vTF-77 Command

AIM-54 Phoenix In the frost of the Cold War, as Soviet bombers loomed over the seas, the U.S. Navy sought a weapon to safeguard its carriers. At Hughes Aircraft, engineers crafted the AIM-54 Phoenix, a missile born to dominate the skies. Paired with the F-14 Tomcat, this 1,000-pound titan, stretching 13 feet, could strike six targets over 100 miles away, soaring at Mach 5 with an active radar seeker that hunted on its own. First launched in 1966, it joined the fleet by 1974, a symbol of American ingenuity. The Phoenix’s AWG-9 radar, synced with the Tomcat, could track a swarm of enemies, making it a fleet’s fiery shield. Pilots, calling “Fox Three,” unleashed it in training, awed by its reach. Iran’s F-14s, gifted before the 1979 revolution, reportedly wielded it in the Iran-Iraq War, claiming up to 60 kills, though proof remained elusive. For the U.S., the Phoenix stayed silent in conflicts like the 1991 Gulf War, its million-dollar cost and strict rules keeping it leashed. By 2004, as the F-14 retired, the Phoenix was shelved, outshined by the versatile AIM-120 AMRAAM. In 2007, a demilitarized Phoenix roared again, testing hypersonic flight for NASA at Mach 5. Its legacy endures in modern missiles, a testament to its vision. The AIM-54, named for rebirth, never burned bright in battle but left a trail of innovation, a guardian whose shadow still lingers in the skies. Key Features ● Range: Over 100 miles (185 km), with a maximum of ~99 mi (160 km) specified. ● Speed: Up to Mach 5. ● Weight: ~1,000 lb (500 kg), with a 135 lb warhead. ● Guidance: Semi-active radar for mid-course, active radar for terminal phase, with mid-course updates from the F-14’s radar. ● Launch: Ejection launch via LAU-93 or LAU-132 launchers, with a solid propellant rocket motor. Come shoot the phoenix Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

AIM-54 Phoenix In the frost of the Cold War, as Soviet bombers loomed over the seas, the U.S. Navy sought a weapon to safeguard its carriers. At Hughes Aircraft, engineers crafted the AIM-54 Phoenix, a missile born to dominate the skies. Paired with the F-14 Tomcat, this 1,000-pound titan, stretching 13 feet, could strike six targets over 100 miles away, soaring at Mach 5 with an active radar seeker that hunted on its own. First launched in 1966, it joined the fleet by 1974, a symbol of American ingenuity. The Phoenix’s AWG-9 radar, synced with the Tomcat, could track a swarm of enemies, making it a fleet’s fiery shield. Pilots, calling “Fox Three,” unleashed it in training, awed by its reach. Iran’s F-14s, gifted before the 1979 revolution, reportedly wielded it in the Iran-Iraq War, claiming up to 60 kills, though proof remained elusive. For the U.S., the Phoenix stayed silent in conflicts like the 1991 Gulf War, its million-dollar cost and strict rules keeping it leashed. By 2004, as the F-14 retired, the Phoenix was shelved, outshined by the versatile AIM-120 AMRAAM. In 2007, a demilitarized Phoenix roared again, testing hypersonic flight for NASA at Mach 5. Its legacy endures in modern missiles, a testament to its vision. The AIM-54, named for rebirth, never burned bright in battle but left a trail of innovation, a guardian whose shadow still lingers in the skies. Key Features ● Range: Over 100 miles (185 km), with a maximum of ~99 mi (160 km) specified. ● Speed: Up to Mach 5. ● Weight: ~1,000 lb (500 kg), with a 135 lb warhead. ● Guidance: Semi-active radar for mid-course, active radar for terminal phase, with mid-course updates from the F-14’s radar. ● Launch: Ejection launch via LAU-93 or LAU-132 launchers, with a solid propellant rocket motor. Come shoot the phoenix Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

AIM-54 Phoenix In the frost of the Cold War, as Soviet bombers loomed over the seas, the U.S. Navy sought a weapon to safeguard its carriers. At Hughes Aircraft, engineers crafted the AIM-54 Phoenix, a missile born to dominate the skies. Paired with the F-14 Tomcat, this 1,000-pound titan, stretching 13 feet, could strike six targets over 100 miles away, soaring at Mach 5 with an active radar seeker that hunted on its own. First launched in 1966, it joined the fleet by 1974, a symbol of American ingenuity. The Phoenix’s AWG-9 radar, synced with the Tomcat, could track a swarm of enemies, making it a fleet’s fiery shield. Pilots, calling “Fox Three,” unleashed it in training, awed by its reach. Iran’s F-14s, gifted before the 1979 revolution, reportedly wielded it in the Iran-Iraq War, claiming up to 60 kills, though proof remained elusive. For the U.S., the Phoenix stayed silent in conflicts like the 1991 Gulf War, its million-dollar cost and strict rules keeping it leashed. By 2004, as the F-14 retired, the Phoenix was shelved, outshined by the versatile AIM-120 AMRAAM. In 2007, a demilitarized Phoenix roared again, testing hypersonic flight for NASA at Mach 5. Its legacy endures in modern missiles, a testament to its vision. The AIM-54, named for rebirth, never burned bright in battle but left a trail of innovation, a guardian whose shadow still lingers in the skies. Key Features ● Range: Over 100 miles (185 km), with a maximum of ~99 mi (160 km) specified. ● Speed: Up to Mach 5. ● Weight: ~1,000 lb (500 kg), with a 135 lb warhead. ● Guidance: Semi-active radar for mid-course, active radar for terminal phase, with mid-course updates from the F-14’s radar. ● Launch: Ejection launch via LAU-93 or LAU-132 launchers, with a solid propellant rocket motor. Come shoot the phoenix Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

