Blind Rage Read Free

orange light. Travis heard the low rumble of a generator, and along with it came the faint odor of diesel fumes. The light grew brighter as Travis negotiated a tight bend in the passage, and the volume of the words, murmured in Arabic, not Pashto, told him he was very close. The passageway took another turn ahead of him, and Travis crept closer and snuck a peek around the edge of the rock wall.
    Beyond the turn, the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern. Six men sat in a rough circle, some on the cave floor, a few on bedrolls, and one on an ornately carved wood Afghan chair. All were bearded and dressed in the traditional qmis , shalwar and pagray —turban—of the local tribesmen. Most also wore a long vest and a chadar , a scarf that doubled as a cloak, over their shoulders. Travis detected the mingled smells of sweat from men who hadn’t bathed, horsehair, and damp earth and rock. The man on the chair appeared to be the leader. Travis would need a closer look to confirm his identity. Conscious of a soft whirring sound, he edged a bit closer, then closer still until the man turned his head and Travis could see his face in the light of the few dim electric bulbs powered by the generator. Travis held his breath.
    It’s him!
    An al-Qaeda leader they’d been chasing for two years.
    Quickly, he scanned the faces of the rest of the men in the group to see if he recognized anyone else. Just as he started to turn away, one of the men sat up abruptly and stared directly at him. Raising his arm to point, he shouted an alarm to the other men. Travis whirled and moved as fast as he could back down the passageway without waiting to see if the others spotted him or not. The tunnel walls flickered brighter with the glow of flashlights, and Travis heard excited shouts behind him. It was not far to the exit. He ducked his head, leaned forward, and pushed toward the inky black hole of the cave entrance as fast as he dared. They wouldn’t dare shoot at him inside the cavern for fear of ricochets, he knew, but once outside, he’d be fair game. He had to hustle if he was going to outrun them. The blanket of night would help provide cover.
    As he moved, he thumbed a mic on his radio and called out clear instructions to the army unit awaiting his commands. A joystick jockey somewhere safe and warm in the mountainous neighborhood was piloting an MQ-1C Gray Eagle drone by remote control. On Travis’s command, the pilot would signal the drone to fire a bunker-busting AGM-114R Hellfire II missile at the cave.
    The cave opening was just ahead. Breathing heavily, Travis pushed himself to the limit. Before he even reached the entrance he shouted into his radio, “Go! Go! Go!” He burst out into the starlight and immediately cut to the left, out of sight of the entrance. He heard the yells of the men behind him as they converged on the mouth of the cave, but their voices were quickly drowned out by the deafening shriek of the incoming rocket. The night lit up like the sun. A huge, fiery explosion erupted, and the world in Travis’s vision tumbled end over end and finally went dark.
    Travis ripped the virtual reality helmet off his head and turned to his teammates excitedly.
    “Hoo-ah!” he yelled. “What a rush! What’s the verdict? Did we score a hit?”
    “Direct hit, captain,” his warrant officer called out. “L-and-S ground station says images from the Gray Eagle confirm it.”
    Travis pumped his fist in the air as his unit cheered. The drone pilot at the army’s logistics and support base had locked on the coordinates and had infrared pictures showing the blast site.
    “Looks like we lost the avatar,” Travis said, “but as long as we got that SOB Basir al-Samara that’s what counts.”
    Travis knew that certain people, James included, would be pissed. The avatar was actually a tiny radio-controlled helicopter, but it was hardly a toy. James and his company had put hundreds of millions of dollars into R & D on the little gizmo,