Push Back Time

By J Dori Callahan

"The Administrator requested I give you a presentation of the information we have in reference to JL 1628 and the reported UFO encounter over Alaska within the Alaska Air Traffic Control area. Would you gentlemen introduce yourself?"
One man stood up and turned toward the six remaining men. "These are members of the Presidential scientific staff, along with members of the CIA and FBI. I am the team leader." He flashed his identification badge and sat down offering no names of the participants.
The software team leader rose and slipped a video in a recorder, a picture of a radarscope filled the television screen which covered an entire wall of the large office. All eyes were transfixed on the JL 1628's aircraft symbol moving across the pale green background. Clearly depicted adjacent to the JL 1628 symbol was an intermitting unidentified target traveling in the vicinity of the B747. The unknown target moved beside, in front of and around JL 1628 for 32 minutes as the group listened to the voice of the pilot, the FAA air traffic controller, and the military controller as the attempted to determine who, what and where the strange target came from and the intention of the invader.
The seven men requested to watch the tape two more times before starting their questioning. The oldest of the seven stood up and begin the questioning. He stated that he was from the President's scientific staff and needed a few details.
"What was the speed of the antenna?"
The lead software engineer responded, "9 seconds."
"What was the frequency of the radar?"
"126.35 he responded.
"What was the beam width?"
"3.5 degrees."
"What was the algorithm of the height finding radar?"
One of the other software engineers responded with the algorithm as if he answered the same question everyday.
The leader of the seven stood up, pointing to the many boxes filled with printouts and tapes from the incident. "We are confiscating all this data." He turned in the direction of the large screen, "this event never happened, we were never here. Your are not to utter one word of this entire event to anyone. You are sworn to secrecy. If fact, you will forget any involvement with JL 1628 including us, this room, and every scrap of paper and person connected. Understand?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468529746

J Dori Callahan

J. Dori Callahan was born in Kentucky, moved to Illinois where she completed her education in Computer Science and Business Management. She began working for the Federal Aviation Agency (FAA) in the air traffic field. J Dori Callahan began her long career in the FAA as a controller in the Enroute center located in Auroa, Illinois, eventually moving to the automation department. Her twenty-six year career sky rocked in automation. Promotions within the agency moved her to the FAA Technical Center in Atlantic City, N.J. and later to Washington D.C. as Division Manager for the Automated Radar Terminal System. In her career, she became one of the first women in the FAA GM-15 management ranks in Washington D.C. She was very influential in establishing the FAA's SOAR program. A program that identified potential women management candidates and provided mentoring opportunities to assist women and minorities in management identified positions during the 1990's. J. Dori Callahan is married to John J Callahan, prior Division Manager of the Accident and Investigations Division which investigated Japan Airlines 1628's chase by a UFO over Alaska in 1987. Mrs. Callahan is presently Vice President and CEO for Liberty Tax Service, in Culpeper Va. She resides in Rapidan Virginia with her husband. Mrs. Callahan has one published book, Journey Through a Metamorphosis, Published May 1996, and has written numerous political articles as a newspaper journalist.

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CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PROLOGUE

It was a crisp January day in Washington D.C as Cutter Bows climbed the entrance steps into the Federal Aviation building. He didn’t bother to show his identification card as he nodded to the guards at the front desk. For several years he had made this same entrance and the guards knew him well. The only difference between today and all past days was the earliness of the hour. Glancing at his watch, Cutter noted it was just after six thirty as he pushed the number ten on the elevator. This was going to be an early meeting in the Round Room with the CIA, FBI, and FAA software and hardware specialists about an unusual event that occurred over Alaska November 1987.

Cutter’s eyes scanned the men seated around the large mahogany table noting the familiar faces from the software division at the FAA Technical Center in Atlantic City. The remaining men consisted of a mixture of Washington Air Traffic software personnel sitting with a crowd of twenty-two experts from both FAA and Airways Facilities’ hardware division from the Atlantic City Technical Center.

On the other end of the table, seven men dressed in black suits sat talking among themselves.

Cutter walked in and placed his briefcase at the head of the table before strolling over to the coffee urn stationed along a sidewall with a platter of pastries. Walking back to the conference table, setting his coffee down Cutter spoke to the group.

