Written by Charles Mohrle

In fighter planes they flew with us,
these gallant men with silver wings,
brothers all through hostile skies
a peaceful world we sought to bring.

Then the blaze of hell stabbed upward,
the air was slashed by jagged steel
and terror was the major thing
that each of us could feel.

All knew, in such a frenzied sky,
that some of us would not survive.
Yet, their guns with ours erupting fire,
into the face of death we dived.

The gods of war, by random choice,
called these young men to flame and die.
We saw them spin like shattered hawks,
but in memory still they share out sky.

And now in silent, ghostly, echelon,
these valiant comrades from the past
will fly our wings in close formation
'till all our squadron's stilled at last.