Rules of Engagement (1991) (47 page)

Brad slowed and stared at two North Vietnamese patrol boats. They were accelerating from their concealment behind a fleet of fishing boats. At full speed, the Swatow-class gunboats were turning directly toward Brad and Harry.

Austin searched the skies, hearing the familiar sound of the big radial engines in the A-1 Skyraiders. "Call RESCAP and light the flare!"

He felt something strike his left leg. Brad churned the water while he quickly positioned himself at the rear of their raft. "I'm getting in!"

Harry grasped the air chamber and leaned back to balance the unstable dinghy. He braced his flight boots inside the aft section, locking his knees. Brad thrust his body upward, pulling himself into the raft. His helmet hit Hutton in the chest.

Aware of a deep, resonant sound in the distance, Austin and Hutton were startled by a thundering impact near them. A coastal battery had opened fire at their bobbing raft.

Brad heard another loud report. He looked over the front of the raft to see the ship that had been speeding toward them. He judged it to be two miles from the shore.

"Harry, a destroyer . . . thank God." Turning quickly to see the ship, Hutton almost tipped over the dinghy.

The American destroyer captain, risking his vessel in the shallow waters, was turning broadside to the beach and had commenced firing at the shore battery.

Brad clutched Harry's good arm and shifted to see the North Vietnamese patrol boats. The two craft were side by side, less than a mile away.

Brad and Harry both heard a whistling sound a second before another large shell exploded beside them. The concussion from the impact lifted the raft out of the water and tossed both men into the sea.

Stunned by the blast, Austin popped to the surface and grabbed Hutton in a lifeguard grip. "We've got to get away from the raft," Brad sputtered.

Coughing up brine, Harry moaned in agony. "We're not going to make it, are we?"

"Yes, goddamnit," Brad bellowed in pain and frustration, "we're going to make it."

Austin was fighting not to succumb to his overwhelming fear. Choking, he towed Harry twenty yards from the clearly visible dinghy. He looked around, desperate for assistance. He glimpsed a swarm of RESCAP Skyraiders in the distance, then heard the clattering of a Seasprite helicopter. He saw a second helicopter in the distance.

The A-1 Spads were circling the downed Vigilante crew, but the first rescue helicopter was racing toward their raft. Brad shouted with joy and looked back toward the gunboats. They were separating to set up a cross fire at the Seasprite.

"Is that a helo?" Harry gasped.

"Yes," Brad answered, glancing at the destroyer in the distance. The slowing ship was pounding the shore installation into oblivion.

"Come on," Brad coaxed the helicopter pilot. "The gunners are almost on us."

The Seasprite sped toward them, then slowed while a door gunner began firing at one of the patrol boats. After stabilizing over the Phantom crew, the pilot lowered the helicopter near the water.

The spray lashed across Brad's face, stinging his eyes and making breathing difficult. He was having a hard time holding onto Hutton.

Hearing automatic weapons firing, Brad held Harry tightly and twisted to see which direction the gunboats were heading. Staring in shock, Brad watched the two craft charge toward the Seasprite. The North Vietnamese boats opened fire, walking the machine-gun shells across the water and into the Seasprite.

To his horror, Brad witnessed the pilots slump forward as a man in a wet suit leaped from the helicopter. Black smoke streamed out of the exhaust and whipped below the rotor blades.

The helicopter drifted sideways, tilted on its side, caught the whirling blades in the water, then violently crashed into the sea.

Petrified, Brad stared at the wreckage and renewed his grip around Harry. "Oh, God . . . no."

Aware of the shells slamming into the water, Brad darted a look at the closest gunboat. He felt a sledgehammer blow to hi
s h
elmet, knocking him loose from his friend. Brad yanked the lanyard to inflate Harry's life preserver, then slumped facedown in the sea.

Three A-1 Skyraiders roared low over the water, firing pods of rockets at the North Vietnamese gunboats. One craft blew apart, sinking stern first; the other patrol boat turned and sped for shore.

