"There isn't anything I can do on your behalf. If I attempt to use my influence to intercede in any way, it would make things even more difficult for you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand, and I wouldn't ask you to intervene. It's my problem, and I'll pay the consequences." Taking a deep breath, Brad steeled himself. "Dad, I'm sorry I've besmirched our name, and your career."
"Brad, you haven't tarnished our name, and don't worry about my career. I will be retiring two months from tomorrow."
Brad glanced at Harry before speaking. "Is your retirement because of me?"
"No, not at all. My papers went in six weeks ago, and I'm looking forward to sailing on the Chesapeake."
Feeling relief sweep over him, Brad smiled. "Congratulations, Dad. I hope we can go sailing together, if I can get myself out of this trouble."
"Son, you did what you had to do. Don't apologize for your actions. Stand up for them."
"Yes, sir," Brad replied, reverting to his military bearing. "I sincerely appreciate your call, and the words of advice."
"Well," the admiral paused, "you're my son, and you're not a loose cannon. Stubborn and determined," he chuckled softly, "but not a loose cannon."
Startled by the unexpected trace of humor, Brad laughed nervously. He felt closer to his father than he had felt in years.
"Thanks, Dad. I'll keep you posted, and I'll call mother as soon as I have an opportunity."
"You do that. Get some rest."
"I'll try," Brad responded, noting the time. "Good-bye." He set the receiver down slowly and looked at Harry. "He took it calmly, and told me to stand up for my actions."
Brad and Harry climbed the steep series of ladders leading to the flag bridge. The last level of the gleaming staircase had white handholds with an engraved brass plaque mounted over the top of the stairwell. The highly polished plaque announced to the two visitors that they had arrived at the admiral's bridge. The marine corporal guarding the entrance snapped to attention.
"Captain Austin," Brad announced, "and Lieutenant Hutton, reporting to the admiral as requested." The young man in the spotless dress uniform opened the door and backed away.
Stepping through the entrance, Brad saw the admiral. Both Harry and Brad braced at attention. The commander of the task force was conferring with one of his staff members.
Brad had met Rear Adm. Warren Keuseman when the admiral had toured the air-group ready rooms. An engaging individual, Keuseman had a swarthy, rugged appearance. He had a faint scar on his right temple, accentuated by a shock of snow white hair. His freshly laundered khakis had been specially tailored for his fit, trim physique. His uniform sported shiny gold wings and gleaming silver stars.
Keuseman finished his conversation, signed a form, and turned to greet Brad and Harry. "At ease, gentlemen." The voice was pleasant, but there was no mistaking the somber look on Keuseman's face. The pale gray eyes briefly examined the pilot and his radar-intercept officer.
Brad and Harry, in unison, spread their feet and clasped their hands behind them.
"I'm going to be very frank with you." Keuseman paused to let the impact of his words register.
Brad felt a pang of trepidation. What the hell was going to ultimately happen to them? Harry cleared his throat, as he habitually did when he was nervous.
Keuseman walked to his cabin door. "Let's step inside." Brad and Harry followed the admiral into his quarters. Brad was awed by the furnishings. The cabin was richly decorated with cherry-wood furniture and fine accessories. Two large original oil paintings of vintage aircraft carriers hung from the gleaming bulkheads.
"This meeting," Keuseman said, gesturing to a luxurious couch, "is informal, and off the record."
Harry and Brad sat down, stealing a quick, questioning glance at each other. Keuseman pulled his overstuffed chair from behind his desk and took a seat. The admiral remained quiet, letting the silence underscore the gravity of the situation.
"You two are in serious trouble."
"Admiral, excuse me sir, but Lieutenant Hutton is not at fault, sir. I take full responsibility for my actions. He aggressively attempted to talk me out of violating the rules. My knocking down the MiG — Major Dao — was the entire focus of my life at that moment. Nothing else mattered."
Keuseman folded his arms across his chest. "Captain, I am aware of that. Your commanding officer and I had a long conversation after you talked with him. He believes that both of you are fine young officers who stepped over the line in the heat of battle. The main concern is hitting a ground target at an off-limits airfield."
Keuseman picked up the folders containing their military files. "Your records speak for themselves." He studied the pages in Brad's folder, glancing at the pilot, then returning to the service record. "I've known your father a long time, and I respect him very much."
Brad remained quiet.
"Frankly, I am elated that you shot down Dao, but we are caught in the spotlight of a State Department flap because of the unauthorized attack on a restricted airfield. I received word early yesterday morning that the under secretary of the navy has ordered an informal investigation. A representative of the State Department will be in attendance, so it doesn't look good at the moment."
Bolstering his courage, Brad raised his hand slightly. "Admiral, if I resign my commission, can we avoid the hearing, and possible court-martial?"
Unhurried, Keuseman placed the service records on his desk. "I mentioned that avenue to CINCPAC when he chewed me out early this morning. That is not an option."
Examining the admiral, Brad was amazed that he was so calm after having been reprimanded by the commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet.
"All of us," Keuseman continued, "have broken or bent the rules at times, including me. Hell, any fighter pilot worth his salt has gone over the line in combat. However, this incident has gotten the attention of the international press."
Dead silence filled the cabin.
"Personally, I'm proud that we have warriors like yourselves, and I'm extremely pleased that you dispatched Dao. He alone is responsible for downing eight of our aircraft, and I'm happy that you two made sure that he will never get a ninth one."
Keuseman paused, shifting his gaze to Austin. "The fact that you fired a missile at a MiG on the ground is a different story."
Brad cast a look at his RIO. Harry looked straight ahead.
"I told you I was going to be frank, and I am. After discussing this matter with your skipper, I advised CINCPAC that we could have a real public-relations problem." Keuseman observed the reactions on the officers' faces.
Brad drew a breath. "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."
A thin smile creased Keuseman's mouth. "Well, with public sentiment being what it is at the present time — not in our favor — it isn't going to be well received in many circles to ground a distinguished aviator who has shot down two MiGs and destroyed a third. The military has a public-relations problem because the media is reporting that we are killing innocent civilians. There won't be any doubt in anyone's mind that Dao was not a civilian.
He was flying a fighter plane and shot down your flight leader."
Squeezing his fists tight, Brad felt a small ray of hope.
"CINCPAC doesn't buy it, though. He believes that we have to take steps to ensure that no one breaks the rules of engagement again."
Harry and Brad remained quiet, attempting to contain their fears. If the four-star admiral wanted them nailed to the cross, which he apparently did, they stood little chance of avoiding a court-martial.
"I also explained," Keuseman said, shifting his gaze from Brad to Harry, then back to Brad, "that our growing problem with aircrew morale is going to be exacerbated if we court-martial two MiG killers."
"Admiral," Brad ventured, "everyone is doing his level best, sir, but our hands are tied. Some guys are just trying to survive, while others, like me, are outraged that anyone would compromise us this way."