Ficool

Chapter 35 - The final Flame

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The MiG-25 was a machine born of necessity—a high-speed interceptor created to chase down American SR-71s and strategic bombers. Its missile, the R-40, was massive, brutal, and built specifically for the aircraft. Even its mounting pylons had to endure the searing heat of Mach 3 flight. In its original design, the MiG-25 carried only R-40s—making it a missile truck with no capacity for close combat. That weakness meant it rarely engaged in dogfights.

Only with the introduction of the MiG-25PD, the upgraded variant Andre now flew, did things change. This version boasted a new radar, updated fire control system, and more importantly—a secondary loadout of short-range R-60 missiles.

The R-60, known by NATO as the "Aphid," was a lightweight, highly maneuverable infrared-guided air-to-air missile developed in the late 1960s and deployed in the mid-70s. Weighing just 65 kilograms, it was designed for within-visual-range engagements—especially effective in the low-altitude dense atmosphere, albeit with limited range and a modest 6 kg warhead.

As Andre squeezed the trigger, a roar filled the air.

A single R-60 detached from beneath his wing and screamed toward Belenko's MiG-25. The heat signature from Belenko's twin afterburning R-15 engines lit up like a beacon. The missile homed in without effort and struck one engine.

A fiery burst. Shrapnel exploded outward. Thick black smoke spewed from the rear of Belenko's jet.

But it didn't go down.

With one engine still running, the MiG-25 kept flying, trailing smoke but pushing forward. Belenko, in his cockpit, fought to maintain control. Come on... just a little further! Where are the Americans?!

Panic bled into doubt. Did Annie even contact them? Could she really reach U.S. intelligence? Or was she—

A chilling realization dawned. What if she's not who she claimed to be? What if this whole thing was manipulated from the start?

His heart pounded. In the days leading up to this flight, Belenko had been blinded by his desperation, by the idea of escaping the crumbling system around him. Annie had seemed like salvation. But now, at the edge of no return, he finally questioned her sudden arrival, her knowledge, her certainty.

And then, the cockpit rattled violently.

The remaining engine sputtered and died.

No...

His fuel was gone. He had known it was a risk. The ground crew had barely topped off his tanks before the "test flight." Flying at low altitude to avoid radar had consumed even more fuel. Andrei's pursuit had forced him to accelerate and climb—burning the last drops.

One engine out? The MiG-25 could still limp home. Both engines out?

It's over.

The only option left was to eject.

Belenko snapped down the visor of his KM-1 flight helmet, checked his speed and altitude, leveled the plane, and reached for the ejection handle.

This is it.

Bang! The canopy launched skyward. A split-second later, the ejection seat's rocket motor fired. The force hurled him from the aircraft. Two seconds later, the seat detached and his parachute deployed, catching the wind above the Sea of Japan.

Behind him, the wounded MiG-25 spiraled downward before slamming into the sea.

Andre was still locked in pursuit, readying another missile—a heavy R-40 this time, after seeing the R-60's limited effect. The distance was ideal. His thumb hovered over the fire control switch.

Then he saw it.

The MiG-25's engines flamed out. The canopy jettisoned. A pilot, small in the distance, launched into the sky beneath a parachute.

No need for a second shot.

In the cockpit of his MiG-25PD, Andre exhaled and took his finger off the trigger.

Just then, a sharp voice came through his headset.

"032, return immediately. I repeat, return. Two inbound targets, bearing 190, altitude 12,000, range 20 kilometers."

The radar station had picked up two fast-approaching aircraft—likely American F-4s. The higher command assumed the kill had been completed. They had no interest in escalating this further.

Andre blinked, his focus sharpening. The moment was over. The mission was done.

But inside, something shifted.

He had watched a man fall—not just from the sky, but from belief, from trust, from everything he once thought solid. Belenko hadn't simply flown west; he had crashed under the weight of hope and betrayal.

Andre banked gently, nose swinging east. His fuel gauge was still healthy. His jet still burned bright.

But something inside felt… quieter now.

As the horizon widened before him, the voice in his headset repeated:

"Return to base, 032. Mission complete."

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