Dragon Sim-13 Read Online Free PDF Page A

He was sweating in the early summer night air. Along the way, he linked up with two other team members. Pete Devito was the team's senior medic; he easily carried his gear atop his bodybuilder's six-foot-two, 220-pound frame. Riley considered Devito a good man. They'd been together in the 1st Battalion, 1st Special Forces Group, on Okinawa during a previous assignment, and Devito had shown himself to be a conscientious soldier and medic.
    The other man, Smith, was the team's junior engineer and one of the first-termers on the team. For a while, desperate for bodies, Special Forces had allowed soldiers to enlist in the army, go through basic and advanced training, and airborne school, and then straight to Special Forces school. The traditional way was to accept only seasoned noncommissioned officers (NCOs) into Special Forces training. Older NCOs complained about the young kids, but Riley liked them. Sure, they could do foolish things at times and were occasionally immature, but overall they were smart, most of them having spent some time in college, and they added a youthful enthusiasm to things. The process of allowing first-termers into Special Forces had been discontinued a few years ago; Smith was one of the last of the breed.
    Behind his innocent-looking face, Smith had a devious mind. Combining him with Hoffman, the team's senior engineer, made for an extremely effective demolitions team. Both were young and inexperienced, but extremely intelligent. Hoffman, with his mop of red hair and thick glasses, had been dubbed Little Einstein by the team. Give him a problem, and in a few minutes it was solved.
    As the three men passed into the tree line, a voice called out to them in the dark: "Running."
    "Cloudy," Riley replied, followed by Devito and Smitty, calling out their mission code names as running passwords. They entered the small assembly area nestled among the trees. Five other members were already there—three providing security and two digging. They'd have to dig a mighty big hole for ten parachutes and helmets, Riley knew. For a moment he allowed himself the luxury of being angry at his new team leader. During mission planning, Captain Peterson had insisted on caching the parachutes, despite Riley's arguments to the contrary. That's the way the young captain had been taught in the Special Forces Qualification Course at Fort Bragg and, by God, that's the way they were going to do it. By the book. Riley felt that a man who didn't let common sense overrule the book was a dangerous fellow. He had seen enough of this type in his twelve years in the army.
    Riley took a quick count in the dark. Eight of ten present. He was missing the new team leader—that figured—and Comsky, the team's junior medic. On first impression Riley had wondered how Comsky had made it through the extremely rigorous Special Forces medical school. He just didn't seem to be clicking on all cylinders at times. He even looked slow and dumb. Only five and a half feet tall and barrel chested, Comsky had thick, bushy eyebrows and a body covered with hair. He'd been dubbed the Ape by the other team members when he had first walked into the team room, and the nickname had stuck. He played the ape role sometimes to amuse the rest of the team, scratching his arms and swaggering around the team room. However, given a medical emergency, he seemed to come alive and worked as well as any Special Forces medic Riley had seen—in fact, better than most. Comsky was also one of the strongest men, pound for pound, Riley had ever met.
    After fifteen minutes, the last two members straggled in, beating their way along the tree line. Riley checked his watch. Fifty minutes to assemble. Piss poor, he thought. On a real mission, if they'd been spotted jumping in, the drop zone would have been crawling with enemy forces by now. And the team leader wanted to sit here just off the DZ for a couple of hours while they dug a big hole to dispose of their parachutes. Not only