Bharat Rakshak

Bhai Vivek ... Julm kar rahe ho yaar Ab tum ... Jaldi Post Karo Yaar ....

Apologies for the delay saar, but I had been away on some trips in past couple weeks. Kept me from doing any real work!

INDIAN AEROSPACE COMMAND
BANGALORE
24TH MARCH + 0530 HRS

“…What’s the E-T-A on track start?”
“Uh…approximately thirty seconds. White-hot.”
“Main screen please.”

Malhotra turned to see his aide standing next to him with a cup of tea. He took it with a smile and turned to face the large screen in front of him as it flicked into operation with grayscale imagery. One of the RISAT reconnaissance satellites had just begun its run on another stretch of the terrain west of the international border between India and Pakistan. Compared with the vast desolation of Tibet, the view here was different. Villages, mud and concrete roads, trees and bushes. Water. Canals.

Obstacles.

Malhotra sighed as he watched the screen showing the trap being laid out by the Pakistanis to channel attacking Indian forces into kill zones just west of the border between Amritsar and Lahore. The analysis would have to wait but even a superficial view of the imagery showed the immense obstacles to an attacking force from the urbanization of the terrain. Not to mention the presence of jihadists amongst the civilians who were already rallying in the streets of Lahore and other Pakistani cities to fight against India…

“This will never work,” Malhotra blurted out and lowered his cup of tea. Rear-Admiral Sinha looked up from his papers and removed his reading glasses to look at the main screen in front of them.
“What won’t work?” He asked after a few seconds.
“The offensive we are preparing this imagery for.”

“Oh?” The navy man asked. Ground offensives were not his domain. “And why not?”
“Too many obstacles in the way,” Malhotra said and then turned to Sinha, “too many villages that cannot be avoided, too many civilians to search and impound to weed out the jihadists and too many intertwined kill-zones set up by the Pakis. We will lose men and vehicles by the hundreds for the short trip between the border and the outskirts of Lahore. This is not 1965!”

“Army headquarters needs to be able to launch a major offensive against the Pak army if conflict erupts,” Sinha observed neutrally.
“Well, it cannot be in this sector. Hopefully they will see that when we show them these images.”

“And if not?” Sinha asked calmly.

“Then it will be a massacre.” Malhotra replied and walked into his office to make some calls.

NEW-DELHI
24TH MARCH + 0900 HRS

“Take a seat, Basu.” Ravoof said as he welcomed the RAW chief into his office with a smile. Ravoof took his seat after Basu had done the same opposite the desk.
“I hear the Islamabad has withdrawn its officials from its embassy here in Delhi,” Basu noted with a smile.

“They have,” Ravoof replied as he sighed. “And the war rhetoric is through the roof on the streets inside Pakistan. The civilian government in Islamabad is not able to keep it under lids now that the Pak army has been humiliated. If the latter want war, there is nothing the civilian government can do to stop it. Their power, or lack thereof, has never been more apparent as in the last forty-eight hours. The Line of control is burning, jihadists are foaming in their mouths chanting war cries in the streets of Lahore and Karachi and the Pak armed forced are mobilizing across the board.”

“Are we optimistic about staring them down?” Basu asked seriously. Ravoof shook his head in dismissal:

“I don’t think so. Our attacks on the LeT camps and their high command has deeply humiliated the ISI over there. And the air-force has crushed the morale of the Pak air-force with their sweeping strikes. The Paks don’t know how to respond to all this yet. Not least because they never expected us to carry out such a threat. I guess past governments in New-Delhi had left them with a sense of complacency that caused them to miss the intent this time around.”

“Maybe they thought we would shy away from the threat of war in our weakened state after the China war,” Basu offered as he leaned back in his seat. Ravoof did the same.
“Indeed! But in their strike on Mumbai, they underestimated our response. God knows what their endgame scenario was.”

“Is,” Basu corrected the External Affairs minister. The latter nodded his consent to that and then leaned forward:

“Which brings me to a more sensitive matter. How did things go, um, up north?”

Basu kept a neutral expression on his face to Ravoof’s question for several seconds. The room went silent as both men stared at each other. Finally, Basu relented and offered a slight smile.
“Well,” Ravoof noted as he leaned back into his chair yet again, “we will need to establish his links to the ISI before we can take it to the Prime-Minister. We need to prove that the ISI gave him the bomb to use against Mumbai.”

“Does it matter anymore?” Basu asked. “The Paks are acting like rabid dogs looking for war now. Maybe the war will start today. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week. What difference does one man’s confession make? Shouldn’t we be focusing on the larger picture now?”