AIM-54 Phoenix In the frost of the Cold War, as Soviet bombers loomed over the seas, the U.S. Navy sought a weapon to safeguard its carriers. At Hughes Aircraft, engineers crafted the AIM-54 Phoenix, a missile born to dominate the skies. Paired with the F-14 Tomcat, this 1,000-pound titan, stretching 13 feet, could strike six targets over 100 miles away, soaring at Mach 5 with an active radar seeker that hunted on its own. First launched in 1966, it joined the fleet by 1974, a symbol of American ingenuity. The Phoenix’s AWG-9 radar, synced with the Tomcat, could track a swarm of enemies, making it a fleet’s fiery shield. Pilots, calling “Fox Three,” unleashed it in training, awed by its reach. Iran’s F-14s, gifted before the 1979 revolution, reportedly wielded it in the Iran-Iraq War, claiming up to 60 kills, though proof remained elusive. For the U.S., the Phoenix stayed silent in conflicts like the 1991 Gulf War, its million-dollar cost and strict rules keeping it leashed. By 2004, as the F-14 retired, the Phoenix was shelved, outshined by the versatile AIM-120 AMRAAM. In 2007, a demilitarized Phoenix roared again, testing hypersonic flight for NASA at Mach 5. Its legacy endures in modern missiles, a testament to its vision. The AIM-54, named for rebirth, never burned bright in battle but left a trail of innovation, a guardian whose shadow still lingers in the skies. Key Features ● Range: Over 100 miles (185 km), with a maximum of ~99 mi (160 km) specified. ● Speed: Up to Mach 5. ● Weight: ~1,000 lb (500 kg), with a 135 lb warhead. ● Guidance: Semi-active radar for mid-course, active radar for terminal phase, with mid-course updates from the F-14’s radar. ● Launch: Ejection launch via LAU-93 or LAU-132 launchers, with a solid propellant rocket motor. Come shoot the phoenix Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

389th FS “Thunderbolts” In the spring of 1943, as the world burned in the fires of war, a new squadron rose from the fields of Richmond, Virginia. The 389th Fighter Squadron, christened the “Thunderbolts,” took to the skies with the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt, a hulking fighter that roared with the promise of power. Born into the 366th Fighter Group, these young pilots—barely men, some still dreaming of home—trained relentlessly, their eyes set on the European Theater. By March 1944, under Colonel Meyer’s steady hand, they flew their first combat mission, a sweep over France’s Bayeux-St Aubin area. Eighteen P-47s thundered into the dawn, meeting little flak and no enemy fighters, but it was a baptism nonetheless. Through the war’s final years, the Thunderbolts carved a path across Europe, escorting bombers, strafing ground targets, and dueling Luftwaffe aces until victory came in May 1945. Their P-47s, scarred but proud, stood silent as the squadron inactivated in 1946, their duty done. The Cold War’s chill stirred the Thunderbolts awake in 1953, reborn as a fighter-bomber squadron at Alexandria Air Force Base, Louisiana. Now wielding North American F-86 Sabres, they trained for a new kind of war, one of jet speeds and nuclear stakes. Tragedy struck in 1955 when their commander, Lt. Col. John B. England, faced a fog-choked return from gunnery practice near Tripoli, Libya. With fuel starving his Sabre, England glimpsed the runway but saw his men’s barracks in his glide path. “This is not an acceptable risk,” he radioed calmly, turning his jet into the woods near Toul-Rosières Air Base. His sacrifice spared his men, and Alexandria was renamed England Air Force Base in his honor, a name it carried until 1993. The Thunderbolts’ saga continued to unfold, their mission ever-changing. In the 1960s, they traded Sabres for McDonnell F-4 Phantoms and roared into the Vietnam War. From 1966 to 1971, they flew combat missions over Southeast Asia, bombing enemy strongholds and dodging surface-to-air missiles in the sweltering jungles. The Phantoms, painted with the squadron’s lightning-streaked insignia, became a feared sight in the skies. Back home, the 1970s saw them shift to training, guiding aircrews on the General Dynamics F-111 Aardvark from 1979 to 1991, a low-flying beast built for deep strikes. But the Thunderbolts’ restless spirit demanded more. In 1991, at Mountain Home Air Force Base, Idaho, the squadron embraced the General Dynamics F-16C Viper, mastering the Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses (SEAD) role with AGM-88 HARM missiles. Their Block 52 Vipers, equipped with HARM Targeting Systems, hunted enemy radar, while LANTIRN pods and night vision goggles turned night into day for precision strikes. From 2001 to 2002, a Viper adorned with New York firefighter nose-art flew over Afghanistan, honoring the fallen of 9/11 during Operation Enduring Freedom. But change loomed again. The 2005 Base Realignment and Closure axed the F-16s, and by 2006, the Thunderbolts welcomed the McDonnell Douglas F-15E Strike Eagle, a twin-seat warhorse for close air support and deep strikes. Now at Mountain Home, the Thunderbolts, with 71 personnel and 21 Strike Eagles, are a force of precision and power. They train in exercises like Red Flag and Combat Hammer, honing skills for global missions. In 2021, they thundered down Nellis runways for Green Flag West, weaving air support with Army ground forces. By 2022, under Lt. Col. Beacher “Magnus” Webb, they deployed to Southwest Asia, flying close air support and counter-air missions for U.S. Central Command, their F-15Es a shield against regional threats. President Biden later hailed them as “among the greatest mankind has ever known,” a nod to their relentless spirit. The squadron’s culture is as vibrant as its history. New pilots, dubbed “Sparkies,” earn the name for their fresh-faced zeal, a nod to a “baby” Thunderbolt. They’re the squadron’s lifeblood, tasked with morale-boosting duties like cooking popcorn, their innocence a counterpoint to war’s grim lessons. Once seasoned by combat or time, they shed the title, passing it to the next generation. Through it all, the Thunderbolts carry their legacy—P-47s over Normandy, Phantoms in Vietnam, Strike Eagles in the desert—a story of sacrifice, adaptability, and unyielding resolve, etched in the skies they still rule. Come fly With 389th or one of the other squadrons Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

