The switch follows scrutiny over the luxury gift meant to be a temporary replacement, as Boeing struggles to deliver next-gen Air Force One planes. Read more: #trump# #qatar# #airforceone#

On May 4, 1944, at 20,000 feet above the plains of Kansas, a 25-year-old woman crawled through a cramped pressurized tunnel suspended over an open bomb bay and climbed into the cockpit of the most advanced bomber on Earth. Her name was Mildred “Micky” Axton. In that moment, she became the first woman known to fly the B-29 Superfortress—the aircraft that would later play a decisive role in ending World War II. Yet for decades, almost nobody knew her story. The B-29 was far more than a military airplane. It was one of the most secret projects of the war. Massive, technologically revolutionary, and heavily guarded, the bomber was so classified that workers were discouraged from discussing it even with family members. Access was restricted, and every detail was protected. Micky was never expected to be part of that world. In 1943, she joined the Women Airforce Service Pilots, better known as the WASPs. These women ferried military aircraft across the country, transported supplies, towed targets for live-fire exercises, and tested newly built planes before they entered service. The work was not combat duty, but it carried serious risks. After months of demanding training, Micky graduated and became a test pilot. She evaluated aircraft ranging from B-25s to B-26s and eventually worked with the B-29 program. While many pilots worried about flying experimental or troublesome aircraft, Micky willingly accepted the challenge. Someone had to fly them. Only weeks after joining Boeing in Wichita as a flight test engineer, she found herself aboard “Sweet Sixteen,” the sixteenth B-29 ever produced. During a routine flight, she was monitoring engine performance when an unexpected invitation arrived through the intercom. The chief engineer asked a simple question: “How would you like to fly it?” Micky didn't hesitate. She secured her parachute and carefully crawled through the narrow tunnel running above the bomb bay. Emerging on the other side, she entered the cockpit and settled into the pilot's seat. For roughly twenty minutes, she controlled the giant bomber herself. She banked the aircraft, adjusted power settings, and felt the response of a machine that represented the cutting edge of wartime aviation. It was a historic moment. Yet she could tell almost no one. The entire flight remained classified. The chief engineer documented the event in a letter, but the record was tucked away and largely forgotten. What should have been front-page news became a secret known only to a handful of people. The story of the WASPs followed a similar path. More than 1,000 women served in the program, flying millions of miles in dozens of aircraft types. They performed essential duties that freed male pilots for combat assignments. Thirty-eight lost their lives while serving. Despite their contributions, they received no military benefits, no official recognition, and no veteran status. When a WASP died, fellow pilots often collected money among themselves to help return her body home. In December 1944, the program was dissolved. The women who had proven their skill and courage were sent home, and for decades their service remained largely overlooked. Official recognition did not arrive until 1977, when legislation finally granted WASPs veteran status. By then, Micky was already 60 years old. She had returned to civilian life, teaching biology, science, and aeronautics in Wichita schools. She inspired generations of students, shared her passion for aviation, and quietly preserved the history of a program many Americans had forgotten. Then, decades later, the secret resurfaced. In 2006, Boeing publicly shared her story, and the long-hidden letter confirming her B-29 flight became widely known. More than sixty years after the event, the world finally learned that a young woman from Kansas had been the first female pilot to fly one of history's most famous bombers. Recognition continued to arrive. In 2009, a restored PT-19 training aircraft was dedicated in her honor and named “Miss Micky.” When asked what artwork should appear on the aircraft, she responded with characteristic humor, requesting a flattering swimsuit image. The aircraft still carries that tribute today. That same year, legislation was signed awarding the WASPs the Congressional Gold Medal, one of the highest honors bestowed by Congress. Sadly, Micky did not live to attend the ceremony. She passed away on February 6, 2010, at the age of 91. The medal presentation took place just over a month later, and her family accepted the honor on her behalf. Mildred Axton never flew combat missions and never dropped a bomb. Her legacy was something different. On that day in 1944, she challenged the belief that certain cockpits belonged only to men. By taking the controls of the B-29, she demonstrated that skill, courage, and determination are not limited by gender. For the rest of her life, she carried that lesson into classrooms, airfields, and conversations with young people who dreamed of reaching beyond the boundaries others set for them. The recognition may have arrived decades late. But the path she helped open has remained open ever since.

Air Force One just touched down in Houston. Patriots packed the tarmac. The roar started before the door even opened. 47 didn’t fly in for a photo op. He’s here to put Ken Paxton in the U.S. Senate, and he already said this won’t be a one-and-done trip. More Texas visits are coming. 80 years old and goes nonstop!