One of the rebels had the presence of mind to start clawing thermographic vision goggles out of a nearby case, while another dimmed the electric lantern to a dull glow that barely illuminated the cavernous sub-basement. I pulled a pair of the goggles over my eyes and hunkered down with the rebels behind the cases. The crates made a rather dubious cover—a shelter of high explosives. I knew enough about explosives to realize that only a "lucky" hit—a bullet that struck the shaped charge in the tail of a rocket—could cause its warhead to explode. But that didn’t make me feel any safer. Especially when those attacking us might start tossing grenades around. If one of those landed among the rockets, it would be game over.