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This was the Far East of the Soviet Union — Primorsky Krai.
Beyond the sea lay a quiet island nation. The breeze was warm, the forests dense, and the river Usulka glided in the distance, cutting through the hills like a silver thread.
Andrei glanced at the terrain below, recalling the thick smog and cluttered skies of the future. This place, this time… was still clean.
His fighter had experienced a malfunction earlier. Normally, he would've been grounded. But he and his lead pilot were already in the right position — and close to the target zone. So when a new order came in to intercept over Sea Area No. 14, they accepted without hesitation.
"Copy," said the lead pilot, Belenko. "Course 270. Speed 2.4."
Andrei followed as Belenko's MiG curved into a sweeping arc, banking sharply toward the sea.
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In the Soviet Homeland Defense Air Force, interceptions were guided from the ground — radar control dictated vectors and speed. Andrei followed Belenko's lead exactly. He nudged the stick, rolled smoothly, then flipped the rear engine switches.
The afterburners roared to life. Twin R-15B-300 engines erupted with power, and a glowing stream of fire burst from the exhaust nozzles. As fuel surged into the afterburners, high-pressure gas ignited behind the turbines — raw thrust slammed the aircraft forward.
A shock cone shimmered at the fighter's nose. A heartbeat later —
Boom. A clean sonic crack.
They'd gone supersonic.
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The Mach meter on the green-lit dashboard crept upward:
Mach 1.2... 1.5... 2.0...
Finally, it steadied at Mach 2.4.
Andrei eased the throttle slightly, letting the aircraft stabilize. The twin MiG-25s were now slicing through the stratosphere at 24,000 meters, closing on the target zone — 200 kilometers out — in under four minutes.
A standard multirole fighter would need at least ten. This was the power of a true interceptor.
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Since takeoff, Andrei hadn't once shut off the afterburners. Most fighters — like the F-15 or other air superiority jets — only use afterburners during takeoff or short bursts in combat.
Three minutes under afterburner is already pushing the limit.
But the MiG-25 was different.
This aircraft was designed for sustained high-speed flight. From liftoff to intercept, the engines could remain at full burn for up to 50% of the mission time. MiG-25s weren't made for dogfights — they were built to close distance, hit fast, and get out.
At Mach 2.4, a MiG could cruise indefinitely — at least until it ran out of fuel.
Pushing to Mach 2.83 or even Mach 3.2 risked destroying the engines, but it wasn't unheard of. In training, pilots were cleared for Mach 2.6 for 15 minutes. Anything higher needed regimental approval — and only the best were trusted to go above Mach 3.
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Fuel burn at that speed was monstrous — but the Soviets had planned for that.
The MiG-25 carried 16 tons of fuel. That's what made it viable. It could take off, climb, engage, and return all without ever dropping below supersonic speeds.
Before this mission, the jets had remained subsonic. Now, even after several minutes of full burn, the fuel gauges still showed over 12 tons remaining. Plenty to hit Sea Area 14, engage if needed, and return at reduced power.
This was what Andrei's unit trained for — based in the Far East, always watching the U.S. military movements from across the sea. Most intercepts ended as visual warnings. Form up. Show the flag. Escort out.
But Andrei knew — today wouldn't be routine.
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The heat in the cockpit rose quickly. At this speed, the friction against the airframe turned the fighter's skin into a furnace. The canopy was too hot to touch.
The internal air conditioner struggled, and the cabin temperature soared to over 50°C.
Uncomfortable? Yes.
Dangerous? No.
Acceptable — by Soviet standards.
No one in the USSR designed planes for comfort. Fighters were for war, not luxury.
Every MiG-25 pilot had the same saying:
"If you want comfort, go be a passenger."
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