Real Silo? Or Fake Silo?

A War on the Brink

With the Sepharis Bird Karatel destroyed, the war had taken a decisive turn.

The occupied territories of Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, Sumeru, Fontaine, and Natlan were no longer under Snezhnayan control. In sweeping counteroffensives led by the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping Force (TUPF), the allied forces had shattered enemy lines, reclaiming cities, airfields, and key infrastructure.

The war was no longer about defense.

The allies were advancing.

Pushing deeper into mainland Snezhnaya, overwhelming enemy positions, and dismantling their once-feared war machine piece by piece.

In just three weeks, the momentum had shifted entirely. Eastern Snezhnaya was under allied control. The capital, Morepesok, was now within striking distance.

Victory was closer than ever.

But a cornered beast is the most dangerous.

Snezhnaya was desperate. And desperation? It bred destruction.

In a final, reckless gamble, the Snezhnayan High Command turned to a weapon they had hidden for over two years.

A weapon that could change everything.

A Ghost Resurfaces – The Razushitzel Submarine

Beneath the freezing Arctic waters, something stirred.

A classified Razu-class nuclear submarine.

More specifically—

The Razushitzel.

A twin nuclear reactor-powered super-submarine, not built for deterrence, but for obliteration.

For two and a half years, it had been believed lost—vanished beneath the ice, presumed to be resting in a watery grave.

That had been a lie.

Snezhnaya had secretly recovered it months before the war began. Fully intact. Fully operational. And its entire crew alive.

Now, the Snezhnayan Navy was racing to reactivate and recommission the beast into service.

And if they succeeded…

It could reverse everything.

Iron Gale Air Force Base – The Lull Before the Storm

The air at Iron Gale was too calm.

For three weeks, the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group (TSSG) had seen no deployments.

No sorties.

No enemy incursions.

No orders.

It felt unnatural.

Furina stood atop a maintenance ladder, a microfiber cloth in one hand and a glass cleaner spray in the other, carefully wiping down the canopy of her Dassault Rafale M.

The last time she had done this?

Months ago.

Before her exile.

Before Drowned Squadron.

Before everything.

The glass reflected her silver-blue hair, the sky stretching endlessly above her.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, exhaling sharply.

"Damn… I need to see some action."

A chuckle from below.

"Hopefully soon."

Furina glanced down.

Clorinde leaned against a maintenance cart, arms crossed, her usual calm expression unwavering.

"The operation to capture Morepesok is closing in fast."

Collei nodded, standing beside her. "Yeah, I'm sure Jean has something planned."

Eula stretched, rolling her shoulders. "Well, all we can do is wait for word from HQ."

Wriothesley scoffed, arms crossed. "Whatever it is, it better be worth this bullshit wait."

"Relax," Mavuika smirked, leaning against the hangar wall. "We're a strategic strike group, not the regular Air Force. We don't sortie just for the hell of it."

Ningguang nodded in agreement. "Exactly. The TSSG isn't like conventional squadrons. We're only deployed for high-impact missions—not daily skirmishes."

Furina continued wiping down the top of her canopy, thinking aloud.

"Right… so the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group recruits aces from all nations, oui?"

Amber grinned. "Yep! Each nation has its own air force—like the Mondstadt Air Force, Liyue's Sky Guard, and the Fontaine Armee De L'air. But the TSSG?"

She gestured around the hangar.

"We're the best of the best. Aces from all over."

She pointed to herself, Jean, and Eula.

"Jean, Eula, and I? Mondstadt Air Force—same squadron. Ningguang's from Liyue. Mavuika's Natlan. Ei's Inazuma."

Then she patted Collei on the shoulder.

"And this one? Youngest Air Force pilot in all of Teyvat. And the youngest ace, too."

Collei chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Yeah… Just turned nineteen back on May 8th. A week later, I got scrambled from Windrise Air Force Base to defend it."

Amber grinned wider.

"And out of thirty hostiles? She took down fourteen."

Furina froze.

"Fourteen?! Holy shit. My first sortie, I only bagged eleven!"

Before anyone could respond—

A new voice cut through the air.

New Orders

Ei, TAC name: Raiden, strode into the hangar, her footsteps steady.

"We've got new orders."

Everyone turned to her.

Jean.

Of course, it was Jean.

Furina glanced at her watch.

10:30 AM.

