“But I’m not looking for a regular job, Uncle Stu,” Rebecca replied with determination. “I’m a pilot. I’ve been a pilot for over ten years.”
“And you were one of the best,” the Senator concluded. “But times are tough now. Competition for women in male-dominated jobs everywhere was always tough, and I don’t foresee it ever getting any easier.”
“I’ll put my record against anyone else’s,” Rebecca fired back. “But I’m getting aced out by low-time rookies. I’m losing jobs to guys that have no jet time, even zero turbine time. I’m losing out to guys with fresh commercial tickets! Look, I’m a flyer. I enjoy military flying. I know the President is trying to increase the size of the Reserve forces and draw down the active-duty forces, but I just can’t seem to find a unit to take me.”
“Where have you looked?”
“I’ve applied to every Guard and Reserve unit in the country, Uncle Stu,” she said. “I’m on waiting lists in eight units. But I put myself on a mobilization augmentee list in New York so I can get a little better position on the waiting list for an assignment in Plattsburgh, Rome, or Niagara Falls, but that freezes me off the lists in other states.” She looked at her uncle carefully, then lowered her voice respectfully and said, “Uncle Stuart, you’re on the Senate Armed Services Committee, and you’re on the select panel dealing with this new administration’s push for an expanded Reserve force. Can’t you help me break through some of this red tape?”
He ignored her question at first, staying deep in thought about something else. Rebecca was afraid she had overstepped her family bounds by asking for a favor, but what the hell, what were relatives for?
“Why New York? If you want my help, why aren’t you signing up for augmentee slots in Vermont? I’m a senator in Vermont, Rebecca.”
“I love Vermont — you know that,” Rebecca said, “but they have only one military unit, the fighter group in Burlington, and I’ve read that it may be disbanded or moved. New York has more units. I even heard they want to start a Reserve RF-111G bomber unit in Plattsburgh too.”
Stuart Furness looked surprised. “You heard that, did you?”
“It was just a rumor,” Rebecca admitted. “The Air Force was considering a Reserve composite wing, similar to the active-duty wings, where each base has its own mini-air force — fighters, bombers, tankers, transports, all that stuff.”
“You seem to be very well informed.”
“Unemployed people have a lot of time to read the papers, Uncle Stu.” She paused, scanning her uncle’s distant, thoughtful expression for a moment, then: “What is it, Uncle Stu? You heard something about the new wing in Plattsburgh? They’re really going to do it? An all-Reserve composite air battle wing?”
“Yes,” he finally said, speaking to her but still lost in thought. “New York State has approved the expansion of the base for up to eight thousand military and civilian personnel, and expanded flight operations. They want to move a squadron of F-16 fighters, KC-135 tankers, and your RF-111 reconnaissance planes there.”
“They are? That’s great!” Rebecca crowed. “Can you get me an appointment to meet the new commander? Uncle Stu, I would be forever grateful. I’d really make you proud of me.” She paused as she noticed that lost, faraway stare again. “You can’t recommend me for a slot? Because I’m not a Vermont resident?” No reaction. “Because I’m a woman? Is that it?”
“No, that’s not it … well, in a way, it is,” Senator Furness stumbled. “There are a few provisions of the bill that I don’t like. First, they want to take the 158th Interceptor Group out of Burlington and move them to Plattsburgh to form the new air battle wing.”
“I’m sure you can work out something.”
“I don’t want to just give it away, Rebecca,” Stuart Furness said. “Having a military base in your home state that another state wants has real value.”
“Can’t they just take it? Can’t the Pentagon just order it moved?”
“They can, and they have tried,” Senator Furness said. “But although we have a Democrat in the White House and a Democratically controlled Congress, we Republicans in the Senate can still shake things up a bit. They want the 158th — and they want a lot more, too. So they’re going to have to pay for it.”
“What other things do they want?”
“The big one, Rebecca. The Great Experiment. Women in combat. They want to start putting women in some combat positions this year.”
“You’re kidding! They’re really going to do it?”
“The President made a promise during his State of the Union address, and it looks like he’s going to keep it.” Senator Furness sighed. “A draft resolution has been in the works for years, but it’s never made it out of committee. The Senate sent it to committee last week. My committee.” He stood, walked to the front of his desk, and sat on a corner to be closer to his niece. “I’m opposed to the measure.”
“You are?”
“I think women have no business in the military, period, to be perfectly honest,” her uncle said. “But women in combat, I feel, would be a great mistake. But be that as it may, the House and the President have decided that women should be allowed into certain combat specialties. Top of the list will be Air Force female combat pilots.” He paused, studying his niece. She wore an excited expression with a hint of a smile. “Your thoughts, Rebecca?”
“I think it’s about time,” Rebecca replied quickly. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“Even with certain … extraordinary conditions?”
“What sort of conditions?”
The Senator ticked off the ideas one by one on his fingers, watching his niece carefully for her reactions. “One, they must be experienced — no UPT graduates or FAIPs — First-Assignment Instructor Pilots. Captain or higher, aircraft commander, with at least two thousand hours’ total time as pilot in command.”
“Nothing extraordinary about that,” Rebecca said.
“I’m not finished, my dear. Two — and it’s the big one — mandatory, flight-surgeon-supervised, long-term contraception or voluntary sterilization.”
“What?” Rebecca retorted. “Sterilization? Why?”
“Two reasons. One, pregnant women who strap on a G-suit, climb around fuel and hydraulic fluid, and start pulling lots of Gs can harm a fetus, and I would hate to see that. Children, even unborn children, mean everything to me, and I will not pass a law that could knowingly harm an innocent child.
“Secondly, a woman captured during wartime will get raped by her captors,” the Senator continued. “No nation locked in war, even those who hold human rights dear, as we do, can guarantee that women captured in combat will not be raped. Obviously the woman can’t be concerned with oral contraceptives, because she won’t have them after captivity, so the contraceptive method would have to be long-term and unobtrusive, like Norplants or sterilization.”
“Norplants?”
“Subcutaneous implants that meter hormones into the body. It lasts for two to three years. You’ve heard about ’em.”
“I should think women would consider that a violation of their rights or something.”
“Many will. But women need to make a choice — combat or children. If you want the gift of being able to carry a child, you can’t go off to fight. If you want the right to bear arms to defend your country, you should be willing to accept the responsibility of not exposing an unborn human being to such danger.”
Rebecca Furness was watching her uncle in stunned silence — she found herself nodding in agreement. “Actually, it… you know, Uncle Stuart, it makes sense to me as well. But are you proposing that women who fly in combat can’t have children at all?”