The Raushitzel
Two Days Later…
The skies above Iron Gale Air Force Base stretched endlessly, a pristine expanse of crisp blue. The sun hung high, its glare bouncing off the parked fighter jets lined up along the tarmac, their canopies shimmering in the midday heat. Faint mirages wavered in the distance, distorting the hardened landscape, while the ever-present hum of jet engines echoed in the background—a constant reminder that even in moments of respite, the war never truly stopped.
Inside the mess hall, however, time moved slower. The scent of aviation fuel still clung to their flight suits, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee and the sizzling of fresh rations on trays. Voices filled the space—low murmurs, occasional bursts of laughter—an atmosphere of temporary peace before the inevitable call to action.
Seated around one of the long tables, Primordial Squadron and Waltz Squadron enjoyed what little quiet they could afford.
Across from Furina, Wriothesley leaned back, arms crossed, his piercing gaze watching as she tilted back a cold bottle of beer. Condensation rolled down the glass before she set it down with a soft clink.
"How's the body holding up, Furina?" His tone was casual, but the unspoken concern was there.
She rolled her shoulder, wincing slightly. "Better," she admitted. "Had the nurse check me out yesterday. Just some soreness. Nothing serious."
Beside her, Clorinde smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing her sharp, calculating eyes.
"So, ready for a few more high-G turns?"
Furina huffed out a chuckle, leaning back.
"Tch—ready as I'll ever be."
Across the table, Ei, callsign Raiden, sipped her coffee before speaking.
"That's what we like to hear, Captain Furina."
Furina turned to her, shaking her head with a grin.
"Ei! No need to be so formal. Just 'Furina' will do!"
A few quiet chuckles passed around the group, the tension of the past few days momentarily forgotten in the warmth of camaraderie.
Then—the mess hall doors swung open.
The shift was instant. Conversations cut short. Forks clinked against trays and fell silent.
Jean stood at the entrance, her stance firm, her presence commanding. Even before she spoke, the mood changed—instinct kicked in.
"Briefing room. Now."
No one hesitated. A few exchanged glances, but there was no need for words. When the call came, they answered.
Furina let out a sigh, pushing her chair back before standing. She grabbed her watch cap from the table, securing it onto her head with a smirk before turning to Jean.
A playful glint flickered in her tired, yet unwavering, eyes.
"Alright, Dandelion," she teased, cracking her neck. "Let's go, fellas. Wouldn't want to keep our dear Captain waiting, would we?"
Jean rolled her eyes, though the faintest smirk ghosted across her lips.
The others chuckled as they rose, trays abandoned. Boots thudded against the floor in synchronized rhythm as they marched out of the mess hall, their easy banter replaced by silent focus.
Their downtime was over.
The war was calling again.
Iron Gale Air Force Base – Briefing Room
The acrid scent of jet fuel and scorched asphalt still clung to the air as Waltz Squadron and Primordial Squadron filed into the briefing room. The hum of conversation followed them, though the usual banter was subdued—something was off.
At the front of the room, standing rigid on the stage, was a man whose very presence disrupted the atmosphere. He was tall, his sharp features chiseled from years of military service, and his uniform was immaculately pressed, the Brigadier General insignia gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lighting. But it wasn't just his rank that commanded attention—it was the cold, unyielding authority in his eyes.
Furina narrowed her sharp blue gaze, instantly on edge.
Something about him rubbed her the wrong way.
Leaning slightly toward Jean, who stood beside her, she muttered under her breath, "Who the hell is he?"
Jean's arms crossed tightly over her chest, her voice edged with irritation. "No idea. He just showed up, pulled rank, and demanded a briefing with both squadrons."
Uneasy murmurs rippled through the assembled pilots as they exchanged wary glances before reluctantly taking their seats.
Furina dropped into hers with a huff, arms crossed, her expression locked in a scowl as she studied the Brigadier General with a scrutinizing gaze. Jean, on the other hand, remained standing a moment longer, her stance professional but rigid—though the flicker of annoyance in her eyes did not go unnoticed.
