Rules of Engagement (1991)

by Joe Weber

  "Stick with me," Carella ordered, "and we'll escort you out over the water after the recon run."

  Harry smacked the side of the canopy. "That sonuvabitch! Declare an emergency, and let's get the hell out of here, right now!"

  Brad moved out to the left side of the RA-5C Vigilante while Carella positioned himself on the right side.

  "Harry," Brad said, removing Leigh Ann's picture from the instrument panel, "we've got to maintain flight integrity, even if we can't do anything." He shoved the photo into his torso harness. "The appearance of two Phantoms may keep the MiGs away from the Viggie."

  They both knew that the poststrike photographs were invaluable. Men's lives depended on the damage assessment. If the strike results were deemed unsatisfactory, more crews would have to return to the heavily defended bridges.

  "White Lightning," Carella radioed in a strained voice, "Jokers ready when you are."

  "Copy," the reconnaissance pilot answered. "We're rolling in now."

  Brad could see the billowing clouds of smoke rising over the target area. He also saw the hundreds of puffs of flak filling the airspace over the bridges. Two MiGs shot past, going in the opposite direction. Brad wondered why Red Crown had not warned them about the fighters.

  Heading toward Haiphong at an angle, the Vigilante pilot leveled at 3,800 feet. Brad heard the F-4 Lonestar flight leader call feet wet as the photo pilot banked steeply and commenced his run-in at 600 knots.

  The clean Vigilante was pulling away from the Phantoms, forcing Carella and Austin to select afterburner. The increased thrust was rapidly draining the last few gallons of jet fuel from Brad's Phantom.

  "SAMs!" Ernie Sheridan hollered. "Nine o'clock."

  Brad glanced to his left in time to see a missile streak in front of him and explode over the Vigilante. The photo plane disappeared in the flash and cloud of smoke, then reappeared trailing fire.

  The reconnaissance pilot turned sharply and darted for the coastline. Carella and Austin banked hard, following the blazing Vigilante.

  "How much fuel?" Harry asked at the same instant the right engine flamed out.

  "Mayday! Mayday!" Brad transmitted as the left engine quit. "Joker Two Oh Seven has flamed out."

  "We'll coordinate RESCAP," Sheridan said, "then call the search-and-rescue station."

  Brad lowered the Phantom's nose in an effort to glide as far as their speed and altitude would permit. He calculated their rate of descent against the distance to the shoreline. It would be close.

  A flash caught Brad's eye. He looked out in front of his aircraft in time to see two parachutes pop open. The blazing Vigilante rolled inverted and plunged for the sea.

  Feeling the thuds from small-arms bullets, Brad and Harry were stunned when a concussion buffeted the powerless Phantom. "Don't do anything, Harry! I'm going to get us as far as I can. Just sit tight. This is our only chance."

  Harry braced his back against the ejection seat. "Are we going to make the water?"

  "I don't think so, but stay with me." Brad started easing back on the stick as the Phantom descended through 2,000 feet. Brad could feel the flight controls stiffen as the engine turbines wound down. The hydraulic pumps were failing, making control of the airplane more difficult.

  Passing 1,000 feet, Brad pulled with brute force, but the nose continued to drop below the horizon. "Hold on! Hold on a few more seconds."

  The stricken fighter passed over a small rise a quarter of a mile from the shore. Descending through 500 feet, Brad reached for the ejection handles over his helmet. "Eject! Eject!" Harry blasted out of the Phantom in a thunderclap of wind and debris.

  Staring at the rapidly rising terrain, Brad grasped the primary ejection handle and yanked the face curtain down over his helmet. The blast propelled him clear of the Phantom four seconds before it exploded on the edge of the shore. The ball of flames and metal engulfed the beach and rained across the water.

  Brad's parachute opened with a tremendous jolt, snapping him sideways. After three swings, he plowed into the wet, low-lying ground. The vicious impact wrenched his knee and knocked the wind out of him.

  Gasping for breath, Brad tore at the Koch fittings in an attempt to release his parachute. After struggling to rid himself of the canopy, Brad ripped off his oxygen mask, then reached for his revolver and got to his knees. He looked up and down the shoreline, spotting Harry running toward him. Hutton had left his life raft with his parachute.

