Naval Attack
A New Dawn – Captain Furina Takes Flight
Two Days Later…
The sun steadily climbed over Iron Gale Air Force Base, casting golden hues across the tarmac. The morning light painted the world in soft amber, stretching long shadows across the runway. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily in the sky, and the crisp air carried the familiar scent of earth, steel, and jet fuel—a scent Furina had long associated with home.
She had just woken up.
Groggy from sleep, she leaned against the open window of her quarters, letting the cool wind brush against her face.
Deep breath.
Her silver-blue hair shifted slightly in the morning breeze, strands catching the sunlight in a shimmering cascade. Her gaze wandered beyond the base, past the rolling hills and toward the endless horizon.
A moment of quiet. A moment of reflection.
Five days.
Five days since her arrival at Iron Gale. Five days since she had left behind the Teyvat Spare Squadron—the infamous Drowned Squadron, a penal unit of the disgraced and discarded.
Two days ago, she had been reinstated as a First Lieutenant in the Teyvat Air Force.
That same day, a new squadron had been formed within the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group.
A squadron named after her.
Waltz Squadron.
And just yesterday—
There had been a ceremony.
The memory played back in her mind.
Her return to the official ranks. The sharp salute. The sound of her new rank being announced.
First Lieutenant Furina de Fontaine… No.
Captain Furina.
A slow, steady breath escaped her lips as a smirk crept onto her face.
She had finally made it.
Through the turbulence, through the disgrace, through the lowest point of her life—when the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping Force had found her guilty of assassinating the former president, Ms. Imena.
A crime she never committed.
She had been treated as a traitor.
Abandoned.
Stripped of everything.
But now?
Now, she was back.
Her eyes shifted to the small desk in the corner of her room.
A single, neatly folded letter rested atop it.
The final report on the investigation into President Imena's death.
Furina stepped forward, fingers brushing against the envelope's smooth surface.
The Truth Behind the Kill.
An enemy F/A-18 had fired the missile that took down the former president's V-22 Osprey.
The shocking part?
The Teyvat Air Force's Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) system had tagged the enemy jet as a friendly aircraft.
Her smirk faded.
Her grip on the envelope tightened.
"How in the hell did Snezhnaya spoof our IFF system into tagging an enemy as friendly?"
That shouldn't have been possible.
Her mind raced.
Snezhnaya did operate F/A-18s. They also had F-35s—aircraft identical to those in the Teyvat Air Force.
Could that be it? Could Snezhnaya have manipulated the system using the same aircraft models?
It wasn't impossible. But something still didn't add up.
Her jaw clenched.
"No… There has to be more to this."
A deep breath.
Her eyes flicked to the clock.
08:00 AM.
A sigh escaped her lips.
"No time to dwell on this now. We've got an operation today."
Back to reality.
The cold water from the faucet jolted her fully awake, shocking her senses as it cascaded over her hands and face.
The past could wait.
Today was all that mattered.
Dressed for Battle
Minutes later, Furina sat on the edge of her bed, adjusting the straps of her flight suit.
Zip— The front zipper slid up smoothly, locking the suit in place.
Strap— She secured the harness snugly against her shoulders.
Boots— Brown combat boots laced up tight, secured with practiced precision.
A step forward. A slight bend of her foot. Perfect fit.
Her fingers reached for the final piece—
Her helmet.
Lifting it carefully, she stared into the reflective visor.
For a brief moment, she saw her reflection.
Not the broken pilot who had been cast aside.
Not the scapegoat of a political disaster.
No.
She was Captain Furina.
A smirk returned to her lips.
"Welcome back, Captain Furina."
Time to Fly
A glance at her watch.
08:45 AM.
Right on time.
Helmet tucked under her arm, shoulders squared, she strode toward the door.
No hesitation.
No doubts.
No fear.
Just Captain Furina de Fontaine—
Pilot of the Rafale Évolution.
Leader of Waltz Squadron.
A soldier of the skies.
She smirked.
"Let's get going."
With that, she stepped out of her quarters, her boots echoing against the floor as she walked with purpose toward the briefing room.
A new mission awaited.
Mission Briefing
As soon as Furina stepped into the briefing room, she was met with something unexpected.
Smiles.
The room buzzed with an unusual energy.
The pilots of Primordial Squadron and her newly-formed Waltz Squadron were already waiting—some leaning against tables, others standing with arms crossed. And every single one of them was grinning.
And, of course—
Amber was the first to speak.
She stood at the center of the room, arms crossed, wearing that ever-present, cocky smirk.
"There's our fresh-faced Captain!" she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.
The moment the words left her mouth—
The entire room erupted into applause.
Furina blinked. Then she sighed, shaking her head, unable to stop a smirk from forming.
"Alright, alright," she waved them off, adjusting her helmet under her arm. "Let's not waste time. We've got a mission to do."
Jean chuckled from the front of the room, arms folded behind her back.
"Right, Captain Furina," she said smoothly. "Let's begin."
With a click, the display screen flickered to life, revealing a tactical satellite image of Northern Snezhnaya.
A single location was highlighted in bold red—
Naval Base Cerberus.
Surrounded by ice-covered waters, ringed with fortified defenses.
Jean stepped forward, her voice steady, commanding.
"First, a welcome to the new faces of the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group.
Her gaze swept the room, landing on Furina, Wriothesley, and Clorinde.
"Furina, Wriothesley, and Clorinde—Waltz, Wolfbite, and Rapperia, respectively."
Her eyes flicked back to the room as she continued.
