December 23, 0805 Hours
Overcast Skies
Today's operation didn't belong to the pilots of Emberhowl Squadron.
This one belonged to Sea Monster Team.
Their mission: infiltrate the Mondstadt Presidential Palace, restore lawful control to Teyvat's government, and sever the enemy's chokehold from within. It was a decisive strike—one that would determine whether the war's end began today or not at all.
On the main deck of the Arkhe, two UH-60 Black Hawks spun up under a ceiling of heavy gray cloud. The low, rhythmic thump of their rotor blades rolled across the deck, vibrating through steel and bone alike. Deck crew in color-coded jerseys sprinted across the non-skid surface—yellow shirts waving launch wands, red ordnance men hauling gear clear of the safety lines, green maintenance techs securing deck tie-downs. The air was thick with exhaust haze and salt spray.
Emilie, Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani stood back near the island superstructure, helmets under arm, their eyes fixed on the organized chaos ahead. Every pilot on the Arkhe knew the stakes. The skies might be quiet today, but history was still being written—just by different hands.
Near the lead helicopter, President Imena strode forward with Captain Gracie, the Arkhe's commanding officer. Both women spoke little; words weren't needed. The wind whipped at their coats as the turbines built to full power.
Gracie stopped short of the rotors, boots planted firm, while Imena ducked under the wash, stepping into the gale as if she owned it. Her hair and coat flared violently in the slipstream, but her steps were steady. She reached the cabin door, pulled herself inside, and turned for one last look toward the gathered pilots and crew.
A smile—tired but resolute—cut across her face.
"Well, fellas… all or nothing, right?"
She disappeared into the helicopter, taking her seat beside the Sea Monster operatives already buckled in. A crewman slammed the cabin door shut with a metallic clunk and pounded it twice with his palm—ready to go.
Seconds later, the first Black Hawk rose from the deck, followed by the second. Their rotors shredded the misty air as they tilted forward, blades roaring into a heavy, synchronized beat. The twin silhouettes banked westward—toward mainland Mondstadt, toward a city still chained under enemy control.
The downwash rippled across the deck long after they were gone. Gradually, the noise faded, replaced by the muted hum of carrier life resuming. The sky above remained iron-gray.
A deck officer in khaki from the Capitolium command detachment jogged across the deck toward Gracie, Emilie, Mona, Ayaka, Mualani, and Kaeya, a folded message slip in hand. His voice cut through the wind.
"Ma'ams, Sirs! Just received another cipher—numbers only this time!"
Gracie gave a curt nod. "Hand it to Emilie. She's our best codebreaker on this tub."
The officer saluted sharply and passed the note to Emilie before stepping back. She unfolded it, brow furrowing as her eyes traced the digits:
1252001800
A brief pause. Then her lips curved into a knowing smirk.
"Got it." She tapped the page. "It's a frequency and a time stamp."
Gracie raised an eyebrow. "Frequency?"
"Yeah. 125.200 MHz—standard VHF band. 1800 hours, or 6 PM sharp." Emilie looked up from the paper. "And the pattern? That's Candace's signature."
Kaeya crossed his arms, frowning. "Candace sent this? Why now?"
Emilie's smirk deepened. "Because she wants to brief us. Something's coming—and she doesn't want it intercepted."
Gracie exhaled, the sound drowned out by a passing tractor tug. "All right. Use the bridge comms room, but don't transmit until the clock hits eighteen hundred. I don't want to light up the airwaves early."
"Understood, Captain."
"And Raven—break it down for the record."
Emilie glanced at the note once more, voice calm and clinical.
"One-two-five-point-two-zero-zero megahertz at eighteen hundred hours. A single-use broadcast window. One minute, maybe less."
Gracie nodded once. "Copy. Proceed."
Emilie folded the note neatly and tucked it into her flight suit pocket. "All right, let's move. We'll plan this out below deck."
The others followed her into the Arkhe's island tower, leaving the cold deck behind. The sound of the sea and turbines faded as the heavy steel doors closed behind them.
Inside Emilie's quarters, the lighting was dim—only the soft hum of the ventilation system and the distant thrum of engines filled the silence. A map of northern Teyvat lay spread across her desk, corners pinned down by a flight headset and a mug of cold coffee. Emilie sat in her chair, spinning slightly as she studied the data on a notepad.
Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani sat along the edge of her bunk, helmets stacked beside them.
"So, where do we start?" Mona asked, tone businesslike.
Emilie leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Let's start with Natlan's declaration of war. That's the spark that set this whole mess off. We already know Khaenri'ahn agents infiltrated high-level offices. Look at what happened at Petrichor Island—that coup didn't happen in a vacuum."
Ayaka nodded, face tense. "Right. Our exile. Maksim was their pawn. He manipulated Courbevoie—and through him, the entire council."
Mona gestured at the map. "Then what about the Vice President? Could he be compromised too?"
Emilie shook her head slowly. "Maybe. But there's no proof—just patterns. Even with the frontlines stabilizing, the Vice President hasn't opened a single line of negotiation. No ceasefire talks. No backchannel attempts. Nothing. That silence says plenty."
Mualani frowned. "Could they have captured Natlan's Minister outright? Maybe they're holding him to keep the war alive."
Emilie nodded once. "That's my read too. Which means until Candace comes through with that transmission, we sit tight. She's seen more of this picture than any of us."
Ayaka folded her arms, gaze distant. "So in summary—Khaenri'ah orchestrated this war to fracture Teyvat from the inside?"
Emilie leaned back, exhaling. "That's the pattern. They lost their shot fifteen years ago, and now they're trying again—without ever firing a missile. Infiltration, disinformation, proxy manipulation. They don't want to destroy Teyvat from the outside. They want to make it collapse under its own weight."
She tapped a finger on the map where the North Dornman region was circled in red ink.
"This war isn't new—it's an echo. They're still fighting the last one, just wearing a different uniform."
Silence filled the room for several seconds. The distant hum of the ship seemed to grow heavier. Outside, the overcast morning deepened toward gray noon, and somewhere far ahead, the Black Hawks pressed through that same sky—toward a city waiting for its reckoning.
Hours Later
1758 Hours – Bridge of the Arkhe, Radio Room
The hum of electronics filled the confined compartment—a mix of static, diesel vibration, and the faint groan of the ship's superstructure. The lighting was low, the only illumination coming from the soft amber glow of radio displays and the sweep of a second hand ticking toward the hour.
Emilie, Mona, Ayaka, Mualani, Kaeya, Gracie, and Houallet stood in absolute silence. The radio receiver had already been tuned—125.200 MHz—Candace's chosen frequency.
Emilie held the RSM—the Remote Speaker Mic—firmly in her right hand, thumb poised over the transmit switch. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall clock above the console.
Two minutes to go.
One minute.
Thirty seconds.
No one breathed louder than the ship's hum.
Then—
1800 hours.
The RSM crackled. Static burst, cleared—and a voice cut through.
"Hey! It's Candace!"
Emilie's eyes widened. She keyed in instantly.
"Captain!"
"Emilie," came the response, warm and composed despite the faint wind noise behind it. "I figured you'd be the first to jump in."
Her tone hardened.
"Listen carefully. This is important. We've located the Minister of Natlan—Mausau. He was being held at a Khaenri'ahn-run black site near Tequemecan. We broke him out."
Everyone in the room froze.
Candace continued, her voice clear and deliberate.
"This war? It wasn't his doing. He was framed. He never ordered a single strike. The declaration—false signatures, falsified records, everything."
Static flickered briefly before her voice returned.
"We're in hiding near an isolated valley highway. We hijacked a local FM station to make this broadcast. The plan's simple—we move on Tequemecan Air Force Base. Loyalist forces have retaken it since the capital fell."
A pause. A breath of wind on her mic.
"But the route's locked down—two heavily guarded checkpoints, armored vehicles, possible air patrols. We'll need Close Air Support—both air-to-ground and air-to-air."
"Once we hear your engines overhead, I'll reestablish contact. You'll have my coordinates then."
Emilie keyed the mic. "Captain, how will you confirm it's us?"
A soft laugh came through.
"IFF signatures, Emilie. Don't worry—I'll know it's you."
The transmission cut. The room fell dead silent again—just the soft hiss of open static.
Emilie lowered the RSM and set it down with a firm click on the console.
She turned to the others, expression steady.
"We've got our orders. Let's get moving. We're not showing up late to this one."
Mona nodded sharply. "Right. Candace is counting on us."
Ayaka flashed a confident grin. "Then let's not disappoint her."
