Hitch leaned back and exhaled. No passengers clapped. No first officer said “nice landing.” But the replay mode was already loading—external view, wing flex, spoilers rising like startled birds.
He called for pushback—mentally. No human copilot tonight. Just the silent ghost of a first officer in the right seat. The tug jerked the 737 back, and Hitch set the parking brake. Left engine start. N1 rotation, fuel flow, EGT rise. The low rumble bloomed into a stable idle. Right engine followed.
“Time to wake up,” he muttered.
