“Elias,” she said slowly. “We can’t go to Vagar if the weather closes. We don’t have the fuel for Oslo. We have to go to Keflavik before they close.”
Her first officer, a sharp but nervous young man named Elias, was flipping through his tablet. “Lena, the alternate is Vagar in the Faroe Islands. But our holding fuel… I’m getting a red flag on the drift-down calculation after engine failure at Bergen hold.”
“Sixty-three-point-five.”