Finally.

She climbed down from the ladder, tossing the cloth and spray onto a nearby crate.

Taking a deep breath, she adjusted her flight suit, rolling her shoulders.

Then, with purpose, she strode forward—following the others toward the main building.

Because if Jean was calling a briefing, it meant one thing.

Shit was about to go down.

Operation Iron Sight

Iron Gale Air Force Base – Briefing Room

The atmosphere was heavy.

Not with exhaustion. Not with nerves.

Anticipation.

For three weeks, the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group (TSSG) had been dormant—waiting.

Now, that wait was over.

One by one, pilots filed into the briefing room, taking their seats. Some leaned forward, elbows on their knees. Others sat upright, arms crossed, silent.

At the front, Jean stood firm, posture unyielding, eyes scanning the room. Behind her, the display screen glowed a cold blue, casting shadows across the dimly lit space.

As the last pilot took their seat, she took a breath and began.

Mission Overview

"Alright. We've just received new orders from HQ."

All eyes were on her.

"This mission marks the end of our dormancy. As of now, the TSSG is officially on the offensive toward the capital."

The display changed, revealing a holographic map of Teyvat—territories split between red and blue.

Red: Enemy-controlled zones.

Blue: Allied-held territories.

Old data played first.

Three weeks ago, Snezhnaya dominated the map.

Red stretched across almost the entire continent, a suffocating presence.

Jean's voice was steady, firm.

"Three weeks ago, with the destruction of the Sepharis Bird Karatel, we crippled Snezhnaya's aerial defense network—cut it clean in half."

The map shifted.

Red shrunk.

Blue surged forward.

Entire enemy-held regions were swallowed whole.

Jean folded her arms.

"Our allied forces seized the opportunity and launched a massive counteroffensive toward Morepesok."

The map zoomed in on Snezhnaya.

Before? Almost entirely red.

Now? Half-blue.

A decisive shift.

"In just three weeks, we've reclaimed half the continent. Snezhnaya is feeling the pressure—and they're getting desperate."

Then—her expression darkened.

"To turn the tide back in their favor, they're taking drastic measures."

She pressed a button on the podium.

The map shifted.

A single red marker appeared—far from the frontlines.

A name appeared beside it.

The Razushitzel – A Ghost Returns

The murmurs started immediately.

Jean's voice was firm, cutting through the tension.

"The Razushitzel is a Razu-class, twin nuclear reactor-powered submarine. Two and a half years ago, it vanished—completely dark. But recently?"

She exhaled sharply.

"It was recovered. Fully intact. Fully operational. With its entire crew alive."

Silence.

The Alicorn-class behemoth.

A weapon designed for one thing: mass destruction.

Jean's gaze swept the room.

"And now, Snezhnaya is preparing to bring it back into service."

The tension tightened.

If the Razushitzel was recommissioned?

It wouldn't just shift the war.

It could erase entire nations.

Then—Jean raised a hand.

"But that's not our mission."

The murmurs died instantly.

She tapped the console.

The map shifted again—zooming into Snezhnaya's western plains.

A region highlighted in red.

Taynopol.

Jean's voice hardened.

"The Suburban Plains of Taynopol. That's where we're headed."

The display zoomed in further.

Scattered across the landscape were multiple marked locations.

IRBM silos.

The IRBM Threat

Jean's gaze sharpened.

"Snezhnaya is attempting to activate an IRBM missile to regain lost ground. If they succeed, it'll set us back weeks—maybe months."

The display updated, showing satellite images of the silos.

"In the past 48 hours, they've been working around the clock—dumping resources, manpower, and logistics into this project."

The screen flickered again.

A cutaway of an underground IRBM silo appeared.

Jean turned back to them.

"The silos are buried deep. We can't just level the area and hope for the best. We need precision strikes."

She clicked another button.

Two aircraft materialized on-screen.

B-2 Spirit Bombers.

A High-Stakes Coordination

The murmurs intensified.

The B-2s were stealth bombers.

If they were involved?

This mission wasn't just important.

It was critical.

Jean continued.

"We're coordinating with the Mondstadt 608th Bomb Squadron. They're deploying two B-2 Spirit bombers, callsigns Eagle One and Eagle Two."

Then—a problem.

The map shifted again.

A weather overlay.

Thick clouds blanketed the entire Taynopol airspace.

