Hey y'all,

This is my official Christmas upload.

So, the next time a kid asks The Question, tell them the truth . . .

Incident On December 24th, 1964

All names/characters/vehicles/parts/systems are property of their respective owners/manufacturers/creators/players.
This particular pile of words is property DireWolf505/NMB


December 24th, 1964, 2207 hrs local, Elmendorf AFB, outside Anchorage Alaska.

Captain Tim ’Ferret’ Errett ran a hand through his light brown brush cut, before placing his helmet on. He adjusted it, then stepped from the warmth of the locker room, into the icy hanger. His plane, an F-102 ‘Delta Dagger’ interceptor sat ready, already hooked up to the ‘start-cart’.
“ Well, Sir. Sorry you’re pulling alert tonight.” His stocky crew chief told him loudly over the APU. “ Your little boy’s first Christmas, and all.”
The enlisted man patted Errett’s shoulder in sympathy, as the Captain went up the ladder, shivering.
Errett nodded. “ Well, that’s the Air Force.” He replied ruefully through chattering teeth. The canopy came down, and Tim rubbed his gloved hands together, thumping the heater. “ C’mon . . . “ He urged it, as he strapped in, hooking into the radio, and clipping his oxygen mask to one of the bayonet clips on his helmet.

In the next hanger, his wingman, Captain Avery ’Silk’ Putnum was doing a similar preflight, grumbling about the cold in his own F-102. Waiting for the heater, the blonde pilot made sure everything was in readiness, peering through the canopy out into the Arctic darkness. “ Damn place.” He muttered.

“ Checker Flight, this is Elmendorf tower. You are cleared for taxi.”
The radio crackled, and the two pilots fired up each plane’s Pratt & Whitney J57-P-25 afterburning turbojet, letting them warm up, while acknowledging the radio.

“ Copy tower. Checker One shows ready, over.” Errett replied, hearing the jet spin up, watching the dials.

“ Tower, Two dittoes.”

The pair of slim, angular fighters rolled from the hangers, Two slipping up beside Errett’s One. Both pilots smoothly rolled onto the taxiway.

“ Checker Flight, you are cleared for takeoff, runway Three-Four. Winds are light, westerly at 3 knots.” The tower told them, and both pilots brought their craft to runway 34. After one last check, both fighter’s engines roared, as they increased power. Releasing the brakes, both Convair fighters rolled down the runway, then gracefully lifted into the clear, chilly night sky, the landing gear raising up out of sight.

Within moments, all that could be seen were their running lights, and the yellow eyes of their engines.

“ One, this Two. I’m green across the board.” Putnum reported, as they crested into their patrol altitude of 25’000 feet. He wriggled in his ejection seat, and sighed, his blue eyes scanning the empty moonlit sky.

“ Copy, Silk.” Errett replied, scanning his own instrument panel, before settling in for another long, boring patrol. Things had gotten warm last year during that Cuba thing, but now everything was back to the normal brinksmanship, the US and USSR staring at each other.

An hour later, as they completed another long, wide racetrack pattern, the radio crackled, hissing and spitting with static. “ . . .-ecker fligh-, come in. We have a high speed bogey, set to intersect your -ttern.” The scratchy radio transmitted.
“ Ah, tower, I’m reading you 2 by 2, please repeat?” Errett asked, tapping his helmet.

“ Checker Flight, bogey is on a heading of . . . , repeat, one-niner-four, speed is estimated Mach 1 plus. Do you copy?” Elmendorf tower crackled.

Errett’s eye widened. “ Ah, we copy. Will intercept, and advise, tower.” He replied, advancing the throttles to military power, turning towards the unknown aircraft. “ Silk, heat it up, let’s see what this guy is. Vector on heading . . . Three-zero-zero.”

“ Copy, Ferret.” Putnum replied, adjusting his speed and heading accordingly. Both pilots ejected their drop tanks, as they increased speed.

Soon the two ‘Delta Daggers’ were nearing the area indicated by the ground-based radars. “ Keep your eyes open, Silk.” Errett called out over the radio, receiving two clicks back in acknowledgment.

Putnum’s voice soon came. “ Ferret, I gotta red light, 10 o’clock high!” He called out excitedly.
Errett looked, catching the single dim light. “ Copy, tighten up.” He ordered, as he lit the afterburner. Two singled up into a trailing position, as they approached the target.

Captain Errett blinked. “ . . . You seeing this, Avery?” He asked in confusion.

“ I . . . Think so. Sleigh. Reindeer.” He blinked. “ Ferret, you think it’s a Red trick?” He asked, peering at the flying sleigh. The fat, bearded man in the red suit gave them a jolly wave, smiling. “ . . . One helluva trick, if it is . . .”

