Bombing On Everwinter Island

November 27 — Two Weeks Later

Operation Vagrant Sky: Commence

The war had escalated.

Two weeks after the initial strikes, the Free Jarilo rebellion had advanced deep into Everwinter Island. Their forces had claimed a firm hold on the southeastern coastline—digging in, reinforcing, and expanding their influence across key settlements.

Above, the skies churned with heavy, broken clouds—gray streaks slicing between shafts of pale sunlight.

At Everwinter Air Force Base, the storm had yet to arrive—but the pressure was mounting.

The runways buzzed with activity as final preparations were underway. Bomb loaders worked in rapid shifts, racking live ordnance under wings and fuselages—JDAMs, AMRAAMs, Meteor BVRAAMs, SCALP-EG cruise missiles. Fuel trucks rolled down the line, trailed by ground crews triple-checking arming pins, safeties, and avionics readiness.

F-15E Strike Eagles, F-15EX Eagle IIs, F-15J interceptors, Rafale C and M Evolutions, Eurofighters, F-16C Block 50s, and F/A-18E/F Super Hornets—all combat-loaded, canopied, and gleaming in the cold morning light. Thirty aircraft from Jarilo's 3rd Tactical Fighter Regiment and Teyvat's Strategic Strike Group stood ready on the tarmac.

This was no longer defense.

It was retaliation.

Inside the base's coordination room, all eyes were on the digital operations map—projected in full-color across a raised tactical table in the command pit. Captain Bronya Rand, commander of Silvermane Squadron, stood at the forefront. Beside her: Commander Barrie, Captain Jean Gunnhildr, Commander Furina, Lt. Cmdr. Yanagi, and Captain Miyabi.

Bronya's gloved finger traced a glowing red sector.

"Here. Vagrant Fields," she said, voice steady. "It's a medium-sized airbase with a single main runway—currently under rebel control. This marks our first counterattack zone. Once we achieve local air superiority, Silvermane Ground Forces will begin their push across the town sectors. Street-by-street liberation."

She tapped another blinking marker—closer to the mountainous shoreline.

"And here—Polokov Fortress. It's a hardened mountain stronghold, reinforced bunkers built into the cliffs. There's an airbase tucked right into the valley, making it a tactical nightmare. The assault will be split into four simultaneous ops."

Her tone sharpened as she briefed:

"Operation A: Urban reclamation of the southern town sectors.

Operation B: Full-scale air superiority sweep.

Operation C: Direct neutralization of the fortress checkpoints and surface SAM sites.

Operation D: Strike interdiction of enemy supply lines west of the valley."

Yanagi gave a short nod. "Timetable?"

Bronya didn't hesitate. "Vagrant Fields in five days. We launch on the 27th. Full clearance depending on weather windows and ISR reports."

She dragged her finger northeast—across snow-veiled terrain. "Polokov Fortress? That'll be early December. Estimate: December 27th."

Furina, leaning over the map, raised a brow. "Then Rivet Town comes after New Year, correct?"

"Correct." Bronya nodded. "Twin-runway base embedded in dense urban terrain. Astral Squadron is stationed there—five pilots. They're currently grounded due to enemy occupation."

She moved to another red marker.

"But before anything—we push a landing operation here. Snowshore Peninsula. We need to establish beachhead LZs for our ground divisions before we even think about linking up inland. Expect air resistance."

"Right," Furina said grimly.

Miyabi frowned. Her voice broke the brief pause. "But something still doesn't make sense. Where in the hell did a rebellion get this many aircraft? Or that massive carrier we spotted?"

Furina exhaled slowly. "We're still investigating. Emilie's onboard the wreckage now—recovering flight logs, transponder data, serial stamps. Best case? We crack their supply chain in a few weeks. Worst case... we learn too late."

The words hung heavy.

Then—

WAAAHH—WAAAHH—WAAAHH.

The base-wide claxons shrieked into life.

Red strobes flashed.

A duty officer stormed through the hatchway, his voice cutting through the sirens.

