Rules of Engagement (1991) (30 page)

Brad watched the canopy jettison, followed by the rocket-powered ejection seat. The pilot shot out horizontally, then started to arc toward the water. His parachute was only partially open when he impacted the water with tremendous force.

The aircraft crashed abeam the bow, creating a huge geyser of water. Wreckage ricocheted across the water for more than 200 yards.

Brad felt the ship heel over as the captain turned back into the wind. Elliot instructed the returning pilots to orbit overhead the carrier.

The rescue helicopter was slowing over the downed aviator, and the plane-guard destroyer had maneuvered to the right of the carrier's wake. The support ship was slowing in preparation to lower a boat over the side if the helicopter developed any problems.

As the carrier prepared to continue to recover aircraft, Brad watched the SAR helicopter hover over the A-4 pilot. The rescue swimmer jumped into the water as the carrier passed the helicopter. The injured aviator was apparently not able to don the rescue collar on his own.

"Ready deck!" the talker shouted into the wind.

Brad looked forward to see the last of the Skyhawk's debris being thrown over the side of the carrier. A plane handler kicked a shred of metal off the deck and gave a thumbs-up indication.

Tag Elliot was talking to the Air Boss and the pilots. It was time to continue recovering aircraft, before they all had to tank from the Whale.

Brad heard the approaching Skyhawk pilot call the ball, then glanced at the rescue helicopter. The rotorcraft was falling far behind the carrier, but Brad could see that the A-4 pilot was being hoisted aboard the helicopter. The injured aviator would be back on the carrier deck in a matter of minutes.

Chapter
26.

Stepping into the main wardroom, Brad joined the line at the cafeteria-style counter, then looked for an empty seat in the crowded room.

Spotting Harry Hutton and Russ Lunsford, Brad walked to their table. "Hi, guys."

"Hi," Russ answered, reaching for his milk. Harry nodded, swallowing a bite of tuna-fish sandwich.

Lunsford appeared to be more relaxed than Brad had ever seen him. Russ held his milk with a steady hand, smiling easily and laughing.

Harry raised his sandwich. "You been LSOing this morning, or just sleeping in?"

"No," Brad replied, placing his cloth napkin across his lap. "I've been in the library, studying the history of the landing-signal officer. I get to wave the afternoon gaggle, with Tag coaching me."

Lunsford finished his milk. "Are you going to have to go to the formal LSO school?"

"I don't know what they plan to do. This is just an indoctrination to the art, and, as you know, we're short of aircrews."

Brad reached for his iced tea and looked at Russ. "How's the personnel business?"

Listening to Lunsford tell about the revamped personnel files, Brad peppered his meal and began eating. "What's next on your list?"

"Scary told me," Russ answered, putting his dessert spoon down with a triumphant air, "that I am cleared to fly tomorrow."

Brad looked up, concealing his concern. Whatever his faults, Russ Lunsford was a good friend. "How do you feel about flying again?"

Lunsford waited while a steward removed his plates from the table. "At first--yesterday when he told me--I had a few butterflies in my stomach, but I'm looking forward to getting back in the groove."

Harry put down the remains of his sandwich. "We are scheduled to fly wing tomorrow for Bull and Russ."

"Great," Brad replied, turning to Lunsford. "What kind of hop did we draw?"

"A TARCAP," Russ answered, folding his napkin on the table. "We are on the early morning launch, then the Bonnie Dick will relieve us. Tomorrow at this time, we will be steaming for Yokosuka."

Brad immediately thought of Leigh Ann. "Who told you that we're going to Yokosuka tomorrow?"

"The old man," Lunsford answered, serenely folding his hands, "made the announcement about an hour ago."

Unable to contain his grin, Brad ordered dessert from a steward, then resumed the conversation. "Has anyone heard from Nick?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "I had a short note from him yesterday. He wrote it with his left hand, so it took a while to decipher his scratchings. At any rate, he is in sunny San Diego. He said that he is going to be in the hospital--Balboa--for about a month and a half. After that, he is going to be undergoing physical therapy, and whatever else they dream up."

