December 9, 1400 Hours
Above the Musk Reef – Deck of the Arkhe
The sea was calm, but the air carried that heavy tension pilots knew too well—the kind that lingered before something violent and irreversible.
On the flight deck of Arkhe, sailors moved in controlled chaos. Catapult crews shouted through headsets, deck officers waved signal paddles, and the hiss of pressurized steam bled from all four catapult tracks. Jet exhaust roared in the distance, shaking loose bolts and sending waves of heat shimmer across the deck. The carrier felt alive—its heartbeat synced to the rhythm of turbines and afterburners.
Far below, in the dim quiet of the lower-deck pilot quarters, Emilie sat at the edge of her bunk.
Her helmet rested beside her. In her hands, her phone glowed faintly—one unread message frozen on the screen.
"Emilie, please. Text or call us as soon as possible! Some officers from the Air Force came by the other day and told us you were killed! They didn't even give us your dog tag as proof! We believe you're still alive! Please—call or text us. We're terrified."
Her thumb hovered over the reply box. But she didn't type. Couldn't.
Officially, she was dead.
Killed in action.
One more name checked off the casualty list.
She lowered her head, exhaled slowly, and muttered, "Fuck… we can't even do anything."
A knock echoed from the hatch.
Emilie stood, setting the phone down, and opened the door—expecting a deck runner with orders. Instead, it was Ayaka. Her flight suit was half-zipped, her hair tied back, her expression quiet but knowing.
"Ayaka?"
The Inazuman pilot stepped inside and shut the hatch behind her with a soft metallic click.
"I'm guessing your parents think you're dead too?"
Emilie gave a small nod. "Yeah. Got a message from them this morning. It's… bad."
Ayaka sighed and pulled out her own phone, flipping it around to show a message on the cracked screen.
'Sis, my commander told me you were KIA. I don't believe that bullshit. Please—call me. Please.'
She pocketed it without a word. "We can't reach them. Not with this op still blacked out. On paper, we're ghosts."
Emilie leaned against the bulkhead, staring down at the floor. "Right. All we can do is keep moving until command clears our status."
Another knock came before the silence could settle. The door opened—and Mona stepped in.
Her face looked tired; the circles under her eyes told the story before she spoke.
"I take it both of you got the same treatment?" she asked, her voice low and edged with fatigue.
They both nodded.
Mona exhaled. "Same here. Got word through Mondstadt's network—people think I got vaporized mid-air. My parents posted memorial photos online."
Emilie rubbed her temples. "Christ… there's really nothing we can do."
No one spoke for a while. The distant rumble of turbines filled the silence, the hum of the carrier's life support vibrating through the walls like a steady pulse.
Finally, Emilie straightened, picked up her helmet, and clipped it under her arm. "Come on. We've got a briefing."
The three pilots made their way down the narrow corridor, boots echoing against the steel deck plates. Overhead lights flickered occasionally, old wiring struggling against the vibration of the ship's engines. The air smelled faintly of hydraulic oil and sea salt—familiar and grounding.
They entered the briefing room moments later.
Captain Gracie stood at the far end, arms crossed beside a projection terminal. Kaeya leaned against the console beside her, while Mualani—already suited and grinning—gave a small wave.
"Hey," Mualani said, lighthearted but tired. "Glad you could make it."
Emilie raised an eyebrow. "Glad to be here. Our families, not so much."
Kaeya's smirk faded into something graver. "That's how it goes. You 'die' in combat, and the message goes straight to your next of kin. Bureaucracy doesn't wait for the truth."
He walked to the projector and flicked the switch. The room dimmed as the holoscreen lit up with mission overlays—intel maps, signal intercepts, encrypted coordinates.
Kaeya's voice hardened.
"You're not dead. You're ghosts."
Perfect — here's Chapter 25 Part 2, revised and enhanced to your standards: grounded flight realism, authentic military dialogue, tension, and atmosphere preserved. Nothing removed — only refined for tone, cadence, and immersion.
Chapter 25 – Part 2 (Revised)
The lights dimmed as Kaeya stepped to the front of the room. His tone shifted from conversational to command—measured, clipped, unmistakably military.
"All right," he began, eyes scanning the pilots. "If no one objects, I'll be assuming operational command for this sortie."
The four women nodded without hesitation.
Kaeya gave a single approving nod. "Good. Then let's begin."
He brought up the tactical overlay on the holo-projector—terrain scans, encrypted maps, and SIGINT traces filled the wall in sharp blue lines.
"Today we launch Operation Solitaire."
He paused, letting the name hang for a moment before continuing.