"We've been hearing nothing but praise about the three of you. And so far? You're proving to be some of the most valuable assets on this team."
Furina simply nodded.
She didn't need praise.
She needed results.
Jean didn't wait for a response. She turned, locking eyes on the display.
"Now, onto the mission."
The satellite image zoomed in, highlighting a massive cluster of red markers.
Each one representing an enemy aircraft.
But not just any aircraft.
AI-controlled drones.
Jean's expression darkened.
"Our counteroffensive has been slowing down due to a massive swarm of AI-controlled drones equipped with an automated interception system."
The screen adjusted, displaying live flight data from previous engagements.
*"The moment an unauthorized aircraft enters Snezhnayan airspace—these drones are immediately dispatched.
Intercept. Engage. Eliminate."*
The air in the room shifted.
Furina clenched her jaw.
Automated interception?
That explained everything.
Jean exhaled sharply, her voice heavy.
*"We lost dozens of pilots just trying to figure out how this system operates.
Only four survived those missions."*
The weight of those words crushed the room.
Silence.
Amber's usual playful demeanor dimmed.
Clorinde folded her arms, her face unreadable.
Wriothesley exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
Jean continued.
"However… we discovered a blind spot in their intercept network."
The map adjusted again, focusing on a narrow corridor along the icy coastline of Northern Snezhnaya.
Jean pointed at the screen.
"It's a small gap, but a crucial one. If we don't exploit it now, the enemy will seal it. This is our one chance to strike before it's gone."
Her voice hardened.
"Which is why this operation is happening now."
The screen flickered again, displaying a meticulously plotted flight path.
A carefully designed low-altitude route weaving through the Snezhnayan coastline, threading the needle between radar coverage and drone patrol routes.
"Our objective? Cripple enemy naval operations before they can launch an offensive against our forces in the south."
The map zoomed in once more, revealing three high-priority targets.
Mission Objectives – High-Value Targets
Target 1: Floating Air Base
A massive aircraft carrier, stationed in the frozen waters of Fort Cerberus.
Serves as a primary launch point for enemy squadrons.
Eliminate it, and we cripple their aerial reinforcements.
Target 2: Floating Supply Base
A heavily fortified logistics hub built on reinforced ice platforms.
Supplies enemy warships and submarines.
Destroy it, and we starve their navy.
Target 3: The Permafrost Armada
A fleet of warships, including aircraft carriers, destroyers, and cruisers.
Currently preparing for an offensive strike.
Sink them now, and we prevent a full-scale war.
Jean's gaze hardened.
"We've known for some time that this supply base has been a lifeline for the enemy navy."
She glanced at the room.
"If we strike hard and fast, we may cripple their operations before they even have the chance to launch their attack."
A three-pronged assault.
A full-scale aerial raid.
Furina folded her arms, her mind already forming a plan.
Amber let out a low whistle. "So, in short, we're about to turn their entire navy into scrap metal?"
Jean smirked. "That's the idea."
A ripple of agreement passed through the room.
Jean's expression, however, remained serious.
"That said… we expect heavy resistance."
She turned back to the display.
"The enemy's advanced fleet is already on high alert. If they detect us early, they won't hesitate to launch a counterattack."
She exhaled, then glanced back at the squadron rosters.
Squadron Updates – Reinforcements
"To ensure mission success, we've made adjustments to our squad compositions."
A new update flashed onto the personnel roster.
"Primordial Four and Primordial Six will be reassigned to Waltz Squadron as Waltz Four and Waltz Five."
Waltz Squadron was growing.
Furina absorbed the information without hesitation.
The more firepower, the better.
Jean's gaze swept the room.
Then, her voice lowered.
"One last thing."
The atmosphere tensed.
*"Machines can be replaced.
Lives cannot."*
Silence.
Furina clenched her fists.
"Understood."
Jean's expression softened slightly.
Then—
She shut off the display, grabbing her helmet.
"Alright. Waltz Squadron, Primordial Squadron—prepare for sortie."
The Storm Approaches
The pilots stood in unison, grabbing their helmets and flight gear.
Furina adjusted the strap on her flight suit, taking a slow breath.
Jean placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Let's make history, Captain Furina."
Furina smirked.
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Captain Jean."
With that, they marched out of the briefing room, making their way toward the hangars.
Engines would soon roar to life.
Missiles would be armed.
The sky would be theirs.
And Northern Snezhnaya was about to feel the full force of the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group.
The Final Preparations
The massive hangars loomed over the taxiway, their enormous doors yawning open to reveal rows of war machines—sleek, deadly, and poised to take to the skies at a moment's notice. The pre-dawn chill lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of jet fuel and hydraulic fluid.
To the left, five aircraft stood proudly, their canopies reflecting the pale morning sunlight—Waltz Squadron.
To the right, an equally lethal set of fighters, lined up in perfect formation—Primordial Squadron, their F-15E Strike Eagles poised like hunting falcons, awaiting the order to take flight.
Scattered across the tarmac, ground crews worked with precision, their fluorescent vests stark against the metallic sheen of the aircraft. The crackle of radios, the hum of auxiliary power units, and the distant whine of jet engines warming up filled the air.
