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Chapter 81: Orders from Moscow
"We are the Far East base of the Soviet Union, and our duty is to stand on the front lines against American aggression," Andrei declared. "The efficiency of our maintenance crews directly impacts the readiness of our fighter aircraft. We must abandon outdated, conservative mindsets and embrace a spirit of innovation and competition."
Standing before the assembled personnel at the Sokolovka base, Andrei continued, "I have submitted a draft of new maintenance regulations for approval. Any crew member who invents or improves procedures that reduce maintenance time by more than twenty percent will receive a one-level salary increase. Those whose maintenance performance ranks in the top third of the base will be rewarded with ten additional days of leave and a bonus. On the other hand, anyone found negligent—especially if their work leads to operational risk—will be dismissed."
The announcement stirred the crowd like a lightning bolt. For too long, senior ground crew had bullied younger mechanics by relying solely on seniority. Andrei's plan directly challenged the entrenched "equal pot" mentality—where everyone received the same regardless of output or competence.
Andrei knew he could only implement limited reforms within the Sokolovka base, but even small changes had consequences. The ones most threatened were people like Akim—ground crew who abused their position and contributed nothing to the unit's effectiveness.
With Akim already disgraced and under investigation, few dared to object openly. To outsiders, this new regulation may have seemed insignificant—just an internal reshuffle at a remote base. But Andrei, deputy commander of the 513th Regiment and a decorated war hero, had already delivered major results. Since shooting down the Blackbird, American reconnaissance flights had stopped entirely. His reforms were unlikely to be blocked by command.
And Andropov—his patron and ideological ally—would surely take note. Andrei knew the older man saw in him someone who could carry forward his vision of reform.
Tragically, Andropov's health was in steady decline. He had only just begun consolidating power in Moscow. If he died prematurely, the push for reform might falter again. The only real solution was to force Brezhnev's retirement as soon as possible, but Andrei had no such power—at least, not yet.
For now, Andrei remained a deputy regimental commander, but his ideas were reshaping the culture of Sokolovka. Young technicians without political connections finally had a path to recognition. Their loyalty to Andrei grew stronger by the day.
Then came unexpected news. Command had ordered Andrei to return to Moscow to participate in the upcoming October Revolution military parade.
The October Revolution was more than just a date on the calendar—it was a foundational moment in Soviet history. On October 25th, 1917 (November 7th on the Gregorian calendar), Bolshevik forces stormed the Winter Palace in Petrograd, deposing the Provisional Government and establishing the world's first socialist state.
Since then, the Soviet Union had held a military parade each year to commemorate the event—even during the darkest days of World War II. When German forces were at the gates of Moscow in 1941, troops still marched across Red Square before heading directly to the front. That victory in the Great Patriotic War became the bedrock of Soviet pride.
Only the May 9th Victory Day parade rivaled the scale and symbolism of the October Revolution march. The first marked the nation's birth; the second, its survival.
Now, in 1976, the Soviet Union was at its peak. Industrial output led all of Europe, second only to the United States. GDP stood at 90% of America's. Military strength in the region was unmatched. The Soviet bloc stood firm against the West.
But beneath the surface, cracks had begun to appear. Growth had stalled. Frustrations were rising. For many born after the war, patriotism alone no longer justified hardship. The sense of stagnation would only worsen, and when the dam finally broke, the collapse of the Soviet Union would seem both sudden and inevitable.
Andrei understood the historical weight of the moment. Standing again in Moscow, he couldn't help but feel the air was charged with change.
The train slowed to a halt. As the carriage doors opened, snow crunched underfoot. Moscow had just seen its first snowfall the day before.
There, waiting on the platform, stood Yekaterina.
She wore a crimson wool coat that hugged her figure and tall leather boots that left clean imprints in the snow. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her dark hair loose and dusted with flakes. She hadn't even bothered with a hat.
"Yekaterina!" Andrei called.
He leapt off the train, barely touching the steps. She ran toward him, her arms already outstretched. In the middle of the platform, surrounded by travelers and baggage carts, the two embraced tightly. Cold breath mingled. The city fell away around them.
"I've missed you so much," she whispered into his ear.
Andrei held her closer. After his rushed departure for Sokolovka, they hadn't seen each other in weeks. She had stayed behind in Moscow, waiting and worrying.
Longing, like a slow poison, had seeped into them both. Now, in the snowy heart of the capital, they found each other again. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
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