CHAPTER ONE
Code Red
Fort Brannigan US Air Force base, Nevada desert
A voice crackled through Flight Lieutenant Travis’s earpiece.
“Predator Alpha One, this is Halo Forward Patrol. High Value Targets heading south towards Mazar-e-Sharif… Three red Toyota pickups kicking dust. Local intel confirms occupants are Taliban… Proceed with Operation Demon and engage, over.”
Travis sat in his leather fighting chair. He watched the convoy on a row of TV screens in front of him. The live images were beamed thousands of miles from Afghanistan via satellite to the safety of his blast-proof Ops Room. “Roger that, Halo Forward Patrol. I have positive visual ID from Predator Alpha One, over.”
Travis popped a fresh piece of gum into his mouth and began chewing. He was in charge of the coolest computer combat game ever; the coolest in the world because it was real. His Predator Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicle, called a drone, was circling the sky in Afghanistan at ten thousand feet. Travis was going into battle. He needed to focus. He shut out the annoying hum of computers in the Ops Room.
The Predator’s controls resembled those in a fighter plane. He gripped the joystick and applied gentle pressure. The drone responded to his commands after precisely one and a half seconds. That’s the time it took for the signal to bounce via satellite.
Travis began the Predator’s descent; reducing height and closing on the target vehicles. The latest digital cameras on the Predator became his electronic eyes. The cameras could read number plates, track vehicles, and even evaluate suspect locations for IEDs — improvised explosive devices — the roadside bombs dreaded by all soldiers on the ground. Best of all though, were the Predator’s impressive weapons. The drone was armed with Hellfire air-to-ground missiles. Perfect.
“Steady as she goes,” Travis muttered. He levelled out the Predator at five hundred feet. “Nice and easy.” He reduced airspeed to one hundred miles per hour and armed a Hellfire missile. Then he zoomed in the camera on the Toyotas. He locked on to the middle of the three pickups by activating his laser-guidance system. “Halo Forward Patrol, this is Predator Alpha One. Target locked. About to engage. Just sit back with a cool beer and watch the show. You all have a nice day now. Over and out.” Travis reached for the missile-firing button.
The screens blinked, pixelated, and went blank. Travis’s jaw froze. “What the…?” He pressed a few buttons. Nothing. He swivelled round. “Hey, you guys, is there a glitch with the sat-link?” The tech guys looked up and shook their heads. “Then, what the—?” Suddenly the screens came alive again.
“One of these days those goddamn gremlins will give me a heart attack,” Travis joked, hiding his relief. “ Adios amigos .” He leaned forward and pressed the missile firing button.
Nothing happened. He pushed the button again. Still nothing. The image on the screen drifted away from the convoy of pickups. Panic stricken, Travis had to think fast; either the camera had a mind of its own or the drone was altering course. Both possibilities pointed to a serious malfunction. He no longer had control.
“Code Red,” Travis called out in alarm. “We’ve got a rogue Predator… Aborting mission.” He lifted a flap which concealed the self-destruct switch. He flicked it. The screen should have gone blank as the Predator blew itself up. Instead, what unfolded before his eyes drained the blood from his face. The drone’s targeting system had locked on to the men of Halo Forward Patrol. Travis let go of the joystick and clasped his head with both hands. “No!” he cried out as the drone’s weapon system confirmed missile launch. Shaking, Travis fumbled for his phone and its direct line to three-star General Patterson, Head of Central Command.
CHAPTER TWO
An Old friend
North of Mazar-e-Sharif, Afghanistan
Earlier that morning, Delta Force’s
Code Red
Fort Brannigan US Air Force base, Nevada desert
A voice crackled through Flight Lieutenant Travis’s earpiece.
“Predator Alpha One, this is Halo Forward Patrol. High Value Targets heading south towards Mazar-e-Sharif… Three red Toyota pickups kicking dust. Local intel confirms occupants are Taliban… Proceed with Operation Demon and engage, over.”
Travis sat in his leather fighting chair. He watched the convoy on a row of TV screens in front of him. The live images were beamed thousands of miles from Afghanistan via satellite to the safety of his blast-proof Ops Room. “Roger that, Halo Forward Patrol. I have positive visual ID from Predator Alpha One, over.”
Travis popped a fresh piece of gum into his mouth and began chewing. He was in charge of the coolest computer combat game ever; the coolest in the world because it was real. His Predator Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicle, called a drone, was circling the sky in Afghanistan at ten thousand feet. Travis was going into battle. He needed to focus. He shut out the annoying hum of computers in the Ops Room.
The Predator’s controls resembled those in a fighter plane. He gripped the joystick and applied gentle pressure. The drone responded to his commands after precisely one and a half seconds. That’s the time it took for the signal to bounce via satellite.
Travis began the Predator’s descent; reducing height and closing on the target vehicles. The latest digital cameras on the Predator became his electronic eyes. The cameras could read number plates, track vehicles, and even evaluate suspect locations for IEDs — improvised explosive devices — the roadside bombs dreaded by all soldiers on the ground. Best of all though, were the Predator’s impressive weapons. The drone was armed with Hellfire air-to-ground missiles. Perfect.
“Steady as she goes,” Travis muttered. He levelled out the Predator at five hundred feet. “Nice and easy.” He reduced airspeed to one hundred miles per hour and armed a Hellfire missile. Then he zoomed in the camera on the Toyotas. He locked on to the middle of the three pickups by activating his laser-guidance system. “Halo Forward Patrol, this is Predator Alpha One. Target locked. About to engage. Just sit back with a cool beer and watch the show. You all have a nice day now. Over and out.” Travis reached for the missile-firing button.
The screens blinked, pixelated, and went blank. Travis’s jaw froze. “What the…?” He pressed a few buttons. Nothing. He swivelled round. “Hey, you guys, is there a glitch with the sat-link?” The tech guys looked up and shook their heads. “Then, what the—?” Suddenly the screens came alive again.
“One of these days those goddamn gremlins will give me a heart attack,” Travis joked, hiding his relief. “ Adios amigos .” He leaned forward and pressed the missile firing button.
Nothing happened. He pushed the button again. Still nothing. The image on the screen drifted away from the convoy of pickups. Panic stricken, Travis had to think fast; either the camera had a mind of its own or the drone was altering course. Both possibilities pointed to a serious malfunction. He no longer had control.
“Code Red,” Travis called out in alarm. “We’ve got a rogue Predator… Aborting mission.” He lifted a flap which concealed the self-destruct switch. He flicked it. The screen should have gone blank as the Predator blew itself up. Instead, what unfolded before his eyes drained the blood from his face. The drone’s targeting system had locked on to the men of Halo Forward Patrol. Travis let go of the joystick and clasped his head with both hands. “No!” he cried out as the drone’s weapon system confirmed missile launch. Shaking, Travis fumbled for his phone and its direct line to three-star General Patterson, Head of Central Command.
CHAPTER TWO
An Old friend
North of Mazar-e-Sharif, Afghanistan
Earlier that morning, Delta Force’s
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