Waltz Squadron – The Vanguard of the Sky
Hangar Pilot Aircraft
Hangar 1 Furina Rafale M Evolution (Squadron Leader, Waltz One)
Hangar 2 Wriothesley Rafale M (Waltz Three)
Hangar 3 Clorinde Rafale M (Waltz Two)
Hangar 4 Eula F-15E Strike Eagle (Waltz Four)
Hangar 5 Collei F-15E Strike Eagle (Waltz Five)
A New Face Among the Ranks
Furina adjusted her flight suit as she approached her aircraft, the early morning air cool against her skin. She was intercepted by none other than Collei, the youngest member of the squadron.
The girl hesitated, clearly nervous, before stiffening and speaking.
"H-Hey, Captain Furina?"
Furina chuckled, turning to give her a sideways glance.
"No need to be so formal, Collei. Just Furina will do."
Collei gasped, suddenly flustered.
"Oh! Umm… Right!"
A moment of silence.
Then—
"I just wanted to say—it's a pleasure flying with you today."
Her voice carried genuine admiration.
"D-Did you pick us for the equalization of the squadrons?"
Furina nodded.
"That's right. Five on each squadron evens us out. Makes it fair, non?~"
Collei beamed, nodding enthusiastically.
"Right!"
With that, the two parted ways—Collei hurrying off toward her F-15E, while Furina turned toward Hangar 1, where her Dassault Rafale M Evolution stood waiting.
Furina's Lead Aircraft – A Symbol of Waltz Squadron
Unlike the standard gray camouflage of the Fontaine Air Force or any other Teyvatian air branch, Furina's Rafale M was a one-of-a-kind masterpiece.
Freshly cleaned, polished, and detailed, her lead flight aircraft had received new additions to its already-distinctive livery.
The Markings of a Leader
On the trailing tip of her vertical stabilizer, now gleamed a bold "01", marking her as the squadron leader.
The same number adorned both the top and bottom of her left wing.
But that wasn't all.
The right wing bore the insignia of Waltz Squadron—a symbol now carried by every aircraft in the unit:
A dark blue circular emblem, with outstretched gold-outlined wings.
At the center, Furina's golden crown emblem stood proudly.
A faint sky-blue background featured a stylized image of her Rafale M, soaring skyward.
At the bottom of the circle, bold lettering displayed the name of her squadron:
"Escadron de Chasse 1013 – La Waltz"
Ironically, the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping Force designated them as the 1013th Squadron.
Her birthday.
Furina smirked at the coincidence.
An emblem she had designed herself.
Now, that same insignia was plastered onto every aircraft in Waltz Squadron—on the tail, and the top and bottom of the right wing.
Yet, there was one major difference.
On every other aircraft, the crown emblem was black.
But on her Rafale Evolution?
It remained gold.
A final addition, exclusive to her aircraft:
"Armée de l'Air" was neatly stenciled below the tail, a subtle yet powerful reminder of her origins.
Furina ran a gloved hand along the smooth metal, feeling the coolness of the fuselage beneath her fingertips.
A smirk tugged at her lips.
"Now it's truly a lead flight aircraft."
Final Mission Preparations
She climbed the integrated ladder and settled into the ejection seat, securing the harness as she glanced at her flight plan—already pre-loaded into the cockpit.
The TACAN waypoints stretched along the eastern coast, leading northward toward the mission area.
A mid-air refueling operation was planned close to the target zone—a crucial factor in maintaining endurance deep inside enemy airspace.
She donned her helmet and oxygen mask, sealing herself into the cockpit before closing the canopy with a press of a button.
Her radio crackled to life.
"Waltz Squadron, check in."
The responses came swiftly.
"Waltz Two, checking in." (Clorinde)
"Waltz Three, checking in." (Wriothesley)
"Waltz Four, ready to roll!" (Eula)
"Waltz Five, let's do this thing!" (Collei)
Furina's smirk widened.
"Alright. Let's do this."
With a flick of the switch—
The twin M88-4E engines roared to life.
The whine of the turbines quickly became a thunderous hum, vibrating through the airframe.
Sortie – Takeoff Sequence
Primordial Squadron was the first to taxi out, their F-15E Strike Eagles rolling onto the runway in perfect formation.
One by one, at 30-second intervals, they roared down the tarmac and lifted into the pale morning sky.
Then—
It was Waltz Squadron's turn.
Furina led the pack.
Her Rafale M was the first to taxi onto the runway, followed by:
Clorinde's Rafale M
Wriothesley's Rafale M
Eula's F-15E Strike Eagle
Collei's F-15E Strike Eagle
A final radio check before departure.
"Waltz One, taking off."
The afterburners ignited, sending a blazing plume of heat rippling through the air.
She throttled up—
The aircraft surged forward, racing down the runway.
As she reached rotation speed, she gently pulled back on the stick.
The nose lifted.
The landing gear left the ground.
She was airborne.
"Waltz One, airborne."
One by one, the others followed—
And the first long-range mission of Waltz Squadron had begun.
Far ahead—
Northern Snezhnaya awaited.
Mid-Air Refueling
Northern Snezhnaya – Airborne, High Altitude
The hours had stretched on, the unbroken expanse of icy wasteland below serving as a stark contrast to the infinite blue above. The sky was a vast ocean of white and azure, speckled only by the occasional wisp of cloud.
Beneath them, the frozen hellscape of Northern Snezhnaya lay in silent, unforgiving stillness—an endless, inhospitable void of ice and desolation that knew no warmth.
They were close now.
The Permafrost Armada lay just beyond the horizon. Their targets were within striking range.
But before the storm could begin—before they could unleash their firepower—they needed fuel.
The Beast That Kept Them Flying
The KC-767, their aerial lifeline, loomed ahead, orbiting high above the frigid landscape. Its massive wingspan cut through the sky with a steady hum, a stark contrast to the sleek, aggressive fighter jets forming up around it.