"The bombers won't have direct sight on the silos."

A pause.

"Normally, we'd wait for the weather to clear—but we're out of time."

She turned back to them.

"That's where we come in."

The display updated.

A targeting pod's crosshair locked onto a silo.

Jean's expression was unwavering.

"One of us will be equipped with an AN/AAQ-33 Sniper targeting pod. Their job is to fly in low, visually identify the silos, and laser-designate them for the bombers."

She tapped the crosshair.

"Once you're locked in, the bombers will drop their GBU-31 JDAMs directly on your target. Your only job?"

A beat.

"Keep that crosshair dead center until impact."

Silence.

No second chances.

No mistakes.

If the targeting failed—

The IRBM launched.

Enemy Defenses & Roster Adjustments

Jean clicked again.

A new overlay appeared.

SAM sites. AAA positions. Radar stations.

"Expect SA-10 Grumbles, SA-15 Gauntlets, and ZU-23 AAA in the area. Keep your ECM online. If you take fire—evade, but don't lose the lock."

Then—

A roster update.

"During the offensive, we suffered human and material losses. To conserve resources, Primordial One, Three, and Four will sit this one out."

She tapped the screen.

"Primordial Two and Five will be reassigned as Waltz Six and Seven."

Then—she turned to Furina.

"Waltz. You're assigned the targeting pod."

Silence.

Furina felt the weight of the mission settle over her shoulders.

Failure wasn't an option.

She gave a slow nod.

Expression unreadable.

Jean gave a firm nod in return.

Final Orders

Jean straightened.

Her voice wasn't loud.

But it carried weight.

"Sortie and come back in one piece."

Chairs scraped back.

The pilots stood.

The tension in the room had shifted.

From anticipation—

To determination.

Helmets in hand, they filed out, heading for the apron hangars where their jets awaited.

Jean watched them leave.

Beside her, Ei and Ningguang remained, gazes locked on the operation timeline.

The mission had begun.

And if they failed—

Snezhnaya would strike back.

Pre-Flight Preparations

The squadron moved with purpose as they arrived at the hangars, the weight of the upcoming mission pressing down on their shoulders.

To the right, Mavuika and Amber split off toward their assigned aircraft.

To the left, Waltz Squadron continued forward, each pilot focused, their expressions set with hardened resolve.

The distant hum of jet engines blended with the rhythmic clang of tools and the hurried voices of ground crews performing final checks. Mechanics moved with precision, ensuring every aircraft was combat-ready.

Furina's eyes locked onto her Dassault Rafale M, gleaming under the hangar lights. The Damocles Targeting Pod, a vital addition for this mission, had just been installed beneath the fuselage.

A mechanic, wiping sweat from his brow, took a step back and gave a firm thumbs-up.

"Captain Furina! It's ready to sortie!"

Furina returned the gesture with a nod.

"Thanks, guys."

Wasting no time, she climbed the ladder beside her aircraft. The Rafale was already running—left on standby from earlier when she had cleaned the canopy.

Sliding into the cockpit, she secured herself in the ejection seat, fastening the five-point harness over her shoulders with practiced ease. Her helmet clicked into place, HUD activating as she ran through her pre-flight checks, fingers gliding over the familiar switches and controls.

The left-side MFD flickered to life, transitioning from the navigation HUD to the Damocles Targeting Pod feed. A black-and-white thermal view swept across the hangar, the pod's infrared camera locking onto moving figures below—ground crew making last-minute adjustments.

Furina leaned slightly outside the cockpit, raising her voice over the low whine of the turbines.

"The targeting pod is working!"

One of the mechanics, standing near the nose gear, cupped his hands and called back:

"Wilco, Captain Furina! Good luck with the mission!"

She smirked, then leaned back into her seat, pressing the canopy close switch.

With a sharp hiss, the transparent canopy sealed shut, dimming the outside world as the cockpit adjusted to flight-ready conditions.

She keyed in the TACAN waypoints, watching them register on the digital map. The flight route to Taynopol was locked.

Final breath.

Her oxygen mask snapped into place—a steady hiss confirming the air supply was flowing.

Time to move.

Furina pressed the radio switch on her control stick.

"Waltz Squadron, callsign checks."

One by one, the responses came through—sharp, clear, disciplined.

"Waltz Two, Rapperia."

