All four C-130s climbed into the dark, cold sky—dawn still many hours away—and General Allen came back to see everybody.

“Do we have satellite connection, Carlos?” he asked.

“Yes, we have a simple connection. Navistar P will soon be stationery over Utah. For how long, I don’t know. It depends on how good you guys made her, but she’s flying well up there. The re-positioning will still take a couple of days. It’s still dark, but with dawn an hour out over the eastern seaboard, I believe that our U.S. visual on screen is both coastlines plus 300 miles of ocean either side in a day or two. I could have made her go further out, but it would have taken weeks to align her even further, and I didn’t think it was necessary. With any shipping, 300 miles is at least a full 24-hour warning.” Pete looked at Carlos.

“We have a television truck on board Tom, and several of the computers you wanted and a couple of old television sets in storage. Are we going to see the satellite broadcast on them?”

“I believe so,” Carlos replied tiredly. “I also think we can set up a communication feed to the other bases. Lee and I are working on trying to mate the radio feed into the television trucks. Or, I was actually thinking we could use the old simple commercial Hughes Satellite Internet systems around the country to communicate to every base and the White House. It will take a few weeks to get that far, but I need your guys all over the country to go out and find the Hughes two-way satellite systems and we can go from there.”

Carlos then changed the subject, hardly taking a breath. “Two of those other C-130s flying with us look very different than the others.”

“Good eyes, as usual,” replied the general. “This is my secret project for my favorite air base museum at Hill AFB. The first one is one of the original Vietnam-era AC-130 Gunships. I have had people working on her for over a year now at Edwards. She is the same model as Tom and Jerry, but over the years has been made as original as she was back in ‘Nam. I reckon she has cost as much as an F-22, but she still has her added 105mm howitzer, fuel drop tanks and air-refueling intact. We were going to take them off next year. Most importantly, however, she has been refitted with all her original electrical gauges and flight systems. That’s why she can still fly but also still has the latest fire power— the same as the more modern 130 Gunships that are now all grounded permanently.

“Ghost Rider and one other, Easy Girl, have the only 105mm howitzers still flying, as well as the full load of 20mm and 40mm cannons. Ghost Rider actually went down twice in ‘Nam, but was repaired and survived. Her older sister had the call sign ‘First Lady,’ and was put out to pasture years ago in one of our museums. This gal has upgraded engines, and no modern electronics, or she wouldn’t be flying. Her underbelly is thin armor and that 105 mm howitzer makes your teeth rattle when it goes off. Ghost Rider is my real baby, and she is the only one of three old, secret Gunships still flying. I lovingly put her back together and later today she will serve as ‘Air Force One’—a real promotion for this old girl!”

“The president is moving?” Carlos asked.

“He wants to come and visit you guys,” the general continued. “The guy just wants to get out of Dodge and see the world, and I don’t blame him. Now let’s get some sleep. It looks like we all need it. Will Smart will be wide awake later when he realizes that he has flown across country and missed it all. I’m dying to see his face!” He smiled, grabbing a foam mattress from a pile and a few blankets and lay down. He was asleep in seconds, and the rest weren’t far behind him.

*****

Preston was up early, about an hour after everyone got to sleep in Jerry almost 1,300 miles to his west. Oliver and his new pal, Spot the puppy, were by his side. Preston couldn’t sleep and was beginning to worry about the possible incoming attack. They had such sketchy news about everything. It was a clear, but still dark morning. The temperature was 32 degrees and he wanted to walk. The Air Force guys had worked all night on the perimeter fence and it wouldn’t be long before the runway would be receiving visitors.

He had heard over the radio, from Edwards and now Hill, that aircraft were coming his way. He knew that Lady Dandy was airborne out of Salt Lake City, and that C-130s were headed into Salt Lake to refuel. They were all expected around lunch time. A radio operator had answered when Preston called and spoke for the first time to Hill Air Force Base relaying the weird instructions from the general. Pretty interesting instructions, but he felt something exciting was about to happen.

Baby Huey was predictably parked behind the fuel tanks, out of the way of the fixed-wing aircraft. She couldn’t just taxi forward and get fueled up, so Buck had lifted her up and landed her on the dirt where the fuel line could easily reach her. Preston hotwired the pump and began to fill her tanks. She was off to Washington as soon as Buck got in. Poor Buck would be having a very long day. It took nearly 15 minutes as the slow pumps, not made for large deliveries of fuel, pumped just under 200 gallons into the helicopter—she was thirsty.

After turning off the pump, he went to look for a rug to place on the floor of Baby Huey’s belly along with a couple of easy chairs. He went to the lounge and moved the wooden coffee table and the round rug underneath it out to the helicopter. The rug had been a present from Martie’s grandfather and was an oval copy of the American flag. Preston placed both in the rear of the helicopter. The six-foot rug fit well and covered much of the metal floor. He walked into the hangar and took the new set of EZ-Boys from the downstairs room. Nobody was upstairs. Carlos, Buck, and Barbara were on their way from Salt Lake City, both Sally and Jennifer were still flying, and the Smarts were in California.

Martie had washed all the bedding in their 20-year old washing machine the previous evening, which, with the old gas dryer, were the only electrical machines still working at the farm. The new washing machine he had purchased a couple of years ago was dead, and he was thankful that he had just put the old one out in the barn.

Preston moved each chair on a small four-wheeled trailer he often pulled around the farm behind his green lawn tractor, and then went back to get the two-seater couch—the smallest of three Martie had purchased for the party. The other two were double the size and wouldn’t fit. The radio operator had stated that they would need a minimum of three chairs.

He was done, and the inside rear of the helicopter looked like a small, comfortable lounge. He locked the side door behind the couch from the outside so nobody could get in or fall out of that side since the people on the couch would have no parachutes if the door was opened in flight. She was ready.

Then he thought about drinks. He went back and unplugged the small bar refrigerator he had used before Martie shopped for the fly-in. It was still cold, and would be colder still if he left it outside for a couple of hours. He placed it in the rear of Baby Huey, and filled it with cans of soda, Gatorade, and beer from the stocks purchased from the closed-down gas station. He placed a tray of potato chip bags on a rubber mat on top of the fridge, but then he took them out and refilled the black wooden tray with dozens of packets of Southwest peanuts and pretzels. He hoped their guests would see the humor in it. He put a box of Jerky on top of the bags. He was quite impressed with his accomplishments.

“Looks like a mini Oval Office,” laughed Martie, sneaking up behind him and giving him a good morning hug. “Pete Allen will think he’s the president sitting in here.”

“Just following orders, love,” Preston replied. “Buck is flying her out later this morning.”