Chapter 109 – Deception Over Deck
USS Kitty Hawk
"We don't have to worry too much about the threat of the MiG-25. Although they can fly to an altitude of 30,000 meters and reach a speed of Mach 3, at this altitude and speed, their maneuverability is very poor. They can't dogfight, and it's even more impossible to launch missiles in that state," said Colonel Steve, the aircraft carrier's captain. "At most, it's for reconnaissance. Our Blackbird can also conduct reconnaissance at this altitude."
This statement sounded feeble. Everyone knew that just a few months ago, the American Blackbird had been shot down by the Soviets over the Far East. Since then, the Blackbird had not dared to re-enter Soviet airspace.
The United States' own Blackbird, a sleek, titanium marvel of Cold War engineering, had crashed and burned over Soviet territory. Meanwhile, what were the MiG-25s made of? Were they crafted of the same materials? Did they surpass the Blackbird in performance? Soviet aviation had taken a giant leap ahead of American technology.
The MiG-25 could intercept the Blackbird, but the Blackbird couldn't intercept the MiG-25. That was the harsh truth.
Now, nearly everyone assumed the MiG-25 was also made of titanium alloy. The Soviet Union had abundant titanium reserves and extensive experience in titanium alloy processing. In fact, some U.S. titanium imports—claimed to be for civilian use—had quietly come from the Soviet Union.
If they knew the MiG-25 was built out of welded stainless steel, they'd likely be so frustrated they'd vomit blood.
"We should continue to develop anti-aircraft missiles," said Colonel Ted, the air wing commander. "If our damn warships had anti-aircraft missiles with a ceiling above 30,000 meters, we wouldn't be this passive right now."
In the early years, the Soviet Union lacked high-altitude aircraft. They had to watch helplessly as American U-2s flew freely over their skies. Their solution had been to develop missiles—and eventually, a U-2 was brought down by a Soviet SAM-2. That changed the game.
Now, to keep the Soviets honest, the U.S. had to do the same: develop missiles capable of intercepting targets at 30,000 meters.
Lieutenant General Jonard frowned. "Agreed. I'll recommend to Naval Command that the next-generation Standard Missile must include variants that can reach above 30,000 meters. That said, we don't need to panic—if those MiGs ever descend, our Tomcats will have the performance advantage to take them down."
As the high-ranking officers discussed strategy, the rest of the fleet's personnel continued their duties.
On the spherical radar screen, a sweeping bright line rotated steadily. Suddenly, two new blips appeared.
"Report: Direction 180, range 90, speed 500, altitude 500, two targets," the radar operator reported.
"Relax, that's the Boxer squadron," another radar tech replied, pressing the intercom: "Boxer, Boxer, please confirm return, over."
"Boxer here. We are preparing for landing. Over." The reply came in promptly over the radio.
"Roger that. Watch your heading and speed. Over," the radar officer acknowledged.
With that, the radar crew relaxed. The altitude and speed matched expectations for returning fighters. Radio confirmations were accurate. It must be them.
Damn IFF—must be malfunctioning again.
The Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) system had been an issue since World War II. By now, the West primarily used radar-based IFF systems, consisting of an interrogator and a transponder. When radar detected a target, it sent out an encrypted challenge. A friendly aircraft would decode and respond correctly, confirming its identity.
In theory, a hostile target wouldn't respond—or would respond incorrectly—and could thus be flagged as a threat.
In practice, things weren't so simple. Bad weather could attenuate the signal, and transponders might not receive the challenge at all. The end result? Only positive replies confirmed friendlies. No reply didn't necessarily mean "enemy."
Throughout Western military history—up to and including the Gulf War—friendly fire incidents caused by IFF problems accounted for nearly half of all losses.
Back in the Soviet Union, the lack of sophisticated electronics led to cruder but sometimes more effective methods. Airspace was divided into tightly controlled sectors; each air defense unit was responsible for its own zone. At sea, it was even simpler—warships didn't bother with IFF. Enter their airspace in wartime, and you'd be fired upon—no questions asked.
Now, with correct radio contact and matching signal characteristics, the radar crew aboard Kitty Hawk was convinced: the two unknowns were friendlies.
They didn't know they had just made a huge mistake.
With the waves calming, the rear deck of the Kitty Hawk bustled with activity. Preparations were underway to recover the returning fighters.
By the Fresnel lens landing system, several flight deck crew members in white vests held signal wands, carefully watching the incoming approach. If the aircraft veered off the centerline, misjudged its angle, or failed to hook the arresting cable, it would be waved off for another go-around.
They squinted into the distance. The planes were close now. But something didn't look right.
Why did they look… different?
They had watched countless Tomcats land. From this angle, the silhouette was unmistakable. But these… had larger air intakes?
As the aircraft drew closer, a collective wave of realization passed over the crew.
These weren't Tomcats.
The boxy intakes. The wing shape. The larger profile. And now—landing gear lowering.
They were trying to land.
"MiG-25!" shouted a yellow-vested deck crewman.