In Dreams - "The Yakuza? On My Plane?"

I was back in my flight crew days, navigating a C-135 crew on a training sortie. As far as I could tell, we were in the continental United States, with a flight plan that took us over the northern plains (North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska). We weren't scheduled for an air refueling, so it was all general navigation and celestial navigation. It was the type of trainer that was normally right up my alley.

This time though, for some reason I was not prepared at all. Normally, I would take care of all my chart prep (drawing the route on a jet navigation chart, highlighting radar targets, etc.) the day before. I didn't this time. Also, there are various forms used for pre-computing celestial nav data and  tracking results that I didn't bring along. Maybe my heart wasn't in the effort this time.

We get airborne, and all is well initially. I'm tracking our progress, so we're not lost (which is any navigator's pet peeve, being "spatially disoriented"). But when it comes time to set up the sextant to view the sun, I remain in my seat, just barely concerned about doing my job. Minutes pass. Finally, my aircraft commander comes back to my station, just to check in, and notices I'm not doing any sextant shots.

Just as I start to fumble around for an excuse, a group of men show up right behind me. It's members of the Yakuza, the fabled Japanese mobsters. They are all in sharp double-breasted suits. None are carrying weapons.

The mobsters start to mess with everything on the aircraft. The open up the parachutes. They open up the insulation which covers the wiring. They open up the over-wing hatches (but nobody falls out of the jet). One guy sees me, assumes I have stuff in my nav bag, opens up the bag, and starts taking out forms, data guides, my plotter & dividers, and other stuff. Most aviators are pretty picky about what they put in their bags & other people mucking around in the bags. Everything in the bag has a purpose, and stuff is arranged for easy/quick access. When that guy started taking stuff out of my bag, I got P.O.d. I'm ready to start a fight.

I got up to punch the guy in the face, but as I got out of my seat suddenly there were 30 or so mobsters around me. My purposed changed, from "starting a fight" to "surviving until we land". All the while, my aircraft commander was in my ear asking "do you have enough time to do your pre-comps? When's your next set of celestial shots?"

I could see my radar scope, and tell we were starting to get off course. The dilemma really set in at that point. Could I turn my back on these gangsters long enough to navigate? Or, if I went back to work would one slit my throat?