"Our objective is the extraction of President Imena from hostile territory. Intel decrypted from archived Khaenri'ahn cipher traffic—passed to us via Capitolium—indicates she's being held in an abandoned fortress near Nod-Krai. That's the tri-border junction between southern Khaenri'ah, northern Snezhnaya, and northern Dornman."
He pointed to the map—three red borders converging on a mountainous zone covered by dense fog readings and intermittent radar interference.
"Expect heavy AA coverage and high-altitude patrols. The fortress sits in a bowl-shaped valley—perfect kill zone if we're not careful."
Kaeya's eyes flicked toward Emilie and the others.
"Sea Monster Squadron will handle the direct extraction. They'll insert via helicopter once the airspace is sanitized. Your job—" he tapped the screen sharply "—is to sweep the skies clean. Nothing flies but us. Once the LZ's confirmed cold, Sea Monster drops in, hovers station-keep above the site, and exfiltrates with the President."
He straightened, his voice lowering. "Engage and eliminate any and all hostiles. No quarter."
Captain Gracie stepped forward beside him, her stance sharp and her expression iron.
"This is it. Everyone sorties. Everyone comes back. I want a hundred percent survival rate—don't make me repeat that."
The four pilots stood at attention, the order echoing like gospel. Then, without a word, they grabbed their helmets from the rack. The door hissed open, and they filed out in silence.
No need for words.
The mission was clear.
The stakes were absolute.
Their names, their lives—already erased from public record.
Their existence buried under layers of black ink and classified silence.
That was the price of being ghosts.
As they walked down the corridor toward the hangar, Mualani broke the silence.
"It's an honor to fly with you, Emilie," she said, her tone calm but sincere.
Emilie glanced sideways. "An honor? Why's that?"
Mualani gave a short, wistful laugh. "Feels like I've got a real wingman again."
Her smile faded, eyes flicking toward the deck plating. "But… seeing my squadron get wiped out like that—it still stings."
Emilie placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. "You're in good hands now, Mualani. You fly under my command this time."
Mualani looked back at her, a faint smile tugging at the edge of her lips. "Hard to believe you were just a Second Lieutenant the last time we flew together."
Emilie chuckled softly. "Heh. Yeah… life's funny that way."
The four women emerged into the hangar deck, the cavernous space alive with motion and machine noise. Hydraulic pumps hissed, deck crews shouted over headsets, and the metallic whine of the aircraft elevators echoed through the bay.
Their Tomcats were already staged at the forward lift, black fuselages gleaming under fluorescent light. Steam drifted through the air as fuel crews disconnected lines and ran final checks. Each aircraft stood poised for launch—refueled, rearmed, and hungry.
Without another word, they split off toward their respective jets.
The next time they met would be under afterburner light—wings swept, throttles firewalled, the ghosts of Emberhowl returning to the sky.
Emilie climbed the ladder and dropped into her cockpit. The seat greeted her like an old friend — firm, familiar, molded to her body after countless sorties. The instrument panels loomed dark and silent, waiting for her touch.
Time to wake the beast.
She flipped the altimeter from STBY to RESET. The digits flickered, then dimmed, recalibrating to deck pressure. She reached up and thumbed the cage release on the standby attitude gyro, letting it settle into perfect alignment.
Her hands moved with the rhythm of ritual — quick, precise, unfaltering.
VDI — on. HUD — on. HSD/ECM — on.
Each system came alive in sequence, displays warming from cold green to bright life, the cockpit filling with a low electronic hum.
She rotated the air source selector to BOTH ENG, checked the cross-bleed indicator, then reached back to open her oxygen supply. A faint hiss filled her helmet as the flow came online.
Next came the radios.
UHF 1 — GUARD and BOTH.
TACAN — T/R, channel 74X.
The identifiers blinked steady. Good link.
AFCS next — pitch, roll, yaw.
Each servo ticked and the control surfaces twitched in confirmation.
All systems nominal. No cautions. No flags.
Emilie cinched down her harness, fastened the lap belt, sealed her chin strap, and lowered the canopy. It came down with a hydraulic hiss and a heavy metallic clunk, isolating her from the deck noise. The reflections faded from the glass — leaving only her, the jet, and the task ahead.
Time to light the fires.
She flipped the start switch for the No. 2 engine. The whine of the starter turbine began to build, rising in pitch as N2 climbed. At twenty-five percent, she eased the throttle from CUTOFF to IDLE.
Fuel flow spiked — FF 800, TIT rising through 500°C — then the familiar whump of ignition filled the cockpit. The right TF30 coughed once, then settled into a deep, guttural rumble.
Then came No. 1.
Same ritual.
Spool to twenty-five, throttle to idle, watch the gauges.
Another low growl joined the first — twin compressors stabilizing at idle, EGTs balanced. The F-14A was alive again, two ancient beasts shackled beneath her seat.
