Targets of Opportunity

Chapter NINE

Brad Austin sank into a chair in the briefing room and rested the back of his head against the wall. He could see the technicians and Hank Murray swarming over the MiG. Some of the men were removing access panels from the fuselage of the fighter, while others congregated around the cockpit.

The shrill whine of the Crusader's turbojet grew louder as Stanfield approached the hangar ramp. A minute later the engine spun to a stop, allowing Brad to hear the voices in the hangar.

Spencer entered the quiet room and laughed nervously. "How are you feeling?"

Brad gave him a blank look and shook his head.

"That good," Spencer said as he sat down across from the spent pilot. The project officer had made a decision, at least in his mind, that Brad Austin should be the primary pilot if Operation Achilles was allowed to run its course. The young aviator was a natural. "You certainly bring another dimension to the world of naval aviation."

"Not by design, sir," Brad replied just before Palmer and Blackwell entered the small room.

"What do you plan," Nick laughed sarcastically, "for your next show?"

Brad closed his eyes. "If I had the energy, I'd get up and kick your navy ass."

"We drove out in the jeep," Lex said. "You've gotta be the luckiest son of a bitch on this planet, bar none. Your tires touched down forty-four feet from the end of the runway."

"In all seriousness," Spencer said with unusual gravity, "we're going to have to concentrate on safety. We'll wait until Grady gets here, but I'm convinced that it is time to slow down… before someone gets killed."

Hank Murray and Grady Stanfield entered the room. The navy captain had a frown on his face.

"Find anything?" Spencer asked.

"We sure did," Murray replied, holding up a broken piece of throttle linkage. "It snapped just behind the throttle quadrant."

"I think," Brad mustered his energy, "that we should forget about flying the MiG, and let the navy use that shitbox for an anchor."

Brad relaxed slightly after the COD rose from the runway and the landing gear retracted. He did not enjoy riding in the back of planes being flown by other pilots. Especially people he did not know.

Hollis Spencer had decided to ground the MiG until a suitable throttle linkage could be machined. He had ordered Hank Murray to thoroughly examine the MiG for any other possible discrepancies. Flight testing would resume after Murray was confident that all of the MiG's components and systems were airworthy. Grady Stanfield had remained at the hangar to flight-check the fighter after the repairs had been made.

"Is it true," Palmer asked Blackwell, "that you guys from one-sixtytwo used Sidewinders to knock out locomotives?" He was referring to the VF-162 squadron on board the carrier Oriskany. The Sidewinder was designed to be a heat-seeking air-to-air missile.

"That's right." Lex chuckled. "Those steam engines draw the little mothers like buzzards to a carcass. At the time I was shanghaied by the spooks, we had four engines to our credit."

Nick looked at Brad. "Tell him what you did with a Sidewinder." "I'd just as soon forget it."

"Brad," Palmer proudly beamed, "who was an exchange pilot in our squadron, saved two of our guys who were in the drink. He used a 'Winder to take out a North Vietnamese patrol boat that was almost on top of the crew."

"No shit?" Blackwell exclaimed, glancing at Austin.

Brad nodded his head, feeling a tinge of embarrassment. He wished Palmer would drop the subject.

"I'm not kidding," Palmer continued. "He did a split-S, circled the boat, and attacked from the rear."

"What were you," Nick looked at Austin, "fifty to seventy-five feet above the water?"

Brad leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Give it a rest, please."

"Anyway," Nick laughed, "he was down in the soup, steaming along at about four hundred fifty knots, when they opened fire with two machine guns. The jarhead just pressed on and cranked off a 'Winder."

Lex laughed, obviously enjoying the tale.

"That beauty tracked directly to their engine and blew the bastards straight out of the water." Palmer grinned with delight. "Trust me, it was a piece of work."

Palmer and Blackwell continued to swap sea stories and flying tales. Brad thought about what he would say to Leigh Ann on Saturday. He napped serenely until the Trader landed at Miramar.