  Quickly examining his knee, Brad was relieved to see that it moved freely. Harry dropped to his knees next to Brad. Hutton's nose was bleeding, and he was holding his left arm.

  Hearing an F-4 overhead, Brad caught sight of Carella's Phantom circling a mile away. A secondary explosion from Brad's downed fighter shocked him into action. The main core of the burning wreckage was sending an enormous cloud of black smoke into the sky. They had to get away from the crash site before ground troops arrived.

  "Come on, Harry," Brad urged, getting to his feet. "We've got to get as far offshore as we can, and fast."

  "My arm's broken," Harry replied. His face was ashen and twisted in pain. "I can't swim."

  "I'll tow you. Keep your helmet on."

  Brad placed his revolver back in its holster and yanked loose his one-man raft. "Let's go." They raced for the water, splashing into the surf at the same moment three rifle rounds kicked up spray next to them.

  Brad inflated the raft and Harry lunged over the side, landing on his back. With a surge of adrenaline, Brad grabbed the raft and began sidestroking as hard as he could. Having been a competitive swimmer at the Naval Academy, Brad had conditioned himself to swim long distances.

  More shots ripped across the water, narrowly missing the bright yellow raft. Brad swam as hard as he could, straining to distance them from the beach.

  "I see the sonuvabitches," Harry groaned in agony. "They're about a hundred yards to the right of the crash."

  "Harry," Brad choked from a mouthful of seawater, "can you get some rounds off--keep their heads down?"

  "I'll try."

  Hutton released his arm, painfully extracted his revolver, then fired six rounds at the three men setting up a mortar. One of the soldiers was firing his rifle at the raft while the other two men were bracing the muzzle-loading mortar. Although he didn't have a prayer of hitting the North Vietnamese, Harry convinced them to drop to a prone position.

  "Get on the radio," Brad paused, swallowing more of the salty water, "and see if you can get Jocko, or someone. We need help right now if--"

  A geyser of water erupted thirty feet in front of the raft, showering them with spray. Brad altered course and stroked with all of his strength. The mortar crew would soon have them bracketed.

  Hutton fumbled with his survival radio while another shell exploded next to them. "Joker," Harry shouted in desperation, "we need cover fire! There's a mortar firing at us north of the crash!"

  "Copy," Carella replied. "Say mortar posit."

  A third shell hit closer, stunning both of them. "North--a hundred yards north of the wreckage!"

  "We're rolling in."

  Gulping air, Brad changed direction again and kicked with the last ounce of energy in his body. He flinched when a fourth shell impacted in the position they had occupied only seconds before.

  The Phantom plunged toward the mortar crew and fired an unguided Sparrow missile. It wiggled twice before exploding between the burning wreckage and the North Vietnamese soldiers.

  Carella pulled up steeply and banked over the downed fliers. "I'm going to try again. Hang in."

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Hutton watched the mortar team grab their weapon and scamper toward the marsh behind the burning Phantom. "They've retreated," Harry yelled, ignoring his pain. "They disappeared behind the crash site!"

  "Joker copies. We've got help on the way."

  Brad stopped swimming and held onto the side of the raft. His lungs heaved in an attempt to resupply oxygen to his exhausted body.

  Hear
ing the Phanton overhead, Brad glanced up at the aircraft. His mind had trouble comprehending that he had been up there only minutes before. Now, he was in the sea, struggling to survive.

  "Harry, Joker," Carella radioed. "We've got to tank, then we'll be back."

  Hutton shaded his eyes and looked up at the Phantom. He, too, felt strange sitting in a raft while he talked to Carella and Sheridan in their jet. "How long til the helo gets here?"

  "The SAR folks," Carella paused to confirm a radio call that Sheridan had made, "are on the way. The Vigilante crew is in the drink, too, so ten to fifteen minutes."

  Chapter 42.

  Brad heard Carella light the afterburners as they sped toward a rendezvous with the waiting tanker. "Harry," Brad said, handing Hutton his revolver, "reload yours and keep mine handy."

  Repositioning his left arm, Harry turned to Brad. "I hope to Christ they get here before the mortar crew comes back."

  "I'm going to tow us out as far as I can." Without warning, something bumped Brad's legs. "Holy shit," Brad uttered in panic.

  "What?" Harry responded, frantically searching the shoreline. "What's wrong?"