Emilie gave a thumbs-up to the yellowshirt on the deck.
The crew chief returned it, moving quickly to disconnect the external air line from under the left main gear while another tech pulled the ground power plug from beneath the nose. The access panels slammed shut with practiced precision. Another thumbs-up followed — aircraft ready for deck movement.
Emilie returned the salute smartly.
The elevator beneath her rumbled, carrying her and the Tomcat up to the flight deck. As daylight flooded the canopy, the smell of jet exhaust and salt air poured in through the vents.
Her UHF came alive.
"Points 18, 21, 25 — confirm readiness."
"Wolfsbane One copies — green across the board," Emilie replied.
"Roger that. Time to take these birds up."
The elevator locked at deck level with a metallic clang.
Steam hissed across the flight deck, cat crews moving like clockwork. One after another, the first two F-14As from the squadron launched — afterburners lighting, the jets vanishing down the deck in roars of heat and vapor.
Emilie reached for the wing sweep handle and pushed it full forward. The wings locked into the 20° takeoff position. She hit MASTER RESET to return automatic sweep control to the CADC. Indicators confirmed AUTO engaged.
She nudged the throttles and taxied forward, weaving slightly to follow the deck crew's signals. The starboard cat crew waved her on.
Another Tomcat launched from the port catapult — engines howling, vapor trails curling off its wings as it pitched skyward into the haze.
"Raven, Catapult Two is yours."
"Copy, Cat Two."
She rolled forward, following the yellowshirt's wands until his hands came up — brake.
She stopped dead on centerline.
Launch bar, next. Emilie flipped the switch; a hydraulic whine followed as the bar extended from the nose gear and locked into the shuttle.
Crewmen swarmed beneath the nose, connecting the holdback fitting and verifying tension.
"Bar secure!" one shouted, his voice muffled behind the canopy glass.
"Raise the jet blast deflector!"
The steel panel lifted behind her, glistening in the mist.
Emilie ran her control sweep — stick full left, right, forward, aft. Rudder pedals — check. Stabs and rudders responded crisp on the mirrors. No cautions. No binding.
The final thumbs-up came. Deck crew clear.
"Raven, you are cleared for launch."
She gave a calm, steady nod.
"Roger that."
Her right hand pressed against the forward glare shield in salute to the deck crew — then dropped to the throttles.
She shoved them forward through MIL to ZONE 5.
Twin afterburners detonated with a sharp BOOM-BOOM, flames licking the deck.
The jet strained against the holdback.
Launch!
The cat fired.
A violent shove crushed her into the seat — the deck blurred beneath her, gone in seconds. Then weightlessness as the shuttle released.
She was airborne.
"Positive rate," she muttered, pulling the gear lever up. The familiar thunk followed as the mains locked into the bays.
"Raven, altitude restriction lifted. Proceed to mission route. Bring 'em back in one piece."
She cracked a faint grin behind the visor.
"Copy that, Arkhe. See you tonight."
Her F-14 leveled out, wings sweeping automatically as it joined formation with the others.
Four Tomcats gleamed against the sky, climbing through the haze in tight formation.
They rolled northward, contrails streaking across the dawn.
Toward Khaenri'ah.
One hour later.
Four F-14A Tomcats cut low across the snowbound terrain — altitude four hundred feet AGL, radar altimeters steady, terrain-following through the valleys. Frosted peaks flanked their path, the sun glinting off the canopies as the formation swept northward.
Ayaka keyed her mic, her voice steady over the interflight channel.
"Captain Mualani, I'll be at your six o'clock. It's good to fly with you again, ma'am."
Mualani smiled behind her mask, keeping her eyes on the lead indicator of her HUD.
"Thanks, Ayaka. Been a long time since I flew in proper formation."
Ayaka chuckled softly.
"Yeah… back during the first battle after the war started — defending the carrier group at Lumidouce Port. Herring—uh, Captain Teppei—told me you yelled at him for crowding your vector, right? I was still in reserve back then."
Mualani let out a short laugh.
"Oh, I remember that day. Total chaos. My emotions got the better of me — not just me, though. Everyone was barely holding it together."
Then a calm, clipped voice broke over the frequency — Kaeya's.
"Wolfsbane… or Emberhowl, whichever call sign you're using now — your target should be in sight."
Emilie's eyes narrowed as she scanned the horizon through her canopy.
"Visual confirmed."
Below stretched a scarred wasteland — a blackened wound in the snow where nothing grew.
The frost thinned to bare earth, the edges still charred after years.
"Damn…" Mona murmured quietly. "One of the seven nukes Khaenri'ah dropped. One hit here. Ground Zero."
