Base Busters

Two Days Later

Furina had made one hell of a first impression.

Out of the eight pilots in Drowned Squadron, only two had come around.

Clorinde. TAC Name: Rapperia.

Wriothesley. TAC Name: Wolfbite.

The rest? Still unconvinced.

To them, her performance two days ago had been nothing more than a fluke. A one-time display of skill that would never be repeated.

She heard the whispers.

"She just got lucky."

"One mission doesn't make an ace."

"She'll crash and burn eventually."

They still saw her as a convict, a murderer, a pawn to be used and discarded.

It didn't matter.

Because despite everything—

Furina was an ace once more.

No prison sentence, no death sentence, no amount of judgment could erase that.

She had been born to fly.

And if this cursed squadron thought they could break her, they were fucking wrong.

Afternoon. Base Flight Line.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a dull glow over the airbase. The wind howled through the open tarmac, cutting sharp and cold like a blade. The constant roar of fighter jets echoed in the distance—some launching, some landing, others undergoing maintenance.

Furina stood beside her Rafale, the sleek frame of the aircraft gleaming under the sun's dying light.

The low hum of the electrical system filled the air, a quiet, mechanical heartbeat.

She leaned against the front left canard, arms crossed, fingers idly tapping against her flight suit.

Her icy blue eyes fixated on the horizon.

Somewhere beyond it, another battle awaited.

Another mission.

Another chance to prove them all wrong.

For the first time since arriving in Drowned Squadron, she felt a strange sense of peace.

A fragile moment of silence.

But it didn't change a thing.

She was still part of Teyvat Spare Squadron.

A squadron of criminals.

Disposable pilots.

She closed her eyes and exhaled.

Then, without thinking, she began to hum.

A melody.

A tune she had composed last night, playing over and over in her mind.

Her own leitmotif.

But it had no name.

Not yet.

Then, just as suddenly as she started, she stopped. Her eyes flickered open again, sharp and alert.

She let out a quiet breath.

"Accept it, Furina… this is your new life now."

She rolled back her left sleeve and checked her watch. Her familiar Speedmaster with a navy blue NATO strap.

2:30 PM.

She sighed. Then rolled her sleeve back down.

Time to go.

Without another word, she turned and walked away from the Rafale, heading toward the briefing room.

Briefing Room. Mission Briefing.

The room was already filled by the time Furina arrived.

Seven other pilots. Some standing, some sitting, all waiting.

She scanned the room for a seat.

There was one.

Between Clorinde and Wriothesley.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Then, reluctantly, she made her way over and sat down between them.

No one spoke.

Then, Commander Jakob entered.

The large holographic display behind him flickered to life, illuminating the Teyvat map with various markers and enemy positions.

"Alright," Jakob began, his voice sharp and authoritative. "First off—good work defending the base two days ago. Especially you, Waltz."

Furina barely reacted, offering the slightest nod in acknowledgment.

Then, Jakob's gaze shifted.

Right to Albert.

Drowned Four. TAC Name: Stalker.

"Except for you." Jakob sneered. "You sucked ass up there."

Albert straightened, lips parting—

Jakob raised a single finger.

"Shut that fucking trap of yours, Stalker. You give me the creeps."

Albert exhaled sharply and slumped back in his chair, defeated.

Jakob didn't even look at him again.

He turned back to the display.

"It doesn't matter. You're all still here to atone for your crimes. So listen up."

The map zoomed in, highlighting a frozen, desolate landscape marked with three enemy bases.

"Your mission today is to hit these Snezhnayan bases in the snowy plains of Kholodnyy Udar."

Three red circles appeared over the map.

"Your job isn't to destroy them—"

Jakob's smirk was cruel.

"—It's to piss them off."

A few pilots exchanged uneasy glances.

"You will attack and provoke them. Make them fire. Get them to reveal their anti-air strategies. Burn through their ammunition. The more they shoot at you, the more intel we gather."

The map shifted again. A blue line extended from the southwest.

"For this mission, we've set up a frontline base for resupply."

Then—

Jakob turned back to them, his smirk widening.

