Rules of Engagement

Chapter 27

The carrier vibrated as the four massive screws propelled the ship to flank speed. With only a slight breeze over the flight deck, the carrier had to create the necessary wind to safely launch aircraft.

Brad and Harry finished their before-takeoff checklists, paying special attention to critical items. As a new flying team, they had to smoothly blend their skills to maximize the capabilities of their Phantom.

Taxiing over the number-two catapult shuttle, Brad caught a glimpse of Jon O'Meara's F-4 as it hurtled off the waist catapult. The Phantom settled low over the water, then rotated skyward, blowing spray from the afterburners.

"That guy," Harry said over the intercom, "is going to drop one in the water one of these days."

Brad ignored the remark, concentrating on the catapult officer. When the final safety checker scrambled out from under the F-4, the cat officer gave Austin the two-finger turn-up signal.

Brad slowly advanced the throttles to full power, then into afterburner. He carefully checked the engine RPMs and cycled the flight controls while he glanced at the exhaust gas temperatures. Everything was in the green and stabilized for takeoff.

Bracing his helmet, Brad snapped off a salute and sucked in a lungful of cool oxygen. Five seconds later they were over water.

Brad rotated the nose higher and popped the landing-gear lever up. After the landing gear had retracted, he noticed the right main mount indicated unsafe. Brad pulled the throttles back to keep the airspeed below the maximum gear-extension speed. "Harry, we've got a little problem with the right gear."

Hutton raised his helmet visor. "We're off to an auspicious start."

Brad placed his left hand on the landing-gear control handle. "I'm going to recycle the gear."

He lowered the lever, let the wheels extend to the down-andlocked position, then firmly raised the handle again. Feeling the wheels bang into the wells, Brad cast a cautious look at the gear indicators. Three safe.

"Lookin' good," Brad announced, shoving the throttles to the stops and raising the flaps.

After rendezvousing with Lincoln Durham and Russ Lunsford, the two Phantoms refueled and circled off the North Vietnamese coast north of Thai Binh. They could see the strike group from Bonne Homme Richard. The Skyraiders and A-4 Skyhawks were pulverizing a rail yard and the rolling stock lining the tracks. A-6 Intruders from another carrier had previously demolished the outflowing rail lines, trapping the loaded railroad cars in the crowded switching yard.

Two flights of F-8 Crusaders were flying cover for the Bonne Homme Richard strike force. Brad could see the antiaircraft fire blossom across the hazy sky. Two surface-to-air missiles lifted off, followed by four more SAMs. The sky was saturated with rockets, bullets, and shrapnel.

Both Joker crews heard their strike-group leader check in on the strike frequency. Their target was a strongly defended industrial complex. A secondary target, consisting of a highway bridge and railroad bridge, would be bombed by the second strike group.

Loitering off the coastline, an unarmed reconnaissance aircraft waited to dash in and photograph the damage. Every crew wanted to obliterate their targets on the first pass. No one wanted to return and run the deadly risk twice.

Brad quickly rechecked his cockpit switches and armament panel. What are we doing here? This is crazy… absolutely nuts. Hanging our asses out for what? Experiencing a sudden stab of fear, he listened to the continuous calls from Red Crown.

The first strike had attracted a swarm of MiGs. The GCI controller continued to report more MiGs taking off from Kep, Gia Lam, and Phuc Yen.

"Are you cinched in tight, Harry?"

"I'm set."

Brad heard the leader of the four Phantoms from their sister squadron. They were engaging the first group of MiGs en route to the first target area. The F-8 Crusaders would tackle any fighters that eluded the Phantoms.

"Okay," Harry announced, "I've got 'em at three o'clock, going feet dry."

Brad looked to his right and peered at the coastline 8,000 feet below. He could see the strike aircraft race over the beach.

When Bull Durham lowered his F-4's nose, Brad automatically moved out to a combat spread position. He preferred to be three quarters of a mile to the right of his flight leader, stepped up 500 feet. The aerial combat formation provided both crews an opportunity to constantly scan around each other's aircraft.

Descending through 6,000 feet, Lunsford locked up a MiG on his radar. Turning twenty degrees to the right, Durham headed straight for the Communist fighter. Brad stepped down 1,000 feet, crossed under his leader, then moved back into position on the left side of Durham.

