Off To a Rough Start

"Stabilized," she said a moment later.

I released the brakes and double-tapped TOGA.

"Takeoff thrust," I stated, and she acknowledged.

The pilot monitoring always positions their hand underneath the flying pilot's to confirm the throttles obey the command. The other reason is to ensure the pilot flying removes their hand when V1 is called out because that velocity is when the airplane must be taken aloft. It's the speed calculated by the computer to be the point at which there's not enough runway remaining to slow to a stop. After V1, even if an engine blows up on the roll, the plane must leave the ground.

"Eighty knots," she advised, then "one hundred."

I could feel the heat radiating from Pamela's hand. It was close enough that the fine hairs at its back brushed the inside of my wrist. I moved mine a little and felt her skin in contact with mine.

"Mack?" she prompted.

"Continuing."

Our airline trained two different abort procedures. One is employed for stopping below eighty knots, the other is implemented after one hundred. Anywhere in between is left to the pilot's discretion. I moved my fingers farther behind my yoke, preparing to lift off when something glinted in the distance.

"Is that a⁠—aborting !" I commanded when I saw what looked like a maintenance truck crossing the runway ahead of us.

"We're above V1!" Pamela almost shouted.

I pulled back the thrust levers and deployed the reversers. The force I put on the toe brakes almost made me stand from my seat. I knew the anti-skid system would keep the wheels from locking up, but also knew they could potentially catch fire. I struggled a bit to move the speed brake lever off its home detent, but it complied.

"Spark 1 aborting takeoff on runway four, runway incursion by a ground vehicle," Pam finally told the tower.

"Roger."

Fifteen seconds later, the airplane had ceased its forward motion. There were maybe five hundred feet of concrete remaining. I could see animated cars traveling along Airport Boulevard a quarter mile farther.

"Condition check?"

"No smoke, no fire. Simulation ending."

"George, can we have the deck?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Sorry," the man sitting behind us said, sounding surprised. "It's a violation of safety procedures if I leave the console."

"Can you lock it out? Please? It will only be a minute."

He wordlessly complied. She waited until the door closed.

"You aborted after V1," Pamela rebuked me.

"I most certainly did not. I'd already begun the abort when you called it out. And besides, there's a two second reaction delay built in, which is probably why we're not in the grass. Now that I think about it, you said, 'We're above V1,' so if you let it get that far, that was your error, not mine."

"Are you sure about that?" she challenged.

"Let's have George replay it."

Her expression softened a little. "No. Maybe you're right, but you did miss a couple of things like not acknowledging the hundred knot check."

"True." I sighed. "It won't happen again. I hope your unnoticed misdial of the transponder code won't either."

Her gaze transfixed me. I couldn't tell what she was thinking. Had I blown my chance?

"None of what you've done incorrectly is anything worrisome. Just minor stuff. But still, it seems you're off your game a little. Joe was raving about how precise and methodical you are. What's going on?"

"I don't know." I sighed my lie.

"I've noticed it a few times now. Some in the classroom, and again, right there, in your seat. I know I wouldn't be here with you today if that were typical. You didn't wash out, which means you're competent. Like I said before, Joe describes you as more than competent.

"When you asked to be transferred to a different class, I assumed either I wasn't instructing you adequately, or you weren't doing a good job learning from me. It can happen both ways. Some people just don't adapt well to the other's style. It can turn into a counterproductive clash of personalities, and I assumed that was the case.

"But no. Not today. Not this business. I'm not acting as an instructor. I am only playing the role of first officer, observing, and assessing your skills. So, I'd like to know. Is it me? Is something about me getting in your way?"

I sighed again. I definitely wanted to answer her. She deserved it, but it wasn't the time or place.

I looked at my watch and proposed an alternative to delay the confrontation. "We have almost twenty minutes to go. Can we talk about it during the lunch break? I'm willing to stick around."

"Okay, fair enough," she said. "Are we good? Can we continue, or do I need to do a swap with one of the other two instructors?"

"Let's wrap up. I don't think it'd be fair to someone else to trade in the middle of a session."

"There's only one thing left to do."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'm not telling. All I'll say is the scenario will begin during cruise-climb."