"But you cons don't get that luxury."

Silence.

"If you replenish your weapons, you're thrown into solitary. Only the regular forces get to rearm. You run out of ammo? Tough shit. Find a way to survive. You have flares for a reason. Use them."

He leaned forward slightly.

"And don't forget—"

His voice dropped to something colder.

"You are nothing more than decoys."

No one spoke.

Jakob let the words linger. Then—

"Everyone, sortie now. Dismissed."

He turned and walked out.

The pilots stood and began filtering out of the room.

Except for three.

Furina.

Clorinde.

Wriothesley.

Clorinde and Wriothesley stood, glancing at Furina.

She remained seated, arms crossed.

Clorinde exhaled.

"Furina. Come on. Let's go."

Furina scoffed.

"Oh. So we're friends now?"

Clorinde pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Come on, Furina. I already apologized, didn't I?"

For a moment, Furina said nothing.

Then—slowly—she pushed herself up from the chair.

"Yeah… sure."

She turned and walked ahead, stepping right between them.

Clorinde and Wriothesley exchanged a look.

Clorinde shook her head.

Wriothesley sighed. "You really left an impression on her, huh?"

Clorinde rolled her eyes. "Shut your trap, Wolfbite."

With that, the two followed behind.

Out onto the flight line.

Where their aircraft awaited.

Where another mission—another fight for survival—was about to begin.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting deep orange and crimson hues across the tarmac as Drowned Squadron arrived at the apron. Every aircraft in the lineup was a patchwork of battle scars—faded paint, burn marks, and hasty field repairs barely holding them together. They were relics of a war that cared little for their survival.

Yet one aircraft stood out.

Furina's Dassault Rafale M.

Still pristine. Still immaculate. Like it had just rolled off the production line.

The only thing different?

Three fresh kill marks. Stripes painted boldly on the tail, a silent declaration of the ace that flew it.

Furina climbed up the Rafale's built-in ladder, each step echoing against the metal as she ascended. She settled into the ejection seat, her movements precise, almost ritualistic. She retracted the ladder and methodically strapped herself into the harness, tightening it against her flight suit.

Then, she reached for her helmet.

She paused.

For a moment, she simply stared at it. The glossy visor reflected her face back at her, fractured slightly by the curvature.

Her lips barely moved as she whispered.

"Il est temps de les montrer à nouveau. Qui est vraiment l'as."

(It's time to show them again. Who the real ace is.)

Without another thought, she pulled the helmet over her head, the familiar click of the seal locking into place echoing inside the cockpit. The oxygen mask followed. A quick diagnostic scan of her systems confirmed everything was green.

Her flight plan was already inputted.

Korovograd AFB. (Home.)

The Makeshift Forward Base. (Rearming point—for everyone but them.)

The Three Enemy Bases. (The real targets.)

The canopy lowered, sealing her inside. Twin M88 engines whined to life, their deep growl vibrating through the fuselage. The Rafale came alive beneath her fingertips.

Then, tower control chimed in.

"Drowned Squadron, taxi out to the runway."

One by one, the aircraft taxied forward. Drowned Five. Then Drowned Seven. Four, Eight, Six, Three, Two.

Furina, the lead flight, was last.

Not because it was planned that way.

Nobody cared who went first.

That was the chaos of being a Spare.

They weren't heroes. They weren't elite.

They were disposable.

But Furina?

She had no intention of being thrown away.

En Route to Kholodnyy Udar

The squadron climbed north-eastward, pushing towards the mission area. By the time they reached enemy territory, the sun was beginning to set, streaking the sky with amber and violet.

Then, the radio crackled to life.

"Huh… Some welcome," AWACS Justice muttered, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Then, his tone hardened.

"Commence the mission. Spread out and destroy all targets."

The orders barely landed before Drowned Seven chimed in.

"Just like before. Destroy the targets. This is getting lame, Justice."

"Shut your trap, Drowned Seven," AWACS snapped.

Then came the usual reminder.

"And remember—you are prohibited from flying to the makeshift base to replenish your weapons. You run out, you defend. That's why your planes have flares. Use them. Do not forget—you're just some decoys."

