Japan, clearly underestimating the Soviet warning, didn't expect to pay such a heavy price so soon. While they assumed the Soviet Pacific Fleet's actions in the Sea of Okhotsk were just minor maneuvers, the Tu-95 strategic bombers slowly took off from Honakka Air Force Base and made their way toward Japanese waters.
The Soviet Tu-95's target was the US-Japan combined fleet conducting exercises near Tsushima Island—a strategic point right in the Korean Strait. The Soviets' message was clear: "We're here to stir things up. Do you dare make a move against us?"
Almost immediately after the Soviets sent bombers near Japan, their Foreign Minister issued a statement:
"Our Tu-95 strategic bombers flying over Japanese waters are a routine part of the Okhotsk Sea exercise. We urge the Japanese government not to panic. Each bomber carries a nuclear warhead equivalent to 200,000 tons of TNT. We warn the carrier-based aircraft of the US-Japan fleet conducting exercises not to treat our bombers as targets. Any hostile action could result in catastrophic nuclear consequences."
This was a blatant slap in the face from the Soviets. Invading someone's "home" airspace with nuclear-armed bombers under the guise of a 'friendly exercise' was audacious—something only the Soviet Union dared attempt.
U.S. Secretary of State Igor Berger responded urgently, condemning the Soviet move as a reckless escalation threatening peace in the Asia-Pacific. He called for restraint and urged all parties to return to negotiations. Though Berger warned of possible emergency measures by the U.S. and Japanese carrier groups, he lacked confidence in any military response. Intercepting nuclear-armed bombers risked turning the entire Tsushima Strait into a watery graveyard.
What followed was one of the most extraordinary moments in late 20th-century military history. Over North Korean waters, while an F-18 fleet was conducting exercises, a Soviet strategic bomber suddenly appeared—its red star tail insignia impossible to miss.
Why was a Soviet Tu-95 so close during the exercise? Pilots were baffled. The command tower grew tense as Washington transmitted strict orders: "Do not disturb the Tu-95 bombers at any cost. They carry two nuclear warheads—enough to destroy the USS Washington and accompanying frigates."
"Unidentified Soviet bomber, you are entering Japanese airspace. Warning: please evacuate immediately. This is your final warning before decisive action," the F-18 formation leader radioed.
The Tu-95 pilot answered in perfect English, dripping with sarcasm: "This is Soviet Tu-95 pilot. We are on a routine mission. Repeat, routine mission. American pilots, do not act rashly. We carry two nuclear warheads over the Tsushima Strait."
In the command room, confusion reigned. The American pilots didn't want a confrontation. They were conducting routine exercises; the Soviets were blatantly flaunting nuclear weapons.
"F-18 formation, do not engage. Escort the bombers away. We cannot afford a war," Colonel Rossman ordered, clearly frustrated. He hadn't expected to face such aggression in allied waters, especially from bombers flaunting nuclear arms.
The Soviet move was a calculated gamble. Without the Foreign Minister's public statement, U.S. carrier aircraft likely would have shot down the Tu-95s long ago. But shooting them down risked destroying both the aircraft and the nearby Self-Defense Forces' ships, turning the Sea of Japan into a disaster zone.
"Damn bastards. This is infuriating," Rossman slammed the intercom. The Soviet bombers were like annoying flies buzzing too close to the face—yet shooting them down was off the table.
"Sir, should we continue the exercise?" an anxious officer asked.
That question was on everyone's mind. The exercise, halfway through, was thrown into chaos. Troops who had just landed on the Shanghai beaches were left waiting for artillery cover that couldn't come.
"Suspend the exercise. Wait until the Tu-95s have completely left the area before resuming," Rossman said, rubbing his forehead. He dreaded being the spark that ignited World War III—and he couldn't bear to imagine being responsible for humanity's destruction.
But the Tu-95 strategic bombers didn't stop there. They circled Tsushima Island—the very place where the Russian navy had once been defeated by the Japanese navy. This time, the Soviets used the same location to slap the Japanese and Americans right in the face. "If you won't use Tsushima, we'll show you what it means right here," their message was clear.
The F-18 fighters tailing the bombers were growing increasingly frustrated. These reckless "Mr. Ivans" had no intention of backing down, and every extra minute only deepened the embarrassment for the U.S. and Japanese navies in front of the entire world.
"Get ready to return, pilots. The U.S. navy is already trembling under your intimidation," Yanayev ordered from Nakhodka Air Force Base, personally supervising the operation. Such a bold and risky display was unprecedented in Soviet history—unless one counted this bizarre time travel episode.
Meanwhile, Moscow kept calling Yanayev. The presidential hotline was ringing nonstop, demanding explanations. Time and again, Yanayev had to remind them the general secretary was not in the Kremlin. Through this, he sent a clear message to the Americans: "You can be as nervous as you want."
"Received. Preparing to return," came the calm reply. After completing their demonstration flight, the bombers turned back toward Honakka Air Base.
Seeing this, the American pilots finally exhaled.
"It looks like the tension's over," Colonel Rossman said, letting his breath out at last. His heart felt lighter, but he had zero intention of resuming the exercise. The joint U.S.-Japan military drill targeting the Soviet four northern islands was ending in a total anticlimax.
No one took this failure harder than National Security Agency chief General Nakatani. When he learned the Soviet bombers had swaggered into Japanese waters, circled their exercise area multiple times, then left unchallenged, he was nearly broken. He was about to explode: "The navy is a bunch of idiots!"
The commander-in-chief of the Maritime Self-Defense Force, Hisao Muranaka, quickly stepped in to apologize. It wasn't that Japan's Self-Defense Forces lacked courage—it was that their strength was simply insufficient. Under the looming threat of Soviet strategic bombers, not just the navy, even the air force dared not act independently.
But to Nakatani, Muranaka's explanation was nothing but passing the buck. "From the weak tone in your voice, you're obviously a navy man. You should feel ashamed. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Muranaka said hurriedly, sensing Nakatani's anger. The Maritime Self-Defense Force chief was just as frustrated but had nowhere to vent. The Soviet interference was bad enough, but what he hated most was the U.S. last-minute hesitation—they put on a brief show only to pull the plug on the exercise.
"In the end, our military strength is just too weak," Nakatani muttered, disappointed. Japan lacked aircraft carriers and a powerful air force. Their personnel numbers were capped by the security treaty. Yet, the right-wing officers' ambitions to dominate the world had never dimmed.
As Yanayev had put it, some dogs refuse to eat shit and insist on eating shark fins instead. If they're that stubborn, you just have to hold their heads down and force them to swallow.
"Abolishing civilian rule will be a long fight," Nakatani sighed. Just as he was about to dismiss Muranaka, a sudden phone call landed like a hammer blow on the ambitious Self-Defense Force chief.
The Soviet Pacific Fleet was no longer confined to the Sea of Okhotsk. It was now approaching the four northern islands, almost within reach of Japan's Hokkaido.