"Alert! Multiple hostile aircraft inbound! High-altitude bombers and escorts!"

Bronya looked out the windows.

"Goddammit—!"

She tore off her comms headset and bolted.

"Get every pilot in the air—NOW! Scramble all squadrons!"

Jean, Furina, Yanagi, and Miyabi were right behind her, helmets in hand, sprinting into the freezing blast of air outside. The once-orderly flightline was now a flurry of chaos.

Pilots dashed across the concrete, leaping onto ladders, strapping into cockpits, performing ten-second start sequences. Teyvat pilots linked up with their Jarilo counterparts. Orders were shouted over loudspeakers in dual languages. The thunder of JFS systems filled the air.

As Bronya sprinted beside her squadmates, Seele joined up, wide-eyed.

"What's happening!?"

"Bomber raid," Bronya snapped. "Escorts in formation. We need to take back the fucking skies!"

Yanagi growled. "They want the whole damn base."

"Isn't it obvious!?" Jean yelled over the roar.

"We gain air superiority!" Seele called back.

"Exactly!" Bronya barked.

Luka, already clenching his helmet, snarled, "Then let's hit 'em back—HARD."

Bronya nodded fiercely. "With our allies behind us, we'll make them regret ever crossing that shoreline!"

The pilots split.

Bronya reached her Strike Eagle. She climbed the ladder two steps at a time, dropped into the cockpit, and slammed the canopy switch. Her gloved fingers hit the master power.

JFS—ENGAGE.

The Jet Fuel Starter came alive with its signature mechanical whine. She reached over, pulled the shoulder harness tight, and snapped the lap belt into place.

JFS Light—GREEN.

First throttle up. Right engine—lit. A rising shriek, then a steady roar.

Second throttle—left engine—spooling hot.

Both F100-PW-229 engines stabilized in idle. RPM nominal.

Canopy—sealed. HUD—active. INS—aligned.

She keyed the ground freq.

"Silver One, engines hot. Taxiing for scramble."

As the brakes came off, her F-15E jolted forward. She steered onto taxiway Bravo, joined by Seele, Pela, and Luka—Silvermane Squadron's strike spear. Behind them, dozens of allied jets joined the column: Rafales with Teyvat markings, F-15Js of Gulliver Squadron, and multirole F-16s from the Eastern Defense Command.

Everwinter Tower crackled to life:

"All aircraft—cleared hot. No delays. Defend this base at all costs. Intercept incoming hostiles—priority on bomber elimination."

One by one, fighters rolled onto the active runway.

Afterburners roared.

Wheels up.

They rose into formation, slicing into the winter sky with burner trails like comet tails.

On the radar—fifty-plus hostile aircraft. IFFs painted them red.

And then—they saw them.

Distant black silhouettes.

Tupolev Tu-160 "Blackjacks." Heavy strategic bombers—swept wings, vapor trails bleeding from high altitude. Dozens of them.

And escorts were closing fast.

This wasn't just a raid.

This was the opening strike of a second wave.

And the skies above Everwinter were about to burn.

AWACS Talisman keyed in, voice sharp and urgent through the static-laced bandwidth:

"Silvermane Team and TSSG, listen up! We've got a confirmed formation of TU-160 Blackjacks inbound on vector 280, high altitude. They're heading straight for Everwinter Base."

A tense pause crackled through the comms.

"Take them out. This territory is all we have left. Hold the skies. Hold the line. Fight it to the very end."

"It's all in your hands now…"

Bronya's voice cut in with practiced command, calm and assertive.

"All units, disperse and engage! Prioritize intercepts—take down any enemy fighters!"

With that order, the tightly-knit formation of Allied aircraft broke apart like shattering glass. Engines roared as wings tilted and fuselages veered in every direction—left, right, up into the stratosphere, and down towards the snow-covered valleys of Jarilo.

Bronya's IFF system pinged—four bogeys, Mirage 2000-4s, coming in hot from 12 o'clock. No time to hesitate.

She toggled over to her AIM-120 AMRAAMs. Her HUD painted the targets—steady tone.

