Rules of Engagement (1991) (18 page)

Austin turned slightly. "The ops officer said he could sign them. Relax for a change."

Hutton started trotting toward the crowded operations building. "Let's get it on!"

Chapter
15.

Awakened by the sheer panic of his nightmare, Brad Austin felt the dampness of perspiration on the back of his neck. He looked around the Spartan interior of the capacious air-force C-141 StarLifter, relieved that no one had noticed his startled awakening. Only three of the forty-one military passengers were awake. Two men in civilian clothes were using their briefcases for lap-top desks. They had been working tirelessly on their project from the moment the transport had lifted off the runway at Guam.

Brad relaxed his head against the fabric seatback and inhaled deeply, then slowly let out his breath. The face of Frank Rockwood and the corpse of the MiG pilot he had killed had surfaced in the kaleidoscopic nightmare. What had awakened him, at least his last memory of the horrifying dream, had been the sight of the soldiers he had killed. They had been ripped apart and thrown into the air by the devastating impact of his centerline fuel tank.

He looked on both sides of his narrow seat. His three shipmates were sound asleep, snoring at various decibel levels. Lunsford's chin rested on his chest.

Checking his watch, Brad was pleased to see that the big Lockheed transport was scheduled to land at Hickam Air Force Base in less than an hour.

Harry Hutton, whose head had been resting on Brad's right shoulder, stirred awake when the pilot reset his watch. Hutton looked at Brad through swollen eyes. "Are we ever going to get there?"

"Patience," Brad answered, clearing his throat. "Fifty more minutes, according to our ETA."

Hutton yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Well, this sure as hell beats that sky pig we rode to Guam."

Brad rotated his head back and forth to loosen the stiff muscles. "First thing I want when we get on the ground is an ice cold beer."

"Ditto."

Austin and Hutton remained quiet, closing their eyes until the four-engine jet began the descent into Hickam. They roused Palmer and Lunsford when the flaps were lowered. Four minutes later, at 2:15 P
. M
. local time, the StarLifter's main gear rumbled onto the runway as the nose was gently lowered to the pavement.

When the jet taxied to a halt on the transient aircraft ramp, the foursome grabbed their bags and hurried to an air-force bus with a Honolulu placard on the front.

As soon as all the seats were occupied, the talkative Honolulu native shut the door, shifted into gear, and mashed the throttle.

The trip to downtown Honolulu had been punctuated by stops at the international airport, Hilton Hawaiian Village Hotel, and Fort DeRussy military reservation. Having donned khaki uniforms during the layover in Guam, the men were anxious to change into their civilian attire.

The four flyers stepped off the bus at the large military complex and walked along Kalakaua Avenue to the luxurious Royal Hawaiian Hotel.

The majestic structure, impressive in its fresh coat of coral pink paint, reflected a quiet grace and dignity. The manicured lawn was accentuated by colorful anthuriums, orchids, and red ginger. The scent of the flowers was all-pervasive.

Stopping to take in the elegant "Pink Palace of the Pacific," the four men were impressed by the unique architecture and Spanish-style cupolas. In the legendary lobby, they admired the Moorish ceilings and gleaming crystal chandeliers but ignored for the time being the exclusive shops lining the long hallway.

Quickly signing the guest registration, Brad accepted four keys to their two-bedroom quarters. Their suite overlooked the beach, and they had an unobstructed view of Diamond Head, the famous Waikiki landmark.

The spacious sitting room was flanked by large bedrooms on each side. Each room contained two queen-sized beds with tall headboards and overstuffed pillows. A large bath off the living room was stocked with extra towels and hand-milled soaps, along with four thick-terry cloth robes. A richly padded wet bar and a private lanai completed the opulent suite.

They took time only to shower and change before heading down Kalakaua Avenue to the bustling International Market Place. Hundreds of open-air cart vendors competed with shop owners for the attention of the tourists crowded into the narrow corridors. Children laughed and played while their mothers and grandmothers hawked everything from T-shirts to jewelry.