Then, the display screen behind the Brigadier General flickered to life, connecting to a live video feed with an unknown party.
The man stepped forward, his voice carrying the clipped precision of someone used to giving orders and not being questioned.
"Alright. Let's begin."
His sharp gaze swept across the room, his presence suffocating.
"I am Brigadier General Buzuleac. I am in charge of the operation you all will be deployed in."
Furina's fingers drummed impatiently against her armrest. Great. Another goddamn desk jockey.
Buzuleac pressed a button on the remote, and the screen switched to a satellite image.
A colossal submarine.
Its black hull loomed ominously, docked at a harbor in Bespokoynaya Bay like a behemoth waiting to be unleashed.
The room fell silent.
"I trust you are all aware of the Razu-Class Submarine—the Razushitzel."
The image zoomed in, revealing the terrifying scale of the beast.
Buzuleac continued, his voice unwavering.
"The Razushitzel is currently undergoing final preparations at Bespokoynaya Harbor. Previously, this port was surrounded by oil refineries and fuel depots, but those were destroyed in a previous air operation. However, the Snezhnayan forces have since managed to rebuild key facilities, converting the area into a strategic supply base."
He paused, then gestured toward the screen.
"For further details, I'll turn this over to Kaveh, a Teyvat Intelligence Agency analyst."
A moment later, a new voice filled the room.
"Thank you, Brigadier General."
The screen switched again, this time displaying a 3D model of the submarine, slowly rotating to showcase its monstrous design in full detail.
Kaveh's voice was steady, but even he couldn't mask the underlying tension.
"The Razushitzel is an absolute behemoth," he began. "It measures a staggering 495 meters long, with a 116-meter beam. When fully submerged, it displaces approximately 810,000 tonnes."
A beat of silence passed.
Eula's icy blue eyes narrowed, her voice laced with disbelief.
"That thing is fucking enormous. Who the hell commands something like that?"
Kaveh didn't hesitate.
"We'll get to that in a moment. But first, let's talk capabilities."
The display shifted again—armament specifications.
The atmosphere in the room tensed further.
"The Razushitzel is not just a submarine—it also functions as an aircraft carrier when surfaced. It possesses unmatched hybrid warfare capabilities, allowing it to engage enemies from below the surface, above the sea, and even long-range targets inland."
The next diagram highlighted two massive railguns mounted atop the vessel.
"These are its primary weapons. Two heavy railguns, capable of striking targets over 400 kilometers away with devastating precision."
Collei scoffed, shaking her head.
"A fucking monster…."
Kaveh nodded grimly.
"That's an understatement. This submarine's offensive capabilities are equivalent to a full carrier strike group. If deployed properly, it could single-handedly change the course of the war."
Beside Furina, Jean's posture stiffened.
She didn't like where this was going.
Kaveh's voice dropped a fraction.
"The Razushitzel has a dark history. Five years ago, it was launched for sea trials… and then it vanished. No distress signals. No wreckage. Just—gone."
A murmur of unease spread through the pilots.
"Then, just before the war began, it was found adrift. Of the 358 crew members, only 330 survived. But the real kicker?"
Kaveh's voice hardened.
"The captain—Marcel Vacher."
Furina's breath hitched.
She knew that name.
Everyone in Fontaine's navy did.
Her fingers clenched against her flight suit.
"Wait." Furina leaned forward. "You're telling me that Marcel fucking Vacher is commanding the Razushitzel?"
Kaveh's expression darkened.
"Yes. The same Marcel Vacher. Once a Fontaine Navy officer—now a disgraced traitor. He was dishonorably discharged for espionage years ago. He escaped captivity and defected to Snezhnaya. Now, he's one of their most decorated vessel captains."
Clorinde exhaled sharply, arms crossed.
"So this is their response to us taking down Karatel and their IRBM sites."
"Correct," Kaveh confirmed. "With their missile program crippled, the Snezhnayan Navy is fast-tracking the Razushitzel's deployment."
Furina exhaled sharply, unimpressed.