Friday morning, Brad prepared breakfast while Palmer showered and dressed. After they had eaten their omelets, Brad got ready while Nick washed the dishes and read the paper.

"Spencer just called," Palmer said when Brad stepped out of the bathroom. "Grady flew the MiG this morning, and we're going to resume operations early Monday."

"When do we have to go back?"

Nick folded the paper and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. "He said the COD will be wheels in the wells at three A. M. Monday morning."

"That's great." Brad wrinkled his brow in displeasure. "We might as well stay up all night."

"I gather, from what he said, that we're going to be making up time." Palmer looked out the window, searching the ocean for ships. "He sounded pressured, sort of anxious."

Opening the refrigerator and small pantry, Brad made a brief note of the items they needed for the party that evening. "You sure you don't want to go with me?"

"No, thanks," Palmer replied, spying an aircraft carrier in the distance. "Lex and I will get the grill and charcoal. He wants to buy the meat at some place in Chula Vista."

Brad laughed. "If I know Lex, he probably found a barbecue joint, so all he has to do is warm the meat on the grill."

The phone rang as Austin reached for his keys and wallet. He snatched the receiver and was surprised to hear Allison van Ingen's soft, resonant voice.

"Hello, there."

He darted a look at Palmer. "Good morning, Allison."

"I didn't know if you would be back yet," she said, "but I wanted to confirm the cookout this evening… before I invited my friends. Actually," Allison continued before Brad could reply, "they're the two women who are redecorating Bellwether"

"Sure." Brad hesitated for a moment. "We're looking forward to seeing you this evening." He saw Nick hold up four fingers. "Would around four o'clock be all right?"

"That will be fine," Allison replied soothingly. "Is there anything we can help with, or bring?"

"Thanks, but we've got it under control," he chuckled lightly, "as soon as I go to the grocery store, and the other guys locate a grill."

"Under control, huh?" She laughed suspiciously. "I had better go to the supermarket with you."

Brad wondered what Leigh Ann would think about that. "That's okay… he said awkwardly. "I was just on my way out the door, but I appreciate the offer."

"Brad, I don't have a thing to do," Allison replied in her most convincing manner, "so I'll pick you up in thirty minutes, if you'll give me directions."

Brad's instincts told him this was not a good idea, but what could he say? He acquiesced and gave her the directions to the apartment complex. "I'll be out in front."

"I'll be looking for you," she said with a touch of excitement in her voice. "See you in half an hour."

He said good-bye and thought about asking Nick to go shopping with Allison. Rejecting the impulse as cowardly, he decided to handle the situation as best he could.

"She's got you nailed." Palmer laughed devilishly. "You had better check your six."

tell you something." Brad was serious, and it showed. "This whole deal — Achilles, keeping secrets, Allison and Leigh. Ann coming — is getting out of hand."

"Not if we're careful," Palmer said cautiously.

"Allison, as she said she was going to do, is inviting two other friends over." Brad swore to himself and sat down. "She's bringing the women who are working on her father's yacht, so we've got to tell more lies."

They remained silent, realizing how careful they had to be not to reveal anything about their background or their jobs.

Palmer gave Brad a wry, fleeting smile. "Do you think we should cancel the shindig?"

"Logic tells me that we should," Brad replied, staring at Nick. "We're suppose to be low-key and out of sight… remember?"

"Well, maybe we should call it off," Nick said with more than a hint of frustration, "before something happens that puts us in a bind."

Brad thought for a minute. None of them knew what the future held. The stress of flying the MiG was taking a toll on their nerves. They deserved some fun and relaxation.

"To hell with it," Brad declared, thinking the party would be a good diversion. "Let's just go through with it, but not make any more commitments. And listen, Nick, don't let anybody get close to the truth. The consequences might be greater than we can imagine."

Palmer nodded thoughtfully.

"So," Brad said firmly, "on with it."

"Why not," Palmer was all too ready to agree. "I'm tired of this horseshit. It's time to enjoy life — live a little — with no serious commitments."