The rescue swimmer, slightly injured when he had leaped from the crashing Seasprite, lifted Brad Austin's face out of the water. He tugged him next to Harry Hutton, hooking them together.

The swimmer, glancing at the second helicopter, checked on the pilot. The machine-gun shell that had ricocheted off Brad's helmet had temporarily knocked him unconscious.

Gagging, Brad expelled a mouthful of seawater, then coughed to clear his esophagus. Gasping, he sucked in air and stared, confused, at the young man who had saved his life.

The swimmer grabbed Brad's life preserver. "I'm on your side! You're going to be okay!"

The Spads pulled up in a wingover and rolled in on the fleeing vessel, strafing the boat with 20mm gunfire. After a third pass, the patrol boat slowed to a halt. The panicked crew jumped overboard when they saw the Skyraiders dive again. The lead RESCAP pilot sank the Swatow with two 500-pound bombs.

The second Seasprite moved into position and hovered over the three men. The swimmer unhooked the crew's life preservers as the rescue sling was lowered. Hindered by the turbulent rotor wash, the swimmer placed the sling under Brad's shoulders, then hooked the D ring on his torso harness to the cable.

After Brad had been hoisted aboard the helicopter, the swimmer hooked himself and Harry to the cable. As the hoist operator lifted the pair from the water, Jack Carella and Ernie Sheridan made a low pass, rocking the Phantom's wings.

Chapter
43.

Four days later, Brad and Harry had arrived in San Diego to convalesce at the Balboa Naval Hospital. After providing initial medical treatment for the crew, Doc McCary had approached Dan Bailey and Admiral Keuseman with a special request from Brad and Harry.

The admiral had been pleased to arrange the recuperative leave for the two men who had shot down Maj. Nguyen Thanh Dao.

Harry's arm had been encased in a cast, and Brad had the responsibility for carrying their bags.

Unbeknownst to Brad, Harry had called Nick Palmer at the hospital to let him know when they would be arriving. Nick, in turn, had made another call for Harry.

When Austin and Hutton walked through the main entrance at the hospital, Nick and Leigh Ann were waiting for them.

Brad dropped the luggage and embraced Leigh Ann when she rushed into his arms. She tilted her head back and kissed him. "Brad, I hope you're not upset that I'm here."

"Of course not," he replied, feeling awkward in front of his friends. "I'm just surprised . . . pleasantly surprised, I mean."

Palmer laughed. "Get your foot out of your mouth."

Brad turned to Nick and shook his hand. "You're looking great. When are they going to let you go?"

"I think that I've already overstayed my welcome, judging by the remarks the nurses have been making."

"Well, partner," Harry chuckled, "we're back together again." "Yeah," Palmer sighed. "It's a dream come true." "Excuse me," Brad said, reaching for Leigh Ann's hand, "bu
t w
e're going to take a little stroll."

"Wait a second," Palmer said, turning serious. "I don't know what's up, but a Lieutenant Colonel Chastain has been trying to locate you since yesterday. The guy has called almost every hour."

Puzzled, Brad looked at Palmer for a moment. "I've never heard of him. Did he leave a number?"

"He sure did," Palmer responded with an emphasis on the word sure. "Every single time, as far as I know, including his home phone. They've got it over at admissions. Says he's calling on behalf of Senator Kerwin."

The senator had contacted Leigh Ann the day before she had left Memphis.

"Brad," Leigh Ann said in a small voice, "I need to tell you something."

He looked at her suspiciously. "What?"

Hutton and Palmer looked up expectantly.

"I had been worried about you, and the possibility of a court-martial when you are really a hero, so I talked to a friend of the family--"

"Court-martial?" Nick interrupted, thoroughly confused. "What court-martial?"

"Nick," Brad said, trying to find out what Leigh Ann had done, "Harry can fill you in on the details."

Turning back to Leigh Ann, Brad spoke in a measured voice. "Whom did you talk to?"

She looked toward the ceiling, then back to Brad. "Senator
Kerwin."