"Okay. So why don't we just blow the fucker up and be done with it?"
The room fell silent.
Buzuleac's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"We capture it. Do not make me repeat myself, Captain."
Furina rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath.
"You sound just like Commander Jakob and AWACS Justice… Tch."
Then, Kaveh dropped the bombshell.
"Because… we have credible intelligence suggesting the Razushitzel is carrying weapons of mass destruction."
The room froze.
Buzuleac continued.
"If these reports are accurate, this submarine is the single greatest bargaining chip we could possibly have. If we secure it intact, we could force negotiations for a ceasefire."
Jean's lips pressed into a thin line.
"And if they realize they're losing?"
Buzuleac's voice turned cold.
"They'll scuttle the submarine before we can reach it."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
And then—
"Only Waltz Squadron will sortie."
The entire room froze.
Jean shot up from her chair, eyes blazing.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold the fuck on. You're sending out only Waltz Squadron?!"
Her voice shot up, disbelief laced with fury.
"With five goddamn pilots?! Are you out of your mind?!"
Brigadier General Buzuleac didn't flinch. Arms crossed, voice cold.
"I'm not repeating myself, Captain. Only. The Waltz. Squadron."
The room turned deathly silent. Seconds stretched into an unbearable eternity.
Then—
"You fucking asshole!"
Furina lunged.
Jean barely threw herself between them in time, shoving Furina back before she could land a hit on the Brigadier General right then and there.
"Furina! Settle down!" Jean hissed, her grip firm against Furina's trembling shoulders.
Furina wrenched herself free, breathing hard. Her blue eyes blazed with unfiltered rage.
She jabbed a finger at Buzuleac.
"You'll regret this. This better be worth our fucking time."
She didn't wait for a response.
Helmet in hand, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the briefing room.
The rest of Waltz Squadron exchanged wary glances before grabbing their gear and following their furious Captain toward the hangar.
Jean exhaled sharply. Then she turned to Buzuleac, her glare like a drawn blade.
"I'm sortieing. And I'm bringing Primordial Two, Five, and Three with me."
Buzuleac opened his mouth, but Jean cut him off with a tone like steel.
"I'm not debating this. You're already sending a five-man squadron to handle a fleet-level operation. We're coming."
She turned to Ningguang, issuing her final order.
"Ningguang, you're in command of the base while I'm out. Keep an eye on our friend here."
Ningguang's golden eyes flickered with amusement. Her hand rested lightly on her holster.
"Consider it done, Captain."
Mavuika, Amber, and Ei silently grabbed their helmets before following Jean out.
The air was thick with unspoken words.
But the die had been cast.
And Waltz Squadron was already on their way to hell.
Storming the Apron – The Point of No Return
Furina's boots struck the pavement hard as she stormed toward her Rafale.
Jean's voice cut through the heavy tension.
"Furina, what the hell was that back there?!"
Furina scoffed, barely sparing her a glance.
"Sending us out on this mission? This isn't the fucking Spare Squadron, Captain! I used to be part of it!"
She whirled around, her expression burning with rage.
"Their missions? Life or death! And death was always the highest goddamn chance!"
Jean ran a hand through her hair, sighing.
"I get it. I really do. But we have to do this. Just… don't do it for him."
Her voice softened, just slightly.
"Do it for me."
Furina hesitated.
Her jaw clenched.
Then, finally—
"…Fine. For you."
Her fists curled.
"But not for that dipshit."
With that, she turned and stomped toward her Rafale, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury.
The rest of the pilots rushed to their respective hangars, helmets in hand.
Waltz Squadron – The Last Stand of the Few
Furina climbed the integrated ladder of her jet, settling into the ejection seat.
Helmet on. Oxygen mask secured.
With a sharp hiss, the canopy sealed shut.
Her fingers danced over the controls. The startup sequence ran purely on instinct.
One by one, the engines rumbled to life.
Jean's voice crackled over the comms.
"Alright. Just to be safe, everyone is flying under Waltz Squadron today. I'll take command as Waltz Two. Everyone else, move down by one."