“Don’t you see it, Basu?” Ravoof said after a couple seconds of thought. “Don’t you see that the war will not achieve anything substantial? The power players in Islamabad will escape unharmed. So will most of the Generals in Rawalpindi who carried out the dirty work two weeks ago. The war will cost Pakistan the lives of tens of thousands. But to the ones in power, what is the loss of tens of thousands in a land of three-hundred million poor and destitute? The strike on Mumbai, however, will hurt us a lot. It is already doing so. You have seen the economic projections. This strike will send us back by a decade, if not more. In exchange the war will cost Pakistan its economy entirely. But the country is a basket-case ready to be toppled over at any time. So I ask you: is that a fair exchange? The people in power in Rawalpindi and Islamabad will retain their power after the war. No. If this has to have any meaning, we must set an example to prevent any such thing from happening ever again!”

“What are you suggesting exactly?” Basu asked out of curiosity. His position demanded clarity. Diplomacy and riddles was not his game…

“I am suggesting,” Ravoof said forcefully, “that we make the real perpetrators of the strike on Mumbai pay for what they have done.”
“Ramp up the strikes further against the remaining LeT commanders?”
Ravoof shook his head.
“I mean the real perpetrators. Not their proxies.”
“Rawalpindi?” Basu said with a raised eyebrow and then leaned forward: “Are you insane? How would we even do that? The place is a fortress!”

“You used the limited strikes on the terror camps in Kashmir as cover and almost wiped out the senior LeT leadership, did you not?” Ravoof said slyly.
“So?”
“So, just imagine what you could accomplish if you had the cover of an ongoing war and the resources of the military…” Ravoof observed.

Basu smiled and got up from his chair: “I will call on you later.”

LEH
LADAKH
24TH MARCH + 1230 HRS

Pathanya jumped off the back of the truck on to the tarmac and looked up as a massive C-17 aircraft thundered into the bright blue noon sky above the airfield. As the aircraft left the valley and climbed beyond, the noise of its engines receded. Pathanya looked to see the rest of the Pathfinder team members jumping off the truck and grabbing their backpacks before making their way to the open ramp of the parked C-130J nearby. Kamidalla was the last to get off and he grabbed both his backpack as well as Pathanya’s before making his way to the edge of the truck.
“Where to now?” He said as he tossed Pathanya his backpack and jumped off. Pathanya looked around as they walked towards the parked aircraft towering over them.

“No airbase north of here, so I assume we are going south.” Pathanya said after a few seconds.
“They didn’t tell you?” Kamidalla said in a voice laced with surprise. Pathanya laughed: “You know the deal. They never tell us anything. We will probably find out soon enough what the new mission is.”

“Well, I hope it is somewhere warm!” Kamidalla noted as he walked into the rear cabin of the aircraft and tossed his backpack to the side of a seat. The loadmaster on this flight walked past the two officers and put up four fingers.

Four minutes.

“We are one short on the team,” Kamidalla noted as Pathanya took his seat. Pathanya nodded. He knew. They had had one casualty during the operation to nab Muzammil. Injury to the leg from a 7.62 mm bullet fired by the panicked target. It could have been worse, Pathanya thought. But while his team member would recover and live to fight another day, it had left Pathfinder one man short…

“Colonel Ansari asked me about that,” Pathanya noted to his second-in-command. The aircraft engines began spooling up and the loadmaster began raising the rear cargo door.
“And?” Kamidalla asked as the blue interior lights of the cabin activated and left everything inside awash with shades of blue and black.

“And I told him I know just the man to fill that position,” Pathanya replied. He noticed his team members beginning to doze off to sleep as the aircraft rolled towards the runway.
“Know the man?” Kamidalla asked as he stowed his rifle safely behind the backpack. Pathanya also removed his battlefield computer from the backpack and powered it on before turning to face Kamidalla: “Former Pathfinder member. The man used to be in the position you occupy when we were in deep shit inside Bhutan.”

“Aha. Part of the Thimpu shield trio!” Kamidalla noted with a smile.
“The man saved my life out there. I would have bled to death on that god-forsaken ridge near Barshong if he hadn’t gotten me out.” The two men held on as the aircraft rumbled down the runway and lifted into the frigid air above Ladakh…

“Then why didn’t you bring him in for the current operations before?” Kamidalla asked out of curiosity. He noted that he was perhaps asking one too many questions. But it might be a long flight and inside the freezing cabin, there was not much to do.

“SOCOM had him assigned to some other task force.” Pathanya noted without looking away from his laptop screen.
“So what changed?”

“This war is about to blow up all around our ears. This is not some isolated mission to nab a terrorist leader or some other piece of shit. This is going to get messy real fast. I want Pathfinder reinforced before the demand on men and material begin to start stripping precious resources away.”

