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The EP-3's structure was conventional — a cantilevered low-wing design, aluminum alloy airframe, and four Allison T56 turboprop engines, each driving a constant-speed 54H60-77 four-bladed propeller.
It was built for endurance. Just like WWII-era bombers, the plane could cruise long distances by shutting down one or even two engines under the right conditions — weight, fuel load, favorable weather. Typically, Engine No.1, on the far left, was the one chosen for shutdown, since it lacked a generator.
In its place, a small portside observation window had been installed.
And now, through that very window, the observer saw something unforgettable.
A Soviet MiG-25 had just sliced off part of their wing.
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If it had only clipped the propeller, they might have stabilized. But this was worse. A section of the wing was gone — a serious disruption to the aircraft's lift symmetry.
The left side dropped fast. The right wing still carried full lift, flipping the entire fuselage into a hard roll. The pilot reacted quickly, forcing the yoke right and fighting to recover.
Altitude began to drop like a stone.
Air shrieked over the hull, a banshee wail that pierced every ear in the cabin. Crew members shouted. Someone braced against the bulkhead.
They were going down.
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"Hold it! Hold it!" Asius shouted from behind the cockpit.
But he wasn't a pilot. All he could do was yell and pray.
The pilot gritted his teeth and yanked back on the stick.
"Come on, baby…"
At 2,000 meters, the EP-3 finally leveled off. Barely.
---
"We're hit. We're done. We can't make it home," the pilot shouted.
The wing had lost its structure. One hard turn would send the entire plane spiraling. Flying back to base — thousands of kilometers away — was suicide.
"We have to make a forced landing!"
Asius shook his head. "No! We're not landing in Soviet territory!"
But a sudden gust of wind slammed into the aircraft. The damaged wing pitched again. Alarms went off. Crew members screamed as the aircraft rocked violently.
Asius collapsed into a seat, pale.
He understood now — there was no choice.
They needed land. Any land.
---
In the cockpit of his MiG-25, Andrei monitored the scene through the narrow armored canopy. The EP-3's erratic flight made it clear: it was crippled.
His maneuver had worked — a deliberate collision — and now the intruder was going down.
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"Sokolovka, this is 032," Andrei reported.
"Interceptor target was struck. It's now entering our airspace. Loss of altitude is visible."
He was tense. Ahead was a Soviet SAM installation, and if they mistook the damaged plane for a threat, it would be blown out of the sky.
"Continue shadowing, 032," came the calm voice from ground command.
"Status of your aircraft?"
"No damage. Fully operational. Interceptor target has lost one engine and partial wing structure. Appears to be preparing for emergency landing."
Belenko, flying alongside, trailed slightly behind the EP-3, watching its shuddering movements.
The American aircraft looked like it could fall apart at any moment.
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Inside the EP-3, panic simmered beneath the surface. They'd crossed into Soviet airspace — the one red line no pilot wanted to break. Soviet doctrine was clear: no intrusions tolerated.
The Americans had heard stories. The Soviets had shot down straying civilian planes before — what would they do to a U.S. spy plane?
Ahead, through the haze, a runway appeared.
"There's an airstrip!" Asius shouted.
A single, narrow stretch of concrete carved out of the forest — likely a military field.
The pilot gripped the controls tight. "No second chances."
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The EP-3 wobbled through final descent. It dropped below 500 meters.
The plane veered off alignment. A small adjustment nearly sent it into a spin. The pilot steadied it.
The wheels extended with a lurch.
Too far left — then bounce — slam — bounce again. The fuselage rattled like a tin can in a dryer.
The left landing gear hit first. The EP-3 skidded sideways, careening off the edge of the runway and tearing across a grassy field. Dirt kicked up in clouds. The fuselage groaned as it rolled just short of the treeline.
But it stopped.
Alive.
---
"Evacuate now!" the pilot shouted, unstrapping his harness.
But Asius raised a hand. "Destroy the equipment! Nothing gets into Soviet hands!"
Inside the aircraft were some of the most advanced signal intelligence systems in the U.S. arsenal.
If the Soviets got access, they'd tear the entire American SIGINT strategy apart.
He scrambled for the destruction switches—when a sharp voice barked from outside:
"Drop your weapons! Hands in the air! Exit the aircraft immediately!"
They were surrounded.
Too late.