I’m heartbroken to share that my friend Capt. Rebecca Lobach died in Wednesday evening’s crash near DC’s National Airport.
Rebecca was brilliant and fearless, a talented pilot and a PT stud. We trained and commissioned together from @UNCArmyROTC, and we had a lot of fun along the way, too.
We were both latecomers to the ROTC program, enrolling partway through the third year, and quickly bonded over being the new kids on the block.
Rebecca and I were in a training platoon together by coincidence during summer basic camp at Fort Knox in 2018. On “branch day,” when the cadets got to explore the different Army officer career paths, she and I were walking together through a field where a bunch of helicopters were parked.
She was a few feet in front of me when she stopped, turned, and pointed out an MH-6 Little Bird (an incredibly small helicopter!). She shot me a mischievous smile and said something like, “Think we can both fit?”
My dear readers: I am 6’6”, and Rebecca (a former college basketball player) is at least 5’8”. But I’ll be damned if we didn’t somehow stuff ourselves into that cockpit. My neck hurt, and I don’t think we would’ve been able to fly it very well, but we were both beaming in the selfie she took.
Our Linda’s Downbar trivia team — Two Man, Two Woman Wolfpack — was rarely victorious but was never defeated. “Not Last!” was our team motto. We sucked at the music round because all four of us had identical taste.
Rebecca played a crucial role in helping me navigate the hardest periods of my personal life. Our friend group sustained me and kept me engaged when every fiber of my being wanted to just go numb to this world. I owe her so much.
We stayed in touch after she commissioned as an active duty Black Hawk pilot, and I as an HR officer in the NC Army National Guard. After I went into journalism, she would call me when I wrote a funny or interesting story.
I wish we’d taken a photo together when we had lunch a year ago. I wish I’d remembered to invite her to a party I hosted a week ago. I wish she weren’t dead.
You are so missed, Rebecca. This world won’t be the same without you.
Rebecca was brilliant and fearless, a talented pilot and a PT stud. We trained and commissioned together from @UNCArmyROTC, and we had a lot of fun along the way, too.
We were both latecomers to the ROTC program, enrolling partway through the third year, and quickly bonded over being the new kids on the block.
Rebecca and I were in a training platoon together by coincidence during summer basic camp at Fort Knox in 2018. On “branch day,” when the cadets got to explore the different Army officer career paths, she and I were walking together through a field where a bunch of helicopters were parked.
She was a few feet in front of me when she stopped, turned, and pointed out an MH-6 Little Bird (an incredibly small helicopter!). She shot me a mischievous smile and said something like, “Think we can both fit?”
My dear readers: I am 6’6”, and Rebecca (a former college basketball player) is at least 5’8”. But I’ll be damned if we didn’t somehow stuff ourselves into that cockpit. My neck hurt, and I don’t think we would’ve been able to fly it very well, but we were both beaming in the selfie she took.
Our Linda’s Downbar trivia team — Two Man, Two Woman Wolfpack — was rarely victorious but was never defeated. “Not Last!” was our team motto. We sucked at the music round because all four of us had identical taste.
Rebecca played a crucial role in helping me navigate the hardest periods of my personal life. Our friend group sustained me and kept me engaged when every fiber of my being wanted to just go numb to this world. I owe her so much.
We stayed in touch after she commissioned as an active duty Black Hawk pilot, and I as an HR officer in the NC Army National Guard. After I went into journalism, she would call me when I wrote a funny or interesting story.
I wish we’d taken a photo together when we had lunch a year ago. I wish I’d remembered to invite her to a party I hosted a week ago. I wish she weren’t dead.
You are so missed, Rebecca. This world won’t be the same without you.
It will always haunt me that I covered her death without realizing it. I checked on her after I saw the crash, but I didn’t notice the text failed to deliver until the next day, after I’d penned two stories.
(The Army announced her identity — in accordance with her family’s wishes — at 5 p.m. before I made these posts.)
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