"You got anything, Harry?"

There was a slight pause. "Yeah. The shakes."

Brad increased power to stay even with Durham. "Lock him up, Harry. We have to make it count."

"It's intermittent. The box won't lock on."

At four miles from their target, Brad spotted the lead MiG. A second later he saw three more in trail formation. He keyed his radio. "Bull, we have four bogies at one o'clock, crossing right to left."

"Got 'em," Durham replied, firing a Sparrow missile a moment later.

Entranced, Brad watched the missile make slight corrections, then track to the third aircraft in the line-astern formation. The Sparrow detonated under the nose of the MiG-21, blowing the cockpit away from the fuselage. The remains of the fighter plummeted toward the ground, streaming fuel and shedding parts.

"I'm going HEAT," Brad said to Harry at the same instant the MiGs turned hard into the two Phantoms.

Seeing the muzzle flashes from the first MiG's cannon, Brad unconsciously lowered his head a couple of inches. The MiG flight leader had selected Brad as his prey. The opposing aircraft were closing head-on with a closure rate of more than 1,000 miles per hour.

Slightly lower than the Phantoms, the MiGs were climbing toward Brad's F-4. Timing his move, Brad waited until the first MiG was seconds from passing under his fighter, then punched off his centerline tank. The Communist flight leader banked hard to the left, missing the tumbling external fuel tank. His wingman broke right, followed by the third MiG.

"Vertical reverse!" Durham ordered, pulling hard on his stick. "Kick off the tanks." He had not seen the fuel tank fall away from Brad's Phantom.

"Two."

Brad mirrored Durham's maneuver, jamming the throttles into afterburner. Passing forty-five degrees nose up, both pilots banked toward each other.

The MiG flight leader snapped his aircraft into the vertical and turned toward Durham's F-4. The white stripe across the camouflaged tail was easy to recognize.

"That's Major Dao!" Lunsford shouted over the radio.

Brad could hear the edge of panic in his friend's voice. The Phantoms passed nose to nose with thirty feet of separation. Both pilots twisted their necks as far as possible in an effort to see who the MiG flight leader would challenge.

"He's jumping Bull!" Harry said, straining to find the other two MiGs. "He's staying on Bull."

"Joker One," Brad shouted into his damp mask, "break hard port — go for separation!"

Durham unloaded the g forces and accelerated away from the MiG-21. Approaching the speed of sound, the American flight leader reversed to reengage the MiGs.

Catching sight of the two MiGs closing from eight o'clock, Brad pulled hard into a displacement roll. His conversation with Nick Palmer, in regard to aerial combat maneuvers, flashed through his mind. He righted the F-4 and started a turn to the right, allowing the MiGs to turn inside his Phantom.

"Do you see Dao?" Brad asked over the intercom. For the first time in his combat tour, Austin was beginning to taste fear and desperation. "Have you got him?"

Harry thrashed from side to side, frantic to locate the MiG ace. "No! He's got to be on our six — below us… I think."

Brad waited until the MiGs were inside his radius of turn before he unloaded the Phantoms In the same profile, the American fighter floated away from the MiG pilots. They instinctively snap rolled their aircraft to follow the F-4.

Brad gritted his teeth and yanked on the stick, pulling an instant 7 g's as he executed a barrel roll to the left. The MiGs flashed by under him, allowing Brad a narrow window of escape.

He shoved the nose down and caught sight of Major Dao tracking him from above and behind. The MiG pilot fired a missile that shot over the Phantom, disappearing in the morning haze.

"Joker Two," Durham yelled, "go vertical!"

"Two," Brad groaned under the g forces he exerted on the fighter. He could barely breathe, sensing the onslaught of gray-out. His g suit felt as though it would explode if he pulled any harder. Harry appeared to be a lifeless rag doll in the rear cockpit.

When Brad's F-4 rocketed straight up in afterburner, the MiG ace turned his attention to Durham. The other two MiGs had maneuvered to gain the advantage on the American flight leader, causing Bull and Russ to concentrate on escaping from them.

When Brad reversed, he spotted the MiG leader setting up a shot at Durham. Hearing a momentary buzzing in his earphones, Brad punched off a Sidewinder. The angle off was too wide for the missile to track properly. It flew out of sight a second before two surface-to-air missiles blasted through the aerial combatants.