The foursome casually inspected the array of island goods, stopping at various stands before they retraced their steps. Each selected a colorful aloha shirt from a small shop at the entrance to the bazaar. Laughing at each other, the men walked back to their room and tossed their purchases on the coffee table between the matching pastel pink sofas.

"To the bar," Hutton declared emphatically.

"Lead on," Brad replied, holding the door open.

"Ah, yes," Nick Palmer sighed as a vivacious young cocktail waitress approached their table. "I could grow accustomed to this life-style without any formal training."

Seeing that Harry Hutton was about to deliver one of his infamous lines to the attractive waitress, Brad nudged him on the shin. "Don't even think about it."

Harry gave his roommate a go-to-hell look but remained calm and quiet while the group ordered a round of mai-tais. Feeling the weariness from the prolonged flight, Brad stretched his legs and took a deep breath. He was beginning to relax.

By the time the waitress returned with the tantalizing drinks, Hutton had prepared his approach. He waited until she had set the drinks on the table. "You remind me of a movie star."

The young lady turned and smiled pleasantly. "Why, thank you. I'm sure my husband will be pleased to hear that."

Choking, Palmer blew a mouthful of his cocktail into the sand a foot from their table.

Shaking his head, Brad tipped the waitress. "I apologize. We left his muzzle in the room." The girl smiled knowingly and walked away.

Chagrined, Harry flushed deeply. "You're a bunch of goddamn assholes . . . every one of you."

Swallowing a big mouthful, Lunsford leaned close to Hutton's red face. "Harry, we can't take any more of your dumb-ass lines."

"Yeah, Harry," Palmer laughed, clearing his throat. "Why don't you just cut to the action, and ask them if they want to go jump in the rack?"

Hutton remained quiet, sipping his drink and ignoring the remarks. He removed the pale purple orchid from his glass and chewed on the stick of sugarcane.

Lunsford had ordered another round of cocktails when Brad noticed a striking young lady enter the lounge. She was accompanied by a well-dressed woman who appeared to be her mother.

Noticing that the table conversation had ceased, Brad became acutely aware that everyone else was looking at the captivating young lady.

Brad averted his eyes but quickly stole another glance, taking in the image of the petite brunette. The silky brown hair was enhanced by sparkling blue eyes and a radiant smile. She ha
d a
n elegant face with perfectly sculpted features, and delicate hands and feet.

Her white tennis shorts accentuated her smooth, tanned legs. Brad guessed her height and weight to be five feet four inches and 110 pounds. She appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties. He could see that she was not wearing an engagement or a wedding ring.

"Bingo," Hutton laughed, nudging Brad's shoulder while looking at Palmer. "Now we get to see your acts."

Lifting his drink, Palmer chuckled. "Brad, I've got an idea how you can sweep her off her feet. She will be forever indebted to you, believe me."

Palmer glanced at Hutton and laughed. "We'll send Harry over to their table, then you rescue the women, and you'll be a knight in shining armor."

Hutton gave Palmer the middle-finger salute.

Brad looked again and caught the young lady's eye. They exchanged smiling glances.

After finishing their drinks, the older woman signed the check and they left. Brad got up, walked by the vacated table, glanced at the slip of paper, then continued down the hallway to the restrooms. The check had been signed S. W. Ladasau.

Returning to the lounge, Brad saw that the bill had been removed from the table. He returned to his seat, tuning out one of Palmer's flying stories. Still thinking about the stunningly beautiful woman, Brad dreamily watched the surfers and outrigger canoes race along the tops of the sparkling waves.

His mind drifted back to the carrier, replaying his crash landing and the narrow escapes. The mental pictures of war and death were becoming impossible to obliterate from his thoughts. After a minute, his mind returned to the image of the beautiful brunette. He continued to gaze at the ocean, but his mind did not register the view.

