Flying Too Close to the Sun by George Jehn (most inspirational books TXT) 📗

care for Montgomery, the main one being he had a ridiculous air of macho immaturity about him. Plus, his body always had a very faint sweaty odor, signaling he could be apprehensive about flying and the mannerisms might be just a cover. So she kept a wary eye on him. “No one around here seems to know what’s going on,” she continued, attempting to use her glacier-like, I-am-the-captain cobalt stare. The older copilots like Woody always seemed to resent a woman’s authority. But the coolness in her eyes, which could have frozen his tabloid, was wasted as Montgomery didn’t even put the paper down. Shrugging his shoulders he finally replied in a gruff voice from behind his protective wall of newsprint, “If they won’t tell a high-powered lady captain, why the hell would anyone say something to a low-life copilot?”

Christina wanted to rip the paper out of his hands, but didn’t. Besides being against company policy to read in the cockpit, it was rude. “But why do you even care?” he added in his normal whiny tone. “We get paid by the hour and these nightly delays add up to a few more bucks each paycheck. I can use the extra dough.”

This provided an opportunity to vent. “A bunch of our passengers complained to me about our last delay,” she sarcastically added, “and I couldn’t provide a reason other than the pilots earn a few more bucks.”

Montgomery finally looked up, ran his fingers through thinning hair cut in military style, let out a muted “Oh,” and returned to reading.

Christina vowed to unearth the cause. Maybe the reason was locked somewhere in the airline’s computer? The same one the pilots used for bidding their monthly schedule and vacation. She would check it out.

Just then the same agent stuck his head into the cockpit and in a poor Ed McMahon imitation announced, “Weeee’re ready.” After taking a final peek at the captain, he added with a broad smile, “Hope to see you again; real soon.”

With all doors now secured, Christina pleasantly requested, “Woody, please put the paper down and get us a pushback clearance from Ground Control. And, turn off the ATIS. Everyone in earshot has been listening to the same message for the past twenty minutes. Let’s read the before starting engines checklist.”

The copilot, also referred to as the first officer at Shuttle Air was required to read all of the checklists when the engines weren’t running, with the flight engineer, or second officer taking over the duty when underway. As the mechanics smoothly pushed the plane away from the gate and onto the tarmac with a huge tug, Woody read the printed checklist aloud, with each pilot responding to their required items.

Erik Preis was the second officer, the systems operator and third member of the 727 cockpit crew. This was the starting position and he would next move to copilot and eventually captain. He hit the books hard for two months at Shuttle Air’s flight school to secure his FAA Flight Engineer turbojet certification, which is different from a pilot license. The young man from Farmingdale, Long Island had just completed his first week on the job, finally realizing his airline pilot goal. To reach this point had taken over five years of grueling work. He had to first earn his FAA pilot and flight instructor certificates and then build additional flight hours by teaching others to fly. Each hour spent instructing also counted toward his total flight time, the means to gain the needed experience. The three metallic stripes on the sleeves of the uniform he now wore was the recognition passengers entrusted him with their most precious commodity. He was nearly able to leave his weighty personal problems behind whenever the shiny silver jet needle penetrated the deep indigo sky. Life was great—almost. Preis took his job of monitoring and running all of the 727’s systems as seriously as a policeman would a life or death situation. Even though his seat faced sideways for much of the flight he was a vital part of the crew. Hopefully, his opportunity to fly copilot would come soon. For now, hearing the moan of the hydraulics and smelling the big jet’s aroma: a unique blend of brewing coffee and jet fuel was enough.

Preis had previously glimpsed Shepard on TV. Attractive on television, she was even more so in person. Although too young to be one of the first female airline pilots, it was no doubt her beauty and confidence-exuding demeanor which was why the media outlets sought her out for information pertaining to women in aviation. Her televised appearances translated into near-celebrity status within the airlines, but without her nose in the air. Although her flight bag bore the scars of many years of cockpit duty you couldn’t say the same about her. She wore no makeup, seemingly immune to the ravages of time, exuding the same air of confidence as a female senior executive but without the hard shell. She was also an expert pilot who flew her plane with the finesse of a first-rate jockey in command of a thoroughbred.

With a short respite while the mechanic disconnected the tow bar from the jet’s nose wheel Erik asked, “Will you both be flying these same three, five, seven and nine o’clock Shuttles for the entire month?”

Shepard half-jokingly replied. “Last month, this month and probably for at least the next six months,” sincerely hoping it would be the case. “It’s the only trip my lack of seniority in the captain ranks allows me to fly. Being on reserve – on call – goes to the senior captains who sit on their elderly butts at home and hardly ever work, while us junior pukes have to fly almost every day.”

“I’m in the same boat with the copilots,” Woody chimed in.

With her blue eyes feeling as though they looked right through Erik, she turned to him and added, “With the hiring going on, you should be able to get more flight choices pretty