"Waltz Three, Wolfbite."

"Waltz Four, Spindrift."

"Waltz Five, Cuilenen."

"Waltz Six, Outrider."

"Waltz Seven, Kiongozi."

Furina nodded to herself.

No hesitation. No wasted words. Everyone was locked in.

She disengaged the parking brake, nudging the throttle forward. Her Rafale M rolled onto the taxiway, the nose aligning with the guiding lights along the tarmac.

"Waltz One, taxiing to runway."

One by one, her squadron followed, their aircraft forming a disciplined line, jet wash distorting the air behind them.

The radio crackled—ATC clearance.

"Waltz One, you are cleared for departure. Climb and maintain FL300. Execute departure procedures as briefed. Good luck out there."

Furina tightened her grip on the stick.

"Waltz One, rolling."

She slammed the throttles forward.

The twin M88-4E engines roared, the cockpit rattling as her Rafale surged down the runway, gathering speed at an explosive rate.

140 knots… 160… 180…

"Rotate."

A gentle pull on the stick—nose lifting, gravity loosening its grip.

Her Rafale M left the ground, slicing into the cold morning sky.

"Waltz One, airborne."

Behind her, the rest of Waltz Squadron launched in perfect sequence, every 30 seconds, each jet streaking skyward like hunting falcons.

Their destination—Taynopol, deep in the heart of Snezhnaya.

The flight would take an hour and a half, including mid-air refueling over the frozen north.

From here on out, there was no turning back.

The mission had begun.

Operation Iron Sight

Hours Later – Over Taynopol Airspace

The seven jets of Waltz Squadron knifed through the overcast skies of Taynopol, their tight V-formation a deadly arrowhead against the storm-laden heavens.

Above them, dark gray clouds churned like an angry sea, thick and turbulent. Below, the endless expanse of Snezhnaya's frozen tundra stretched in every direction—a lifeless wasteland of white and gray, broken only by the occasional ridgeline or industrial complex half-buried beneath the snow.

Then, the radio crackled to life.

AWACS Visionaire had arrived.

Their watchful eye in the sky was now in play.

"Alright, now that our Waltz folks have arrived, you can commence the operation."

A brief pause. Then, Visionaire's voice returned, casual as ever.

"Snezhnaya has five IRBM silos. That's what intel claims, anyway."

A slight pause—then a dry chuckle.

"Some of them are decoys. Should keep things interesting."

The frequency went quiet for a moment before his voice returned, slightly muffled as if he were preoccupied.

"Oh, and hand me that cheeseburger."

Furina allowed herself the ghost of a smirk, shaking her head.

"Alright, Visionaire. We'll handle it."

But the brief moment of levity faded as her expression hardened. Eyes narrowing, she adjusted her grip on the stick, voice sharp and decisive.

"Waltz Squadron—engage and break! Suppress enemy air defenses!"

The formation shattered in an instant.

The seven jets peeled off into the stormy sky, their afterburners igniting in synchronized fury. They tore through the air like a pack of hunting falcons, weaving through thickening cloud cover as their targeting systems hunted for threats.

Engagement Begins – Target Acquisition

The radio crackled with a new voice—one of the bombers.

"Well, it's an honor to help out the famous Waltz One! We'll leave the guidance to you!"

It was the crew of Bomber One, a B-2 Spirit from Mondstadt's 608th Bomb Squadron.

"We're on standby for strike confirmation. Happy hunting, Waltz!"

Furina's fingers tightened around the controls.

"Wilco. Stay on my mark."

She pushed the stick forward, nosing her Rafale M into a steep dive beneath the cloud deck. The instant she broke through, her HUD lit up—radar signatures painting the battlefield with hostile contacts.

Then—there it was.

The first IRBM silo.

A reinforced underground structure, its launch hatch barely distinguishable against the snow-covered terrain. A camouflaged stronghold of steel and concrete.

Furina's eyes flicked to her Damocles Targeting Pod display. The crosshairs hovered over the silo, locking in.

"I'm aligned!"

Bomber One's response was immediate.

"Copy! Payload inbound—Silo Buster away!"

From high above, the B-2 Spirit let loose its deadly cargo.

Furina adjusted her throttle, maintaining precise laser guidance on the silo. The moment stretched—seconds feeling like minutes—before:

BOOM!