Four locks.

A solid tone screamed into her helmet.

"Fox Three, Fox Three!" she barked, jamming the pickle button.

The belly rails of her F-15E lit up as four AMRAAMs howled off into the sky, trailing vapor contrails as Bronya yanked her stick hard left into a high-G break. Her body slammed into the seat restraints as the aircraft arced around, pressing into a sweeping high-speed turn.

Seconds later—impact.

The AMRAAMs hit center mass. Four explosions lit up the sky, shredded aluminum and plastic raining downward in long trails of smoke and fire.

Bronya tilted her head to glance over her shoulder. The debris of the four Mirages tumbled lifelessly toward the earth.

"Splash four for Guardian," she muttered, keyed in calmly.

AWACS Talisman called back, stress bleeding into their voice.

"Multiple TU-160s still en route. Additional bombers confirmed, full strike group on radar."

A brief pause, then a heavy sigh.

"This is all the territory we have left, Silvermane and Strike Group. Don't let it fall. I repeat—do not let Everwinter fall."

Furina cut in, full of spirit and fury.

"Don't worry, Talisman! We'll sweep the skies clean. Those bombers won't get anywhere near Everwinter!"

Voices chimed in from across the net:

"Right behind you!"

"We won't let our nation fall!"

"We'll fight to the end, Talisman!"

Mika's voice sounded awestruck.

"Look at all the smoke…"

Navia snapped back, scoffing.

"Our front lines won't last at this rate. We take out those escorts now, or it's over."

Seele keyed in with steely resolve.

"Then we hit every hostile aircraft in this AO. No mercy."

Seele spotted a Mirage 2000 flying low under her, tucked just above the treeline. She didn't hesitate.

With a hard snap of her stick to the right, she inverted her F-15E and yanked back into a diving Split-S maneuver—nose swinging low, bleeding altitude fast.

She leveled out directly behind the Mirage's tail.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two! Fox Two!"

Twin AIM-9 Sidewinders screamed from her underwing pylons.

She broke left in anticipation.

A second later, the Mirage disintegrated—both missiles punching through the fuselage, detonating inside the frame. Fire, then fragments, then nothing.

"Splash one, Nightshade!" Talisman confirmed with a sharp edge of pride.

The skies lit up with vapor trails and chaotic dogfighting.

Every Allied jet was entangled with enemy Mirages and F-4 Phantoms, locked in vicious air-to-air duels that blurred the line between survival and annihilation.

Across the AO, Yanagi in her F-15J was locked into a deadly Thach Weave with an F-4 Phantom. The two aircraft danced around one another in a lethal aerial ballet.

Every time her nose briefly lined up with the Phantom's six, she squeezed off a burst from her 20mm Vulcan cannon, tracer rounds clawing through the air.

"Come on... hold steady..."

The Phantom pulled high into a climb.

Yanagi slammed her control stick backward, bracing as the Gs clawed at her vision.

Then the Phantom snapped into a tight wingover, descending fast. Yanagi followed.

"Got you," she whispered.

She squeezed the trigger.

The Vulcan barked. Tracers raked the Phantom's canopy—shattering it—before ripping clean through the left wing.

The enemy jet pitched violently, began spiraling. The pilot was already dead.

Yanagi rolled her F-15J inverted and dove straight back into the chaotic furball.

"Tenge has a bandit down!"

Explosions lit up the sky—five more bandits downed by the TSSG:

Jean: "Dandelion's got a bandit!"

Noelle: "Sweeper shanked a target!"

Navia: "Tango down!"

High above the airspace, Furina caught the glint of silver—four TU-160 Blackjacks cruising at high altitude, their distinctive variable-geometry wings unmistakable against the backdrop of cloud-streaked blue.

Her breath caught, and she keyed her mic.

"Waltz to all Allied planes! The bombers are Blackjacks! Confirmed!"

Pela's voice came through ragged, dodging missile locks from an enemy F-14D Super Tomcat:

"Blackjacks!? Weren't those decommissioned from the Snezhnayan inventory years ago!?"