The four pilots grabbed their helmets from the ready rack and bolted out the hatch.
Gracie snatched up the ship's comm handset.
"All deck crews, prepare for aircraft launch! Bring the flight line hot!"
1810 Hours – Flight Deck, CVN Arkhe
The carrier was alive again.
Steam hissed from catapult vents. Jet blast deflectors rose with a hydraulic groan. Flight deck crews moved in disciplined chaos under red floodlights, their jersey colors flickering like signals through the mist.
Emilie, Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani jogged across the deck, helmets in hand, boots striking steel with hollow clangs. The sea air reeked of jet fuel and ozone, the wind sharp and heavy with salt. Turbine whine rolled across the deck as ground crews prepped the Tomcats for launch.
Emilie raised her voice above the din.
"All right, everyone—Candace needs us in the air. Time to prove we're not the same rookies she remembers."
Mualani smirked. "Hey, what about me?"
Emilie didn't miss a step.
"You're fine. You were never a rookie to begin with."
Ayaka raised her hand with mock innocence. "And me?"
Emilie exhaled with mock exasperation. "Candace trained you during flight quals, remember? She already knows what you're capable of."
"Oh—right," Ayaka replied, cheeks pink. "Forgot."
The brief levity evaporated as the four split toward their aircraft.
Her F-14A Tomcat loomed ahead, matte black skin glistening under deck lights. The twin tails bore the Emberhowl insignia—white flame over dark gray steel. It crouched low, wings folded, like a hunting cat about to spring.
Emilie climbed the ladder, one hand steady on the rail, boots scraping metal. She dropped into the cockpit and felt the familiar embrace of the ejection seat—cold, rigid, and home.
The air smelled of JP-5, hydraulic oil, and burnt ozone.
She pulled her harness over her shoulders and locked it tight.
Everything after that came from muscle memory.
Pre-start checklist.
Altimeter — STBY to RESET.
Attitude indicator — centered.
Power systems — VDI, HUD, HSD, ECM: green across the board.
Oxygen — flow test confirmed, audible hiss.
AFCS — pitch, roll, yaw: full response.
UHF radio — set GUARD + BOTH.
TACAN — T/R mode, tuned to Arkhe's beacon.
Canopy — sealed, lock engaged.
She reached down and flipped the start switch for Engine 2.
The turbine began to spool—low whine climbing fast. At 25% RPM, she pushed the throttle from CUTOFF to IDLE.
A sudden whoomph echoed behind her as the engine came to life. Exhaust temperatures climbed. Pressure gauges stabilized.
Then came Engine 1—the same sequence. Both TF30s roared alive, twin beasts shaking the airframe.
Outside, deck crewmen rushed around the jet. One pulled the external air line; another detached the GPU. The plane captain flashed a thumbs-up. Emilie returned it crisply.
The radio came alive.
"Emberhowl One and Two, proceed to Catapults Two and One.
Emberhowl Three and Four, take the aft cats. Prepare for simultaneous launch."
Emilie keyed her mic.
"Copy, Control. Emberhowl flight rolling."
She released the parking brake and eased forward, following the marshal's wands. The carrier deck rumble vibrated through her seat. Ahead, Catapult Two waited—steam venting in white plumes.
The nose wheel locked into the shuttle.
She toggled the launch bar switch—nose dipped slightly, clunking into place.
"Wings full forward, manual sweep," she murmured. The mechanical whir filled the cockpit as the variable-geometry wings extended outward to full span.
She ran final controls—stick, rudder, ailerons—all clean. Master reset pressed.
Over the radio:
"Raven, you are cleared for takeoff."
Emilie raised a gloved hand in salute to the cat crew. The shooter returned it sharply, then crouched and touched the deck—launch signal.
She slammed both throttles to full afterburner.
Twin TF30s roared into blinding flame. The aircraft shuddered under the surge of thrust. The cockpit vibrated violently, her heart syncing to the rhythm of raw jet power.
A heartbeat—
Then the catapult fired.
She was thrown back into her seat, the Gs crushing. The carrier blurred beneath her as the jet shot down the deck and leapt free of the bow in a blast of steam and thunder.
"Emberhowl One—airborne."
Seconds later came the rest:
"Two's airborne."
"Three's up."
"Four clear."
Carrier Control:
"All aircraft launched. Good luck out there, Emberhowl."