Kaeya's reply came cold but controlled.
"Affirmative. That blast leveled everything within thirty klicks. Anyway — your tasking remains. Neutralize all air defenses around the fortress. Once clear, report to Sea Monster for overwatch. No hostiles left standing, understood?"
"Roger that," Emilie said. She shoved both throttles forward into military power, the twin TF30s surging.
"Emberhowl One — engaging."
The others followed, voices crisp over the net:
"Emberhowl Two — Starseer, engaging."
"Emberhowl Three — Tempest, engaging."
"Emberhowl Four — Soumetsu, engaging."
"All units, disperse and prosecute ground targets at will," Emilie ordered. "Prioritize SAMs and gun emplacements."
The formation split like shrapnel — four Tomcats banking hard, breaking into their assigned quadrants.
Emilie pitched her F-14 into a shallow dive, descending to two hundred feet. The RWR lit up — multiple radar locks from the valley ahead. Her HSD showed a cluster of contacts — mixed AA and SAM signatures.
She rolled level, slewed the seeker over the first target.
Lock tone.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder streaked off the rail, smoke trail curling against the frozen air.
Emilie pulled back and rolled right, climbing hard over the outer ramparts of the ruined fortress. The missile slammed home — Boom. A flash lit up below as the SAM site vanished in a burst of snow and twisted metal.
Her radio cracked open.
"This is Sea Monster. Is Captain Megistus with you?"
Mona's tone came light, almost nostalgic.
"I remember that voice. You're the ones who pulled me out of the sandstorm."
Emilie leveled off and lined up for another run — this time across the courtyard. Two radar-guided AA guns appeared on the scope. She thumbed the weapon select back to AIM-9, waited for tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Both missiles screamed away, diving into the courtyard. Emilie yanked back on the stick, slamming her throttles into afterburner. The TF30s howled as her Tomcat clawed skyward.
Two near-simultaneous detonations erupted below — snow and flame engulfing the gun positions. Secondary blasts followed as ammunition cooked off.
The Sea Monster pilot came back on comms, his voice grinning.
"That was one hell of a ride, Captain Megistus! You sure you don't want to transfer to our team? It's a lot more peaceful up here."
Mona's laughter crackled through the radio.
"Thanks, but… no thanks, bro."
A chorus of whistles filled the channel.
"Ooooh! Friend-zoned!"
"Tough luck, boss!"
Then another voice joined in — quieter, uncertain.
"Hey… where's that motormouth of yours? Haven't heard him all day."
Emilie froze for a second. The sound of her own breathing filled the helmet.
Her voice dropped to a murmur.
"…He's no longer with us."
Silence.
Not a word came back.
The comms stayed dead — just the steady hum of the engines and the soft crackle of static. Emilie gripped the control stick tighter, jaw clenched behind her mask.
Then she forced herself to breathe.
Focus. There was still work to do.
Emilie narrowed her eyes and banked hard, pulling into a tight descending turn. The Tomcat's wings flexed against the G-load as she rolled level over the rear courtyard.
Lock.
Tone.
"Fox Two!"
The Sidewinder snapped off the rail, the missile's white vapor trail cutting through the air. Emilie eased back on the stick, pitching into a steep climb to clear the courtyard walls.
Boom.
A direct hit — the final gun emplacement disintegrated in a plume of snow and fire. Only scorched ground and twisted fragments remained.
She scanned her IFF again. Nothing.
Clean scope.
"All anti-air defenses destroyed. Sea Monster, you're clear to insert."
Sea Monster's pilot came through with a burst of static and a grin in his tone.
"Perfect timing! We're hovering over the drop zone now."
Another voice on the chopper chimed in — young, sarcastic.
"Man… first a sandstorm, now a frozen mountain range. Why can't we ever get a tropical beach op?"
The laughter that followed was brief, cut short by the commander's bark:
"Haley's crew — get ready! Eyes sharp! You're meeting Madam Imena today!"
Above the ruined fortress, the heavy-lift helicopter descended into hover. The rotors whipped the snow into a white cyclone as figures leapt from the bay, parachutes snapping open one after another, drifting down into the shattered courtyard below.
For a moment, everything seemed steady — until Kaeya's voice broke through the channel, urgent.
"All aircraft, heads up — you've got a ground battalion inbound!"
Mona's eyes darted to her radar. The scope flared with moving blips.
"Confirmed! Multiple armor signatures on the highway — westbound, fast movers!"
Ayaka's voice came right after, tense.
"Tanks and APCs closing from the west! Range — six klicks and closing!"
"Emilie, shall we disperse?" she asked quickly.
"Negative," Emilie replied sharply. "Maintain formation around the castle. Contain them before they breach the perimeter."
