I was commanding officer of a supersonic fighter squadron, F-8 Crusaders.
Baby boy, go hire a squadron My crib got more poles than a fire department.
Yes, for all of us in the Shakespeare Squadron, writing is just that: not an escape from reality, but an attempt to change reality.
The admiral, or commander in chief of a squadron, being frequently invested with a great charge, on which the fate of a kingdom may depend, ought certainly to be possessed of abilities equal to so important a station and so extensive a command.
There is a peculiar gratification in receiving congratulations from one's squadron for a victory in the air. It is worth more to a pilot than the applause of the whole outside world.
In every squadron there were, perhaps, four or five pilots who exuded confidence. They knew that they were going out to shoot. The rest knew sub-consciously, that they would make up the numbers, mill about, and get shot at.
The same advice my commanding officer at Patrol Squadron 17, Cmdr. Robert J. Quinn, gave me before I was grilled to be given the responsibility to lead a crew of 12 all over the world, ready to stop a Russian submarine preparing to wipe out an American city with a nuclear missile: 'Always remember that common sense and communication will solve 95 percent of the challenges you face in the Navy and life. '
