by Joe Weber
Emmett folded his hands and stared at Brad for what seemed an eternity. He had used the tactic many times to break the resolve of individuals whom he had investigated.
"Captain Austin," Emmett said, scribbling a hasty note. "We have established, by your own admission, that you did commit a breach of the rules of engagement."
Brad felt the tension increasing throughout his body. "That is correct, Captain. I broke the rules because we are warriors without competent civilian leadership. We the people of our country need clear objectives in this war. We're wasting a hell of a lot of lives because of the flawed policies emanating from the civilians in the White House."
"You," Ogilvie shot back, pointing a pen at Brad, "are in deep trouble. I suggest that you keep that in mind, and conduct yourself accordingly."
Austin remained silent, staring back at the State Department official.
"Brad," Admiral Keuseman said with a firm voice, "I understand your feelings, but you will cooperate fully."
"Yes, sir."
"Captain," Emmett continued, "have you broken the rules of engagement before this incident?"
"No, sir, I have not."
Emmett turned to face Harry. "Is that correct, Lieutenant?"
"That," Harry stammered, "was my first flight with Captain Austin. I know him well, and he doesn't disregard rules." Emmett swiveled to ask Keuseman a question. "Admiral, I'd like to hear from Captain Austin's usual RIO."
"John," Keuseman frowned, "his former RIO, Lieutenant Lunsford, was in the flight leader's aircraft. As you know, the crew was captured as soon as they landed."
Emmett jotted another note. "Captain Austin, CINCPAC would like to hang your ass out to dry, but there are complications. I'll let Mister Ogilvie explain the situation, then we'll discuss your future."
Harry gently tapped the sole of Brad's shoe. Neither man showed outwardly the glow of hope they felt inside.
The State Department representative opened his attache case and removed a piece of paper. He gave Brad a frigid look. "Captain, for political reasons, the State Department has been directed to deny that the incident at Phuc Yen ever happened. The mandate originated in the White House."
Wide-eyed, Harry and Brad glanced at each other. Washington was going to cover up the incident.
"The official stance," Ogilvie grunted, "is simply that Phuc Yen was an attempt to discredit the United States. The matter is being regarded as a propaganda stunt in their disinformation campaign." He read from the top-secret message. " 'An attempt to exploit the Communist doctrine, and tarnish the image of our government.' "
Brad inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. What did Captain Hard-ass have up his sleeve?
Ogilvie placed the message back in his attache case. "I have been given explicit instructions to relay to both of you." Harry and Brad digested each word.
"The incident never happened. Do you both clearly understand?"
"Yes, sir," they answered, trying to contain their excitement. The State Department and the politicos in the White House were going to actually deny that Brad had shot down North Vietnam's second leading ace.
"The two of you," Ogilvie pointed his pen again, "are not going to mention the incident, or this meeting, to anyone." He paused for effect. "Is that crystal clear?"
"We understand," Brad answered for both of them. "If someone asks us questions, how are we to respond?"
Ogilvie looked at Brad, then Harry. "This didn't happen. Your names have not been divulged. They slammed a lid on this at the very top. If you are approached by anyone--the press or your associates--you had better keep your mouths shut, if you have any smattering of intelligence."
Brad flared, but quickly controlled his emotions. This was not the time to enter into a skirmish. For whatever reason, they had been spared from a certain court-martial.
Emmett took his cue. "The media is going to be scrutinizing this carrier until you put to sea. If you know what's good for you, you'll blend into obscurity and keep a low profile."
Harry and Brad nodded understandingly.
"Nothing," Emmett emphasized, darting a cold look at Ogilvie, "will be placed in your records. However, Captain Austin, you are going to be quietly transferred back to the marines near the completion of the next at-sea period." The contempt was evident on Emmett's face. "Any questions?"
"No, sir," Brad replied with relief.
Ogilvie and Emmett rose from their chairs. "Thank you, Admiral," Emmett said, shaking hands with Keuseman. "We appreciate your cooperation."
Harry and Brad stood to attention.
"You're certainly welcome, John. Please tell the admiral hello."