A sharp scoff. Then Clorinde's voice cut through the channel.

"If you want us to destroy the targets, then maybe next time, FILL OUR DAMNED PLANES WITH WEAPONRY!"

Furina's eyes narrowed.

Enough talking.

She slammed the throttles forward, breaking formation as her Rafale surged ahead, cutting through the sky like a blade.

"Let's begin."

The First Strike – The Airbase

The first enemy base came into view. A fortified airfield, its runways lined with fighters scrambling to take off. Two Su-25s had just started their roll, desperately trying to get airborne.

Not today.

Furina pulled her Rafale into a steep climb, engines roaring as she ascended high above the base. Then, in a split-second maneuver, she snapped into a vertical dive.

Targeting system online.

Four locks acquired.

Two Su-25s, mid-takeoff.

Two Tu-95 bombers, refueling on the ground.

She flicked the bomb release.

"Bombs away."

Direct hits.

The Su-25s erupted mid-air, flaming debris scattering across the tarmac. The Tu-95s detonated with a blue-tinted fireball, their fuel stores igniting in a chain reaction.

The radio exploded with chatter.

"Rocking it hard, Waltz!" Drowned Eight howled.

"Cut it out, Drowned Eight," AWACS barked. "There's still a mission to do!"

Furina didn't acknowledge them. She was already circling back, eyes on her next targets.

Switching to LACMs.

Control tower.

Industrial fuel tank.

Radar station.

Three missiles away.

Three direct hits.

The tower collapsed, glass and steel raining onto the runway. The fuel tank erupted, sending flames licking high into the sky. The radar dish crumpled, sparks flying as it went offline.

The first base was obliterated.

A Squabble Amongst Spares

Then, the radio crackled again.

"Spare Four, out of weapons. Re-supplying."

AWACS didn't even hesitate.

"Nice try, Stalker. But you don't get that luxury."

Clorinde snorted.

"But you want us to destroy these bases, no?~"

Justice sighed, frustration evident.

"You'd wish this mission would never end."

Then Drowned Five chimed in, "Hey, hey! Looks like Justice has come around!"

While the rest of them bickered, Furina was already moving.

Her next target?

A mountain-side airbase.

Then, a panicked voice over comms.

"Hey! Where did the airbase go?!"

AWACS Justice sounded unimpressed.

"While you were waddling around, Drowned One took them all out."

Clorinde chuckled.

"Waltz did most of the work, Wolfbite."

AWACS scoffed.

"Why are you so proud of that, Rapperia?"

As Furina veered towards the next target, her mind was clear.

She wasn't flying to prove herself anymore.

She wasn't fighting for their approval.

She was an ace—a real one.

And tonight, she would remind everyone exactly what that meant.

Furina dove.

Her Rafale M sliced through the cold evening air, engines roaring as she descended toward the enemy storage facilities and anti-aircraft batteries tucked against the mountainside's exposed face.

Targeting system locked.

With a flick of her thumb, she unleashed a salvo of Long-Range Air-to-Ground Missiles (LACMs).

The moment the missiles struck—

A wall of fire erupted.

The storage depots detonated in a massive chain reaction, sending barrels and supply crates sky-high before they were obliterated mid-air. The AA emplacements crumbled under the force, shrapnel and metal debris scattering across the rocky terrain.

AWACS Justice's voice cut in, sharp and efficient.

"Bullseye, Waltz."

Furina barely acknowledged it as she pulled into a tight banking turn, circling around for another pass.

Then, the radio crackled again.

"Hey! We need ground troops! It's hard attacking in these mountains!"

That was Drowned Six, his frustration evident.

AWACS let out a long sigh.

"While you were dancing around in the skies, Waltz took out an entire enemy facility. Are you sleeping? Jesus Christ."

A chuckle from Drowned Seven.

"I might have to rethink the odds again."

Furina didn't care.

She was already locked onto her next targets.

Another volley of LACMs screamed from her wings.

The missiles found their marks—AA emplacements, armored tanks, APCs, and fuel depots—reducing them all to burning wrecks in a series of controlled detonations.