A steady, lumbering beast amidst a pack of hunters.
Its long refueling boom extended and retracted in precise, mechanical motions, reaching out like the feeding arm of a creature that sustained them all.
One by one, the other pilots had already refueled—their aircraft topped off, their engines humming with renewed power, ready to return to the hunt.
Now?
It was Furina's turn.
Her first time refueling mid-air.
The Approach – A Test of Precision
Furina swallowed, her hands firm on the sidestick, her breath slow and controlled.
She had trained for this countless times in the simulator, had gone through the motions over and over again until they were second nature.
But now?
Now it was real.
The radio crackled, a calm, experienced voice cutting through the comms.
"Waltz One, your turn. I'll guide you to the probe."
Furina exhaled sharply, her eyes locking onto the tanker's refueling probe as it extended.
"Wilco. Commencing approach."
She nudged the throttle forward with delicate precision, her Rafale M inching closer. The gap shrank second by second.
The tanker loomed large in her canopy view, its wake a pocket of turbulent air that threatened to throw her off course.
Every movement had to be precise.
Every adjustment had to be calculated.
One wrong move?
She'd break contact—or worse, damage the probe.
Her gloved fingers made minute corrections on the stick, micro-adjusting pitch and roll. The tanker operator's voice remained steady, guiding her in.
"Perfect alignment, Waltz. Keep coming."
She stole a glance at her HUD—her eyes flicking between the attitude indicator, the fuel probe, and the tanker's boom.
Her focus narrowed.
This was just like the simulator.
Only this time—there was no reset button.
The distance closed.
Her refueling probe lined up perfectly with the tanker's boom.
Then—
Contact.
A slight jolt.
A hiss of compressed air.
The probe latched on, locking into place.
The indicator on her HUD confirmed it.
Fuel transfer initiated.
Approval from the Skies
The tanker operator's voice returned—this time with clear approval in his tone.
"Perfect, Waltz! Fuel is pumping!"
Then—
Jean's voice cut through the comms, smooth and confident.
"That's a perfect strike, Waltz. Good work!"
Furina exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, allowing herself to relax—just a little.
"I won't lie—this was my first time!"
Immediately—
A familiar voice shot in, laced with laughter and teasing.
"First time, my ass!"
Mavuika.
TAC Name – Kiongozi.
A seasoned pilot from Primordial Squadron, hailing from Natlan.
"You did it like you're a natural!"
Furina smirked, shaking her head.
"Not a chance in hell, Kiongozi. It legit is my first time."
"I know that!" Mavuika shot back. "I was being sarcastic!"
A chuckle escaped Furina. The tension of the moment melted away, replaced by something warmer.
This—this was the kind of camaraderie that made missions worth it.
Fully Fueled, Fully Armed
Minutes passed, the fuel gauge climbing, the weight of the aircraft shifting slightly as her tanks filled to capacity.
Then—
The tanker operator came back on the radio.
"Waltz One, refueling complete. You're cleared to detach from the probe."
Furina's response was immediate.
"Wilco. Detaching probe."
She eased off the throttle, letting her aircraft drift backward with surgical precision.
A soft hiss—then a metallic clunk as the probe retracted back into the KC-10's boom.
The operator's final message crackled through.
"Probe detached, Waltz. Stay safe out there!"
Furina gave a quick nod, even though they couldn't see her.
"Much appreciated. See you on the way back."
She smoothly rolled left, her Rafale M tilting as she rejoined the formation.
Now?
Now they were fully fueled.
Fully armed.
Fully ready.
The Calm Before the Storm
She fell into position, forming up beside Primordial One, with the rest of the squadron slotting in beside her.
Ahead of them?
The frozen waters of Northern Snezhnaya.
The Permafrost Armada.
A nightmare of steel, ice, and fire.
A fortress of warships, aircraft carriers, and missile platforms.
And Waltz and Primordial Squadron?
They were coming for them.
Furina tightened her grip on the stick, her eyes sharp, her breath steady.
No more refueling.
No more preparation.
The next time they pulled the trigger?
It would be for real.
And Northern Snezhnaya would never forget the name—
WALTZ SQUADRON.
The Frigid Skies of Northern Snezhnaya – Engaging the Floating Bases
The squadron roared through the bitter winds of Northern Snezhnaya, slicing through the pale blue sky like sharpened blades.
Below them, the blackened waters of the frozen sea stretched endlessly, dotted with massive icebergs and jagged ridges of glacial ice.
And ahead?
The floating supply bases of Fort Cerberus—massive mechanical beasts upon the icy waves.
Steel platforms, linked together in a complex network of refueling stations, armories, and repair docks—the very lifeline of the Permafrost Armada.
Their mission was clear.
Destroy them.
Furina kept her formation flawless beside Jean's F-15E Strike Eagle, her eyes locked onto the distant platforms.
To her left—Waltz Squadron.
To Jean's right—Primordial Squadron.
Each aircraft held steady, their engines roaring with restrained power, waiting for the moment to strike.
Then—
The radio crackled, and a familiar voice came through—lighthearted yet focused.
AWACS Visionaire.
"Hope y'all don't mind, but I'm gonna eat while I work. My judgment kinda goes fuzzy if I get hungry. Oh, anyways—Commence Operation!"
Furina chuckled, shaking her head.
"A-Alright… Waltz Squadron—Engage!"
