Lady Flyer, page 30
When Mrs. Fort answered, Nancy’s emotions pricked. The woman sounded so much like Cornelia.
“I’m glad you’ve arrived safely, Mrs. Love,” Mrs. Fort said. “Please come over to our home. Everyone would like to meet you.”
Nancy agreed, and after hanging up, she turned to B.J. “Let’s see if Major Dunlap is in the lobby yet.” There was no delaying what was going to happen today, so there was no use hanging out in the hotel room any longer. “Mrs. Fort has invited us to her home.”
The skin around B.J.’s eyes was tight, but she nodded. “I wish we could give them answers since that’s what they’ll be hoping for.”
“Most likely.” Nancy picked up her WAFS cap and gloves. “We might not have any new information to share with them, but we can at least tell them about their daughter’s selfless service.”
“Very true,” B.J said, and it turned out they were absolutely right.
Nancy and her group were introduced all around to members and extended members of Cornelia’s family. Major Dunlap had carried the boxes of Cornelia’s belongings in through the side door, and the family would go through her things later, thankfully, since Nancy knew she couldn’t bear to be around to see it. Packing them up had been heart-wrenching enough.
All eyes were on them as they sat perched on a couch, surrounded by vases of funeral flowers and condolences notes, when Mrs. Fort asked them to explain exactly how Cornelia’s plane had gone down.
Nancy released a breath and looked at Dunlap, who nodded for her to answer.
“We don’t have the official report yet.” Nancy tried to keep her voice from quaking. It was hard to do because she saw Cornelia’s features in the faces staring back at her. “We only know that there was a midair collision when Frank Stamme clipped her wing. Cornelia’s plane couldn’t recover, and it went into a dive.”
No one seemed surprised at the information, but everyone was clearly upset. One relative was opening crying behind a handkerchief while her red-faced husband kept his arm about her shoulders.
“Did she have a parachute?” someone asked.
“Of course.” Nancy had seen Cornelia wearing one herself. “She didn’t bail out though.”
“Why not?” another asked.
The questions kept coming, and Nancy tried to answer them as best as she could, but it was like sitting in the audience of a theater production—a tragedy—where everyone had their lines to deliver, but the most important person was missing: the leading actress. And everyone was waiting for her to walk onstage, but the minutes ticked by, and she never did. Emotion rose in the room, suffocating and heavy, and grief once again clawed at Nancy’s heart.
Major Dunlap took over at some point, giving Nancy a reprieve. “The moment we receive the report, we’ll notify the family,” he said in a calm, assured voice. “We’re very anxious to find out what failed in the mission and how it can be prevented in the future.”
“It could have been prevented if Stamme hadn’t flown into her,” someone muttered.
Dunlap lifted his hand. “We don’t know what happened. From all accounts, it was an accident. Let’s not dish out blame until we have the official report.”
Heads bobbed in agreement, but the pain in the room had become a sharp knife, cutting through everyone. When Nancy lost her brother, she’d endured myriad emotions. The pain over the loss of Cornelia was still fresh, still new, and even more so for her family. Nancy understood their shock and grief, and even when their questions were all answered, it would still take time to heal.
After Dunlap had answered the rest of the questions that were possible to answer, Mrs. Fort approached Nancy. “If you’d like to say a few words at the funeral, we can make room for it.”
Nancy would have loved to say yes . . . but dread vibrated through her. Dread at losing her stoic battle of calm and breaking down in front of everyone. This day was about Cornelia and her family’s loss, and it shouldn’t be about how Nancy Love couldn’t stop crying.
“I don’t want to detract from the other speakers,” she told Mrs. Fort quietly. “And I don’t think I could put my feelings into words, but I want you to personally know that I miss her terribly. I loved her and loved her passion for our country.”
Mrs. Fort’s eyes filled, and she clutched at Nancy’s hand. “I know one thing,” she said in a quavering voice. “If she could have chosen a way to die, it would have been doing it in the service of her county, in an Army airplane.”
