Rules of Engagement (1991) Read Online Free PDF Page B

flight surgeon.
    O'Meara saw the XO stand. "I'll stop by your pit later. I'd like to hear all the details."
    "Well," Brad exhaled softly, "it wasn't pretty." O'Meara nodded knowingly and went back to his flight-planning table.
    The executive officer, Cdr. Frank "Rocky" Rockwood, stepped around his chair and walked down the center aisle toward Brad and Russ. He sat down on the arm of a chair next to the two men. "Are you guys okay?"
    Brad unzipped his torso harness. "Yessir, just a little postflight shakes."
    Rockwood pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket and lighted it as Austin and Lunsford unzipped their g suits. "Tell you what . . . why don't you two go get a bite to eat and a cup o f c offee. We'll get with Jocko for a debrief when the skipper is released from sick bay." Jocko was Lt. Cdr. Jack Carella, the squadron operations officer.
    Brad folded his g suit over his helmet. "Sir, I really need to talk to you and Commander Carella now. It was my fault that the skipper got hit."
    A hush settled around the back of the compartment. Lunsford glanced at Austin, then busied himself with his flight gear.
    Rockwood, not the typical executive officer who acted as the CO's hatchet man, placed his hands on his knees and studied Brad. "Okay, I'll grab Jocko and we'll go to my stateroom."
    Austin nodded his head. "Yessir."
    Rising to his full six feet two, the partially bald Rockwood started up the aisle toward Carella. He had almost reached the operations officer when the cherubic-faced Hutton, holding his hand over the phone receiver, leaped out of his chair.
    "The CO and Dirty Ernie--Commander Sheridan--have been released. They're on their way to the ready room."
    Applause and cheers filled the long, narrow briefing room. The CO was considered to be one of the good guys, and Ernie Sheridan, the senior RIO in the squadron, was a happy-go-lucky friend to everyone.
    Brad felt a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. The more he thought about the mission, the more convinced he became that his judgment had been faulty.
    Lunsford leaned closer to Austin and spoke in a hushed voice. "It wasn't your fault. What the hell do you expect to gain by taking the blame for--"
    Lunsford stopped in mid-sentence when Frank Rockwood and Jack Carella started toward them. The XO and the operations officer looked like Mutt and Jeff characters. Rockwood lived up to his nickname in appearance. He was a solid, well-muscled 205 pounds. Big for the average fighter pilot.
    A devoted husband and father of three teenage daughters, Rockwood centered his life around his family. Always a gentleman, he was a blend of natural leader, gifted aviator, and superio r i ntellect.
    Jack Fierro Carella, a compact and dark-complected man, had curly black hair and piercing dark eyes. His nasal Italian accent had not changed since his boyhood in Philadelphia. The Temple University graduate had been a rough-and-tumble street fighter in his blue-collar neighborhood. He took his squadron job seriously and was considered tough but fair.
    Unsmiling, Carella walked up to Brad. "What's on your mind, Mister?"
    Brad knew that Carella called him mister out of habit. Junior officers in the navy were addressed by their rank, mister, or sir. Marine officers were addressed by their rank, or sir.
    Frank Rockwood spoke before Brad had a chance to open his mouth. "Jocko, let's wait until the CO gets here. He may want to speak with Brad and Russ alone."
    "Yes, sir," Carella replied, then turned to face Austin. "Just one question. Can you confirm that the skipper knocked down a MiG?" The room suddenly became quiet again.
    "Yes, sir," Brad responded, then fell silent as shouts of joy and loud clapping filled the small space.
    The hatch leading to the passageway opened and the yelling, whistling, and clapping intensified as Cdr. Dan Bailey and Dirty Ernie Sheridan stepped into the crowded ready room.
    The din of celebration increased as everyone tried to get through the throng to shake