Rules of Engagement (1991) (33 page)

"Yes," Brad answered, glancing at the safe. "But I don't think it's a good idea to have liquor on our breath if we're going to see the skipper."

Harry sat up in his chair. "No. We'd only be digging our own graves. Let's forget about it, and think about the day after tomorrow." The carrier was scheduled to dock in Yokosuka in thirty-seven hours.

Brad stared blankly at the deck. "We avenged Bull and Russ, and Major Dao won't be adding any more stars to his airplane.

If that's wrong, I was wrong."

***

Standing on the signal bridge, Brad watched the shoreline pass as the carrier steamed through the wide entrance to Tokyo Bay. The gray overcast, blended with the dark, leaden sea, made the morning seem like late afternoon.

Unable to sleep soundly, Brad had showered and shaved at 4 A
. M
., finished the difficult letter to Russ Lunsford's parents, then had a light breakfast in the main wardroom.

Propping one foot on the lower brace, Brad leaned on the upper railing and gazed at the various ships maneuvering in the bay. He had been preoccupied with the fate of Bull and Russ. Were they being humiliated and tortured? Were they being subjected to brutal interrogations? His guilt was oppressive, hanging like a weight around his neck.

His emotions ran the gamut from deep depression over the well-being of Bull and Russ, to jubilation about his impending vacation with Leigh Ann. Forcing himself to erase the horrors of war from his mind, Brad concentrated on remembering every detail about her.

Harry had decided to remain on board the carrier. He, along with the majority of the squadron flight-crew members, were low in spirits. The deaths of Frank Rockwood and Ed Zapata, followed by the loss of Nick Palmer, and the capture of another crew, had demoralized the pilots and RIOs.

Brad remained on the signal bridge while the mammoth ship was edged next to the pier. After the carrier had been gently docked, Brad went below to his stateroom to get his luggage, which he had packed the previous evening. Entering the cramped stateroom, Brad was surprised to see Harry sitting morosely at the desk.

"Hey, shipmate," Brad said cheerfully, "how about lunch and a beer at the club before I head for Tokyo?"

Harry turned without replying. Brad had never seen him so glum.

"Come on," Brad cajoled, tapping his friend on the shoulder. "I'm buying."

Harry displayed the hint of a smile. "Okay. I could use a beer."

He stretched his arms back, yawning. "You still want me to go to Tokyo with you?"

Brad glanced at the packed overnight bag at the foot of Harry's locker. "Hell, yes. Who else is going to take care of me, and attract all the women for us?"

"Right," Harry replied, grinning his mischievous grin. "You need a keeper."

Brad and Harry sat at a dining table in the Yokosuka Officers' Club. The bar was full of ships' company and air-wing officers. The noise level was increasing in proportion to the rounds of drinks being consumed. The afternoon and evening promised to be a rowdy, no-holds-barred party full of sea stories and "almost killed" flying stories. The aviators referred to the tales as A-Kays. If a true story had an unbelievable air about it, the pilot or RIO would precede the anecdote with the word TINS-this is no shit.

After calling Japan Airlines, Brad had attempted to contact Leigh Ann. Her mother had answered, cool and polite as always. It was after 9 P
. M
. in Memphis. Mrs. Ladasau had explained that she expected her daughter home at any minute. She had not mentioned Leigh Ann's invitation to join him in San Francisco.

Brad had told her that he would call again, if it was not too late, at ten o'clock. She assured him that that would be fine.

Harry set down his empty mug and wiped off his mouth. "So, when does your flight leave?"

Brad unfolded his hastily written notes. "They have a flight at six in the evening, so I figured we could make that one."

Frowning, Harry looked toward the noisy bar, then back to Brad. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

Brad checked the time. "Harry, if there was an early morning flight, I'd stay over in Tokyo. There are only two flights a day--at three forty and six in the evening." Brad smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Counting the travel time, I'm only going to have a few days with Leigh Ann."

Harry frowned again and signaled for another beer.

"Why don't you get a nice hotel room in the Ginza district?" Brad suggested, sliding his chair back. "I know you can provide your own entertainment in one of the hostess bars." Harry chuckled as Brad walked toward the telephones.

Brad picked up the receiver and worked his way from the local operator to an international operator. After two attempts to secure an open line, the phone rang in the elegant home in Memphis, Tennessee.

"Ladasau residence," Leigh Ann answered after the first ring. "Hi, Leigh Ann. This is Brad."

"I've been waiting by the phone. How are you, and where are you?"

Brad looked at his watch again. "I'm fine. Harry, the guy you met in Hawaii, and I just finished lunch. We're in Yokosuka, Japan, where the ship is docked. Are you going to join me in San Francisco?"

Leigh Ann laughed softly. "My luggage has been packed for three days."

"Any problem with your parents?"

She paused, wondering if Brad was reading her thoughts. "Well, mother thinks it's fine--she likes you."

"What about your father?"

"We can talk about it later. I'm so excited about seeing you."

"Great," Brad replied, feeling his pulse quicken. "I'll be arriving in San Francisco late Tuesday morning--West Coast time. I hope you can catch a flight out in the morning."

"I've memorized all the flight times," she confessed. "I'll plan to leave early in the morning. My flight is scheduled to land in San Francisco at ten thirty-five."

"I can't wait," Brad replied, then added, "if you have any problems, or if you get delayed, please call the Fairmont and leave a message for me."

"Okay. Do you happen to have the telephone number?" "Yes," Brad answered, struggling to free his wallet. He gave her the number, and she read it back to him.

"Oh, one other thing," Brad said, folding the confirmation notice from the Fairmont. "Your room is booked in your name, so please go ahead and check in, then relax and enjoy San Francisco."

"I'll do that."

