Rules of Engagement

Chapter 4

Brad and Harry were settled back, discussing the morning's MiG engagement, when Nick Palmer knocked on their stateroom door. An inch short of six feet, the athletic-looking Palmer was a movie idol type from his light brown hair to his perfect white teeth. A graduate of Princeton University, Palmer was the oldest son of a wealthy manufacturing mogul.

Nick Palmer and Harry Hutton, both bachelors, had shared living quarters prior to their squadron's deployment to the Gulf of Tonkin. The well-furnished apartment, dubbed the snake ranch, had been the center of many noisy and disorderly parties. A bevy of young, attractive women had made the apartment, along with the swimming pool, their favorite gathering place.

"Mind if I come in?" Palmer asked, stepping into the cluttered stateroom.

"Pull up a chair," Brad replied, feeling a little uneasy. On his second cruise, Nick the Stick Palmer was considered to be the best pilot in the squadron. "Care for a shot of the good stuff?"

"Sure," the LSO responded, accepting a fresh glass from Brad. "I see that we're flying together tomorrow."

Austin poured a liberal amount of vodka into the wardroom iced-tea glass, then added water and a half dozen ice cubes. Harry Hutton had brought a small bucket of the precious frozen liquid from the wardroom.

"The skipper," Hutton said to his pilot, "is the one who scheduled the flight."

Palmer lighted a cigarette and sipped his drink. "Thanks. This hits the spot."

Brad leaned back against his fire-resistant flight suit hanging on the bulkhead. "Have you got any suggestions for a new kid on the block?"

Nick chuckled, shaking his head. "No. It sounds like you're doing okay on your own."

"Yeah, Nicko," Harry chimed in, "the gyrene is a half MiG ahead of us."

Palmer laughed good-naturedly, then leaned into Hutton's face. "Well, wise-ass, why don't you drive tomorrow and I'll sit in the backseat. That should be worth the price of admission."

Brad tilted his chair forward. "Seriously, Nick, you've got a lot more experience than I have. Any assistance will be greatly appreciated."

"Well," Palmer said, settling back in his chair, "Jocko showed me an interesting maneuver that he believes can bag a gomer eight out of ten times. After he pulled it on me, I believe he's right."

"The negative-g trick," Harry said, now that Nick was letting his little secret out. Palmer, who had wanted to be the first Joker pilot to down a MiG, had sworn Hutton to secrecy. A highly competitive person, Nick did not want anyone else to have. the same advantage.

Palmer ignored Hutton. "What you do is let the MiG driver get on your six, then turn into him just enough so he can pull inside of your radius."

Brad looked perplexed. "Jesus, you're leaving yourself wide open if the guy is halfway good."

"Wait a minute," Palmer said, snuffing out his cigarette. "Patience and timing are the key elements. You've got to have confidence in yourself to pull this off."

In characteristic fighter-pilot style, Palmer raised his hands to demonstrate the maneuver. "When the gomer pulls inside of you, you push the stick forward, staying in the same angle of bank. When you see the MiG disappear from sight below your canopy, you snatch 8 g's back into the turn and roll over the top in the opposite direction from your original turn. Most of the time your bandit will be confused when you disappear under his nose without rolling your aircraft."

"I think," Brad said, hanging onto every word, "I see the picture. When the MiG snap rolls to follow your push maneuver, you're coming back through his line of flight too fast for him to follow."

Palmer smiled, raising his glass. "Exactly. Before he can react, you've popped your boards and rolled up and over him. You're now in a position to take advantage, or disengage if you have any doubt about the outcome."

"Jesus," Brad said, replaying the tactic in his mind. "That's definitely an unorthodox maneuver, especially using the speed brakes."

"Yep," Palmer responded knowingly, "but it works. Jocko did it to me coming back from a BARCAP, and I took the bait. When I snapped over, the son of a bitch flashed by me in a blur, with a lot of kinetic energy."

Almost giggling, Hutton butted in. "Next thing Ace here knows, Jocko is on our six."

Brad stifled a laugh. He was amazed that Harry still had all of his original teeth.

"Well," Palmer said sarcastically, "since we're airing our laundry now, why don't you tell Brad about how you identified an air force Phantom as a MiG?"

Unable to resist, Brad laughed.

"Tell him," Palmer continued, "about how excited you were to lock on with a Sparrow, until I saved your dumb ass from knocking the poor bastards out of the sky. Great pair of eyes, kid."

Undaunted, Hutton swallowed the last sip in his glass. "So, I made one mistake this year."

"Oh, yeah," Palmer replied, shaking his head. "We would have had the entire goddamn air force after our asses."

Brad appreciated Palmer's effort to form a closer friendship with him. He seemed to be very genuine. "Nick, why don't you lead out and I'll lead back, until I have more experience?"

"Naw, you go for it. You're a hell of a lot better than you give yourself credit for."

Feeling a tinge of embarrassment, Brad got up and rinsed his glass. "Nick, I'd like to try your negative-g maneuver on our way back tomorrow. I've always been taught that speed — lots of it — is the key to winning, and living to fight again."

"That's basically true," Palmer replied, feeling a closeness to the less experienced Phantom pilot. "But intimidation and unpredictability are the keys to survival. You've got to know your aircraft, and push it to the limits of its capability, and your capability."

Brad sat down, not taking his eyes off the seasoned fighter pilot.

"A lot of people," Palmer continued, "are afraid of the Fox-4. They're afraid to take it to the edge, or over the edge. To get the most out of the Phantom, you need to keep your speed above four hundred thirty knots, and fight below thirty thousand feet.

"If you can get a MiG to jump you at an altitude below fourteen thousand feet, you're in the prime F-4 envelope. The Phantom, as I'm sure you've discovered, turns like a lead sled at higher altitudes."

Austin acknowledged with a smile and a nod.

"What about the MiGs?" Brad asked, intrigued by Palmer's knowledge. "What are their weaknesses and strong points?" Hutton was also interested in the discussion.

"The seventeen is flight-control limited, or so we've heard.

If the gomer pushes it past four hundred thirty knots, he's on the verge of losing control. That's about all I know, except it turns on a dime."

Unusually candid, Palmer appeared to be pleased that Austin was interested in his experience. "I don't know that much about the MiG-19, but the twenty-one is a thirteen-hundred-mile-perhour rocket. The twenty-one pilots basically use slash-and-run tactics."

Palmer thought for a moment. "We'll work at tactics on each flight. The primary thing to remember is that if you place second in this league, you're dead. Nail 'em quick, and get the hell out of Dodge."

"Thanks," Brad offered, having absorbed every detail provided by Palmer's insight. "I'm looking forward to flying with you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Harry grinned, "he's a real treat."

"Hey, Brad," Palmer said, crunching on an ice cube and ignoring Hutton, "our contingent of marines is target practicing on the fantail. I think they're using M-16s. Suppose you could use your influence to get us a little firing time?"

Laughing out loud, Harry could not resist. "Shit, Palmer, you couldn't hit water if you fell out of a boat."

Brad smiled, feeling a bond developing between the two pilots. "Sure. They've got a machine gun too. We can really put on a show with that little hummer."

"Think they would allow us to tow Harry as a target?" "How in the hell," Brad laughed, "did they ever team you two together?"

Harry blew Palmer a kiss. "Just lucky, I guess."