"Okee dokee."

I watched her climb out of her seat to go fetch George so we could continue. They were both back in their spots in less than a minute.

"You haven't broken it, have you?" he asked us.

"Didn't touch a thing."

"Alright. We doing the thing now?"

"Yep. And don't give any hints," she answered.

"Neverrrr," he growled humorously.

Three minutes later, the simulation began with us at twelve thousand feet and gaining 1,500 more per minute. I spent twenty seconds or so scanning instruments to determine condition, hoping to see a hint of what was about to come. Everything was completely normal, with all indicators in their green arcs. I paged through the MFD twice to gain reassurance.

Pamela was similarly orienting herself, too.

The last thing I did was consult the route programmed into the computer, seeing the top of climb set for flight level 370, or thirty-seven thousand feet.

"Crossing one eight thousand," Pamela noted.

We both pressed the buttons marked "STD" on the panel, setting the altimeters to the standard pressure of 29.92 which every aircraft in the country uses when crossing into the flight levels.

No sooner had I taken my finger off the button, all hell broke loose. Red and yellow messages began to scroll on the multi-function display, bells and sirens were ringing, and the master caution and master warning lights illuminated.

I was waylaid with too much information and felt myself beginning to succumb to analysis paralysis. I heard the autopilot and auto-throttle disconnect alerts and observed the plane's nose begin to dip.

Why is it doing that? It should have been in trim. I thought to myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the trim wheel on my side spin forward, nosing the plane over.

"Suspecting runaway stabilizer," I said.

"Concur. Memory items?" Pam calmly asked.

"Take firm hold of controls. Duh!
"Disconnect autopilot.
"Disconnect auto-throttle."

"Hurry," she urged.

I pulled the yoke firmly back and observed the wheels spin again.

"Stab-trim switches to cut-out. Do it for me, my hands are full," I said, not wanting to let go for fear I'd lose my advantage.

She instantly reached to the center console and flipped the required switches.

I gave her additional tasks, sometimes in verbal shorthand because time was pressing. We had mere seconds. We went through the remainder of the procedure and got the plane back under comfortable control, then assessed and addressed the rest of the alarms we'd silenced.

"Good job, Mack. We're technically done with the evaluation, but we still have a little time if you want to use it to, I don't know … fly under the Golden Gate or land in the Hudson River? Or you can call it a day. It's up to you."

I laughed. "Yeah? Golden Gate, please."

Her smile was infectious. Over her shoulder, she said, "George, it's playtime."

I think many pilots enjoy simulating illegal activities in a simulator. It's really no different than gamers playing Grand Theft Auto. Since simulator time was on the budget of the company, such things were usually frowned upon. But my syllabus was completed, and the extra time was mine.

I flew the bird underneath the national landmark at an altitude of one hundred feet leaving barely eighty feet of clearance for its tail. I had a tight grin on my face, listening to the plane bark, "Too low! Too low! Terrain! Terrain! Pull up! Pull up!" I have to admit, it was an adrenaline rush. I looked over at Pam. She was grinning wildly and even brought her hands to her eyes to shield them from the perceived potential collision. I could hear her laughing in glee when I started a climb over the bay, then the simulation ended. The machine moved subtly as the hydraulics brought it to level and in line with the outside platform.

It was 11:57pm.

"I need to finish your paperwork. Break room in ten?" she asked.

I didn't know how I was going to escape, so I only nodded. I unplugged my headset and packed it in its pouch. Good lord, I thought as I watched her exit her seat. How am I going to explain this without getting myself in trouble?

I selected a prepackaged chicken salad sandwich and some jalapeño kettle chips along with a peach Snapple from the self-service kiosks in the break area and scanned their UPCs at the payment terminal. Settling at a table, I added the relevant entries in my logbook.

Pamela joined me a little later with a slip of paper in her hand. She slid it to me. It was the completed evaluation form.

Emergency Procedures (Verbal): S
Emergency Procedures (Simulated): E
Cockpit Procedures: S
Use of Checklists: E
CRM: E
Judgment: E
Communication: S

There were several other sections containing similar marks. I scanned the document again, trying to find a legend explaining the grades. I couldn't find one.

