Free Rules of Engagement (1991) by Joe Weber Page A

down."
    "I'm okay, Skipper," Lunsford responded, rubbing his chest where the shoulder harness had bruised him.
    The three men turned to look at the remains of Joker 208. The Phantom rested on the remains of its smashed nose cone. Brad noticed that the right main-gear strut had been driven up through the wing. The once sleek, fearsomely aggressive-looking fighter had been reduced to a heap of twisted metal.
    The three watched the deck crew place a dolly under the Phantom's nose. Moving swiftly, the aircraft handlers towed the wrecked F-4 to the forward deck-edge elevator, then lowered th e a ircraft to the hangar bay. Joker 208 would become the squadron hangar queen, providing useful parts for the flyable aircraft.
    Bailey turned to Brad and Russ. "I want both of you to report to Doc McCary. We'll get together with Palmer and Hutton later."
    "Skipper," Lunsford said, wiping his face with the sleeve of his flight suit, "I don't need to see the flight surgeon. I need to see a shrink."
    "You, along with the rest of us," Bailey replied as Nick Palmer's Phantom slammed onto the steel deck and snagged the three wire.

    Chapter 7.
    Brad Austin toweled himself dry and leaned over the wash-basin. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. The three small bottles of medicinal alcohol Doc McCary had given him, along with the seven hours of restless sleep, had not erased the image of the trees rushing up to kill him.
    Walking down the passageway to his stateroom, Brad met his roommate, who was returning from dinner.
    "You missed the celebration in the ready room," Harry Hutton said. "Palmer is now a legend in his own mind."
    Brad brushed his close-cropped hair with a thin, fraying towel. "He deserves the recognition. He bagged a gomer . . . and got my dumb ass back to the boat."
    Grinning mischievously, Hutton shook his head. "That was one hell of a show you put on. Have you been down to see that pile of shit?"
    Stepping into the small berthing compartment, Brad set down his dopp kit. "No, and I really don't care to be reminded, okay? I almost killed Russ twice today."
    Hutton sensed that his friend, normally easygoing and even-tempered, was not in the mood for jocularity. "Okay. The old man wants to see Nick, Russ, you, and me in his stateroom at nineteen hundred."
    "I'll be there," Brad responded, opening his small closet. "What's for chow?"
    Hutton sat down and casually propped his feet on the lower-bunk bed. "Chicken fried steak and smashed potatoes."
    Brad glanced at Harry. "Smashed potatoes?"
    "Wait til you see 'em."
    Austin donned a fresh uniform shirt and slipped on a pair of razor-creased khaki trousers. He turned to the small washbasin, picked up his toothbrush, squeezed toothpaste on the bristles, and looked at Hutton's reflection in the mirror. "Something on your mind?"
    "As a matter of fact," Harry said uncomfortably, "I do have something I'd like to mention. Two items, actually." "Shoot," Brad replied, brushing vigorously.
    Hutton remained quiet a few moments, contemplating how best to phrase his two topics. "First, the Air Boss didn't want to let you come aboard. He wanted you guys to fly upwind and jump out."
    Rinsing his mouth, Brad again glanced at Hutton's image in the mirror. "Well, in retrospect, I would have to agree with him."
    Hutton stood, walked over next to Brad, and leaned against the bulkhead. "The CO talked him out of it, because of the sea state. He was afraid both of you would drown before the helo could find you."
    Hutton walked to the bunk and stretched out with his hands behind his head. "Bailey told the Air Boss that if there was anyone on the boat who could bring a Fox-4 aboard at a hundred fifty knots, it was you, his marine nutcase."
    Brad wiped his mouth. "Nutcase?"
    "Look, I'm only repeating what the XO and Carella said during Palmer's ready-room grab-ass."
    Brad sat down at his small desk and leaned back. "I believe you had another item on your agenda."
    Hutton sat up and put his feet on the deck. "We're