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Ghost recon : Combat ops

Michaels David (EN)

Tom Clancy’s

COMBAT OPS

WRIT TEN BY

D A V I D M I C H A E L S

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

TOM CLANCY’S GHOST RECON®: COMBAT OPS

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with Ubisoft Entertainment S.A.

Soldier Icon, Ubisoft, and the Ubisoft logo are trademarks of Ubisoft Entertainment in the U.S.

and in other countries.

Interior text design by Kristin del Rosario.

No part of this book may be reproduced, sca

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 1-101-46950-1

BERKLEY®

Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

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BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank my editor, Mr. Tom Colgan, for this great

opportunity.

Mr. Tom Clancy and all of the folks at Ubisoft who cre-

ated the Ghost Recon game certainly deserve my gratitude,

as well as the following individuals:

Mr. Sam Strachman of Longtail Studios helped me

develop this story from the ground up. His contributions

were great, and his willingness to take risks with the story

and characters was deeply appreciated.

Mr. James Ide served as my military researcher and story

expert. He reviewed every page, relying on his extensive

military background to provide criticism, advice, and sug-

gestions that greatly improved the manuscript.

Finally, Nancy, Lauren, and Kendall Telep offered their

eternal patience and support. Every manuscript is a battle,

and I’m fortunate to have these ladies in my platoon.

Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,

Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.

— Titus Andronicus, Act II, sc. 3, l. 38

The sword is ever suspended.

—Voltaire

PROLOGUE

“You think I’m guilty?” I ask her.

She smirks. “My opinion doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“How do you expect me to formulate an opinion

when I don’t know your story?”

I sigh through a curse.

My name is Captain Scott Mitchell, United States

Army. I’m a member of a Special Forces group called the

Ghosts. When I’m on the job, out on a mission, I don’t

exist. I’d thought we operated with impunity.

But when I was ordered back home and confined to

quarters, I realized everything had changed. The same

organization that helped conceal my operations and

erase all evidence of the people I’d killed had been forced

GH OS T RE C O N

to make an example of me. They had changed. I had

changed. And we could never go back.

People don’t have to talk. They can invite you to kiss

them . . . or even kill them with their eyes. Talk is cheap,

but I’ve crawled through enough rat holes to learn that

for some, life is even cheaper.

I had permission. I did what I had to do. They say I

had a choice, but I didn’t. I have never done anything

more difficult in my life.

And now they want me to pay for my sins.

I haven’t slept in two days. The growing humidity

here at Fort Bragg makes it harder to breathe, and when

I go to the window and run a finger across the glass, it

comes up sweaty. The humidity is all I have to keep me

company.

My father taught me that it’s easier to cut wood with

the grain rather than against it, and I carried that simple

metaphor into the Army. I promised myself to remain

apolitical, do the missions, go with the grain, not because

I was trying to cop out but because I just wanted to be a

great soldier. I’d already seen what torn loyalties and jeal-

ousy could do to the warrior spirit, and I wanted to pro-

tect myself against that.

But for what? My life is now a blade caught in a heavy

knot, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared out of my

mind. I’m fourteen again, and Dad’s telling me that

Mom just died, and I’m worried about how we’ll get

along when she did so much—when she was the person

who held our family together. When I think about going

CO MB AT O P S

to prison, I lose my breath. It’s a panic attack, and all I