#foxbat

[cyphyra]

Drew my partner @1apple-fox1 for the first time in literal years <3

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

The Riders invite Scott to a cuddle puddle...

[usafphantom2]

MiG-25

@SlavAsthetics via X

[lilgreenfox]

PokeCember Day 7 - Ice- hey, when'd you get in here?! Get out of here lil guy you're scaring the poor Ice/Dark type 🙀🦊🪽

[blackros78]

A MiG-25 Foxbat taking off

[jeany545]

Colored Sketch for CrescentWolf

This was a fun pose to work out, LOOK AT THAT TAIL, THOSE EARS, that MLEM

[kbnarts]

tied up at the moment

commission for Teufelstruhe264 

Posted using PostyBirb

[all-action-all-picture]

Eagle Data File No. 37 from Eagle No. 66, dated 25 June 1983. The Mig-25 Foxbat. A bit of a worry to the West until Viktor Belenko, a defecting pilot, flew a new one to Japan on the 6 September 1976. Subsequent tests found it wasn't as powerful as they initially feared.

The artwork is by Lionel Jeans (given away by the Jeans signature) and I think he provided both the painted artwork and the cutaway.

[theforgottencrow]

god I love hanging upside down like the silly little Foxbat that I am <3

⬆️ me rn frfr

[the-foxbat-adventures]

A clay model I created for Foxbat 2 years ago... my first!

[otakikage]

Oc ahh moment(humanization actually)

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

Ok so a few things here... the Dark Riders have tracked down Mesmero and we "see" them "kill him" but... well... you know, comics...

Also, Psynapse came back "sick from the moon" so if you know you know... but also it doesn't super matter because the other Riders deem him not fit to live for botching the mission.

[blackros78]

MiG-25R reconnaissance aircraft, 1990.

[themaresnest-dumblr]

Viktor Belenko

They're all dropping off this week!

On the 6th September 1976, Lieutenant Viktor Belenko of the Russian Air Force, said 'Screw you Commie bastards!' and defected.

In lieu of his last month's paycheck, he decided to fly off with his trusty Mig 25 Foxbat (see above).

The fact it was the most secret and most feared jet fighter of the time - and he was about to cause the sweet succulent granny of international incidents - as far as he was concerned wasn't going to be an issue. For him, at any rate. He hated Soviet Russia, was estranged from his wife, and his son was an asshole, so he'd nothing to lose.

What made the Foxbat so feared was its speed - Mach 3. Only the Lockheed Blackbird spy plane flew that fast - which was the point of the Foxbat's existence, although ironically there has never been a single example of a Foxbat and a Blackbird going toe to toe.

However, once an example had landed, a lot of the myths about the jet were exploded, and a few new ones thrown in. It turned out to have more in common with the British English Electric Lightning than anything more sophisticated, right down to its fully turning horizontal tail fins.

It was literally a Tonka Toy jet - big, heavy, crude, but very durable, right down to being able to be fitted with old fashioned valves rather than silicone chips, meaning it could survive the EMP pulse from a nuclear weapon.

Even its missiles - the Acrid - were a lightning fast blunt instrument that could fly far and fast to blow any other plane no matter how large out of the sky.

The point of the Foxbat was it could take off and climb at very short notice, very high, and very quickly, to intercept just about anything. One even managed to shoot down a communications satellite in low orbit.

Most embarrassing of all, the Foxbat's weapons and radar onboard computer - one of the first jets to have on - was an IBM make. To this day, there has never been a satisfactory explanation as to how Soviet Russia had such sophisticated American equipment in their military jets, but the conspiracy theorists had a field day.

It also spelt disaster for Egypt, Syria and Libya, who'd bought the jets at great expense hoping to have an edge over Israel, only to discover from the revelations from Belenko that the Foxbat wasn't much good at low level due to its weight - the Israeli Air Force's preferred combat tactic.

It also turned out their pilots couldn't handle the jet very well either - in fact only one foreign purchaser ever achieved happy results with the Foxbat, and that was India, who bought it to keep the Chinese, Pakistanis and - ironically - Russians out of their airspace.

Belenko's defection - quite aside from quenching Cold War and Middle East tensions once the Soviet's 'wonder weapon' was demystified - also inspired Craig Thomas' book (and later Clint Eastwood film) Firefox - although it would be a long time before any thought control aircraft system was to appear, even so at a very crude level.

