I want to fly… I need to fly… I’ll be the second of the three, and in endless skies we’ll hunt, we’ll kill, and as one we’ll die.

A squadron of mad dogs; nameless, faceless, known not by a given number, like you all are, but by the number of lives we harvest, the number of rockets fired and rockets hit, the number of seconds before impact, and the seconds left before our one last collision…

Alpha to Charlie, Bravo is down… I repeat, Bravo is down…