 The victors arrived and the Northfield was born. Aligned with the wind shooting flames from their horn. Spirit home to airmen, silver chariots, and dreams. This, they said, would be the greatest of teams. Forward, forward. A wink to the edge. Preparative available to song at their hearts. Tankers, fighters, and bombers all during their parts. Projecting air power where our nation's day begins. Control in the air. And no pay comms, lynch pins. Forward, forward. Our wing to the edge. 3-6 on their sleeves, US on their chest. Expanding combat capes and doing their best. Multi-capable of mind, body, and spirit. Enemies will fear our boom. When they hear it. Forward, forward. Our wing to the edge. Building partners at home on our island, so dear. Be strong for your families, said the Brigadier. Our allies and friends, both near and far. All depend on our wing to watch the radar. Forward, forward. Our wing to the edge. So help me, God, is what we all say. Supporting, defending through the night and through the day. If it's your time to die for your nation, so true. Fear not, airman. The 36 wing will defend you. Forward, forward. Our wing to the edge. To the end of the Pacific. We fight. We pledge.