The four Tomcats joined up quickly—afterburners cutting through the haze. Their formation tightened into a perfect V, vapor trails carving pale ribbons against the bruised sky.
Below them stretched the dark ocean; ahead, the mainland.
The mission was clear.
Toward Tequemecan.
Toward Candace.
Toward the battle that would decide the fate of the war.
Hours Later
The sun had long dipped below the horizon. The world had gone quiet—bathed in the kind of darkness that only war-torn countryside knew.
Four F-14A Tomcats cut through the night at just 550 feet above ground level, skimming over treetops and ridgelines so close that their wingtip vortices stirred the branches below. Their altitude readouts flickered steadily—radar altimeters locked in, terrain-following radar whispering its constant digital hum.
Inside her cockpit, Emilie steadied her breathing. The green glow of her instruments reflected faintly off her visor. Below her canopy, the landscape rushed by in a blur of black and silver moonlight.
"Candace should be contacting us any moment now…" she murmured over the squadron channel, her tone clipped but calm.
Mona's voice came through—quiet, tentative.
"Yeah…"
She turned her helmet slightly, her Tomcat flying tight off Emilie's starboard side in perfect fingertip formation, afterburner petals feathered just above idle.
"Hey, Emilie?"
"Yeah?"
Mona hesitated for a beat. "Do you think Captain Candace will be happy to see me?"
Emilie glanced over—just a glint of canopy glass and the faint outline of Mona's aircraft against the stars.
"Why wouldn't she be?"
"I don't know," Mona said, almost sheepishly. "Maybe because of how I flew back then?"
Emilie exhaled softly, voice steady but firm.
"You're overthinking it, Megistus. Of course she'll be glad to see you. You've come a long way since those days. Hell, you fly cleaner now than anyone I know. Just don't let your emotions fly the jet for you."
Mona's brows knit, her tone quieter. "What about the time I got shot down?"
"That was then," Emilie replied. "You learned from it. You adapted. You're sharper now—your energy management, your radar discipline, your awareness. Leave the ghosts behind. Fly in the now. Keep your head clear, and the rest follows."
"…Yeah," Mona murmured. "I hope you're right."
The cockpit fell silent—just the low rumble of the engines, the occasional beep from the radar warning receiver.
Then, the radio hissed to life, faint static preceding a familiar voice.
"Hey? Kid? You there?"
Emilie's hand moved instinctively to her throttle-mounted comm switch. "Candace?"
"Yeah, it's us," came the reply—Candace's voice, low and steady with that unmistakable grit. "We've got you on IFF. We're in a vehicle, tucked behind some bushes off the roadside. Resistance units are in position along the route—but I've got a bad feeling about this."
Her tone hardened.
"This is a single access road. Scouts report two heavily guarded checkpoints ahead. Airspace is clear for now, but don't count on it staying that way. One of our people managed to infiltrate the airport and secure a Grumman C-2 Greyhound for exfil. We'll move on your mark."
Emilie's eyes flicked across her radar. New returns popped up—stationary ground contacts in clusters, metallic reflections consistent with armored vehicles and AAA. Hostile tags confirmed.
She keyed up again.
"Copy, ground. We've got enemy blips. Emberhowl will cover you. Begin the operation."
"That's what I like to hear, Emilie!" Candace replied, her grin almost audible through the static.
Down below, engines roared to life. The resistance convoy began to roll, headlights off, silhouettes sliding through the darkness in tight formation.
Emilie advanced her throttles to military power.
"Emberhowl, engage."
One by one, the replies came—sharp and professional.
"Starseer, engaging."
"Tempest, engaging."
"Soumetsu, engaging."
Candace's laughter burst through the comms.
"All right! This is Tempest! The jailbreak tour starts now!"
Then, another voice came on frequency—male, confident, with a hint of humor.
"I'll be witnessing your bravery from down here, Demons of Emberhowl."
Mona frowned slightly. "Someone else in the car?"
"Yeah," the man replied casually. "Intelligence officer from Natlan. Call me Mystery Man Number One. Captain Candace's told me all about you four—Raven, Herring… and, uh, what's the third again?"
Mona keyed her mic dryly. "Megistus. Mona Megistus."
"Ah, that's right! Starseer! Now I remember."