"Bull," Brad shouted, "reverse hard left!" Watching Durham's F-4 snap into knife-edge flight, Brad was startled when a third SAM exploded in front of the two MiG wingmen. One aircraft cartwheeled out of the sky in a blazing fireball. The other MiG pilot dove for the deck and raced toward Phuc Yen.

Seconds away from locking a Sidewinder on Major Dao, Brad was appalled to see a missile come off the MiG-21. The Atoll flew straight to Durham's Phantom, detonating over the right wing. The launch and explosion happened so fast that Brad did not have time to key his radio.

Durham's F-4 snap rolled three times, then tucked nose down and blew apart in a blinding flash.

"Oh… God," Brad said, tasting bile at the back of his throat. Stunned, he snatched the Phantom around while he searched for the MiG flight leader.

"They got out," Harry shouted. "Two chutes… I've got two good chutes!"

Without his two wingmen, Maj. Nguyen Dao did not want to go one on one with the superior Phantom. He lowered his nose and dove toward his base.

Spotting the MiG ace diving away, Brad pushed the stick forward and slammed the throttles into afterburner. "Call SAR. Get 'em the coordinates." A mile behind the fleeing MiG-21, Brad saw a vapor flash when the Communist fighter went supersonic.

Harry got the message to search and rescue, then keyed his intercom. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to get that sonuvabitch."

"Like shit you are," Harry said warily. "He's headed for Phuc Yen, and we aren't supposed to attack it."

"The rules," Brad replied, breathing rapidly, "as I understand them, say we can go over Phuc Yen as long as we are engaged in battle. We just can't hit anything on the ground."

Leveling at 200 feet and indicating Mach 1.15, Brad was not gaining on the wily MiG pilot. The two fighters were headed straight toward Phuc Yen, blasting the countryside with twin sonic booms.

"Goddamnit," Harry shouted, "we're almost out of fuel!"

Brad darted a glance at the Phantom's fuel-quantity indicator. "We've got twenty-nine hundred left. Call and have a tanker meet us offshore."

Harry gulped oxygen. "We're too low. We have to have some altitude to transmit that far."

Concentrating on the low-flying MiG, Brad felt certain that the pilot was being informed that the Phantom was on his tail. Ground-control intercept radar sites dotted the land in every direction. The two aircraft were rapidly approaching the protected air base. Phuc Yen was fourteen miles ahead.

"Brad, for Christ's sake, break it off!"

Seeing the MiG pull up a hundred feet, Brad instinctively followed. He hoped to get the Sidewinders to lock on for a split second. Just as suddenly, the MiG dropped down as tall power lines flashed under the F-4.

"We're here," Brad responded through clenched jaws, "and I'm going to nail that bastard."

Harry looked at Hanoi as the Phantom streaked over the outskirts of the city. He could see dozens of muzzle flashes from small-arms fire. He knew the entire area was heavily defended by 37mm, 57mm, and 85mm guns and numerous SAM sites.

"You're in protected airspace," Harry shouted, awed by the amount of ground fire aimed at their F-4. "We're violating the rules of engagement."

"No," Brad barked, "I'm breaking the rules of engagement!"

He saw that the MiG pilot was decelerating in preparation to land. Dao was maneuvering toward a left base for a left turn to final approach.

"Goddamnit, Brad, we're going to end up in Leavenworth… or dead. I'm not shitting you."

Snapping the Phantom into a left ninety-degree bank, Brad hugged the terrain while he paralleled the runway, bleeding off speed. Rolling wings level, he waited until the F-4 was at midfield, then slapped the throttles to idle and banked steeply to the right.

"Let's get the hell outta here," Harry pleaded, crushed down in his ejection seat. He had never flown this fast so close to the ground. Terrified, Harry braced his hands under the canopy and looked across the airfield. He glimpsed a group of men throwing themselves on the ground, while others were running for cover.

Three quarters through the punishing turn, Brad shoved the throttles back into afterburner and leveled out a half mile from the end of the runway. He spotted Major Dao turning final at 300 feet above the ground. The MiG's landing gear was extended.

"Come on, Brad," Harry said, sliding down in his seat, "get us out of here!"

