Chapter 120 – Echoes in the Snow
"Report, a large plane is flying in our direction, distance three hundred kilometers!"
Simonov's voice, sharp with tension, sliced through the warmth of the radar room like a blade. The clatter of mugs and soft muttering came to a halt. All eyes snapped to the glowing green scope as a thick, glowing blip advanced from the edge of the screen.
"Confirm the heading," barked the company commander.
Simonov didn't need to be told twice. His gloved hands adjusted the dial, narrowing the beam. "Heading directly toward Sakhalin. Altitude unknown—target is high."
Another soldier leaned in over Simonov's shoulder. "Signature?"
"Massive radar cross-section—either a bomber or a reconnaissance bird."
The company commander turned away from the radar display and moved toward the field telephone mounted on the wall. With two quick rotations of the crank, he connected to the regimental command post.
"This is Vostok Radar Station. We've detected an unknown aircraft approaching from the southeast, range two-ninety, closing fast. Size consistent with heavy aircraft. Over."
"Vostok, acknowledge. Scramble alert fighters immediately. The rest is in our hands."
The call ended.
Outside, klaxons wailed across the treeline. In the frigid air, red warning lights spun atop hardened shelters. At the airfield nearby, floodlights roared to life, illuminating the twin gray silhouettes of two Su-15 interceptors parked on alert.
Ground crews, who had been half-dozing in the shelter's warmth, now sprang into motion, tugging fuel lines, inspecting missile racks, and climbing into cockpits with practiced speed.
In the sky above Sakhalin, the snow continued to drift quietly.
---
Back in Moscow, thousands of kilometers away, Marshal Ustinov sat in his office, his fingers drumming against the polished oak desk.
The failed proposal at the meeting still gnawed at him. Kirilenko had embarrassed him, publicly and deliberately. But more than that—it had been a signal. Ustinov had stood still too long. Andropov had now opened the door.
The opportunity was there. He simply had to take it.
Andrei, he thought. The boy had proven his value not just once, but again and again. His tactics, his audacity—he had humiliated the Americans. That photo over the Kitty Hawk was now the symbol of the Soviet bite returning.
And now the Americans were rattled. Rumors floated through the intelligence channels that high-level reviews were underway in Washington. Aircraft carrier deployments were being reevaluated. Even the Pacific fleet posture had shifted slightly.
Exactly what Ustinov wanted. But now… now he needed another blow. One more spark.
Perhaps this unknown aircraft, the one now flying toward Sakhalin, was another test. Another provocation. Perhaps, he thought, this was the moment to strike without declaring war. A clean engagement. A warning.
A message.
"Let the Americans know," Ustinov muttered, "that we are no longer the ones being tested."
---
At the Chuguyevka Air Base, Andrei stood beside his MiG-25, wrapped in a thick wool-lined coat, staring up at the half-clouded sky. He could feel it again. That shift in the air. Not weather—politics.
Alexander approached with his helmet tucked under one arm.
"Another recon flight?"
Andrei shook his head. "Not ours."
Alexander looked skyward. "Then whose?"
Andrei turned toward the operations building as a runner emerged, boots crunching over icy tarmac.
"Commander! Alert from Sakhalin. Unidentified aircraft inbound. You're to be on standby for intercept. Full loadout."
Andrei gave a curt nod, his breath steaming as he exhaled. "Warm her up. Looks like the Americans are knocking again."
Alexander grinned. "Or maybe they forgot how the last meeting went."
Andrei smiled back, thinly. But in his mind, the cold weight of reality pressed harder than ever. If the Americans were coming, it wouldn't be with cameras this time.
It would be with something sharper.