"No shit," Harry exclaimed, quickly adding to Leigh Ann, "excuse me."

Stupefied, Brad considered the implications. "Arlin Kerwin, the head of the Senate Armed Services Committee? You talked to him?"

"Yes," she answered, feeling a sudden chill. "I wanted to help you. I was so worried, and I didn't know to whom to turn."

Brad collected his thoughts. "Leigh Ann, it was supposed to be confidential, and anyway the matter has been dismissed. It's history, and everything is okay."

Palmer was growing more inquisitive. "What is going on?" Clearly irritated, Brad looked at Hutton. "It's a military secret. Harry, keep them amused until after I make this call."

Ashen faced, Brad rejoined his friends. "Well, folks, I've been invited to a hearing in Washington."

Leigh Ann cringed. "I'm sorry. I was . . . ," she cast her head down.

Brad put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. "I guess you blew it, but how could you know? It's okay. It really is. I have been asked--ordered, actually--to attend a hearing concerning what we were told never happened at Phuc Yen." Austin exhaled, then shook his head. "So, it's time for another rug dance."

"Are we in the frying pan again?" Harry asked, changing his words out of respect for the lady who was present.

"I don't know anything at this point, except that I've got to report to Colonel Chastain tomorrow afternoon." Brad hugged Leigh Ann in an attempt to reassure her. "I'm supposed to catch a flight out of North Island this evening."

Taking a deep breath, Leigh Ann looked up at Brad. "I want to go with you. Please."

"Okay," Brad replied without hesitation. "I'll let them know that I'm going to fly commercially."

Harry frowned. "You better watch your six."

Brad nodded and faced Leigh Ann. "Where are you staying?" "In a motel near here, and I've got a rental car."

"Okay," Brad replied with a smile, "we'll grab your luggage, check out, and head for the airport."

Brad turned to Hutton. "Harry, will you call North Island, and let them know that I'm taking an airliner to Washington?" "Sure," he grinned. "Give 'em hell."

"Yeah," Brad chuckled. "What can they do? Make me a captain and send me to Yankee Station? You guys take care of each other."

WASHINGTON, D
. C
.

After the long flight, Brad and Leigh Ann checked into the Hotel Washington. They ate a late dinner, followed by a nightcap in the quiet cocktail lounge. Their relationship was on solid footing again, but the stress and uncertainty of Brad's difficult situation dulled the elation.

Exhausted by the tedious trip from San Diego, Leigh Ann and Brad succumbed to their weariness shortly after midnight. Collapsing on the ornate bed, they held each other, then fell asleep with Leigh Ann's head on Brad's chest.

After breakfast in the hotel restaurant, Brad and Leigh Ann walked down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House.

Instead of experiencing pride, Brad had a gnawing feeling inside. His anguish was fueled by a mixture of sadness and loathing. The decisions that were being made in that building were causing untold lives to be lost in a protracted, senseless strategy of slow escalation.

He steered Leigh Ann back past the Treasury Building, crossing the street to enter Sherman Park.

"Brad," Leigh Ann said as they crossed another street and walked into Pershing Park, "what do you think will happen in the meeting?"

"Hearing," Brad squeezed her hand affectionately. "This is not a good-old-boy town meeting."

She tugged on his arm. "Okay, hearing. Will you be in any jeopardy?"

Brad thought about the various possibilities. "The way I understand this, your friend Senator Kerwin is basically using me as the kindling to start a roaring blaze."

Leigh Ann pulled Brad to a halt. "What do you mean? Arlin Kerwin is one of the most respected politicians in Washington. I don't think he would do anything to hurt you . . . or me."

"Leigh Ann," Brad replied, taking both of her hands. "My handler, the lieutenant colonel I called from San Diego, couldn't say much over an open phone line, but he painted a clear picture for me."

"What did he tell you?" Leigh Ann asked, motioning toward a park bench.

"I don't know the whole story," Brad answered, sitting beside Leigh Ann. "Apparently, there has been a lot of feuding between Capitol Hill and the White House about the direction the war has taken.