Crossing the edge of the airfield at thirty feet, Brad lowered the nose even farther and barreled down the runway. Ignoring the tracer rounds passing over his canopy, Brad concentrated on Dao's aircraft. A moment later the MiG-21 pulled up steeply as Brad blasted under the fighter.

"Ho… Christ," Harry uttered in sheer terror.

Simultaneously yanking the throttles to idle and deploying the speed brakes, Brad hauled the F-4 around in a face-sagging turn. The wing tip was fifteen feet above the ground.

"Oh… God," Harry moaned under the heavy g load. "Get him — bag him… and let's get the hell out of here!"

Brad rolled level after 180 degrees of turn, elated to see the MiG turning and climbing for another approach to the airfield. Brad figured Dao must be out of fuel, or he would have raised the landing gear and attempted to engage the intruding Phantom.

"I'm pulling for a shot," Brad groaned, turning into his adversary. "Going to nail him."

Raising the nose, Brad banked the F-4 even farther, heard the Sidewinder tone, then fired a missile. He fired a second Sidewinder at the same moment the first missile blew the tail off the MiG. The second projectile exploded in the mushrooming fireball.

Slamming the throttles forward, Brad banked steeply. "We got him — he's going in!"

Brad witnessed the main fuselage of the MiG-21 hit the ground inverted, then explode again. He saw an additional MiG21, but the pilot was departing the area low to the ground. Two MiG-17s taxied at high speed toward the takeoff point of the runway.

"Let's go, goddamnit!" Harry shouted, bracing himself for more violent maneuvers.

"Hang in there!" Brad replied, focusing on the two fighters about to take off. "We're on our way."

Reaching the middle of the base, Brad fired a Sidewinder at the two MiGs and pulled up in a victory roll, then dove for the deck again. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline boost.

Waiting until the Phantom had accelerated to 630 knots, Brad smoothly pulled the stick back and pointed the nose up fifty degrees. He pressed the stick forward just enough to achieve zero g load. The F-4 shot skyward in a hail of small-arms fire and antiaircraft rounds.

Harry held his breath until the Phantom had zoomed past 15,000 feet. "Do you know how much shit we're in? You blew one of the MiGs apart… on the ground. That's unauthorized."

"Can it, Harry."

Brad tuned his radio to the tanker frequency and keyed his mike. "Snowball, Joker Two Oh Five."

"Joker, Snowball."

The afterburners had sucked the fuel level down to a critical state. Brad stared at the fuel-quantity indicator.

"Snowball, we're going to be feet wet in eight minutes with seven hundred pounds left. I need a big favor." The pilots of the unarmed KA-3B tankers did not care to venture too close to the coastline.

"We're on our way," the Skywarrior pilot radioed. "Go max conserve when you cross the beach."

"Wilco," Brad acknowledged, flinching at the unexpected SAM that slashed past the right wing. Puffs of antiaircraft fire filled the sky around the F-4.

"Harry," Brad said, trying to slow his breathing, "hook up with SAR while I work the tanker. If we can get enough fuel, we can help cover Bull and Russ."

Hutton's thoughts had converged on his immediate survival. "Haven't we pressed it far enough?"

"Goddamnit, Harry," Brad spat. "We aren't going to leave them down there — you saw two good chutes."

Harry checked in with the north search-and-rescue station, then monitored the SAR frequency. The news that he received sickened his stomach. He debated whether or not to tell his pilot until they had refueled.

Brad leveled at 23,000 feet and pulled back the power. Harry worked the radar, finally locking onto the Whale. The tanker pilot bent the KA-3B around like a fighter plane, positioning himself directly in front of the thirsty Phantom. Brad was down to 500 pounds of fuel.

Closing on the Skywarrior, Brad extended his fuel probe and flew the tip smoothly into the basket. His hands were still trembling, but he had dampened out his control inputs to fly with a high degree of finesse.

Breathing a collective sigh of relief, Brad and Harry relaxed while the F-4's fuel tanks were partially replenished.

"Brad," Harry said with unusual emotion in his voice, "there's no need to take on any extra fuel."

"What do you mean?"

Harry had difficulty speaking. "Bull and Russ were captured almost immediately after they hit the ground."

Brad's mouth quivered. "Who confirmed that?"

"Bull did… over his emergency radio. It was only seconds before they were captured by a gun crew."