Ahead, the first checkpoint loomed into view on radar and visually—floodlights, guard towers, pillboxes, sandbag emplacements, and a handful of armored vehicles parked in staggered formation.
Emilie switched her weapon selector to GBU-12s. Her targeting pod slewed to the coordinates. She steadied her breathing, the HUD reticle locking onto the cluster of floodlights and vehicles.
"Raven, in hot," she called. "Laser on."
The tone confirmed lock. She released.
"Bombs away. Bombs away."
Below, confused voices crackled across the enemy's open-band radio.
"Vehicle incoming? Identify yourselves!"
"Spike strips ready! Stop them for identification—"
Then the night exploded.
The GBU struck dead center, the detonation tearing the checkpoint apart in a blinding bloom of fire and concrete dust. The shockwave flattened the nearby guard posts, scattering debris and bodies alike.
"Holy hell—bombs from above!?"
"Black aircraft! Could they be—"
"THE DEMONS OF EMBERHOWL ARE HERE!"
Mona dove next, wings sweeping automatically for strike configuration. "Starseer, in hot! Bombs away!"
Her GBU-16 hit the main bunker. The fireball rolled skyward, consuming the pillbox in molten debris. Mona yanked back hard on the stick, engines screaming as she lit both afterburners and broke into a climbing turn.
Candace's laughter filled the net.
"Yahoo! We're busting through! Outstanding work!"
Her convoy surged through the chaos, headlights flickering across shattered asphalt and burning wreckage.
"Megistus, that you up there too?" Candace's voice teased. "You're still alive and flying like that? Damn, I gotta hand it to you."
Mona flushed in her seat. "Th-Thank you, ma'am!"
The mystery man chimed in with a grin in his voice.
"Diversion—always the first step to a clean operation."
Candace chuckled.
"And is that you, Ayaka? You know, I was gonna make you the fifth pilot for Wolfsbane back in the day. Looks like you're holding your own just fine."
Ayaka's tone came soft but steady.
"Th-thank you, Captain. I appreciate it."
Candace then turned her attention to Mualani.
"Captain Mualani of the Fontaine Marine Defense Force, huh? Sorry I didn't say hi earlier—guess I'm still shy, even in a warzone."
Mualani chuckled gently. "It's a privilege to meet you, Candace."
Candace leaned out the window slightly, catching sight of Emilie's Tomcat roaring overhead at low altitude, afterburners flashing blue-white through the night.
The mystery man nodded toward it. "I'm guessing Tomcat 016 is your star student?"
Candace's grin widened.
"You mean Emilie? Hell yeah. One of the best pilots in Teyvat. I've been keeping tabs—she's something special. Couldn't be prouder."
Emilie smiled faintly behind her mask. "Thank you, Captain."
Candace's laughter came warm and unrestrained.
"No need for the formalities anymore, kid. Just call me Candace."
Static broke over the enemy net again, this time panicked.
"Where are they!? Those black planes—!"
"They blend into the night sky! I can't get a lock!"
"NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR JOKES, ASSHOLE!"
Emilie shoved both throttles forward, and the Tomcat surged like a caged predator finally unleashed. The twin TF30s roared to life, their compressors biting hard into the night air as the aircraft clawed skyward. The G meter climbed past five—her harness locked tight across her chest, every muscle braced against the pull. The HUD rolled upward in a blur of green as the horizon fell away beneath her.
Over the net, the mystery man's voice carried an amused lilt.
"Looks like your student's off again."
Candace laughed, that same grounded warmth still audible beneath the static.
"That's Emilie for you. Sweet as can be on the ground—inside that cockpit? She's a damn demon."
Emilie's smile cut through the strain of the climb. She keyed her mic.
"I hope you mean that in a nice way, Candace!"
"Always!" Candace shot back without hesitation.
Emilie rolled her Tomcat inverted, smooth and deliberate. Stick back—nose down—rudder trimmed neutral. The world flipped. The stars became the ground and the ground a blur of shadow and motion. The flight computer hummed as she dropped into a textbook pop-up attack profile, the kind Candace had drilled into her years ago.
Her HUD symbology flickered as the targeting pod stabilized on the next checkpoint.
Laser armed. Target acquired.
Altitude unwound rapidly—six hundred feet… five… four. The radar altimeter's monotone voice warned her, but she stayed with it.
"Raven, in hot," she announced, calm and clipped. "Weapons release on my mark."