“Like last time?”
Pathanya finally looked up from his computer and stared at the floor.

“Yeah. Like last time.”

Slice the ISI and their BappuMai!

Anyone here can steer me direction for something like this any where will be nice to have something for wait

Vivek Sir your absence is more unbearable than the summer temperatures

sibyt wrote:Hi Vivek,

Im in UAE, and i want to purchase the "chimera". what options do I have?
Kindly let me know.
Thanks..

you can buy the ebook from amazon.

UNKNOWN LOCATION
24TH MARCH + 1900 HRS

“In here, sir.”
Ansari strained his eyes as he followed the soldier into the darkened corridor. He looked around and saw the source of the bleak neon lighting overhead. Closed doors on either side had numbers on them. The one at the very end was guarded by two more military police guards on either side, heavily armed for the fact that they were inside a secure military facility. Ansari noticed the holstered pistols on their belts. The two guards snapped to attention as Ansari walked up to the door behind his Military Intelligence escort.

The doors and rooms here were supposed to be soundproof. Yet Ansari could hear the muffled guttural screaming of a man inside along with the lunging noises of other men. He turned to his escort:

“What the hell is going on in here?”

The Major kept a neutral face and unlocked the door, motioning to Ansari to open it and head in. For his part, Ansari hesitated for a moment. Did he want to know what was happening here? Would it affect his mission in the least? At some level he knew what to expect. The counter-intelligence personnel at Military Intelligence were not known for kid-gloved methods. Especially when it came to the hardcore members of the Islamic jihad waging war in the valley against Indian forces.

So why was he here to begin with? Surely he could have waited for the disseminated intel to come though? No. Basu had “advised” him to go see for himself the determination with which his service was pursuing the Mumbai attackers. Basu was known to come across as a mild mannered, balding old man with white hair. But there had been something deeply menacing in his words to Ansari. And that had gotten Ansari’s interest to bring him to hold the knob on the closed door he now held…

Ansari exhaled a deep breath and then gently opened the door. He found himself quite unprepared for what he saw.

The large -and mostly empty- room was lit up in the bluish ceiling neon lights. Cameras on every ceiling corner of the room focused on the room itself. Ansari saw a badly bruised and bleeding Muzammil on the floor, laying to the side of his chair, which had also fallen on its side. His spilled blood showing up as bluish-black in the lights of the room. An army Captain in fatigues was on one knee, punching the man on his face with bare knuckles. Four other soldiers stood nearby, their batons and pistol holsters visible. Ansari looked to the side to see some of Basu’s men also in the room, checking their notes. Nobody seemed to be particularly concerned about their interrogation target receiving savage blows to his face…or his moans and squeals for mercy.

“Okay, captain. That’s enough for now, I think.” The Major escorting Ansari said as he walked in behind his visitor and closed the door to the room. The young army officer on his knee turned around to face the senior officers in the room and got to his feet. On the floor, Muzammil began to crawl away desperately, using nothing but his fingers to pull himself away. Ansari felt disgusted. His face showed it.

Ansari turned to the guards standing near the crawling terrorist: “You! Get that man up! Now!”

The soldiers hesitated and looked to the Major who was leading the interrogation alongside the civilian intelligence agencies. He nodded. They moved to pick up the helpless man by his shoulders and put the chair upright. They then placed the badly wounded man on the chair, although it seemed as though he would simply fall off it again on account of his body giving up.

Ansari walked up to the Muzammil and stood two feet away, observing the wretched mass of flesh and bones now left in front of him. It took him some time to associate this man with the pictures he had seen of him just days before. The same man that had been shouting at the top of his voice for jihad against India now that the two countries were poised for war. The mastermind of the attempted nuclear strike on Mumbai.

The murderer of thousands of civilians.

“Did you ever think,” Ansari said as he brought his slumping head up, “that you would ever see the inside of an Indian prison? Hmm?”
Muzammil looked at Ansari, his eyes sore and red. Blood splattered on his face. But he said nothing. Ansari doubted the man could even speak anymore.
“No you didn’t,” He continued. “You must have thought that you would send thousands of your young boys to die by our guns. Perhaps even go out yourself in a blaze of glory. But never face captivity. Didn’t you?”

Ansari then jerked the man’s head back to its slump state.

“Did you think we would let you get away after what you did?”

Muzammil mumbled something unintelligible, so Ansari turned to his captors: “At least leave the man able enough to speak! Good god!”
“What do you know about god?” Muzammil said finally, barely speaking the words. Ansari turned around and looked at the man, still staring at the floor. “So. He does speak!”
“Allah is witness to my suffering on this planet,” Muzammil continued. “He protects the faithful and the pure. Do what you must.”
“Impressive,” Ansari noted. “As it turns out, I am also deeply aware of the Holy Book. And His teachings. And you, represent neither.”
That got Muzammil’s attention enough for him to face up at the man in front of him. He stared at Ansari for several seconds.