I’m Cutter Bows, Division Manager of Accidents, Evaluations and Investigations Division and I’m here to help you, using the sarcastic terminology of the government as he smiled in the direction of the Atlantic City crew, Did you bring all the documentation on JL1628?

The software team leader from Atlantic City spoke up, We brought the computer printout, the chart of the aircraft path, voice tapes of the FAA and Military on Sector 15, and are prepared to review the aircraft information and anomalies depicted. The hardware crew also have prepared information referencing the anomalies surrounding JL1628.

Cutter turned his attention to the dark suited gentlemen now focused intently on the conversation.

The Administrator requested I give you a presentation of the information we have in reference to JL1628 and the reported UFO encounter over Alaska within the Alaska Air Traffic Control area. Would you gentlemen introduce yourself?

One man stood up and turned toward the six remaining men. These are members of the Presidential Scientific Staff, along with members of the CIA and FBI. I am the team leader. He flashed his identification badge and sat down offering no names of the participants.

The software team leader rose and slipped a video in a recorder, a picture of a radarscope filled the television screen which covered an entire wall of the large office. All eyes were transfixed on the JL1628’s aircraft symbol moving across the pale green background. Clearly depicted adjacent to the JL1628 symbol was an intermitting unidentified target traveling in the vicinity of the B747. The unknown target moved beside, in front of and around JL1628 for 32 minutes as the group listened to the voice of the pilot, the FAA air traffic controller, and the military controller as they attempted to determine who, what and where the strange target came from and the intention of the invader.

The seven men requested to watch the tape two more times before starting their questioning.

The oldest of the seven stood up and began the questioning. He stated that he was from the President’s Scientific Staff and needed a few details.

What was the speed of the antenna?

The lead software engineer responded, 9 seconds.

What was the frequency of the radar?

126.35, he responded.

What was the beam width?

3.5 degrees.

What was the algorithm of the height finding radar?

One of the other software engineers responded with the algorithm as if he answered the same question everyday.

The leader of the seven stood up, pointing to the many boxes filled with printouts and tapes from the incident. We are confiscating all this data. He turned in the direction of the large screen, This event never happened, we were never here. You are not to utter one word of this entire event to anyone. You are sworn to secrecy. In fact, you will forget any involvement with JL1628 including us, this room, and every scrap of paper and person connected. Understand?

CHAPTER ONE

The starlit skies stretched forever giving a new meaning to the term eternity as the sleek seven-forty-seven glided across the clear Alaskan sky. The flight from London to Tokyo had completed the halfway point, and it had been perfect.

Captain Mishi Yoshicami continued to sit arrow straight with the buttons on her tailored blue uniform straining the threads. Never in all her thirty eight years had she been so exhilarated, so proud of her accomplishments.

It was November 16, l987, and she, Mishi Yoshicami, was on the last leg of her maiden voyage as Captain, the first Japanese woman to pilot a Boeing 747 aircraft. Alaska Center, this is Japan Airline 1628 requesting traffic information at Flight level 350. JL1628, this is Alaska Center. There is no traffic at FL350 in your area. Like the rest of the trip, traveling over the frozen land was serene and peaceful.

Restraining her smile was difficult, her teeth were dry from the many times elation slipped forward in a dazzling wide mouthed grin as the powerful jet hummed beneath her feet, causing co-pilot, Steve Bland, to sneak suspicious side-glances from time to time.

With her petite frame and short dark bob Mishi barely looked twenty, causing the co-pilot significant concern.

Mishi and Steve met earlier in the dispatch room during the pre-flight briefing. Steve and Mel Stein, the flight engineer, were waiting along with the relief crew and most of the flight attendants who would be providing service during the trip.

Ten flight attendants sat chatting in front of a large weather map that covered half a wall engrossed in conversation, oblivious of the thirty or so computers clicking with flight data information behind the glass wall facing them.

With legs crossed and cigarette smoke spiraling upward and coffee cups balanced on glass tables stained with faded shades of yesterday’s coffee, the attendants discussed the flight manifest and the latest rumors.

Steve was bantering amiably with Gregg Fields, the standby pilot, while the rest of the crew stood sipping coffee waiting for the briefing to begin.

As Mishi entered the room, the buzz of conversation died down as inquisitive eyes turned toward the new captain.