"Will do, sir."
Ogilvie shook hands with Keuseman, thanked him, then followed Emmett out of the cabin.
When the door closed, Keuseman walked to the coffee urn.
"Have a seat."
Brad and Harry sat down, unsure of what was going to happen next. The only thing certain was the knowledge that they would not be facing a court-martial.
Keuseman poured a cup half full. "Coffee?"
"No thank you, sir," Brad replied, realizing that he was too nervous to hold a cup steady.
Harry responded with a negative gesture of his hand. "No thanks, sir."
The admiral returned to his chair. "Well, gentlemen, you dodged a big one." There was no indication of victory on Keuseman's serious face. "But that's water under the keel." He slid his cup to the side and folded his hands on his desk. "Now, we need to address your collective futures."
They sat in silence, waiting to know their fate.
"First, I want to tell you--as a crew--that I'm proud to have you in the air wing."
They both breathed easier.
"I know this has been a rough ordeal, but it could have been much worse, believe me." Keuseman measured the two officers. "Off the record, there are cabinet-level negotiations currently in progress, accompanied by the usual posturing. The White House is trying to get the Hanoi regime to the bargaining table, at any cost. There are a number of sensitive issues being discussed, and your incident set off a series of events that could have jeopardized those negotiations. There have been a number of accusations lobbed from both sides.
"That's all I know, but I agree with Mr. Ogilvie--the two of you had better keep a low profile."
The admiral tried his coffee. "Captain, I would suspect, provided everything blows over, that when you return to your marine squadron, your record will be clean. They will have no knowledge of this incident. That assumes, of course, that you keep your nose clean until we get through this next at-sea period."
Keuseman smiled for the first time. "Commander Bailey is a good man, and he thinks a lot of both of you."
"Thank you, Admiral," Brad and Harry said, feeling as though they had survived a plunge over Niagara Falls.
"Just play by the rules from here on out."
Keuseman read the smiles on their faces, remembering a time in the past when an admiral had gone to bat for him. Keuseman had flown an F-9F Panther jet into a restricted area over Korea in an effort to strafe a train. A ground officer had witnessed the strafing run and had reported the incident. Keuseman had barely escaped losing his wings.
"I believe your CO will want to visit with you," Keuseman said, reaching for his phone. "I'll let him know that you're on your way to his stateroom."
"Thank you, Admiral," Brad and Harry said in chorus as they stood to attention.
"Stay out of trouble," Keuseman chuckled.
Dan Bailey leaned back and took the unlighted cigar out of his mouth. "I'm going to make this short and sweet."
Harry and Brad remained standing just inside the CO's stateroom.
"I don't know all the particulars, but suffice it to say that no one knows about Phuc Yen and the two MiGs." Bailey clamped his hands together behind his neck. "You," he looked at grad, "are very fortunate, and don't forget that fact. One more feat of unusual skill or daring--one more claim to notoriety--and you will be history."
Brad swallowed. "I understand, sir."
"When you return to your squadron, you can be as infamous as you want to be. Until then, you had better be as squeaky clean as a virgin in church."
Brad nodded but remained quiet. Harry was filled with excitement and relief, but he managed to keep the grin off his face and his emotions under control.
"Now," Bailey continued, reaching for his cigar, "we have a squadron party to attend."
Harry and Brad looked puzzled. They had just avoided a court-martial and now they were going to a party?
"Due to the media scrutiny about Phuc Yen, everyone has been encouraged to enjoy as much liberty as possible. There are only a handful of people who know the truth, so the media will get every conceivable rumor. That will help debunk the story."
Bailey studied their reaction. "The two of you don't know anything. You are directed not to discuss the incident with anyone." His voice rose in pitch. "That means don't even talk to each other about your screwup."
They both winced. "Yessir."
"When you get older, you'll have plenty of time to tell the story to your grandchildren. We shove off in less than Seventy-two hours, so I figure we can take half of that time for a party."
Bailey, seeing the small smiles spreading on their faces, decided not to mention the upcoming missions. The air war was heating up, and enemy air defenses were proliferating at an alarming rate.
