Eleven Years Earlier:

At just after 0700 hours on Sunday morning, Charlotte exited the courtesy van at the Idaho mountain resort airport's small FBO. She was wearing a blue polo with the BBA, Boise Backcountry Aviation logo, an orange Boise State baseball hat and nicely fitting twill slacks. She was carrying the leather pilot bag her grandfather had given her after her first solo and a small roller bag. Charlotte opened the door and greeted the older man who was sitting behind the cluttered counter. "Good morning I'm..."

As Charlotte was speaking, the old desk phone rang loudly. As he was picking up the phone the man gestured to the other side of the room. "Miss, you can wait in the passenger lounge. Sorry, I haven't had time to make coffee yet."

Charlotte smiled. "No worries, I'll make a pot."

As she walked across the room, Charlotte looked out of the window at her aircraft and frowned. By the full extension of the landing gear struts, she could tell that it had not yet been refueled. Charlotte checked the time on her Casio pilot's watch. It was still early and her fuel order was for 0730. She dropped her bags on the table in front of a well-worn leather couch which was patched here and there with duct tape. The coffee maker was older than she was and evidently had not been emptied from the night before. She dumped the acrid smelling dregs down the drain, thoroughly rinsed out the pot and followed the handwritten instructions taped to the cabinet above and started a new pot brewing. In her experience, she knew that pilots preferred one kind of coffee, strong and black with nothing silly in it. From the main desk, she heard the man complaining to somebody on the phone. "No, he's not here yet and, yeah, an old 172 and a King Air which must have tied down last night. No, I can't find the fuel slips."

As she was waiting for the coffee, Charlotte made her way over to the flight planning area. She had already checked the weather and NOTAMS on her phone but wanted to do one last check of the government TFRs. This time of year, wildfire fighting operations could create a last-minute flight or airspace restriction. She sat down in front of the antique CRT just as the man covered the phone with his hand. "Miss, that's not a web browser it's for the pilot's use only. "

Charlotte rolled her eyes at the condescending comment. "Yes sir, I'm quite aware of that."

The man shrugged and went back to his evidently vital phone call. As Charlotte finished her last flight planning task, she used the old machine to remotely file her flight plan. Even if her passengers were late, it would stay active for two hours after her proposed departure time.

The man had finally hung up the phone as Charlotte poured herself a cup of black coffee. "Sir, would you like a cup?"

"Um, yeah, black please."

Charlotte brought the man a paper cup of coffee. He took it from her and smiled thinly. "Thank you, Miss, but if you don't mind, please wait in the passenger area."

Charlotte tried her best to maintain her cool pilot demeanor as she shrugged and pointed to the fuel slip she had filled out the night before. It was still in the drop box under the slot from the flight line side of the building. "Sir, I'm on a tight schedule. Could you please get the line boy or girl or whoever to refuel my aircraft before my PAX arrive."

The man sipped his coffee, removed the yellow slip and shook his head. "There's only one fuel slip here Miss and it's for that King Air. I don't see one for your Cessna. You'll have to fill out another."

This time Charlotte did roll her eyes as she pointed to the fuel slip which read Pilot: C. Janssen and then pointed to the embroidered name above the pilot wings on her polo. "That's me."

The man's eyes went wide for a moment. "You're the pilot of that twin turbo-prop?"

Charlotte smiled and nodded. "Yes sir, off and on since last year, I'm workin' my way through school. Anyway, my passengers will be here any minute, nice guys, you know the type, rich corporate guys up here fly fishin' while their wives slash girlfriends are at the spa. My company has a well-deserved reputation for on-time departures, so if you could, please get someone to gas up my plane, if you can't, just give me the keys to the truck and I'll take care of it myself."

The man shook his head. "That won't be necessary Ms. Janssen, I'll get on it myself. The line boy hasn't shown up yet. I'd fire him again, but since he's my son..."

Charlotte laughed. "Right, hard to find good help these days. Okay then, I'll just take care of my preflight and wait for my well-heeled passengers, so thanks..." She read the name on his shirt and continued. "Robert."

Charlotte went out onto the ramp and thoroughly but expeditiously pre-flighted at her aircraft. She then lowered the air stair and unlatched the baggage locker. This tail number was configured with a custom storage area for skis and fishing poles. As she was finishing, the fuel truck drove up and parked at the nose of her plane. Robert got out, chocked the wheels of the truck, attached one grounding wire to a steel ring in the ramp and a second one to the nose gear. He then unrolled the hose, hefted it to the left wing and unlatched the fuel cap. He inserted the large nozzle and started the flow of fuel. "Top off both wing tanks Ms. Janssen?"

Charlotte nodded. "Yes sir, should take about 425 total, maybe a bit more on this cold morning."

As the truck revved up to power the pump, the fuel began to flow and Robert asked. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

Charlotte laughed. "I get that all the time. Anyway, I just turned 20, and as for your next question, commercial, CFI, multi, instrument and type rated in the King Air 350 like this beauty here."

Robert smiled. "20. Impressive. My son is 23 and I can't even get him to show up to work on time! How'd you get started so young?"

Charlotte smiled at the memory. "Grandfather is retired USAF, I learned to fly before I could drive. First solo on 16th birthday, private on 17th, commercial and CFI on my 18th and I'm planning on getting my ATP as soon as I have 1,500 hours. Okay, Robert it was nice talking to you, but I see the hotel courtesy van pulling up. Thanks, we'll see you again."

The older man smiled and tipped his cap as Charlotte quickly made her way to the FBO just in time to greet her four wealthy passengers. "Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Anderson, good morning. We're right on time this morning and the forecast is for clear skies and smooth air. How was the fishing, golf and the spa?"

When she received her paycheck the next week, she was quite pleased to find a $1,000 tip from her flight to the swanky mountain resort!