Seele responded, firing off another pair of Sidewinders at an F-4 Phantom that tried to evade left:

"Yeah! They were! Somebody's supplying these bastards. This rebellion's got deep pockets—or foreign help."

Her missiles struck true. The Phantom detonated mid-turn, shredded into nothing.

"Nightshade's got another target!"

Furina lined herself up behind the Blackjacks, climbing into a pitchback maneuver, pulling into a shallow angle of attack and leveling out.

Her Rafale M F5 Evolution acquired tone.

Four Locks.

"Fox Three, Fox Three!"

Her Meteor missiles burst off the rails with thunderous acceleration, seeking their targets with pinpoint precision.

Suddenly—RWR tone. Lock-on warning.

She snapped her head to the mirror—a Super Tomcat, on her six.

Furina smiled coldly.

"Let's dance."

She chopped throttle to idle and slammed the stick back while punching afterburners—executing a sharp Cobra turn. Her Rafale pitched nearly vertical, then backward—momentarily flying tail-first.

Her seeker found its mark.

"Fox Two!"

A MICA missile leapt from her wingtip.

She completed the Cobra into a full 360-degree reversal and broke left, pulling away just as—

BOOM.

The four Meteor missiles tore through the tail sections of the TU-160s. Empennages disintegrated; the bombers pitched violently down, flaming and falling like dead giants.

Behind her, the F-14D that had chased her was nailed head-on by her MICA. The cockpit shattered. The jet spiraled helplessly down in two flaming halves.

Clorinde keyed in, chuckling over the radio:

"Still got it, eh, Captain?"

Furina, panting, wiped her brow and smiled.

"Yep. Still got it."

All the while, more allies keyed into the comms, confirming their kills one after another.

Navia: "Two Tangos down!"

Mika: "F-14 splashed!"

Pela: "Two Mirages down!"

Then came Talisman, steady but sharp over the net:

"Enemy threat level down to two! Keep at it, everyone!"

But just as a breath of relief was beginning to settle, the radar lit up again.

Four more blips.

Four Tu-160 Blackjack bombers, entering the battlespace from the east, south, and north—two of them from the southern vector. Their massive profiles burned across the radar like giants entering the battlefield.

"Four more bombers on radar!" came the AWACS call.

"All units, seek and destroy—don't let them through!"

Suddenly, their enemy's frequency crackled to life.

But it wasn't just the enemy.

The captured radio station on Everwinter Island had begun transmitting again—now under enemy control.

A chilling broadcast echoed across the open frequency:

"To the armed forces at Everwinter Island… your resistance is futile."

"Land your planes, throw down your weapons, and surrender!"

Seele's teeth clenched as she gritted out:

"They're out of their fucking minds if they think we'll surrender that easily!"

Eastern Sector

Toward the east, Miyabi spotted two Tu-160s high above the clouds—lumbering, but deadly. Their silhouette stark against the pale stratosphere.

"Two bombers, 12 o'clock high! Intercepting!"

She slammed her throttles to full military power, twin F110-GE-129 engines howling as her F-15J surged ahead. Yanking back on the stick, she pitched into a steep climb—an Immelmann maneuver. The nose arced up into the sky until she rolled inverted at the apex, bleeding speed but gaining precious altitude.

Her radar locked on.

Tone.

"Fox Three, Fox Three!"

Four AMRAAMs launched cleanly from her pylons, contrails slicing upward like spears thrown by the gods. Miyabi rolled level and broke hard left.

The missiles found their targets seconds later, slamming into the massive tail sections of both bombers. The TU-160s staggered—then veered into each other midair in a catastrophic collision. A fireball erupted above the cloud deck as their fuselages tore each other apart in a storm of twisted metal.

Miyabi rolled inverted again, diving back into the fray.

"Tango Two down!"

Harumasa keyed in from below:

"Nice kill, Chief!"

He pulled into a shallow climb, then banked hard to the right, bringing his crosshairs onto a lone enemy F-16C diving toward their formation. He loosed two AIM-9X Sidewinders in quick succession.

