Rules of Engagement (1991)

by Joe Weber

  "Admiral," Brad ventured, "everyone is doing his level best, sir, but our hands are tied. Some guys are just trying to survive, while others, like me, are outraged that anyone would compromise us this way."

  "Captain Austin, I understand. I really do. Your friends in the squadron, along with the rest of the air-wing troops, feel the same way. There is a general feeling spreading throughout the ship that morale is going to nosedive if you two are court-martialed."

  Brad and Harry understood that Keuseman was attempting to comfort them. "Admiral," Brad said in a slow, deliberate manner, "I appreciate that, but we have to maintain discipline. If you like, I will speak to them, and explain that I was wrong and I'll take the consequences."

  Keuseman smiled for the first time. "That won't be necessary. I'm going to speak to the aircrews this afternoon. When we are notified of the next step in this investigation, you'll be immediately informed. For the time being, I will remind you that this meeting has been off the record. You are to remain in your stateroom, and don't converse with anyone."

  "Yes, sir," they responded, relieved to know that the admiral understood their feelings.

  Keuseman stood, prompting Austin and Hutton to rise to attention. The admiral opened the door. "I'm proud of both of you. No matter what happens, I want to personally thank you for bagging Major Dao."

  Chapter 36.

  MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

  Leigh Ann walked through the trees in the common area behind her parents' home. She could hear the muted sounds of the golfers on the fairway adjacent to the common. A refreshing fall breeze stirred the trees, prompting her to look up at the tops of the swaying branches. A small bird was busy hopping about.

  She continued a short distance, then stopped, sure of her decision. Leigh Ann had searched her soul during the long and painful flight home. She knew that Brad was right. It was time for her to take command of her life, and stop trying to fulfill her father's every desire. It was time to grow up, and become an independent woman.

  She would confront her father about Brad, and explain that he was a decent, straightforward man who was following his conscience. Leigh Ann was going to explain that she loved Brad, and that he was in trouble and needed her support.

  Leigh Ann had been surprised that Brad had not called. She fervently prayed that he had not decided to go his own way, and forget her. After a difficult self-analyzation, Leigh Ann had realized that she had been somewhat of a spoiled brat. She longed for an opportunity to tell Brad that she had changed. But most important, she wanted to tell him that she loved him, and backed him, no matter what. She wished that he would call, because she wanted to tell him how she felt in her own words.

  What could she do to help him? Leigh Ann considered every possibility. Who had enough power and influence to help Brad out of his predicament? After considerable thought, she concluded that she did not know anyone powerful enough to help the man she loved.

  Growing more despondent, Leigh Ann suddenly had an idea. Her father was a close friend of a well-known and highly respected senator. Yes, of course, the chairman of the Armed Services Committee certainly had the necessary influence to help Brad. Besides, Senator Kerwin owed her father a debt of gratitude. Doctor Ladasau had saved the life of the senator's daughter after she had been in a terrible automobile accident.

  Buoyed by the possibility of helping Brad, Leigh Ann hurried toward home. Halfway there, she slowed and thought about what Brad would say if she could discuss the matter with him.

  She stopped, instinctively knowing what he would say. Brad was not the kind of man to accept favors, or have someone use influence to help him. Brad Austin would prefer to face whatever adversity was dealt to him.

  In spite of what she knew would be Brad's objections, she felt an overpowering need to help him. He had not called her, and probably no longer believed in her love for him. Leigh Ann's plan of action was clear.

  ON BOARD THE CARRIER

  Harry weighed his options, then moved his plastic chess piece across the soiled board. "Checkmate."

  Brad smiled and slid a quarter to his friend. "I guess my mind isn't on the game."

  "That makes two of us."

  Three days had passed without any information about the upcoming hearing. After talking with the task-force commander, their spirits had initially been raised. Now, waiting to find out their fate, Brad and Harry were growing more restless by the hour.

  Harry rose and paced the cramped cabin like a caged animal. The strain and tension contorted his face. "Goddamnit, I'm going crazy in here. Can't anyone make a decision?"

  "Calm yourself, Harry. You're getting upset."

