I hope this reply is not considered a necro at 10 days, but I feel that, given the OPs almost unbelievably thickheaded responses to the wise counsel granted him by the docs here, a bit of repetition may prove to be the mother of learning, even if it seems as though I am subjecting a deceased equine to relentless pandae chirugi (reverse punches in Tae Kwon Do).
Executive Summary/TL;DR: The only way you will ever be stationed at X as active-duty USAF is if you absolutely never want to be stationed at X. The best hope you have is a documented clinical diagnosis of severe phobia of everything having to do with X, from food, language, culture, clothing, to music, because you were almost beaten to death in your youth by a biker gang from X. This will guarantee you get mandatory orders to report to X tomorrow.
A brief history of my experience with the Air Force assignment system circa 1994-2005:
After anesthesiology residency at Wilford Hall, Lackland AFB, Tx, I wanted to get my mandatory overseas assignment out of the way. I knew that DEROS (Date of Estimated Return from Overseas) was an evil gargoyle that stared down at you mercilessly during your career with an eldritch glare until it was placated by your blood, sweat and tears OCONUS (outside the Continental U.S.). Thus, I optimistically and naively put on my assignment "dream sheet":
1) Germany-- anywhere. I had taught/tutored German at Harvard.
2) Japan-- anywhere. I had taught/tutored Japanese at Harvard.
3) Korea-- anywhere, unaccompanied if necessary (18 months). I spoke some Korean after 15 years of Korean martial arts (Moo Duk Kwan, Tang Soo Do, Tae Kwon Do, Hapkido, etc.), and knew that I could learn the language quickly, given the similarities in Chomskyan deep structure with Japanese, which is another agglutinative Altaic language (controversial, but I was taught this theory years ago).
4) England-- anywhere. I speak English on a good day.
5) Andrews AFB-- to be close to my parents and other family, all of whom lived in Maryland
Accordingly, the Air Force carefully considered my preferences and gave me orders to Travis AFB, CA, 3,000 miles away from my parents, and not overseas. The reason I got from AFPC was that I was overqualified for the overseas assignments as an anesthesiologist. The computer only had round holes for CRNAs, and I was a square. Moreover, behind my back, my program director had hand-picked me and an excellent residency colleague of mine (hi, Kev) to go to Travis to clean up a disaster caused when a lazy former senior resident of mine got sent to Travis and refused to come in for an emergency surgery, resulting in the active-duty patient's death. My residency director knew that I would respond to a page and go in to the hospital rather than whine for hours until someone else was available to do the case (long story).
I had a good time at Travis from 1994-1998, when civil war broke out between the anesthesiologists and CRNAs, the latter of whom wanted to practice completely independently on all patients, no matter how sick, regardless of then-current Air Force and Medical Group regulations mandating the Anesthesia Care Team model. After my Flight Commander got fired for dereliction of duty for failure to enforce good order and discipline (when the chief CRNA stood up and stated at a flight meeting that she refused to obey his orders to conform to Air Force and Med Group Instructions), I was given orders to Elmendorf AFB, Alaska, UNaccompanied for three years without my two autistic children and active-duty Air Force physician wife, who was currently on the OB deck on mag for premature labor with my third son, who ended up being born at 34 weeks. Note that Elmendorf was usually (always) an accompanied tour, except when evil people feel the need to abuse their power to get back at you for any reason whatsoever, such as, for example, blatantly advocating medical direction of anesthesia as the Medical Director of Anesthesia (which was my title during the entire psychodrama at Travis).
I later found out this inhumane assignment situation was ONCE AGAIN the work of my former residency director, who was now the Consultant for Anesthesiology, because he was reprising against me for my part in having his Air Force Academy *and* USUHS classmate and butt buddy fired after the Command Directed Investigation by HQ AMC determined that he was not up for the job, which required standing up to loud, red-headed O-5 females as an O-6 physician.
I was told with a smirk over the phone that, although my three children were EFMP, I wasn't, and, because Elmendorf couldn't handle special needs kids (and, per their SGH's phone call with me, had had asthmatic children die there due to lack of pediatrician support), I would have to pack my bags and plan to be apart from my family for a mandatory three year "overseas" assignment in sunny Alaska.
Only herculean appeals by myself and my then-wife to HQ AFPC and the leadership of Air Force EFMP program managed to get this overturned. After Elmendorf was spiked, it turned out that the only place that the Air Force could send me where there was adequate expertise in developmental pediatrics other than Travis was Andrews, where I could take my kids to WRAMC and/or NHB, which was fine by me.
(Five years of drama at Malcolm Grow redacted, including my getting a career-ending Letter of Reprimand for arranging for transport of a pediatric trauma patient to Walter Reed at the request of the patient's mother, which pissed off testosterone-toxic ortho surgeons who wanted to play, despite our hospital's lack of any pediatric capability whatsoever after years of downsizing).
At the end of 11 years of ADSC (active duty service commitment) payback (4 for ROTC at Harvard/M.I.T., 7 for USUHS, with the 4 years of internship and residency not counting), I told my boss and AFPC that I would consider staying in the Air Force if I got a PCA assignment to USUHS as a professor (which I already was). It would cost the Air Force zero dollars not to move me. It would enable me to teach, which I had always loved; my then-wife could keep her civilian practice. I planned to work a few days per month in Bethesda, and then continue to work at Andrews as much as the Air Force needed me.
"No can do," I was told. "You are going to Keesler to be commanded by a CRNA O-5 who has date of rank on you."
"Is that my only option?"
"Yes."
Honestly, I had a bad feeling about moving my three Chinese-American children to the prejudiced Deep South. I also worried about my ex-Air Force wife having to close her civilian practice and break her lease to follow me, or else stay in Maryland while I (again) was condemned to three years alone and unaccompanied by my family. I also had a strange feeling that something very threatening was looming on the edge of my awareness. I have always been attuned to nature; something about going to Mississippi in the summer of 2005 did not feel right at all.
Accordingly, even though AFPC did not at first believe it, I resigned my Regular commission (which everyone gets from USU) and walked away after 15 total years toward retirement with nothing (note that the 4 years in uniform at USU do not count toward retirement until you do 20 years, then they add the 4 years on, thanks to DOPMA).
A few months later, hurricane Katrina leveled Keesler and destroyed the hospital. I would have lost everything I owned, and possibly my life, had I gone along with the perverse Air Force assignment system, which is purposely designed by evil people who don't care about you to give you the exact opposite of what you want at every turn in your career, because the "needs of the Air Force" means precisely that your needs are irrelevant, let alone your wants.
The End.
