The Command

“I don’t have any insight into the selection process. It’s service level, opaque to us. But I think that’s precisely why you were chosen. What’s more, you’ve got an open mind. You can give this concept of putting women in combatants a fair trial.” She bent to look out; he saw past her the first emanation of dawn rising from the river. “Yeomen in World War I. Transport pilots in World War II. The navy started them off in transports and hospital ships in the seventies. But so far, they can’t serve on warships.”

“Because Congress says they can’t.”

“Title 10 U.S. Code, para 6015. For years Congress said the code was there because the services wouldn’t accept women. And the services said Congress forced them to continue their exclusionary policies. But Panama and Desert Storm fixed that. Twenty-three women got the Combat Action Ribbon from the Marine Corps alone.”

She touched the computer, keeping it awake, and went on. “Actually, they can serve on combatants, as long as they’re temporary billets. Legal officer on the Independence. If they’re civilians, they can serve in the replenishment ships that refuel the battle groups. The EEOC under Title 7 forced us to let female engineers and technicians accompany combatants on sea trials. So they can go to sea, and they do go to sea … and keeping them out of ship’s company looks more artificial every year. Now the Defense Advisory Council has called for bringing down those statutes. And I agree.”

“I sort of thought you would.”

“It’s not because I’m a woman, smart-ass. The manpower figures say we have to. I’ve tested the waters with the chiefs. The air force chief of staff needs pilots no matter what’s between their legs. The Marine Corps’s against. The army’s divided. The navy’s the swing vote. That’s why we need a demonstration.”

“Horn.”

“In order to overcome a statutory prohibition, we have to do a test program. There’s policy riding on you, Dan.”

“With what as the ultimate agenda?”

“There’s no agenda. Maybe DACOWITS has one, but DoD as a whole does not. Or if we do, it’s to make use of women up to the point where the down side cancels out the up side. Right now nobody knows where that is. The Hill might decide there should be no statutory limits.”

“Not even ground combat?”

“Women are already in ground combat,” Blair said, gesturing with the glasses. “Look at the army. Women can drive supply trucks though a combat zone. But they can’t man an Abrams. If you were going to attack somebody, would it be a tank or a truck full of ammo?”

“The truck.”

“One soldier in Desert Storm, she was trained as a radio operator. They needed truck drivers instead. They showed her how to drive in forward gear, the sergeant told her he’d instruct her in reverse the next day. Only that night the Iraqis attack across the berm and she finds herself driving a tanker full of fuel through an Iraqi minefield, and she can only do it in forward gear.”

She paused, looking into her screen as if into an oracle. “My deepest suspicion is that we’re not really talking about whether women can do these jobs. Everybody knows they can. If they can be street cops in New York, firefighters in L.A. And I don’t think it’s about keeping women from being killed. Women die in every war. I think some people want to exclude women from killing. And the reasons for that make very interesting speculation.”

Dan rolled over, finding the conversation somewhere between fascinating and beyond him. “Such as?”

“All the way from feminist theory to the archetype of the murdering mother.”

“Huh. Well, regardless, I’m getting the feeling certain elements want Horn to crash and burn. Or want me to.”

“Are you saying the naval establishment wants it to fail?”

Dan thought of Niles. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe that’s why they assigned me.”

“Oh, of course. Good God. You don’t say things like that to that exec of yours, do you?”

“I’m not married to her.”

“Dan, I’ve noticed that when it comes to this issue, maybe eighty percent of the guys just want somebody next to them who can do the job. Another ten percent are gung ho for the women. And there’s ten percent who are just assholes. Whatever a girl does is going to be wrong, just because she doesn’t belong in the club.”

“Where do I rank? Angel or asshole?”

“I’d count you in the eighty percent. Which is fair. But you have both supporters and enemies at high levels. Some will try to help you. Others will try to torpedo you. Most will just hang back and watch. I’ll help you all I can, but—”

“No, Blair. No offense, but please don’t try to help me in any way.”

“As I was going to say, I don’t think you want me to. So let’s leave it at that, okay?” She looked back at her computer, frowned, pushed her glasses up again.

His gaze traced her neck into the robe, and from nowhere came the memory of Hotchkiss’s flushed skin, the fine hairs of her nape. The double image pushed metal up his cock. He shifted his legs. “Turn that thing off and come over here.”

“That an order, or an offer?”