  "You're damn right I'm upset," he snapped. "Keeping us confined in a shoe-box room with no windows is chicken shit."

  "What do you suggest," Brad asked, trying to cheer his RIO, "a jailbreak?"

  "Why don't you kiss my ass?"

  Brad frowned. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry for getting you into this. I apologize. That's all I can do."

  Harry sat down and sighed. "I'm sorry. Shit, you're my best friend," he managed a chuckle, "even if you are a dumb-ass pilot."

  A knock interrupted Brad's reply. He got up and opened the door, then laughed. Harry turned to see Jon O'Meara and Mario Russo standing in the passageway. Jon silently handed Brad a bottle of scotch, while Mario held up a hastily prepared sign that read, "We know you can't talk to us. Cheers. The squadron is behind you guys!"

  "Thanks," Brad said, shaking their hands.

  Harry leaped up and hugged O'Meara while he shook hands with Russo. "You saved us!" He had a grin plastered across his face. "We owe you a big one."

  Brad looked up and down the narrow passageway. "Have you heard any word?"

  "Not a thing," O'Meara answered. "Just rumors. If we hear anything, we'll call and let the phone ring once, then call back in forty-five seconds."

  "Thanks a million," Brad replied warmly. "We're going absolutely nuts in here."

  "No shit," Harry said sarcastically. "You guys have time for a toddy?" He was craving companionship.

  "Better not," O'Meara responded, observing the corridor. "If the skipper found out, he'd have us in hack, too."

  "Tell everyone," Brad said, handing the bottle to Harry, "that we appreciate their support."

  "Will do," Mario smiled. "Hang in there." O'Meara and Russo hurried down the passageway and disappeared around a corner.

  Shutting the door, Brad walked to the lavatory and reached for two glasses while Harry opened the scotch. "That," Brad said, steadying his glass while Harry poured, "was damn good of them." They both had a sip before adding water.

  "Brad, before we get totally screwed up, what do you think they'll do with us when the ship sails?" The carrier was scheduled to depart for Yankee Station in three days.

  "I don't know. If nothing has been resolved, they could confine us to quarters here at Yokosuka, or send us to Pearl Harbor." He took a drink. "Who knows?"

  Harry shook his head. "Amazing."

  "What?"

  "We blasted off this goddamned boat, got the shit shot out of us, downed a MiG flown by a leading ace, dodged the missiles and antiaircraft fire, landed on a pitching deck, and then got thrown in the slammer."

  Brad started to speak, but Harry held up his hand. "Wait, that's not the best part."

  Laughing out loud for the first time in days, Brad sat down on the lower bunk. The tension that had gripped both of them was suddenly shattered by the mental picture of their ludicrous situation.

  "The best part is the fact that if we get out of this bucket of shit we're in," Harry paused to take a drink, "we get to take off and get the shit scared out of us again."

  "I know," Brad replied, laughing uproariously. "It seems unfair for us to have all the fun." They looked at each other, then burst out laughing again.

  Harry made himself comfortable. "Tell me about Leigh Ann, and your trip to San Francisco. Does she know about this?"

  "Oh, yes, she knows the whole story," B
rad answered with a pained expression.

  "She must'uv been impressed."

  Brad laughed at himself. "Harry, give me a break. I already feel lower than a snake's belly in a wagon track."

  "Seriously," Harry said with a straight face, "what do you think about her?"

  Brad stared into his glass. "I don't know. She has many wonderful traits, but she's difficult to reason with. I really do love her, but we have some complications, not the least of which is her father."

  Harry cocked his head and swirled his drink. "You're saying that you didn't charm the hell out of him?"

  "He's against the war," Brad replied bitterly, "and apparently not enamored with military people. He's off on the left page somewhere, and I'm certainly not what he has in mind for his daughter."

  "Well, have another splash," Harry chuckled. "Things can only go downhill from here."

  "Thanks, Harry," Brad responded, giving Hutton a caustic look. "You're a real comfort."

