The Kuznetsov aircraft carrier, with a displacement of up to 53,000 tons, was steadily approaching Japan's Hokkaido Island. Though officially conducting exercises in the Sea of Okhotsk, the fleet was clearly inching closer to Japanese waters, casting a strategic shadow over the region. Meanwhile, the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force focused all its resources on the Tsushima Strait, leaving Hokkaido largely undefended.
Strategically, the Southern Kuril Islands—Kunashiri, Shikotan, Etorofu, and Habomai—were firmly within the Soviet sphere of influence. Even the nearby Nemuro Strait wasn't entirely under Soviet control, but the Soviets had the natural advantage of the Kunashiri Channel as a direct outlet to the sea. Naval power-wise, the Soviet Union boasted an aircraft carrier battle group that Japan's Self-Defense Forces could not hope to match. So why hadn't Japan resolved the security treaty that bound it so tightly to the U.S., limiting its military freedom?
The Kuznetsov, a giant of the Sea of Okhotsk, headed toward the Southern Kuril Islands. Accompanying it was the Varyag, newly launched and recently commissioned. Though the Varyag still required a year or two of fine-tuning, its current ocean voyage served as a clear show of strength and observation.
The sky was clear, the sea calm. Walking the deck of the Kuznetsov was like strolling on solid ground—no matter how the waves rolled beneath them, the sailors felt steady. Fatigue was unknown; excitement coursed through the crews. They were about to sail into Japanese waters and slap the archipelago's monkeys in the face. Marshal Smyrev had declared confidently: in the Pacific, except for the U.S. fleet, no one could stop their steel wave.
The sailors quickly adopted the nickname "Iron Wave" for their carrier group, akin to the Army's "Iron Torrent." To them, their battle group was a sharp blade cutting through the Pacific Ocean. Any enemy was merely soft tofu—easy to slice apart at any moment.
Yanayev's slogan captured their spirit perfectly: "Our fleet will be so terrifying that barbarian ships flee at the first sign of trouble. We'll ram them, not rescue them." To the Soviets, the small countries of East Asia that challenged them were nothing but garbage—only the U.S. was a true adversary.
The Kuznetsov battle group reached the Southern Kuril Islands unimpeded and began live-fire exercises in the waters closest to Japan. The Japanese Navy, alarmed, dispatched ships to monitor the Soviets closely, fearing the drills could be a cover for a surprise attack. History had taught them to expect the worst.
Yet, the Soviet fleet's sheer size shocked the Japanese. Their ships surrounded the carrier like planets orbiting a sun, a mobile fortress at sea. Above, an impressive number of carrier-based aircraft provided air cover. The Soviet Pacific Fleet was now the only credible threat to the U.S. Navy in the region.
"A terrible fleet, a terrible navy—and the worst part is that such an enemy is right next door," a Japanese military analyst grimly concluded. Memories of defeat at Midway, Iwo Jima, and the Pacific War haunted him still. The "red nightmare" from the north now struck fear deep into the hearts of the Japanese Self-Defense Forces. The shattered dreams of Japan's imperial navy were all too clear. The Soviet Union had inherited the terror once inflicted by the Americans, and now their red steel wave loomed ominously.
The Soviets even played a cruel prank on Japan. On the day of their exercise, they announced a missing sailor during live fire near the Kurils. Though they didn't ask to enter Japanese waters to search, the claim was enough to unsettle Tokyo.
The Japanese Army, ever aggressive, used the incident as justification for rapid mobilization. Hokkaido was declared in a pre-war emergency state. Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa urgently called the White House hotline, hoping the U.S. Pacific Fleet would intervene swiftly to prevent further escalation.
President Mario agreed, dispatching the USS Washington to intercept the Soviet fleet in the Sea of Okhotsk. But halfway there, the Soviets announced the missing sailor had been found and that live-fire drills would continue for two more days before they withdrew.
On the surface, it seemed the Soviets had backed down under American pressure. In reality, they had played Washington and Tokyo. The long-range expedition caused panic and wasted resources. The Soviets lost no face—indeed, they had achieved their strategic goal: anyone daring to test their resolve in these waters would first have to deal with their iron fist.
Nakatani Gen's leadership had precipitated a huge disaster. Even the usually mild-mannered Prime Minister Miyazawa lost patience with him.
"Is this your idea of rebuilding Japan's military?" Miyazawa snapped. "One failed joint exercise, and the Soviets swagger right into our home waters. They flaunt their power, brandish knives to silence us on sovereignty issues—and this is what you wanted?"
Nakatani, though reluctant, had no choice but to admit his failure under the Prime Minister's stern gaze.
"During World War II, you should have committed hara-kiri long ago, Your Excellency Nakatani Gen," Miyazawa Kiichi's words cut through the room like a blade. "I have never seen a head of the Self-Defense Agency as stupid as you. You know full well that our military strength cannot match the Soviet Union's, yet you blindly charged ahead. Is this what you call a plan to reorganize Japan's military?"
Nakatani Gen lowered his head even further, the shame weighing heavily on him. This failure was his alone to bear. Japan needed a scapegoat, and he would accept that burden.
"I expect you to submit your resignation once this matter is settled," Miyazawa's tone grew colder. He hadn't forgotten how Nakatani had colluded with the U.S. government to force arms purchases, plunging Japan into unnecessary debt. There wasn't even enough money left to deal with the economic downturn.
Nakatani knew his position was untenable. "I will submit my resignation and explain myself to the cabinet," he said quietly, clinging to a shred of dignity and hope for redemption.
"Good. You may leave," Miyazawa said wearily, rubbing his forehead. "I will begin negotiations with the Soviet government soon—an apology for this incident and peace talks on the four northern islands."
Upon hearing this, Nakatani's anxiety flared. He stepped forward, ignoring Miyazawa's dismissal. "Prime Minister, the Northern Islands are of great importance. They involve indivisible sovereignty. If we compromise here, Japanese society will lose faith in us. I urge you to reconsider."
Miyazawa's patience snapped. "And what do you suggest instead? A naval suicide charge with the Pacific Fleet, dying alongside the Soviet navy? No. I will not agree to that. And the public certainly won't."
"We could leverage this incident to pressure the U.S. to relax the security treaty restrictions," Nakatani pressed. "Especially regarding the integration of civilian and military leadership in the Self-Defense Forces. Without strong leadership, we have no strategy for the future."
"That's enough, Nakatani!" Miyazawa finally exploded. "Get out of here, immediately. From now on, I forbid you from speaking about strengthening the Self-Defense Forces. I don't want to hear your whispered plans again. You're the Director of the Self-Defense Agency—I'm the Prime Minister of Japan. If your resignation isn't on my desk by tomorrow, get out of this government building. Things have gotten worse under your watch."
For the first time, Miyazawa lost his temper, staring Nakatani down. "At the press conference later, I will make it clear to the public that this is your failure alone. The government bears no responsibility."
"You can't do this!" Nakatani pleaded, desperation thick in his voice. "I've devoted my life to Japan's military. I deserve some credit. Please, Prime Minister, give me a chance to make this right."
"Go tell the people that yourself," Miyazawa said coldly, turning his back. His mind was already on the peace talks with the Soviet Union. He had no more time for empty pleas.