“You claim yourself a Muslim?”
“I don’t just claim it. I am one.” Ansari stated authoritatively.
“And yet you fight for the pagans?” Muzammil asked in genuine surprise. “Anyone who fights with the Hindus is not a true Muslim.”
Ansari smirked at that. “Do you honestly expect people to believe, that your attempts to wage war are about religious purity and not waging war for war itself? I am a Muslim but I was born on this land and I will fight scum like you to ensure nothing happens to it. We will both answer to Allah for our sins in the afterlife. But my faith is not dependent on interpretations of irrelevant mortals. Only He can judge us, lest you forget!”

Muzammil continued to look at Ansari for several seconds and then stared back at the floor. Ansari was about to turn away when the terrorist leader spoke again:
“Why did you come here? You could have just left me to your Hindu dogs in this room.”

Ansari turned around and punched Muzammil to the side of his face that shoved him off the chair and to the floor. The man spat out some more blood from his mouth and gasped in pain. Ansari stepped forward over the writhing man on the floor: “You and I may share the same faith. But do not mistake it for a weakness. I came here to see the face of the man who has brought death to thousands of my countrymen. Of all faiths, of all ages.”

Ansari then bent on one knee near Muzammil: “I also came here to let you know that we already killed your senior commanders in front of your eyes. But we won’t stop there. We are going up the ladder, my friend. All those who supported you will find themselves next to you. Just you watch.”

Ansari got up to his feet and nodded to the Major and walked towards the exit. Stepping out into the corridor, Ansari turned to face the Major and Basu’s men as they piled out as well.
“Just tell me you have the names and information we want from that ba$tard.”

“We do,” the Major replied.
“That simple?” Ansari asked as he removed his handkerchief and wiped the blood off his knuckles.

“That simple,” the Major continued. “What you need to understand here is that it is the same story with all these so-called holy warriors. When they fall into our hands, they sing like canaries. All of their courage melts away when they realize that they will spend their life in a coffin-sized room unless they cooperate. This one, was no different.”

“And what did you find out?” Ansari asked, obviously impressed with the routine way the MI personnel were treating this case.
“Lt-General Haider is Muzammil’s contact man in the ISI,” the senior RAW man noted. “Our captive met with him repeatedly during the past months when they put together the strike on Mumbai.”
“So that’s our man,” Ansari noted. “What about the warhead itself?”

“The LeT received the warhead through Haider’s men. They don’t know where Haider himself may have gotten the bomb from. But that is not surprising considering that the ISI likes to keep things compartmentalized for just this kind of eventuality where one of their operatives falls into our hands.”

“If Haider is involved, rest assured, so are the higher offices at Rawalpindi,” Ansari noted and then took a deep breath. “There is no stopping it now.”
“You mean the war?” The Major asked. Ansari nodded.

“The war won’t start, Colonel.” The RAW man noted and then continued: “it has already been waging for the past two decades. Except that you and the rest of the country just joined it. We have been in this war our entire adult lives.”

Ansari looked at the mid-aged civilian man and found that the eyes confirmed the veracity of the man’s statement. The eyes always were the windows to the soul…
“If your captive sang like a canary, why is he almost on the verge of dying in there?” Ansari asked as the noise of beating and moans from the room started again. The Major waved Ansari down the corridor and followed close behind as they left the room behind.

“Mumbai is a big city, sir,” the Major explained. “A lot of us lost a lot of friends and relatives. Many had to be evacuated. Others are still lost in that mass exodus. Once my men here realized who they had on their hands, well…”

Ansari nodded. He understood the sentiment. He started to climb up the stairs that would take them out of the underground facility. “Which is why it is important that you keep a close eye on the captive and make sure he stays alive. At least until our work is done. Can you do that, Major?”

The Major smiled to himself. “Yes sir. But I make no guarantees that he won’t just flop over and die on his own.”

Ansari stopped midway on the stairs and turned to face the Military Intelligence officer: “Now you listen to me! We went to a lot of effort and risk to get that ba$tard alive. You keep him that way. If I hear that you let him die, I will make it my personal mission to make sure you remain a Major for the rest of your career. Is that understood?”
“Sir! Understood.” The Major had lost his smile.

Ansari sighed and then began walking up the stairs again. He understood the emotions running within the services at the savage attack on Mumbai. With all-out war just around the corner, fear was in the air as well and overall morale had been sinking at the high loss of civilian lives. People under these stressful conditions could and would make mistakes. Anybody would. But the mistakes tended to be costlier when the people making mistakes were armed with heavy weaponry. He had realized that he had to keep a short leash on everybody under his command until the situation stabilized.

