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"Young man, you did well in the Far East," Ustinov began, his voice as heavy as his reputation. "You made important contributions to our national defense—especially the EP-3 incident. Thanks to that, we've gained insight into Western electronic systems. And let's not forget, you took down a traitor yourself, preventing our newest aircraft's secrets from falling into American hands."
Andrei nodded respectfully. "Everything I did was for the defense of the Motherland. The United States remains our primary rival. As a pilot, I'm prepared to shed blood in the sky if needed—without regret."
"That's the spirit we need," Ustinov said, leaning back. "But there's pressure. The Americans continue to push us diplomatically. They demand we return the EP-3 crew and aircraft. Of course, we won't bow easily. Still, while our experts examine the recovered systems, a divide is growing among our scientists."
Andrei already knew what he meant. The long-standing debate over vacuum tubes versus solid-state electronics was well-known. Many older Soviet engineers still clung to tube technology, dismissing the transistor revolution in the West. Others—usually younger—understood that the future lay in microelectronics. The Soviet system, however, wasn't good at resolving such internal contradictions quickly.
Andrei knew this was a losing battle, but as a soldier, it wasn't his to fight. His role was to fly and survive. And, for now, to keep his thoughts to himself.
"Tell me," Ustinov continued, "what's your view of our current equipment?"
Andrei paused briefly, then answered with care: "The MiG-25 is impressive—capable of reaching 30,000 meters and speeds beyond Mach 3. It creates real psychological pressure on American and Japanese forces. In the skies over Hokkaido, we had the freedom to enter and leave as we pleased. Their fighters couldn't catch us."
He let the pride linger, before shifting tone.
"Still, there are problems. The R-15B-300 engine requires an overhaul every 150 hours. In practice, that means maintenance every six months and replacement annually. It places a heavy burden on logistics. If we could increase engine lifespan, readiness would improve significantly."
Ustinov listened intently.
Andrei continued. "These jets were designed with the assumption that war would limit their lifespan anyway. But in today's prolonged standoff, where no shots are fired, low durability becomes a liability."
He thought of the American J79 engines—lasting up to 4,000 hours. Entire squadrons operated without ever needing an engine swap. In contrast, the Soviet system, rooted in wartime doctrine and lacking cost efficiency, accepted waste as inevitable.
Andrei shifted gears again.
"Our electronics, too, need improvement. The original Tornado-A radar was bulky and inefficient. Its detection range barely exceeded 100 kilometers, and much of its energy was lost to heat. The upgraded Sapphire-25 is better. It finally offers pulse-Doppler capability, but the processing power isn't sufficient. Over water, it can detect ships. Over land, the screen is flooded with ground clutter."
He paused again, weighing his words carefully.
"And the R-40 missiles—those with semi-active radar seekers—are unreliable. I prefer using the infrared-guided variants when available. Meanwhile, the Americans have moved far ahead. Their F-14 Tomcat can lock onto six targets simultaneously using its radar and fire six Phoenix missiles at once. They demonstrated this in live-fire testing—six AIM-54A missiles launched in 38 seconds against targets between 50 and 80 kilometers away. Four direct hits. One test error. One miss. The point is—they're ahead."
Ustinov's eyes narrowed. He already knew most of these facts, but hearing them from a pilot who had lived it carried more weight.
"And how would you suggest we catch up in electronic warfare?" he asked.
It was a rare thing—an invitation to offer strategic opinion. Andrei didn't take it lightly.
"Our gap in electronics is growing, and even if we mobilize now, it will take time to catch up. But if we want quick results, we should look to Japan."
Ustinov raised an eyebrow.
"The island nation has rapidly industrialized. In electronics, they rival the Americans. Consumer goods, radar systems, signal processing—they excel. Under American influence, they're forced to share advancements with the West. But if we can extract that knowledge—discreetly, through our own means—it could accelerate our own development."
Ustinov leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
"I'm not talking about espionage in the traditional sense," Andrei clarified. "Japan's corporations are connected to global trade. Their designs flow through civilian markets too. Our agents in Europe and Asia could acquire key components and schematics through neutral third parties. With focused effort, we could reverse-engineer and adapt them for military use."
Ustinov said nothing for a moment. Then he stood and walked to the window, gazing across the skyline of Moscow, as if trying to see beyond it.
"A bold proposal," he said at last. "Japan... yes, they have what we lack. If the Americans use them, why shouldn't we?"
He turned back toward Andrei. "Tell me, pilot, would you be willing to assist in such an initiative—if we called on you?"
Andrei didn't hesitate.
"For the Motherland—always."
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