  "Something ran into my leg." Brad brought his legs up under the raft. "Something big." He inflated his life jacket to provide a cushion for his upper torso.

  "I'll dump in the shark repellent," Harry offered, searching behind him for the packet. "If we're careful, you can crawl in on my legs."

  Brad was tempted to get out of the water but thought about their close proximity to the shoreline. Harry dropped the shark repellent in the water.

  "Thanks, but I better tow us out as far as I can. We're sitting ducks if the mortar team comes back."

  Brad glanced out to sea. He did a double take when he saw the bridge and mast of a large ship. The vessel was approaching them at high speed.

  "Harry, we've got company coming."

  "Where?" Hutton responded, yanking his head around to see where Austin was looking. "I hope it's one of ours."

  "If it isn't," Brad peered back toward the beach, "we can kiss it good-bye."

  Harry grimaced, then turned his head to meet Brad's eyes. "I wish I could help you."

  "You are helping. As soon as you hear the helos, toss out the dye marker and light a smoke flare."

  "I've got 'em ready."

  Hutton gingerly propped himself up. "Where are those goddamn helicopters?"

  "I don't know, but things don't--sonuvabitch!"

  "What?" Harry asked, wide-eyed with fear.

  "Something just bounced off my right leg." Brad thrashed the water, towing the raft as fast as he could swim. His heart beat so hard he could feel constriction in his chest. Christ, am I going to have a heart attack?

  After seventy yards, Brad slowed to a steady pace. "Harry," he gasped, "if you see anything break the surface--dorsal fin, anything--call it out but don't shoot it, and get ready for company in the raft."

  "Okay," Harry replied, then froze in horror. "Shit! We've got big trouble."

  Brad slowed and stared at two North Vietnamese patrol boats. They were accelerating from their concealment behind a fleet of fishing boats. At full speed, the Swatow-class gunboats were turning directly toward Brad and Harry.

  Austin searched the skies, hearing the familiar sound of the big radial engines in the A-1 Skyraiders. "Call RESCAP and light the flare!"

  He felt something strike his left leg. Brad churned the water while he quickly positioned himself at the rear of their raft. "I'm getting in!"

  Harry grasped the air chamber and leaned back to balance the unstable dinghy. He braced his flight boots inside the aft section, locking his knees. Brad thrust his body upward, pulling himself into the raft. His helmet hit Hutton in the chest.

  Aware of a deep, resonant sound in the distance, Austin and Hutton were startled by a thundering impact near them. A coastal battery had opened fire at their bobbing raft.

  Brad heard another loud report. He looked over the front of the raft to see the ship that had been speeding toward them. He judged it to be two miles from the shore.

  "Harry, a destroyer . . . thank God." Turning quickly to see the ship, Hutton almost tipped over the dinghy.

  The American destroyer captain, risking his vessel in the shallow waters, was turning broadside to the beach and had commenced firing at the shore battery.

  Brad clutched Harry's good arm and shifted to see the North Vietnamese patrol boats. The two craft were side by side, less than a mile away.

  Brad and Harry both heard a whistling sound a second before another large shell exploded beside them. The concussion from the impact lifted the raft out of the water and tossed both men into the sea.

  Stunned by the blast, Austin popped to the surface and grabbed Hutton in a lifeguard grip. "We've got to get away from the raft," Brad sputtered.

  Coughing up brine, Harry moaned in agony. "We're not going to make it, are we?"

  "Yes, goddamnit," Brad bellowed in pain and frustration, "we're going to make it."

  Austin was fighting not to succumb to his overwhelming fear. Choking, he towed Harry twenty yards from the clearly visible dinghy. He looked around, desperate for assistance. He glimpsed a swarm of RESCAP Skyraiders in the distance, then heard the clattering of a Seasprite helicopter. He saw a second helicopter in the distance.

  The A-1 Spads were circling the downed Vigilante crew, but the first rescue helicopter was racing toward their raft. Brad shouted with joy and looked back toward the gunboats. They were separating to set up a cross fire at the Seasprite.

  "Is that a helo?" Harry gasped.

  "Yes," Brad answered, glancing at the destroyer in the distance. The slowing ship was pounding the shore installation into oblivion.

  "Come on," Brad coaxed the helicopter pilot. "The gunners are almost on us."