If at all it ever did again.

Vivek, your writing is amazing and makes me check this link for your updates...

vivek_ahuja wrote:[img]


Muzammil mumbled something unintelligible, so Ansari turned to his captors: “At least leave the man able enough to speak! Good god!”
“What do you know about god?” Muzammil said finally, barely speaking the words. Ansari turned around and looked at the man, still staring at the floor. “So. He does speak!”

Small nitpick. I doubt that the conversation here can be in English.

Jamwal bhai,
Transliteration in hindi would not bode well for the book. Remember that these posts are merely segments of the novel Vivek mullah is writing.

Probably the conversation went like

so Ansari turned to his captors: “Aadmi ko bolne layak to rakho! Khuda ke Vaste!” “Tum Khuda ko kya jaano?” Muzammil said finally,....

NEW DELHI
25TH MARCH + 1210 HRS

“Where are they headed?” the PM asked as he glanced through the images in front of him. Ravoof turned to General Potgam who shared a look before responding:
“Pasrur.”
“And where the hell is that?” the PM said as he looked at the General. The latter kept a remarkably neutral face, Ravoof thought as he watched this play out.

“A short distance west of Shakar-Garh. Which itself is across the border from Pathankot.” Potgam replied. The room filled with silence. The images were unanimous in their clarity. Columns of tanks and vehicles on the road were headed east to the border with India. The Pak army was on the move.

“What the hell are they playing at?” Bafna asked as he passed the PM more images from the file after glancing at them. “They know they can’t win this, right?”
“By the looks of it,” Ravoof noted, “clearly they think otherwise.”

“This,” the PM noted, “goes against everything that their government and the foreign office have given assurances against! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Unless the analysis model is itself flawed.” Basu noted chillingly. The PM put down the images and removed his glasses as he looked at the intelligence-chief:
“What are you saying? That the civilian government in Islamabad is unaware of all this military mobilization?! I know their Prime-Minister. He would never do such a thing!”
Ravoof sighed just a tad bit more loudly than he had anticipated. The PM caught it: “Oh, and you concur with the RAW director, I take it?”

“I do.” Ravoof replied. He understood that now was not the time to be subtle. His country was being threatened by hostile acts of its nuclear-armed neighbor. If what Basu had revealed to him about General Haider’s involvement was true, even this assessment was untrue. The country was not being threatened. It was already at war…but hadn’t realized it.

“The facts are straightforward,” Ravoof continued, “but the choice is for us to see them or ignore them at our own peril. The strike on Mumbai was not a deranged act of a lunatic. It was planned. It was considered. It was analyzed. And yet Rawalpindi chose to act on it. Why? Is it because they are stupid? No. Nothing that we know about the ISI over the past two decades of clandestine warfare shows us that they are stupid. In fact, they are anything but. So their decision to allow the Lashkar-e-Toiba to strike with a borrowed nuclear warhead reveals their inner thoughts and conclusions much more than anything their civilian leaders have put out over the past two weeks.”

“They are convinced that we are weak.” Potgam added in a voice teeming with authority that he was known to wield. “They think we are on our knees militarily after the Tibet war and more so psychologically. They think the nuclear fallout from the attacks in Bhutan have left us without the stomach to absorb another such war. One where the nuclear options are on the table from the get go, rather than as a last option. They are not convinced they are going to lose, sir. In fact, they think they can win!”

“Of course,” Ravoof added, “our massive strikes against the LeT camps and commanders was unexpected both to the ISI as well as the LeT commanders themselves. That was why it caught them flat footed. The senior LeT commanders are dead. But the jihadists in Pakistan are outraged and rabidly asking for war. I don’t think Islamabad is convinced that they will win. I just think that they see no other alternative at this point. Else the Islamic extremism will topple their precious hold on their country!”

The PM rubbed his eyes and shared a look at his Defense-Minister. “Everything we did for peace. And this is what it is coming down to. Is there no alternative for peace at this point?”

Bafna shook his head after a few seconds of consideration. The PM then looked around his war cabinet: “What will it take for Islamabad or Rawalpindi or whoever is in charge over there to talk peace? Can we give them anything to avoid war?”

“I suppose,” Basu noted in frustration, “if we surrender Kashmir and put down our arms in front of their armored convoys, it might get them to reconsider chopping our heads off.” He got a piercing glare from the PM and Bafna for that.

