---
The warm winds of the Pacific Ocean swept across Primorsky Krai, carrying with them the salt of the sea and the weight of the Cold War.
The region was beautiful — lush forests, clean air, a temperate oceanic climate that seemed tailor-made for human life. But beauty didn't matter here. Not now.
This was the Soviet Far East — face-to-face with Japan, just across the Sea of Japan. Hokkaido to the east, Honshu to the southeast. It wasn't just geography. It was the front line.
Any moment of friction could ignite this Cold War into something hotter than anyone was ready for.
---
To counter NATO's pressure, the Soviet Union had built a massive military presence in the region. Vladivostok — the southern hub of Primorsky — housed the Pacific Fleet, the hammer of Soviet naval power in the East.
But in the quiet northern corner of this tense territory sat Sokolovka Air Base, near the town of Qiuguyevka. This was home to the 513th Regiment of the Homeland Defense Air Force, armed with the latest MiG-25 interceptors.
When war came, these jets would be the first to launch.
But for now, their daily grind was filled with "routine" — like the interception that had just turned into a complete nightmare.
---
Inside a cramped office beside the control tower, Commander Kuoridub Dougrayev stared out the window, his jaw clenched.
Out on the grass beyond the runway sat the broken husk of an American EP-3 reconnaissance plane. Farther down the tarmac, two MiG-25s had just completed their return landing.
Kuoridub's face was unreadable — a mixture of irritation and calculation.
---
His name stirred false reverence. "Kozhedub" was also the name of the Soviet Union's most decorated WWII ace — 62 confirmed kills between 1943 and 1945. A legend.
But this wasn't him.
This Kozhedub was just named after a hero — and happy to bask in the confusion. Age 40, ambitious, a career airman who had flown MiG-15s after graduating aviation school. He'd been posted at Sokolovka for years, eventually rising to commander.
Arrogant. Self-important. Known for violent outbursts and vanity.
But fiercely loyal to those who flattered him. A product of his time.
---
He had been expecting a promotion — a seat in Moscow's Homeland and Air Defense Command would open soon. All he had to do was keep quiet, keep clean, and avoid headlines.
Now this.
A U.S. military aircraft had crash-landed on his airbase.
And Soviet fighter pilots were involved in a collision.
Not a routine escort. Not a lock-on flyby.
A physical hit. A diplomatic bombshell.
Kozhedub had reported it immediately to Moscow. Intelligence officers and electronic warfare specialists were already en route. The base had turned into a powder keg.
And if the Americans made noise — which they would — the Kremlin would need someone to blame.
---
"Report."
A voice called from the hallway.
"Enter."
The door swung open. Two pilots stepped in, still in flight suits, helmets in hand.
Andrei and Belenko.
Kozhedub wasted no time.
"Explain the incident," he said flatly.
Belenko stepped forward without hesitation.
"During the intercept, the American pilot deliberately moved closer to our aircraft. That proximity caused the collision."
Andrei blinked. That wasn't what he expected.
But it was brilliant.
Belenko, the lead for the sortie, had preemptively rewritten the narrative: the collision was the fault of the Americans.
Deliberate provocation.
Not Soviet aggression.
---
Kozhedub nodded slowly.
This was good. Clean. Contained.
He would frame the official report just like that. And if things escalated, Moscow would have a defense — blame the Americans.
---
Andrei stepped forward.
"Commander, the American aircraft is on base property. We need to prepare for a potential response. Their forces may try to escalate."
Kozhedub waved him off.
"Orders are already issued. Sokolovka is on first-level combat readiness."
Andrei stiffened.
"Understood. I'll rejoin the flight line at once."
But Kozhedub shook his head.
"Negative. Your aircraft sustained a spin stall. It needs inspection and repairs.
Belenko's engine is due for servicing as well. Neither of you will fly until cleared."
Andrei opened his mouth to protest, but Belenko nudged him with a subtle shake of the head.
---
Back outside, they climbed into a waiting transport truck. The mood was tense.
"Damn it," Andre muttered. "My plane's fine. It just needs some welding. The commander's overreacting."
Belenko gave a sideways grin.
"You know how he is. Just write your flight report carefully.
But I'll give you this—what you did today?"
He leaned back against the side panel.
"It was crazy.
And it was fun."