Furina tapped her helmet, switching to squadron frequency.
"Wilco."
The responses followed in quick succession.
Mission Roster – Waltz Squadron
Waltz One – Furina de Fontaine
Waltz Two – Jean Gunnhildr
Waltz Three – Clorinde
Waltz Four – Wriothesley
Waltz Five – Eula Lawrence
Waltz Six – Collei
Waltz Seven – Amber
Waltz Eight – Ei
Waltz Nine – Mavuika
Final checks. Systems green.
Waltz Squadron taxied onto the runway in perfect formation.
One by one, they lined up on the centerline, engines growling like caged beasts.
Furina's grip tightened on the throttle.
This mission was fucked.
But they were going anyway.
"Waltz One, rolling."
She shoved the throttle forward.
Her Rafale screamed down the runway, afterburners igniting, and with a sharp pull—
She tore into the sky.
One by one, the rest of Waltz Squadron followed—departing at 30-second intervals.
Into the skies unknown.
Bespokoynaya Bay
Waltz Squadron tore through the skies, slicing through the frigid air in a tight dual V-formation. Below them, the ocean stretched out like a dark mirror, reflecting the scattered formations of allied naval vessels. The cold waters churned as wakes formed behind the fleet, their anti-air defenses primed and ready.
Furina's grip on the stick tightened as her HUD painted the incoming enemy formation—fifty strong—approaching fast.
Then, AWACS Visionaire's voice crackled through the comms, a strained note in his usually laid-back tone.
"Supporting squadrons will be arriving… five minutes late."
Jean's response was instant, sharp with urgency.
"We need to retreat and wait for them!"
But then—
Brigadier General Buzuleac's voice cut in, cold and unwavering.
"No. Gain air superiority at once."
Furina scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Tch. Nutjob."
She slammed the throttle forward, her Rafale's M88 engines roaring as afterburners ignited.
"Waltz Squadron! Let's take them down!"
Dogfight Begins
The enemy pilots filled the comms with laughter.
"Heh. Just nine planes? I thought this would be hard!"
Furina smirked.
With a flick of her fingers, she switched to COM-3—the enemy frequency.
Then, she spoke.
Her voice was slow. Deliberate. Amused.
"Très bien, connards. Voyons de quoi vous êtes faits, ces imbéciles."
She switched back to COM-1.
The enemy comms erupted in confusion.
"What did she just say?"
"I don't know, but it sounded eerie as hell!"
Clorinde's voice came through.
"Uh-oh…"
Jean frowned.
"What do you mean, uh-oh?"
Clorinde sighed.
"If Furina speaks slowly… especially in French… you should surrender. Or retreat."
Furina's HUD locked onto the first targets—a tight formation of F/A-18E Super Hornets bearing down on them in a coordinated strike.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three."
Three HCAA missiles screamed from under her wings, their smokeless trails slicing through the sky.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Three fireballs bloomed midair as debris rained toward the ocean.
Furina burst through the lingering smoke, banking hard into the chaos.
AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
"Splash three, Waltz One."
Then—
A shadow.
A F-22 Raptor blazed overhead.
Furina's eyes narrowed.
She yanked the sidestick back, climbing rapidly before inverting her Rafale and cutting right.
The Raptor jinked left, then right—desperate.
Furina matched every move.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two."
A Sidewinder left the rail.
Direct hit.
The Raptor vanished in a fiery explosion, wreckage tumbling toward the ocean below.
AWACS Visionaire whistled.
"F-22 down, Waltz! That was the 'shootdown incident' of 2009 all over again—but with real weapons!"
Then—
Eula's voice.
"We've got company—both above and below!"
Amber chimed in.
"Then keep fighting! We'll shoot them all down before it's too late!"
Furina's RWR screamed—
LOCK-ON DETECTED.
Another F-22.
She gritted her teeth.
Then—she executed.
Stick—yanked back.
Throttle—cut idle.
Right rudder pedal—slammed.