Nancy wiped the tears falling onto her own cheeks and embraced Mrs. Fort. It was too bad that Cornelia was not eligible for military burial or honors and that the family wouldn’t be allowed to drape her casket with an American flag. If anyone deserved the honor, Cornelia Fort did.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“‘P-47 cleared for takeoff.’ I pushed the throttle to twenty-seven hundred RPM’s. The sudden power pushed me back against the seat as I rolled down the runway. I was off in nothing flat. I had the flaps and gear retracted as I passed over the end of the runway. That engine was purring like a kitten as I climbed to altitude over the practice area at eight thousand feet. I flew some basic maneuvers, shallow, medium and steep turns. The stalls unnerved me, but I was amazed at the clean recovery.”
—Teresa James, July 5, 1943
April 1943—Washington, DC
Nancy knew she’d have to get back to reality soon enough, but she hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon. As everyone waited for the official report on the death of Cornelia Fort, Nancy flew with Dunlap and B.J. to Washington, DC, in the C-47.
B.J. took the opportunity to visit her former squadron mates at New Castle.
Nancy was more than happy to see Bob, to feel his arms around her, to be able to talk in person, especially since he’d be heading to England on an ATC assignment soon. But then she was suddenly inundated with policy changes coming in from Ferrying headquarters, and it cut her time with Bob in half.
She might have been caught up in grieving over Cornelia, but the directives arriving over the past couple of days from Washington, DC, were getting more and more ridiculous. It was one thing to restrict female pilots hitching rides on bomber planes piloted by males, but it was another to hand down the new regulation that a woman could no longer copilot with a male pilot on bombers.
Nancy wanted to keep the WAFS free from reproach and scandal as much as anyone, but the phone call from Del Scharr, who was heading up the women’s 3rd Ferrying Squadron in Romulus, set Nancy’s blood boiling.
“Read it through again,” Nancy said to Del, taking a seat at Bob’s desk after pacing his office. “I’m going to write this down word for word, then take it to General Smith.”
“You’ll be going over Colonel Tunner’s head if you take this to the chief of staff of the ATC,” Del cautioned.
“Right.” Nancy wasn’t fazed. “Colonel Tunner had to have immediately approved these, or they wouldn’t have gone out to you or any of the other squadron commanders.”
She glanced at Bob, who stood by the door, arms folded, while he listened to her side of the conversation. As Del repeated the policy changes, Nancy’s head ached more with each one. Four policy changes were being made. First, the women of the 3rd Ferrying Squadron would be allowed to only fly light trainer aircraft, which meant nothing bigger than primary trainers. This was a blatant rule made because of Cornelia’s accident.
Nancy wrote it down, her teeth gritted together as her pencil scratched out the unbelievable words. This policy would mean that women couldn’t transition into basic or advanced trainers or twin-engine aircraft. She’d literally been flying the C-47 for weeks.
“What else?” Nancy asked.
“Women will not be given assignments as copilots on bomber ferrying missions,” Del said.
Nancy wrote that down as well. “Next.”
“Women will not be allowed to transition on any high-powered single-engine aircraft.”
Nancy bit back a retort. “Continue.” She waved for Bob to come over to the desk. He crossed the room and leaned over to read what she’d written so far.
“In order to protect women’s morals,” Del said, “they will make their deliveries on alternate days from the male pilots.”
Nancy wrote the words, the pencil becoming dark slashes on the paper.
“And finally, the women pilots are to be sent in opposite directions from the male pilots so they aren’t even crossing paths.”
Nancy wrote the last sentence with added force, nearly tearing the innocent paper. “Thank you, Del.” She drew in a heated breath. “This should surprise me, but unfortunately, it doesn’t. We’ve received a letter from ATC headquarters that women who are pregnant won’t be allowed to ferry. In addition, women will not be allowed to fly one day before, through two days after, their menstrual cycle.”