A monstrous fireball erupted from the impact zone, obliterating the reinforced hatch. Twisted steel and debris were flung skyward, engulfed in smoke and flames.

She yanked back on the stick, pulling her Rafale into a sharp climb.

AWACS Visionaire's voice followed almost immediately.

"Target destroyed, Waltz One! Nice work—keep cracking them open!"

Then, another voice—Waltz Seven.

"I've got another silo in sight! Coordinates marked!"

Furina's gaze snapped to her IFF display—Waltz Seven's marker was now flashing on the tactical map.

"Wilco. I'm inbound—two mikes out."

She slammed the throttle to full afterburner, banking hard to the right. The battlefield streaked past below—an inferno of anti-aircraft fire and destruction.

Meanwhile, her squadron was tearing through enemy defenses.

"Waltz Five, AA gun neutralized!"

"Waltz Two, radar site destroyed!"

"Waltz Three, SAM battery down!"

"Waltz Four, enemy turret disabled!"

The radio was alive with confirmations, each one punctuated by the distant flash of explosions lighting up the frozen plains.

Second Silo – Direct Hit

Furina arrived at Waltz Seven's location, her eyes scanning the landscape below.

There—another silo.

This one was in active launch preparation.

The reinforced doors were already partway open, steam billowing from within as the missile systems cycled through final checks.

A countdown timer was displayed on the nearby command bunker's surface.

"I've got a visual! Engaging!"

She rocketed past, pulling up into an aggressive Immelmann turn to reposition for an attack run.

The targeting pod camera snapped onto the silo.

Perfect lock.

"Bombs away!"

Another B-2 Spirit unleashed its deadly payload.

Furina's grip on the stick was firm as she held the laser designation steady. The bomb descended, its guidance system following her infrared beam with unerring precision.

Then—

BOOM!

The explosion ripped through the silo, igniting the missile inside before it could launch. A thunderous fireball surged skyward, sending molten debris in every direction.

She rolled left, pulling away from the blast zone as Visionaire's confirmation rang through the comms.

"Another silo down! Keep it up!"

There were more targets. More threats.

But Waltz Squadron had no intention of leaving this mission unfinished.

The hunt continued.

Third Silo – A Critical Error

Furina's radar pinged a third silo, farther away.

She adjusted course, pushing the throttle forward, her Rafale M slicing through the cold, turbulent sky.

Then—Amber's voice.

"We need to get this done, and quick. Who knows when they'll fire? Our ground troops' lives are at stake."

Kiongozi's voice followed, laced with frustration.

"They've gone completely mental!"

Furina's gaze locked onto the next silo. Snow-covered ground rushed up beneath her as she nosed down into a steep dive, the HUD feeding her targeting data.

Her Damocles targeting pod aligned, crosshairs snapping onto the hardened structure.

"Drop the bomb!"

The B-2 pilot acknowledged immediately.

"Bombs away! Bombs away!"

A second later—impact.

…

…No explosion.

Furina's heart skipped a beat.

Her eyes narrowed, a deep scowl forming.

"What the hell!?"

AWACS Visionaire cut in, voice sharp.

"Looks like that's a fake silo. Onto the next, Waltz."

Furina exhaled sharply, gripping the stick tighter.

Fake silos.

Snezhnaya was buying time.

And if they ran out of it—an IRBM would launch.

She let out a sharp breath, then jerked her stick right, banking hard toward the next target.

The radio crackled.

Collei was the first to complain.

"I wish the weather was better. Trying to find these damned silos is hard."

Amber sighed.

"No kidding."

Then—

AWACS Visionaire's tone sharpened, cutting through the comms like a blade.

"Enemy interceptors inbound! Looks like they're Eurofighter Typhoons!"

The squadron's radio exploded with groans.

Kiongozi: "You've got to be shitting me!"

Collei: "Give me a break!"

Amber: "Guess it's a dogfight!"

The mission had just gotten a whole lot harder.

The Sky Erupts

Taynopol's skies descended into chaos—a deadly ballet of missiles, gunfire, and steel.

Furina's Rafale M cut through the thick cloud cover, vapor trails swirling around her wings. Her HUD flickered as it tracked another silo below.

She nosed down, pulling into a sharp dive. The targeting pod crosshairs snapped onto the structure.

"Drop it!"

From high above, the B-2 Spirit responded.

"Bomb away!"