Her Rafale pitched up—then yawed into a brutal 360-degree spin.
A perfect Pugachev Cobra.
The F-22 overshot from below.
Furina leveled out onto its six.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two."
Another Sidewinder left the rails.
Direct hit.
The skies were chaos. Fighters darting. Missiles streaking. Explosions everywhere.
The enemy formation crumbled.
Five Minutes In—The Kill Count Rises
By the five-minute mark—
Furina: 16 confirmed kills.
The others? Four to six each.
Ei exhaled sharply into the comms.
"Man… air combat is way trickier without the others."
Clorinde scoffed.
"You kidding me? Our gal Furina is a monster at this."
Collei laughed.
"No kidding. She's already at sixteen."
Then—
BOOM.
Another explosion. A fireball erupted midair, debris spiraling toward the ocean.
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut in, almost amused.
"Another splash for the ace!"
Collei chuckled.
"Never mind. Make that seventeen."
Furina's HUD painted a new target—an F-35 Lightning II banking hard, trying to evade.
The enemy frequency crackled again.
"Drone this and drone that—it doesn't matter. If you're up against the Golden Crown, you're done."
Furina grinned.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two."
A Sidewinder shot forward, its guidance fins twitching as it tracked.
Direct hit.
A blinding fireball consumed the F-35, its shattered airframe tumbling into the sea below.
AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
"Another kill for Waltz!"
Meanwhile, the backup squadron watched from a distance, their voices buzzing over the secondary frequency.
"Watching Waltz go haywire makes me admire her even more."
"No kidding. She's the deadliest ace in all of Teyvat."
"Even more than The Knave?"
"Definitely more than The Knave. She might be Snezhnaya's best—but Furina would shoot her down in a jiffy."
Then—
AWACS Visionaire's urgent call.
"Harriers inbound—targeting our allied ships! Take them out!"
Collei's voice cut in, firm.
"Waltz One! Leave it to us!"
Furina nodded, her response quick and decisive.
"Wilco."
Just then—
LOCK-ON WARNING.
Furina reacted instantly.
Stick—yanked.
Throttle—idle.
Her Rafale M pitched up into a near-vertical 90-degree stall.
The enemy F-16 Fighting Falcon overshot.
Furina shoved the stick forward.
The nose dropped—
The target snapped into her HUD reticle.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
Two Sidewinders streaked off the rails.
Direct hits.
AWACS Visionaire's voice rang out.
"That's eighteen, Waltz!"
Then—
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
More fireballs.
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut through the comms.
"Harrier squadron down! Waltz Squadron, you've secured the fleet!"
Furina exhaled.
This battle wasn't over yet.
The enemy comms erupted in sheer panic.
"WE'RE LOSING TOO MANY FIGHTERS! WE MIGHT HAVE TO RETREAT!"
"HOW THE HELL ARE NINE PILOTS TEARING US APART?! WE SHOULD BE WINNING!"
Furina smirked.
They weren't done yet.
Then—
A new voice. No—two. A man and a woman.
Their voices crackled through the enemy comms, dripping with eerie amusement.
"Hey, Brother! Can I kill the pilot with the Golden Crown? I'm gonna kill you!"
"Sis, be patient. We'll strike together."
Furina's eye twitched.
"What the hell are these people even saying? Siblings!?"
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut through the radio, firm and urgent.
"Two bogeys incoming! Bearing 270 degrees—west!"
The enemy frequency crackled again.
"I've waited long enough, Ashen! I need to kill that Golden Crown—NOW!"
"Tch. Like an insane woman… Sure, Zimny."
"Shut up! I'd kill you if you weren't my brother!"
Furina's sharp blue eyes flicked right.
Her breath hitched.
"…Is that a fucking Su-47 Berkut!?"
AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
"All enemy interceptors have retreated! These are the last two in the sky."
Furina exhaled, flexing her grip around the stick.
"Let's get this over with."
She rammed the throttle forward, the Rafale's afterburners roaring as she closed in.
Then, one by one, the rest of Waltz Squadron checked in.