"What are S and E?" I asked.

"S means satisfactory, which is passing."

"And E?"

"Exemplary." She smiled. "You'll be going before a panel soon."

"You marked CRM as exemplary? After all that back there?"

"Like I said before, it wasn't a big deal, and I, as your FO, simply prompted you. Your actions during the runaway stabilizer simulation were perfect. Oh, just so you know, me not calling out V1 before your abort was … well, you rightfully held your own and corrected me as a good captain should, with tact . Your work was excellent, and I'm happy you've scored so well. In fact, I'm sort of hoping I might be your check airman if your review boards go well."

"I'd probably screw something up if you were," I said before thinking.

She stared at me with widened eyes. I knew without any doubt she had perceived my words as an insult when they were, instead, far from it in my mind.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

I'd taken my first bite of my sandwich, trying to buy time. Only after my incisors sliced through it did I realize time was the wrong ingredient in the moment. Leaving her on the edge was simply stupid.

"So, it is me," she concluded in a near whisper.

I tried to speak, but my mouth was full. I wagged my forefinger and almost choked trying to swallow.

"Yes," I finally said, "but it's not what you're thinking."

"Then … why?"

"I don't want to get into any trouble."

"Are you messing with me?" she asked.

"You're a colleague, Pamela. I've made a fool of myself before, so I don't think I should say anything."

"Why? Because you think it'd be inappropriate?"

I only nodded.

"This is an interesting little game we're playing, isn't it? It's kind of unfair to me⁠—never mind. Forget it," she said after a few silent moments. She tapped on her phone's screen. "Look at the time. I need to prepare for the next session. Nice working with you, Mack. Good luck."

I was struggling to decode her body language and expressions as she rose from the table. They were an odd blend of ingredients which shouldn't have blended. She was unusually good at concealing certain things. It was almost as if she and I were playing a verbal game of chicken. As I sat there, I heard Brandi's advice rattling around as Pamela collected her things, throwing her food wrappers into a nearby waste bin.

Talk to her. She might have drawn the wrong conclusions.

"Wait," I said as she walked back by the table on the way to the exit. I spoke just loudly enough only she would hear.

She stopped. Trying to avoid a repeated misstep, I forced myself to get the facts first.

"You don't have to answer, of course, but I need to ask you something personal."

"Go ahead," she said, stitching her eyebrows.

"Are you married?"

It surprised me I was able to utter the words, and I thought she might have been just as surprised to hear them. She stared at me long enough it made me more uncomfortable than I already was.

"No."

"Are you … uh … crap. I'll just say it. Are you seeing anyone? You know, on a roma⁠—"

"No," she again said, slowly shaking her head. Her eyes suggested she was curious where I was heading.

"So … okay. Now I can answer your earlier question," I said with a little relief I wasn't going to repeat the same mistake I'd made with Brandi and almost with her neighbor, Cameron.

"The reason I moved classes, and why I was a little muddled in the sim was because you were a distraction. You... had me distracted."

"By doing what?" she asked.

"By … well … by being drop-dead gorgeous and smelling incredibly nice."

Her expression was impossible to decipher. I didn't know if she was going to report me to human resources or tear up my evaluation, fail me, and force me to undergo remedial training. I reasoned it'd be solid ice if she had vengeance on her mind.

Instead, one corner of her mouth turned up a little. It stayed like that for a few seconds before she burst out laughing to the point of turning red and drawing curious stares from the half dozen others in the break room.

Embarrassment can't even begin to describe what I began to feel.

I should have just kept it to myself! She thinks I'm an absolute freaking idiot now!

"Oh god," she murmured through the tail of her laughs, slowly regaining her composure, then took a step closer to me.

She placed a hand to the side of my shoulder and began to lean in toward me.

What is she about to do? Instinct made me ready my hands in case a knee was coming next.

"That was my secret," she whispered. "I've been wanting to say almost the exact same thing to you."

I brought in another breath through my nose just before she drew away. Her confession made my fear instantly disappear, and her heavenly scent created a smile on my face. I'm sure she saw it.