389th FS “Thunderbolts” In the spring of 1943, as the world burned in the fires of war, a new squadron rose from the fields of Richmond, Virginia. The 389th Fighter Squadron, christened the “Thunderbolts,” took to the skies with the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt, a hulking fighter that roared with the promise of power. Born into the 366th Fighter Group, these young pilots—barely men, some still dreaming of home—trained relentlessly, their eyes set on the European Theater. By March 1944, under Colonel Meyer’s steady hand, they flew their first combat mission, a sweep over France’s Bayeux-St Aubin area. Eighteen P-47s thundered into the dawn, meeting little flak and no enemy fighters, but it was a baptism nonetheless. Through the war’s final years, the Thunderbolts carved a path across Europe, escorting bombers, strafing ground targets, and dueling Luftwaffe aces until victory came in May 1945. Their P-47s, scarred but proud, stood silent as the squadron inactivated in 1946, their duty done. The Cold War’s chill stirred the Thunderbolts awake in 1953, reborn as a fighter-bomber squadron at Alexandria Air Force Base, Louisiana. Now wielding North American F-86 Sabres, they trained for a new kind of war, one of jet speeds and nuclear stakes. Tragedy struck in 1955 when their commander, Lt. Col. John B. England, faced a fog-choked return from gunnery practice near Tripoli, Libya. With fuel starving his Sabre, England glimpsed the runway but saw his men’s barracks in his glide path. “This is not an acceptable risk,” he radioed calmly, turning his jet into the woods near Toul-Rosières Air Base. His sacrifice spared his men, and Alexandria was renamed England Air Force Base in his honor, a name it carried until 1993. The Thunderbolts’ saga continued to unfold, their mission ever-changing. In the 1960s, they traded Sabres for McDonnell F-4 Phantoms and roared into the Vietnam War. From 1966 to 1971, they flew combat missions over Southeast Asia, bombing enemy strongholds and dodging surface-to-air missiles in the sweltering jungles. The Phantoms, painted with the squadron’s lightning-streaked insignia, became a feared sight in the skies. Back home, the 1970s saw them shift to training, guiding aircrews on the General Dynamics F-111 Aardvark from 1979 to 1991, a low-flying beast built for deep strikes. But the Thunderbolts’ restless spirit demanded more. In 1991, at Mountain Home Air Force Base, Idaho, the squadron embraced the General Dynamics F-16C Viper, mastering the Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses (SEAD) role with AGM-88 HARM missiles. Their Block 52 Vipers, equipped with HARM Targeting Systems, hunted enemy radar, while LANTIRN pods and night vision goggles turned night into day for precision strikes. From 2001 to 2002, a Viper adorned with New York firefighter nose-art flew over Afghanistan, honoring the fallen of 9/11 during Operation Enduring Freedom. But change loomed again. The 2005 Base Realignment and Closure axed the F-16s, and by 2006, the Thunderbolts welcomed the McDonnell Douglas F-15E Strike Eagle, a twin-seat warhorse for close air support and deep strikes. Now at Mountain Home, the Thunderbolts, with 71 personnel and 21 Strike Eagles, are a force of precision and power. They train in exercises like Red Flag and Combat Hammer, honing skills for global missions. In 2021, they thundered down Nellis runways for Green Flag West, weaving air support with Army ground forces. By 2022, under Lt. Col. Beacher “Magnus” Webb, they deployed to Southwest Asia, flying close air support and counter-air missions for U.S. Central Command, their F-15Es a shield against regional threats. President Biden later hailed them as “among the greatest mankind has ever known,” a nod to their relentless spirit. The squadron’s culture is as vibrant as its history. New pilots, dubbed “Sparkies,” earn the name for their fresh-faced zeal, a nod to a “baby” Thunderbolt. They’re the squadron’s lifeblood, tasked with morale-boosting duties like cooking popcorn, their innocence a counterpoint to war’s grim lessons. Once seasoned by combat or time, they shed the title, passing it to the next generation. Through it all, the Thunderbolts carry their legacy—P-47s over Normandy, Phantoms in Vietnam, Strike Eagles in the desert—a story of sacrifice, adaptability, and unyielding resolve, etched in the skies they still rule. Come fly With 389th or one of the other squadrons Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

1-227th ARB In the early 1960s, as the U.S. Army explored new ways to wage war, a bold experiment took flight at Fort Benning, Georgia. On February 1, 1963, Company A, 227th Assault Helicopter Battalion, was born within the 11th Air Assault Division, a testbed for the airmobile concept. These pioneers, equipped with UH-1 Hueys, were tasked with mastering helicopter warfare, ferrying troops into battle with speed and precision. By July 1965, the unit became Company A, 227th Aviation Battalion, assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division, and soon shipped out to Vietnam. Over seven grueling years, they flew through the A Shau Valley and Pleiku, braving enemy fire to deliver soldiers and supplies. Their Hueys, roaring over jungles, became lifelines, earning two Presidential Unit Citations and two Valorous Unit Awards for valor. After Vietnam, the unit, now the 227th Aviation Battalion, returned to Fort Hood, Texas, only to be inactivated in 1974, their rotors stilled. A brief revival from 1978 to 1983 hinted at their resilience, but it was in 1987 that their true rebirth came. Redesignated the 1st Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, they became the Army’s first divisional Apache Attack Helicopter Battalion, wielding the fearsome AH-64 Apache. Nicknamed “First Attack,” a nod to the 1st Cavalry’s storied “First Team” legacy—first into Manila in 1945, Tokyo, and Pyongyang—the battalion trained relentlessly, their Apaches a new breed of hunter. In 1990, the desert called. Deployed to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, for Operation Desert Shield, 1-227th postured for war. On February 25, 1991, as Operation Desert Storm erupted, they led a raid, spearheading the 1st Cavalry Division’s deception plan to outfox Iraqi forces. Their Apaches struck hard, cutting off a retreating Republican Guard division at Basra, their Hellfire missiles lighting up the night. Returning to Fort Hood in March, they stood taller, battle-tested. The late 1990s brought a leap forward. On June 2, 1998, 1-227th became the first Army battalion to field the AH-64D Apache Longbow, a digital predator capable of annihilating entire enemy divisions. Under Lt. Col. Michael Riley, they honed this lethal edge with the 21st Cavalry Brigade, redefining attack aviation. In 2003, the battalion, led by Lt. Col. Dan Ball, roared into Iraq for Operation Iraqi Freedom. On March 24, their Longbows clashed with the Republican Guard’s Medina Division near Karbala, 60 miles south of Baghdad. The battle was fierce—most Apaches took heavy damage, one crashed, its pilots captured but later rescued by Marines. Despite the scars, 1-227th’s resolve held firm. Reorganized in 2005 as part of the 1st Air Cavalry Brigade, the battalion, now the 1st Attack Reconnaissance Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, embraced a modular structure. In 2011, they faced Afghanistan’s rugged Paktika Province, deploying to FOB Sharana after high-altitude training at Fort Carson. Their Apaches flew full-spectrum missions across Regional Command East, and in July, one became the first AH-64D to log 10,000 flight hours, a historic milestone. By June 2012, under Lt. Col. Phillip Baker, they returned to Fort Hood, shifting to an Apache-pure attack role, readying for future fights. Through the years, 1-227th’s “First Attack” ethos shone in exercises like Dynamic Front 18, where their maintainers, like Spc. Craig Gallegos and Sgt. Avery McMahon, kept Apaches armed and ready. Based at Fort Cavazos (formerly Fort Hood), the battalion’s 600-plus soldiers and AH-64Ds remain a cornerstone of the 1st Cavalry Division. From Vietnam’s Hueys to Desert Storm’s raids, from Longbow’s digital dawn to Afghanistan’s peaks, the 1st Attack Reconnaissance Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, has written a saga of courage and innovation, their Apaches ever poised to strike first. Come fly With 1-227th or one of the other squadrons Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