"Waltz Two, supporting Waltz One!"
"Waltz Three, supporting Waltz One!"
"Waltz Four, supporting Waltz One!"
They weren't letting her fight alone.
The enemy comms crackled again.
"Oh shit, looks like you caught their attention, Zimny."
"Shut it, Ashen!"
Then—Zimny's Su-47 broke formation.
Furina grinned.
"You're mine."
She nosed forward, locking onto her target.
Zimny's voice screeched through the comms.
"I'M GONNA SCREW YOU UP SO BAD, GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN CROWN!"
Furina's HUD flashed red.
Something felt off.
Her IFF was showing multiple bogeys inside the same plane.
"What the hell—?"
Jean's voice cut in, urgent.
"They must be using electronic warfare! Aim for the center!"
Furina gritted her teeth.
"Wilco."
She lined up the shot.
Tone.
Lock.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder streaked forward—
But Zimny's Su-47 snapped into a near-vertical climb.
Furina reacted instantly, yanking her Rafale into the same ascent.
Zimny cursed.
"Shit! She's on my ass!"
Furina smirked.
"Not so fast."
She locked on again.
Tone.
"Fox Two."
BOOM.
The missile impacted the Su-47—
But—Zimny was still flying.
Furina's eyes widened.
"How is that even possible!?"
Zimny's voice crackled with rage.
"SHIT, ASHEN! I'M HIT! THAT BASTARD GOT ME!"
Ashen remained eerily calm.
"Then take her out."
Zimny snapped.
"OH, I'LL KILL HER! I'LL KILL HER, ALRIGHT!!!"
Jean vs. Ashen
Meanwhile, Jean was locked in a vertical climb, chasing Ashen's Su-47.
Her first two missiles missed—
But Ashen made a mistake.
At the peak of the climb—he stalled.
Jean's gaze sharpened.
"Got you."
Tone.
Lock.
"Fox Three!"
An HCAA missile screamed toward Ashen.
Direct hit.
Yet—the Su-47 still flew.
Ashen's voice crackled.
"Shit! I'm hit too! We have to back out!"
Zimny snapped.
"WHY!?"
Ashen shouted.
"WE CAN'T FLY IN DAMAGED PLANES! RETREAT! NOW!"
Furina lined up another lock—
But—
Zimny suddenly snapped into a dive, accelerating rapidly.
Furina followed instantly, yanking her nose down to match—
But Zimny was already gone.
She cursed.
"Waltz One—I lost her!"
Jean's voice cut in.
"Waltz Two—I lost him!"
AWACS Visionaire's calm voice filled the channel.
"Doesn't matter. We've secured air superiority."
Silence.
Then—Furina sighed, leaning back into her seat.
"Tch. Next time, I'll finish them."
The enemy radio crackled to life.
"Captain, the fighters are ready for takeoff. They are prepared to sacrifice their lives to carry the cargo."
Then—a new voice. Cold. Calculated.
"Beautiful…"
A hesitant crew member spoke up.
"Captain Vacher?"
The captain's tone grew eerie.
"Don't you see? A million lives will be snuffed out in cruelty. How many shall we sacrifice to put all of them to rest?"
A pause.
Then—his final command.
"Slow ahead the engines. Scuttle the sub. Now."
"Yes, Captain!"
The Ocean Burns
Then—explosions.
"Shit!" The Allied Navy's radio erupted in panic.
"The Razushitzel just fired its main weapons! Most of the fleet is hit!"
"The landing ship is on fire! Abandon ship!"
The once-calm ocean had become a battlefield of flame and debris. Thick smoke curled into the sky as shattered hulls listed violently, crew scrambling for survival amid the wreckage. The massive submarine, now fully surfaced, surged forward like a beast breaking free from the abyss. Its dark hull sliced through the waves, water cascading off its armored frame.
Then—on its deck.
Four aircraft.
Black and red.
Dassault Rafale M's.
Furina's heart pounded.
"…Rafales? On a submarine?"
