“Are you flying?” the captain asked. I again shook my head to signal that I was not.
The colonel spoke up. “I’m flying. My son and I are flying. I am a pilot, too.”
“I cannot do anything about this,” the captain said, rather like an offended old lady. It was obvious that he was still annoyed that he had been brought here for something so silly.
“Sir, don’t you feel something yourself?” the colonel asked.
“The plane is in working order,” the Korean answered, stony-faced.
“I meant something else,” the colonel frowned. “Pilots sometimes have a premonition of things. I know it myself. Back in ’44 our plane was shot down by the Germans. The day before that flight I had a bad feeling about it. I was young, like you are.”
“I am 47 years old,” the captain said coldly.
“Really?!” The colonel