"Roger. Continuing mission," Ayaka affirmed.
Emilie rolled her F-14 inverted, lining up her dive path. The world spun upside-down for a heartbeat, the snowbound ruins framing her HUD. She rolled upright again, nose down, throttle to full military power.
Her radar painted a contact — a Khaenri'ahn T-90 tank crawling through the drifts.
Lock.
Tone.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Two AIM-9s screamed from their pylons, spiraling toward the target. Emilie pulled into a 5G climb, wings sweeping automatically as the TF30s bellowed behind her.
Below — impact.
A flash. A concussive shockwave rolled across the valley as the tank detonated, hurling steel fragments high into the air.
Across the AO, Mualani dove low, her HUD cluttered with returns from the approaching column — dozens of armored vehicles advancing in formation down the mountain highway.
A voice from Sea Monster crackled on the open frequency, calm but awed.
"The stonework on that fortress… can't believe it survived a nuclear blast."
Another replied, half-joking.
"Ground Zero's just a few klicks off. Guess they built that place to last."
A sharper voice snapped over the comms.
"Rescue team — focus up! Secure the courtyard!"
Mualani flipped her weapon selector switch to GBU-12 Paveway II. Her HUD populated with the CCIP cue and range brackets. She toggled laser arm.
"Lasing target. Time to deliver."
She thumbed the release and pulled back on the stick, her Tomcat pitching into a steep climb as the bomb fell away, its seeker riding the laser spot.
Impact.
The 500-pounder slammed into an APC, shredding it in a fiery column that rolled skyward. Shockwaves rippled down the road as the convoy braked and scattered, formation breaking apart.
Then Mona's voice came through — low and focused.
"My turn."
Her F-14 roared in from the northwest, wings locked forward, hugging the terrain. She armed her payload, HUD flashing GBU-12 READY.
"Target acquired. Releasing."
The bomb detached cleanly, falling through the haze.
Seconds later — detonation.
The convoy split in two under the blast, flames washing across the snow. Isolated armor scrambled to reposition; confusion rippled through enemy comms.
Kaeya's voice returned, colder this time.
"Good hits, Emberhowl. Keep them disorganized. Rescue team is inside the fortress — hold the perimeter until extraction is complete."
Back near the castle, Ayaka and Emilie continued sweeping the field clean.
Emilie's voice came over the comm, steady and clipped.
"Four tanks and two APCs down on my end."
Ayaka replied, calm but focused.
"Two of each. Area's thinning out."
The radio crackled again.
"Emberhowl, sitrep?" came the call from Sea Monster.
Emilie keyed her mic, eyes darting to the RWR—no spikes yet.
"So far, so good. Ground battalion's halted on the highway."
The rescue team's transmission came through next, voices tight with exertion.
"Roger that, Raven. We're nearing the president's cell. Stand by for extract."
Mualani's tone cut in low, a wary edge beneath her usual energy.
"They've spotted us by now. Expect Khaenri'ahn air assets in the air any moment."
Emilie smirked behind her oxygen mask.
"Let 'em come."
As if summoned, Ayaka's voice sliced through the net.
"Multiple bandits inbound — SU-47 Berkuts. Three contacts!"
Emilie's tone hardened instantly.
"Bring them on."
Far in the distance, a dull thud rolled through the air — Mualani's last GBU-12 had connected, flattening the convoy's stragglers.
"All ground targets in the battalion destroyed!" Mualani confirmed.
Emilie's hand tightened on the stick.
"Alright," she muttered, flipping the master arm back on. "Let's see how well they can fly."
She rammed the throttles forward. The twin TF30s spooled up with their signature growl before erupting into twin blue cones of afterburner. The Tomcat lunged ahead, climbing through thin mountain air toward the intercept vector.
Up ahead — an SU-47 closed in, head-on. Radar lock range dropping fast. Both aircraft were charging straight into the merge.
Nose to nose.
Her target symbology flashed on the HUD, tone rising into a piercing wail.
Lock…
Tone…
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder broke free from its rail with a violent lurch, motor flaring bright against the white sky.
A second later — impact. The Berkut vanished in a fireball, vapor and debris shearing away in the slipstream as Emilie's F-14A knifed through the blast. Black paint and heat shimmer glinted across the fuselage as she tore past the wreck.
"Raven, splash one!"
She hauled the stick hard right, rolling into a full 180 and scanning for the next contact. Her G-suit inflated against her legs and gut as she held the pull, the Tomcat's wings sweeping back automatically at transonic speed.
The remaining two Berkuts split formation — one breaking left, the other right.
Emilie rolled sharply left, throttling up to pursue the leftmost bandit.
The dogfight began.