Del laughed.
Nancy wished she could laugh about it. But since it was a written directive going out to all commanders at the very moment she was on the phone with Del, Nancy couldn’t feel the humor. Instead, she felt like she had a paper cut that wouldn’t heal.
“Are you serious?” Del finally said.
“Yes.” Nancy looked at Bob, whose jaw was like stone. She’d already shared her thoughts on this with him, and he couldn’t fathom why there was this sudden bevy of regulations. “If this restriction stays in place, each WAFS will be grounded 8–9 days per month. And Esther Manning won’t be able to fly at all.” The woman was newly pregnant.
“I feel like we’ve gone back a hundred years in time,” Del commented. “Like we’re standing on a cliff we’ve already climbed a dozen times, and now the wind is forcing us off the edge once again.”
“Exactly, and it’s ridiculous. We aren’t about to accept the ideology that women become hysterical while menstruating.” When she hung up with Del, she faced Bob, and said, “How much do you value your relationship with Colonel Tunner?”
Bob’s stoic expression didn’t change. “Even if you weren’t my wife, Nancy, I’d agree with you. I don’t know why these directives were sent out. Colonel Tunner can worry about nursing his own bruised ego.”
Nancy grasped his hand. “Thank you, Bob.”
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t thank me. This is about fairness and honoring the skills that you and the WAFS have developed through all the proper training. The WAFS shouldn’t be treated so poorly. No one should.”
“I have one more phone call to make,” she said, dialing a number she’d memorized. “Then I’m going to call General Smith’s office to make an appointment.”
Betty Gillies answered the other end. “Nancy, how are you? Are you going to visit New Castle this time around?”
“I’m afraid not,” Nancy said. “There’s a bit of a stirring going on.” After giving Betty the bare bones, Nancy was surprised when Betty didn’t seem perturbed by the new directives.
“As far as I read it, and Colonel Baker reads it, each squadron can run their own team how they see fit.” Betty paused. “Esther will be flying until, you know . . .”
Nancy frowned. “Is she quitting after she delivers her baby?”
“We haven’t talked about that yet,” Betty said. “What I mean is that Esther is going to be flying until she can’t get the stick all the way back in the PT-19.”
Nancy blinked. “Because of the size of her stomach?”
“Exactly.”
Nancy felt some weight slide off her shoulders. “And Colonel Baker is all right with that?”
“He sure is.” Betty paused. “He’s changed his tune a lot around here since you had that talk with him.”
Nancy let a small smile escape. “Glad I could be of service.” She paused. “All right. I’m taking this to General Smith, so stay tuned for more updates. Hopefully ones with lessened restrictions.”
After hanging up with Betty, Nancy felt better. She filled Bob in on the full conversation, but before she could move on to setting an appointment with General Smith, a knock sounded on the door.
Nancy rose from her chair as Bob crossed to answer it.
Tunner stood on the other side, a paper in his hand. “The report has come in on Miss Cornelia Fort.” He glanced at Nancy, but it was all she could do not to glare at him.
She simply nodded, because she didn’t think anything nice would come out of her mouth if she spoke. Bob took the report, then thanked him.
The instant the door shut on Tunner, Nancy was at Bob’s side. “What does it say?”
He handed it over, and they read it together. Cornelia Fort had been exonerated of any blame in the accident. And Frank Stamme’s actions had been ruled as an unfortunate miscalculation—an accident.
But most importantly, Cornelia wasn’t at fault. Nancy grasped Bob’s arm, feeling like her knees might give out. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I can believe it, but I’m so relieved.”
“Agreed.” Bob settled an arm around her shoulders. “Cornelia deserves her name to be remembered with honor, in all things.”
Nancy turned toward her husband and pressed her face against his neck. “I’m so happy for her family. A terrible thing to be happy about, but I know they’ll find more peace this way.”
“Yes.” Bob kissed the top of her head. “They deserve that peace. Their daughter was never to blame.”
