Rules of Engagement (1991) (13 page)

His bladder suddenly reminded him of the number of beers he had consumed. Brad swung his legs over the side of the upper bunk, then jumped down, landing unsteadily on Lunsford's flight boots.

"Goddamnit," Austin swore as he lost his balance and fell on top of his RIO. "Sorry."

Lunsford only groaned as Brad regained his footing and headed for the latrine at the end of the Quonset hut.

Upon returning, Brad attempted to talk Lunsford awake. That effort had no effect on the inebriated RIO. Austin finally aroused Lunsford by pulling him up to a sitting position, then helping him to the latrine. Brad could see that he had to take command of the situation if they were going to make their overhead time at the carrier.

"Okay, Russ," Brad said, sitting the lethargic man in the single shower, "this is for your own good."

Lunsford leaned over, slumping against the corner of the stall, while Brad pointed the shower head away and adjusted th
e t
emperature of the water. Aiming the stream of lukewarm water a foot above his RIO's head, Brad stepped back.

"Jesus!" Lunsford spluttered, sitting upright. "You son of a bitch!" He crawled out of the shower and leaned against the side.

"It was either this," Brad said, turning off the water, "or carry you to the airplane. We gotta be wheels in the well by oh seven hundred."

"You're a complete asshole, Austin."

"That may be," Brad said, reaching down to help Lunsford to his feet, "but we've got an overhead time to meet."

Brad walked his hungover RIO back to his bunk, assisted him in getting his flight boots on, then lifted him back to his feet. "Can you walk?" Brad asked, holding Lunsford by his arm.

Russ lurched forward two steps. "Yeah, I think so."

Lunsford wobbled toward the entrance, stopping to kick the bunk bed of the two air-force fighter pilots they had met the night before. "Time to get up, girls. Don't you know there's a war on?"

Brad Austin taxied the Phantom behind two marine KC-130 Herculeses. The lumbering, four-engine giants were part of a four-plane detachment from VMGR-152 that provided aerial refueling for the strike aircraft.

Brad had carefully preflighted the Phantom, noting no safety or flight discrepancies. Without oxygen, the crew would fly below 10,000 feet. Brad had found four small holes in Joker 203, one of which had severed the oxygen line. The other three holes, along with the damaged refueling probe, would not pose any risk during the flight to the carrier.

The only concern had been the hole in the canopy. Brad had inspected the damage, concluding that the canopy would make it to the carrier, since it had survived a pounding hailstorm.

"You feeling any better?" Brad asked as the tower cleared the tankers to take off.

"Yeah, a little better," Lunsford answered, almost dozing. "Could we, just this one time, fly straight and level . . . with no g's?"

Watching the first Hercules commence its takeoff roll, Brad chuckled over the intercom. "Hey, party-time guy, that wouldn't be any fun."

"I had enough fun last night to last a lifetime."

Brad watched the second KC-130 start its roll. "Okay, granny, we'll do a little sight-seeing. Our overhead has been changed to zero eight hundred."

"Eight o'clock?"

"That's right," Brad answered, taxiing to the hold short line. "We also had a note in Ops thanking us for the hooch." "Hooch?"

"Yes, that's what it said," Brad answered, checking his flight controls and engine instruments. "Sergeant Grevers extended an invitation to drop in anytime."

"Yeah," Lunsford replied, settling his helmet on the headrest. "This is the last goddamned hole I would visit."

Brad keyed his mike. "Da Nang tower, Navy Two Oh Three is ready to roll."

Three army helicopters clattered over the runway before the tower controller spoke. "Navy Two Zero Three, cleared for takeoff."

Taxing onto the runway, Austin advanced the throttles to full military power. After rolling 100 feet, Brad selected afterburner and felt the combined kick of 34,000 pounds of thrust.

The Phantom lifted off smoothly as Brad started a gentle climb. He deselected afterburner and set the power at ninety-two percent.

