"What do you think we should do, Andrei?" Admiral Trechyanko asked, turning to the young pilot.
The question hit Andrei like a jolt. He paused, realizing the significance of what had just been asked. Was this a genuine request for input—or a test? Either way, he understood that he had been thrust into a situation much larger than a cockpit dogfight.
"I'm just a pilot in the Air Defense Forces, Comrade Commander," Andrei began cautiously. "I'm not qualified to advise on high-level strategic matters. I'm sure the military district has already developed a sound plan."
But then, with a deferential nod, he added, "Since you've asked, I can share a few personal thoughts. They're far from complete, but perhaps worth considering."
He hated speaking like this—diplomatic, deferential, almost sycophantic—but he knew how the system worked. If he wanted any real influence, especially with what was coming, he had to play the game.
Lieutenant General Konstantin nodded. "Go ahead, Andrei."
"I see two paths forward," Andrei said. "The first is extreme: we deploy a nuclear submarine from Vladivostok and launch a nuclear torpedo at the crash site to destroy the MiG-25 wreck."
The room went silent.
Even Admiral Trechyanko's expression twitched with disbelief. A nuclear torpedo? It was an audacious suggestion, bordering on reckless. But in his eyes, there was also a flicker of approval—he liked bold thinking, even if he couldn't act on it.
Andrei saw their reactions and clarified. "I know it's drastic. But such a strike could be explained away—undersea volcanic activity, tectonic shifts, an unexpected seismic event. A titanium-hulled submarine could slip in and out unnoticed, and the destruction of the wreck would be total."
"But," he added, "I understand the political risks. Using nuclear weapons—especially so close to American vessels—could spark an international crisis or worse."
The officers exchanged looks. It was too bold for the current climate. Even the Soviet Union had limits, and Moscow was wary of escalation, especially with tensions already high.
Trechyanko spoke again. "And the second option?"
Andrei nodded. "We go conventional. Dispatch two of our salvage ships, escorted by a pair of warships, to the crash site. We conduct our own recovery operation—publicly and legally. That area lies in international waters, beyond the 12-nautical-mile territorial limit. We have as much right to be there as the Americans."
Trechyanko's eyes narrowed, intrigued. "That close to Hokkaido? The Americans may interpret it as provocation."
"Their coastline is a hundred nautical miles away," Andrei countered. "We're not violating their sovereignty. And the last international conference agreed—twelve nautical miles is the recognized limit for territorial seas."
He explained further: in the past, territorial waters were determined by the reach of shore-based artillery—about three nautical miles. But with modern warfare, that line had expanded. While nations argued for wider claims, twelve nautical miles had become the widely accepted standard.
"In international waters," Andrei continued, "we act within our rights. If the Americans escalate, the fault is theirs."
"But such close proximity might lead to confrontation," Konstantin said. "Moscow has ordered that the MiG-25 must not fall into enemy hands—but if we trigger a naval clash near Hokkaido, the political fallout could be severe."
Andrei met his gaze. "They're just as afraid as we are. The U.S. has only just exited the Vietnam quagmire. They don't want war either. If we act carefully—send unarmed or lightly armed ships, keep air patrols above—we can show strength without crossing lines. Even better, we send older frigates without anti-ship missiles, just enough presence to interfere and delay."
Trechyanko nodded slowly, a faint grin forming. "Interesting..."
Kozhedub, standing nearby, clenched his jaw. Andrei's proposals were bold, even reckless. He couldn't believe how seriously the generals were considering them. Did Andrei have some hidden backing in Moscow? Or had his battlefield success made him untouchable?
"You're still holding back," Trechyanko said, eyes locked on Andrei. "Tell us the rest."
Andrei hesitated. "Well... the salvage operation would only be for show."
"Go on," said Konstantin.
"If the Americans begin lifting the wreck, our warships can launch anti-submarine depth charges—non-nuclear—into the area. The explosions would damage or bury the MiG-25 under sediment. Even if they find pieces, the damage would render them useless."
Silence followed his words.
Even Kozhedub looked pale now. Depth charges that close to American operations? This wasn't just brinkmanship. It was dancing on the edge of war.
But Trechyanko slapped the table. "That's it. That's the plan."
Kozhedub's face went blank with shock. "Comrade Admiral...?"
"Sokolovka Base," Trechyanko continued without pause, "prepare fighters to escort our ships. We'll coordinate naval deployment. Let's see if the Far Eastern Military District still remembers how to show its teeth."
He turned to Andrei. "Well done, Lieutenant Colonel. It seems your instincts are just as sharp on the ground as they are in the air."
Andrei saluted, his heart pounding. He hadn't expected them to agree—at least, not so quickly.
Now the plan was set.
And beneath the calm surface of the Sea of Japan, a silent battle was about to begin.