Leaving on a Jetplane
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 25: Shopping In Norway
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 25: Shopping In Norway - Ian, the son of British immigrants, finds his life changed after a family tragedy and decides to make the best of his ambitions and dreams. And nothing gets you to new adventures as fast as your own airplane...
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Workplace Sharing Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Exhibitionism Massage Oral Sex Nudism
“Something wrong?” Sofia asked me as she took the Autobahn exit towards Senftenberg. “You haven’t said a single word since we left Dresden.”
“This fake parts thing keeps my mind busy,” I admitted. “I hadn’t known that this had been such a big problem in the States. Now I can’t stop wondering if bogus parts could have played a role in the crash of dad’s plane. After all the NTSB determined it was caused by a botched C check.”
“Does it really make a difference, Ian?” she asked me in a soft voice and gently caressed my left knee. “Your dad was cleared of any potential pilot error, and no matter what else you would find out, it won’t bring him back.”
I heaved a deep sigh. “You’re probably right, lovely. I just find it hard some times to put it all behind me, even after two years.”
“I don’t think you should ever put it behind you completely. That memory is what makes you so obsessed with safety, and Ira, Esther and I are definitely glad about that. We all have plans for you for years to come.”
That remark lightened the mood a little.
We watched Meri win her final race. Despite being the main sponsor of a cycling team I had little knowledge about the sport, but Mark had explained that these criteriums were essentially show races with a pre-determined popular winner. Well, from what I had seen, Femke had certainly not let Meri take that win easily.
Right now, we were preparing to go back to Dresden again. Mark had agreed that we could leave the trailer at their place, so Sofia would be able to go home without being limited to a measly hundred kph. But she would not do so before the next morning.
After driving all the way from the Baltic coast to Dresden and then to Senftenberg and back to Dresden again, there was no way I would allow her to drive another 700 kilometres through the night. That was an accident waiting to happen, so I had booked her and the arriving pilots into three rooms at the airport hotel in Dresden.
One could have said the same about me, considering that I had also been awake all day, although not driving, but I had slept all the way from the Baltic coast to Berlin. It was one of the things one learned as a charter pilot. You could lean me against a wall and I would fall asleep whenever necessary. It was an essential trick for someone who may have to fly on short notice.
Femke on the rear seats had fallen asleep almost instantly. Although the race had been little more than a show event, it had been rather fast, and she had to start one of the most important cycling tours of the season the next day, so she was clearly tired.
I felt almost bad when I had to shake her awake gently once we had arrived at Dresden airport. I kissed Sofia goodbye and helped the merely half-awake Femke walk through the private terminal. With no security checks to pass I could walk her straight onto the apron and into the plane where Fred was already waiting for me. That meant Jack had done the last ferry trip and was now on the way to the hotel.
I tucked Femke into her seat and by the time I had closed the seat belt around her waist, she was already asleep again.
As was required by the safety guidelines Fred and I spoke only essentials during the take-off and climb-out, but once we had reached cruising altitude, and the auto pilot did its thing, we could talk business.
“So, how was the holiday?” Fred asked.
“Great,” I admitted. “I certainly understand now why Mark and his gang loved to go there until they became a little too recognizable.”
“I’ve heard you’ve stopped by in Berlin and at the maintenance facility?”
I nodded. “Air Berlin could actually decide to franchise our flights to Courchevel,” I said. “When I told the manager bloke that we have Dash-7s he became positively giddy.”
Fred chuckled.
“That would actually be a good thing. We’d have a guaranteed revenue per flight,” he said.
“Yeah, but we would also have nary a plane left with our own livery. I’m a bit concerned we might lose our identity,” I argued.
“Don’t worry boss,” Fred replied. “Most people don’t really give a damn about what is painted on the plane. The experience is what counts and in that regard we have a good reputation. In fact I foresee we could get into a bit of trouble with Air Berlin in the future.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We could inadvertently do a Skoda,” Fred explained. “Skoda belongs to the Volkswagen group. That’s why we got the contract for the daily flights from Brunswick to Prague and back. Lately the cheaper Skoda cars turned out to be of a better quality than the products of the parent company. That caused a bit of friction.”
“Ah, you mean they’re gonna be miffed if the feeder service turns out to be better than the main line,” I guessed.
“Exactly,” Fred said. “We can go all out on the service if they really contract the Courchevel flights, but we should not really try to upstage them on the feeder milk-runs.”
“It’s not like we can serve a five-course meal on a hop from Heringsdorf to Berlin,” I said. “We are barely long enough in cruise to do a drinks run.”
“I’m just warning you,” Fred said calmly. “I know your knack for perfectionism. Provide a solid product, but don’t go overboard. After all, it would cut into our profits too. It will be tricky enough to find the right balance. Air Berlin isn’t a no-frills airline, but also not a legacy full-service carrier. They’re somewhere in the middle.”
“How did the ferry flights go?” I asked, changing the topic.
“No problems so far,” Fred reported. “Some of the planes will need some serious refurbishing for the interior, but we had absolutely no problems on the mechanical side so far. Jack had to divert to Vagar on the Faroe Islands once, but that was down to a sudden weather change. In a pinch he could have made it all the way to Scotland too, thanks to the ferry tank.”
“The first one is nearly done,” I said. “The guys in Dresden definitely know what they’re doing. It even has the new car smell to it with the refurbished interior. When I hear Recaro, I always think of Jenny and Nadja’s race car seats. I didn’t even know they were making aircraft seats too.”
“Next time you visit Mark, check their baby’s car seat – it’s a Recaro too,” Fred said with a chuckle. “They make everything that you can park your ass in – plane, train, car, bus...”
The flight to Carcassonne was one of the longer ones we had done on the Pilatus PC-12, and we finally delivered Femke to the soigneur of the team who picked her up at the airport at one o’clock in the night. With the upcoming tour not starting until after lunch time, she would have enough time to get some more sleep.
Sleep was something Fred and I could use as well, so we didn’t waste much time to get the plane ready for the flight to Emden. The flight was significantly shorter than the one from Dresden to France and half past three in the night we finally arrived back at the home base.
Fred and I commandeered the two sofas inside our offices and went to sleep as soon as we had tied down the plane on the apron.
“Get lost,” I told Fred groggily after we had been woken up by the other employees arriving in the office at seven in the morning. He was slated to do the ninth ferry run the next day and I ordered him to take the day off.
“Same goes for you buster,” Bea told me as she stored away the blankets and pillows Fred and I had used on the sofas. “Ira will drive both of you home. We can hold the fort until Jack and Sofia arrive in the afternoon.”
Discussing with Mark’s aunt would have been an exercise in futility, so I resigned myself to another day off. Technically I would have still been at the Baltic sea anyway, had it not been for Mark’s call.
The wisdom of Lydia’s sister apparently knew no bounds, because once Ira had delivered me to our home I realized just how much I needed some more sleep, not waking up until after lunch time.
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