by Joe Weber
"Brad," she said with conviction, "he wants me to be happy, that's all."
Composing his thoughts, Brad glanced at the sultry lagoon, then back to Leigh Ann. "What's the real reason for his animosity toward me? Is my social level not good enough, being the rowdy, drunken military gypsy that I am?"
"Please, Brad, don't be defensive. That doesn't become you." He finished the last of his drink. "What's the reason he doesn't want us to be together?"
"Brad, you're in the military, and you hold quite different views from my father."
"You're right," he replied, signaling for another scotch. "That's my job. I curse, drink, and shoot people for a living."
"That's not my Dad's primary concern. He just cares about my welfare."
Brad exhaled sharply. "What's his primary concern? That I'm an abominable heathen--a warmonger?"
"No," Leigh Ann answered in a quiet voice. "He doesn't want me to fall in love with someone who has a high risk of being killed."
"And," Brad replied icily, "making you a widow before you're twenty-five. Right?"
"That's correct."
"On that point, your father is right. But life is full of risks, and rewards."
"Brad, I am not sure either that I am ready for that risk. Dad is right, and I don't think you have any idea how I feel. You just want what you want." Leigh Ann's lip trembled. "I'm going to my room."
He accepted his fresh drink. "I'll walk you."
"That won't be necessary, thank you."
Brad rose when she reached for her evening bag. "Leigh Ann, contrary to what your father thinks, life is not tied in a neat little package. Sometimes, we have to roll the dice."
"I'll take that under consideration," she said, then turned and walked away. Leigh Ann felt confused and angry. Brad's temper and passion scared her.
Chapter 32.
YOKOSUKA
Attired in civilian clothes, Harry Hutton, Jon O'Meara, and Mario Russo saluted and walked down the gangplank to the carrier pier. They had been granted three days off to go sight-seeing and souvenir hunting.
O'Meara and Russo had talked Harry into taking a train excursion to visit outlying cities. Jon wanted to see Kyoto, Japan's ancient capital; Mario was determined to explore Kobe and sample the distinctive flavor of the highly praised Kobe beef.
The threesome had agreed to stay in Kyoto the first night. Jon had made arrangements for them to stay at a traditional Japanese inn known as a ryokan. Harry had been reluctant when O'Meara had explained that they would be sleeping on the floor in rooms without furniture. Harry had acquiesced when Mario explained about the bathhouses close to the ryokan. Harry had liked the idea of having young women bathe him.
Carrying their compact overnight bags, the three men walked to the taxi stand, then patiently waited in line for a cab. Watching the cabs come and go, Harry had occasional thoughts of Phuc Yen, but dismissed the reflections as needless worry. Along with his traveling companions, Harry Hutton had not the slightest inkling of the brewing maelstrom.
SAN FRANCISCO
Brad listened to the Polynesian band and thought about Leigh Ann and her relationship with her father. He mentally kicked himself for not being more understanding and considerate to the woman he loved.
He shoved his half-finished drink across the table, paid his bill, then walked to the elevator. He wanted to apologize to Leigh Ann for getting angry, and set the record straight.
When the elevator stopped at his floor, Brad was startled to see Leigh Ann when the doors opened. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, stepping to the side. "I was on my way to talk to you."
Brad's hazel eyes smiled warmly, crinkling at the corners. "We think alike. I was heading for your room . . . to apologize."
"Brad, I'm the one who owes you an apology. I don't know what we were arguing about. I am here now and my father isn't. I have disobeyed him, so I really have made my decision."
He felt a surge of desire sweep through him. "Please, no apologies. Leigh Ann, I've been thinking about everything you told me."
She gave him a tiny smile. "Would you like to go to my room?" "Sure, if you feel comfortable."
Leigh Ann slipped her hand through the crook of Brad's arm, squeezing him affectionately."I've never felt more comfortable."
He gently pulled her closer to his side as they walked to their adjoining rooms. "I may be wrong, but I believe that your father, with all good intentions, is overcompensating where you're concerned."
