As it turned out, Rebecca and her squadron became the heroes of the war, leading a joint Ukrainian-American-Turkish air armada that managed to temporarily blind and deafen the entire command-and-control system in southwest Russia. Russia had no option but to stop its offensive and withdraw its military forces from Ukraine and other neighboring republics.
From then on, Rebecca Furness’s rising star became a shooting star that seemed unstoppable. She was given the choicest assignments available and promoted at every possible opportunity. It was Rebecca’s example that designed the shape of the United States Air Force’s structure for the next decade: drawing down the size of the active-duty force and giving more and more war-fighting responsibility to Reserve forces. She was quickly promoted to full colonel and became the first female wing commander of a combat strike unit, the 111th Bomb Wing of the Nevada Air National Guard, flying the B-1B Lancer supersonic bomber from Reno-Tahoe International Airport. Following successful action against Chinese and North Korean forces after the reunification of the Korean Peninsula, as well as her efforts over Russia and the Balkans, Rebecca was promoted to brigadier general.
Daren’s career wasn’t at all meteoric — in fact, it was virtually stagnant. Although he crewed with Rebecca in the RF-111G and was responsible for the successful planning and execution of the raid on the Domodedovo underground military command center south of Moscow, he kept his “black cloud” reputation for always being in the middle of the action when things went bad. When the RF-111G program was canceled a short time after the Russia-Ukraine conflict, Daren continued to be steered into quiet, out-of-the-way assignments. He was eventually promoted to full colonel without any fanfare. He did manage to complete all the service schools required for him to assume command of a flying unit, including the Air War College, the Joint Forces Warfighting College, and the Industrial College of the Air Force. But he still lacked operational command experience.
Now he stepped over to the passenger-side window of her GMC Yukon, and she rolled down the window. “Holy cow, Rebecca,” he said. “What a surprise.”
“Daren Mace. Yes, it is a surprise.” She glanced over his shoulder at the flashing black-cat sign in front of Donatella’s. “I see you’re not hanging out at biker bars anymore. Getting the ‘lay’ of the land?”
Daren suddenly realized what she meant, and he couldn’t stop his face from falling in shock. “I… no, I didn’t… I mean, I went in, but I didn’t—”
“It’s okay, Colonel,” she interrupted. “Paying money to have sex with strange women is perfectly legal in Lander County — pathetic and sad, but still legal.” She rolled up the window and sped off.
This assignment is starting off just great, he thought ruefully. Just great.
It was not far to the base from Donatella’s. Daren Mace liked to show up at a new assignment several days early and wander around anonymously to get the overall layout and a sense of the pace, the tone, and the mood of the place. But he quickly realized that this place didn’t have a pace, a tone, or a mood — in fact, it didn’t have very many paved roads, a front gate, or even very many human beings for that matter.
The government had been working on Battle Mountain Air National Guard Base, outside the town of Battle Mountain in north-central Nevada, for three years, and they had virtually nothing to show for it. All he could see were a few sterile-looking multistory buildings scattered across the high desert plain. There was a runway out there, of course: twelve thousand feet long, he knew, three hundred feet wide, stressed to take a million-pound aircraft, but he couldn’t see it at all. He remembered reading the Internet articles about the world’s biggest boondoggle — a twelve-thousand-foot-long runway in the middle of nowhere, with no air base around the monstrous strip of reinforced concrete. The control tower’s location didn’t give a clue as to where the runway was, because there was no control tower.
Further, it really didn’t look like very much work was being done now — he would’ve thought there’d be armies of construction workers swarming all over the place. What had they been doing here all that time? Was this base going to open or not? He did see a few aircraft hangars and decided that was the only place his new unit could be.
As it turned out, Battle Mountain Air Force Base did have a security force — a few minutes after driving onto the base, he was stopped by a patrol car. “Good evening, Colonel Mace,” the officer, an Air Force sergeant, greeted him, after stepping up to his car and snapping a salute. “I’m Sergeant Rollins, One-eleventh Attack Wing Security Forces. Welcome to Battle Mountain Air Force Base.”
Mace returned the salute. “How do you know who I am, Sergeant?”
“We’ve been monitoring your arrival, sir,” Rollins replied. “I’ve been asked to start your in-processing.”
“ ‘In-processing’?” Mace asked incredulously. He looked at his jogger’s Timex. “It’s seven p.m. Is the Support Group still open for business?”
“I just need your ID card and orders, sir,” Rollins said. After Mace fished out the paperwork from his briefcase, the sergeant held out a device and asked Mace to put both his thumbprints on it, like an electronic inkpad. “Thank you. Please stand by, sir,” the sergeant said, and he returned to his vehicle with Mace’s ID card and orders. Mace had to wait almost ten minutes and was just on the verge of getting out of the car to complain about the delay — but he was pleasantly surprised when the officer returned with a base decal, an updated ID card, a flight-line pass, and a restricted-area pass. Mace looked at all the documents in wonder. “Where did you get this photograph?” he asked, motioning to the new ID card.
“I took it, sir.”
“When?”
“The moment I walked up to your vehicle, sir,” the officer replied. Sure enough, the guy’s flashlight contained a tiny digital camera, because the face on the picture was him, sitting in his car.
“You can’t use that picture on my ID cards, Sergeant,” Mace protested. “I’m not in uniform. I haven’t even shaved yet.”
“Doesn’t matter, sir,” the officer responded. “We use biometric identification equipment now — you could have a month’s growth and we’d still be able to ID you. We’ve already taken your picture a dozen times since you’ve been driving around the base. We’ve registered your vehicle and correlated the registration with your identity, we’ve scanned you and your vehicles, and we’ve even noted that you’re carrying unloaded weapons in your trunk. If you’d like, I can register them for you right now.” Mace opened the trunk for the officer and took the guns out of their locked cases. The officer simply scanned the weapons with his flashlight again, and minutes later he had electronically added the registration information to Mace’s ID card. “You’re all in-processed,” he announced.
“I’m what?”
“Security Forces can network in with the wing’s computer system from our cars, so we can initiate in-processing when the newcomers arrive on base, sir,” Rollins said. “Everything’s been done — housing, pay and allowances, official records, medical, pass and ID, uniforms — even predeployment. You’ll be notified by e-mail if anyone needs to see you in person, such as the flight surgeon or base dentist. Orientation briefings are conducted by videoconference or by computer. Your unit duty section and the wing commander’s office have also been notified that you’re on base. Are there any questions I can answer for you, sir?”
“Is there a base gym?”