IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON when Charley McAtee and Dave Busby stopped their trucks at the service station on the outskirts of Albuquerque. They had pulled into separate self-service islands. They were too tired to notice the price until both vehicles were full. Then they realized that the price on diesel fuel and on every grade of gasoline had been raised one dollar per gallon since they had stopped earlier that morning.

Charley shook his head. “We haven’t seen the half of it yet. Prices will be going through the roof. At least there is fuel and I can afford it, but what about the poor people living on the edge? It’s only a matter of time until we have government rationing and price controls.”

Before Dave could respond, Charley said, “Anyway, I’m not going to worry about that now. We’ve got to move quickly. Let’s drive out to the military side of the airport. I’ve helped coach a couple of their winning teams. During that time, I became good friends with one of the crusty old guys who is a sports fanatic. Rumor has it that he has more surplus gear than the army, navy, and air force combined. If he hasn’t got tents, he’ll know where he can get them.”

The Albuquerque Airport had handled more civilian jets in the past twenty-four hours than it would normally receive in a year. The crisis had knit together civilian air controllers, military controllers, military ground crews, and civilian ground crews. They landed planes, fueled planes, and dispatched planes without one single incident.

The majority of the civilian aircraft had been repositioned further to the east. Now, bone-weary crews were handling a substantial part of the air traffic destined for emergency relief in California, Oregon, and Washington.

Charley and Dave drove their trucks up to the military operations center, parked, and got out. They walked into the lobby and down a poorly lighted hall to an open office. Behind the desk was a man in his mid-fifties with a mottled complexion and a mustache reminiscent of the British dragoons in the days of Gunga Din.

He leapt from behind his desk, pushed by Charley McAtee, and stuck out a powerful hand. “Dave Busby! The Dave Busby! One of the greatest! What brings you here?”

Dave was surprised and pleased to meet a fan under these circumstances. He shook the other man’s hand firmly and said, “Hey, man, glad to meet you. But I’m the hired hand this time. Charley here is the man with the plan!”

“You old walrus!” Charley exclaimed, grabbing the hand of the other man. “I brought him here all the way from L.A. so you could get his autograph! What else?”