Rules of Engagement

Chapter 28

Listening to the ship creak and groan, Brad Austin sat at his desk resting his forehead in the palms of his hands. His eyes were closed, sealing off the reminders of his environment. Why did it happen? Could he have done anything more to have prevented the MiG pilot from shooting down Bull and Russ?

Brad opened his eyes and focused on the stationery in front of him. He had made four attempts to draft a letter to Cordelia Durham, but had discarded each attempt.

How could he tell her that as Lincoln Durham's wingman, he had allowed her husband to be shot down? What could he say to a woman who was pregnant, and might not ever see her husband again?

Brad drifted back to the debriefing. He and Harry had confirmed that Bull and Russ had a MiG to their credit. They had also explained that the North Vietnamese had shot down one of their own aircraft with a SAM. The glee that that information normally would have brought was nullified by the tragic loss of Bull and Russ.

Brad and Harry had not mentioned that Maj. Nguyen Thanh Dao had downed Bull and Russ. They also had not reported that the North Vietnamese ace would never shoot down another airplane.

Harry had been extremely nervous during the debriefing, deferring to Brad to supply the pertinent information about the engagements. Both men had answered every question truthfully. No one had asked if they had penetrated protected airspace and blasted an ace out of the air over Phuc Yen.

Brad picked up his pen and began to write.

Addressing the envelope, Brad also included his parents' address and phone number. He added a postscript to the letter, explaining that his mother would always have his current address.

He placed his pen on the desk and proceeded to his next task. What should he say to the parents of Russ Lunsford? They knew that their son had been Brad Austin's radar-intercept officer. How could he explain why Russ was incarcerated by the North Vietnamese while Brad was safely on board the carrier?

Brad was sealing the envelope to Cordelia Durham when Harry entered their stateroom and sat down. He looked somber and tired, with bags under his eyes.

Placing the letter down, Brad turned to his roommate. "Talk to me, Harry. Get it off your chest."

Hutton stared at the deck before facing Brad. "I've got a bad feeling about this deal."

"How so?" Brad asked, noting his friend's nervousness. He was concerned that everyone had noticed Harry's strange behavior.

Harry looked up. "We shouldn't have lied to them."

"Let me set the record straight," Brad said, leaning forward. "We did not lie to anyone. There is a distinct difference between a lie — an untrue remark made deliberately — and an omission."

Harry paused a moment, examining the sensitive issue. "Omission? How about just saying that we neglected to tell the whole story?"

"That would be good," Brad replied testily, thinking about Bull and Russ. "Oh, by the way, we overlooked a couple of minor points."

Hutton exhaled sharply. "It was wrong, and you know it was, for Christ's sake."

Absently squeezing his knees, Brad met Harry's eyes. "You're absolutely right, Harry. I admit both mistakes — violating the rules of engagement and not saying anything about what I did at Phuc Yen. It's a very humbling experience, and I'm damn sure not proud of what I did.

"However, I want to discuss your word — neglect. Neglect is when people in the White House allow our enemies to have protected airspace, and American pilots are free game anywhere, at any time."

Harry managed a slight smile. "I know what you're saying, and I agree with your frustration — all our frustrations — but I feel uncomfortable."

Brad looked at the pouting Playmate of the Month, then glanced at the calendar mounted on the bulkhead. "I'll bet Bull and Russ are a lot more uncomfortable than you are tonight."

A reddish tinge turned Hutton's face dark. "I didn't mean that we —

"Harry, do whatever your conscience tells you to do, okay? According to the rules of engagement, which place us in great jeopardy, I was wrong." The two men remained quiet a moment, fully realizing the possible consequences of Brad's actions.

"If you want me to march in with you an 'fess up," Brad continued calmly, "I'll do it."

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't want to do that. It would destroy your career, and probably mine."

Brad inhaled deeply, then let his breath out slowly. "Harry, that is the least of my concerns. Think about Rocky, Ed, Nick, Bull, and Russ — all the people busting their asses in this obvious no-win boondoggle. Think about this goddamn travesty, and my career doesn't warrant consideration."