"Ernie Sheridan has commandeered a bus from special services, so we're going to Kamakura most rikky-tik."
"Kamakura?" Harry asked, vaguely remembering the name.
"It's a small village across the peninsula by Sagami Bay. Ernie has reserved a block of rooms at a hotel, and the entire dining room and bar is exclusively ours."
"What can we do to help, Skipper?" Brad asked, but without enthusiasm. He was happy about being out of hack but still worried that he might get the ax. He also was desperate to get to a telephone and call Leigh Ann. He wanted her to know that the court-martial threat had been removed.
"Not a thing, except show up in the ready room in an hour and twenty minutes."
"Yes, sir," Harry answered gleefully.
"One other thing," Bailey said, thinking about the excitement when he announced the party, "we're going for the purpose of having a great time. Plan to return tomorrow afternoon. One word of caution, however."
Brad and Harry stopped smiling.
"I've told everyone that I don't want the place destroyed, and if there is any damage, everyone is going to ante up to pay for it. Clear?"
"Yes, sir," they both said.
"Better go pack," Bailey smiled, getting to his feet. "You have time to grab a bite and a few beers at the club before we leave."
"Thanks, Skipper," Brad replied, reaching for the doorknob, "and thanks for sticking up for us."
"Hell, I had to," Bailey responded, clamping a hand on each of their shoulders. "Just think how boring my life would be if they carted you two off to the dungeon."
Chapter 38.
The Japanese bartender opened another beer and sat it in front of Harry. Absorbed in his thoughts, Harry ignored the man and casually dabbled with his eggs and corned-beef hash. They had made it. The threat of facing a court-martial had evaporated. For the next two days they were free from the military and the associated confinements. Free to get falling-down drunk and enjoy a good laugh.
Harry glanced at Brad when he returned from the row of pay telephones. "Did you get in touch with her?"
Brad signaled for a beer. "Yes. Her mother answered the phone and gave me Leigh Ann's new phone number."
Harry looked curious. "Her new number?"
"Yes," Brad sighed. "It seems that Leigh Ann and her father had a falling out, and she moved into an apartment."
"Harmony on the home front," Harry grinned. "What's her mother's temperature?"
Brad gave Harry a callous look, then reached for his beer.
"Her mother is very nice, and we get along great." Harry swiveled toward Brad. "Back to Leigh Ann." "She wasn't home, so I'll try later."
Harry smiled, shoving his plate away. "Do you think the romance is still budding?"
Tilting his bottle up, Brad paused. "I don't know. I wish I could talk to her."
"Well," Harry said, "don't force the issue. If it happens, it happens."
Brad smiled, then slowly turned to Harry. "You have the unmitigated gall to advise me on my love life when yours resembles a train wreck?"
"Just trying to help."
Leaning on the bar, Brad turned serious. "I also called Bull's wife, Cordelia."
"Really? How is she?"
"Under the circumstances," Brad replied, lowering his head, "she's doing okay. Cordy is staying with her mother for a while." He cringed inwardly, seeing the faces of Bull and Russ in his mind, and imagining what they were going through. "She's pregnant."
"You're kidding."
"No. Bull told me about . . ." Brad's voice trailed off as he felt his emotions boil to the surface. "Cordy is a strong woman. She'll make it."
Sensing Brad's moral anguish and regret, Harry finished his beer in two gulps. "Come on, my front-seat chauffeur, and let's get our shit in one bag. We've got a bus to catch."
Leigh Ann turned off the interstate highway and drove north toward a bend in the Tennessee River. She had called Senator Arlin Kerwin's residence near Nashville, only to be informed that he was at his lodge on the river.
The senator's housekeeper had relayed Leigh Ann's request, explaining that the lady was the daughter of Dr. Simon Ladasau.
After a suspenseful wait, the phone had rung in Leigh Ann's apartment. She had been ebullient when the senator had invited her to his lodge to discuss the urgent problem.