“How dare you show disrespect for this country’s Prime-Minister!” Bafna bellowed. Somehow, under the circumstances, it rang hollow even to himself. Basu was long past the mental inhibitions that held him to this particular government. When the strike on Mumbai had unfolded, he had decided then and there that this time the perpetrators would not be allowed to escape. If war was the medium to deliver on that promise, so be it. After all, what was that saying about nations who could not summon the guts to push back when blatantly instigated?

In this he was not alone in the room. Pakistan was being driven to war by its jihadist momentum. Following the Indian strikes in occupied Kashmir, there was no stopping that ball from rolling. But the Indian response was being paralyzed by the top leadership’s inability to see that a new war was upon the nation whether it agreed to fight or not. In this as well, it was not the first time. In past wars fought by India, the soldiers on the ground often held their ground to the last man and bullet even when those in New-Delhi vacillated in the face of naked aggression from its neighbors. So it would be here. The PM’s inability to stand his ground for his country was no longer of concern. The war was already in motion. And the service chiefs, RAW and some in the External Affairs Ministry had surmised the same.

But what was needed was what was known as the ‘Higher Direction for War’. A little known leadership characteristic in South Block in recent years. Without knowing what the outcome of a war needed to be, the end result was always a bloody slugfest of attrition battles with no clear winner. The Pakistani army was not a pushover. Propped up by irregular mujahedeen and other mercenaries, and aided by the Indian losses in the China war that had still not been fully recovered, the balance of forces was more in Pakistan’s favor than the Indian military would have liked. And like sharks sensing blood, the Pakistani General Staff were pushing for a fight…

“You see these tanks, Bafna?” Basu said, holding up the satellite imagery taken by the Aerospace Command just hours before. “Where do you think these are headed? Hmm? Do you think Islamabad is looking for a peaceful resolution here?!”

There was no arguing the evidence, so Bafna had no response in defense of his party leader. Basu moved in for the kill: “When these armored columns go over the border on a time and place of Pakistan’s choosing over the next twelve hours, I would love to hear from you about my supposed insolence in this room. In the meantime, we have a war on our hands!”

The PM bypassed any defense of his senior party member and left-hand man, and turned to Potgam: “What is our readiness to handle a Pakistani attack?”

“We are getting there,” Potgam said from where he sat. “But there is no strategic advantage to be had now. They are already mobilizing across the board. We are responding. We can probably match them at the border with air strikes tonight to slow down their preparations to attack. I suspect they will attempt to do the same to us with missiles. Apart from defeating the momentum of the Pak army, we need to know the larger objective here if we want to ensure that this doesn’t turn into a repeat of the 1965 war.”

“What do you recommend, General?” Bafna asked, relinquishing his job without realizing it.
“That, sir,” Potgam said flatly, “is your job.”

The room was silent for several seconds. Ravoof looked around and saw that the PM and the Defense-Minister had missed the obvious objectives of any military action against Pakistan under the current circumstances. It surprised him no end that he, of all people, had to remind them about it…

“I would imagine,” he noted finally, breaking the tense silence, “that one of the objectives should be to capture or kill the senior ISI leaders behind the Mumbai strike?”
“General Haider?” Bafna asked, almost in surprise.

“Of course.” Ravoof replied, keeping his tone non-condescending. On top of all that had to be done, he also had to keep the ego of this country’s leaders safe from bruising. If he had more time to reflect on it, he would have probably felt disgusted. As it was, he thanked the driving urgency of the matters on hand…

“And Haider is just the start, don’t you agree?”

“Can we even do it?” The PM asked. All eyes turned to Basu, who was just as surprised at how Ravoof had seemingly gotten him legitimate orders for something that he was already prepared to do. He looked at Ravoof and thought he saw a smile at the ends of the man’s lips. Clever ba$tard!

“We can,” Basu replied after a few seconds. “We are keeping a close eye on Haider. He and his men are organizing the surviving junior LeT leaders into combat groups to cross the border in conjunction with the Pak army. At least, that’s what we think he is doing in Lahore. The other ISI commanders will need more effort to locate. They will most certainly be embedded with their Army Chief.”

“And how do we propose to eliminate these men?” Bafna asked.

“We send a few precision-strike cruise missiles into their command centers!” Potgam replied sharply, causing Basu to turn around and face the Army commander.
“Or,” Basu said finally, “we send in a special warfare team to grab Haider in Lahore and bring him back here alive.”

“Inside Lahore?” Potgam thundered. “Have you lost your mind? I am not sending my men that deep behind enemy lines to try and capture this man! A missile strike is clean and precise…”
“…but for which we won’t know exactly where the target is!” Basu interjected. “Look, you need eyes on the ground regardless. Once we locate the ba$tard, you can take him out with a goddamned missile! Or half a dozen missiles! But we cannot guarantee where he is otherwise!”

