Chapter 118 – The Dream of Hokkaido
The meeting had concluded, but Andre remained in Lieutenant General Konstantin's office, watching the senior officer's subtle smile with quiet curiosity. He wondered what further tasks might be awaiting him.
"You've done well, Andrei," said Konstantin warmly. "Your flight over the American carrier has made the front page of Pravda. Marshal Zinov himself was impressed. If you hadn't already been awarded Hero of the Soviet Union, they would have considered giving it to you again."
He paused. "But still—you were reckless. Had a U.S. missile struck you down, the Far East Military District would have lost one of its best regimental commanders."
Andrei stood at attention. "I serve the Soviet Union, Comrade General. At the time, I only thought of breaking American arrogance. In hindsight, yes—it was dangerous. But if I had to do it again, I wouldn't hesitate."
A slow nod from Konstantin. "You're still young, Andrei. There's a future ahead of you—Marshal Ustinov sees it. He asked me personally to watch over your career."
Those words warmed Andrei more than any decoration could. He had no illusions—patronage was as real as piloting. Still, the respect behind it mattered.
"Now," continued the general, "return to base and prepare your regiment for combat readiness. The upgraded R-40D missiles have arrived. Begin preparations for installation and testing."
Andrei's eyes lit up. The original R-40 infrared missiles had a meager range—barely 20 kilometers. The upgraded R-40D, with its new guidance systems and improved propulsion, could hit targets at up to 50 kilometers.
The timing couldn't be coincidental.
His thoughts jumped to the newly arrived 592nd Regiment. Su-15 interceptors from Georgia, all the way out here? He sensed the undercurrent. Something bigger was brewing. Could it really come to a clash with the Americans?
Possibly.
He knew, of course, that history recorded no major conflict between the superpowers. But from his new perspective—living history instead of reading it—it was easy to see how near the knife-edge they walked.
And if pushed hard enough, even nuclear restraint could falter.
"Yes, Comrade General," Andrei replied simply, taking the hint not to probe further.
While pilots like him prepared aircraft and missiles, while commanders drilled regiments and drafted readiness plans, in Moscow, the questions were heavier. Questions that concerned the future of the USSR, the Pacific, and the world order.
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"For two centuries," Marshal Ustinov declared before the gathered Politburo officials in the Kremlin, "we have sought a warm-water outlet to the Pacific. We made the wrong moves—wasting effort in northeastern China, in Dalian, places we could never fully secure. The correct path was always Hokkaido."
He raised a hand toward the giant strategic map behind him.
"Hokkaido gives us direct access to the Pacific Ocean. Unlike Vladivostok, it does not freeze in winter. It would become the forward bastion of the Pacific Fleet, perfectly positioned to break the American naval perimeter. It's time to reclaim what should have been ours."
Others in the room nodded, some cautiously, some with growing zeal. The logic was brutal, but undeniably strategic.
Ustinov's voice rose. "In 1945, we should have demanded more. Like Germany, the island nation should have been partitioned and punished. Truman blocked us—because we moved too slowly. Because the Americans landed first. Now, decades later, we're still paying for that mistake. It's time to correct it."
He jabbed a finger at Kushiro and Rumoi—two of Hokkaido's critical ports.
"Kushiro gives us year-round access to the Pacific. Rumoi offers immediate naval access to the Liaodong Peninsula and Korea. Both are vital. Hokkaido is rich in coal, iron, fishery, and agriculture. It's warmer than Siberia and far more defensible than the Kurils or Guohou Island. And with this, the Sea of Okhotsk becomes our inland sea."
On that point, there was no dispute. The Kurils were too exposed. Sakhalin, too rugged. Vladivostok, too frozen. But Hokkaido—Hokkaido was everything the Soviet Pacific Fleet needed.
He paced slowly. "Once we control Hokkaido, our submarines can operate from Kushiro directly into the Pacific. Our missile cruisers can bypass the narrow straits. The United States can no longer bottle us up. Their carriers will have to think twice before approaching."
There was a pause, then the Marshal delivered the real blow.
"And the Japanese deserve this. Fascists once, they were spared proper justice. We are merely reclaiming what is rightfully ours."
No one argued. They remembered the Yalta Agreement. Stalin had demanded Hokkaido then and been denied. Now Ustinov demanded it again—not with ink, but with iron.
The plan was bold. It meant escalation. Maybe war.
But to men like Ustinov, weakness was deadlier than a nuclear strike. And a nation that hesitated would end up surrounded—frozen not just by winters, but by history.