Hutton lowered his head and closed his eyes, then opened them and raised his head. "Jesus Christ, what a crock of shit… this whole goddamn mess."

"Harry, it's your choice. I'm the one who points the flying machine, so you didn't have much choice."

Jaw set, Brad faced his friend. "Well, you do have a choice now, and don't make your decision based on loyalty to me or my career aspirations."

Hutton's shoulders slumped. "Do we have any more booze around here?"

"Yes," Brad answered, glancing at the safe. "But I don't think it's a good idea to have liquor on our breath if we're going to see the skipper."

Harry sat up in his chair. "No. We'd only be digging our own graves. Let's forget about it, and think about the day after tomorrow." The carrier was scheduled to dock in Yokosuka in thirty-seven hours.

Brad stared blankly at the deck. "We avenged Bull and Russ, and Major Dao won't be adding any more stars to his airplane.

If that's wrong, I was wrong."

Standing on the signal bridge, Brad watched the shoreline pass as the carrier steamed through the wide entrance to Tokyo Bay. The gray overcast, blended with the dark, leaden sea, made the morning seem like late afternoon.

Unable to sleep soundly, Brad had showered and shaved at 4 A. M., finished the difficult letter to Russ Lunsford's parents, then had a light breakfast in the main wardroom.

Propping one foot on the lower brace, Brad leaned on the upper railing and gazed at the various ships maneuvering in the bay. He had been preoccupied with the fate of Bull and Russ. Were they being humiliated and tortured? Were they being subjected to brutal interrogations? His guilt was oppressive, hanging like a weight around his neck.

His emotions ran the gamut from deep depression over the well-being of Bull and Russ, to jubilation about his impending vacation with Leigh Ann. Forcing himself to erase the horrors of war from his mind, Brad concentrated on remembering every detail about her.

Harry had decided to remain on board the carrier. He, along with the majority of the squadron flight-crew members, were low in spirits. The deaths of Frank Rockwood and Ed Zapata, followed by the loss of Nick Palmer, and the capture of another crew, had demoralized the pilots and RIOs.

Brad remained on the signal bridge while the mammoth ship was edged next to the pier. After the carrier had been gently docked, Brad went below to his stateroom to get his luggage, which he had packed the previous evening. Entering the cramped stateroom, Brad was surprised to see Harry sitting morosely at the desk.

"Hey, shipmate," Brad said cheerfully, "how about lunch and a beer at the club before I head for Tokyo?"

Harry turned without replying. Brad had never seen him so glum.

"Come on," Brad cajoled, tapping his friend on the shoulder. "I'm buying."

Harry displayed the hint of a smile. "Okay. I could use a beer."

He stretched his arms back, yawning. "You still want me to go to Tokyo with you?"

Brad glanced at the packed overnight bag at the foot of Harry's locker. "Hell, yes. Who else is going to take care of me, and attract all the women for us?"

"Right," Harry replied, grinning his mischievous grin. "You need a keeper."

Brad and Harry sat at a dining table in the Yokosuka Officers' Club. The bar was full of ships' company and air-wing officers. The noise level was increasing in proportion to the rounds of drinks being consumed. The afternoon and evening promised to be a rowdy, no-holds-barred party full of sea stories and "almost killed" flying stories. The aviators referred to the tales as A-Kays. If a true story had an unbelievable air about it, the pilot or RIO would precede the anecdote with the word TINS-this is no shit.

After calling Japan Airlines, Brad had attempted to contact Leigh Ann. Her mother had answered, cool and polite as always. It was after 9 P. M. in Memphis. Mrs. Ladasau had explained that she expected her daughter home at any minute. She had not mentioned Leigh Ann's invitation to join him in San Francisco.

Brad had told her that he would call again, if it was not too late, at ten o'clock. She assured him that that would be fine.

Harry set down his empty mug and wiped off his mouth. "So, when does your flight leave?"

Brad unfolded his hastily written notes. "They have a flight at six in the evening, so I figured we could make that one."