A brief pause—

Then—BOOM!

A fireball erupted from the silo, black smoke spiraling into the sky.

Furina exhaled.

"Three down! Two to go!"

Then—

A sharp, urgent BEEP filled her ears.

LOCK-ON DETECTED.

AWACS Visionaire's voice barked in her headset.

"Waltz! Missile inbound! Evade!"

Furina's heart slammed against her ribs. No time to think.

She yanked back hard on the stick, slamming the throttle to idle.

The Rafale pitched violently upward—

A 180-degree Pugachev Cobra.

For a fraction of a second, her jet flew backward, nose high.

A suicidal move at low altitude.

But—she had a shot.

The Typhoon flashed in front of her canopy—dead-center.

Lock.

Tone.

Furina's thumb slammed the trigger.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder missile shrieked off her rail, its exhaust glowing bright against the dark clouds.

The Typhoon barely had time to react.

Direct impact.

The Eurofighter detonated midair, debris spiraling toward the snowy plains below.

Furina shoved the stick forward, her Rafale rolling level before climbing out of the blast zone.

Her breath came out ragged.

"I'm never doing that at low altitude again!"

AWACS Visionaire's voice rang in her ears.

"Splash one, Waltz! Nice work!"

The bomber crew chimed in, laughing.

"Looks like Waltz is back to kicking ass!"

Furina smirked, then snapped right, racing for the next silo.

The Battle Intensifies

Reports flooded the comms.

Waltz Seven: "Splash one!"

Waltz Five: "Splash one!"

Waltz Two: "Enemy Typhoon destroyed!"

Waltz Six: "Splash one!"

The dogfight was escalating, aircraft twisting and turning in a chaotic frenzy.

But Furina had one goal.

She found the next silo.

A steep dive.

The crosshairs locked on.

"Bombs away!"

The B-2 Spirit responded immediately.

"Payload released!"

A second later—impact.

Another massive explosion.

Furina banked hard left, climbing through the thick smoke.

AWACS Visionaire confirmed.

"Fourth IRBM destroyed! One more to go!"

Furina snapped her stick left, speeding toward the final target.

But the battle wasn't over yet.

Taynopol's skies were silent—

But only for a moment.

Collei's Maneuver – Breaking the Predator's Grip

Collei's F-15E Strike Eagle twisted through the turbulent sky, her sensors blaring in alarm. A Typhoon clung to her six o'clock, relentless.

"Ugh! Get this fucker off my ass!" she growled, banking hard to shake the lock.

Amber, flying just behind her, lined up a shot but grimaced.

"Come on! Stay still, you piece of multinational garbage!"

Her finger hovered over the trigger, nerves taut. But Collei was too close. One wrong shot, and she'd hit her instead.

Collei's patience snapped.

Her emerald eyes burned with frustration.

"I've had it! FUCK YOU!"

In a split-second decision, she split the throttle levers.

Engine One—Idle.

Engine Two—Full afterburner.

The Strike Eagle roared, asymmetrically surging forward with raw, unpredictable power.

She yanked the stick hard left—

At the same time, she slammed her left rudder pedal all the way in.

Her F-15E pitched past 90 degrees, rolling into a brutal, high-G spiral dive.

The Typhoon, caught off guard, tried to follow—

But it couldn't keep up.

And that was all Amber needed.

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder missile shrieked off her rail.

The Typhoon barely had time to react—

Direct impact.

A brilliant fireball erupted midair, debris scattering through the icy sky like shattered glass.

AWACS Visionaire's voice came through instantly.

"Splash one, Waltz Six!"

Amber's eyes darted left—just in time to see Collei's Strike Eagle soar past from below, vapor trails curling from her wingtips.

Her jaw dropped.

"Holy shit, Cuilenen! That was insane!"

Collei let out a breathless chuckle, heart still hammering.

"That's why I'm Sumeru's Ace!"

The Final Strike – Eliminating the Threat

Across the battlefield, Furina zeroed in on the last IRBM silo.

She streaked past it, pulling up hard into a high-g loop, then rolled inverted to line up her final attack run.

"I have a visual! Turning around!"

Her Rafale curved with precision, sweeping into a steep dive.

Her eyes flicked to the targeting pod display.

The crosshairs aligned.

"Release the hound!"

The B-2 bomber crew responded without hesitation.

"Hounds released!"

