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The United States placed enormous importance on Viktor Belenko's defection. For the CIA, this was more than just the loss of a Soviet pilot—it was a rare opportunity to dissect one of the USSR's most advanced warplanes: the MiG-25.
To execute this operation, the CIA embedded one of their agents deep inside Soviet territory. Her codename: Annie. She had operated undercover for four long years, her presence carefully hidden. In the Soviet Union, where internal movement was limited and citizens remained suspicious of outsiders, placing assets was rare—and costly. Annie's activation meant only one thing: this mission was critical.
Following the EP-3 "Trek" incident, where an American aircraft had been forced down and publicly embarrassed, the U.S. intelligence community needed a win—badly. The MiG-25, with its blistering Mach 3 speed and mysterious capabilities, loomed as a symbol of Soviet superiority. Turning that symbol into a Western asset was now top priority.
Annie had executed flawlessly. She identified Belenko—isolated, disillusioned, recently separated from his wife and child—as a prime candidate. A whirlwind romance sealed his trust. Through charm and manipulation, she pushed him to act. And now, the final step was underway.
Belenko's stolen MiG-25 was supposed to enter Japanese airspace, where two F-4 Phantom IIs, piloted by U.S. Air Force Major Dick Houston and his wingman, were on standby to intercept and escort him.
But something had gone wrong.
When the two F-4s picked up the Soviet blip at ultra-low altitude, they assumed it was their man. But as they drew closer, confusion struck—there were two MiG-25s.
And worse—one was pursuing and firing on the other.
Realizing the Soviets had caught on, the American pilots quickly armed their Sparrow missiles. The onboard AN/APQ-120 radar locked onto the pursuing aircraft—Andre's MiG-25PD.
To protect the defector, they had no choice. Both F-4s fired two AIM-7 Sparrow missiles each.
But they were too late. The trailing MiG had already fired. Seconds later, they watched in disbelief as the lead Soviet fighter went down, crashing into the Sea of Japan.
Back in the cockpit of the MiG-25PD, Andre had just started banking home when his radar warning receiver shrieked. He was being locked onto. Missiles had been launched.
Even 100 nautical miles from Hokkaido, the Americans had fired in international airspace.
Andre's breath held for a moment. He wasn't surprised—just thankful that he'd completed the mission when he did. Had Belenko still been airborne, these two F-4s would have complicated everything.
In the heat of aerial combat, being "locked" meant you were likely already dead. By the 2000s, air-to-air missiles had matured into hyper-lethal, radar-guided systems with high kill probabilities. But this was the 1970s, and despite the ominous screech in his headset, Andre knew the missiles heading his way were imperfect.
They had to be AIM-7 Sparrow missiles—America's go-to medium-range missile of the era. First developed in the late 1940s and continuously improved since, the Sparrow had yet to earn a stellar reputation. Even in Vietnam, U.S. pilots fired entire salvos just to down one enemy fighter. The AIM-7E-2 had barely a 10% hit rate.
The latest variant, the AIM-7F, had just entered service and wasn't likely deployed to Japan yet. Andre calculated quickly—his odds weren't terrible.
He didn't panic.
Instead, he did the one thing the Soviets had drilled into their interceptor pilots: maintain speed and altitude.
If he turned around now, he'd expose his vulnerable rear to the oncoming missiles. Instead, he charged ahead.
Three kilometers ahead, he spotted them—four thin contrails, fast and deadly, streaking through the blue sky like silver javelins.
Time to move.
Andre rammed the throttle forward, igniting the afterburners. The twin R-15 engines roared with power. He yanked the stick back, and the MiG-25 climbed sharply—like a cobra striking toward the heavens.
Though half his fuel was gone, that only helped—his aircraft was lighter. At Mach 2+, the MiG's thrust-to-weight ratio allowed for aggressive vertical maneuvers.
The AIM-7s were not so lucky. The first two missiles, guided only by semi-active radar and flying on fading momentum, couldn't follow the steep climb. They lost lock, drifted, then self-destructed midair.
The remaining two tried to follow his climb, but their speed bled quickly. At less than a kilometer away, they stalled and fell harmlessly into the sea.
Andre leveled out at altitude, a thin trail of vapor curling off his wingtips. He exhaled slowly. Not bad for an outdated jet.
Inside his cockpit, his eyes narrowed. The F-4s had fired first, without warning, in neutral airspace. He wasn't just a returning pilot—they had tried to kill him.
And that, Andre decided, required a response.
His hands settled on the controls. His finger hovered near the weapons switch.
"If they came for blood," he muttered, "then they'd better be ready to bleed."
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