“Yes, sir. One pilot can see it on his screen. He can see it on his screen.” The controller sounded excited.
“Has he locked on?”
“Yes, yes. He has locked on. He has locked on to the target.”
“Wait, out.”
The Sukhoi, 15TM Interceptor, call sign 602, piloted by Major Oborin, had slotted in behind the airliner, about six to ten kilometres back and slightly higher than the passenger plane, tracking it as it flew on its course. It was still too dark for the pilot to pick out the Jumbo Jet clearly. The Sukhoi, given the reporting name of Flagon by NATO, was a twin-engined, supersonic interceptor, built to tackle the ever more capable strategic bombers being introduced by Britain and the United States. It was designed to target the American B-52 bombers and U-2s along with the British ‘V’ bombers. With its supersonic speed, look-down/shoot-down capability, the unarmed, poorly manoeuvrable Boeing was not in a position to outfly or defend itself from the Soviet combat aircraft. At the moment, the pilot, passengers and crew were oblivious to the drama being played out around them.
Dimitriev mulled over what he knew so far and what he needed to do next. “Get me Tsaryov again.” Within seconds, he was again talking to call sign Tsaryov, Shabunin, the combat controller. “What is the update on call sign 602?”
“602 has the target in sight.”
“He can see it? How many jet trails are there?”
The speaker crackled.
“Say again, Charkov, you are breaking up.”
“How many jet trails are there? If he can see four then it has to be an American Boeing RC-135.”
“Wait, Charkov. 602, Tsaryov. Can you actually see the target?”
A major came alongside Dimitriev. “Do you think it is a spy plane, sir?”
“It has to be. They are full of all kinds of electronics and can identify signals through the full electromagnetic spectrum. They’ll probably be listening to us right now,” he said angrily.
“Then they’ll pass it on to their base via secure comms?”
“That’s right, Major, but we’ve caught them with their fat American pants down this time.”
A second speaker crackled into life. “Tsaryov, 602. I can see the target on the screen and visually. About eight kilometres away now.” The nasal-sounding voice of the pilot brought them back to the current situation.
“Roger, 602. Report missile lock-on.”
Dimitriev interrupted. “Greckov, are you there?”
Lieutenant Colonel Greckov, call sign Moskvin, the Acting Commander of 41st Fighter Division, was in the combat control centre alongside Captain Shabunin and responded, his tinny voice coming over the speakers. “Yes, Comrade General.”
“Well, what don’t your officers understand, Colonel? The pilot has to be brought in closer, at least four kilometres, if he is to use his weapons. Get him in close and shoot it down!”
The speaker crackled, the conversation overridden by Major Oborin’s voice. “I see it. I am locked onto the target. It’s on my radar screen. I’m locked on.”
“602, Tsaryov. Is the target responding to your calls?”
“No, the target is not responding to my calls.”
“602, is the target still on a heading of 240?”
“Affirmative. The target is on a heading of 240 degrees.”
“Roger, 602. Turn on your weapons.”
“Tsaryov. Weapons on.”
“Show me the route we think the intruder has taken, quickly,” Dimitriev snapped at the Major next to him.
They made their way to a large table and the Major traced the wax pencil markings on the plastic overlay, which covered the map of their area of responsibility, with his finger. “It’s definitely invaded our airspace over Kamchatka, sir.”
“Get me General Kozerski now!” Dimitriev yelled to one of the junior officers.
Within a few moments, he was handed another handset: General Kozerski, Commander of the Far East Military District Air Force, had been waiting for this call.
“Morning again, Comrade General. I am calling in my update on the situation on the intruder in our airspace. The aircraft has definitely violated our airspace by flying over Kamchatka.”
“Where did it enter?”
“Over Petropavlovsk, Comrade General. It is now crossing the sea of Okhotsk. It’s about to enter Sakhalin airspace.”
“Are your fighters tracking it?”
“Yes, Comrade General, a fighter from Sokol is about six to eight kilometres away and closing. He is tracking the target on a heading of 240 degrees. It is about thirty kilometres from our state border.”
“Has it been challenged?”
“Yes, sir, but the target is not responding.”
“Can the pilot identify it?”
“No, it is still too dark. He can see it and has a lock-on, but that is all.”
“We must find out if it is a civilian aircraft, Comrade Dimitriev, before we take any action.”
“A civilian aircraft? It has flown over Kamchatka already. It came from the direction of the ocean without giving any identification or informing us that it was there. It was in our airspace, Comrade General!” Dimitriev raised his voice, his patience being tested by his commander. “I am giving the order to attack as soon as it crosses the state border.”
There was a pause; the heavy breathing of the Far East Military District Commander could clearly be heard as he held the handset close to his mouth. “Go ahead now. Don’t wait for it to cross; destroy it now.”
Dimitriev replaced the receiver and picked up the handset to call Tsaryov. “Tsaryov, Charkov. Get 602 to move in and destroy the target.”
“Charkov, Tsaryov. Roger.”
The speakers sputtered and the conversation between the combat controller and the duty operations duty officer could be heard.
“Moskvin, Comrade Colonel, this is Tsaryov.”
“Yes?”
“The commander has given the go-ahead to destroy the target.”
“It might be a civilian aircraft. We must take all steps to identify it first.”
“Identification measures are being taken, but the pilot cannot see. It is still too dark.”
“OK then. If there are no lights, it can’t be a passenger. The order is correct. Carry it out.”
“Tokyo Radio, this is Korean Air one, five, zero.”
“Korean Air one, five, zero. This is Tokyo.”
“Korean Air one, five, zero, requesting permission to climb to flight level three, five, zero.”
“Requesting three, five, zero?”
“That is affirmative. Now maintaining three, three, zero.”
“Roger, standby. Will call you back.”
Captain Khan turned to his co-pilot. “This radio is bad. We need to get it checked out when we land.”
“I’ll make a note. At least if we can climb a bit higher out of these headwinds, it will improve our fuel economy so we can actually get there.”
“Korean Air one, five, zero. Clearance from Tokyo Air Traffic Control. One, five, zero climb and maintain a height of three, five, zero.”
“Roger, Tokyo, one, five, zero, climb three, five, zero, and maintain. Leaving three, three, zero now.”
“Tokyo, Roger.”