1-227th ARB In the early 1960s, as the U.S. Army explored new ways to wage war, a bold experiment took flight at Fort Benning, Georgia. On February 1, 1963, Company A, 227th Assault Helicopter Battalion, was born within the 11th Air Assault Division, a testbed for the airmobile concept. These pioneers, equipped with UH-1 Hueys, were tasked with mastering helicopter warfare, ferrying troops into battle with speed and precision. By July 1965, the unit became Company A, 227th Aviation Battalion, assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division, and soon shipped out to Vietnam. Over seven grueling years, they flew through the A Shau Valley and Pleiku, braving enemy fire to deliver soldiers and supplies. Their Hueys, roaring over jungles, became lifelines, earning two Presidential Unit Citations and two Valorous Unit Awards for valor. After Vietnam, the unit, now the 227th Aviation Battalion, returned to Fort Hood, Texas, only to be inactivated in 1974, their rotors stilled. A brief revival from 1978 to 1983 hinted at their resilience, but it was in 1987 that their true rebirth came. Redesignated the 1st Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, they became the Army’s first divisional Apache Attack Helicopter Battalion, wielding the fearsome AH-64 Apache. Nicknamed “First Attack,” a nod to the 1st Cavalry’s storied “First Team” legacy—first into Manila in 1945, Tokyo, and Pyongyang—the battalion trained relentlessly, their Apaches a new breed of hunter. In 1990, the desert called. Deployed to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, for Operation Desert Shield, 1-227th postured for war. On February 25, 1991, as Operation Desert Storm erupted, they led a raid, spearheading the 1st Cavalry Division’s deception plan to outfox Iraqi forces. Their Apaches struck hard, cutting off a retreating Republican Guard division at Basra, their Hellfire missiles lighting up the night. Returning to Fort Hood in March, they stood taller, battle-tested. The late 1990s brought a leap forward. On June 2, 1998, 1-227th became the first Army battalion to field the AH-64D Apache Longbow, a digital predator capable of annihilating entire enemy divisions. Under Lt. Col. Michael Riley, they honed this lethal edge with the 21st Cavalry Brigade, redefining attack aviation. In 2003, the battalion, led by Lt. Col. Dan Ball, roared into Iraq for Operation Iraqi Freedom. On March 24, their Longbows clashed with the Republican Guard’s Medina Division near Karbala, 60 miles south of Baghdad. The battle was fierce—most Apaches took heavy damage, one crashed, its pilots captured but later rescued by Marines. Despite the scars, 1-227th’s resolve held firm. Reorganized in 2005 as part of the 1st Air Cavalry Brigade, the battalion, now the 1st Attack Reconnaissance Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, embraced a modular structure. In 2011, they faced Afghanistan’s rugged Paktika Province, deploying to FOB Sharana after high-altitude training at Fort Carson. Their Apaches flew full-spectrum missions across Regional Command East, and in July, one became the first AH-64D to log 10,000 flight hours, a historic milestone. By June 2012, under Lt. Col. Phillip Baker, they returned to Fort Hood, shifting to an Apache-pure attack role, readying for future fights. Through the years, 1-227th’s “First Attack” ethos shone in exercises like Dynamic Front 18, where their maintainers, like Spc. Craig Gallegos and Sgt. Avery McMahon, kept Apaches armed and ready. Based at Fort Cavazos (formerly Fort Hood), the battalion’s 600-plus soldiers and AH-64Ds remain a cornerstone of the 1st Cavalry Division. From Vietnam’s Hueys to Desert Storm’s raids, from Longbow’s digital dawn to Afghanistan’s peaks, the 1st Attack Reconnaissance Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, has written a saga of courage and innovation, their Apaches ever poised to strike first. Come fly With 1-227th or one of the other squadrons Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

