The Red Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

  But, unbeknown to the pilot, passengers and crew, reasons that even to this day are not fully understood, they were slowly drifting off their assigned course. Although the Korean Airline had received its computerised flight plan, designating the various waypoints for KAL 150’s route from Anchorage to Seoul, and the autopilot was making appropriate adjustments, taking account of wind speed and wind direction, and the plane’s changing weight as fuel was burnt up, all was not well. After nearly half an hour in the air, a civilian radar at Kenai, on the eastern shore of Cook Inlet, tracked the passenger plane as being four kilometres north of where they should have been. The pilot, blissfully unaware of this deviation, continued with their flight towards Seoul.

  For reasons unknown, Captain Chen Khan and his co-pilot failed to verify their position with Bethel, a small fishing village on the western tip of Alaska, and were subsequently picked up by the King Salmon’s military radar a full eight and a half kilometres north of their planned position. The pilot reported being on course, even though they had exceeded the safety margin for deviations such as these by a margin of up to six times. The permissible drift for a passenger airliner was two nautical miles per hour. The error continued.

  By the second waypoint, KAL 150 was forty kilometres off course. By the third, an astounding one hundred kilometres off course.

  SOVIET SOKOL AIR FORCE BASE, SAKHALIN ISLAND. EARLY HOURS OF 1 SEPTEMBER 1983.

  “Comrade General, we have an unauthorised contact.”

  General Dimitriev, Commander of Sokol Air Force Base, on the base that day due to the impending test of a missile launch, strode over to the operator’s screen. “What is it?”

  “It’s big, Comrade General, the size of a large bomber or perhaps a civilian airliner.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They know this airspace is out of bounds. It has to be something else. A spy plane, perhaps?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Any of our own aircraft scheduled to fly in this area, for the missile test, maybe?”

  “Nothing on record.”

  “Then check again,” the commander snapped. He shouted across the control room to one of his junior officers, “Get me the operations duty officer, now!”

  He marched across the room and snatched the handset from his subordinate. “Moskvin, we have an intruder in our airspace. I want an immediate launch.”

  “What is it, sir? Is it an American spy plane?”

  “An intruder, as I have just told you. Now get a bloody fighter in the air.” Dimitriev slammed the phone down before the officer could respond. “Get me General Kozerski, quickly.”

  There was a few moments’ delay before the duty lieutenant passed the handset yet again to the commander of the Sokol Air Force Base.

  “We have an unidentified intruder in our airspace, Comrade General.”

  “Have you launched an intercept?”

  “We are about to, sir.”

  “It should be in the air now, General Dimitriev. What if it is an American recce plane preceding a strike by American bombers?”

  “Yes, sir, but—”

  “Why haven’t we seen it sooner?”

  “Since the arctic gales knocked out our radar, we have restricted capabilities, Comrade General.”

  “I don’t care. It shouldn’t be there; now deal with it. Do you understand your orders, General?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With that the line was disconnected and Dimitriev turned to one of the officers close by. “Have they launched yet?”

  “Yes, sir, they’re in the air.”

  “Patch the comms through to here. I want to hear this.”

  “Right away, Comrade General.”

  Within seconds, the speakers in the control room crackled to life, and the conversation between the interceptor and ground control could be heard throughout the control room.

  “Charkov, this is Tsaryov, over.”

  Charkov, the call sign for General Dimitriev, was called by the air combat controller, Tsaryov, from the Combat Control Centre of the Fighter Division.

  Dimitriev grabbed the handset. “Tsaryov, this is General Dimitriev. Have they made contact, over?”

  “Yes, sir,” responded, Tsaryov, Captain Shabunin, the air combat controller. “Two pilots have been sent up, but we don’t know what is happening yet.”

  “The target?”

  “It’s heading straight for our island, towards Terpenie Bay. It looks suspicious, sir, but it can’t be the enemy. They wouldn’t be this stupid, would they? Could it be one of ours?”

  “Tsaryov, find that target.”

  “But it will be in neutral waters before we reach it.”

  “I don’t care if it is over neutral waters. Find it!”

  KAL 150, ABOVE TERPENIE BAY, SAKHALIN ISLAND. EARLY HOURS OF 1 SEPTEMBER 1983.

  “KAL 017, from KAL 150, how is your flight?”

  “KAL 150, flight OK. We’re getting pretty strong tailwinds though. What’s it like for you?”

  “KAL 017, how strong and in what direction? How many knots?”

  “KAL 150, fifteen knots, wind direction 360 degrees.”

  “KAL 017, are you sure? We have a fifteen-knot headwind, 215 degrees.”

  “KAL 150, that can’t be right. We are on the same path.”

  SOVIET SOKOL AIR FORCE BASE, SAKHALIN ISLAND. EARLY HOURS OF1 SEPTEMBER 1983.

