WASHINGTON -- The Dance

Five hours into the flight, we needed to feed our beast with JP8 jet fuel. At 27,000 feet, you don't find too many gas stations, unless you are the Maine Air National Guard. Lt. Col. Johnny Johnson taps me on the shoulder and escorts me to the flight deck. On hand are 3 pilots from the 16th Airlift Squadron from Charleston AFB. There is Capt. Eric Faulk who would execute the "AR" (that's Air Force lingo for Aerial Refueling). Then there are two other pilots including Capt. Jessica Pearson and Capt. Zach Hall. They look young ... really young. I took my seat in the right additional crew member. I put on the headphones so I could hear them and then just watched.

Barely seen in the sky to our front was a plane at about the same level as us. At such a distance I could not make out anything but that it was a "plane." It seemed to hover in the sky. The pilots all then began the "drill" all the while the other plane grew larger and larger. Zach pulled out the checklist and the AR pilot, Eric, began to quickly work through it. Soon all the necessary switches were flipped, buzzers sounded, radios set, lights on, belts buckled and gum firmly set in Eric's teeth ready to chew.

Over the next 12 minutes, Eric slowly "walks" our "elephant" closer to the other "elephant" making speed corrections in 1 mph increments. We finally arrive at the "pre-contact" position about 50 feet from the tip of the boom. Now the window of our C-17 is fully filled with the wings and body of the KC-135. Eric is now fully focused despite the afternoon sun blazing brightly in his eyes. No time to drift off in a daydream. Engage gum chewing vigorously. Eric stabilizes the aircraft. Zach is calling out distance and instrument readings. Jessica is monitoring the radios. Slowly, Eric inches closer to the other behemoth. Fifty feet ... 40 ... 30 ... 20 ... 10 feet. It takes time, patience and a very steady hand. The boom operator and Eric are talking in short, curt orders. Each is setting up for the dance - the ballet of metal at altitudes above the mountaintops. Though there is room to back off and try again, there is no room for error up here. You must hold your airspeed at 265 mph; not 260 or 270 mph. You must line up exactly. The fact the air between the two aircraft is being buffeted because there are two huge aircrafts plowing their way through is irrelevant. You've got to fly the inches and that is just what Eric and the boom operator did. They flew the inches expertly.

Within seconds of the tip of the boom moving behind us and out of site, toward the aircraft's fill point, there is a metallic click and the flow of fuel begins. The music has started for the "elephants" and the "dance has begun." Eric continued to focus on the yellow and white line reference markers and lights on the bottom of the aircraft making small but continuous corrections to speed, altitude, angle and pitch. Minutes crawl by as gallons of fuel are moved from one aircraft to another at 265 mph and 27,000 feet in the sky. Eric continues to gently move his "elephant" back and forth in time with the other elephant led by other pilots. Soon, the balance of weight changes from one aircraft to the other due to the fuel. Our "elephant" is heavier and less responsive. Eric continues the corrections in time with the boom operator. Still connected and for a period of time we are one big metal giant stick figure in the sky.

More time passes. Eric has to stay focused but relax. He talks ... more accurately, he chatters. This chatter is "focused dialogue" as someone thinks out loud during a difficult task. Eric keeps chewing the gum slowly turning it between cheek and gum. He can't move much but his fingers. He can't move his feet or even his eyes. He must concentrate fully on the task at hand. If the fuel boom pops out of the bracket, both aircrafts will have to reset and do it all again. We don't have time or safety margin for too many of those.

Slowly, tanks are filled until they reach 160,000 pounds. This is the minimum. If we had to separate, we could and still reach our next stop but that's not the purpose of this dance. We keep drinking the fuel into our tanks. Zach keeps monitoring the instruments, hand on the throttle backing up and cheering on Eric. Jessica is watching with a trained eye. I am in the right seat drooling in amazement.

Soon we reach completion of our task. Eric keeps chattering about how he'll separate by dropping speed and speed brakes and throttles and stuff that made little sense to me. Jessica is still working the radios and GPS navigation system. Me, I am awestruck of all this metal in our windshield. I can't wipe the goofy, "holy cow" smile off my face. How many folks have seen this? I would say not too many.

At 90,000 pounds Zach puts his face in the windshield and gives a big smile and a thumbs up marking the end of our task. Some more chatter between elephants and then, the boom is detached. Slowly, like tired bar room brawlers who can't gain advantage in a fight, both drift away from each other. As they separate, notes on tail numbers, amount of fuel, time and such are traded between aircraft. A minute later, both aircraft turn away from each other and part company with agreed to salutations and verbal jousting found within any military community.

With a smooth and steady hand, we slowing move back up to altitude and speed and continue on our trip. Zach and Jessica are back-slapping Eric for such a good job. Jessica jumps in the pilot seat to relieve Eric. Zach maintains continuity during the switch. I am still staring out the window amazed at what I have just seen because I know that one error, one miscalculation, one judgment that isn't right and bad things could start to happen. That is a road no one wants to go down, but it was smooth, precise and professional. These guys and gals are all studs in flight suits doing their part to make Charleston and Bangor proud. I got nothing on these guys. Hang it up, Dave. Keep drooling out the window.

So how do elephants dance? I can tell you how because I've seen it. They can do it at 27,000 feet in the sky and at 265 mph, smoothly and precisely unbeknownst to anyone in the back.

I guess it adds new meaning to "dancing with the stars."

(This commentary is the last in a two-part series).