."
A heavy pause hung over the four pilots as they exchanged grim glances.
Courbevoie gave a curt nod. "Get some rest. You've earned it. Until then, consider yourselves on standby."
"Aye, sir," Emilie replied.
The squad filed out, boots echoing along the corridor. At the hallway intersection, they split off toward their quarters, silent. Fatigue pressed down like gravity, each step a reminder of the long hours spent in the cockpit.
Back in her room, Emilie dropped her helmet onto the desk with a dull clunk, setting her glasses beside it. She let her flight suit fall loosely from her shoulders, sleeves dangling as she collapsed onto her cot.
Eyes closed.
Another sigh.
"…Man. What a goddamn day…"
Outside, the hum of the base continued, a quiet testament to lives lived in service, vigilance, and precision.
For now, the war could wait—tomorrow, it would resume. But tonight, the pilots allowed themselves a brief, hard-earned peace.