WE WERE UNDULATING above and below Flight Level 390 like a ship at sea riding heavy swells. On one side of a crest, the Boeing 707 gained altitude while on the other it descended. Airspeed variations in the mountain wave were significant, and substantial throttle movement was needed to prevent a low-speed stall buffet or a high-speed Mach buffet. The captain, however, was timid with the thrust levers. Airspeed excursions became larger and more threatening, but as a neophyte co-pilot I was reluctant to criticize his airmanship. Finally, the airspeed indicator reached the barber pole-the redline-and the captain reduced power only slightly, not nearly enough to avoid the high-speed aural warning. I suggested that we reduce power more aggressively, but the captain did not respond. I then gripped the thrust levers and reduced power of the four turbofan engines to almost idle, but it was too late to prevent shock waves on the wings from creating a disturbing buffet. "I was going to do that," barked the veteran captain. He glared at me in a way that said I would soon be required to visit the chief pilot's office. My career was on the line, and an icy silence permeated the cockpit for the rest of the flight.
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