Emmett's facial expression reflected irritation. "Talk, Captain. Explain your breach of the regulations, and make it succinct. We are on a tight schedule."
Brad drew a quick breath. "Captain, the airborne MiG in question was flown by Major Dao, North Vietnam's second-leading ace. In the heat of battle, my close friends — my flight leader and his RIO — were shot down by Major Dao."
"That fact, no matter how tragic," Emmett frowned, "did not give you license to attack a restricted area."
Harry shifted uncomfortably but contained his nervous cough. He focused on a plaque over the admiral's head.
"May I finish, Captain?" Brad asked, drawing a sharp look from Emmett.
"We're waiting."
Speaking clearly, Brad stared back at Emmett. "I would assume, sir, from seeing the dolphins on your chest, that you have never flown a fighter in combat."
Emmett gave him a cold, menacing look. "You're walking a fine line, Captain, and it would serve you well to remember that fact."
Admiral Keuseman arched his eyebrows, giving Brad a silent warning.
"Captain Emmett, this was not a premeditated act. I didn't go to Phuc Yen with the intent of shooting up the field or dropping ordnance on anyone. My intent was to kill a MiG ace. I reacted instantaneously, focused on one mission — to kill Major Dao before he added a ninth airplane and crew to his credit."
Harry finally coughed.
"Sir," Brad continued, trying to keep his emotions in check, "I was determined to destroy Dao, and I chased him down. I didn't have any control over where his airplane crashed." Brad took a deep breath. "I was wrong to shoot at the aircraft on the ground."
Silence filled the room. Emmett rolled a pencil back and forth between his palms. "Lieutenant Hutton, is that exactly what happened?"
Harry braced himself and spoke in a confident voice. "Yes, sir, that is precisely what happened."
"I understand," Emmett perused his notes, "from reading your statements in the report that you tried to talk Captain Austin out of breaking the rules and flying over a restricted airfield. Is that true?"
Taking his time, Harry formed an answer. "I pointed out various options in regard to the restrictions we have to deal with. Low to the ground, in the middle of a supersonic dogfight, is not the time to distract your pilot."
"Answer yes or no," Emmett spat. "Did you attempt to talk Captain Austin out of breaking the rules of engagement?" "Yes, sir."
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."