Both aircraft snapped and rolled through the pale sky, contrails weaving together like blades in motion. The Berkut went into a hard left barrel roll; Emilie countered, rolling right to offset, cutting inside its vector.
Each time their flight paths crossed, Emilie squeezed off short, disciplined bursts from her M61A1 Vulcan. The cannon's buzz filled the cockpit; tracer rounds streaked past, some striking home. Sparks and dark fragments peeled off the Berkut's fuselage — not enough to kill, but enough to rattle the pilot.
The SU-47 suddenly pulled into a steep vertical climb, vapor streaming off its forward-swept wings.
Emilie followed hard, throttles firewalled, the Tomcat's nose chasing the vector straight up. Altimeter spun fast. Gs bled away as the Berkut arced over the top—then flipped inverted, dumping its nose into a vertical dive.
Without hesitation, Emilie cut throttles to idle and yanked the stick back through center.
"Come on, girl…" she muttered as the F-14's nose fell through the horizon.
The airframe shuddered from the abrupt transition. The wings swept back automatically, their hydraulic actuators whining in the pressure shift. Her G-suit inflated hard against her legs as she rolled into the dive, following the Berkut's path straight down.
"I love this bird," she breathed through gritted teeth. "I can push myself harder in this."
At five thousand feet, she rammed the throttles forward again—TF30s spooling with a rising whine that broke into full afterburner. Twin blue cones roared behind her as the Tomcat screamed down the slope of sky, leveling out just meters above the frozen lake surface.
The HUD tone spiked.
Lock.
Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Twin AIM-9 Sidewinders ripped from their rails, contrails spiraling white against the gray horizon.
The Berkut tried to jink right—barrel-rolling to throw them off—but the seekers held. Both missiles struck home: one under the tailplane, the other along the port wing root.
The enemy fighter pitched violently into a spin, vapor trailing from its shattered control surfaces, before smashing into the water below in a geyser of spray and flame.
"Raven, splash one!"
Emilie rolled hard right, pulling through a wide 180. Her black F-14 cut through the rising smoke, the air vibrating with the sonic crack of her pass.
Across the sky, another SU-47 was weaving hard—but this time, it had a shadow.
Mualani.
"You're not getting away from me, you bastard!" she snarled, closing in fast. Her Tomcat howled in protest, TF30s flirting with compressor stall as she rode the edge of its flight envelope. The G-meter flickered between six and seven as she pushed the jet through a series of hard banks, matching the Berkut's frantic evasion.
The two fighters looped, rolled, and twisted through the thinning clouds—twin predators circling in three dimensions. The Berkut tried to climb vertically, forcing a high-alpha stall at the top.
Mualani stayed with it.
Both aircraft punched through 15,000 feet—then the Berkut hung motionless at the apex, lift gone.
She didn't hesitate.
Lock.
Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Her twin Sidewinders spiraled upward and struck square on. Mualani rolled inverted into a steep dive to avoid the debris trail. Behind her, a fireball bloomed—one Berkut split apart in mid-air, flaming fragments tumbling toward the snow.
"Tempest has shanked the target! Yahoo!"
Kaeya's voice broke through, controlled but triumphant.
"The Khaenri'ahn SU-47s are gone. Nice work, Wolfsbane!"
The next transmission came fast, strained and breathless from the rescue team below.
"Emberhowl, how's our helicopter? Is it still flying?"
Emilie checked her IFF display. The green transponder blip over the castle still pulsed steadily.
"Still hovering over the castle. You're clear for now."
"Thanks! It's our limousine home!"
Mualani's voice cut in sharply.
"Hey—two more SU-47s just popped up!"
Kaeya responded immediately.
"Khaenri'ahn aces. Be careful!"
The new pair of Berkuts dove toward the castle, cannon fire stitching the air. Tracer rounds raked the ancient stone walls, glass shattering in sheets.
"We're being pinned down here!" the rescue team shouted. "Glass is falling on us!"
"Emberhowl! We need you to destroy part of the wall—south side!"
Emilie snapped back, already rolling into a climb.
"Roger! Soumetsu, it's all on you. Tempest and I will deal with the Berkut pair."
Ayaka's voice came crisp through the net.
"Roger. Engaging."
Mualani keyed her mic again, voice rising to a taunting roar.
"Hey! You fucking Berkuts! Aim for us, not the damn castle! We're right here!"
The two enemy fighters split instantly—one breaking left, the other right.
Emilie banked after the left contact. Mualani peeled off after the right.
The enemy frequency crackled to life—tight formation chatter bleeding through.
"They don't look like much. Just amateurs."
"Let's show them what real aces can do."