“Also,” Ravoof added, “bringing someone like Haider on trial, alive, has its own merits as well! He should be tried as a criminal, not a war-hero!”
“These are semantics I can ill afford to delve into, sir!” Potgam replied. His voice had that effect of dominating a room that few in his posts before him had managed in a long time. “This is a war we are talking about!”

The PM sighed and then leaned back in his chair: “General, I want this man Haider to pay for his crimes like a criminal. Find him. Capture him if you can. But kill him only if there is no other choice available. I want his head on a platter for what he has done.”

“Sir,” Potgam continued his lonely battle, “you do understand that Haider is a Lieutenant-General in their army, right? He is not likely to work alone on anything he has done. At the very least, he had the blessing of his seniors at Rawalpindi. And you know where that buck stops! They won’t let him be taken alive by us!”

“You might be surprised at what we can do, General.” Basu noted neutrally. Potgam shot him a glance but said nothing. He knew what Basu was referring to.
“Very well.” He said in concession. “I can see when the decision has already been made. You gentlemen can bring your plans to me on Haider when you have them. In the meantime, I have an enemy to fight at the border! But I warn you now, plans to kill or capture Haider depending on allocation of precious military resources under my command leaves me with the final veto authority. If I see a senseless plan involving capturing that ********, I will choose to lob a few missiles and kill the ba$tard rather than risk my men. Is that acceptable to you all?”

“Understood, Warlord. That was your call-sign in Bhutan, yes?” The PM asked politely, surprising all in the room. Potgam smiled as he got up from his desk.

“It still is!”

Great story, Vivek! I can just see the assorted tin cans going up against the Paki armour, not being able to make a significant dent in them, and finally the Arjun force saving the day.

Keep it coming!

Vivek sir u update only on sunday so please give at least double dose

SOUTHWEST OF AMRITSAR
26TH MARCH + 0730 HRS

The fog made things impossible to see. Visibility was down to near-zero. And what should have been a short flight by helicopter had devolved into a long, jerky ride by truck convoy…

“Goddamn it!” Pathanya picked up his flashlight that had fallen to the bed of the truck as it braked suddenly to avoid hitting the truck in front of it on the road. Despite full beams, the drivers could only make out half a truck distance in front of them. The only thing that pierced the fog were the red brake lights of the vehicles in front. And when they beamed for the vehicle in front, it caused a ripple effect all along the axis of the convoy behind hit. It made for a bumpy and patently uncomfortable ride.

Kamidalla got up from his seat whilst holding on to the rails on the roof and whipped the back flap of the truck cover aside. Nothing to see. Just the barely discernable outline of the next truck behind them highlighted by its lights and a reddish-orange horizon to the east…

Kamidalla checked his wristwatch while balancing himself. Seven-thirty hours. And they still had not made it to their staging areas southwest of Amritsar. The location they were based near was a hotbed of activity for the Indian army, being as it was near the international border with Pakistan just a few dozen kilometers away. Just west of it was the Pakistani city of Lahore.

Lahore was the prize the Indian army units in this sector were clamoring for. The city was a major Pakistani-Punjab hub and was currently working as a collection center for extremists and jihadists, who were also expecting the fight. The civilians in the city were evacuating in droves while truck convoys herded terrorists and self-declared Mujahedeen into the city. Their aim was to turn the city and its outskirts into a fortress while the Pakistani army moved into areas around it. Tanks and armored columns were wheeling into the region from the city’s north and south-west. It was a massive presence building up…

On the Indian side, three entire army Corps were moving into jump-off positions. Nine Divisions of armor and infantry were poised to strike hard and heavy into Pakistan with the aim of isolating Lahore from the rest of Pakistan. That city was a price that General “Warlord” Potgam had instructed his commanders in the region to aim for. The idea was to force the Pakistani army into a fight they could not ignore. The city of Lahore. Potgam couldn’t care less whether he captured the city or nuked it. The idea was to seize the initiative and force the enemy to fight a battle on Potgam’s terms. The strategic objective was to destroy the ability of the Pakistani army to wage war. The tactical objective was to bleed it white one Division at a time.

Other Corps north and south would provide flank security for the main drive near Lahore. All in all, thousands of tanks and armored vehicles were converging into the region from both sides…
And it was leading to a traffic jam of epic proportions on the logistics routes near the border.

Pathanya turned his head when he heard the distinct slapping sound of someone banging on the outer skin of the truck. The other team members heard it as well and got up from their sleeping bags spread out on the floor of the truck. Kamidalla leaned around the backside of the truck and then turned to Pathanya: “The boss is here.”