A real Mig 31 was to appear however a few years later, the Foxhound, really the Mark II version of the Foxbat, flying also at Mach 3, and being the first jet to have 'Look Down, Shoot Down' - meaning it could shoot down or fire at targets beyond its onboard range due to the curve of the earth.

As for Belenko, he went on to work in the aircraft industry and attending flight enthusiasts meetings - unlike so many defectors, he did not find himself assassinated by "Mother Russia".

[fivetailed]

Foxbat.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik flies. Ghost pines. Price... considers.

cw: hints of a future polyamorous relationship.

“Whit's he daein'?” Soap asked, folding his arms and legs as he watched Nik in the near distance.

Price looked up from the report in his lap, roll up twitching between his lips. Nik was pacing back and forth, fists, hands and arms moving in rhythmic, practised motions in front of his chest, by his hips, occasionally twisting behind him. But there was no opponent, only the imaginary one in Nik's head in the shape of the jet he was about to fly. “Shadowboxin.”

“Aye, ah c’n see tha’, sir. How come?”

Simon shifted on Price's right. He had been watching Nik with a palpable hunger. Even with his mask, the intensity of his gaze was hard to miss. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost husky. Like he was wading out of deeper, warmer thoughts. “Trainin’ exercise to practice his spatial awareness, coordination, and muscle memory before gettin’ in the cockpit. That thing ain’t his Black Hawk. Whole different animal. Second fastest jet in service.”

“That thing? S’massive. Na wey it kin shift. He'd ‘ave more fun in an F-15.”

The Foxbat was the size of a World War II heavy bomber — nine feet longer than an Avro Lancaster, two and a half feet taller than a B-24 and with a gross weight almost twenty-seven thousand pounds heavier than a Boeing B-17. Price had seen old black and white photographs on Nik's phone of Soviet technicians servicing the damn thing; they’d looked like toy soldiers scurrying around in its shadow.

The ride in the MiG-25 was a gift from Laswell as a thank you for Nik's help on a black op. Not even Price knew much about it, but it had to have been gnarly for her to pull this many strings. The Foxbat was fully fuelled and Nik's flight plan had been filed. Nik was going to throw that tank of an aircraft around the skies like he was twenty-two again, and he'd been vibrating with excitement during the walk out.

“Big man, big plane,” Simon murmured, “and he's got’a special attachment to it, even though it's a bit shite.”

Price plucked his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ash onto the concrete by his thigh, considering Simon closely. There had been a change in him recently, especially around Nik. He spent a lot of time watching Nik - all out staring, as Simon was prone to do - standing close to him during briefings, finding reasons to talk to him in down time. He was flirting without realising it. Price knew why. Nik had told him about the hair incident, and asked whether there was any possibility of enticing Simon into a little more.

Honestly? Price had laughed at the time. ‘Better chance of gettin’ a gobby off of Makarov’ had been his exact words. But now that he had watched Simon around Nik for a month, he wasn't so sure his initial assessment was accurate. Even now, his body was enticed towards Nik. His arms were folded but his posture was open, upper back against the wall but hips in Nik's direction, his feet spread, shifting and twitching like there was something bubbling beneath his skin.

“Oh aye? Why's he so keen on it then?” Soap asked, giving Simon the side eye. The sergeant wasn't thick; he'd seen it too.

“Foxbat scared the Americans shitless during the Cold War. They got these spy satellite photos showin’ that beast, engine intakes the size of small cars. Big wings, potential for more maneuverability ‘an the F-4 Phantom II. But a pilot called Viktor Belenko defected and showed her to be a dud. Wife divorcin’ him, disaffected with communist society. In 1976, he left his sortie and went to Japan. Landed at Hakodate, overran the runway, shut down with only thirty seconds of fuel remainin’. Handed ‘em a brand new Foxbat and a fockin’ trainin’ manual to dissect.”

Simon rattled it all off without pause, and Price had to fight his grin to keep his expression passive. Well, that bloody well confirmed it. Simon had hyperfixated on the plane that Nik treasured. There were probably several more encyclopedias worth of knowledge on the damn thing in his head, ready to use with Nik later. That was how Simon tried to connect with people; shitty jokes and learning about them through what they loved.

“‘Ow the fuck d’ye know all that?” Soap asked, smirking. He'd sussed it too.