She slammed the throttles forward, the Rafale M Evolution roaring as she led the charge along the coastline.
One by one, her squadron followed.
"Waltz Two, engaging!" (Clorinde)
"Waltz Three, engaging!" (Wriothesley)
"Waltz Four, engaging!" (Eula)
"Waltz Five, engaging!" (Collei)
On the other side, Primordial Squadron called in, their formation locked tight.
The moment of battle had arrived.
Approaching the Valley – Floating Supply Base in Sight
Furina banked left, leading her team into the icy valley.
The air grew tense.
Below them—nothing but the cold abyss of the northern ocean, stretching between glacial icebergs and jagged rock formations.
The valley was wide—large enough to turn into a dogfighting hellscape if it came to that.
Then—
Contact.
The Floating Supply Base came into view.
A massive fortress, floating atop the darkened waves, designed like a network of interconnected oil refineries, heavily fortified and bristling with defenses.
Furina's eyes flicked across her HUD, scanning for vulnerabilities.
There.
A central core unit at the heart of the structure.
Possibly a weak point.
She muttered under her breath.
"If I hit the core, the whole damn thing has to collapse."
But her IFF system wasn't detecting it as a designated target yet.
Her lips curled into a smirk.
Fine.
If the system wouldn't recognize it, she'd make it recognize it.
Furina flipped her HUD mode, switching to manual gun sights.
No lock-on.
No guided missiles.
Just pure, precise shooting.
She aligned her crosshairs.
Her grip tightened.
Then—
She squeezed the trigger.
The 30mm cannon barked to life.
A hailstorm of bullets ripped into the supply base's core.
Sparks flew.
Metal groaned.
She stayed on course, getting closer—closer—
Then—
BOOM.
A massive explosion erupted from the core unit.
A towering fireball shot skyward, sending flaming debris tumbling into the ocean below.
Jean's voice broke through the comms, shocked.
"What was that!?"
Then—AWACS Visionaire, food probably halfway to his mouth.
"Huh!? What happened!?"
Collei's voice came next—half shock, half excitement.
"Waltz just took out the base's core! Very clever!"
Jean's tone shifted—impressed.
"Alright, Waltz! Everyone—target the cores!"
Their IFF displays flickered, updating with new targeting data.
The entire squadron now had the structural weaknesses marked.
"Data has been sent. Go get 'em, tigers," AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
Furina grinned, her adrenaline surging.
"Alright. Let's show them the same hospitality!"
The Supply Bases Crumble – Targeting the Cores
Collei locked onto the second supply base.
TONE.
LOCK.
"Fox Three!"
A LACM missile streaked through the air.
The base's automated defense system roared to life.
CIWS turrets spun.
Tracers filled the sky.
Missiles launched.
But—
Too late.
The missile punched through, slamming into the central core.
Then—
BOOM.
A fireball erupted, flames blooming outward as metal collapsed, sending twisted wreckage plunging into the freezing sea.
"Waltz Five, that's a hit!" AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
"Alright!" Collei cheered.
Then—
A new alert flashed across their HUDs.
"Enemy fighters inbound!" AWACS Justice warned.
"They launched from the Floating Air Base up northwest!"
Jean wasted no time.
"Take out the remaining supply base! We don't have much time before the enemy interceptors get here!"
All the while, Raiden got a lock.
"Fox Three!"
The missile streaked away—but missed.
It slammed into reinforced concrete, exploding harmlessly.
"Damn it!" Raiden cursed.
AWACS Visionaire cut in.
"Raiden, that's a miss! The core is covered by heavy concrete walls!"
Furina's eyes darted across the structure, analyzing.
Then she spotted it.
"Raiden! Aim for the support beam underneath!"
"Wilco! Making another pass!"
Raiden looped around, dropping altitude to get a clear shot.
Meanwhile, Furina lined up her sights on the fifth base's core.
Two locks.
Two tones.
Two missiles away.
"Fox Three!"
"Bombs away!"
Both missiles struck true.
The bases erupted in fiery unison, collapsing like dominoes.
"That's the valley base down!" AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
But there was no time to celebrate.
Waltz Squadron's Next Move – Decision Time
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut through the comms.
"Primordial Squadron's in a dogfight. They can hold their own, but you have a choice—support them or take out the floating airbase. Your call, Waltz One."
Furina didn't hesitate.
"Alright. Waltz Four and Five—break off and support Primordial Squadron. Waltz Two and Three—we're taking out that floating airbase!"
"Wilco! Waltz Five, breaking off!" (Collei)
"Roger! Waltz Four, breaking off!" (Eula)
The two F-15s veered back, heading for the dogfight.
Furina, Clorinde, and Wriothesley pressed forward.
Their Rafales cut through the icy winds of Northern Snezhnaya, afterburners blazing as they closed the distance to their target.
Then, it loomed into view.
A floating fortress. A steel behemoth hovering over the frozen sea, built to dominate the skies. The Floating Air Base.
It was a city of war—
Runways stretched across reinforced platforms.
Hangars packed with fighters.
Anti-air turrets bristling like spines.
Beneath it, three massive core structures pulsed with energy, feeding life into the entire base like a mechanical heart.
It was the enemy's nerve center for air superiority in this region.
And Waltz Squadron was going to rip it apart.
Furina's voice came over the comms, sharp and focused.
"I have a visual on the target."
Clorinde's Rafale banked slightly, her tone calm but intense.
"They have cores! Just like the floating supply base."
Furina's blue eyes locked onto the reactor units. Thick armor plating gleamed beneath the structure.