She looped around once more, this time aiming for the valley nestled between two towering ridges.

Her new targets?

A reinforced bridge, critical for enemy supply lines.

A SAM site, nestled against the cliffside.

Another heavily fortified warehouse.

Furina switched to precision bombing mode.

One bomb.

One impact.

The bridge collapsed, chunks of concrete and steel raining down into the valley below.

AWACS Justice confirmed the kill immediately.

"That's another base destroyed."

Then, Drowned Four's voice cut in, exasperated.

"Seriously? Leave some for us, Waltz!"

AWACS snapped back.

"So far, you don't have the right to talk about 'leaving some' for you. Everyone else has taken out targets. Meanwhile, you're prancing around up there, with zero—nada—ziltch! Get your ass in gear, or I'm throwing you back into solitary confinement!"

Furina ignored them.

She was already adjusting her bearing to 285—heading straight for the largest enemy base yet.

The Titan's Stronghold

The next base was massive. A fortified complex crawling with enemy assets—

Warehouses.

Industrial fuel tanks.

Troop barracks.

SAMs and anti-aircraft defenses.

Furina's targeting display was a sea of red indicators.

She lined up her shot.

Then, she fired.

A barrage of air-to-ground missiles streaked toward the base.

Impact.

A firestorm engulfed the area.

The warehouses ignited instantly, turning into flaming husks. The fuel tanks ruptured, setting off a massive explosion that sent a towering mushroom of fire into the sky.

The shockwave alone obliterated everything within a 500-meter radius.

Debris rained from the heavens.

The radio exploded with chatter.

"Holy shit, big explosion! Who was that?!" Clorinde barked.

Then, Wriothesley's voice chimed in.

"Looks like Waltz did it. She's the closest."

Furina's rampage was unstoppable.

She was exceeding every expectation, demolishing target after target—

And not once had she spoken.

Then, Drowned Four groaned.

"Furina, come on. You gotta say something."

For the first time, she replied.

"Ferme ta foutue gueule, Noyé Quatre."

Drowned Four paused.

"…What in the hell did she just say?"

Wriothesley chuckled over the comms.

"It means… shut your goddamned mouth."

Laughter erupted across the squadron.

But Furina wasn't finished yet.

She had spotted one last structure.

A reinforced tunnel, built into the side of the mountain.

Inside—parked aircraft.

The Tunnel Run

Furina descended.

She dropped low, hugging the terrain, flying barely meters above the ground.

The tunnel entrance loomed ahead.

A wide, reinforced passage, large enough for aircraft to taxi in and out—

And large enough for her to fly through.

She tilted the nose forward.

Engaged the gun.

And opened fire.

Tracer rounds tore into the aircraft inside, ripping through metal and fuel lines.

Then—

A chain reaction.

BOOM.

Flames erupted from within, thick black smoke billowing out of both ends of the tunnel. The entire hangar interior collapsed, entombing whatever aircraft hadn't already been obliterated.

But where was Furina?

The radio crackled with panic.

AWACS Justice barked, "Drowned One lost! She's a goddamned idiot!"

Then, Wriothesley's voice cut in.

"No! She flew under the tunnel! I see smoke coming from the far end!"

Then—

A streak of blue shot out from the inferno.

Furina's Rafale emerged, punching through the smoke as she pulled into a perfect vertical climb.

AWACS confirmed.

"Drowned One, contact reestablished."

Clorinde let out a laugh.

"Now that's how an ace flies! That's dedication!"

With the final base annihilated, Furina leveled out her flight path—

Mission accomplished.

The radio crackled.

AWACS Justice's voice cut through the static like a blade.

"Multiple bogeys! From the south!"

Not what they expected.

The enemy wasn't sending jets.

"Drones."

The squadron's response was immediate.

"What!?"

"Drones!?"

Furina's brow twitched as she tightened her grip on the throttle.

"You've got to be shitting me… DRONES!?"

AWACS remained unfazed.

"Shut your trap, Drowned Squadron. Take out all the drones."

Furina let out a sharp breath.

"Engaging."

