Chapter 87 — Vodka, Vows, and Vigilance
Ustinov was thoroughly enjoying the occasion. Like many Russians, he was an unabashed alcoholic. Not only did he drink heavily himself, he also enjoyed forcing others to join in. Over time, a theory jokingly known as Ustinov's Law had spread among the ranks.
The name might suggest a military doctrine, but in truth, it was a psychological tactic used by a heavy drinker: defeat your opponent at the table before confronting them on the battlefield. That's where the real psychological edge began.
This practice dated back to Ustinov's days overseeing the Arbat Military District. Soviet delegations regularly overwhelmed visiting partners from India, Vietnam, and North Korea with aggressive hospitality. It followed the same ritual: serve strong vodka or shochu, drink it in a single gulp before wide-eyed guests, and carry those same guests out by the end of the night.
"Come on, the Motherland needs your stomach!" became the rallying cry of these banquets. Even years later, when the Chinese delegation negotiated the Su-27 purchase, they were met with the same drinking games. The Russians lost that round—too hungover to argue effectively the next day—so the jets were sold at a much more favorable price.
Now, Ustinov was clearly tipsy, the ethanol wafting from his nostrils thick enough to sting. Andrei knew if this man wanted a drinking contest, he wouldn't back down—he hadn't even started yet.
But Ustinov wasn't looking for a fight. He looked genuinely pleased seeing Andrei and Simonov talking.
"Andrei, next time you shoot down an American F-15, I'll pin another gold star on you," Ustinov said, slurring slightly. "Simonov, what we need now is to build a fighter more advanced than the F-15!"
"Yes, yes, of course," the two replied in unison. Ustinov, as the man overseeing Soviet military equipment, carried enormous authority. Even if his comments were careless, it was hardly a secret that the USSR intended to counter the American jets with newer models.
"Andrei, I've submitted your previous plan to the Ministry of Defense and the Far East Military Region. Bold ideas! I like it!" Ustinov continued, grabbing Andrei's arm. "I've long believed our breakthrough should come from the East. Breaking the West's containment line through the Pacific makes perfect sense. Our Pacific Fleet's still too weak, but we'll shift ships from the Baltic and Northern Fleets. Young man, get ready!"
Was he serious?
Andrei had only mentioned that idea casually. Yet judging by Ustinov's tone, some form of it might really be set in motion. Even if he was drunk, Ustinov wasn't known for idle nonsense. Andrei was momentarily stunned.
The Soviet Union's massive geography meant its strategic emphasis lay in Europe. The Pacific Fleet was secondary. Moving assets there from Europe would require long voyages—through the Mediterranean, the Suez Canal, and across the Indian Ocean. Planning alone would take months; execution, a year or more.
"To our glorious Soviet tomorrow!" Ustinov shouted, raising a vodka glass high.
"To tomorrow!" Andrei echoed, clinking his glass and downing the shot.
...
The rhythmic clatter of wheels filled the train car. Outside, the Russian winter had painted the world in white. Snow blanketed the horizon.
Inside the carriage, the heating created a comfortable haze. Sitting on the sleeper bunk, arms around the woman beside him, Andrei was quietly content.
As arranged by Andropov, Andrei hadn't returned to his unit in the Far East after the October parade. Instead, he traveled to Leningrad for a modest wedding at his family home. It had been a personal wish of Andropov's.
And so, after receiving their marriage license in Moscow, Andrei and Ekaterina traveled to Leningrad for the ceremony. Their journey from romance to marriage had been fast. Andrei still felt like he was dreaming—it barely seemed real.
In just a few months, Andrei had gone from an ordinary pilot to deputy regimental commander, and now a married man. Many men dreamed of marrying a Russian woman—Andrei had done so with the blessing of one of the most powerful men in the country.
And with such a powerful patron, life felt nearly perfect. This honeymoon was shaping up to be a pleasant one.
Except…
"Mom, I want chocolate!" a young voice interrupted.
The couple turned their heads from their shared warmth to see little Ivan pointing eagerly at a large travel bag on the shelf.
Somehow, the boy had found out about their wedding trip. As soon as he heard they were going to Leningrad, he cried and begged to come. No one had been able to persuade him otherwise.
And so, Ivan had joined them. Their wedding trip now looked more like a family holiday.
Across from them sat a man in his thirties. Hearing Ivan's request, he stood and said kindly, "I've got some cheese. Want some, little one?"
Without hesitation, Ivan scrambled across to the opposite bunk, accepted the offer, and said, "Thank you, uncle."
Watching Ivan devour the cheese, Andrei and Ekaterina both laughed softly.
Andrei was fully aware of the situation. Ivan's mother, Irina, hadn't come along due to work commitments, and their usual nanny wasn't present either. It was just Andrei and Ekaterina watching over the boy.
But security wasn't a concern. At least five or six KGB agents were on the train.
Their primary task wasn't protecting Ekaterina. It was guarding Ivan.
Not for personal reasons—but because of blood. He was Andropov's grandson. The KGB chief had made countless enemies over the years, and Ivan was a potential target.
The man now feeding Ivan had said he worked at the Leningrad state department store. Andrei didn't believe it for a moment. He had boarded the train back in Moscow. He was clearly another agent.