"Then what?" Brad asked, leaning back to allow a stewar
d t
o remove his dinner plate. He had eaten only a few bites. "Who knows. Scary still thinks Nick will be flying in a coupl
e o
f months."

Harry waited until Brad's ice cream had been served. "I heard that the A-4 jock--the guy who skipped across the water yesterday--is turning in his wings. Scary said he broke his right leg and three ribs. I guess he is just one huge bruise."

Brad wiped his mouth. "I think you heard wrong. I went through advanced training with the guy--Chargin' Charlie Nickerson. He is one tough son of a bitch, and a hell of a pilot. He'd probably be the last guy to toss his wings on the table."

"Well," Harry shrugged, "that's what I heard from a guy in his squadron."

Brad ate slowly. The cold dessert caused his teeth to ache. "What are you two planning to do in Yoko?"

An enthusiastic grin spread across Harry's face. "I don't know about Russ, but I'm going to engage in my own kind of physical therapy, and it isn't touring shrines and temples."

Lunsford chuckled, appearing to be completely relaxed. "Since you're deserting us, I'm going to have to take charge of Harry."

"Right, Bosco," Hutton responded, turning to Lunsford. "The last time we were in Yoko, you got blown away on hot sake, and I had to drag your drunken carcass back to the hotel."

Brad finished his ice cream. "I still think the best Russ Lunsford story happened in Hong Kong."

Lunsford sighed. "Do we have to hear that again?" "Yeah," Harry laughed, "when he got shit-faced and bought that plaid suit with the three-inch cuffs."

"After he fell out of the ricksha," Brad grinned.

Lunsford flushed. "Could you all talk a little louder, so the whole wardroom can hear?"

"You had to wear sunglasses," Harry continued, "to look at that goddamn suit. Christ, he looked like a California clap doctor."

"I've got an idea," Brad said excitedly. "Why don't you guys ride up to Tokyo with me, to see me off. If I have time befor
e m
y flight departs, we can amuse ourselves in the Ginza district. How about it?" Brad asked, looking at his watch. He had to be on the LSO platform in fifteen minutes.

"I'm game," Harry replied. "What else have I got to do?" Russ paused a moment. "Count me in, if I can wear my plaid suit."

Tag Elliot stood directly behind Brad, watching the F-4 Phantom rolling into the groove. Elliot's chin was almost touching Brad's left shoulder. The LSO looked much like an umpire standing behind a baseball catcher. Each man held a telephone receiver to his ear. Elliot held the wave-off pickle over his head in his right hand.

Brad intently watched the descending Phantom, concentrating on the visual clues Elliot had taught him. Austin listened to the distinct whine of the F-4's engines as the pilot adjusted his throttles.

Detecting the aircraft going above the glide slope, Brad spoke into his telephone receiver. "Slightly high . . . ease it down a bit."

The pilot responded in a smooth, well-coordinated effort. He crossed the round-down on speed, on centerline, and caught the number-three arresting wire. A perfect trap.

Focusing on the next Phantom, Brad had a fleeting thought about the A-4 Skyhawk orbiting overhead. The attack jet had a single 250-pound Mark 81 bomb that had failed to release from under the right wing. The Air Boss wanted all the strike aircraft safely on deck before the Skyhawk with live ordnance would be allowed to land.

Watching the Phantom closely, Brad thought the approach looked stabilized. At the last second, the pilot pulled off too much power and caught the number-two wire.

Turning to watch the F-4 run out in the arresting-gear cable, Brad caught a glimpse of three members of the ship's explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) team. The EOD experts were standing at the forward hatch in the island. During the morning launch, they had had to disarm a 250-pound bomb that had broken loose from an A-4 during a catapult launch.

Seven more aircraft landed without a single bolter, clearing the deck for the Skyhawk. Complicating the A-4 pilot's problem was the fact that he also had an asymmetrical situation. The right wing, with the bomb attached, was carrying more weight than the left wing.