“I read,” Simon said dryly. “Try it some time.”

“Och, baltic, sir.” Soap sniffed, head tilting the other way. “So, he feels some kinda kindred spirit with Belenko.”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe. Or he's a fockin’ plane nerd and flyin’ that thing would be like the old man wankin’ over those Nortons at Bletchley Park.”

“Yeah, wondered when it'd be my turn,” Price growled, rolling his eyes.

“At least it dunnae need a drip tray and a prayer to stay together, eh?”

“Ya tolkin’ about Price or the bikes?” Simon's head lolled to the side as he spoke, tone rife with wry amusement.

Soap cackled, and Price slapped the folder closed in his lap. “Olrigh’, can it, ya muppets.”

“Aye, sir. Ah, look, mus’ be his slot.”

They watched the Foxbat taxi down the runway under the direction of the flight crew, their exaggerated hand gestures and bouncing completely alien to the three soldiers sitting by the hanger but clearly recognisable to Nik, who made a hand gesture in return before he looked forward.

Price returned his cigarette to his mouth, leaning back to watch Nik climb the jet as the flight crew assembled. Time to take off. Nik bounced a little on his toes before he hauled himself up to the cockpit, shoving the headset and helmet on, aviators still in place because Nik was absolutely permitted his cornier foibles. This was a dream come true for him. Laswell had outdone herself.

Price grabbed the ear defenders nearby and chucked another set across to Soap; Simon was already prepared. The engines roared into life, making the air shimmer with heat and power, and the big jet accelerated down the runway, leaving the tarmac in one of the smoothest take offs Price had ever seen. Well, of course it was; it was Nik after all.

The Foxbat disappeared above the clouds quickly and Price glanced over at Simon. He didn't move until the grey smudge reappeared against the open skies further to the east. The jet rolled and banked, ascending almost vertical for a stall turn that made even Price's belly do a little flip. It shot back past the hanger, the sound of its engines lagging behind its visible position as Nik pushed it hard. Price wished he could hear Nik whooping and rambling in Russian; air traffic control were probably feeling a little uneasy.

Simon never dropped his chin. He remained stoic, his arms folded, but his mind was up in the clouds with Nik. They both were. The difference was that Price knew he would be unzipping that flight suit later and enjoying everything underneath, whereas Simon would deprive himself for fear of being hurt, no matter how much he wanted it. Price hummed, stubbing out his cigarette. Perhaps it was time to indulge Nik’s curiosity, and his own carefully managed and suppressed feelings. Simon wasn't the only one who had denied the obvious for self preservation.

Eventually, the flight had to come to an end. Nik brought the Foxbat down gently, the landing gear screeching against the tarmac briefly as Nik negotiated the short runway. He taxied back round to park her almost exactly where he had pulled away from, and Price smirked as the cockpit popped open and a jubilant Russian bounced up with a roar of triumph, big arms in the air.

Ghost stooped down to his bag and Price heard the tinkle of glass as he removed his ear defenders. Simon clutched four empty glasses in his big hands and jutted his chin at the Foxbat as he glanced down at Price. “Comin’?”

“Lead the way,” Price said, grunting as he rolled to his feet.

“Ey, where's the liquor?” Soap asked as he followed.

“Mechanics used t’ call this thing the Flyin’ Restaurant,” Price said. “The air-conditioning relies on evaporation of distilled water an’ about two hundred and forty litres of pure grain alcohol. She's still got some’uv the brew in her tank."

Soap’s nose wrinkled. “Ye hae tae be jokin’. Yer gonnae drink outta the feckin’ jet?”

“Abso-fockin’-lutely,” Simon said.

Nik greeted them with all the energy of an excited puppy, gesturing at the jet and spilling in and out of Russian and English like his brain was struggling to come down from the sky. His face lit up further when he spotted the glasses in Simon's hands, slapping the lieutenant on the shoulder with a surprised, booming laugh.

The air crew left them to it and Nik did the honours. It helped that the small bowsers used to refill the air-conditioning system had conveniently placed spigots to tap the Foxbat-shaped keg.

“Poyekhali!” Nik said before he knocked back his mouthful of Foxbat bloody moonshine. Soap choked and coughed on his, and Simon grunted in discomfort.

Price grinned, toasting his own. “Za zdorovye, comrade.” He took a deep breath before downing the lot. Oh it bloody burned.