"Fox Two!"

The Sidewinders tracked true, striking the enemy fighter on its right wing root. The jet erupted in a blast of debris and tumbled into a flat spin, flames trailing as it spiraled toward the ocean below.

Southern Sector

To the south of the AO, two Rafale M F5 Evolutions screamed toward a single Tu-160. The bomber lumbered ahead, escorted.

Collei's eyes scanned her radar—two new contacts pinged alongside the bomber.

"Looks like escorts!"

Eula glanced at her scope, then smirked.

"Looks to be French too, huh…"

Collei nodded sharply.

"Affirmative. A French civil revolution in the skies."

Talisman chimed in over the net, keeping everyone aligned:

"These are the last set of bombers. We're almost there—don't let up!"

The two enemy Mirage 2000s broke formation and came in aggressive. Dogfight imminent.

Collei shoved her throttles forward. Her twin Snecma M88s roared as her Rafale surged ahead, breaking right as one of the Mirages flashed past her canopy.

She pulled hard—90 degrees into a high-G turn. Vapor trails formed across her wings and forward canards as condensation bloomed.

She was behind the Mirage now.

It began jinking, sliding left and right erratically. Collei stayed tight on its six, mimicking every maneuver—her Rafale a mirror image of the enemy's own desperation.

Nearby, Clorinde was in trouble.

A Mirage was locked on and chasing her hard.

Then—an idea.

Clorinde's eyes shot to the left. Collei was above, maybe at her ten o'clock high.

"Cuilenen! High Yo-Yo! High Yo-Yo!"

Collei spotted her—Clorinde was down at five o'clock low.

Without hesitation, Collei broke right in a sharp hardover, diving at full burn.

Clorinde went the opposite direction—banking left and climbing fast.

Both pilots shoved their throttles to max afterburner, red diamonds flashing on their RWRs as enemy radar locks screamed in their ears.

Then—

They both cut throttle to idle.

Spoilerons deployed.

Clorinde broke left.

Collei broke right.

At the center of the break, the two Rafales executed a Cobra maneuver in mid-turn—pitching their noses violently vertical, air brakes dragging them nearly to a stall, their afterburners flaring in tandem. The maneuver was so tight that their tails nearly touched.

The Mirages, trying to pursue, broke off too late.

In panic, both enemy jets instinctively turned toward each other—and slammed nose-first into one another.

The collision tore both aircraft apart in a midair inferno—debris cascading down like burning confetti.

Clorinde looked up through her canopy, eyes wide.

"Ho ho—HOLY SHIT!!"

She spotted Collei rolling out of the maneuver, inverted and laughing.

"COLLEI!!!"

Collei howled with exhilaration.

"HAHA! YES!"

Talisman let out a chuckle across the channel.

"Whoooo! What a kill, you two! Nice work! Now get that bomber!"

Clorinde keyed in, voice breathless but sharp:

"Collei, she's all yours!"

Then—

A distant explosion.

A fireball bloomed low on the southern horizon. Smoke billowed into the pale winter sky as a burning wreck tumbled earthward.

One of Silvermane Squadron's F-15E Strike Eagles had scored the kill. The second-to-last Tu-160 Blackjack bomber had been turned into airborne shrapnel.

Talisman's voice cut in over the comms, sharp and steady:

"Cuilenen, she's all yours. That's the last bomber in the air. All other enemy fighters are bugging out."

Collei grinned inside her oxygen mask. Her breath fogged the inside of her canopy for a brief second.

"Roger that, Talisman. It's all mine."

She pushed her twin Snecma M88 engines to military power—not quite afterburner, but fast enough to surge ahead with purpose—and tipped her Rafale M into a smooth, banking left turn. Her nose lined up with the final Tu-160, the last steel leviathan trying to escape into the clouds.

The bomber was massive—nearly 54 meters in length—with wings swept back and engines roaring in vain. It was trying to outrun death.

It had no chance.

Collei eased into position, slotting in directly behind it, barely 1,500 meters off its tail.