Brad and Tag Elliot heard the booming voice of the Air Boss over the flight-deck loudspeakers.

"The hung ordnance is descending downwind."

"Roger, Boss," Elliot replied in his hand-held transmitter, then tapped Brad on the shoulder. "I'll take this one."

Brad nodded and stepped behind the LSO. Searching for the A-4, he spotted it directly abeam of the carrier. Following the aircraft through the turn to final, Brad glanced forward on the flight deck. It was deserted, except for the EOD team.

Turning back to the A-4, Brad watched the Skyhawk and listened to Elliot. As the aircraft approached the ramp, Brad felt his muscles tense. He shot a quick look at the safety net, then discarded the thought of diving in the padded net. If the bomb went off, he would be blown over the side of the carrier.

Flying a steady approach, the A-4 pilot planted the airplane between the number-two and -three wires. The bomb jarred loose, hit the deck, bounced up and hit the underside of the wing, then skittered down the angle deck and dropped into the water.

Waiting for an explosion, Brad held his breath. When the stern of the ship had passed the impact point of the bomb, Brad realized he needed to breathe.

The relieved Skyhawk pilot rolled back, dropped the arresting-gear wire, and shut down the engine. He did not want to move the aircraft until the plane captain had had an opportunity to assess the damage.

Elliot turned to Brad. "With some experience, you're going to have this wired."

"Thanks," Brad replied, stowing their LSO gear. "I appreciate the introduction to your fraternity."

After dinner, Brad strolled forward through the crowded hangar bay, climbed a ladder to the flight deck, and walked th
e l
ength of the carrier. Arriving at the round-down, Brad watched the phosphorescent wake churned up from the ship's propellers and daydreamed about Leigh Ann. What was she doing right now? Had she told her friends about him? Would she be in San Francisco when he arrived? He hoped she would meet him.

Brad computed the time difference between the Gulf of Tonkin and Memphis, Tennessee. Leigh Ann would most likely be asleep at 4:15 in the morning. She would be having her evening meal when he next launched into combat.

Watching the escort destroyers roll gently from side to side, Brad decided to write Leigh Ann a letter. If she agreed to meet him in San Francisco, she would not receive the letter until after she had returned home. He wanted Leigh Ann to know how he felt about her, regardless of whether or not she could join him in California.

Back in his stateroom, Brad placed a piece of paper on the desktop, then absently tapped his Naval Academy ring on the side of the counter. He picked up his pen, set it down, and gazed at the picture of Leigh Ann.

He wondered if the two of them would enjoy the same activities and share the same basic philosophy of life. She had seemed like a very flexible person who would most likely be equally at ease on a yacht at Cannes or nestled next to a warm fire in a mountain cabin. Lake Tahoe came to mind, then the San Juan Islands between Seattle and Vancouver. He felt certain that Leigh Ann would enjoy the quiet peacefulness that permeated the isolated islands--a pristine environment of forested land surrounded by water as clear and clean as a mountain lake.

Brad smiled inwardly, remembering his first trip to the archipelago. The rustic cabin without a television or telephone. The unspoiled wilderness and the deserted paths through the stately fir trees.

Yes, Brad thought, staring at the beautiful woman in the small frame. A log cabin, a warm fire, a bowl of soup, some French bread, a bottle of good wine, and Leigh Ann.

Reaching again for his pen, Brad stopped when Harry inserted his key in the door. "It's open."

"Thanks," Harry replied as he stepped in and closed the slightly warped door.

"How was the movie?"

"Lousy," Harry responded with a disgusted look. "I don't know what the hell has happened, but some of this crap we've seen three times, and shouldn't have seen the first time."

"Harry," Brad suggested, "why don't you take up a collection and buy some juicy movies in Tokyo?"

"Good idea," Harry beamed. "Some good old-fashioned raunchy flicks."

Harry opened the refrigerator. "Shit, we're outta Cokes."

"No we're not," Brad smiled. "Try my flight-gear locker. Seventeen, twenty-eight, twelve." Harry repeated the numbers to the combination lock and hurried to the equipment room.