"If you're interested, I wouldn't mind going out for a few drinks when my day ends," she added.

"I doubt there are any bars open at five in the morning."

"Oh. True."

She looked around the room, perhaps to see if we were being observed. No one was paying attention anymore. She took my headset off the table and stuffed it carefully into her tote. It was a $2,200 set, and hers was every bit as good. I assumed she wasn't stealing it and was more than a little curious about her actions.

"Wait here for a few, then go back to the box we were just in. It'll be vacant for maybe ten more minutes."

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a chance. Shake my hand."

I did. Her confidently firm grip felt … comfortable.

"Good luck, Mack," she said in a normal volume, then walked out.

I spent a little longer than I'd ordinarily need to clean up the table. Stalling for time, I even made sure the chairs were pushed in and squared away.

I caught myself whistling lightly as I climbed the stairs to the second level where the eight simulators' entrances connected to the balcony. I hesitated only slightly before I walked into the dimmed flightdeck.

"Close the door," Pam said as soon as I stepped through it.

I did. She put her hands to my shoulders and drew us closer.

"I have to know before you leave," she said, rising on her tiptoes. She placed her soft lips on mine.

Oh. My. God. I thought when I tasted her.

We remained gloriously close for several moments, kissing softly and tenderly, suckling each other's lips. She tentatively stroked mine with her tongue, and I encouraged it between them. Her hands descended my arms. My palms found her lower back, just above the beginnings of her bottom, feeling her warmth through her uniform's slacks. Her fingers then slipped into the hair on the back of my head. She slowly exhaled, and I breathed her into my lungs.

Too soon, it was over.

"Oh boy. Okay, so …" she whispered softly with her forehead touching mine, "there's that."

She relaxed her calves, returning her heels to the floor.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly when I noticed the clock displayed on the operator station's screensaver. "Shucks. Your next guy or gal will be arriving pretty soon."

"Way too soon, I'm afraid," she said, still stroking my back and the nape of my neck lightly with her fingernails.

"I really wish I could somehow see you again," I whispered with closed eyes. I knew it was possible, but I'd been in long-distance relationships before. They always ended, and never well.

"I'm done at five o'clock. Breakfast?"

Her smile was beyond beautiful. It conveyed volumes.

"I wish I could, but I'm deadheading home. I have to check in at 5:15 for a flight leaving in about five hours."

That time, there was no way I'd misconstrue the feelings behind her expression. She was obviously crestfallen.

"Where are you based?"

"Dallas."

Her disappointment morphed into something much more pleasant.

"Oh? You've heard InterAir is expanding the training division since the company is growing so fast, right?"

"Sure. I pass the new facility every time I go to or from Love Field. I think construction is almost totally done."

"You're not going to believe this," she said. Even in the low light, I saw her eyes twinkling.

"Believe what?"

"I'm being transferred there," she said, almost melodically. "Half of us are going in phases during the ramp-up. I'm in the first wave. Joe Corning is, too. I'm heading there two weeks before the opening to help make sure everything's up and running."

I grinned broadly.

"So … when do you get to Dallas?"

"I'm closing on the sale of my house here on the thirteenth, then flying there the following Thursday to close on the one I'm buying. Movers are tentatively coming that Friday. I'm taking the next week off to unpack and settle in, then we report in on the twenty-seventh and open the doors on the fourth of October."

"Sounds like you're going to be busy."

"Believe me. I'll let you know the moment I have some time."

"Can I maybe give you a shout if I happen to pull a reserve slot with a stopover here between now and then?"

"You'd better, and I'll do the same if I get reassigned for a checkride to Love," she said, retrieving from her tote and handing me my headset.

We exchanged phone numbers before she said, "Now, you'd better scoot."

"One more before I go? Please?"

She smiled and kissed me softly once more. I nuzzled her neck briefly, cementing the scent of her perfume into my brain with a low moan. I kissed the silky skin near her collar.

"You're beautiful, you smell fantastic, and your lips taste even better. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

The smile she gave me was languid and relaxed. "What you just did to my neck might have turned me into a wreck for the rest of the morning."

"Focus, Pam," I suggested with a grin. "I'll get out of your cockpit now."