She slammed the throttles forward, her Rafale M screaming ahead as the afterburners roared to life.

Straight for the oncoming swarm.

The Lone Charge

"Waltz! What the hell are you doing!?"

Wriothesley's voice cut through the comms, but Furina didn't respond.

She already had three locks.

Tone. Lock. Fire.

LRAAMs away.

The moment she broke left, banking hard at a 90-degree angle, she heard AWACS confirm.

"Drowned One, splash three."

Clorinde's eyes widened.

"Splash three… is she insane!?"

Then Wriothesley, a warning edge to his voice.

"Rapperia! Do not trigger Waltz!"

Furina twitched.

"Do not trigger Waltz, huh… Alright then… let's play."

Clorinde facepalmed against her helmet.

"Oh no…"

The drones broke formation, splitting apart as they zeroed in on the squadron.

First Blood

A warning came through.

"Someone's behind me! Get it off my tail!"

It was Drowned Seven.

Then—

A missile launched.

A direct hit.

"Damn it, I'm hit!"

He was still flying—barely.

Then, the drone fired again.

Drowned Eight called out.

"Drowned Seven, inbound—!"

But then—

An explosion.

Then static.

The radio went silent for three long seconds before AWACS confirmed the inevitable.

"Drowned Seven, lost."

The squadron's response was immediate, furious.

"What!?"

"No!"

"Shit!"

AWACS snapped, his voice stone-cold.

"Don't piss your damn pants over one plane down. Continue with the mission."

But then—

Panic.

"Drowned Six, retreating!"

"Drowned Eight, retreating!"

"Drowned Four, retreating!"

"Drowned Five, retreating!"

Furina's blood boiled.

She roared into the comms.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!? YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE US HERE!?"

Then, tone. Lock. Fire.

Two more drones destroyed.

Her kill count: Four.

Wriothesley's voice cut in.

"I'm getting behind Waltz."

Clorinde followed.

"Right. Stick with the best, and you might just make it."

Then, the squadron struck back.

"Splash one, Wolfbite!"

"Splash one, Rapperia!"

The Impossible Kill

Furina's cockpit erupted with alarms.

"MISSILE! MISSILE!"

AWACS shouted.

"Waltz! Evade!"

She smirked.

Her fingers slammed the spoileron control.

The canards twisted up.

The inner elevons moved up.

The outer elevons moved down.

Furina yanked the sidestick back.

Then, with one brutal kick to the rudder pedal, she forced her Rafale into an impossible maneuver.

A 90-degree pull-up.

A full 360-degree yaw.

As her nose dropped down, she fired her machine gun.

Direct hits.

Both drones shredded apart mid-air.

The wreckage spiraled down into the abyss, erased from existence.

AWACS sounded almost disbelieving.

"Waltz, splash two. Four to go."

Clorinde watched in horror.

"WHAT IN THE—SHE GOT A MACHINE GUN KILL WITH THAT MANEUVER!?"

Furina didn't care.

She was already hunting her next prey.

The Death Spiral

Furina locked onto a lone drone.

Then—it pitched up.

A trap.

Furina reacted instantly.

She pulled into a vertical climb.

The drone snapped downward—a vertical dive.

Furina engaged the spoilerons again.

She rolled over and dove straight after it.

Tone. Lock. Fire.

"Fox Two!"

The missile struck.

Another splash.

AWACS confirmed it immediately.

"Another splash for Waltz."

Then—

"Splash one, Rapperia."

"Splash one, Wolfbite."

The battle was ending.

But then—Clorinde screamed.

"Shit! A drone on my six! Someone take it out!"

Wriothesley tried.

Missile away—

Then, an alarm.

"Ammunition zero."

Wriothesley groaned.

"Shit! I'm out of ammo!"

Then—Furina swooped in.

Tone. Lock. Fire.

A direct hit.

AWACS confirmed it.

"The last drone is down."

The battle was over.

The Return to Base

AWACS gave the final order.

"You've hit the enemy base enough. Operation complete. RTB."

Then, a warning.

"As for those who retreated… they'll wish they were never born. Waltz, Rapperia, and Wolfbite—you get a pass."