After another round of drinks, the foursome went into the Surf Room and ordered dinner. They enjoyed a savory meal of fresh seafood and island cuisine. After Baked Alaska, freshl
y g
round Kona coffee, and a snifter of brandy, the group had agreed that they were too tired to go out and pursue female companionship that evening. The flight had been grueling and uncomfortable, leaving them physically and mentally exhausted.

After returning to their suite, Palmer and Lunsford crashed on their beds and were asleep almost immediately. Brad walked into the living room and out to the lanai. Watching the bright moon, he sat down in a thickly padded lounge chair and replayed the scene in the Mai-Tai Bar. He could not erase the image of the stunning brunette.

Brad's last thought, before falling sound asleep, was about the young woman named Ladasau.

Chapter
16.

Austin awakened to the sound of waves gently washing ashore. The clear sky was beginning to show signs of sunrise. Listening to the chirping and singing of the birds, Brad squinted at his wristwatch lying on the nightstand. It read 5:35 A
. M
.

He closed his eyes for a few minutes, reforming the image of the attractive girl he had seen in the cocktail lounge. Feeling restless, he prepared for an early walk on the beach.

Brad picked up a complimentary newspaper in the lobby, then leisurely walked out to the veranda. He watched the maintenance workers rake the powdery white sand smooth, and toss the debris left by the sun worshipers into three large plastic containers.

Feeling the tension flow from his body, Brad glanced at the front page of the paper, stopping occasionally to cast a look out over the tranquil ocean. He became engrossed in watching a navy cruiser that had just cleared the entrance to Pearl Harbor. A destroyer followed a minute later, increasing speed to match the larger vessel.

When the ships had sailed over the horizon, Brad started to open his paper, then froze in place. The woman of his dreams was walking up from the beach. She was wearing light green slacks and a loose-fitting green-and-white striped blouse. Carrying her white sandals, she was approaching the Royal Hawaiian from the Diamond Head end of Waikiki Beach.

Brad felt a fleeting moment of anxiety. What am I going to say? he asked himself as the girl stepped onto the sidewalk. What the hell, he thought to himself, then got up. God never loved a coward.

The pretty woman looked at Brad when he stood. She smiled as she neared him. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Miss Ladasau," Brad responded, feeling slightly foolish.

"Pardon me," the woman replied, slightly tilting her head. "Have we met?"

Brad cleared his throat. "No, unfortunately, but now is as good a time as any." A quizzical look crossed her face.

"I'm Brad Austin."

The girl extended a slim hand. "Leigh Ann Ladasau." "My pleasure," Brad replied, gently shaking her hand. "Do you prefer Leigh, or Leigh Ann?"

"Everyone calls me Leigh Ann."

"Spelled L-e-i-g-h?" Brad asked, releasing her hand. He was captivated by the soft, feminine voice.

"That's correct," she replied with just a trace of southern accent. Turning to leave, she looked over her shoulder. "Nice meeting you."

"Wait," Brad said, dropping the paper. "How about a cup of coffee, or some juice? The dining room will be open in a couple of minutes."

Leigh Ann contemplated the offer. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to decline. Thank you, anyway."

"We'll be in a public place," Brad appealed. "I won't attack you . . . I promise."

Letting out a sigh, Leigh Ann smiled. "You're a very persistent person. You must be in the military.

tary.

Brad hesitated, unsure of her reaction to the truth. "You're right."

"Which service?" she asked. "And what do you do?" "Marine Corps . . . fighter pilot."

"Oh, well, that explains it," Leigh Ann laughed. "Okay, Brad, let's make it breakfast. I'm famished."

She dropped her sandals and stepped into them. "Your friends--the ones you were with yesterday afternoon--are they marine pilots too?"

"No. One of them is a pilot, but he's navy. The other two are navy radar-intercept officers. We fly--the four of us--as two teams in F-4 Phantoms." Brad could see a question on Leigh Ann's face. "I'm on exchange duty with a navy fighter squadron based on board a carrier. We're on rest and relaxation while the ship is in port at Subic Bay . . . in the Philippines."