Leigh Ann nodded. "He is, because of the way Tyler treated me."
"You're right," Brad responded as they reached the door to Leigh Ann's room. "He is trying to make sure that you fall in love with the perfect mate." She inserted the key and allowed Brad to open the door.
He followed Leigh Ann through the entrance and closed the door. Brad was surprised to see a silver champagne bucket sitting on the coffee table. "When did you arrange to have the champagne sent up?"
Turning to him, Leigh Ann reached down to clasp both of his hands. She wanted to pull him to her, but hesitated for a moment. "I asked room service to deliver it," she smiled, linking his arms behind her back, "while we were at dinner."
Brad felt her body pressing against him as she raised her arms and encircled his neck. With a rush, repressed emotions were released as their lips met in a fervent hunger.
After what seemed like minutes, they separated to catch their breath. Leigh Ann gently cupped Brad's face in her hands. "I've missed you, darling . . . more than I can tell you."
He held Leigh Ann to his chest, resting her head next to his neck. A shudder ran through him. "I've been thinking about you every waking moment since Hawaii."
Leigh Ann brushed his neck and leaned back, looking up at the tanned face and sincere eyes. "What have you been thinking about me?"
Reaching for her shoulders, Brad's stare riveted Leigh Ann. "That I love you," he admitted hoarsely and drew her lips to his in a gentle, passionate kiss.
Leigh Ann responded with a crushing intensity that was intoxicating. She broke off their kiss and held him close. "I love you, too." She trembled and gazed into his eyes. "God, how I love you . . . Brad Austin."
He spoke with a huskiness in his voice. "Why don't I open the champagne," he breathed, "while you make yourself comfortable?"
Filled with longing, Leigh Ann smiled and slipped from his arms. "I'll only be a minute."
Brad tried unsuccessfully to collect himself while Leigh Ann stepped into the bedroom. He carefully opened the chilled bottle of champagne and turned out the lights on each side of the window. Looking across the moonlit bay, Brad felt a sensation that he had never experienced before. He was totally consumed, enraptured by his love for Leigh Ann Ladasau.
Staring blankly at the boat lights moving across the water, Brad sensed Leigh Ann's presence. He turned slightly as she approached him wearing only her kimono. She looked like a goddess in the soft light.
Brad stepped to the table and poured two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Leigh Ann. Placing his arm around her waist, Brad inhaled and raised his glass. "To us . . . and to our love."
They drank the toast and Leigh Ann set down her glass, turning to embrace Brad. "Hold me, darling," she murmured in a soft, wistful voice. "Please don't leave me tonight."
Brad unsteadily placed his glass down and scooped her into his arms. "I'll hold you all night," he said thickly as he carried her into the bedroom.
Dan Bailey sat down in Jack Carella's stateroom. He had just returned from a meeting with the commanding officer of the other Phantom squadron on the carrier. An extreme weariness from prolonged stress swept over him. He rotated his head from side to side, then moved it up and down in an attempt to loosen his tense neck muscles.
"What did Commander Rooney have to say?" Jocko Carella asked, neatly stacking his pile of paperwork on the side of his desk.
Bailey ran a hand over his salt-and-pepper crewcut. He looked at his acting executive officer and moved
his head in a wide arc. "He was uncomfortable, and didn't even want to discuss the subject. I've known him for a long time, and he hasn't changed. He'd rather avoid problems than investigate them."
Carella gave him a curious look. "I don't know him that well, but you'd think he would want to get to the bottom of the matter."
"Rooney has always been a keen political player who shies away from anything that might splatter mud on his dress whites."
The XO shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the words political player.
"He said," Bailey continued, looking tired and grim, "that he wanted to keep his distance from the rumors until the accusations are proved, or dismissed."
Carella bit his lip thoughtfully. "Has he talked to the pilots who were involved in the strike?"
Bailey shook his head slowly.
"That's incredible," Carella responded, looking at the neatly penned notes on his desk pad. He had written three pages when he and the CO had first talked about the incident at Phuc Yen.