Slowing to enter the senator's compound, Leigh Ann realized that it had been twelve years since she had last been to the lodge. As her car passed the gate leading to the manicured grounds, it kicked up dried leaves, spinning them slowly back to the earth. Leigh Ann stopped near the double front doors, composed herself, then got out and walked toward the porch. When she was halfway up the steps, Sen. Arlin Kerwin opened one of the massive doors.
"Good to see you, young lady," he greeted in his booming voice. Short and gruff, the statesman was the consummate politician.
"Hello, Senator," Leigh Ann replied tentatively. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need your assistance."
"Happy to give it," he laughed as Leigh Ann walked into the spacious living room. "It's been what--ten to twelve years since I've seen you? Why, you weren't any taller than this," he said, holding the palm of his hand four feet above the floor. "How are your folks?"
"They're fine," she answered, feeling uneasy. Kerwin's wife had recently passed away. "Dad's slowly retiring, and Mom's as busy as ever."
"Good. Have a seat, honey, and I'll get us some lemonade." He turned to go to the kitchen. "You still like lemonade?"
"Yes, I sure do," Leigh Ann answered, surprised that Kerwin had remembered her fondness for his special concoction. She sat on the overstuffed couch and looked around.
Leigh Ann examined the stone fireplace and thick animal skins arrayed on the highly polished wood floor. A moment later, Kerwin brought their drinks into the room.
"Now, tell me," Kerwin said as he sat in his favorite recliner, "what's bothering you?"
Suddenly unsure of herself, Leigh Ann began slowly, then told Kerwin the entire story. How she had met Brad, and what had happened at Phuc Yen. That he was a conscientious and courageous person who was facing a court-martial for standing up for his country.
Close to tears, Leigh Ann stopped. She felt an overwhelming guilt about turning her back to Brad when he had most needed her.
"Just a minute, honey," Kerwin interrupted, rising from his chair. "Let me get a pad and pen." He gave her an assuring smile. "At my age, I have to write everything down, or I'll forget some of the details."
Leigh Ann placed her lemonade on the coffee table and dabbed her eyes. She was be
ginning to wonder if she was doing the right thing. What if she caused Brad more trouble?
"Okay," Kerwin said, sitting down, "let's get all the facts, then I'll make some inquiries."
After Leigh Ann had given him the pertinent information,the senator had pledged to look into the matter. He had assured her that he would do everything in his power to right any injustice.
What Kerwin had not disclosed were his own political motives for disagreeing with the restrictions being put on the men fighting the war. He had had an ongoing argument with members of the White House in regard to how the war was being handled.
When Austin and Hutton left the squadron ready room, their assignment was to stop at the dirty-shirt wardroom and get four large bags of ice.
Arriving at the navy bus, they dumped the ice into a canvas seabag containing five cases of beer. A poker game was already underway in the back of the cluttered vehicle. The mood was festive, reminding Brad of fraternity parties he had attended on civilian campuses.
After Dan Bailey and Jack Carella stepped aboard, the youthful Japanese driver adroitly turned the bus around and headed for the main roadway to Kamakura. Every time the driver let up on the gas pedal, the engine backfired, startling pedestrians along the side of the narrow road.
Brad and Harry sat together, joining in the boisterous party. They relaxed and left the air war behind them, concentrating on not spilling their beer when the bus rocked from side to side.
Halfway to Kamakura, Jon O'Meara nudged Hutton from the seat behind Brad and Harry. "You guys want to have a little excitement?"
"No," Harry replied, shaking his head, "you're not going to drive the bus."
O'Meara gripped Harry's shoulder. "Let's climb on the roof," he glanced at Brad, "and get some sun."
Wide-eyed, Harry belly-laughed. "Are you crazy? What if we fall off?"
Brad chuckled, looking forward to see what Dan Bailey and Jocko Carella were doing.
"We're not going to fall off. Just sit on the window, grab the luggage railing, and pull yourself up." O'Meara turned to his RIO. "Right, Mario?"
"Piece of cake."
Brad edged around in his seat. "We've had about all the excitement we need for a while. We're walking on ice so thin, if we sneeze, we'll fall straight through."