Errett didn’t reply, then hit the button on his radio. “ . . . Elmendorf tower . . . “

Back at Elmendorf Air Force Base, in the warm, red-lit radar room, Major John Luzon sipped coffee, looking over the shoulders of the ‘scopey’ running Checker Flight’s intercept. The base had gone into higher alert as soon as the bogey had been detected, and now the Major contemplated additional response.
“ Elmendorf tower, this is -cker One. Target is . . . nine . . . -ers, . . . with a single red . . . “ The transmission hissed and crackled, half blocked with static.
“ What was that? Did he say nine Bears?” Major Luzon asked, referring to the Soviet TU-95 long range bomber. “ At that rate of speed?”
The radar operator shrugged. “ I don’t know, Sir. It might be, but if it is, they are close together, and jamming our radar some how. I have only three contacts.”

“ . . . Repeat, nine reindeer, one sleigh, with a single red light at the, er, nose. Please advise, tower.” Errett sent, blinking at the sight before his eyes.

Back at Elmendorf, Maj. Luzon was on the phone to the CO. “ Yes Sir. Well within the border. No Sir, nothing else has shown up. Right. Yes Sir.” He hung up the phone. “ We’re at red alert. Tell Checker Flight . . . Permission to engage. Down them.”

Meanwhile, all over the United States, bases went into alert. SAC aircrews were recalled from Christmas Eve parties, and the ready bombers, crews already strapped in, fired up their engines, as sirens wailed and lights flashed.
At the missile fields, the alert brought another response, silos opened, and missiles were prepared.
All over the world, the US, and NATO reacted, getting into a defensive posture as word of the ‘Bear bombers’ spread . . .


The Soviets, getting word of NATO’s sudden, apparently inexplicable jump to red alert, put their own forces at high alert. Bombers took wing, and divisions of tanks fired up, ready to repel the anticipated NATO invasion.

All over the world, NATO and Soviet forces prepared for World War Three, on Christmas Eve . . .


Miles away, at 30’000 feet, Errett and Putnum stared at the sleigh, as the order came over.” . . .Cleared to engage. . . -tiles. Destr- . . . -gets. Repe- . . .to engage, down all targets.”

Captain Errett closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “ You heard them, Two. Arm the ‘Falcons’.” He said quietly, as he flicked the switches, opening the missile-bay doors, and cooling the seeker heads of the six AIM-4D ‘Falcon’ air-to-air missiles.

“ . . .Two copies.” The missile-bay of Two levered open as well.
Both fighters slowed, letting the sleigh and nine reindeer get ahead of them, as both planes’ MG-10 fire-control systems worked on locking the missiles on the targets ahead of them.

Putnum cursed, hitting the panel. “ One, I’m no joy. The missiles won’t hold lock, Ferret.” Silk's voiced crackled over the mike.

In one, Captain Errett grumbled. “ Copy, Two. Cover my ’six’, I’ll . . . Deal with this.” He waited several seconds, letting the slow to acquire missiles get a good lock. Then, with a sigh, he squeezed the button, and with a lurch, a pair of ‘Falcons’ leapt off the rails, screaming towards the sleigh. He watched as the missile-trails reached out, then hit the sleigh.

With a doubled flash, both ‘Falcons’ hit and detonated. A trail of flame appeared from the stricken sleigh, as it immediately began to lose altitude. Chunks of material peeled and flew off, burning behind the sleigh.

Checker One and Two dropped altitude, keeping the sleigh locked on as it began to gyrate. The pilot was obviously having trouble keeping control of the mortally wounded craft.

Both Errett and Putnum watched in bemused silence as brightly wrapped presents, some burning, whipped past their canopies in the sleigh’s wake.

Trailing smoke, flame and gifts, the sleigh began to spiral, auguring in.

With a bright flash, the sleigh slammed into the ground. It exploded in a welter of fire, smoke, snow, gifts and reindeer meat.

Checker flight circled the area. “ . . . This is Checker One. Target splashed.” Errett said softly.

After a few minutes of circling the smoking crater, Putnum radioed to his flight lead. “ Ferret, we need to head back. We’re nearly bingo fuel.”
He received two clicks, as Checker One nosed up, and headed back towards Elmendorf. Two followed swiftly, singling up.

In Washington, they waited for a Soviet response, ready to launch on the word of any incursions.

In Moscow, they waited, in similar fashion.

Europe teetered on the brink, NATO units and Soviet forces staring across the borders, waiting for the move that would turn the Cold War into a blistering conflagration.

The ‘Hot Line’ crackled, with questions, demands for explanations, and very confused replies.

An hour later the two F-102s landed gently on runway 24. Captain Putnum looked at One as they taxied towards the hangers. “ You had to. Orders.” He told his flight lead softly.

“ Yeah, I know Silk.” Errett replied morosely. “ But, the commander will never believe this. It’s way too fantastic.” He replied tightly.

He gave a sigh. “ I just hope my kid never finds out his dad blew Santa Claus out of the sky, on Christmas Eve . . . “