Jack Ryan 10 - Rainbow Six by Tom Clancy Read Free Book Online Page A

relaxed smile with a good deal of confidence behind it.
    Feldwebel Dieter Weber was next, also a paratrooper and a graduate of the German army's Bergfuhrer or Mountain Leader school, one of the physically toughest schools in any army in the world. He looked it. Blondhaired and fairskinned, he might have been on an SS recruiting poster sixty years earlier. His English, Ding learned at once, was better than his own. He could have passed for American-or English. Weber had come to Rainbow from the German GSG9 team, which was part of the former Border Guards, the Federal Republic's counterterror team.
    “Major, we have heard much about you,” Weber said from his six-three height. A little tall, Ding thought. Too large a target. He shook hands like a German. One quick grab, vertical jerk, and let go, with a nice squeeze in the middle. His blue eyes were interesting, cold as ice, interrogating Ding from the first. The eyes were usually found behind a rifle. Weber was one of the team's two longriflemen.
    SFC Homer Johnston was the other. A mountaineer
from Idaho, he'd taken his first deer at the age of nine. He ;rod Weber were friendly competitors. Average-looking in ;ill respects, Johnston was clearly a runner rather than an iron-pumper at his six-feet-nothing, one-sixty. He'd started off in the 101st AirMobile at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, ;in d rapidly worked his way into the Army's black world. “ Major, nice to meet you, sir.” He was a former Green Beret and Delta member, like Chavez's friend, Oso Vega.
    The shooters, as Ding thought of them, the guys who went into the buildings to do business, were Americans and Brits. Steve Lincoln, Paddy Connolly, Scotty McTyler, and Eddie Price were from the SAS. They'd all been there and done that in Northern Ireland and a few ether places. Mike Pierce, Hank Patterson, and George Tomlinson mainly had not, because the American Delta 1 orce didn't have the experience of the SAS. It was also true, Ding reminded himself, that Delta, SAS, GSG-9, And other crack international teams cross-trained to the point that they might as well have married one another's sisters. Every one of them was taller than “Major” Chavez. Every one was tough. Every one was smart, and with this realization came an oddly deflating feeling that, despite his own field experience, he'd have to earn the respect of his team and earn it fast.
    “Who's senior?”
    “That's me, sir,” Eddie Price said. He was the oldest of the team, forty-one, and a former color sergeant in the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment, since spot-promoted to sergeant major. Like the rest in the bullpen, he was wearing nonuniform clothes, though they were all wearing the same nonuniform things, without badges of rank.
    “Okay, Price, have we done our PT today?”
    “No, Major, we waited for you to lead us out,” Sergeant Major Price replied, with a smile that was ten percent manners and ninety percent challenge.
    Chavez smiled back. “Yeah, well, I'm a little stiff from the flight, but maybe we can loosen that up for me. Where do I change?” Ding asked, hoping his last two weeks of five-mile daily runs would prove to be enough-and he was slightly wasted by the flight.
    “Follow me, sir.”
    “My name's Clark, and I suppose I'm the boss here,” John said from the head of the conference table. “You all know the mission, and you've all asked to be part of Rainbow. Questions?”
    That startled them, John saw. Good. Some continued to stare at him. Most looked down at the scratch pads in front of them.
    “Okay, to answer some of the obvious ones, our operational doctrine ought to be little different from the organizations you came from. We will establish that in training, which commences tomorrow. We are supposed to be operational right now,” John warned them. “That means the phone could ring in a minute, and we will have to respond. Are we able to?”
    “No,” Alistair Stanley responded for the rest of the senior staff. “That's