In one of his very few politically savvy moves concerning the military, the new President eventually invited those officers RIFed in 1992 to join a new program, called the Enhanced Reserve Program, which was meant to increase the capability and viability of the Reserves and National Guard while continuing steep cuts in the peacetime active-duty forces. After all, even with an eye on a huge deficit, the President knew he had to look like a true commander in chief, especially since he had evaded the draft during his own call to duty years ago.
Half of the Reserves and two-thirds of the National Guard were placed under the Standard Reserve Program, or SRP — their basic commitment was one weekend per month and two weeks per year, plus occasional meetings, training schools, and other functions. Those in high-tech specialties such as aviation were placed under the new Enhanced Reserve Program, or ERP, a sort of part-time military where members served at least fourteen days per month, including one continuous week of intensive refresher training. Members in the ERP received approximately half of their active-duty pay, but no other free benefits such as medical care, educational programs, base exchange, or commissary — it was still a cost-cutting system, so all possible benefits and incentives had been eliminated or were offered at reduced cost to members. Reserve and Air National Guard bases were either collocated with municipal airports or were drastically downsized — the base personnel, most of them Reservists, had to rely on the local economy for goods, services, and housing.
Many military experts, including the very vocal members of the Joint Chiefs, feared that the United States was shooting itself in the foot by decreasing the size of the full-time military forces so much — by the end of 1994, the Reserves and Guard composed nearly 50 percent of the total U.S. military force, as opposed to only 30 percent two years earlier. The military budget as a whole was reduced — amid bloodbaths in Congress — by a full 40 percent. The cost savings were staggering. Although the direct effect on the budget after the first year was negligible, the second year the Air Force alone had realized a full 10-percent savings — over 8 billion dollars in just one year. The savings in the future were expected to go even higher, while the national debt was continuing to fall.
As long as no serious world conflicts broke out, the target was a Reserve force of 600,000 men and women, or 60 percent of the total one-million-person American military, by the end of 1996. Of a total 380,000-person Air Force in 1996, over 260,000 were expected to be Reservists or Air National Guard troops.
For the next seven days, Rebecca Furness would leave her business, leave Ed, leave her life on the “outside,” and become a soldier.
Furness logged off the computer terminal, finished the last of the coffee, and made her way upstairs to get ready to report to the base. The Enhanced Reserve Program created hardships for a lot of its members because of the amount of time it required, but Rebecca loved it — and needed it. Having Liberty Air Service was challenging, fulfilling, and gave her the time to keep flying for the U.S. Air Force, building up points for retirement — but it paid very, very poorly. Expenses and insurance costs were high, and surviving the lean winter months was always difficult, so her salary was always the first to get cut. She had made the decision to trade in a big portion of her piston fleet for a few turboprop planes to give her more of a year-round cargo and passenger capability, and that had decreased her margin even more. She needed this ERP position to keep herself afloat.
Rebecca showered, staying under the hot water a long time to shave her legs and let the sharp stream of water massage her tense shoulders — hot showers were the only luxury she could still afford. No flying was scheduled today, but just going out to Plattsburgh Air Force Base, the oldest military installation in the United States, and its very busy flight line, always made her a bit tense. After staying in the shower a few minutes longer than she really had time for, she slipped into a big fluffy bathrobe to stay warm and continued to get ready.
For the flyers like Furness, Hell Week was designed as a sort of mini-deployment, so they had to pack their standard deployment items in a big B-4 duffel bag: two flight suits, six pairs of heavyweight socks, thermal underwear, toiletries, T-shirts, and underwear. Since an arctic deployment was possible (and some U.S. non-Arctic bases, such as Plattsburgh, were sometimes cold enough to resemble Arctic bases anyway), they also brought along thick knee-high mukluks, large woolly mittens, fur caps, wool facemasks, and jacket liners. Rebecca had packed most of this stuff the night before, but she did a double-check since there would be an inspection first thing after reporting in.
After rechecking everything in the bag against a predeployment checklist, she zipped the bag up and began to get dressed. Every Hell Week started with a personal inspection, all by regulation — AFR 35–10 (uniform, personal grooming, standards of appearance), AFR 35–11 (weight standards), AFR 36–20 (drug and alcohol screening), AFR 40–41 (civil violations and records check), AFR 50-111 (emergency procedures and aircraft technical order knowledge), and ACC 20–89 (deployment and emergency aircraft dispersal). Anyone not complying with any part of those regulations would be written up in their permanent records and sent home to fix the problem, with a loss of one day’s Reserve pay and an “incomplete” for their ERP commitment. Three “incompletes” would mean expulsion from the program.
Flight suits were the uniform of the day, and she had hers cleaned, pressed, and ready to go. Because flight suits chafed so much in the crotch (they were still not allowed to alter their flight suits), she first put on a pair of men’s long boxer shorts. They looked silly as hell, but it sure made wearing a rough baggy flight suit all day at least bearable.
“I really hate it when you wear those things,” a voice behind her said. Ed Caldwell had finally come to life. He gave her a pat on the bottom as he stalked toward the bathroom.
“When have I heard that before?” she asked. Ed didn’t reply, so she continued dressing: heavy wool socks, athletic brassiere, thermal underwear top, dog tags, then the flight suit. It was just starting to feel comfortably warm.
She had just zipped the flight suit up when Ed, still naked despite the near-freezing temperatures, emerged from the bathroom. This time he stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her, burying his stubbly cheeks into the back of her neck to give her a nuzzly kiss. “Mmmm, you feel so good, even in that flight suit.”
Rebecca smiled, arched her neck back a bit, and gave him a light kiss on his stubbly cheek. She had been seeing Ed Caldwell for a little over two years, and exclusively for the last year.
Like other lovers and boyfriends before him, Ed had nothing to do with the military or the Reserves. After Rebecca had joined the Reserves, she decided to maintain her no-date policy regarding her fellow officers. Yes, a whisper still passed her ear now and then, questioning her preferences, but far less than when she’d been on active duty. People in the “real world,” it seemed to her, were far more tolerant, far less judgmental, than some of the active-duty boys. After all, Reservists had other lives, had to work daily with people of every variation and lifestyle, religion and color … a far broader range than what you’d find in active duty. When she thought about it, the Reservists had to be a bit more … politically correct. Pull some of the stuff in civilian life that the fly-boys tried in the armed forces, and a corporation would kick them out so fast their heads would spin. “Tailhook,” she was convinced, would never have happened at a private-industry convention.
Ed’s large hands roamed up and down her flight suit while she was trying to finish zipping it up. “I’m freezing, Becky, you gotta warm me up.”