Steam hissed. Hydraulic arms locked. The catapults tensed—then released.
Two Rafales shot forward, launching in tandem, followed instantly by the other two. Their engines roared over the chaos, their afterburners streaking fire into the night.
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut in.
"Four submarine-based aircraft just launched! Dassault Rafale M's!"
The Waltz Squadron's radio crackled in disbelief.
"What!?"
"Rafales!? Like Furina's!?"
"Oh, hell no…"
Then—more bad news.
"One of them is carrying a long-range cruise missile!"
Furina's grip on the stick tightened. Her breath slowed.
She spoke softly—her voice like a blade against stone.
"Vous pouvez essayer, mais vous pouvez aussi fuir."
Then, she leaned forward, fire in her eyes.
"VENEZ À MOI, VOUS, CONNARDS !"
Her afterburners ignited—a wrathful goddess descending upon her prey.
Clorinde's voice wavered on the radio.
"Jesus Christ… I just got goosebumps… and fear."
Collei agreed, almost whispering.
"No kidding… Furina sounds scary when she's angry. Especially if she's speaking French."
The enemy Rafales tore through the sky, heading south.
They weren't attacking.
They were running.
Running toward their target.
Furina gritted her teeth.
She gained visual on the two trailing Rafales, but—damn it, they were fast.
"Come on! Come on! Give me tone!"
Then—
Lock.
Tone.
"Fox Three!"
A Long-Range Air-to-Air Missile (LRAAM) streaked toward its target.
Then—another missile.
BOOM. BOOM.
AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
"Splash Two, Waltz! Two to go!"
But—Furina was still behind.
Her hands gripped the throttle tighter.
She needed more speed.
Then—
Lock.
Tone.
"Fox Three!"
Another missile.
The enemy radio crackled with panic.
"SALVATIO—"
BOOM.
Static.
One-on-One
The final Rafale broke hard left, diving toward the ocean—low.
Furina followed.
The enemy pilot skimmed the water, weaving through high-G turns, trying to shake her.
But she mimicked every move.
She was on it like a shadow.
Salt spray drenched the canopy as they tore just meters above the surface. The ocean whipped violently beneath them, the raw speed sending ripples outward. The enemy Rafale jerked right—then left—then into a roll.
Furina didn't budge.
"You're not getting away."
She switched to guns.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!
A burst of 30mm rounds tore into the enemy's fuselage.
The Rafale jerked left—trying to escape.
Another burst.
More hits.
Then—
The left engine exploded.
The left wing's missile detonated.
The enemy Rafale's nose pitched downward.
It slammed into the ocean—exploding on impact.
Furina pulled up just in time, avoiding the fireball and debris.
AWACS Visionaire confirmed.
"That's another splash. Twenty-two kills for Furina de Fontaine!"
The Allied Radio erupted in cheers.
"Alright!"
"LET'S GO!"
"The Diamond Ace!"
"That was incredible, Furina!"
"What a show!"
For the first time today—Furina chuckled.
"Alright, alright. Settle down. Let's RTB."
The rest of Waltz Squadron formed up, turning back toward Iron Gale Air Force Base.
The Shadow of War
Then—
A voice.
Crackling.
It was from the submarine.
"Captain… We lost the squadron. All taken down by the Golden Crown."
A pause.
Then—a snarl of hatred.
"That damn bastard ruined everything…"
A crewman hesitated.
"Captain?"
Then—insanity.
"DON'T YOU SEE!?"
His voice distorted over the radio—twisting into a fevered rant.
"SHE WALKED ALL OVER IT WITH HER DIRTY FUCKING BOOTS! OVER THE CRISP WHITE SHEETS I MADE FOR MY BED!"
A sharp gasp—his breath ragged.
Then—laughter.
Low. Hollow. Unhinged.
A crewman spoke carefully.
"Sir…?"
His voice lowered.
"Let's leave her to… assist in our next plan."
"It will make a fine theater for our scheme to kill… One… Million… People."
Then—a chuckle.
"Or was it… five million…? Command Duty Officer?"