"Navy Two Zero Three, contact departure."

"Wilco, Two Oh Three," Brad replied, setting the departure-control frequency. "Departure, Navy Two Oh Three with you. I have a request."

"Two Zero Three," the deep, gravelly voice replied, "go ahead."

"I'd like to stay low," Brad said, leveling the fighter at 1,000

feet, "and take a look at the coastline before we depart for the boat." "Cleared as requested. Recommend that you remain at leas
t o
ne mile offshore."

Brad gently walked the throttles back. "Wilco, Navy Two Oh Three."

The radar controller cleared them off the frequency and Austin set the power for a leisurely cruise at 260 knots. They could see smoke rising from the jungle canopy as marine F-4s and A-4 Skyhawks pounded two enemy locations.

Passing Vung Chon May, Brad keyed his intercom. "Russ, this area would be a great place to build a resort. I can picture hotels, condos, and golf courses."

Looking along the scenic shoreline, Lunsford could visualize the possibilities for development. "I don't think we'll ever see it in our lifetime. War is a way of life for these people, and I expect they will continue fighting far into the future."

Brad gazed at the city of Hue. "You're right, and it's pathetic. Hundreds of thousands of human beings down there blowing the shit out of each other, when they could be building resorts." Brad looked out at the rising pillars of smoke. "We all have to be somewhere."

Lunsford watched a marine Phantom roll in on a target, hurtle toward the ground, drop a load of bombs, and climb for safety. "Homo sapiens--we're the most intelligent species on the planet."

"Yeah," Brad replied, peering at Quang Tri. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Brad turned the Phantom toward the sea and started a climbing turn. Passing 3,000 feet, he spotted a navy destroyer on the horizon. The ship was moving slowly, barely leaving a wake. "Russ, you up for a little air show?"

"Ah, shit," Lunsford spat. "I knew it. I knew you couldn't go more than a couple of minutes without doing something stupid."

"Come on," Brad responded, lowering the nose. "Think how boring it must be for the guys stuck out here on these ships. They could use a little excitement."

Looking around the right side of Austin's helmet, Lunsford could see the destroyer. "What happened to my smooth, no-g flight back to the boat?"

"You can get a straight and level on an airliner."

Lunsford looked at Brad's canopy. "Let's not screw around with a hole in the canopy."

"It made it through the hailstorm," Brad responded, then added, "so I don't believe a tight turn and roll is going to have much effect."

"Bullshit . . ."

Brad shoved the throttles forward and leveled the Phantom at 100 feet above the water. He watched the destroyer rapidly fill his windshield. Brad waited until he was abeam the port side, then wrapped the screaming Phantom into a 450-knot circle around the ship.

Tilting his head back, Lunsford could see the sailors rushing to the starboard side of the destroyer. "They're waving . . . and pouring out on deck."

Concentrating on holding his altitude, Brad returned to his starting point, snapped the fighter wings level, raised the nose slightly, and executed a flawless four-point roll. The maneuver was immediately followed by a vertical rolling climb in afterburner.

Lunsford's stomach let him know that it was time for a serious talk with his pilot. "I'm about to toss that goddamn fried rice."

"Okay, nice and easy."

Lunsford breathed slowly, looking out at the hazy horizon. "Oh, the roar of the crowd and the smell of greasepaint. Why don't you put in a request for the Blue Angels?"

"Already have," Brad replied, easing the Phantom's nose down. He leveled off, checked his TACAN for the position of the carrier, then called the ship. "Checkerboard Strike, Joker Two Oh Three."

"Joker Two Zero Three, Strike. You are cleared for the break." The break was a pass up the starboard side of the carrier, followed by a high-g, knife-edge turn (break) to position the aircraft downwind on the port side of the ship.

"Strike, my RIO is not feeling well. How about a straight in?" A slight pause followed.

"You didn't have to announce that to the whole goddamne
d w
orld," Lunsford sighed. "I'm going to be laughed out of the ready room."

