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

friends, right?"
    Brad nodded.
    "Everyone likes you," Hutton continued, "but face it, you are somewhat of an enigma."
    Brad Austin remained silent, showing no outward signs of emotion. For Harry, being serious was unusual and difficult.
    "You're a marine fighter jock," Harry said carefully, "in a navy squadron . . . and you're damn good. You and Palmer, one on one, would be a hell of a match."
    Austin looked at his watch. "Are you trying to butter me up for a date or something? Throw it on the table."
    "Well," Harry began, then hesitated. "I, along with some of the other guys, think you are pressing too hard."
    "Really?"
    "Yeah, I really do. That remark you made a couple of days ago--in the ready room--when Dirty Ernie said something about feeling helpless the time that they had been surrounded by seven MiGs."
    "Go on," Brad prompted, leaning forward.
    "You said something to the effect that you felt being surrounded was, in reality, just a better opportunity to bag more MiGs. That remark raised a few eyebrows."
    Feeling exasperated, Brad rubbed his sore neck muscles. The violent barricade engagement had whipped his head more severely than any trap he had ever made.
    "Harry, let me set the record straight. I am not a warmonger, and I don't get any pleasure out of war, or killing people. I despise wars, and I despise the psychopathic tyrants who perpetrate warfare.
    "I enjoy flying, and the Marine Corps spent more than a million dollars to train me to be a fighter pilot. I didn't expect to ever use my special skills, nor did I have a desire to shoot people."
    Hutton raised his hands. "Enough. I know you better than anyone else, and you--"
    "Wait a minute," Austin interrupted, feeling a need to vent his frustrations. "Hear me out. I had my future planned, about ready to go to graduate school, when our illustrious buffoons in the White House decided to jump into this goddamned mess.
    "I packed my trash, like I was ordered to do, and marched my ass over here. Now, after all the training and psyching myself emotionally, we have rules of engagement that had to have been developed by morons. Christ, the North Vietnamese have to be rolling on the ground in Hanoi laughing their asses off at our ineptitude."
    "Brad, my man," Hutton said, feeling the same disdain for the combat restrictions, "you can't change the course of this administration, so just take care of number one."
    For weeks, the topic of conversation in the ready rooms, wardrooms, and staterooms had been the shackles imposed on combat operations. Many senior military commanders had been calling for maximum-effort attacks on the key components of North Vietnam's war-making machine.
    "Harry, I can't shut off my mind and just waddle down the path of least resistance. Jesus, we're sitting here, basically throwing dirt clods at tanks.
    "We've got the capability," Austin continued, incensed, "to blast the Communist regime into total submission using conventional weapons. We need to destroy their military complexes, electrical power plants, key industrial sites, petroleum storage facilities, transportation systems, bridges, air-defense installations, and--my favorite topic--airfields.
    "But no," Brad persisted, "we have the 'McNamara War.' A goddamn piecemeal, half-assed effort that is confined to bombing a rail-repair shop, a power transformer, a couple of unimportant bridges, a small cement plant, and--if we haven't pissed the commies off too much with those devastating attacks--perhaps a truck depot or laundry facility."
    "Hey," Harry said in his seldom-used, serious voice. "You need some chow, and I could go for another dessert. Let's go grab a bite, then we'll see the old man."
    "All right," Brad replied, trying to suppress his anger at the fact that the aircrews were having to risk their lives on missions of little or no importance.
    "Harry, tell me one thing. Am I crazy? Has my logic missed the brilliance of this scheme, or do I not understand the big picture?"
    Hutton