Emilie rolled inverted, diving through the cloud layer to pursue her target, vapor tearing off her wings. The Berkut twisted violently into a Cobra maneuver—nose snapping up past vertical, airspeed bleeding out in a blink.
"Shit," Emilie hissed, pulling hard on the stick. "It's on my six!"
The Berkut was now locked on her six.
Emilie rolled through a bank of thick cumulus, contrails tearing apart behind her as missile tone blared in her headset. She broke hard left, countering the lock, vapor streaming from her wingtips as she pulled six and a half Gs.
Then Mualani's voice cracked over the comms.
"Shit! It pulled the same move on me!"
Emilie's eyes flicked to her radar—two hostile returns, tight and converging. She clenched her jaw.
"Tempest—intersect my flight path!"
A beat of stunned silence.
"Wh–What?!"
"Trust me!"
She slammed both throttles into the detent, the TF30s roaring to full afterburner. The F-14A surged forward, twin plumes slicing through the mist as she dove straight into Mualani's vector.
Mualani mirrored her, pushing her own Tomcat into the dive. The two fighters screamed toward each other at closing speeds near Mach 1—two streaks of fire and metal converging in a suicidal ballet.
At the last instant, Emilie grabbed the wing-sweep lever and yanked it forward—full manual sweep to 20 degrees.
The Tomcat's wings extended outward, biting the air and bleeding speed.
She hauled back on the stick, nose pitching high—nearly stalling the jet. The airframe groaned, warning tones screamed, Gs dropped to near zero.
The Berkut pilot behind her instinctively glanced upward, eyes catching the sudden high-angle pitch. A fatal hesitation.
Emilie flicked her right throttle to idle and chopped the fuel—engine kill.
The right wing instantly lost thrust, dropping hard. The Tomcat yawed violently right, flipping its nose through the vertical plane.
Mualani came head-on, banking sharply right to avoid her.
The two pursuing Berkuts never had time to react.
Their radar returns overlapped. Then—impact.
A blinding flash split the clouds, followed by a shockwave of debris and burning aviation fuel. The mid-air collision tore both Sukhois apart, scattering fire and wreckage across the sky.
"Holy shit—RAVEN!" Mualani gasped, pulling out of her dive.
Emilie fought the controls, wrestling her Tomcat level again. Her heart hammered inside her flight suit.
"Yes! That actually worked!" she exhaled, disbelief giving way to adrenaline.
A thunderous boom echoed below as Ayaka's two GBU-10s struck home—direct hits along the castle's western wall. Secondary explosions rippled outward.
Ayaka's F-14A climbed steeply through the smoke, vapor trails cutting upward into the clouds.
"Thanks, Wolfsbane!" the rescue team's voice came through the UHF frequency. "The helicopter has landed—we're boarding now!"
"Copy that," Emilie replied, voice steadying. "Ensure the president is strapped in securely before lift-off."
Mona came over the channel, tone clipped.
"Hurry it up! We don't know if another wave of Berkuts is inbound."
On the enemy frequency, chaos reigned.
"The Teyvat president has escaped!"
"Don't let her get away—take the helicopter down!"
"Damn it, where are our interceptors?!"
Inside the extraction chopper, crewmen slammed the side doors shut and latched them tight.
"We're set! Get us outta here!" one shouted.
"Roger that," the pilot replied, throttling up.
The rotor pitch increased to a deafening roar. The helicopter lifted off, nose dropping slightly forward as it accelerated—rotor wash scattering dust and shell fragments across the courtyard. Slowly, it climbed away, vanishing into the smoke-filled horizon.
The radio crackled again, faint under the drone of engine noise and wind shear. Then a familiar, steady female voice came through—calm, composed, unmistakable.
"Is that you? The lady with the pretty voice?"
Emilie blinked, surprised. She glanced at her comms panel, confirming the source, before keying her mic.
"Uh… which one, Madam President?"
A soft laugh came through, light and genuine, the kind that momentarily cut through the tension still lingering in their cockpits.
"All of you."
Ahead, the extraction helicopter banked south, rotor wash glinting in the early light. Below, the coastline of North Dornman shrank into the haze. Above and behind, four F-14A Tomcats formed a tight escort box—two high, two low—guarding the VIP transport like silent sentinels.
For the first time in hours, the air was quiet. No missile tones. No chatter. Just the rhythmic hum of turbines and the soft ping of the radar's search sweep.
A moment later, a calm male voice came over the open frequency.
"This is Sea Monster. We've cleared the AO. Mission accomplished, everyone."
Relief rippled through the channel—no cheers, no bravado, just the collective exhale of professionals who'd made it out alive.
Then the President's voice returned—Imena's—gentle yet commanding.
"Everyone… thank you. I appreciate all of your hard work and dedication."
