Female Pilots Get Their Shot in the Iraqi Skies

In between flights, Piro and Strye explained that they prefer the Kiowa over other helicopters because it offers them a combat role, plus greater freedom to maneuver. The aircraft, which carries Hellfire and 2.75-inch rockets and has a .50-caliber machine gun, is designed to work "at the tip of the spear" with small units such as tank, Bradley Fighting Vehicle and infantry platoons. "I chose the Kiowa because it works directly with ground units in the combined arms fight," said Piro, a graduate of West Point, where she set a home run record.

The Kiowa's reconnaissance role also appeals to the pilots because it gives them more autonomy. "I have freedom to maneuver on the battlefield and I pick a target," said Strye, who flew hundreds of hours in combat with the 101st Airborne Division during the invasion of Iraq, including heavy fighting in Najaf, Karbala and Hilla. "I suppressed enemy mortar teams, called in indirect [fire] on buildings, using artillery or the Air Force to drop bombs on targets I identified."

When Outlaw Troop arrived in Tall Afar last spring, the city was an insurgent stronghold and Army helicopters were constantly threatened by antiaircraft weapons set up by former Iraqi army air defense officers, regimental commanders said. "Flying fast over the city, you were guaranteed to be hit by small-arms fire," said Strye.

One morning last summer, as dawn broke over Tall Afar's labyrinthine Sarai neighborhood, Piro and Buckhouse were watching a building for an imminent raid. They spotted lookouts on a nearby school. "You get that little tingle in the back of your neck that says something isn't right," recalled Buckhouse, of Racine, Wis.

On the ground, assaulting U.S. ground troops were ambushed from the school and began taking heavy casualties. The fire had the GIs pinned down, and medics couldn't evacuate the wounded. "Outlaw, we need a gun run south of the city," came the radio call.

With Piro at the controls, the Kiowa swooped in from the south to attack with its machine gun. The aircraft was breaking away when suddenly it was hit by a barrage of fire. "We're taking fire left," Buckhouse called out. Piro heard the popping of bullets and felt the helicopter lurch. A round had hit the fuel cell, igniting it. An alarm bell went off in the cockpit.

"We're losing fuel!" Piro said, as the Kiowa started to drop. Buckhouse thought they were about to crash when at the last minute the fuel cell sealed itself, keeping them aloft. Flying low and fast, they made it back to the base. When they landed, they saw the fuselage was split. Piro jumped out and rushed to prepare another aircraft for flight. Ten minutes later, she and Buckhouse took off for another five to six hours of combat.

"We needed to get back out there," Piro said. "We were going to save a guy's life."

Such determination has won the female aviators kudos from cavalry troops on the ground, who said they're glad to hear the women's call signs. But women still face greater scrutiny and restrictions than their male counterparts, according to both men and women in Outlaw.

Soldiers who didn't know the women would slight them over the radio, or defer to male aviators in mission briefings rather than the higher-ranking women, Buckhouse said. "If she had any emotion in her voice or even a crack, the guys [ground troops] would say, 'Say again, you're coming in soft.' No one would ever tell that to a guy," he said.

As an officer, Piro said, she walks a fine line between leading from the front and not offending male soldiers who want to pay her courtesies -- by opening doors for her, for example.

Over dinner in a noisy chow hall, Strye agreed that despite their skill as combat pilots, women face restrictions that make it challenging for them to integrate themselves in mostly male units. One rule bars female and male aviators from entering each other's quarters, while another policy requires escorts for women on base. While aimed at maintaining discipline, the segregation can be isolating, Strye said.

"If all the guys hang out and play poker in one of the guy's rooms, and I'm not allowed in there, I'll never be part of that group. I'll always be on the outside," which makes it harder to cope with the pressures of deployments, she said.

Implicit in the separation, Strye said, is a mistrust that grates on her as a professional. "You trust me to make combat decisions to defeat the enemy," she said, "but don't trust what I do when I go into another person's 'CHU,' " -- a containerized housing unit.

Back home, the sense of standing apart follows the female war veterans as they reenter American society. Strye recalls going out in Nashville after her first tour in Iraq and meeting men who didn't know how to react to her as a combat helicopter pilot. "There's an intimidation factor there. It's not what they're looking for," she said.

Piro is undecided on whether she will stay in the Army. Strye plans to get out in 2007. "I don't want it to be my entire identity. I don't want to be put on a pedestal," she said. "I just want to be Monica."