We were undulating above and below Flight Level 370 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 downwind of the Rockies were significant, and substantial throttle movement was needed to prevent a low-speed stall or a high-speed (Mach) buffet.
The captain, however, was timid with the thrust levers. Airspeed excursions became larger and more dangerous. As a new first officer, I was reluctant to criticize his airmanship. Finally, the airspeed indicator rapidly accelerated toward the barber pole (redline), and the captain reduced power only slightly, not nearly enough to avoid sounding the maximum-airspeed warning bell. I suggested to him that he reduce power more aggressively, but he did not respond. I grabbed the thrust levers and brought the power of the four turbojet engines to almost idle. But it was too late to prevent the alarm from ringing (albeit momentarily); supersonic shock waves developed on the wings, causing a noticeable and disturbing buffet.
"I was going to do that," groused the veteran captain. He glared at me in a way that said I would be doing a "rug dance" in the chief pilot's office upon returning to our domicile the next day. My career was on the line, and an icy silence permeated the cockpit for the remainder of the flight.
When we arrived at our hotel in Boston, the captain asked me to meet him in the coffee shop. The flight engineer was also invited, probably, I thought, to witness an unmerciful tongue-lashing. Instead, the captain apologized. After reviewing the situation, he conceded that I was within my right to assume momentary command of the airplane. He thanked me, paid for our dinner (an unheard-of gesture from an airline captain), and suggested that we drop the matter. I was lucky. Another captain might not have understood and tolerated my assertiveness.
The role of a copilot is to support the captain and assist him as necessary. But the first officer also is accountable for the safe conduct of a flight, not to mention preserving his gluteus maximus. A copilot occasionally must walk a tightrope between subservience and survival. Problems develop when these responsibilities are in conflict, and he is forced to perform in a way that could be interpreted by an unreasonable captain as mutinous. This is especially true with two-man crews when a third pilot is unavailable to help sort out the facts during an investigation.
Although my incident relates to airline and business jet operations, it can be applied in various ways to general aviation. Assume, for example, that you are flying with someone more experienced, as a guest in his airplane. At some point during the flight you sense that your host is jeopardizing safety and is unresponsive to your concern. This can be a delicate and difficult situation. The less-experienced pilot in the right seat might trust excessively in the experience of the pilot in command and allow conditions to develop to a point where intervention cannot prevent what fate has in mind.
If you become uncomfortable about a developing situation, do not hesitate to challenge the other pilot (tactfully, at first) about his handling of the flight. Attempt to extract a reasonable explanation for his course of action. This normally serves as a trigger that causes a pilot to rethink the situation.
A genuinely good pilot is one with more than experience and stick-and-rudder adroitness. He also is considerate of a passenger's concern and is willing to act as necessary to alleviate anxiety. If he does not, then you might have to consider other options, which could eventually include having to wrest control from your more experienced host. Sound difficult? It is, but it could be a key to survival that you must be prepared to use. Such unexpected action on your part should at least relay to the other pilot the depth of your concern. But what if he is right and you are wrong? Such is the dilemma with which every first officer has had to cope.
There are no easy answers to these problems. Perhaps the best solution is to avoid such a dilemma in the first place. This is most easily accomplished by not flying with anyone whose judgment you do not respect. I don't object to flying in the right seat with a stranger in the left, because I am confident of my ability and assertiveness and am prepared to use them should it become necessary. I will not, however, sit in the rear seat of a lightplane with a stranger in command of my destiny. I have lost friends who yielded control to someone they did not know and had no reason to trust.
Another difficulty arises when you observe a pilot engaging in unsafe practices. Such a situation calls for discussing the problem with him in a sincere manner and attempting to show him the error of his ways. This must be done even at the risk of alienating a friend. After all, what kind of friend is it who accepts the errant and dangerous ways of another? If this fails, it might become necessary to report the problem to someone he respects, including the FAA. Turning a deaf ear on safety can make you morally responsible for the fate of another's passengers. Such a responsibility must not be taken lightly.