There was a pause, static filling the silence before she spoke again.
"By the way… all of your voices sounded familiar. Are you… Wolfsbane?"
Emilie glanced toward her squadron on the scope, then keyed the mic once more.
"Yes, ma'am. But… we're no longer Wolfsbane."
Another pause. When Imena spoke again, her tone softened—less formal, more human.
"I see… I think I understand why. Still… I owe you all. Deeply."
No one replied. There was nothing left to say.
The helicopter and its four Tomcat escorts continued southbound, climbing through the cloud layer. The smoke and echoes of the battlefield faded behind them—just distant streaks of gray over the sea.
Ahead lay Musk Reef.
Ahead lay the Arkhe.
And for the first time since the mission began, the sky felt calm again.
They flew southbound for nearly an hour, the rhythmic hum of turbines their only companion.
Night had settled over the sea—quiet, vast, endless. The horizon was a black mirror, broken only by the faint shimmer of moonlight rippling off the waves.
Then, through the darkness, the Arkhe appeared. Her deck lights glowed like a floating city—soft white and amber cutting through the mist. The carrier's silhouette rose from the ocean, steady and unwavering, a sanctuary in the void.
Three Tomcats had already trapped aboard.
Emilie was the last.
Five miles out, on final approach.
The carrier tower came through on comms, voice calm and crisp.
"Raven, double-check your landing checklist. You're cleared to land."
Emilie gave a short nod, eyes locked on the meatball. No reply—just focus.
Gear—down. Three green. Locked.
Flaps—full.
Hook—down.
Throttle—steady.
The F-14A trembled slightly as the crosswinds caught her. Emilie made micro corrections, guiding the Tomcat along the glide slope, perfectly centered on the optical path.
Her breathing was even. Her hands, steady.
"Looking good, Raven. Perfect alignment," came the LSO's voice through the headset. "Keep it steady… easy…"
Closer.
And closer.
Then—impact.
Screech. Thump.
The main gear hit the deck hard, the arresting hook catching the third wire dead-on. Emilie slammed the throttles into full afterburner—protocol in case of a bolter. The engines roared, but the wire held fast, jerking the Tomcat to a dead stop.
"Perfect three-wire, Raven! Nicely done!" Tower called out.
Emilie idled the throttles, retracted flaps, and swept the wings to full aft. The hook retracted with a solid metallic snap. She taxied toward her assigned spot near the elevator, rolled to a halt, and flipped the canopy switch.
The canopy rose with a hiss, letting the cool ocean air rush in.
She pulled the parking brake, throttled both engines to cutoff, and listened as the twin TF30s wound down to silence.
The kind of silence that only comes after survival.
Emilie unlatched her harness, pulled off her helmet, and climbed down the ladder.
Waiting at the bottom were Mualani, Ayaka, and Mona.
Mualani grinned wide, raising a hand. "Hey! We did great out there!"
Emilie smiled back, faint but genuine. "Yeah… we did."
Mona clenched her fist. "Come on! Let's go see the President—she's on the bridge!"
The four took off across the deck, boots pounding against steel. The night wind whipped around them as they sprinted toward the carrier island.
By the time they reached the bridge, President Imena was already there, speaking with Captain Gracie and Kaeya—who leaned casually against a console, coffee in hand.
Imena turned at the sound of their approach.
"Ah. There's our Aces."
She stepped forward and gave them a sharp, deliberate salute.
Emilie, Mona, Mualani, and Ayaka snapped to attention in unison.
"Ma'am!"
Imena smiled faintly, lowering her hand. "At ease."
They relaxed, though the adrenaline still hummed faintly beneath their composure.
The President walked closer, her expression soft but resolute.
"You all did incredible work out there. Watching the footage of your engagement…" She paused, as if weighing her words. "It showed me something—heart, discipline, and loyalty. The kind that can't be ordered."
Her gaze shifted briefly to Kaeya, then back to the pilots.
"I was briefed about everything. I know what they did to you—being declared dead, cut off from your home, from your name."
She stepped closer, her tone firm.
"You risked your lives tonight to save me and my staff. You gave me a second chance. So hear me now—when this war is over, I'll return the favor. I will clear your names. That's a promise."
She looked out toward the dark horizon beyond the deck windows.
"But first… we finish this war. As quickly as we can."
Then, a gentler smile.
"You've earned a rest. Go get some sleep. Tomorrow, we start fresh."
The four pilots nodded, turned smartly on their heels, and made their way down the metal steps toward the berthing decks below.
The sound of jet engines on the flight deck faded behind them.
Their first flight as Emberhowl Squadron was complete.
And so too—
was their last flight…
as Wolfsbane.