Steve Bland unconsciously clamped his teeth causing a slight twitch along his left jaw before extending his hand in a perfunctory greeting to Mishi, his captain.

A previous air force pilot with over seventy missions to his credit, Steve was appalled at being co-pilot to a female. In particular, a pint-sized Jap.

Stone faced, he stepped aside quickly after the brief clasping of hands, annoyed with the strength hidden in the diminutive female hand, and the feeling of belittlement invading his being by the simple handshake. Steve turned to watch the receiving line of ring kissing, the pretense of honor bestowed on new captains.

Gregg Fields eagerly stepped forward to greet the attractive female captain. Unlike Steve, Gregg had no illusions about who or what he was. Nothing more than a pampered rich boy who had been thrown out of every brand named school he attended. Gregg was happy to be flying. He liked the sharpness of the uniform and the women it attracted. Under lesser conditions, Gregg would have found another career, but along with the women and the other benefits of flying, even his father was satisfied with his pilot position. Along with that satisfaction, Gregg remained number one in the will, in a perfect position.

Quickly wiping his hand on the leg of his neatly pressed pants, Gregg flashed a big smile toward the attendants. His layover date could be in the midst of the attendant cluster and he wanted to appear friendly just in case. And to cover all bases, he saved the same smile for Captain Yoshicami. She was after-all, female.

Gregg recognized Mishi with his never-fail instant recall for attractive females.

He remembered speaking with her briefly at a pilot association meeting several years back. Finding her cold and unreceptive to his unique style of advances at that time, he had crossed Mishi off his potential list and labeled her as just another skirt with no taste. Until now.

With the false grin exposing the straightened results of childhood braces spread across his handsome features, Gregg leaned forward taking Mishi’s hand in his own. Her hand was cool and firm to touch and Gregg squeezed it a millimeter longer than necessary.

Well, Hello again. This is a pleasant surprise.

With his eyes traveling the length of her body, Gregg’s honeyed voice insinuated intimacy that had never been, causing knowing looks to pass between the flight attendants.

Mishi tilted her head to look upward at Gregg’s smug features, wishing she had been born at least six inches taller, or preferably Gregg had been born a foot shorter. She stared into the calculating eyes of the epitome of male ego.

Yes, it is a surprise, she spoke in flawless English, her lips lifted slightly in a timed smile with no warmth or acknowledgement. Slipping into a real smile as she reached forth her hand to Mel Stein.

Mel, the trip’s assigned flight engineer had flown more flights with Mishi than she could remember. An excellent engineer and a good friend, Mel was also Japanese.

Mel, it’s been awhile. It’s good to have you with me again.

Holding her hand warmly, he smiled at Mishi. Nodding toward her Captain’s insignia, It looks like you’ve made it.

Yes, I believe I have. She smiled once more at Mel, and walked over to the area where the flight attendants gathered and introduced herself to them.

The attendants were polite, but cool. Many imagined a tryst with a female captain for a change. After the long flights together in close quarters, sometimes familiarity breeds more than contempt.

Moving away from the group Mishi reviewed weather information and the flight charts. Despite her outward calm, her insides quivered with excitement. Life was good.

Settled in the Captain’s seat, Mishi leaned back, basking in the glory of accomplishment. She had attained the impossible, and now sat exactly where the many long hours of planning and training had prepared her to be.

Leaning comfortably, allowing the stiff control of her posture to relax a little, Mishi’s slim frame barely made a dent in the stiff cushion. Her eyes roved over the instrument panel, enjoying the very appearance of the cockpit. She closed her eyes and envisioned every contour and dial of the cockpit.

Attractive, intelligent and an excellent pilot without a blemish on her flying record, Mishi was the model of what a pilot should be.

Steve edged his way silently into the co-pilot position from a brief bathroom break. His cheeks remained slightly pink from the burning internal resentment caused by this flight.

He was a couple of years older than Mishi and not yet a captain.

Not a chauvinist by nature, Steve felt superior to Mishi in every way. A previous college jock and hero of many a high-spirited cheerleader in his day, he had no dislike for women, in fact he loved them. Not once in his life had he ever given female abilities one thought, at least not in the work environment.

After the last few days of ribbing and being the butt of taunting jokes about flying with a skirt, Steve was mad as hell due to this particular assignment.

