From the pages of WRAITH

For the first time since the accident, Nick smiled. “Yes, sir. I surely do.”
“As well you should. As any young officer should want to know the history of
his unit.” The older pilot settled back into his seat. “Very well then, in 1972, before you were
born if I remember your file correctly, the powers-that-be decided to create a
covert chase unit for test missions, and the Seventh Chase Squadron was born, with four pilots and two
shiny new T-38 aircraft.”
Nick
raised an eyebrow.
“I
see you noticed that I said ‘the Seventh Chase’ instead of ‘the Triple Seven
Chase.” Merlin narrowed one eye. “Keep that in mind for later. As I was saying, four
pilots, under the command of Michael ‘Rat’ Shaw, were based at Holloman under
various cover assignments. Every day they took off with the dawn patrol in
their T-38s and practiced test maneuvers that pushed the edge of sanity.” He
paused a moment and then cocked his head to one side. “Have you ever seen the
movie Top Gun, where Tom Cruise flies inverted directly over the top of
a MiG?”
“Yeah, everyone knows that scene.”
“True. Well, Rat and
his band of misfits were flying that maneuver long before Tom Cruise was playing
beach volleyball and showering with other guys. Anyway, one of the Seventh’s
objectives was to test the new laser-guided bombs, and Rat discovered that the
easiest method for following a bomb through its parabolic flight path was from
above while inverted.” Merlin demonstrated the maneuver with the flying hands
that most pilots use when they tell a story, holding one inverted over the
other.
“Rat
and his guys practiced the move on each other, with one T-38 playing the bomb,
and one acting as chase. It wasn’t long before the boys were ready
for their first test mission—not a bomb, but a new top secret drone.”
The lieutenant colonel scooped another
handful of popcorn into his mouth, and Nick gathered from the dramatic pause that
Rat’s boys were not, in fact, as ready as he supposed.
“Rat
sent Frank Eubanks up to chase the drone,” said the lieutenant colonel, wiping red seasoning from his lips. “Half way through the test, Frank slid his jet underneath to check controls. Stupid drone
picked that exact moment to go nuts. It made an abrupt pitch down, right on top of his jet. Both went down in flames in the desert. The resulting cover-up was a pain
in the proverbial neck, but the Seventh survived.”
“You still haven’t explained how you added two more sevens,” interrupted Nick.
“Patience, kid. Man, you Generation-X people have no attention span.” Merlin pressed his lips together and glanced down at his bowl, as if suddenly feeling the kick in the red seasoning. He
stood and headed for the coffee machine. “So anyway, they buried what
was left of Frank and carried on. The next test involved a laser-guided bomb,
the kind they had practiced for. Rat flew the test himself, chasing the bomb through its parabolic
profile, and just as they’d practiced, he entered an inverted dive above the
weapon. This time there was no malfunction. The bomb was following its normal
guidance sequence. Rat simply got too close. It was the early days. We knew
laser-guided bombs made big corrections, but we didn't know just how big.”
“You mean the system they call ‘bang-bang guidance’,” offered Nick.
“Yeah, it went bang alright.” Merlin
returned with his coffee, pausing before he sat down to take a long,
pepper-quenching swallow. The
weapon made a pitch correction and slammed into Rat’s canopy. Boom. This time, there was nothing left to bury.” He set his coffee down and pointed at the ribbons on the patch. “That’s why the
names are written in blood red. They are a memoriam to Sideshow Eubanks and Rat
Shaw.”
Merlin stared quietly down at the patch for a few seconds, as if paying his
respects to the dead. Then he slowly lifted his head. “Heads
began to roll. With two fatal mishaps in as many tests, the squadron was a
dismal failure. Everything was shut down. In 1984, however, along comes a Major by the name of Bob Windsor. The uppity-mucks had handed Windsor an ultra-classified
project. And he had nowhere to conduct his tests. So then he stumbles across the records of the Seventh Chase. Light bulb. Revive Biggs North One. Resurrect the Seventh. He
met with resistance, though. A lot of people with the right clearances considered the whole idea
unlucky. But Windsor is stuborn. He pestered them into submission.”
Merlin
picked up a piece of popcorn from the bottom of the bowl, almost entirely red with seasoning. He considered it a moment, then popped it into his mouth and chased it with some coffee.
“Under Windsor, the squadron took on an
entirely new format—an additional duty for select pilots, something you do once in a blue moon. There are six of us at any given time. Each has another flying job
and only returns to Romeo Seven as the need arises.”
“But
what about the name?” asked Nick, tapping the numbers on the patch with his
finger. “How did it become the Triple Seven Chase?”
“Oh,
right. I almost forgot,” said Merlin, though his smile indicated otherwise. “You know, you and Windsor should get along fine.”
“The name, boss.”
“Yeah, yeah. The Triple Seven Chase. Right. Windsor came up with it. He had to change the name to get around a few superstitious superiors, and what he came up with was a stroke of brilliance. Windsor melded the
squadron’s history into a name and symbol that seemed the essence of luck
itself. No one could argue with three sevens. By Windsor’s account, his revival
represented the third iteration of the Seventh, hence the name, and hence the
motto, ‘Third Time Lucky.’”
The older pilot leaned back in his chair. “So there
you have it, kid, the whole story. How’d I do?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t recommend it for younger audiences, but not bad.”
“Thanks, I’ll take that under advisement.”