This was it. Their chance to shatter enemy air power in one decisive strike.
She tightened her grip on the stick.
"Alright. Waltz Two and Three—form up on my wings. Follow my lead!"
Clorinde's voice crackled through.
"Wilco, Waltz One. Falling in on your left."
"Roger, forming up to your right," Wriothesley responded, steady as ever.
The trio slipped into a tight formation—
A deadly arrow aimed at the heart of the enemy stronghold.
The target loomed larger.
Their HUDs blinked.
Three locks.
Three tones.
Furina's lips curled into a smirk.
"Fox Three!"
Her LACM streaked forward, a burning trail cutting through the sky toward the middle core.
"Fox Three!" Clorinde called, her missile tearing toward the left core.
"Fox Three!" Wriothesley followed, sending his payload toward the right.
"Everyone, break away! Get ready for a dogfight!" Furina barked.
The three pilots split instantly—
Furina yanked her stick back, climbing hard.
Clorinde veered left, breaking wide.
Wriothesley nosed down, diving low.
Scattering before the enemy could get a lock.
Then—
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The Floating Air Base erupted.
Three blinding fireballs burst in succession. Shockwaves ripped through the valley. Flames and debris shot skyward, shattering steel and concrete.
The entire structure groaned as it collapsed.
Runways snapped in half.
Support beams gave way.
A massive chunk of the airbase plunged into the frozen waters below.
AWACS Justice's voice came through, triumphant.
"Waltz One, Two, and Three—the Floating Air Base is destroyed! Nice work!"
Furina exhaled, her grip easing on the stick.
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
But before she could enjoy the moment—
ALERT.
New IFF signatures.
Multiple.
The battle wasn't over yet.
"Heads up, Waltz Squadron! Bandits inbound—old-generation fighters, but still dangerous if they swarm you!"
AWACS Visionaire's voice was sharp, cutting through the comms like a warning bell.
The radar flared red.
From the stormy clouds, a swarm of enemy aircraft broke through—F-14 Tomcats, F-4 Phantoms, MiG-21s.
Old warbirds. Relics of past conflicts. Outdated by modern standards—but lethal in the right hands.
And they had numbers.
Furina's instincts kicked in.
She snapped her head toward a MiG-21 slicing through the sky, its silver fuselage glinting as it desperately twisted to evade her.
Too slow.
She mirrored every dodge, every desperate roll.
Tone. Lock.
"You're mine."
"Fox Two!"
The Sidewinder detached from her wing, spiraling toward its mark.
BOOM.
The MiG erupted into flames, its shattered fuselage spiraling downward, debris scattering like embers in the sky.
"Splash one, Waltz!" AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
Furina was already locking onto her next target when—
A shadow passed over her cockpit.
An F-14 Tomcat streaked overhead, its massive wings casting a fleeting eclipse over her Rafale.
Big mistake.
She smirked, rolling her shoulders.
"You fucking dumbass."
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
The AIM-9 Sidewinder shrieked off the rail.
The Tomcat's pilot panicked—banked hard—too late.
The missile struck dead center.
KA-THOOM!
A fireball engulfed the jet, flames licking across its wings as it shattered into molten wreckage, plunging toward the frozen sea below.
"Another splash for Waltz One!" AWACS confirmed.
Then—
Blaring alarm.
"WALTZ ONE! MISSILE INBOUND!"
Furina's pulse spiked.
Her eyes flicked to the HUD—mid-turn.
Shit.
A normal pilot would panic. Drop flares too early. Try to outrun it.
But Furina wasn't a normal pilot.
She grinned.
"Let's dance."
She kicked the rudder hard right—then snapped left.
Then—twisted the stick violently and pulled hard.
Her Rafale spun—a full 360-degree yaw mid-air.
The sudden flat spin should have been a death sentence.
But she wasn't losing control.
She was in control.
The missile streaked past—missing by mere inches.
Then—**with one fluid motion—**she corrected, punching the throttle forward, her Rafale snapping back into a streamlined path.
For a moment, the battlefield seemed to pause.
Then—
"HOLY SHIT, DID YOU SEE THAT!?"
It was Primordial Two—Amber, practically screaming over comms.
"That was fucking awesome!"
"What!? What!?" Collei's voice crackled in, desperate for answers.
"Waltz One just pulled off a 360 Yaw Evasion!" Ningguang, her voice laced with awe.
Furina only chuckled, shaking her head.
But her eyes locked onto her attacker.
An F-4 Phantom.
"Il est temps de rencontrer votre créateur."
She lined up her shot.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three!"
The HCAA missile fired—streaking forward like a spear of vengeance.
The Phantom tried to evade—failed.
Direct hit.
The enemy jet was torn apart by the explosion, chunks of burning fuselage raining down like falling stars.
"Splash one, Waltz!" AWACS confirmed once more.
Then—
AWACS Visionaire's voice returned.
"With the air base destroyed, this must be the last of the interceptors. Primordial Squadron dealt with the ones from the base."
Furina exhaled, rolling her shoulders.
"Then let's not waste time."
Revised Version:
A new waypoint blinked on Furina's HUD.
"Onto the fleet to the northeast."
Her lips curled into a smirk. The enemy formation stretched across the icy waters—a fortress of steel bristling with firepower. Aircraft carriers, destroyers, and cruisers formed a tight defensive wall, their anti-air systems scanning the skies like watchful sentinels.
But no fleet was invincible.
"Wilco. Waltz One, engaging."
