By David Michaels
An carrying on with online game tie-in sequence "created by" Tom Clancy, yet written by way of different authors. the 1st have been through supply Blackwood less than the pseudonym David Michaels and the 3rd by means of Peter Telep.
The U.S. Army's targeted Forces are recognized for his or her hugely really good education and braveness at the back of enemy traces. yet there's a bunch that's much more stealthy and lethal. It's composed of the main feared operators at the face of the earth-the infantrymen of Ghost Recon.
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Extra resources for Combat Ops (Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon, Book 2)
If only the one sloop-of-war had received his recall signal. The Phaedra at least looked like a small frigate, and in proper hands could double as one. Or was he again thinking of his first command, and the luck he had enjoyed with her? Bolitho walked slowly to the end of the slipway where it dipped into the uneasy catspaws. The water looked like ebony, with only occasional shadows and reflections from riding-lights, or as in Hyperion’s case, the checkered lines of open gunports. He felt the warm breeze stir his coat-tails and tried to picture his H ONOUR TH IS DAY 63 chart, the uncertainties which marked each of the six hundred miles as surely as any beacons.
Bolitho looked at the nearest anchored brig, the Upholder. Very like Adam’s command, he thought. Haven moved nearer and touched his hat. ” Bolitho pulled out his watch and snapped open the guard. Exactly noon, yet it felt like no time since he had left to visit Thor. ” Their eyes met, and Bolitho 58 H ONOUR TH IS DAY could feel the other man’s reserve, a wariness which was almost physical. “I shall require all our captains on board at the close of the afternoon watch. ” Haven swallowed. ” Bolitho glanced round, but the guard was dismissed, and only a few idlers and the master’s mate of the watch were nearby.
Skeletons of old boats, frames of others yet to be completed. The smells of paint, tar and cordage. It was strange that it never failed to excite him even after all the years at sea. Bolitho could recall the sheds at Falmouth, where he and his brother, Hugh, and sometimes his sisters had explored all the secret places, and had imagined themselves to be pirates and princesses in distress. He felt a stab in his heart as he pictured his child, Elizabeth. How she had plucked at his epaulettes and buttons when he had first seen her, had picked her up so awkwardly.