He had agreed to the flight by telling himself the woman captain would be a mature matron with a touch of silver spattering a masculine haircut, most probably an ex-military officer.

Mishi had fallen far short of his expectations.

Casting secret glances at Mishi as she performed her duties, Steve’s tanned cheeks flushed a deep red once again. His annoyance expanded as the hours crept by.

Hell, I’ve spanked kids bigger than she is, and probably older, he complained to himself. I wonder how many big wigs she had to sleep with to get the captain’s seat.

The thought that Mishi must have been damn good loitered in his mind like the smell of garlic breath the morning after, increasing his discontentment.

Lea Norman, a bilingual American flight attendant, slipped quietly through the cockpit doorway nervously studying Mishi.

Would you like coffee or something to snack on, she asked to no one in particular.

New captains made Lea feel uncomfortable normally. It was her nature to feel insecure until she had a few flights with each one to find out what sort of pilot hid beneath the cocky veneer.

This night not only held the regular new captain jitters, but a peculiar hair tingling ethereal quality of things to come.

Although the trip was nearly over, the weird feeling persisted.

Torn between feminist pride and uncertainty of female pilot capability, Lea’s heart fluttered once more in an erratic pattern. Call it apprehension, or fear, or stupidity or simple prejudice, Lea wished she were not in the air this night.

With inane thoughts cluttering her mind, Lea headed back toward the sleeping passengers.

Although the aircraft was almost full, so far the trip had been quiet and smooth. No complaining babies, no snarling menopausal females, and no drunks making hits on her. For a second, Lea speculated why nobody had asked her out this flight, as she studied her reflection in the darkened windows. Tall, long-legged with abundant bright red hair, she rarely missed a trip without at least one offer for an evening on the town.

Maybe I’m getting too old, she contemplated.

A chief flight attendant, she was not a newcomer to flying. Normally, she would have been discussing specific instructions with other attendants or chatting as they made lunch preparations.

This night she performed her duties, double-checking everything, reviewing textbook emergency procedures in her mind with a slight frown forming a single wrinkle between her eyebrows. While the hair on the back of her neck bristled in anticipation she concentrated on safety precautions without the slightest realization of why.

The stale breath of the open-mouthed sleeping passengers filled the air. A musty smell that lingered in every plane and piece of luggage long after the trip was over. Every time Lea emptied her travel bag the odor from the last trip assaulted her senses. She even could detect airplane smell from strangers passing within a five-foot distance. She could not acclimate herself to the foulness and after all the years of practice, her stomach still revolted.

Hoping to take her mind off the dense air and uneasiness of the trip, Lea, walked to the kitchen area, poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, and rested momentarily on the edge of the slim padded attendant’s seat, her short skirt shifting a shade too far above the knee for comfort.

Reflecting on the thrill of earlier years when every flight was an adventure and being a stewardess was a special thing, she shifted her weight on the hard seat. She felt a momentary sense of sadness with an unexpected yearning for the use to be days when flying was exciting.

The tranquility of the moment was annihilated instantly as the seven-forty-seven lurched, tilted and catapulted upward, slamming the sleeping passengers awake, shattering the stillness and creating havoc in one split second.

What the hell is that woman doing? Lea complained as she scrambled off the floor rubbing a skinned knee , I knew she was going to do something stupid, Lea lamented to herself, displaying a hidden prejudice against her own gender she was unaware of and would have vehemently denied.

As the plane leveled, Lea was on her feet hurrying to calm passengers, once again the trained attendant concentrating on performing duties with all former inner thoughts dissolved.

The cockpit crew scrambled to gain control of the pitching aircraft. Each one focused on the flashing instrument display, as Mishi hastened to gain command. Scanning the instrument panel, reaching forward to snap switches into position, Mishi scrutinized every warning signal as the lights flashed and blaring alarms filled the compact cockpit.

For an interminable second, Mishi felt her stomach leap with fear as she fought to gain control of the lifting aircraft, her mind racing over probable causes ticking off each possibility in computer like sequences.

Shut the alarm off, and grab the yoke, Mishi calmly told the first officer. In her judgment Steve was reacting much too slowly. The automatic hold was off and auto-pilot was disengaged and she needed his assistance.

Steve seemed stunned, his actions delayed. I need some help here. His reactions were sluggish, but he was moving to execute his duties as the plane leveled off.