"I should arrive in the early afternoon," Brad continued, returning his wallet to his back pocket. "If I encounter any delays, I'll leave a message for you."

"Oh, Brad, I can't wait to see you."

He could feel the excitement stirring inside of him. "I'm the one who can't wait."

"I'm going to call and confirm my airline reservations right now."

"Good idea, and get some rest, if you can."

"I don't think I can sleep," Leigh Ann laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Brad tensed as the airliner lifted off the runway at the Haneda Airport and banked toward the Pacific Ocean. He had always been uncomfortable in an airplane, unless he had access to the flight controls. Looking around the sparsely filled jet, Brad was thankful that he had all three seats to himself. He stared blankly out the window, feeling a tinge of guilt about abandoning Harry.

Tilting his seat back, Brad felt the continuous bumps as the airliner climbed through the lower choppy air. A moment later, the flight suddenly became smooth as the jet gained altitude. Reaching into the oversized shopping bag in the center seat, Brad removed the box containing the beautiful kimono he had purchased in one of the stores at the airport.

He unfolded the soft garment and inspected the craftsmanship. The loose Japanese robe was a tasteful example of the traditional kimono. The luxuriously tailored silk gown featured wide sleeves and a broad sash.

Satisfied, he replaced the light beige and blue kimono in the box. He hoped Leigh Ann would be pleased with the gift.

Brad opened the latest copy of Newsweek and leafed through the magazine, skipping the articles having to do with the war. When the airliner leveled at cruising altitude, he placed the magazine in the seat back and thought about Leigh Ann. Would she really be as wonderful as he envisaged?

"Sir, would you care for a beverage?"

Lost in his thoughts, Brad had been unaware of the charming young Japanese woman standing next to him. "Sure," Brad responded, folding the seat-back tray into position. "I'll have a scotch and soda."

He gazed out of the window at the setting sun, feeling the tension drain from his body. He pulled Leigh Ann's pendant from under his shirt and admired it.

His drink finished, Brad put the glass down and exhaled. A few minutes later, he drifted into a sound sleep.

Chapter
29.

Jean-Paul Bouvier, the Hanoi correspondent for the French newspaper L'Humanite, held the Chevaliers magnifying glass over the black-and-white photographs.

He was a small man with a receding hairline and thick glasses. He studied the pictures for a minute with rapt attention. He had captured the unusual pictures of an American F-4 Phantom from a vantage point on the flight line at Phuc Yen Air Base.

The photographs clearly showed an American fighter plane flying down the runway a scant twenty feet above the surface. The Phantom had been showcased between the vertical stabilizers of two parked MiG-21s.

For Bouvier, the shocking sight of the F-4 and the thunderous sonic boom had temporarily unnerved him. After the American pilot had turned and fired two missiles, Bouvier had finally raised his camera. He had snapped a number of pictures of the fast
-
moving fighter, but only one photo showed recognizable elements of the airfield.

He had taken the time to extensively photograph the wreckage of Maj. Nguyen Thanh Dao's burned and twisted MiG-21. The second leading ace in the North Vietnamese Air Force had died a savage death at the feet of his comrades. Bouvier had also shot a number of pictures of the destroyed MiG-17 at the end of the runway.

Well aware of the American-imposed rules of engagement, Jean-Paul Bouvier knew that Phuc Yen had been declared an off-limits airfield. If the sanctuary status of Phuc Yen had been removed, the French correspondent had no doubt that the American pilots would have arrived en masse and bombed the base to oblivion.

Unsure of the current U
. S
. military position in regard to Phuc Yen, Bouvier had decided to wait a few days before he talked with anyone. If he supplied any information about the attack, he had to be absolutely positive that the American assault had been an unauthorized and premeditated strike.

Bouvier had already sent a release to L' Humanite, describing the circumstances surrounding the death of Major Dao. He had been careful to phrase his words so he would not sound accusatory.

Now, after the uproar from the North Vietnamese government and military officials, Bouvier was certain that the attack had been a rogue ambush. This was the type of incident that could provide great prestige for the timid correspondent. To expose the unlawful attack, Bouvier needed positive proof of the origin of the aircraft. Had the F-4 been an air-force plane or a navy aircraft?

Bouvier had his assistant print a larger picture of the trespassing Phantom. Using the enlarged magnifying glass, he was able to read the serial number and side number painted on the fuselage of the treacherous offender. He was surprised to see the name of an American aircraft carrier displayed on the side of the aft fuselage. The bold NAVY was partially obscured by the wing, but there was no question. The fighter was a navy F-4 Phantom.

Awakened by turbulence, Brad shifted in his seat and looked at his watch. Two hours and ten minutes to arrival time in San Francisco. He reset his watch to Pacific Coast time, then closed his eyes. Immediately, images of the war surfaced. He opened his eyes and stared at the seat in front of him, forcing himself to think back to Hawaii and Leigh Ann. His mind kept returning to the war. What was happening to Bull and Russ?

Catching a glimpse of the approaching flight attendant, Brad looked up and smiled.

"You must have been very tired," she teased. "You slept through our two meal services."

"I apologize. I'm sure they were very good."

"I will be happy to warm a meal for you," she offered shyly. "You must be hungry."

Although not interested in eating, Brad did not want to appear ungrateful. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thanks."

After he had consumed a respectable amount of his Kobe beef, rice, and salad, he slid the tray to the table opened over the middle seat and watched the clouds until the airplane began the descent toward San Francisco International Airport.

Leigh Ann stepped out of the taxi under the canopied entrance to the elegant hotel. Two bellhops eagerly gathered her luggage while she paid her cab fare.

Following the two red-jacketed men, Leigh Ann was fascinated by the marble columns in the richly appointed lobby.

"Miss Ladasau checking in," one of the bellmen said as they approached the desk.