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The CIA's plan to assist Belenko's defection using the MiG-25 had ultimately failed, thanks to Andrei's swift interception. The aircraft had plunged into the sea hundreds of nautical miles off Hokkaido, sinking into the depths of the Sea of Japan.
Though the pilot had been lost, the wreckage remained. And for the Americans, that was enough. If they could retrieve the downed aircraft, they could still unlock its technological secrets.
At the CIA's regional headquarters, when Locke—chief of Far East operations—outlined the updated salvage mission, Lieutenant General Paul immediately approved. Time was critical. The longer the wreck sat on the seabed, the more likely the Soviets were to intervene.
Locating the exact crash site would not be easy. Though the approximate coordinates were known, the Sea of Japan had an average depth of nearly 2,000 meters. Traditional divers couldn't operate at such depths. That's why the U.S. Navy dispatched two oceanographic survey vessels equipped with sonar mapping and subsea imaging systems, capable of identifying objects even at great depths.
A salvage ship followed behind, ready to deploy deep-sea equipment the moment the target was confirmed.
To the Americans, the location—nearly 100 nautical miles from Hokkaido—was within reach. They assumed the Soviets wouldn't dare contest operations in that area. That assumption would soon be tested.
On the survey ships, crew members sent out continuous sonar pulses, watching the monitors as seafloor data was rendered in real time. They scanned tirelessly, searching for a silhouette that matched the dimensions of a MiG-25.
Hours passed. Fatigue began to take hold. That's when a sailor on deck spotted something unusual in the distant eastern sky—four aircraft, moving fast, the roar of their engines distinct.
"F-4s?" one sailor muttered in confusion. But then he noticed something was off. The incoming jets weren't American.
"Altitude 28,000 meters, speed Mach 2.8. Damn it! We can't intercept at that speed or height!" one of the American radar officers barked into the radio. A scramble order was issued. Four F-4 Phantom fighters launched, but even before visual contact, it was clear—they were outmatched.
The MiG-25s were flying too high, too fast. The F-4s could neither climb to meet them nor keep pace. Interception was futile.
At that altitude—well into the stratosphere—the view from Andrei's cockpit was breathtaking. The curvature of the Earth was visible, and the blue below faded into a black horizon. It was a sight that humbled even the most hardened pilot.
Andrei flew his No. 032 MiG-25P, leading a formation that included a MiG-25R reconnaissance aircraft and two interceptors from a sister regiment. Their mission: to observe and record the American salvage operation.
As they crossed the maritime boundary into international airspace, the formation reached their peak altitude. The afterburners roared as they soared at Mach 2.8. Andrei's radar lit up with four signals.
"032 to 462. Four contacts detected at 16,000 meters, speed Mach 1.5. No threat at this time," he relayed to the recon aircraft.
The MiG-25R was no ordinary plane. Born from the same airframe as the interceptor variant, the reconnaissance version had evolved into a formidable machine. Originally equipped with five cameras—four A-70M side-looking units and a single A/E-10 terrain mapping lens—it later received upgrades that included A-72 cameras with 150mm lenses and optional SRS-4A/B/V electronic reconnaissance gear. The addition of the SPS-141 "Alert" jamming pod and optional bombing systems turned it into a dual-role reconnaissance bomber: the MiG-25RB.
Today, that capability was on full display. As the recon aircraft photographed the vessels below, Andrei maintained a high guard. The U.S. F-4s attempted to close the gap but failed to gain altitude. From above, the Soviet aircraft swept past the American salvage fleet, collecting imagery and electronic data.
The mission took them dangerously close to Hokkaido before the formation banked sharply and returned toward Soviet airspace. Within minutes, the aircraft were safely back at base.
Back at Sokolovka, the film from the reconnaissance flight was immediately processed.
Andrei, freshly changed out of his flight gear, was summoned to the base commander's office.
"Report," he called out as he knocked.
Inside, in addition to Colonel Kozhedub and Regiment Commander Ivanov, there were two unfamiliar men. Both were clearly senior officers. One had a lined face and piercing eyes. The other stood rigidly, wearing a spotless air defense uniform.
Andrei's gaze dropped to their shoulders. His breath caught.
Three stars on a golden insignia—an admiral. And the other wore the bars of a lieutenant general.
No wonder Kozhedub seemed so... restrained. It wasn't every day that men of this rank visited a forward base like Sokolovka.
"Captain Andrei," Kozhedub said proudly, "allow me to introduce General Ivan Trechyanko, commander of the Far Eastern Military District, and Lieutenant General Konstantin Boermann, deputy commander of the same, and head of our regional Air Defense Forces."
Andrei immediately stood at attention. "Captain Andrei, 513th Regiment, Homeland Defense Air Force. Reporting as ordered!"
Trechyanko gave a small nod. Boermann, expression unreadable, stepped forward slightly, his eyes studying Andrei.
"This is a proud day for Sokolovka," Kozhedub continued. "Your reconnaissance sortie today confirmed what our analysts feared—American efforts to recover the downed MiG-25 are active and well-funded."
Trechyanko spoke next, his voice calm but firm. "Captain, your performance today prevented a potential intelligence catastrophe. If the Americans recover even part of that aircraft, they'll understand weaknesses we cannot afford to reveal."
Andrei remained silent, listening intently.
"You and your team may have saved years of strategic advantage," the general added.
Andrei's chest tightened—not from pride, but from the weight of responsibility. This was no longer just about one sortie. It was about maintaining balance in a world on edge.
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