Her finger settled on the pickle switch. Under her breath, the muttered curse slipped free—half humor, half adrenaline:
"Connard de livraison spéciale."
The release clunked. One GBU dropped clear. The faint shudder through the airframe was swallowed by the howl of the engines.
A heartbeat later, the ground erupted. The checkpoint gate vanished in a rolling blast, asphalt curling upward like torn fabric, concrete and rebar atomized into the orange bloom. The shockwave slapped her jet, turbulence rattling through the wings.
She hauled into a high-G left break, body pressed hard into the seat as she cleared the debris field. The wings groaned through the turn, the variable-geometry mechanism adjusting with a low metallic hum.
Below, Mualani screamed into her own attack run—low, fast, pure precision.
"Tempest, in hot!"
Her Tomcat knifed through the night, afterburners pulsing blue. She toggled her release at two thousand feet, her tone confident.
"Special delivery, boys!"
Two 500-pound GBUs fell clean from the racks, laser spots guiding each with surgical certainty. One punched through a pillbox roof—detonating inside with a thunderous bloom that sent its upper structure rocketing skyward. The second cratered into the barracks cluster; the explosion rolled outward, shredding the perimeter fence and igniting scattered fuel drums.
Mualani broke high right, wings sweeping back automatically as she regained altitude, her engines spooling hard to military power.
"Splash one, splash two," she called, steady.
Candace's voice broke through the comm net, exultant.
"Outstanding work, Emberhowl! We're almost at the airport!"
Static filled the channel for a beat, then another voice cut through—tight, urgent, under fire.
"Candace! The gates are open! Foot down—go full throttle! The C-2 Greyhound is ready for extraction!"
Emilie felt the weight of that line—the mission pivot. The endgame was unfolding right beneath their wings. Her pulse leveled, her breathing evened out. Every sound inside the cockpit seemed sharper: the faint hum of avionics, the creak of her flight harness, the rhythmic hiss of oxygen flow.
She checked fuel and weapons: three-quarters internal fuel, two Sidewinders, and the cannon still armed. Enough to fight, enough to run.
"Copy that—Greyhound on the roll," she said, voice all business. "Emberhowl, keep the flanks tight. Sweep the strip, clear their path. No surprises."
"Raven, I've got visual on the convoy," Mona reported. "IFF reads friendly. We're clean so far."
"Roger. Hold overwatch," Emilie replied. "If anything lights up on radar, paint it and I'll take the shot."
Candace came back in, quieter now—steady, but with that rare edge of sentiment.
"Once they're airborne, get the hell out. Don't wait for us to wave goodbye."
"Understood," Emilie said. "Move fast, hit hard, extract clean."
Then the radio chatter gave way to motion—the night itself seemed to roar. From her altitude she could see it all: engines revving, headlights flaring to life for a heartbeat before cutting again, the faint glimmer of the Greyhound rolling out from the hangar.
Below, the resistance convoy pushed toward the airfield's edge, wheels kicking up dust as they merged onto the taxiway.
Emberhowl fanned out—four dark silhouettes sliding into a loose combat spread at treetop level, each one trailing faint vapor in the cold night air. Their TF30s thundered, shaking the forest canopy below.
Then—
Their IFF scopes flickered.
Four blue diamonds came alive on the radar grid, closing fast.
The four F-14As instinctively tightened into a combat wedge, wingtip-to-wingtip—an aggressive flying V.
Emilie's HUD shimmered green as the contacts resolved.
Her voice dropped to a razor's edge.
"IFF confirms… the 5050th Squadron. F-15 S/MTDs."
Across the ether, a half-familiar voice crackled in.
"Is that really them? I saw them plunge into the ocean—Kaeya's signal went down with them…"
Then another, tense, disbelieving:
"It is them, Captain! The Ghosts of Emberhowl! They're the ones who hit the mines!"
Emilie keyed her mic, tone cold as steel.
"Well, well well… Captain Haruda. Should've known you'd crawl back out of the sea. Let's finish this—once and for all."
She rammed the throttles past the detent.
TF-30s howled, shock diamonds flaring white-blue as her Tomcat lunged forward.
Across the horizon, Haruda did the same.
Two predators, nose-on, closing fast—Mach 0.9… 0.95… 1.0.
"Emilie!" Candace's voice tore through the channel.