In a matter of seconds, a time passengers would extend and enhance to twenty or thirty minutes in future telling, absolutely believing they spoke the truth, the aircraft leveled at thirty seven thousand feet.

Lea was on the speaker providing rehearsed safety instructions pointing toward the seat belt sign, and oxygen mask once again. The remaining attendants hurried about comforting and soothing frightened passengers. Even a few of the stand by crew assisted the regular flight crew with troubled passengers.

Mishi was on the speaker shortly after Lea completed the instruction exercises.

By providing information about turbulence in soothing controlled words that rolled off her tongue without panic or hesitation, Mishi sedated the startled passengers.

Within two minutes Lea was also moving from person to person, assessing damage and patting the shaking hands of first time flyers.

Everything is all right, Lea lied with a confident tone while her inner voice narrated that something was assuredly not all right at all.

There were a few slight wounds. Suddenly slung from sleeping positions caused a couple of passengers to collide with seat backs or open trays. Causing a few bloody noses and bruised foreheads with nothing really critical.

Lea automatically examined each person, confirming there were no serious wounds. Yet bad enough to generate the pungent smell of fear.

For probably the ten thousandth time Lea questioned why she had chosen this specific career field as she pressed a small bandage over a bleeding wound while staring into the frightened eyes of the wounded passenger.

You have a minor cut, and it will stop bleeding in a minute. You’ll be fine. Do you want an aspirin? Lea had witnessed flying fears many times before and this was a typical case. The pale-faced elderly lady was speechless with fright. Lea attempted to get the woman talking, forcing the old lady to think of something other than her fear.

Are we going to crash? Am I going to die? the aged lady said with a shaking voice as her bony fingers sunk into the flesh of Lea’s arm.

Certainly not. This happens all the time. We’ve hit what’s known as air turbulence and it shook us up a little bit. It really is nothing to worry about. I know it’s scary the first time, but it really is nothing. Wait just a moment, Lea was back in seconds with a couple of aspirins and a paper cup of water.

Here, take these. And don’t worry. You’ll be on the ground before you know it. Are you going to see your grandchildren? Lea asked a question used many times before. Grandchildren usually have a calming effect on the elderly.

The white haired lady reached for the aspirin with a trembling hand, I’m going to visit my daughter’s children. I’ve never seen them before. We haven’t been on very good terms since she married that military man, you see, tears slide unintentionally down the wrinkled cheeks. I’m afraid now I never will see the children. A need of assurance waited in the tired blue eyes as she stared up at Lea.

Feeling sorry for the frail old woman, Lea allowed a few more seconds of listening to the voice crack and threaten to break. Simultaneously, she scanned the seat rows for other passengers who needed assistance.

Hundreds of passengers sought absolution in moments like these and Lea was their reluctant confidant, a sounding board for mistakes made or broken promises. Fright had that effect on people.

You’re going to get there just fine. Now try to relax, I’ll stop by again in a little while.

Lea patted the weathered hand as she turned toward another passenger.

Parker Adams wiggled awake in his seat. With eyes round as quarters he stared up at his mother as she tightened his seat belt with nervous hands.

Three years old, going on four, Parker’s young head twisted and turned, trying to see everything at one time. Awake and unscathed, Parker itched to move out. An active little boy, he stopped moving only when sleeping and if you were unfortunate enough to share a bed with him, that stillness too was a deception.

Parker didn’t know what had happened on the plane, but he knew something was going on and he wanted to see it. He strained determinedly against his seat belt.

Mommy, mommy, look at that man. His nose is bleeding…and look over there, that woman has a cut on her head, he pointed across the aisle.

I want to get down, tugging at his seat belt he intended to do just that.

I know what you want, but you must stay where you are. A few people have been hurt, but they’re all right now. You sit still and watch, Marianne Adams softly answered her son while rechecking his seat belt again. Don‘t unfasten your seat belt.

Marianne stared into the luminous brown eyes so like his father’s as she smoothed the ruffled black curls. Eyes burning with waiting tears, she quickly turned her head so Parker wouldn’t see. He could be very perceptive and she wasn’t prepared to answer his questions yet.

Another jolt of a sudden climb interrupted her distress only momentarily and for a few seconds she forgot about Jay and tomorrow’s probable future. Instinctively she reached out to Parker.