1-227th ARB In the early 1960s, as the U.S. Army explored new ways to wage war, a bold experiment took flight at Fort Benning, Georgia. On February 1, 1963, Company A, 227th Assault Helicopter Battalion, was born within the 11th Air Assault Division, a testbed for the airmobile concept. These pioneers, equipped with UH-1 Hueys, were tasked with mastering helicopter warfare, ferrying troops into battle with speed and precision. By July 1965, the unit became Company A, 227th Aviation Battalion, assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division, and soon shipped out to Vietnam. Over seven grueling years, they flew through the A Shau Valley and Pleiku, braving enemy fire to deliver soldiers and supplies. Their Hueys, roaring over jungles, became lifelines, earning two Presidential Unit Citations and two Valorous Unit Awards for valor. After Vietnam, the unit, now the 227th Aviation Battalion, returned to Fort Hood, Texas, only to be inactivated in 1974, their rotors stilled. A brief revival from 1978 to 1983 hinted at their resilience, but it was in 1987 that their true rebirth came. Redesignated the 1st Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, they became the Army’s first divisional Apache Attack Helicopter Battalion, wielding the fearsome AH-64 Apache. Nicknamed “First Attack,” a nod to the 1st Cavalry’s storied “First Team” legacy—first into Manila in 1945, Tokyo, and Pyongyang—the battalion trained relentlessly, their Apaches a new breed of hunter. In 1990, the desert called. Deployed to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, for Operation Desert Shield, 1-227th postured for war. On February 25, 1991, as Operation Desert Storm erupted, they led a raid, spearheading the 1st Cavalry Division’s deception plan to outfox Iraqi forces. Their Apaches struck hard, cutting off a retreating Republican Guard division at Basra, their Hellfire missiles lighting up the night. Returning to Fort Hood in March, they stood taller, battle-tested. The late 1990s brought a leap forward. On June 2, 1998, 1-227th became the first Army battalion to field the AH-64D Apache Longbow, a digital predator capable of annihilating entire enemy divisions. Under Lt. Col. Michael Riley, they honed this lethal edge with the 21st Cavalry Brigade, redefining attack aviation. In 2003, the battalion, led by Lt. Col. Dan Ball, roared into Iraq for Operation Iraqi Freedom. On March 24, their Longbows clashed with the Republican Guard’s Medina Division near Karbala, 60 miles south of Baghdad. The battle was fierce—most Apaches took heavy damage, one crashed, its pilots captured but later rescued by Marines. Despite the scars, 1-227th’s resolve held firm. Reorganized in 2005 as part of the 1st Air Cavalry Brigade, the battalion, now the 1st Attack Reconnaissance Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, embraced a modular structure. In 2011, they faced Afghanistan’s rugged Paktika Province, deploying to FOB Sharana after high-altitude training at Fort Carson. Their Apaches flew full-spectrum missions across Regional Command East, and in July, one became the first AH-64D to log 10,000 flight hours, a historic milestone. By June 2012, under Lt. Col. Phillip Baker, they returned to Fort Hood, shifting to an Apache-pure attack role, readying for future fights. Through the years, 1-227th’s “First Attack” ethos shone in exercises like Dynamic Front 18, where their maintainers, like Spc. Craig Gallegos and Sgt. Avery McMahon, kept Apaches armed and ready. Based at Fort Cavazos (formerly Fort Hood), the battalion’s 600-plus soldiers and AH-64Ds remain a cornerstone of the 1st Cavalry Division. From Vietnam’s Hueys to Desert Storm’s raids, from Longbow’s digital dawn to Afghanistan’s peaks, the 1st Attack Reconnaissance Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, has written a saga of courage and innovation, their Apaches ever poised to strike first. Come fly With 1-227th or one of the other squadrons Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

JTAF Red Eagles In the late 1970s, as the Cold War simmered and the skies over Vietnam still haunted American pilots, a clandestine operation took root in the desolate expanses of Nevada’s desert. The Joint Task Force Red Eagles, officially the 4477th Test and Evaluation Squadron, was born under the veil of secrecy, its mission as daring as it was vital: to fly Soviet MiG fighters against America’s best, teaching them how to win in the air. Conceived by Colonel Gail Peck, a Vietnam veteran frustrated by the Air Force’s lackluster dogfighting skills, the Red Eagles were a bold answer to a pressing need. Project Constant Peg, their covert program, aimed to expose U.S. pilots to the real thing—enemy aircraft—flown by American hands. The story began at Tonopah Test Range, a remote airstrip shrouded in mystery, where the Red Eagles set up shop in 1977. Their fleet was a rogue’s gallery of Soviet engineering: MiG-17 Frescos, agile relics from the Korean War; MiG-21 Fishbeds, supersonic workhorses seen worldwide; and later, MiG-23 Floggers, complex swing-wing fighters meant to rival the F-4 Phantom. These jets, acquired through shadowy deals—some from defectors, others from allies like Israel or Egypt—were often battered, lacking manuals or spare parts. Mechanics, working in secrecy, pieced them together with ingenuity, while pilots, a mix of Air Force, Navy, and Marine aviators, learned to master unfamiliar controls, their cockpits labeled in Cyrillic. By July 1979, under Peck’s command, the Red Eagles took flight. With just eight MiGs—two MiG-17s and six MiG-21s—and a skeleton crew of 29, including three Navy pilots, they began operations. The airspace over Nellis Air Force Base, marked “Red Square” on maps, was their arena, closed to prying eyes. Here, they staged dogfights, pitting MiGs against F-4s, F-15s, and F-14s. The goal was simple but profound: eliminate “buck fever, ” the nervous jitters of a pilot’s first combat, and teach tactics to outmaneuver Soviet flyers. A typical sortie started with familiarization, studying the MiG’s quirks, then escalated to one-on-one duels and chaotic multi-jet brawls high above the desert. The Red Eagles’ impact was immediate. Programs like Red Flag and TOPGUN, inspired by their work, revolutionized air combat training. By 1985, their fleet peaked at 27 MiGs, and over 1,600 U.S. pilots faced them, learning the MiG’s strengths—tight turns, raw speed—and weaknesses, like the MiG-23’s sluggish handling. But the mission wasn’twithout cost. In 1982, Navy Lt. Hugh Brown died in a MiG-17 crash; in 1985, Capt. Mark Postai perished in a MiG-23; and TSgt. Rey Hernandez succumbed to injuries from a fuel cell repair accident. Each loss weighed heavy, a reminder of the risks taken in secrecy. As the Cold War waned, the Red Eagles’ mission wound down. By 1988, with Soviet technology less mysterious and budgets tightening, Constant Peg ended. The squadron disbanded in 1990, its MiGs mothballed or scrapped, their story buried under classification. Yet their legacy soared. In Operation Desert Storm, American pilots, many trained by the Red Eagles, dominated Iraqi MiGs—Fishbeds and Floggers fell in droves, a testament to lessons learned in Nevada’s skies. The Red Eagles, a joint force of grit and genius, had turned the tide of air warfare, their secret flights a quiet triumph that echoed long after the desert went silent. Watch the JTAF video ! Come fly With JTAF Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

