The Cuban crisis has gone bad. The soviets under leadership of Nikita Krushchev did not back down, despite the US naval blockade. When all diplomacy fails, President Kennedy is left but one option: Destroy the soviet missiles on Cuba. Ousting the Cuban leader Fidel Castro will be a nice side-effect.
Squadron: 95th FIS operating F-106A Delta Darts from MacDill AFB
The F-106A would be the last dedicated interceptor in the US inventory and today we are going to prove it could meet its job requirements. As our fellow pilots have attacked the Cubans all day, it is time for the Cuban to try a counter-attack.
We are on hold, ready to launch in a moment's notice, when word comes down. A flight of soviet bombers is heading for Florida. Now the gloves are really off, if the Soviets attack us in plain sight.
Our jets spool up and in mere seconds we are climbing straight up into the sky. With its internal weapons-bay the F-106 remains a sleek killing machine without all the weapon racks that hang beneath the other fighters.
The Soviet bombers are almost at their target, one of the many airfields from which we attack Cuba. The bomber crews might think they are almost home but they are in for a surprise.
With full afterburner, our flight has reached the enemy formation just in time. I hear the Falcon missile groan, indicating it has locked on the hot exhaust of the Soviet jets. I let the missile loose with much satisfaction.
In the bombers, the Soviet gunners watch in horror as one of them is shot out of the sky by my missile. Did they think they could come here without a fight?
I scream past the bombers, calling out to my wingman to attack the bombers on his turn.
The bombers are about to release their bombs. We are too late to stop them but at least we will make sure they don't return to Cuba.
My wingman has locked on to his target and fires a missile. We will make this a costly retreat for the Soviets.
Another bomber plummets to the ground, trailing smoke and fire behind it.
I managed to turn my fighter around and begin pursuing the bombers again. Its a race against time, because my wingman is tearing them apart. One more bomber breaks apart in a fiery explosion.
I fire another missile, killing of the last bomber. The Soviets might have bombed the airfield, but none of them returned homewards.
Below us, smoke billows from the base. Luckily for use the only thing the Soviets managed to hit were some empty bunkers. The runway remained untouched.
Returning home, I wiggle my wings to the ground crews. Hopefully somebody has a can of red paint, so that I can paint two red stars underneath my cockpit.
The end.
