---
From the moment the SR-71 Blackbird was conceived, stealth was a priority. Its dark coating wasn't just for show—it was designed to absorb radar waves. In practice, however, the aircraft's size, heat signature, and dramatic sonic boom cloud made it anything but invisible. Its high-altitude condensation trails and glowing engines made it easy to spot on both radar and infrared systems.
Still, none of that mattered much.
The Blackbird's true defense was simple: altitude and speed. No interceptor had ever successfully caught it.
Altitude continued to climb. In the cockpit, Olmsted glanced at his indicators. In less than twenty minutes, they'd be over their first target zone—the Pacific naval sector of the Soviet Far East. Altitude: approaching 28,000 meters.
"Topol, prep the recon systems," Olmsted called to his backseat operator.
Topol, seated in the rear cockpit, flipped a series of switches. The SR-71's sensor suite was extensive: high-resolution optical cameras, side-looking synthetic aperture radar (AN/APQ-73), electronic signal scanners, and infrared arrays. The entire payload was mounted on internal rails, allowing it to adjust during high-speed photography and reduce distortion caused by movement.
Daylight flights offered the clearest images. Following their earlier night sorties—where Soviet MiG-25 interceptors had proven ineffective—the U.S. Air Force felt emboldened. Today's flight was both surveillance and demonstration.
Olmsted chuckled to himself. "Will I be the next Gary Powers?"—a reference to the U-2 pilot shot down in 1960. But unlike Powers, Olmsted had more than just altitude—he had speed. And Soviet air defense tech, he believed, wasn't capable of locking onto or hitting an aircraft cruising above Mach 3.
Meanwhile, far below, Soviet radar stations detected the intruder.
On the Hort Ridge in the Soviet Far East, a massive early-warning radar array picked up a heat plume at 26,000 meters moving at Mach 3. The alarm blared across the automated defense network.
At Sokolovka Air Base, a signal came through:
"Alert—unidentified high-speed target approaching from the Korean Peninsula. Altitude: 26,000. Speed: Mach 3. Orders: prepare to intercept."
Lieutenant Colonel Kozhedub, overseeing air defense readiness, exhaled sharply. It was the Blackbird again. This time, bold enough to come in broad daylight.
To Soviet interceptors—particularly those flying MiG-25s—the Blackbird was a nightmare. In the 1960s, the U-2 had embarrassed Soviet airspace control until a well-placed SAM finally brought one down. But now the Americans were back—faster and higher.
Despite repeated attempts, the MiG-25-equipped 513th Regiment had failed to intercept the SR-71. The American press proudly proclaimed: "There are no no-fly zones for the Blackbird."
Suddenly, a voice crackled through the radio:
"Sokolovka, this is 032. Requesting takeoff clearance to intercept."
Andrei.
After returning from Moscow aboard a military transport, Andrei had immediately rejoined the regiment. A tactical briefing had highlighted the urgency of understanding and countering the Blackbird's speed. Seeing how little the other pilots could deduce from their prior attempts, Andrei volunteered for readiness duty.
As fate would have it, the Blackbird returned during his shift.
Dashing to his aircraft, Andrei strapped into MiG-25PD No. 032. His pulse surged with adrenaline. The jet felt alive beneath him—its steel skin gleaming in the winter sunlight.
Beneath the cockpit, his kill marks were painted in red: two solid stars for confirmed kills, one outlined star for a damaged enemy. In the Cold War air war, such marks were rare and earned through fire.
Even with that track record, Andrei wasn't confident. Today's target wasn't a bomber or recon drone—it was the SR-71.
Soviet doctrine relied heavily on ground-controlled intercepts. The pilot was merely one part of a complex puzzle. Radar operators on the ground would feed vectors and intercept paths to the pilot in real time.
Five minutes later, the order finally came.
As the SR-71 passed over the Sea of Japan, the tower barked:
"032, cleared for takeoff. Intercept."
Andrei activated the afterburners. Twin R-15 engines shrieked, pouring fire down the runway. The MiG-25 surged forward, lifting into the sky like a launched missile. Under the wings, four missiles gleamed.
The MiG-25 was armed for interception with two massive R-40 long-range air-to-air missiles—each weighing over 500 kg. With a duck-type aerodynamic design and high-speed launch capability, they were built to bring down large, fast-flying targets like bombers—or the Blackbird. Although the MiG-25 could also carry lighter R-60 missiles, those were useless here. Against a speeding Blackbird, only raw force would suffice.
"Maintain climb speed. Adjust two degrees right," the ground controller's voice buzzed through Andrei's headset.
"032 received," Andrei replied, his voice calm.
He flicked switches on his right-hand console. Missile electronics powered up. Infrared seekers began cooling to operating temperature. Simultaneously, the MiG's radar—a vacuum-tube-based design requiring warm-up—was brought online.
Half a minute later, the scope came alive.
Andrei narrowed his eyes behind the oxygen mask. The beast was in the air. He'd faced it before—almost touched its shadow—and failed. This time, it was different.
This time, he knew the Blackbird's patterns.
And this time, he wasn't flying blind.
---