JTAF Red Eagles In the late 1970s, as the Cold War simmered and the skies over Vietnam still haunted American pilots, a clandestine operation took root in the desolate expanses of Nevada’s desert. The Joint Task Force Red Eagles, officially the 4477th Test and Evaluation Squadron, was born under the veil of secrecy, its mission as daring as it was vital: to fly Soviet MiG fighters against America’s best, teaching them how to win in the air. Conceived by Colonel Gail Peck, a Vietnam veteran frustrated by the Air Force’s lackluster dogfighting skills, the Red Eagles were a bold answer to a pressing need. Project Constant Peg, their covert program, aimed to expose U.S. pilots to the real thing—enemy aircraft—flown by American hands. The story began at Tonopah Test Range, a remote airstrip shrouded in mystery, where the Red Eagles set up shop in 1977. Their fleet was a rogue’s gallery of Soviet engineering: MiG-17 Frescos, agile relics from the Korean War; MiG-21 Fishbeds, supersonic workhorses seen worldwide; and later, MiG-23 Floggers, complex swing-wing fighters meant to rival the F-4 Phantom. These jets, acquired through shadowy deals—some from defectors, others from allies like Israel or Egypt—were often battered, lacking manuals or spare parts. Mechanics, working in secrecy, pieced them together with ingenuity, while pilots, a mix of Air Force, Navy, and Marine aviators, learned to master unfamiliar controls, their cockpits labeled in Cyrillic. By July 1979, under Peck’s command, the Red Eagles took flight. With just eight MiGs—two MiG-17s and six MiG-21s—and a skeleton crew of 29, including three Navy pilots, they began operations. The airspace over Nellis Air Force Base, marked “Red Square” on maps, was their arena, closed to prying eyes. Here, they staged dogfights, pitting MiGs against F-4s, F-15s, and F-14s. The goal was simple but profound: eliminate “buck fever, ” the nervous jitters of a pilot’s first combat, and teach tactics to outmaneuver Soviet flyers. A typical sortie started with familiarization, studying the MiG’s quirks, then escalated to one-on-one duels and chaotic multi-jet brawls high above the desert. The Red Eagles’ impact was immediate. Programs like Red Flag and TOPGUN, inspired by their work, revolutionized air combat training. By 1985, their fleet peaked at 27 MiGs, and over 1,600 U.S. pilots faced them, learning the MiG’s strengths—tight turns, raw speed—and weaknesses, like the MiG-23’s sluggish handling. But the mission wasn’twithout cost. In 1982, Navy Lt. Hugh Brown died in a MiG-17 crash; in 1985, Capt. Mark Postai perished in a MiG-23; and TSgt. Rey Hernandez succumbed to injuries from a fuel cell repair accident. Each loss weighed heavy, a reminder of the risks taken in secrecy. As the Cold War waned, the Red Eagles’ mission wound down. By 1988, with Soviet technology less mysterious and budgets tightening, Constant Peg ended. The squadron disbanded in 1990, its MiGs mothballed or scrapped, their story buried under classification. Yet their legacy soared. In Operation Desert Storm, American pilots, many trained by the Red Eagles, dominated Iraqi MiGs—Fishbeds and Floggers fell in droves, a testament to lessons learned in Nevada’s skies. The Red Eagles, a joint force of grit and genius, had turned the tide of air warfare, their secret flights a quiet triumph that echoed long after the desert went silent. Watch the JTAF video ! Come fly With JTAF Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

JTAF Red Eagles In the late 1970s, as the Cold War simmered and the skies over Vietnam still haunted American pilots, a clandestine operation took root in the desolate expanses of Nevada’s desert. The Joint Task Force Red Eagles, officially the 4477th Test and Evaluation Squadron, was born under the veil of secrecy, its mission as daring as it was vital: to fly Soviet MiG fighters against America’s best, teaching them how to win in the air. Conceived by Colonel Gail Peck, a Vietnam veteran frustrated by the Air Force’s lackluster dogfighting skills, the Red Eagles were a bold answer to a pressing need. Project Constant Peg, their covert program, aimed to expose U.S. pilots to the real thing—enemy aircraft—flown by American hands. The story began at Tonopah Test Range, a remote airstrip shrouded in mystery, where the Red Eagles set up shop in 1977. Their fleet was a rogue’s gallery of Soviet engineering: MiG-17 Frescos, agile relics from the Korean War; MiG-21 Fishbeds, supersonic workhorses seen worldwide; and later, MiG-23 Floggers, complex swing-wing fighters meant to rival the F-4 Phantom. These jets, acquired through shadowy deals—some from defectors, others from allies like Israel or Egypt—were often battered, lacking manuals or spare parts. Mechanics, working in secrecy, pieced them together with ingenuity, while pilots, a mix of Air Force, Navy, and Marine aviators, learned to master unfamiliar controls, their cockpits labeled in Cyrillic. By July 1979, under Peck’s command, the Red Eagles took flight. With just eight MiGs—two MiG-17s and six MiG-21s—and a skeleton crew of 29, including three Navy pilots, they began operations. The airspace over Nellis Air Force Base, marked “Red Square” on maps, was their arena, closed to prying eyes. Here, they staged dogfights, pitting MiGs against F-4s, F-15s, and F-14s. The goal was simple but profound: eliminate “buck fever, ” the nervous jitters of a pilot’s first combat, and teach tactics to outmaneuver Soviet flyers. A typical sortie started with familiarization, studying the MiG’s quirks, then escalated to one-on-one duels and chaotic multi-jet brawls high above the desert. The Red Eagles’ impact was immediate. Programs like Red Flag and TOPGUN, inspired by their work, revolutionized air combat training. By 1985, their fleet peaked at 27 MiGs, and over 1,600 U.S. pilots faced them, learning the MiG’s strengths—tight turns, raw speed—and weaknesses, like the MiG-23’s sluggish handling. But the mission wasn’twithout cost. In 1982, Navy Lt. Hugh Brown died in a MiG-17 crash; in 1985, Capt. Mark Postai perished in a MiG-23; and TSgt. Rey Hernandez succumbed to injuries from a fuel cell repair accident. Each loss weighed heavy, a reminder of the risks taken in secrecy. As the Cold War waned, the Red Eagles’ mission wound down. By 1988, with Soviet technology less mysterious and budgets tightening, Constant Peg ended. The squadron disbanded in 1990, its MiGs mothballed or scrapped, their story buried under classification. Yet their legacy soared. In Operation Desert Storm, American pilots, many trained by the Red Eagles, dominated Iraqi MiGs—Fishbeds and Floggers fell in droves, a testament to lessons learned in Nevada’s skies. The Red Eagles, a joint force of grit and genius, had turned the tide of air warfare, their secret flights a quiet triumph that echoed long after the desert went silent. Watch the JTAF video ! Come fly With JTAF Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