Parker didn’t know how unstable his family life was right now. Jay had agreed that she and Parker should visit her sister Katie for awhile. She and her husband, Craig, were stationed in Tokyo, while he completed his Naval duties. Since Craig spent such long periods of time out to sea, Katie had been begging Marianne to come for a visit.

The sixteen hour days, scrimping to save money, giving up night time togetherness for shift work or three more hours of computer time, falling into bed exhausted only to be awakened by Parker’s piercing wail, had become too much for Jay and Marianne.

Marianne had made up her mind about the temporary separation. She tried to focus more on what she needed to do for Parker to camouflage the emotional battles within, she wasn’t doing very well in her efforts.

I love you Parker, Marianne pulled her son as close as the seat belts allowed, You are the one joy of my life.

I love you too mommy, Parker parroted a common response while straining toward the window enraptured in the world outside.

Look Mommy, look at that bright moon, Parker pointed toward his window. All Marianne could see was her own pale reflection and darkness. She felt and looked ten years older than her twenty-six years. Too thin with dark rings around her eyes, Marianne had the appearance of one who had been sick for a long time.

I didn’t see it this time. Maybe later, she remembered the many times she had spoken those same words and later never came. The awareness struck her that there might not be another chance for later. Planes crashed frequently. She envisioned the news releases of plane crashes over the last several months. Vivid pictures of explosions and pieces of debris floating on water besieged her thoughts.

She leaned forward to stare out the window past Parker’s shoulder, seeing nothing but the darkness.

If you see it again, you tell me and I’ll look then.

This is Alaska center. Japan Airlines 1628 confirm your altitude, the controller’s voice squawked over the radio in the cockpit at the same time the plane leveled at flight level 370.

Unruffled, true to her training, Mishi rechecked the altitude indicator and reported, This is Japan airlines 1628 requesting traffic information at FL370, she told the Alaskan controller at sector 15. We’ve had an incident. Apparently some clear air turbulence caused a severe updraft and we were pushed upward two thousand feet.

JL1628 there is no traffic in your vicinity at FL370, the controller responded. I’ll report there is severe turbulence at FL370 altitude.

It’s still somewhat choppy up here, I’d like to descend to FL350 with your approval, Mishi said.

JL1628 cleared to FL350, Shane Larson instructed, simultaneously sweeping his eyes over the faded green radarscope for other traffic. Assigned as sector 15 air traffic controller on this mid-night shift, he was a controller in the flesh and he loved it.

Shane moved closer to his scope. Having completed radar training and checking out on the control floor no more than a week prior, Shane was not exactly experienced at this sort of activity.

Three minutes earlier he had been nodding, a result of not sleeping before coming in for the mid shift, his mind drifted. Now he perched on the edge of his seat wide-awake.

Aboard JL1628 Lea pushed the cockpit buzzer and Steve opened the cabin door for her.

Most of the damages appear slight, bloodied noses and bruises, Leas began, but the passengers are unusually frightened, she reported. Many of them are first time flyers.

The crew listened to the report never taking their eyes off the instrument panel. Not really expecting anything to happen, but cautious.

Alaska Center this is JL1628, requesting emergency landing, we have injuries on board, Mishi contacted the center. Expecting a 7700 response. None came.

Just another thing Shane missed during this experience. If he had squawked the 7700 code, everyone would have known Mishi’s difficulties.

Call and report the incident to operations, and let them know we have minor injuries, Mishi told Mel Stein the flight engineer, continuously scanning the wide expanse of instruments checking for anomalies as she spoke. Mentally noting the altimeter setting, speed and fuel indicators were normal. There were no warning sounds and no flashing indications of mechanical problems.

Steve appeared back to normal, his cheeks only slightly flushed but more with anger than embarrassment of his prior panic. The damned female pilot had rattled him. He had been through hundreds of clear air turbulence incidents before without the slightest apprehension and this abnormal reaction angered him.

Fear shakes the steadiest of hands, he told himself, and this female scared the hell out of him.

Over and over again Steve tried to justify his immature actions, telling himself this girl was much too young to be a captain and lacked real pilot experience. He berated Mishi every possible way, repeating degrading words to rationalize his unprofessional responses. His bruised male ego flamed as he silently performed his duties without comment.

Mel had also witnessed Steve’s