“And the WAFS won’t be blemished either.”
“Exactly.”
Even though Nancy was relieved with the news about Cornelia, she had another challenge to surmount. Bob’s heading overseas would put him much closer to the battlefront. She wasn’t thrilled about saying goodbye, but she also knew his meetings in England would only strengthen her case for women pilots in the US.
Her own meeting with General Smith had been hard to decipher. The man had listened to her carefully, taken notes, and seemed to agree with her. Or had he simply been diplomatic because they’d been face-to-face?
Her victory didn’t come until weeks later, on April 17, when General Smith sent out an official response to Nancy’s objections to the new regulations on women pilots.
She was back at Long Beach and called Bob immediately to report, then called Betty. “Listen to what General Smith has handed down,” she told Betty. “It is the desire of this command that all pilots, regardless of sex, be privileged to advance to the extent of their ability in keeping with the progress of aircraft development.”
Betty released a whoop. “Hallelujah! I’ll bet Colonel Tunner is seething.”
Nancy laughed. “Well, he’s not speaking to me, that’s for sure. Bob has kept me informed on that end. Colonel Tunner wasn’t happy I went over his head with my complaints, but I couldn’t wait for the cogs of a very slow machine to turn. Thankfully, General Smith agreed with me.”
“As he should,” Betty said. “As everyone should. Why would the US want to keep itself decades behind the ATA in Britain? We should be the most modern country in the world, yet our women have fewer rights and less respect than women in other parts of the world. Soviet female pilots are flying in bomber regiments, for heaven’s sake. Not only that, but the Soviets also allow women to serve in their army as tank drivers, machine gunners, and snipers.” She released a satisfied sigh. “Now we can transition to the bigger planes and do proper ferrying.”
“Right. Each pilot, male or female, will progress according to their own skills. Not something prescribed by gender.”
A moment of triumphant silence fell between them.
“Do you think that Cornelia’s exoneration had something to do with this?” Betty asked quietly.
“Likely,” Nancy said, equally subdued. “Although it shouldn’t have had to depend on that, I know it helped, for better or for worse. The WAFS are accident-free so far—except for a few bent propellers.”
“Correct,” Betty said. “Now, does Bob know?”
“I called him before this—I woke him up,” Nancy said with a laugh. “A bad habit of mine, but I guess he still loves me. Bob was glad General Smith didn’t chop off my head.”
Betty laughed too. “General Smith wouldn’t be in his position if he were a loose cannon.”
“True.”
Another miracle came the following week, on April 26, this one from Colonel Tunner, who’d been very standoffish toward Nancy—but she’d remained firm in her beliefs.
“I have news,” Nancy said, striding into the mess hall at the Long Beach air base, a file of important paperwork in hand.
B.J. and Barbara Towne looked up from their meals, their expressions expectant.
Nancy could hardly hold back her excitement. “Colonel Tunner has recalled the March 29 directives. Women can now fly when menstruating.”
B.J. and Barbara both clapped, grinning.
Nancy held up a finger. “And if there’s not a qualified WAFS to copilot, we can fly with a man.”
“Someone had sense talked into him,” B.J. declared.
Barbara pointed at Nancy. “I think we’re facing the person who did it.”
Nancy gave a modest shrug, then sat across from them with a coy smile. “Persistence doesn’t always pay off, but in this case, it did.”
B.J. raised her glass and tapped it against Barbara’s.
“I know my husband was baffled,” Barbara continued.
She was married to an AAF pilot, and she was newly pregnant. But she was determined to transition on the P-51 before she could no longer fit in the cockpit.
“Colonel Tunner has also created a pilot classification system,” Nancy continued, setting the file on the table. “This way, pilots can be categorized by the types of airplanes we’re transitioned on. Women and men will be classified equally according to the same qualifications.”
B.J.’s eyes widened. “Smart move. Colonel Tunner has really done an about-face.”