The final bomb detached.

A single heartbeat of silence.

Then—

BOOM.

A monstrous fireball erupted from the silo, a shockwave blasting debris in all directions.

Furina pulled up sharply, soaring through the thick, black smoke, the heat rippling against her airframe.

AWACS Visionaire's voice rang in her ears.

"That's all their silos! Good work!"

But the battle wasn't over yet.

The skies over Taynopol fell eerily silent—

But only for a moment.

SIRENS.

A deep, wailing alarm tore through the sky, echoing across the frozen plains.

Mavuika's voice snapped over the radio.

"Wait. What the hell is that noise!?"

Amber groaned, already dreading the answer.

"Please don't make it worse…"

But it was worse.

Not far from Furina's position, a Hydro Dam loomed against the landscape.

And behind it—

Water churned.

A spiraling vortex formed in the reservoir, feeding into a massive underground launch shaft.

Then—

A deafening roar.

A column of fire erupted skyward.

Then—a flash.

An IRBM missile launched.

Missile Chase – The Impossible Pursuit

Furina's eyes widened.

She snapped her head right, slamming her palm against the canopy glass.

"SHIT! IT LAUNCHED!"

Her instincts took over.

She yanked the sidestick hard right, rolling her Rafale into an aggressive climb.

Throttle—MAX.

Twin M88 engines roared, blue fire streaking from the exhaust.

"WALTZ ONE ENGAGING THE IRBM!"

AWACS Visionaire's voice cut in.

"Wilco. Chase it down!"

Then—another warning.

"More interceptors inbound! Waltz Squadron, provide support for Waltz One!"

The responses came rapid-fire.

"Wilco!"

"Roger!"

"Wilco!"

"Wilco!"

"Roger that!"

"Wilco!"

The IRBM climbed hard—a vertical ascent, accelerating by the second.

Furina's Rafale screamed in pursuit, its engines shrieking at max power.

She yanked back on the stick—

Her climb went vertical.

Her speed bled away, but—

She was close enough.

TONE.

LOCK.

Her index finger flicked the trigger.

"FOX TWO!"

Two Sidewinders shrieked off the rails.

Furina flipped inverted, throwing her jet into a high-speed dive, rolling out before stabilizing her descent.

She barely had time to breathe—

Then—

A MASSIVE EXPLOSION.

Her Rafale rattled violently from the shockwave.

AWACS Visionaire's voice rang out.

"IRBM destroyed!"

Furina barely had time to recover before—

ANOTHER ALARM.

"Shit, they launched the final IRBM! Bearing zero-one-five!"

Her eyes snapped to the radar.

The second missile was already climbing.

Her throttle was still jammed forward.

Her afterburners howled.

Then—

A SONIC BOOM.

She had broken the sound barrier.

The Final Chase – A Desperate Gambit

Below, Collei was still dogfighting.

She glanced up—

Her jaw dropped.

"Holy shit, LOOK AT FURINA!"

Furina had eyes on the missile—

Already climbing high, breaching into the stratosphere.

She yanked the stick back.

Her Rafale pulled up sharply.

Condensation flared off her wings.

The G-forces slammed into her body.

She gritted her teeth, fighting to stay conscious.

8 Gs.

9 Gs.

10 Gs.

She leveled into a perfect vertical climb.

The missile was nearly out of reach.

Then—

TONE.

LOCK.

Her finger hit the trigger.

"FOX TWO!"

Nothing.

A Pilot's Worst Nightmare

ANOTHER ALARM.

Her eyes flicked to the weapons screen.

AMMUNITION: ZERO.

Furina's face twisted in frustration.

She slammed her palm against the dashboard.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

No missiles left.

Only one option.

She switched to guns.

Her thumb squeezed the trigger.

The Rafale's 30mm cannon barked to life.

A burst of high-velocity rounds tore into the missile's fuselage.

Then—

BOOM.

The IRBM detonated mid-air.

A fiery explosion erupted in the sky.

Furina cut her throttle, flipping inverted, then dove back down.

She stabilized at altitude, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Mission Success – The War Continues

AWACS Visionaire's voice broke the silence.

"That's the last of the missiles! Form up on Waltz One and return to base! Great work!"

One by one, Waltz Squadron formed up on Furina, heading back toward Iron Gale.

She reached up, tugging her oxygen mask off, gulping in deep breaths.