She toggled her weapon systems selector—missiles flicked past on the HUD, then the reticle turned yellow:

GUN SELECTED

Her eyes narrowed.

"Take this."

She squeezed the trigger.

The GIAT M791 30mm revolver cannon mounted beneath her cockpit unleashed a steady roar. Tracer rounds lit the air like molten rain, tearing through the sky in a bright orange stream.

The rounds ripped through the Tu-160's tail, shattering control surfaces and structural supports. The starboard wing cracked near the root, sheared clean off by the kinetic impact.

The Blackjack began to spiral—violently—its engines trailing thick black smoke as it nosed downward in a doomed roll. No chutes emerged.

It plunged like a falling monument and slammed nose-first into a snow-swept plain below, detonating in a rolling shockwave of fire and shattered earth.

"Tango down!" Collei called, pulling up and banking hard to clear the blast radius.

Talisman keyed in once more, his voice proud but still professional:

"All enemy bombers down! Great work, everyone!"

"I've got to say… you all handled this better than half the regulars I've flown with!"

Harumasa broke in, chuckling.

"All this praise is making me red in the face, Talisman! I might not even be able to fly back to base!"

Talisman laughed over the channel.

"Roger that, Zanshin. In that case, I'll just report you as gunned down and missing in action!"

Bronya's voice joined, amused:

"That's pretty harsh treatment for our guests, Talisman."

She guided her Strike Eagle into a gentle right bank, angling back toward friendly territory. Her voice turned firm, leader-like once more.

"All aircraft, return to base. Let's make it back in one piece—and in time for supper, eh?"

The surviving formation of fighters—wings nicked, fuel tanks low, guns empty—banked westward, one after another like a school of steel-sworn birds returning from war.

The cloud ceiling ahead opened briefly, revealing the vast, cold expanse of Everwinter Island below—and the silhouette of Everwinter Air Force Base, standing resilient against the frostbitten horizon.

Home was still there.

And they were flying back to it.

Half an hour later…

Every aircraft made it back.

No losses.

No hits.

Not a single one left behind.

The air around Everwinter Air Force Base buzzed with renewed momentum. The flightline was a blur of motion—ground crews and mechanics rushed out in orange vests and winter gear, moving with trained urgency. Re-arming began immediately, missile carts and fuel trucks swarming around the returning fighters.

Their aircraft—still hot from battle—were being prepped for the next fight: the first major counter-offensive since the war began.

Inside the briefing room, the atmosphere was dense. The air reeked of sweat, jet fuel, and tension that hadn't yet faded from the mission. Every seat was filled—pilots, tacticians, squadron leaders—all crammed shoulder to shoulder, debrief folders in hand, helmets resting on the floor beside their boots.

At the front of the room stood Commander Barrie, straight-backed in his frost-patched uniform, and Bronya, standing coolly beside him. Behind them, the large screen displayed a digital tactical map, glowing red and blue across Jarilo's northern theater.

Commander Barrie stepped forward. His voice was crisp and deep.

"Solid work out there. Every single one of you. You held the skies, protected Everwinter Island, and shredded every last enemy bomber they threw at us."

He tapped a control device. The map zoomed in, highlighting the surrounding territories in shifting colors.

"Because of your efforts, the airspace around Everwinter is secure. Not only that—your defense operation dealt a significant blow to enemy air power in the surrounding sectors. Their bomber fleet is crippled, and their escorts routed."

Bronya took a step forward, arms behind her back, her violet eyes sweeping across the crowd.

"With that success, our ground forces are now in final preparation for the counter-attack at Vagrant Fields, scheduled for the 27th."

She gestured to a point on the map, which flared red—the next battleground.

"This marks the beginning of Operation Frostburn. The start of our campaign to regain lost ground."

Her voice sharpened:

"From this moment on, we move forward. One airbase at a time... one battle at a time… until we reach Belobog."

"And we take. It. Back."

The room held still for a moment—then a low murmur of resolve began to ripple across the pilots. Faces hardened. Backs straightened.

They had won a battle. But the war for Jarilo was only beginning.