She pushed the throttle forward, her twin M88 engines roaring to full afterburner. The Rafale M surged ahead, slicing through the frigid air like a dagger poised to strike.
Dropping to wave-top level, she skimmed just meters above the ocean, the shockwave of her jet wake sending violent ripples across the water. At this altitude, radar detection was minimal—only the ship-mounted Phalanx CIWS turrets had a chance at stopping her.
Her HUD locked onto her first target—a Snezhnayan aircraft carrier.
Tone. Lock.
Her finger tensed over the weapon release.
"Fox Three!"
A Long-Range Cruise Missile (LACM) detached from beneath her wing, its rocket motor igniting in a burst of orange flame. The missile roared through the sky, its guidance fins adjusting for maximum precision.
Then—impact.
BOOM.
A blinding fireball consumed the carrier's island superstructure. The shockwave tore through the flight deck, sending aircraft and personnel into the abyss. Metal buckled. The towering command tower crumpled inward, flames billowing from its shattered remains. The massive warship listed to port, its once-mighty hull now a tomb of steel.
"Direct hit! That's the carrier down!" AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
Then—an urgent warning.
"All squadrons, listen up! The fleet has automated CIWS defense! Attack from extreme low altitude or high above!"
Furina's eyes narrowed. The Phalanx systems—30mm rotary cannons programmed for last-ditch defense—were already tracking her.
And then, across the Snezhnayan comms, a voice shrieked in fury:
"TAKE THAT PLANE WITH THE GOLD CROWN OUT OF THE SKY!"
Furina chuckled darkly.
"Try it, connard."
Breaking the Fleet
She banked hard, lining up another run.
Her HUD flickered, locking onto a Snezhnayan cruiser.
The ship's radar arrays swiveled toward her, trying to pinpoint her approach. Too slow.
Tone. Lock.
"Bon voyage."
Her second LACM streaked away, hugging the deck before slamming into the vessel's center mass.
BOOM.
The explosion ignited the magazine storage.
The ship's hull cracked open, a monstrous fireball consuming everything above deck. The forward section of the cruiser split clean off, sinking almost instantly.
"Another one down, Waltz!" AWACS Visionaire called.
Then—more detonations.
"Primordial One, cruiser down!"
"Primordial Five, cruiser down!"
"Waltz Three, another cruiser down!"
The Snezhnayan fleet was collapsing.
Their once-disciplined comms dissolved into hysteria.
"We've lost 40% of the fleet! We have to surrender!"
"NO! WE SNEZHNAYANS DON'T SURRENDER! FIRE EVERYTHING!"
But there was nothing left to fire.
From above, Primordial Squadron rained hell.
From below, Waltz Squadron shredded their defenses.
This wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
Furina turned her sights to the centerpiece of the Permafrost Armada—their flagship carrier. The pride of the fleet. The Snezhnayan symbol of naval supremacy.
She'd erase it.
Tone. Lock.
"Bon voyage, connard."
Her last LACM streaked forward. The flagship's CIWS defenses fired, but the missile slipped through the chaotic barrage.
The warhead found its mark.
The reactor went critical.
BOOM.
Secondary explosions erupted along the ship's decks, sending debris skyward. The control tower disintegrated in a hellish inferno. Bulkheads twisted. The keel cracked. The entire supercarrier began its final descent beneath the waves.
Dogfight Over the Burning Fleet
Furina yanked the stick back, pulling into a steep climb.
Her Rafale shuddered under the G-forces, the airframe straining. A fraction of a second too late, and she'd have slammed into the ocean.
"That's too close, Furina!" she muttered, leveling out.
Jean's voice crackled through the comms.
"Good save, Waltz! I need backup with these bandits!"
Furina snapped her nose up, locking onto a hovering AH-64 Apache.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two."
Her Sidewinder missile screeched off the rail.
The Apache had no chance.
BOOM.
The gunship burst into flames, its shredded fuselage spiraling into the sea.
"Splash one, Waltz!" AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
Meanwhile, Jean was tailing an F-14A Tomcat. The older jet twisted desperately, but its left engine sputtered—smoke trailing from the intake.
Jean grinned.
"A compressor stall? Fatal mistake."
The Tomcat floundered, caught in a flat spin.
Jean didn't hesitate.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two."
Her Sidewinder struck true.
The Tomcat split in two, debris scattering into the ocean.
"Splash one, Primordial One!" AWACS called.
Then—a frantic distress call.
"I'M BEING LOCKED!"
It was Collei.
Furina's blood ran ice-cold.
She wrenched her jet into a sharp turn, scanning her HUD.
There—an MiG-21 was locked onto Collei's six.
The enemy pilot was moments from firing.
Not on my watch.
Furina clenched her jaw, adjusting her weapons. She wasn't in missile range yet—but she could force an opening.
"Come on, come on—GIVE ME TONE!"
BEEP. LOCK.
"Cullinen, BREAK LEFT!"
Collei rolled hard left—just in time.
"Fox Three!"
Her LRAAM screamed forward.
Direct hit—right through the MiG-21's cockpit.
BOOM.
The enemy fighter was obliterated.
"Splash one, Waltz!" AWACS confirmed.
Collei's breath hitched.
"T-Thanks for the save, Waltz!"
Furina smirked.
"Anytime, Cullinen."
Then—another explosion.
AWACS Visionaire's voice crackled through the comms.
"Splash one, Primordial One!"
And finally—
BOOM.
A final, cataclysmic detonation.