Frowning, Harry looked toward the noisy bar, then back to Brad. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

Brad checked the time. "Harry, if there was an early morning flight, I'd stay over in Tokyo. There are only two flights a day — at three forty and six in the evening." Brad smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Counting the travel time, I'm only going to have a few days with Leigh Ann."

Harry frowned again and signaled for another beer.

"Why don't you get a nice hotel room in the Ginza district?" Brad suggested, sliding his chair back. "I know you can provide your own entertainment in one of the hostess bars." Harry chuckled as Brad walked toward the telephones.

Brad picked up the receiver and worked his way from the local operator to an international operator. After two attempts to secure an open line, the phone rang in the elegant home in Memphis, Tennessee.

"Ladasau residence," Leigh Ann answered after the first ring. "Hi, Leigh Ann. This is Brad."

"I've been waiting by the phone. How are you, and where are you?"

Brad looked at his watch again. "I'm fine. Harry, the guy you met in Hawaii, and I just finished lunch. We're in Yokosuka, Japan, where the ship is docked. Are you going to join me in San Francisco?"

Leigh Ann laughed softly. "My luggage has been packed for three days."

"Any problem with your parents?"

She paused, wondering if Brad was reading her thoughts. "Well, mother thinks it's fine — she likes you."

"What about your father?"

"We can talk about it later. I'm so excited about seeing you."

"Great," Brad replied, feeling his pulse quicken. "I'll be arriving in San Francisco late Tuesday morning — West Coast time. I hope you can catch a flight out in the morning."

"I've memorized all the flight times," she confessed. "I'll plan to leave early in the morning. My flight is scheduled to land in San Francisco at ten thirty-five."

"I can't wait," Brad replied, then added, "if you have any problems, or if you get delayed, please call the Fairmont and leave a message for me."

"Okay. Do you happen to have the telephone number?" "Yes," Brad answered, struggling to free his wallet. He gave her the number, and she read it back to him.

"Oh, one other thing," Brad said, folding the confirmation notice from the Fairmont. "Your room is booked in your name, so please go ahead and check in, then relax and enjoy San Francisco."

"I'll do that."

"I should arrive in the early afternoon," Brad continued, returning his wallet to his back pocket. "If I encounter any delays, I'll leave a message for you."

"Oh, Brad, I can't wait to see you."

He could feel the excitement stirring inside of him. "I'm the one who can't wait."

"I'm going to call and confirm my airline reservations right now."

"Good idea, and get some rest, if you can."

"I don't think I can sleep," Leigh Ann laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Brad tensed as the airliner lifted off the runway at the Haneda Airport and banked toward the Pacific Ocean. He had always been uncomfortable in an airplane, unless he had access to the flight controls. Looking around the sparsely filled jet, Brad was thankful that he had all three seats to himself. He stared blankly out the window, feeling a tinge of guilt about abandoning Harry.

Tilting his seat back, Brad felt the continuous bumps as the airliner climbed through the lower choppy air. A moment later, the flight suddenly became smooth as the jet gained altitude. Reaching into the oversized shopping bag in the center seat, Brad removed the box containing the beautiful kimono he had purchased in one of the stores at the airport.

He unfolded the soft garment and inspected the craftsmanship. The loose Japanese robe was a tasteful example of the traditional kimono. The luxuriously tailored silk gown featured wide sleeves and a broad sash.

Satisfied, he replaced the light beige and blue kimono in the box. He hoped Leigh Ann would be pleased with the gift.

Brad opened the latest copy of Newsweek and leafed through the magazine, skipping the articles having to do with the war. When the airliner leveled at cruising altitude, he placed the magazine in the seat back and thought about Leigh Ann. Would she really be as wonderful as he envisaged?

"Sir, would you care for a beverage?"

Lost in his thoughts, Brad had been unaware of the charming young Japanese woman standing next to him. "Sure," Brad responded, folding the seat-back tray into position. "I'll have a scotch and soda."

He gazed out of the window at the setting sun, feeling the tension drain from his body. He pulled Leigh Ann's pendant from under his shirt and admired it.

His drink finished, Brad put the glass down and exhaled. A few minutes later, he drifted into a sound sleep.