Furina let out a breath.

A hard 180-degree turn.

She headed home.

As she stabilized into a cruising formation, Clorinde and Wriothesley pulled up beside her.

They formed an element.

Furina glanced left.

Glanced right.

"What the hell are you two doing?"

Clorinde chuckled.

"Come on, Waltz! You got Ace again!"

Wriothesley clapped over the radio.

"Well done, Waltz. Come on, lighten up a bit!"

Furina glanced at the small mirror inside her canopy.

She reached up.

Removed her mask.

And stared at herself.

Ace. Again.

Then—

A small smile.

"Good going, Furina…"

"At this rate…"

"You might just make it…"

The Murderer's Truth

She had changed.

Flying here wasn't so bad after all.

But.

It didn't change one thing.

She was still a murderer.

Well.

At least—

To the eyes of the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping Force.

The Ace, The Betrayal, and The Questions Left Unanswered

Hours Later – The Landing

The three lone fighters touched down on the icy runway of Korovograd Air Force Base.

The landing felt different.

Not because of the cold winds whipping past, or the distant echoes of aircraft engines winding down, but because Furina had finally earned something in this godforsaken place—respect.

She taxied her Rafale M to its designated spot, parking beside Clorinde's Su-27 and Wriothesley's Mirage 2000-5.

The other planes were already there.

The cowards.

They had landed first, after running like frightened dogs when the drones came.

Furina sighed, removing her helmet and mask, resting them in her lap. Her pulse was still racing.

She had just earned Ace. Again.

Yet, none of it mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Because in the eyes of the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping Force—

She was still a murderer.

The Debriefing – Judgment Passed

Furina, Clorinde, and Wriothesley arrived at the Briefing Room, where Commander Jakob was already waiting.

His face was stone-cold.

His gaze burned holes into the retreating pilots who sat stiffly, awaiting their punishment.

Then, he spoke.

"Alright. Rapperia. Wolfbite. Waltz.

Mission accomplished.

Job well done. You three get a pass."

The trio stood in silence.

Then—his eyes shifted to the others.

His expression darkened.

"As for the rest of you—"

His voice dripped with disgust.

"Some of you ran to the resupply base. The rest of you retreated like fucking pussies."

The retreating pilots shifted in their seats, avoiding eye contact.

"So how about you think about your actions... in solitary?"

The room tensed.

Then—

"Take them away."

The doors slammed open, and armed guards flooded in.

The retreating pilots had no time to protest before they were hauled out of their seats and dragged away like criminals.

Not even given the dignity of walking out on their own.

The doors slammed shut behind them.

Silence.

Then—Commander Jakob turned back toward them.

His gaze softened, just a little.

"The three of you. Dismissed. Good work."

With that, he left.

The three of them exhaled—not out of relief, but out of exhaustion.

They stood together, none of them moving for a moment.

Then—Clorinde turned toward Furina, grinning.

"Well, once again, Furina. You got Ace. Nicely done!"

Wriothesley nodded, crossing his arms.

"With your performance in the last operation and this one… it really does prove you're not the one who shot the President."

Furina shook her head, letting out a humorless chuckle.

"But I'm here, aren't I?"

Her voice held no emotion.

Clorinde scoffed, her expression hardening.

"Those pricks at the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping can go fuck themselves.

They needed a scapegoat, so they chose you.

Fuck them."

Furina blinked.

For a moment, she just stared at Clorinde, as if processing those words.

Then—

A chuckle escaped her lips.

Then another.

And another.

For the first time since she was thrown into this hellhole, she laughed.

"Y-Yeah.

Fuck them."

Clorinde smirked. "Damn right."

Then, she clapped a hand on Furina's shoulder.

"Come on. Let's get some food. My treat."

Furina hesitated for only a second.

Then—she nodded.

For once, in this godforsaken squadron—

She had two people who had her back.

For once—

She felt somewhat at peace.

But.

Something still troubled her.

A lingering question burned in the back of her mind.

Why did the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping Force make her a scapegoat?

And despite her performances… why find her guilty?