Chapter 104 – Red Thunder in the Skies
The tension aboard the Kitty Hawk was palpable.
Inside the combat information center, green phosphorescent blips crawled across radar screens, illuminating the taut faces of sailors and officers. Lieutenant General Jonard stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"Type and altitude?" he demanded.
"Unknown—single contact, moving fast. Altitude… above 20,000 meters. Speed... increasing past Mach 2.8," the radar operator replied, almost in disbelief.
A chill swept through the room. Everyone already knew what it was. There was only one aircraft in this region capable of that performance.
"MiG-25," Ted muttered grimly. "Damn Soviets are coming for a close look."
Jonard turned sharply toward the deck officer. "Scramble a section of Tomcats. Now!"
Outside, on the heaving deck, two F-14 Tomcats roared to life despite the pitching sea. Deck crews, already on edge due to the swells, worked with swift precision. Steam hissed from the catapults.
"Grimhawk One and Two, clear to launch," came the order.
Within seconds, the heavy interceptors were hurled from the flight deck and shot upward into the overcast sky, their twin TF30 engines howling as they climbed to intercept.
---
Sky Above the Northern Pacific – 22,500 meters
Andrei sat in the tight cockpit of his MiG-25R, the instrument panel dimly glowing in the early morning twilight. Beneath him, the wide blue curve of the Earth. Ahead, the flat expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Below him, American warships.
He gritted his teeth and pushed forward.
The modified MiG-25R reconnaissance variant had been topped with a 5,300-liter belly tank and fueled to capacity. The last two days had been spent reviewing route data, emergency return scenarios, and the radar profile of every U.S. Navy ship in the region.
As he passed the invisible line that marked international airspace near the Kitty Hawk, Andrei began his reconnaissance sweep.
From this height, the American carrier was just a distant shape amid an escort of dots. But the cameras hidden in the belly of his aircraft—specially upgraded by Soviet optical technicians—would capture everything in startling detail.
A warning buzzed on his RWR.
"AWG-9 lock," Andrei muttered. "So they've sent the Tomcats."
Two small blips appeared on his rear radar. Climbing fast. Their radar signatures matched what Soviet intelligence had long theorized about the F-14s.
Andrei resisted the temptation to break away.
He maintained altitude, speed, and course. A deliberate provocation—but entirely legal in international airspace.
---
Inside Grimhawk One
"Visual contact. Bandit, twelve o'clock high. Christ, look at that thing move…"
The lead Tomcat pilot, Commander Davis, focused his radar crosshairs. His backseater, Lieutenant Cross, was already monitoring missile lock readiness.
"AWG-9 has lock, ready with Phoenix if needed."
"Hold fire. Just shadow him."
The MiG-25 was sleek, silver, and impossibly fast. It cut through the stratosphere like a scalpel. The F-14s were pushing their performance envelopes, trying to catch up, but they couldn't match the altitude.
Davis keyed his radio. "Unidentified Soviet aircraft, you are approaching U.S. Naval forces. Turn away or be intercepted."
Andrei's reply came through static, crisp and firm. "This is a legal reconnaissance flight in international airspace. We do not violate sovereignty. Stand down."
The line went dead.
Commander Davis scowled but said nothing. The Soviet was right—and they all knew it.
---
Aboard the Kitty Hawk
"They're not backing down," the communications officer said. "Our Tomcats are trailing, but they can't gain position."
Jonard clenched his jaw. "He's photographing us. Make sure we keep all jammers off. We don't give them a reason."
Colonel Steve leaned over. "This could be their opening move. Next time, it won't just be cameras."
"Maybe," Jonard replied. "Or maybe this is just a reminder."
---
Sokolovka Airbase – Hours Later
The MiG-25R touched down smoothly after a round-trip flight of nearly 2,000 kilometers. As it taxied in, Andre's cockpit opened and ground crew rushed forward, cheering despite protocol.
Inside the hangar, photographic technicians eagerly removed the film canisters.
Hours later, the images were developed: top-down views of the Kitty Hawk, every escort ship, even the F-14s circling in the sky. The clarity was near perfection.
In the command office, Andrei stood silently as General Trechyanko reviewed the prints. Ustinov himself had requested them.
Trechyanko finally looked up, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
"You've done the impossible. Flew over the pride of the U.S. Navy and returned without a scratch."
Andrei saluted.
"Let them know," Trechyanko said, "that the Soviet Far East watches everything."
---
Moscow – Ministry of Defense
Ustinov laid the photos on the desk before Brezhnev and Andropov. The General Secretary's eyes narrowed as he took in the clear image of CV-63, exposed in the Pacific.
Brezhnev grunted. "They'll scream."
Andropov allowed a faint smile. "Let them. They've done it to us for years."
---
Washington D.C. – Pentagon Briefing
"This is a direct provocation," an Air Force general barked.
The Chief of Naval Operations shook his head. "They flew legally. We didn't fire. That's restraint."
"They embarrassed us."
"They reminded us."
---
In the end, the world would not know of the high-altitude duel that occurred silently over the Sea of Japan. There would be no newspaper reports, no television broadcasts—only whispered conversations in war rooms and darkened bunkers.
But in both Moscow and Washington, one truth settled like frost.
The Cold War wasn't just a battle of missiles and doctrine.
It was a battle of nerves—and Andrei Tolstoy had just proven that his were made of steel.