  “Charkov, this is Tsaryov, over.”

  Tsaryov, air combat controller from the Fighter Division, Combat Control Centre, sounded tense as he called for General Dimitriev, the commander of the Sokol Air Force Base.

  Dimitriev grabbed the handset. “Tsaryov, this is Charkov. Have they made contact yet?”

  “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-so
unding 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.”

  KAL 150, ABOVE TERPENIE BAY, SAKHALIN ISLAND. EARLY HOURS OF 1 SEPTEMBER 1983.

  “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.”

  SUKHOI, 15TM INTERCEPTOR, CALL SIGN 602, ABOVE AND BEHIND KAL 150.

  “602, Tsaryov. Are you approaching target?”

  “Yes, I am approaching target. Moving in closer.”

  They all listened intently, only the hiss of the radio indicating they were still in touch with the interceptor.

  “Tsaryov, 602. The target’s strobe light is blinking. I am within two kilometres. Target height 33,000. Instructions, over.

  “Tsaryov, 602. Wait. Target is decreasing speed and climbing. It’s going too slow. I’m going to pass it. I’ll fly back around.”

  “602, Tsaryov. Increase speed.”

  “I have increased speed.”

  “Has the target increased speed?”

  “Negative, its speed is decreasing.”

  “602, Tsaryov. Open fire, open fire on target.”

  “It’s too late. I am alongside of it. It’s going too slow, about 400 kilometres per hour. We have already flown beyond the island.”

  “602, Tsaryov. Roger. Take up a position for an attack.”

  “I will have to fall back if I am to hit the target.”

  “602, Tsaryov. Try and destroy it with cannons.”

  The comms hissed, blanked out as the 23mm gun pods on the fuselage pylons erupted, rounds firing in the direction of the passenger aircraft.

  “I’ve tried. No success. Target now at 35,000.”

  Dimitriev, incensed, picked up a handset and broke into the conversation. “Greckov, cut out all of this crap. What the hell is going on? I repeat my command. Get your pilots to fire on the target, fire missiles, bring it down!”

  The Commander of the 41st Fighter Regiment responded quickly, recognising his commander’s impatience. “Task received. We will destroy the target with missile fire.”

  “Just carry out my orders and destroy it. Fuck, how long does it take to get into attack position? The target is already above neutral waters. Engage afterburners immediately. Tsaryov, bring in the Mig-23, call sign 502, as well. While we’re wasting time, the intruder is getting away.”

  “Tsaryov, 602. Dropping back. Coming in above and behind. Will try missiles.”

  Oborin reduced the power of the fighter’s turbojet engines, dropping right back, getting into a position where he could approach the unidentified aircraft from above and behind again.

  “Tsaryov, 502. Ten kilometres to target. I see the target and 602 on screen.”

  “602, Tsaryov. Approach and destroy target now.”

  “Roger. I have lock-on again.”

  “Are you closing in on the target?”

  “I am closing in on the target. I have lock-on. Distance to target eight kilometres.”

  “602, Tsaryov. Afterburner. Afterburner!”

  “I have already switched it on.”

  “Launch!”

  “Tsaryov. I have executed launch.”

  “Comrade General Dimitriev, 602 has launched.”

&n
bsp; “Greckov, I don’t understand. What the hell is going on? Shoot it down. Now!” ordered Dimitriev.

  “He has launched, sir,” responded Greckov.

  “Follow the target, follow the target. Get 602 out of there and bring in 502.”

  “Tsaryov, 602. Target destroyed. Low on fuel, returning to base.”

  “Colonel Greckov, this General Dimitriev. Why is the target still flying? Why did he not shoot it down?”

  “602, Tsaryov. Break off attack, heading 360.”

  “Tsaryov, 602. Roger.”

  “Tsaryov, 502. What are my instructions? My wing tanks have lit up. Fuel low. I am turning left, heading of 180.”

  “Greckov, did Oborin see the missiles explode? Hello?” demanded Dimitriev.

  “He fired two missiles, Comrade General.”

  “Ask him yourself. Get onto channel 2 and ask him yourself. Did he see the explosions?”

  “602, Greckov. Did you launch one missile or both?”

  “I launched both.”

  THE OVAL OFFICE. 5 SEPTEMBER, 1983.

  THE RED EFFECT −10 MONTHS.

  He sat down in front of the large Resolute desk, made from the timbers of HMS Resolute in 1879 and presented to President Rutherford B Hayes by Queen Victoria in 1880. A brass desk lamp sat on the highly polished surface at the far end. Behind him, the room featured three large, south-facing windows. In his charcoal-grey suit, crisp white shirt and navy and light blue striped tie, he looked every inch the President of the most powerful country in the world: the President of the United States. Behind him, the US flag and the President’s flag stood proud either side of the centre window.