Dan Bailey examined the framed painting on the bulkhead next to Carella. The print showcased the aircraft carrier USS Hornet at the Battle of Santa Cruz. "His caution is directly proportional to his rank. He doesn't want any blemishes to impede his career."
"Skipper," Carella ventured, remembering what the CO had said in the passageway, "what do you think happened, if anything?"
Bailey glanced at the picture of the carrier again before looking directly at his XO. "I don't know. With Austin somewhere in California and the other guys out roaming the countryside, we're just going to have to wait until CAG and the admiral return."
Carella darted a look at his first page of notes. He had been convinced from the outset of their reconstruction of the events that Brad Austin had been the culprit. His intuition presupposed that the accusations were true.
"Sir, can't we contact Austin, and go ahead and get his statement?"
Bailey heaved a sigh. "No, because I allowed him to go without leaving an address, since we yanked him back from Hawaii. I'll get my ass fried for that if this can of worms turns out to be on the level."
Chewing the end of his pen, Carella grew more bold. "Skipper, after going over the mission debriefing reports, I think we should at least try to get in touch with Austin. Everything points to him, even Hutton's reluctance to add anything of any significance to the action report."
Bailey studied Carella's piercing dark eyes, noting the intensity in his voice.
"Sir," Carella continued, placing his pen on his desk, "I believe that it is in our best interest to get straight answers from Austin and Hutton, before CAG and the admiral get back."
The CO rubbed his neck. If the accusations turned out to be true, the consequences could be serious. If Austin had indeed shot down a MiG over an off-limits airfield, Dan Bailey could toss his career off the fantail.
"I have a theory," Carella continued cautiously, "that Major Dao bagged Durham and Lunsford, and Austin went after him. Everything we've looked at points to that conclusion, at least in my mind."
Bailey weighed Carella's argument, wishing the matter would evaporate. "Jack, you may be right, but I want to get all the facts--all the information from CINCPAC--on the table before we confront anyone."
"Yes, sir," Carella replied, unsure if he should press the issue. "Skipper, I would suggest that we send Ernie Sheridan out to see if he can locate Hutton. At least, if the story is true, you'll have time to think about the problems we're going to have to face."
Bailey's shoulders sagged as he lowered his head, then raised it slowly. "Jack, I believe that sends the wrong signal. That type of approach would take on the appearance of a witch hunt. We have to trust one another, and wait to see what turns up from the investigation in Hawaii."
Chapter 33.
THE FAIRMONT
Brad felt the warm morning sunlight on his face. He blinked several times and turned his head toward Leigh Ann. She was entwined in his arms, her tangled dark hair partially covering her peaceful face. She stirred and nestled closer to him.
Reflecting on their shared ecstasy, Brad brushed her soft hair away from her face, then reached for the telephone on the bedside table.
Leigh Ann opened her eyes and smiled. "Good morning."
He returned her smile. "It is a good morning." Placing his hand on the telephone receiver, Brad kissed her on the forehead. "I thought I would have breakfast sent to our . . . your room."
They both laughed while Leigh Ann slid across the bed and reached for her kimono. "I believe we can dispense with the extra room at this point, if you're brave enough to share a bathroom with me."
"I believe I can handle that."
"Oh, you are a brave marine," she replied with a wink as she slipped on her silk robe.
Brad dialed the phone and looked at his wristwatch. Seven fifteen was a good start for a day of sight-seeing.
After ordering a generous breakfast for two, Brad gathered his clothes, which lay in a small pile beside the bed. He donned his wrinkled trousers and walked into his room. Ten minutes later, he emerged in a hotel robe and stretched out on the bed beside Leigh Ann.
She curled next to him and rested her head on his chest, laughing softly to herself.
"What's so funny?"
"Well, I'm not in the habit of traipsing around the country, meeting strange men in hotel rooms, but I finally did something I wanted to do, for a change."
He smoothed her hair. "You sure did."