Silence.
Furina's brows furrowed.
"Assist in their next plan…?"
Eula cut in.
"What does he mean?"
Furina exhaled sharply.
"I don't know… But we'd better keep an eye on our next operation. The Razushitzel isn't finished yet."
Shadows Over Iron Gale
Hours later, the roar of jet engines faded into silence as Waltz Squadron touched down at Iron Gale Air Force Base.
Furina's mood had lightened—barely. Beneath the surface, a storm still raged.
And she wasn't the only one.
Something felt off about Brigadier General Buzuleac.
The thought gnawed at the back of her mind, refusing to fade. But for now, she shelved it.
Debriefing
The air in the briefing room was thick with tension. The display screen replayed the mission timeline—every engagement, every confirmed kill, every chaotic second over Bespokoynaya Bay.
At the front of the room, Brigadier General Buzuleac stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.
"Good work, everyone." His voice was clipped. Calculated. "The operation is complete. Stand by for further orders."
Silence.
Then—
Furina raised a finger.
"Hold on a damn second, Brigadier General. Who in the fuck were those two asshats? And why the hell were they after me!?"
Her voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.
"And another thing—why were they using the Allied Forces' radio frequency!?"
Buzuleac stiffened.
His eyes widened—just for a fraction of a second.
"Wait—you're saying they were on our channel?"
The room shifted.
Jean spoke, measured but firm.
"Impossible. They never responded to our IFF."
Buzuleac rubbed his chin, his brows knitting together.
"Maybe… they were there to settle a score?"
He looked straight at Furina.
"It's possible, considering you're an ace yourself, Captain."
Then—Kaveh's voice crackled through the video call.
"But how did they know we had intel on their weapons of mass destruction?"
The room went still.
No one spoke.
Then—
"They wouldn't have taken such actions if they didn't know, General."
Buzuleac scoffed.
"Then they have a spy. Espionage."
Furina's scowl deepened.
"Espionage… tch."
But she caught it.
A flicker. A split-second reaction.
The tension in Buzuleac's jaw.
The way his fingers twitched ever so slightly.
Her gaze narrowed.
Something wasn't right.
The Brigadier General cleared his throat, his tone sharp.
"Everyone, you're dismissed."
The pilots exchanged glances before filing out—heading toward the hangars for a squadron meeting.
The Truth Under the Wing
Minutes later, Waltz Squadron gathered beneath the shadow of Furina's Rafale.
The air was thick with unspoken thoughts.
Furina leaned against the front landing gear, arms crossed.
"Something's amiss," she muttered. "I saw him tense up when espionage was mentioned..."
Eula nodded, her expression hard.
"I saw it too. Something's definitely wrong."
Jean exhaled, arms folded.
"Alright. What we do know is that everyone stationed at this base before Buzuleac is trustworthy."
She met the squadron's eyes.
"That includes us."
"But for now, we tread carefully."
Clorinde clenched her fists, jaw tightening.
"I swear, if that bastard is the spy, I'll make him suffer."
Furina raised a hand.
"No."
The squadron turned toward her.
Her expression was dark.
"I will deal with him."
A chill ran through the air.
Furina's voice was cold. Absolute.
"He specifically chose Waltz Squadron for a reason."
Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous edge.
"I think… he's trying to kill me."
The Target
The squadron froze.
Eula's eyebrow twitched.
Jean's lips parted slightly.
"Think about it," Furina continued, her voice level but firm.
"Too many coincidences. He sends my squadron in alone. Then, those two Berkut pilots just happen to be gunning for me."
She let the weight of her words sink in.
"Don't you think Buzuleac wants me assassinated?"
Silence.
Then—
Ningguang exhaled, nodding slowly.
"I can imagine it..."
Mavuika crossed her arms.
"Then we need to be ready."
She looked around.
"For the next op, we support Waltz as much as we can. Who knows if those pilots—or worse—will show up again."
The Gathering Storm
The day would eventually end.
But the thought lingered in their minds.
Who was the spy?
And why was Furina the target?