Then—

"Fuck… Fuck me…" she muttered.

"That… That was something else…"

Amber's voice crackled over the radio, tinged with relief.

"That was way too close… If Furina hadn't caught up… I don't know…"

The B-2 bomber pilots chimed in.

"We were sweating bullets back here. Worst of all? We couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Then, after a pause—

"Glad we were part of the operation, though. Pleasure working with you, Waltz Squadron."

Furina smirked, still catching her breath.

She lifted her mask back to her lips.

"And thanks for the bombing support."

The B-2 Spirits banked left, returning to Mainland Mondstadt.

And as Waltz Squadron soared toward home,

One thought lingered in Furina's mind—

Today… was too close for comfort.

But tomorrow?

Who knew what hell awaited?

The sunset painted Iron Gale in hues of orange and gold, casting long shadows over the runways.

As Waltz Squadron touched down,

Their mission was over.

They had stopped the IRBM attack.

And now—

It was time to go home.

Returning to Base

Furina carefully climbed down from her Rafale, her legs trembling slightly as she made contact with the solid ground. The brutal G-forces from chasing the second missile had left their mark—her muscles burned, and a deep fatigue settled into her bones.

As soon as her boots touched the tarmac, a sudden wave of dizziness hit her. She clenched her fists, exhaling sharply.

Before she could take another step, Collei and Clorinde rushed toward her.

"Let us give you a hand, Captain," Collei said, her voice firm yet gentle.

Furina sighed, a weary smirk creeping onto her face as she draped her arms over their shoulders.

"Thanks, guys," she muttered, her breath still slightly uneven.

She glanced toward the command building, forcing herself to focus.

"Come on. We still have the debriefing with Jean."

Clorinde gave a sharp nod.

"Right. Let's go, Collei."

With her squadmates supporting her, Furina trudged toward the briefing room, her body heavy but her spirit soaring.

Debriefing – A Moment to Breathe

Minutes later, the briefing room hummed with quiet satisfaction.

The display screen cycled through key moments of the mission—

Each airstrike.

Each dogfight.

Each silo destroyed.

Yet Furina barely registered the footage.

Her breath was slow, her body still recovering. Slumped slightly in her chair, she flexed her sore fingers, willing the stiffness away.

Then—Jean's voice filled the room.

"Good work, Waltz Squadron. We successfully prevented a ballistic missile attack on captured territory and saved countless troops in the process."

A murmur of pride passed through the squadron.

Even without their unit commander, they had pulled off one of the most daring aerial battles yet.

But Jean wasn't done.

She tapped the screen, switching to a strategic map. The display zoomed out, shifting focus from their previous engagement to a new, looming objective.

The room quieted.

They all knew what was coming next.

Jean's gaze swept over them, her expression unreadable—calm, but carrying the weight of what was to come.

"Final preparations are being made for a long-range operation…"

She exhaled, then continued.

"Seizing the capital of Snezhnaya—Morepesok."

The words hit like a shockwave.

No one moved. No one spoke.

They had known this moment would come. But hearing it—seeing it laid out before them—made it real.

Jean let the silence settle before nodding firmly.

"Everyone is dismissed. Get some rest. You'll need it."

Chairs scraped against the floor as the pilots stood, exchanging glances—some determined, some wary, all aware that the war's climax was drawing near.

One by one, they filed out.

But Furina remained seated.

A Conversation Between Aces

Jean lingered for a moment, watching as the last of the squadron exited. Then, she stepped forward, pulling out a chair beside Furina.

She sat down.

"You alright?"

Furina let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders.

"Y-Yeah…" she muttered. "Body is… aching a little."

Jean studied her carefully before giving a small nod.

"It's alright… You did good."

Furina chuckled, wincing slightly as she straightened herself.

"S-Sounds like it…"

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she replayed the chase in her mind.

"Pulling 10 G's from a stable altitude… to a vertical climb… at Mach 1.2…"

A tired smirk crossed her lips.

"I sure as hell did."

Jean chuckled, shaking her head.

"Like a true ace, Furina."

Furina grinned, exhaling through her nose.

"Hell yes."

For a moment, neither spoke.

The war wasn't over.

Not yet.

But for now…

Furina closed her eyes, breathing in the quiet.

Because soon—

The countdown to Morepesok would begin.