She kissed his chest. "Dad would have a conniption." "Your father," Brad chuckled, "would shoot me." Propping herself up on one elbow, Leigh Ann turned to face Brad. Her smile was sultry. "No question about it. You're a scoundrel, but I love you anyway."
"I'm glad to know that," he yawned. "Sorry."
She laughed, then leaned back.
"Do you mind," Brad smiled, "if we watch the 'Today' show?"
"Not at all. I'll turn it on."
When she returned to the bed, Brad pulled her back to him, feeling her warmth. "I wonder how soon room service will be here?"
"Who cares," Leigh Ann sighed as her lips met his.
They propped their pillows against the headboard and turned their attention to the morning news program. Turning to face Leigh Ann, Brad leaned closer to her. He breathed the sweet fragrance of her hair.
Leigh Ann kissed him lightly on the forehead, then paused, transfixed by the photograph being shown on the screen. "Isn't that the kind of plane you fly?"
Brad turned his head and froze. There was his Phantom, Joker 205, banked steeply over Phuc Yen. He caught only a few key comments from the broadcaster, the words State Department and investigation among them. He stared at the photograph of his F-4, hearing the words allegedly shot down a MiG while a picture of a crashed airplane flashed on the screen. Two seconds later the dapper newsman switched to a different story, and the airplane wreckage disappeared from the screen.
Brad's mind spun, trying to comprehend the significance of the news report. How much do they know? He could not believe that someone captured it on film. Will anyone else recognize that it was my airplane?
Leigh Ann gripped his wrist. "Brad, what's wrong? Do you know the pilot of that plane?"
He stared in shock at the television. "Ah . . . yes."
Leigh Ann gave him a confused, frightened look. She had been startled by his strained voice.
"Leigh Ann . . ."
"Brad," she responded, reaching for his hand, "what's the matter?"
He shook his head slowly. "Jesus H. Christ . . ."
Leigh Ann felt a sudden pang of fear, frightened by the brittleness in his voice. "Please, Brad . . . I'm scared. What happened? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Yes," he answered in a flat, decisive voice. "I was flying that plane."
"Brad," Leigh Ann said tentatively, "what happened?"
He sighed and looked into her eyes. "I broke a rule--a big one--and destroyed a MiG taxiing at an off-limits military airfield. I also shot down their s
econd-leading ace. I didn't report it, and, as we just saw, someone was taking pictures. It won't take the investigators long to figure out who did it, if they haven't found out already."
Leigh Ann remained silent, her mind racing in an attempt to assimilate all she had heard and seen. She thought about what her father had said, and what she had said to him. How could she face him now, and explain that Brad was not a renegade. Or was he? Leigh Ann stared at the screen, then glanced at Brad.
"Leigh Ann," he said dryly, "I'm going to have to go back, and turn myself in to my commanding officer." He felt her fingernails dig into the palm of his hand. "I'm facing a court-martial, and probably dismissal from the Marine Corps, if not a long prison term at Fort Leavenworth."
Leigh Ann gasped. "Brad, that makes you a criminal, doesn't it?
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"But you're an officer standing up for your country. You shot down an enemy pilot and destroyed another plane in the middle of a war. You're a hero."
A long silence followed.
"Leigh Ann, my good friends Bull Durham and Russ Lunsford were shot down by the MiG pilot I killed. Bull--that was his wife I called yesterday--and Russ were captured." Brad inhaled sharply. "But the main thing I did was violate the rules of engagement by attacking a MiG at an off-limits airfield.
"I have no excuse," he continued with dry cynicism, "except that my logic tells me that our civilian leadership is protecting their collective asses, while they place us in a position to fight with one hand tied behind us. Now, Bull and Russ are POWs, and I'm going to a court-martial."
"Brad, I don't understand what you mean by rules of engagement. Can you explain what the rules are . . . and what you did that was so bad that they would court-martial you? You were only doing what you were trained to do."
Brad rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The administration in the White House has established guidelines specifying where we can shoot and bomb, and where we can't. The quagmire would amaze you, but suffice it to say that I stepped over the boundary and violated a restriction."