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The last air force pilot to receive the title of Hero of the Soviet Union had been Yeliseyev. In 1973, during an interception of an American RF-4C reconnaissance aircraft, Yeliseyev had launched his missile, then deliberately rammed his MiG-21 into the target, sacrificing himself to stop the intrusion. For that act of selfless bravery, the Soviet government posthumously honored him.
At his old regiment—the 982nd—Yeliseyev's name was still the first to be called in roll call, every day.
Now, Andre's own exploits were beginning to echo that same spirit of resolve and sacrifice.
First, during the interception of the American electronic reconnaissance aircraft, Andre had used ramming tactics to force the enemy down, capturing the aircraft intact. It had landed on Soviet soil, intact, delivering the West's sensitive electronics directly into Soviet hands. This alone might have earned him the title of Hero—especially given the USSR's desperate need for electronic advancements.
Then came the incident with Belenko.
When the pilot attempted to defect to the West with a MiG-25, Andre had acted without hesitation. His decisive interception ensured the aircraft—and its secrets—remained in Soviet hands. That was his second major contribution.
Finally, when American forces attempted to salvage the downed MiG-25 from the seafloor, Andre had been the one to suggest using anti-submarine depth charges to destroy the wreck. When that effort failed, he personally flew in and—under fire and with no guarantee of survival—completed the mission himself. He obliterated the fighter to ensure it couldn't be captured by American engineers.
Three major contributions—each one pivotal.
Without Andre, the Soviet Union might still be relying on outdated vacuum tube technology. With him, they had preserved secrets, gained valuable intelligence, and protected national defense integrity. His actions had shifted the course of history.
In real history, Belenko's successful defection caused massive disruption. The USSR had to recalibrate every Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) system across its air force. Many officers were reassigned or dismissed. The Americans, after inspecting the MiG-25, were surprised by its crude construction and realized their fears had been exaggerated.
But in this alternate course—thanks to Andre—none of that happened.
The MiG-25 remained a mystery, a psychological weapon hovering over NATO like a modern-day sword of Damocles.
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His reports were filed, and recognition came swiftly.
Andre was officially named a Hero of the Soviet Union. He would leave the 513th Regiment and the Sokolovka base, temporarily, to receive the award in Moscow.
Excited, he made his way out of the control tower and immediately called Vladivostok's Third Military Hospital.
"Ekaterina," he said when she answered, his voice uncontainably joyful. "I've been awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. I'm going to Moscow to receive it!"
There was a short pause before a thrilled reply. "That's wonderful, Andrei! Congratulations! And as it happens, I'm heading to Moscow as well—to visit my family. We can travel together."
The timing felt almost too perfect.
He had been preparing himself for a lonely journey—weeks, perhaps, away from the woman he had just begun to fall for. Now, they would travel side by side.
Commercial flights were a luxury neither of them had access to, and so they boarded the more familiar and dependable method of transport: the train.
The journey from Vladivostok to Moscow would take more than two full days.
They rode in a classic green sleeper car, its worn steel body groaning slightly with every turn. Smoke curled from the front engine. The sharp clank of metal over switches and rails filled the cabin with rhythm. Andre leaned against the wall, staring out at the endless birch forests rushing by.
It reminded him of another time, another country—the 1980s of his past life.
Endless landscapes filled with mountains, rivers, and forests. An empire vast beyond measure. Despite its contradictions, the Soviet Union truly was immense, and in some places, still pristine and untouched.
Beside him, Ekaterina leaned gently into his side. Her voice broke the quiet.
"Andrei, I'm sorry. If I'd booked earlier, we wouldn't have to endure this long train ride."
He turned to her and smiled. "Don't apologize. This is perfect. We're seeing the land we love together, and I'm with the person who means the most to me. What else could I ask for?"
Moved, Ekaterina rested her head on his chest. She breathed in his scent, feeling safe, proud. She hadn't chosen the wrong man. Not only was he kind and brave—he was now officially a national hero. And she, perhaps, would be the woman at his side through it all.
The train rattled on.
Then, suddenly, Andre sat upright. His eyes had caught something through the narrow window.
"Look—there! ICBMs!"
Another train rushed past them in the opposite direction. Its speed, combined with theirs, made the moment brief. But Andre had seen clearly: eight cars, with one much longer than the others—completely sealed, no windows. A missile transport, almost certainly.
"Rail-mobile ballistic missiles," he whispered. "Could be the older P-9s. Or something even newer..."
He fell silent, realizing his mistake. These trains were highly classified. Even recognizing one publicly could be a problem.
A man across from them raised an eyebrow. "ICBMs? Are you sure?" he asked with quiet interest.
The man was older—around forty—wearing glasses and a neatly pressed jacket. His voice was calm but precise.
Andre gave a slight nod, measuring his response. "Just a guess."
The man extended a hand. "Gromov. Engineer. Dasvata Shipyard. Heading to Moscow on inspection duty."
Andre shook his hand but said nothing more.
He had already said too much.
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