  Brad lay awake, staring into the darkness while he listened to the hoarse breathing from the top bunk. Thinking about Bull Durham and Russ Lunsford made his situation seem relatively insignificant. How long would they be held captive? Would they survive the ordeal, or die from being tortured and malnourished? As hard as he tried, Brad could not shake the remorse that he felt for his friends in captivity.

  He had received a pleasant letter from Cordelia Durham. She had included her mother's telephone number, and had requested that Brad call her again when he had an opportunity. She had told him about her move to her mother's home the day after Brad's previous call, and how well her pregnancy was progressing. Cordelia had avoided talking about her husband until the last sentence of the letter. She had simply said, "God, I miss Lincoln."

  Suddenly, the waist catapult fired with a boom and slammed into the water brakes with a resounding thud. The impact caused the carrier to shudder.

  "Holy Christ," Harry said, sleepily turning on his reading light. "What the hell is going on?"

  Brad got out of bed and turned on the light. "They're exercising the cats."

  "Well, the shitbirds picked a helluva time to do it."

  After checking the time, Brad grabbed his soap, shampoo, and towel. "I'm going to take a shower before our breakfast is served."

  Harry mumbled and closed his eyes, drifting in and out of sleep until Brad returned.

  While Brad dressed, Harry crawled out of his bunk and ambled to the head. A few minutes later, a wardroom steward delivered their breakfast in containers covered with aluminum foil.

  Brad waited for Harry to return before opening his meal. They were in the middle of their first bite when they heard a knock on the door. "Come in," Harry said after swallowing.

  Commander Dan Bailey opened the door, startling the two men. Brad and Harry started to jump to their feet.

  "As you were," Bailey ordered, taking a seat next to Brad on the lower bunk. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, lighting it while he observed Brad and Harry. Neither man said a word, quietly placing their forks on the paper plates.

  "Well, gentlemen," he inhaled slowly, "your future is currently being discussed in the admiral's quarters."

  The telephone rang, interrupting the CO. Brad and Harry looked at each other in alarm. Was it Jon and Mario? Bailey gave them a questioning look when neither one made an attempt to answer the phone. Brad reached for it, removing his hand when it did not ring again.

  Smiling, Bailey blew a ring of smoke. "You might as well answer next time. I'm sure your informer has some interesting news to pass along." Bailey watched the red creep into their faces. "It'll save me from being interrupted again."

  Twelve seconds later the telephone rang again, shattering the quiet in the tension-filled room. "Give them my regards," Bailey said, watching Brad attempt to contain a laugh.

  "Captain Austin," he answered, turning his face away from the CO. "Hi. Hey, the skipper just stopped by . . . said to give you his regards."

  Harry coughed and replaced the aluminum foil over his meal. "I sure will. Thanks again," Brad said, hurriedly replacing the receiver.

  Bailey turned serious. "The representative from the State Department, with his entourage in tow, just came aboard a few minutes ago. They're talking with the admiral as we speak."

  Brad and Harry sat, unblinking, hanging on every word. This was it. The time to face the consequences had arrived with sudden finality.

  "I don't know anything else at the moment," Bailey continued in a friendly, fatherly way, "but I'd advise you to be ready for inspection."

  "Yes, sir," they answered, setting their meals aside.

  "I can tell you this," Bailey said, glancing around their stateroom, "I put in all the good words I could, and the admiral is in your corner, believe me."

  Bailey watched the happy reaction on their faces. "He's a fighter jock from the old school," Bailey paused and stood, "and you endeared yourselves to him by eliminating Nguyen Dao."

  "Thanks, Skipper," Brad said, extending his hand, "no matter what happens."

  Bailey shook both of their hands. "Just tell your story, and don't bullshit anyone."

  "Yes, sir."

  Nodding his head, the CO left the room.

  "Well, partner," Brad said, "put on your flak jacket, and stand by for action."

  Chapter 37.

  The flag bridge was unusually crowded when Brad and Harry were asked into the admiral's cabin. The commander who had invited them in told the two men to stand at ease.