"Stand down! You're gonna ram him head-on!"
Emilie didn't answer. Eyes locked on the diamond in her HUD.
"Captain! Back off!" Mona yelled.
No reply.
Her thumb hovered over the missile selector. Waiting for tone.
The sky became a single converging scream.
Then—
Tone.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder peeled from her rail in a corkscrew of white smoke.
Impact.
A rolling bloom of fire.
"A plane's down!" Ayaka reported, breath catching.
Through the fireball, a shape punched out—charred, black-as-ash, nose high.
"Emberhowl, engage!" Candace barked.
Candace's laughter came through, raw and triumphant.
"YAHOO! THAT'S AN ACE! GO GET 'EM, EMILIE!"
"Roger that, Candace!" Emilie snapped back, voice steady.
"Don't mind us," Candace added, tone shifting. "We're bugging out. Focus on the Mechshade!"
The four Tomcats split, each breaking hard to engage.
Three remaining F-15S/MTDs fanned wide, afterburners searing orange as they chased.
"Starseer One, tally one bandit, eleven o'clock high!"
Her F-14 rolled inverted, pitching down to chase. The twin jets twisted violently through the thin air—snap turns, barrel rolls, knives-edge passes.
The F-15 pilot came over the comms, his voice strained.
"Damn impressive. They really are Emberhowl."
He pulled into a vertical climb.
Mona matched him, afterburners shaking her frame. The wings flexed under G-load; condensation curled around her fuselage like mist.
Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Twin Sidewinders streaked upward. Mona rolled inverted and dropped nose-down, throttles to idle to avoid overspeed.
Impact—dead-center on the engines. The F-15's tails disintegrated in a burst of orange and metal. It cartwheeled into a flatspin, spiraling earthward.
No chute.
"Starseer, splash!"
Another explosion flared on the horizon—Ayaka's missile kill.
"Soumetsu's got a bandit!" Mualani called.
Her F-14 danced through the chaos, chaff and flares shredding the air behind her.
"Come on, come on—lock me again, I dare you!"
The bandit's voice broke through, furious:
"Do not make the same mistake as Eclipse! Take them out!"
Emilie's jet screamed past Mualani, vapor streaming from her wingtips.
"Come chase me, fucker! I'm right here!"
"Raven!" Mualani shouted.
"Don't mind me!" Emilie grunted, pulling high-G into a brutal scissors. "I got this!"
She began jinking—violent, precise, bleeding speed to lure her pursuer.
"Come on! I'm right here! Try and shoot me down!"
Mualani watched from afar, stunned.
"L-Look at Emilie… the way she flies… It's insane!"
"Yeah…" Mona breathed. "She's a true ace. In an old-gen Tomcat, no less."
Ayaka smiled softly behind her mask.
"It's never the plane. It's the pilot—and their bond with the machine."
Emilie smirked behind her visor.
"Alright, time to cut your sorry ass loose."
She flipped open the wing-sweep cover and extended them full-span. The Tomcat's wings snapped forward with a hydraulic whine.
Stick back—hard.
The F-14A clawed for altitude.
She split the throttles—left to idle, right to full AB—and popped the ventral speedbrakes. Airspeed plummeted; the TF-30s howled on the edge of stall.
"Come on… come on…"
She kicked hard left rudder, rolling into a half-spin—nose dropping through the horizon.
At the stall's edge she equalized thrust, wings biting air again.
The enemy F-15 screamed past—overshoot.
"Gotcha now!"
Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Both AIM-9s leapt from the rails. The Eagle tried to break left—too slow.
The missiles speared through its cockpit canopy.
A blinding flash. The forward fuselage vaporized; the tail section corkscrewed into the base's main structure.
"Splash Raven! That's the 5050th gone!" Mualani exhaled.
Emilie rolled out, climbing through the debris plume, vapor trailing off her wings.
"Yeah! Serves you right, you bastards!"
She descended, reforming on her squadmates into tactical element.
Her radar blinked—new contact.
A friendly beacon. C-2 Greyhound.
"We're out and gone!" Candace confirmed.
Then Gracie's voice, faint but excited:
"This is Gracie! We're on the move again—heading for Windrise Port! We'll send our coordinates soon!"
Candace whistled low over the comms.
"Emilie… you're one hell of a pilot. Beautiful work up there."