JTAF Red Eagles In the late 1970s, as the Cold War simmered and the skies over Vietnam still haunted American pilots, a clandestine operation took root in the desolate expanses of Nevada’s desert. The Joint Task Force Red Eagles, officially the 4477th Test and Evaluation Squadron, was born under the veil of secrecy, its mission as daring as it was vital: to fly Soviet MiG fighters against America’s best, teaching them how to win in the air. Conceived by Colonel Gail Peck, a Vietnam veteran frustrated by the Air Force’s lackluster dogfighting skills, the Red Eagles were a bold answer to a pressing need. Project Constant Peg, their covert program, aimed to expose U.S. pilots to the real thing—enemy aircraft—flown by American hands. The story began at Tonopah Test Range, a remote airstrip shrouded in mystery, where the Red Eagles set up shop in 1977. Their fleet was a rogue’s gallery of Soviet engineering: MiG-17 Frescos, agile relics from the Korean War; MiG-21 Fishbeds, supersonic workhorses seen worldwide; and later, MiG-23 Floggers, complex swing-wing fighters meant to rival the F-4 Phantom. These jets, acquired through shadowy deals—some from defectors, others from allies like Israel or Egypt—were often battered, lacking manuals or spare parts. Mechanics, working in secrecy, pieced them together with ingenuity, while pilots, a mix of Air Force, Navy, and Marine aviators, learned to master unfamiliar controls, their cockpits labeled in Cyrillic. By July 1979, under Peck’s command, the Red Eagles took flight. With just eight MiGs—two MiG-17s and six MiG-21s—and a skeleton crew of 29, including three Navy pilots, they began operations. The airspace over Nellis Air Force Base, marked “Red Square” on maps, was their arena, closed to prying eyes. Here, they staged dogfights, pitting MiGs against F-4s, F-15s, and F-14s. The goal was simple but profound: eliminate “buck fever, ” the nervous jitters of a pilot’s first combat, and teach tactics to outmaneuver Soviet flyers. A typical sortie started with familiarization, studying the MiG’s quirks, then escalated to one-on-one duels and chaotic multi-jet brawls high above the desert. The Red Eagles’ impact was immediate. Programs like Red Flag and TOPGUN, inspired by their work, revolutionized air combat training. By 1985, their fleet peaked at 27 MiGs, and over 1,600 U.S. pilots faced them, learning the MiG’s strengths—tight turns, raw speed—and weaknesses, like the MiG-23’s sluggish handling. But the mission wasn’twithout cost. In 1982, Navy Lt. Hugh Brown died in a MiG-17 crash; in 1985, Capt. Mark Postai perished in a MiG-23; and TSgt. Rey Hernandez succumbed to injuries from a fuel cell repair accident. Each loss weighed heavy, a reminder of the risks taken in secrecy. As the Cold War waned, the Red Eagles’ mission wound down. By 1988, with Soviet technology less mysterious and budgets tightening, Constant Peg ended. The squadron disbanded in 1990, its MiGs mothballed or scrapped, their story buried under classification. Yet their legacy soared. In Operation Desert Storm, American pilots, many trained by the Red Eagles, dominated Iraqi MiGs—Fishbeds and Floggers fell in droves, a testament to lessons learned in Nevada’s skies. The Red Eagles, a joint force of grit and genius, had turned the tide of air warfare, their secret flights a quiet triumph that echoed long after the desert went silent. Watch the JTAF video ! Come fly With JTAF Apply info on the website https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

The 409 Nighthawks In the summer of 1941, as the skies over Britain darkened with the threat of Luftwaffe bombers, a new squadron took flight from the windswept runways of RAF Digby. The 409 Nighthawk Squadron, born under the banner of the Royal Canadian Air Force, was forged in the crucible of World War II. Its pilots, young men from the prairies, forests, and cities of Canada, embraced the night as their domain. They called themselves Nighthawks, a nod to their mission: to hunt German bombers under the cover of darkness. With Boulton Paul Defiants, their turrets bristling in the moonlight, and later the radar-equipped Bristol Beaufighters, they patrolled the black skies, guided by the faint glow of instruments and the courage in their hearts. By 1943, the sleek de Havilland Mosquito became their steed, a wooden wonder that danced through the night, chasing down enemy aircraft and striking airfields deep in occupied Europe. They flew through the chaos of D-Day, their Mosquitoes weaving above the Normandy beaches, shielding the Allied invasion from Luftwaffe raiders. When peace came in 1945, the Nighthawks’ wings were folded, and the squadron disbanded, their legacy etched in the stars. But the story didn’t end there. The Cold War’s shadow loomed, and in 1954, the Nighthawks were reborn at RCAF Station Comox, on the rugged shores of Vancouver Island. Now, they flew the Avro CF-100 Canuck, Canada’s own jet interceptor, built to meet Soviet bombers in the icy skies of the Arctic. The world had changed, and so had their mission. No longer just night fighters, they stood guard for NORAD, eyes fixed on the horizon for any sign of intrusion. They moved to North Bay, Ontario, in 1957, their Canucks roaring over the Great Lakes, a shield for the heart of Canada. But the Nighthawks were restless, and soon their gaze turned across the Atlantic. In 1963, the squadron traded the Canuck for the supersonic McDonnell CF-101 Voodoo, a beast armed with missiles and nuclear rockets, and set sail for Europe. Stationed in Germany at RCAF Station Baden-Soellingen, they became knights of NATO, ready to hold the line against the Warsaw Pact. The Voodoo gave way to the nimble Canadair CF-5 Freedom Fighter in the 1970s, a scrappy jet that could strike tanks or dogfight in the skies above the Rhine. For years, the Nighthawks trained in the forests and fields of West Germany, their engines a constant thunder in the Cold War’s uneasy peace, until Canada called them home. In 1987, the Nighthawks settled at CFB Cold Lake, Alberta, a frozen outpost where the aurora borealis lights the winter sky. Here, they met the McDonnell Douglas CF-18 Hornet, a versatile warrior that could duel in the air or rain precision strikes on the ground. The Hornet carried them into a new era of conflict. In 1991, their jets screamed over the deserts of the Gulf War, guarding skies and striking targets in Operation Desert Storm. In 1999, they flew over the Balkans, their bombs falling on Serbian positions during NATO’s Kosovo campaign. After the towers fell in 2001, the Nighthawks patrolled Canadian airspace, a quiet sentinel for a nation on edge. They soared over Libya in 2011, enforcing no-fly zones, and later joined the fight against ISIS in Iraq and Syria, their Hornets delivering justice from above. Through it all, Cold Lake remained their home, a place of relentless training and camaraderie. Exercises like Maple Flag and Red Flag tested their mettle, pitting them against allies in mock battles that honed their edge. In 2019, they journeyed to Florida for Combat Archer, firing missiles and dodging threats in the humid skies over Eglin Air Force Base. The Nighthawks’ crest, a hawk in midnight flight, adorned their jets, a reminder of their roots as masters of the dark. Today, in 2025, the Nighthawks still fly their aging CF-18s, though the jets bear the scars of decades of service. They stand ready for NORAD, NATO, and whatever the world demands, their pilots training for the day when the Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II will take their place. The F-35, with its stealth and sensors, promises to carry the Nighthawk spirit into a future of unseen threats—hypersonic missiles, drones, and stealthy foes. Yet, no matter the aircraft, the Nighthawks remain true to their motto, Media nox merides nunque— “Midnight is our noon. ” From the Blitz to the deserts of Iraq, from the Cold War to the edge of tomorrow, the 409 Nighthawk Squadron has flown through history, a shadow in the sky, always ready to strike. Come and fly with 409 Nigthhawk squadron - Website: https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF

The 409 Nighthawks In the summer of 1941, as the skies over Britain darkened with the threat of Luftwaffe bombers, a new squadron took flight from the windswept runways of RAF Digby. The 409 Nighthawk Squadron, born under the banner of the Royal Canadian Air Force, was forged in the crucible of World War II. Its pilots, young men from the prairies, forests, and cities of Canada, embraced the night as their domain. They called themselves Nighthawks, a nod to their mission: to hunt German bombers under the cover of darkness. With Boulton Paul Defiants, their turrets bristling in the moonlight, and later the radar-equipped Bristol Beaufighters, they patrolled the black skies, guided by the faint glow of instruments and the courage in their hearts. By 1943, the sleek de Havilland Mosquito became their steed, a wooden wonder that danced through the night, chasing down enemy aircraft and striking airfields deep in occupied Europe. They flew through the chaos of D-Day, their Mosquitoes weaving above the Normandy beaches, shielding the Allied invasion from Luftwaffe raiders. When peace came in 1945, the Nighthawks’ wings were folded, and the squadron disbanded, their legacy etched in the stars. But the story didn’t end there. The Cold War’s shadow loomed, and in 1954, the Nighthawks were reborn at RCAF Station Comox, on the rugged shores of Vancouver Island. Now, they flew the Avro CF-100 Canuck, Canada’s own jet interceptor, built to meet Soviet bombers in the icy skies of the Arctic. The world had changed, and so had their mission. No longer just night fighters, they stood guard for NORAD, eyes fixed on the horizon for any sign of intrusion. They moved to North Bay, Ontario, in 1957, their Canucks roaring over the Great Lakes, a shield for the heart of Canada. But the Nighthawks were restless, and soon their gaze turned across the Atlantic. In 1963, the squadron traded the Canuck for the supersonic McDonnell CF-101 Voodoo, a beast armed with missiles and nuclear rockets, and set sail for Europe. Stationed in Germany at RCAF Station Baden-Soellingen, they became knights of NATO, ready to hold the line against the Warsaw Pact. The Voodoo gave way to the nimble Canadair CF-5 Freedom Fighter in the 1970s, a scrappy jet that could strike tanks or dogfight in the skies above the Rhine. For years, the Nighthawks trained in the forests and fields of West Germany, their engines a constant thunder in the Cold War’s uneasy peace, until Canada called them home. In 1987, the Nighthawks settled at CFB Cold Lake, Alberta, a frozen outpost where the aurora borealis lights the winter sky. Here, they met the McDonnell Douglas CF-18 Hornet, a versatile warrior that could duel in the air or rain precision strikes on the ground. The Hornet carried them into a new era of conflict. In 1991, their jets screamed over the deserts of the Gulf War, guarding skies and striking targets in Operation Desert Storm. In 1999, they flew over the Balkans, their bombs falling on Serbian positions during NATO’s Kosovo campaign. After the towers fell in 2001, the Nighthawks patrolled Canadian airspace, a quiet sentinel for a nation on edge. They soared over Libya in 2011, enforcing no-fly zones, and later joined the fight against ISIS in Iraq and Syria, their Hornets delivering justice from above. Through it all, Cold Lake remained their home, a place of relentless training and camaraderie. Exercises like Maple Flag and Red Flag tested their mettle, pitting them against allies in mock battles that honed their edge. In 2019, they journeyed to Florida for Combat Archer, firing missiles and dodging threats in the humid skies over Eglin Air Force Base. The Nighthawks’ crest, a hawk in midnight flight, adorned their jets, a reminder of their roots as masters of the dark. Today, in 2025, the Nighthawks still fly their aging CF-18s, though the jets bear the scars of decades of service. They stand ready for NORAD, NATO, and whatever the world demands, their pilots training for the day when the Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II will take their place. The F-35, with its stealth and sensors, promises to carry the Nighthawk spirit into a future of unseen threats—hypersonic missiles, drones, and stealthy foes. Yet, no matter the aircraft, the Nighthawks remain true to their motto, Media nox merides nunque— “Midnight is our noon. ” From the Blitz to the deserts of Iraq, from the Cold War to the edge of tomorrow, the 409 Nighthawk Squadron has flown through history, a shadow in the sky, always ready to strike. Come and fly with 409 Nigthhawk squadron - Website: https://www.vtf77.com/?utm_source=discord&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=DCSF