  Admiral Keuseman sat at his desk, flanked by a beefy civilian in a wrinkled seersucker suit and a navy captain in dress blues. The civilian, who had a sour look on his face, removed his thick glasses and slowly ran his eyes over the two fliers. His scrutiny made them even more uncomfortable.

  "Good morning, gentlemen," the admiral said pleasantly, as the commander and another civilian stepped out of the cabin and closed the door.

  "Good morning, Admiral," Brad replied while Harry nodded his head. Brad was familiar with the procedures involved in military hearings and investigations. He had studied the procedures at length, and had served as a member of an investigation board. This hearing was far different from anything he had read about or experienced.

  Harry had the same unsettling feeling. Something strange was happening. The atmosphere in the spacious cabin was strained.

  "Have a seat," Keuseman ordered, motioning toward the couch. "This is Mister Ogilvie, from the State Department, and Captain Emmett from CINCPAC."

  Harry and Brad acknowledged the introductions. The captain sat stone still, examining Austin. The two strangers recognized the pilot and his RIO from the photographs that accompanied their service records.

  The admiral shifted in his chair. "I'm going to turn this over to Captain Emmett. John?"

  The stern-looking man wearing the insignia of a submariner moved forward in his chair. "The first thing we have to establish," the former submarine commander paused, "is that the two of you did, in fact, commit a transgression by flying over an unauthorized air base and destroying an enemy fighter on the ground."

  Emmett bore in on Brad. "Is that exactly what happened, Captain Austin?"

  "Not quite, sir."

  The submariner's eyes narrowed. "Did you, or did you not, shoot down a MiG and attack a taxiing fighter at Phuc Yen? That's what I see in both the message and the report I'm holding."

  "Yes, I shot down the fighter over Phuc Yen, and fired at an aircraft on the ground," Brad darted a look at the admiral, "but I trust you will give me an opportunity to explain the extenuating circumstances."

  Emmett's facial expression reflected irritation. "Talk, Captain. Explain your breach of the regulations, and make it succinct. We are on a tight schedule."

  Brad drew a quick breath. "Captain, the airborne MiG in question was flown by Major Dao, North Vietnam's second-leading ace. In the heat of battle, my close friends--my flight leader and his RIO--were shot down by Major Dao."

  "That fact, no matter how
tragic," Emmett frowned, "did not give you license to attack a restricted area."

  Harry shifted uncomfortably but contained his nervous cough. He focused on a plaque over the admiral's head.

  "May I finish, Captain?" Brad asked, drawing a sharp look from Emmett.

  "We're waiting."

  Speaking clearly, Brad stared back at Emmett. "I would assume, sir, from seeing the dolphins on your chest, that you have never flown a fighter in combat."

  Emmett gave him a cold, menacing look. "You're walking a fine line, Captain, and it would serve you well to remember that fact."

  Admiral Keuseman arched his eyebrows, giving Brad a silent warning.

  "Captain Emmett, this was not a premeditated act. I didn't go to Phuc Yen with the intent of shooting up the field or dropping ordnance on anyone. My intent was to kill a MiG ace. I reacted instantaneously, focused on one mission--to kill Major Dao before he added a ninth airplane and crew to his credit."

  Harry finally coughed.

  "Sir," Brad continued, trying to keep his emotions in check, "I was determined to destroy Dao, and I chased him down. I didn't have any control over where his airplane crashed." Brad took a deep breath. "I was wrong to shoot at the aircraft on the ground."

  Silence filled the room. Emmett rolled a pencil back and forth between his palms. "Lieutenant Hutton, is that exactly what happened?"

  Harry braced himself and spoke in a confident voice. "Yes, sir, that is precisely what happened."

  "I understand," Emmett perused his notes, "from reading your statements in the report that you tried to talk Captain Austin out of breaking the rules and flying over a restricted airfield. Is that true?"

  Taking his time, Harry formed an answer. "I pointed out various options in regard to the restrictions we have to deal with. Low to the ground, in the middle of a supersonic dogfight, is not the time to distract your pilot."

  "Answer yes or no," Emmett spat. "Did you attempt to talk Captain Austin out of breaking the rules of engagement?" "Yes, sir."