Emilie steadied her breathing, gaze fixed ahead.
"Thank you, Candace. That means a lot."
Candace chuckled softly.
"Guess I taught you well… all three of you."
The four F-14As tucked in behind the Greyhound, sliding into a perfect diamond formation.
Noses pointed northeast—toward the horizon, and the waiting carrier now steaming at flank speed.
Hours Later
Midnight
The C-2 Greyhound and four battle-scarred F-14A Tomcats came in one by one under a velvet-black sky, their approach lights cutting faint cones through the mist. Arresting wires snapped taut, tires screamed, and the carrier deck shuddered beneath each trap.
When the final Tomcat taxied clear, the Arkhe's deck crew rushed in—marshaling lights waving, chains clattering, hydraulic whines echoing under the moonlight. The carrier steamed westward toward Windrise Port, its wake a pale scar across the silver sea.
Up on the island's bridge, Candace stood beside Minister Mausau of Natlan and a tall, silent man in a long coat clutching a weathered black folder.
The red-gold glint of her visor caught the deck lights as she turned to Houallet, who was filming the recovery with a handheld camera. Candace flashed him a lazy two-finger salute, then faced forward again—toward the four Tomcats now parked near the bow, canopies glinting with salt spray.
On the flight deck below, Minister Mausau descended from the island stairway. Gracie met him halfway and extended her hand.
"Minister Mausau," Gracie said, firm but courteous. "Welcome aboard the Arkhe."
"Thank you, Captain Gracie," Mausau replied, nodding with restrained relief.
Candace made her way across the deck, boots ringing softly against the nonskid. The four pilots—Emilie, Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani—stood shoulder to shoulder beside their jets, flight suits streaked with oil, smoke, and salt, eyes bright even through exhaustion.
Arms crossed, Candace allowed herself a faint smile.
"You four were incredible up there. Seeing it from the bridge… it's one thing to read an after-action report. Another to witness it firsthand."
They nodded in quiet acknowledgment.
Candace placed a gloved hand on Emilie's shoulder.
"Emilie… I'm proud of you."
She turned to Mona and Ayaka.
"You two as well. I trained you to survive out there—and damn it, you did more than survive."
Her grin widened.
"Guess I taught you well, huh?"
Mona exhaled a laugh, faint but genuine.
"Yes, Captain. You did."
A shout shattered the calm.
A young deck officer burst from the stairwell, sprinting across the flight deck, clipboard in hand.
"Captain Gracie! Captain!"
Gracie turned from the minister, eyebrows arched.
"What's going on?"
The officer skidded to a halt, panting.
"Message just came in from the Sea Monster crew!"
Every head on deck turned. Even the wind seemed to pause.
He gulped a breath.
"We're through! The President's back in office—the Vice President's been ousted!"
For a heartbeat, silence. Then the deck erupted.
"YAHOO!"
"Hell yes!"
"That bastard's out!"
"It's over—it's almost over!"
Cheers rolled down the carrier like a wave breaking over steel. Deckhands threw their caps skyward. Even Gracie's hardened officers grinned openly.
Mona tilted her head back, gaze tracing the endless sky above them. For the first time in months, she smiled.
Then—her expression froze.
A dark shape slid silently across the moon's face. A vast, unnatural silhouette.
She whispered, barely audible through the mic:
"...Orbital Linear Gun."
"What?" Emilie turned toward her.
Mona's tone sharpened, low but tense.
"The Judgment Fang. That's no satellite—it's an orbital rail cannon. It's blocking the moonlight."
"Judgment Fang?" Emilie repeated, frowning.
Mona nodded slowly.
"It was built fifteen years ago under Project Heaven's Spear. Designed to intercept asteroids. The project was abandoned a year later—or so they claimed."
Candace's gaze cut toward the intelligence officer—the man with the black folder—who had been silent the entire time.
"That file you're holding," she said evenly. "There's something in there about that gun, isn't there?"
The man didn't answer. His fingers simply tightened around the folder's worn leather.
Candace's eyes narrowed.
"We'll find out soon enough."
The Arkhe and her escorts plowed west through the dark sea, their wakes shimmering beneath the obscured moon. Above them, the mechanical giant drifted across the stars—motionless, watching.
Ahead lay Windrise Port. A week's sail.
Safe.
For now.
The war's end was finally in sight.
Or so they thought.