"Hey," Brad replied, slowing the Phantom. "You're the one who requested no more yankin' and bankin'."

"That's approved," the controller radioed. "Switch to the LSO." "Wilco."

Lunsford swore again, then remained quiet as they rapidly approached the carrier.

Brad chatted with the landing-signal officer, slowed the F-4, extended the flaps, then lowered the landing gear and tail hook. Spotting the lighted landing aid, Brad called the ball and flew a smooth pass to the number three wire.

Following the directions of the flight-deck petty officer, Brad taxied to a spot on the bow where the blue-shirted aircraft handlers chocked the wheels and chained down the Phantom.

A number of deck personnel stared and pointed at the hole in the canopy. Brad shut down the engines and both men raised their canopies. Toby Kendall scrambled up the side of the fuselage as Nick Palmer and Harry Hutton approached the F-4.

Brad could see that both Palmer and Hutton were carrying miscellaneous items, but he could not make out what the objects were.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant," Kendall said, unable to conceal his grin.

"It's good to be back," Brad responded, taking off his helmet. "Believe me."

Kendall helped the two men unstrap, then stepped down one step. "What happened to your canopy, sir?"

"We went through a SAM burst," Brad answered, wondering what Palmer and Hutton were doing next to the forward fuselage. "The one that knocked down Commander Durham's airplane."

"Well," Kendall responded as he grabbed Austin's helmet, "we can use the canopy off of Two Oh Eight."

"Yeah," Brad replied as he lifted himself from his seat, "that's about the only thing I didn't destroy." He still had not been dow
n t
o see the aircraft he had flown through the trees and into the barricade.

Kendall stepped down to the deck as Austin and Lunsford climbed over the side of the Phantom. A small crowd had gathered, gawking at the splitter plate in front of the left engine intake.

Reaching the flight deck, Brad looked at the focus of everyone's amusement. "Just what I needed," he said to Palmer and Hutton when he saw the patrol boat painted on the side of the Phantom.

Hutton laughed, then handed the stencil and spray can to Kendall. "Think about it, Brad. Four more boats and you'll be an ace."

Lunsford stepped back two paces and framed the boat with his hands. "Why don't you guys paint a tree next to the boat?"

Chapter
12.

Austin and Lunsford left their flight gear in the locker and went to the ready room. Bull Durham and Ernie Sheridan were there to greet the "boat blasters," as Austin and Lunsford had been tagged.

"We owe you one," Durham said, shaking hands with the two junior officers. "I didn't know what the hell you were doing when you rolled in and came screaming toward the boat. Man, I'm tellin' you, we were both amazed when that missile came off and plowed into that mother."

Lunsford shook his head. "So was I."

Sheridan, who was the spark of any party and enjoyed hanging around with the pilots, sat down in one of the high-backed chairs. "Seriously, we sure as hell appreciate what you guys did."

"Well," Brad replied self-consciously, "I just hope you don't have to return the favor."

"No shit," Durham laughed as he sat down on the armrest of one of the briefing chairs. "Have a seat, and we'll bring yo
u u
p to date." Austin and Lunsford sat and gave him their full attention.

"Did you have any trouble getting into Da Nang?" Sheridan asked.

Lunsford cut off Austin before he could answer. "No, we didn't have any problems. The tree surgeon flew us through the most violent goddamn thunderstorm ever recorded in this hemisphere . . . with a hole in his canopy and no oxygen."

Durham and Sheridan, laughing out loud, were well aware of Lunsford's uneasiness in the air. They, along with everyone else in the squadron, respected the RIO for sticking to it and doing a good job.

"Then," Lunsford continued as Brad rolled back his eyes, "we made an emergency fuel GCA to a miraculous landing. That's when it got ugly."

Durham looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"We flamed out on the taxiway."

"You're kidding," Durham said.

"Fact," Lunsford responded. "The marines must have sent him out here to save their own inventory of airplanes."