Whatever all that stuff above means, I have no idea. My dear old Mum used to delight in telling the tale of a flight from Geneva to London in a York in the fifties. She was sitting in the first row when she heard a bang and and watched incredulously as a glowing white ball filled the whole fuselage and rolled/moved down the ailse at about the speed of a running man, whatever that might be, and dissapeared out of the tail of the aircraft.
I have no reason to doubt her story, well, she is my Mum, after all.