Chapter 119 – The Chessboard of Giants
If it had been years earlier, even daring to speak of striking U.S. territory would have been seen as bluster in the halls of the Kremlin. But now, in the 1980s, the Soviet Union stood at what felt like its peak. Grain harvests broke records year after year, heavy industry boomed, and oil prices had soared to glorious heights. With foreign exchange reserves rising and confidence swelling, the leadership believed they could support not just peace—but war. A limited, victorious war, at least.
It was the same line of thinking that led the Soviets into Afghanistan—until it became a mire. But to Marshal Ustinov, Afghanistan was not the model. No, Hokkaido was the opportunity.
There were deeper motivations than simple expansionism. One of the greatest shocks to the Soviet military-scientific establishment in recent years had come not from a weapon, but from what lay inside the American EP-3 aircraft that Andre had helped bring down. The electronics.
Despite decades of trying, the Soviet Union could not match the West's integrated circuits. Engineers clung to their defense of vacuum tubes, but those forward-thinking among them understood the truth: the West had surged ahead in microelectronics. Integrated circuits were the future—and the Americans had slammed shut the door to technology exports.
Andrei's audacious act had done more than embarrass the Americans. The dismantling of that aircraft had laid bare just how far behind the Soviet Union truly was. So now, Ustinov's logic was simple: if you cannot buy it, and you cannot build it—take it.
Japan, particularly its northern island of Hokkaido, was a technological goldmine. The industrial belt of Tokyo lay exposed if Hokkaido fell. A Soviet foothold there would put the heart of Japan's electronics industry within striking distance. It would also render the entire Sea of Okhotsk a Soviet lake and give their Pacific Fleet a warm-water port in Kushiro—breaking the strategic encirclement of the U.S. Navy.
It was not madness, Ustinov thought. It was historic correction.
The Americans had used Japan as a spearhead against Soviet power in the Pacific. But they never anticipated that the Soviets might counterattack on land. Their presence in Japan was air and naval—few ground troops. If the Red Army landed successfully, the Soviets could march south with little opposition.
Let the Americans dare to use nuclear weapons. The Soviet Union would respond in kind. And if it came to that—then so be it. They had never feared war.
Andrei, the young pilot with fire in his heart, had come to symbolize this new posture. Flying directly over the deck of the Kitty Hawk, a red star above the heads of scrambling American sailors, he had captured in one photograph everything Ustinov wished to show the world. With pleasure, the Marshal had that photo printed on the front page of Pravda. Of course, the article was dressed up diplomatically: "Joint military exercises" between Soviet and American air units. But every intelligence agency in the world knew the truth. And when Ustinov imagined the look on the faces of American analysts at Langley or in the Pentagon, he could hardly contain his grin.
It was Andre's own idea to mail a print of the photo directly to the Kitty Hawk.
This boy is our ace, Ustinov thought. If this turns into war, we'll give him the Far East Air Defense Command itself when it's done.
But not all were so enthusiastic.
"No," said Kirilenko, voice even but firm. "We cannot start a war so easily."
The room stilled. Ustinov turned to face the second-most powerful man in the Kremlin. General Secretary Brezhnev's closest confidant. A skilled operator with deep influence and a calculating mind.
Kirilenko continued: "There are U.S. troops stationed in Japan. An assault on Hokkaido guarantees direct war with the United States. That's not a border skirmish—it's a world war. A third world war. Our economy cannot afford to be dragged into a total conflict."
It was true, on paper. But Ustinov saw the real game beneath the surface. Kirilenko had clashed with Andropov recently, and Ustinov had carefully stayed neutral. Kirilenko's pride had been wounded, and now he was trying to undercut Ustinov at every turn—masking self-interest as strategic caution.
Everyone in the room knew that Kirilenko had tried to have Andropov's grandson bombed on a warship months ago. Andropov had not forgotten.
But Kirilenko played the long game. He knew Brezhnev was ailing—absentminded in meetings, more reliant on his advisors than ever. If Kirilenko could appear reasonable, if he could curb Ustinov's "recklessness," perhaps the General Secretary would elevate him to even greater power.
Unfortunately, he had miscalculated Ustinov. The Marshal was no bureaucratic schemer. He was steel—and fire.
Ustinov glared at the man, but said nothing—for now.
Then Brezhnev spoke.
"We are not afraid of war. But we must calculate its value. If we control Hokkaido, will that let us conquer the United States? No. Our focus must remain Europe. That is where capitalism grows from the root."
The decision was not final. But the signal was clear. Europe remained the centerpiece of Soviet strategy.
Ustinov exhaled slowly. Not anger—resolve.
If he could not push this proposal now, then he would wait. But when the time came, the American bridgehead in Japan would burn. And when it did, Andre—his Andre—would be the one leading the charge through the clouds.