The last warship of the Permafrost Armada erupted, split apart by Primordial Squadron's final strike.
AWACS Visionaire's voice came through—clear. Final.
"That's the last of the fleet."
The entire Snezhnayan navy was gone.
Their war machine—reduced to flames, wreckage, and sinking steel.
The battle was over.
And Primordial and Waltz Squadron had won.
Mission Complete
Furina's Rafale M cut through the smoke-choked sky, its sleek frame bathed in the golden glow of the inferno below. The sea churned with the shattered remains of the Permafrost Armada—a graveyard of steel, fire, and sinking warships.
It was over.
The radio crackled to life, and AWACS Visionaire's voice boomed over the net, full of relief and triumph.
"All enemy targets destroyed! Let's all head home and pop ourselves a bottle of ice-cold beer!"
For the first time since the battle began, the comms erupted into cheers and laughter.
"Alright!"
"Let's go!"
"That's what I'm talking about!"
Furina smirked, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She clenched her fist and pumped the air twice, causing her Rafale to rock slightly in response.
"Hell yeah! Awesome work, Waltz Squadron!"
Jean's voice followed—calm, composed, yet unmistakably authoritative.
"And great work, Primordial Squadron. RTB."
They were going home.
Then, Eula's voice cut through the chatter—half-serious, half-amused, yet laced with something else. Respect? Maybe even a warning.
"Heh. Waltz is the one that chased off that experimental drone. She's the pilot that's up against a demon in that thing… and that squadron."
The comms fell silent for a second, the weight of her words settling in.
Then, she continued.
"She single-handedly chased down The Knave and gave her a few rounds into her ass. You all know where I'm getting at, right?"
The replies were immediate.
"Yep."
"That's right."
"Yeah."
Furina chuckled to herself but let them talk. She didn't need to say anything.
Eula wasn't done yet.
"If you were part of the enemy… and you saw a white, dark grey, sky blue, and deep blue aircraft with a gold crown painted on its tail break formation…"
A pause.
"I'd watch your ass. Or I'd say my last rites."
Silence.
Not hesitation.
Acknowledgment.
Waltz One wasn't just a callsign anymore.
It was a warning.
With the battle behind them, the two squadrons climbed to cruising altitude, their aircraft slicing through the sky like shadows against the setting sun.
Their next destination: Iron Gale Air Force Base.
A place where they could finally breathe.
At least… for now.
Mission Complete.
A Victorious Return
Hours later.
Every pilot had returned home.
Safe and sound.
No casualties.
No damage.
A flawless victory.
The mood in the briefing room was electric, despite the exhaustion that clung to everyone like a second skin.
At the front, Jean stood with her arms crossed, watching the mission replay on the display screen—flashes of fire, confirmed kills, and the slow, inevitable collapse of the enemy's naval fleet.
Then, she turned to face them, a rare, small smile forming.
"Good work, Waltz and Primordial Squadron. This operation was a massive success. We did more to cripple the enemy's naval strength than we anticipated."
She nodded toward the screen, her voice calm yet carrying the weight of absolute certainty.
"Because we took all of them out."
A ripple of pride swept through the room. Pilots exchanged glances, some grinning, others exhaling deeply, letting the reality of their victory sink in.
Jean continued, her tone steady but laced with significance.
"Because of this, our allies to the south can finally push their offensive northward."
But then, her expression shifted, her gaze sharpening like a blade.
And everyone knew.
This wasn't just a debrief.
It was a prelude.
"In addition, this allows us to prepare for our next operation."
The murmurs stopped.
The tension thickened.
Jean's blue eyes locked onto them, unwavering.
"Taking out the Sepharis Bird. The Karatel."
Silence.
No jokes.
No murmurs.
No relief.
Because they all knew.
That monster was still out there.
Jean exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her own exhaustion barely visible beneath her ironclad composure.
"We still have a long road ahead of us."
Her gaze softened just slightly.
"Get some rest while you can."
A final pause.
"Dismissed."
The briefing room erupted into motion.
Pilots stretched, sighing, cracking jokes, exchanging fist bumps as they filtered out. Some headed for the cafeteria, eager to celebrate their victory with hot food and cold drinks. Others made their way straight to their rooms, finally allowing exhaustion to drag them under.
But Furina?
She had somewhere else to be.
The Rooftop
The rooftop was quiet.
No war.
No comm chatter.
No alarms.
Just the distant hum of cooling jet engines and the occasional murmur of night-shift personnel below.
Furina stood at the edge, hands resting lightly on the railing, her gaze locked onto the vast night sky.
Tonight, it was clear.
Endless stars.
Shooting stars.
A celestial masterpiece painted across the heavens.
A breeze swept past, cool and crisp against her skin.
Her lips curled into a small, genuine smile—one that had nothing to do with battles, missions, or victories.
"Times like this put me at peace…"
She let out a slow breath, the cold air steadying the fire still simmering in her veins.
And then—something stirred inside her.
A different kind of peace.
One she hadn't known before.
Her mind drifted, flickering through images of her squadron.
Jean.
Eula.
Amber.
Collei.
Clorinde and Wriothesley.
And the others.
The people who fought beside her.
Who laughed with her.
Who had her back in the skies.
Her allies.
Her family.
Furina closed her eyes, letting that realization settle deep within her chest.
Then—softly, barely more than a breath—she whispered:
"Yeah… my family and allies."
And for the first time in a long, long while, Furina wasn't thinking about the next mission.
She was just living in this moment.
Under the stars.
At peace.