Many odd things seem to happen in
the chaos of passing time.
And there is a story I have to tell
about the ghost of 739
In the "T.O.C." came a distant voice.
As it broke the still night air.
"It’s Blue Max we need!" "It’s Blue Max you’ll get
hold tight and we’ll be there."
In the quiet of the asian morn
out of bed two men did climb.
A combat mission they were to fly
in the wingship 739.
Four brave men in the early hours
dashed out to the chilly line.
Only fate knew what she had in store
for the two in 739.
They started their engines and off they flew
like thunder in a cloudless sky.
Four bold men in death-dealing aircraft
perchance to live, perchance to die.
They reached the area that Charlie was in
not too far from the border line.
The leadship rolled in and started to expend
followed by 739.
Down, down the wingship came
spitting out rockets and lead.
Down and down dived 739
and not a word over the radio was said.
Straight and true the brave men flew
until the clock ran out of time.
And pieces were left as evidence
T’was the death of 739.
Ask any pilot who flies at night
the strange things he must see,
the shadow forms that don’t seem right
and the things that just can’t be.
Ask him about the phantom Cobra
that seems to follow behind.
I’m sure he’ll tell about the Lord’s own Wingship.
The ghost of 739.
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