  The Seasprite sped toward them, then slowed while a door gunner began firing at one of the patrol boats. After stabilizing over the Phantom crew, the pilot lowered the helicopter near the water.

  The spray lashed across Brad's face, stinging his eyes and making breathing difficult. He was having a hard time holding onto Hutton.

  Hearing automatic weapons firing, Brad held Harry tightly and twisted to see which direction the gunboats were heading. Staring in shock, Brad watched the two craft charge toward the Seasprite. The North Vietnamese boats opened fire, walking the machine-gun shells across the water and into the Seasprite.

  To his horror, Brad witnessed the pilots slump forward as a man in a wet suit leaped from the helicopter. Black smoke streamed out of the exhaust and whipped below the rotor blades.

  The helicopter drifted sideways, tilted on its side, caught the whirling blades in the water, then violently crashed into the sea.

  Petrified, Brad stared at the wreckage and renewed his grip around Harry. "Oh, God . . . no."

  Aware of the shells slamming into the water, Brad darted a look at the closest gunboat. He felt a sledgehammer blow to his helmet, knocking him loose from his friend. Brad yanked the lanyard to inflate Harry's life preserver, then slumped facedown in the sea.

  Three A-1 Skyraiders roared low over the water, firing pods of rockets at the North Vietnamese gunboats. One craft blew apart, sinking stern first; the other patrol boat turned and sped for shore.

  The rescue swimmer, slightly injured when he had leaped from the crashing Seasprite, lifted Brad Austin's face out of the water. He tugged him next to Harry Hutton, hooking them together.

  The swimmer, glancing at the second helicopter, checked on the pilot. The machine-gun shell that had ricocheted off Brad's helmet had temporarily knocked him unconscious.

  Gagging, Brad expelled a mouthful of seawater, then coughed to clear his esophagus. Gasping, he sucked in air and stared, confused, at the young man who had saved his life.

  The swimmer grabbed Brad's life preserver. "I'm on your side! You're going to be okay!"

  The Spads pulled up in a wingover and rolled in on the fleeing vessel, strafing the boat with 20mm
gunfire. After a third pass, the patrol boat slowed to a halt. The panicked crew jumped overboard when they saw the Skyraiders dive again. The lead RESCAP pilot sank the Swatow with two 500-pound bombs.

  The second Seasprite moved into position and hovered over the three men. The swimmer unhooked the crew's life preservers as the rescue sling was lowered. Hindered by the turbulent rotor wash, the swimmer placed the sling under Brad's shoulders, then hooked the D ring on his torso harness to the cable.

  After Brad had been hoisted aboard the helicopter, the swimmer hooked himself and Harry to the cable. As the hoist operator lifted the pair from the water, Jack Carella and Ernie Sheridan made a low pass, rocking the Phantom's wings.

  Chapter 43.

  Four days later, Brad and Harry had arrived in San Diego to convalesce at the Balboa Naval Hospital. After providing initial medical treatment for the crew, Doc McCary had approached Dan Bailey and Admiral Keuseman with a special request from Brad and Harry.

  The admiral had been pleased to arrange the recuperative leave for the two men who had shot down Maj. Nguyen Thanh Dao.

  Harry's arm had been encased in a cast, and Brad had the responsibility for carrying their bags.

  Unbeknownst to Brad, Harry had called Nick Palmer at the hospital to let him know when they would be arriving. Nick, in turn, had made another call for Harry.

  When Austin and Hutton walked through the main entrance at the hospital, Nick and Leigh Ann were waiting for them.

  Brad dropped the luggage and embraced Leigh Ann when she rushed into his arms. She tilted her head back and kissed him. "Brad, I hope you're not upset that I'm here."

  "Of course not," he replied, feeling awkward in front of his friends. "I'm just surprised . . . pleasantly surprised, I mean."

  Palmer laughed. "Get your foot out of your mouth."

  Brad turned to Nick and shook his hand. "You're looking great. When are they going to let you go?"

  "I think that I've already overstayed my welcome, judging by the remarks the nurses have been making."

  "Well, partner," Harry chuckled, "we're back together again." "Yeah," Palmer sighed. "It's a dream come true." "Excuse me," Brad said, reaching for Leigh Ann's hand, "but we're going to take a little stroll."