On the seventy-ninth birthday of the mighty Air Legions of the United Provinces of America, Emperor Donaldus Trumpius Maximus stepped onto the golden balcony of the Domus Alba. Behind him, banners fluttered. Before him, eagles saluted. Above him, no aircraft were permitted to fly—for nothing on this historic day was allowed to rise higher than Caesar’s hair.
Trumpius honored the air warriors of past and present who had defended liberty, protected prosperity, and preserved the sacred imperial order of the golf course. Since their founding in 1947, the Emperor proclaimed, the Air Legions had ruled not only the skies but also outer space, the weather, and presumably every cloud carrying a valid American flight permit.
“Our pilots fly higher, fight more tremendously, and win more beautifully than anyone else,” Trumpius ordered to be carved into a marble monument. “Many people are saying it. The greatest people. Some even say gravity has become significantly weaker under my reign.”
The imperial historians recalled that the Air Legions had been established to secure American command of the heavens. Ever since, they had defended peace, discouraged enemies, and reminded the world that American diplomacy occasionally arrives with wings, afterburners, and maintenance costs large enough to require their own congressional district.
America’s airmen, Trumpius declared, were the sentries, rescuers, and avengers of the Empire. They searched for the missing, delivered aid to those in need, guarded the nuclear deterrent, and kept enemies at a respectful distance from several thousand feet above.
Caesar especially praised their magnificent motto: “Fly, Fight, Win—Anytime, Anywhere.”
Imperial accountants quietly added: “Provided Congress approves the funding, the spare parts arrive, and nobody stores the mission plans next to the golf trophies.”
With glistening eyes, Trumpius remembered the great summer spectacle above the Mallus Nationalis. Fighters, tankers, bombers, and elite demonstration squadrons thundered over the capital while the assembled citizens gazed toward the heavens in awe—and wondered whether they were witnessing a celebration of freedom or the defense budget flying past in formation.
For Caesar, there was no uncertainty. It was the sound of liberty.
It was such a majestic sound that windows trembled, dogs retreated beneath sofas, and all public discussion of military spending became temporarily impossible.
The aerial pageant, Trumpius explained, had shown the world that the Empire could deploy, defend, and dominate at any moment. No other nation possessed finer machines, braver crews, or aircraft so perfectly compatible with his preferred national colors of gold, red, and considerably more gold.
The Emperor also praised the astonishing innovation of the Air Legions. Their aircraft could fly faster than sound, strike with extraordinary precision, and apparently detect hostile forces from farther away than Trumpius could detect an unfavorable opinion poll.
As Supreme Commander, Donaldus Trumpius Maximus pledged to provide the men and women of the Air Legions with every resource required to fly, fight, and win. This would include fuel, advanced technology, proper equipment, and an official imperial certificate confirming that every successful mission had somehow begun with one of Caesar’s ideas.
The families and spouses of the air warriors also received his blessing. Trumpius thanked them for their sacrifice, their loyalty, and their ability to endure military life without demanding a flyover whenever someone in the household celebrated a birthday.
Finally, the Emperor raised both hands toward the sky and asked the Almighty to protect America’s airmen and their families.
At that precise moment, an eagle passed above the Domus Alba.
According to the official palace record, it immediately saluted, praised the Commander in Chief, and confirmed that it had never seen a greater Emperor—not even from cruising altitude.