Pathanya had just enough time to raise his eyebrow before Colonel Ansari walked to the back of the truck and looked inside to see his precious cargo still intact. Pathanya and Kamidalla snapped off quick salutes to which Ansari promptly responded before moving on:

“Gentlemen, this is the end of the line as far as this road trip is concerned. We are breaking off the main logistical axis from here. Get your gear and board the vehicles outside!”

“Yes sir!” Pathanya said as he grabbed his backpack, rifle and other equipment near his seat. Others in the truck did the same. Kamidalla was the first to jump off the truck with his gear. Pathanya was close behind him. Ansari smiled and waved them to the five AXE light-utility trucks standing on the dirt road just off the main tar-covered highway. It was out here and during the early morning daylight that the Pathfinder team first saw the size and scale of the invasion force Potgam was putting together. The convoy they had been on stretched endlessly for kilometers in either direction. The rumble of fighter jets providing security overhead rolled over the noise of hundreds of vehicles providing everything from men, ammunition and fuel for the tanks that were deploying all over the region.

Pathanya shared a look at Kamidalla and headed to the parked vehicles with the rest of Pathfinder. Ansari slapped on the driver compartment door of the truck and waved for him to move on. The truck engines roared and the convoy moved off again, raising dust and grime off the tar-road suffering under the onslaught of so many vehicles…

“We are about twenty minutes down this path,” Ansari added as they stowed their gear on the five vehicles, strapping what they had to on the sides to make space. Pathanya was in the vehicle with Ansari and Kamidalla. As the vehicles moved off, Ansari turned to the back to face the two Pathfinder officers.

“What is Pathfinder’s readiness?”
“Green. Team strength is still minus one.” Pathanya replied.

“That’s been looked into,” Ansari replied. “Had to pull a lot of strings to get him out, but he’s ours now. Expect him to arrive later in the day.” Pathanya nodded.
“So,” Ansari continued, “what do you make of our presence here?”

“I take it Pathfinder is still on our original mission,” Kamidalla said, “despite all this?” He pointed to the low flying jets overhead and the dust clouds of convoys in all directions around them. Ansari smiled.

“The game just got bigger, gents. We are going after the really big fish now. General Potgam has pulled out all the stops. We didn’t start this damn business. But he is going to put an end to it. Pathfinder, however, will make sure that the pain is felt all the way to top!”

Pathanya raised an eyebrow at that. The idea of working on the enemy’s home turf surrounded by thousands of jihadists clamoring for a death in battle did not excite him in the least. Just like any other sane person. But he had a job to do. And that was that, really…

“When is the expected jump-off, sir?” He asked after a few seconds.

“Within hours. Potgam isn’t going to wait around with this massive deployment in the field. Once the logisticians sort out the mess we have going on right now, we are moving off. Pathfinder will deploy a bit later once our target individual has been located. You…” Ansari stopped as two Jaguars thundered overhead at low altitude. The massive rumble of their engines drowned all noise around them for several seconds. “You all should have some time to prepare your men for what’s coming.”

“Sir.” Pathanya replied neutrally. He had expected more time to plan any such mission. But wartime contingencies were at play now…
“I always wanted to go see Lahore,” Kamidalla replied with a sheepish smile to Ansari and Pathanya.

“You will get your wish, Captain!” Ansari replied.

THE THAR DESERT
RAJASTHAN
26TH MARCH + 0900 HRS

“What is the problem here?”
Lt-Colonel Kulkarni grabbed the side armor panel of the parked Arjun tank and clambered up before stepping on top of the turret. Two of his regiment’s maintenance officers were kneeling next to the long comms antennae. Other maintenance personnel as well as several crews were standing nearby. One of the two engineering officers was a Lt-Colonel in charge of comms for the tanks. He got up and pointed to the comms antennae.

“This one is broken from yesterday’s maneuvers. You have got to tell your men to be more careful with their maneuvers in the desert here. There are patches of hard areas in the sand next to soft ones out here. If you come in too fast, you are liable to break something important on impact. We are lucky this one was just an antennae!”

“Can you replace it?” Kulkarni asked deferentially. The Lt-Colonel nodded and stepped off the turret on to the chassis. “Give me an hour to replace the unit.”

As the Lt-Colonel jumped off the chassis on to the sand and dusted his uniform, he had one last piece of advice for the young armor commander: “These are tanks, Kulkarni. Not sports cars. Don’t let your crews forget it.”

Kulkarni smiled as he looked away from the departing maintenance personnel and towards his crews standing nearby like school-kids waiting to be punished. He jumped off the tank turret as well.

“Pay attention to what the Lt-Colonel just said,” Kulkarni said finally. “Look for the transition patches in the desert hardness and change your speeds accordingly. If you break your comms, you break contact with the rest of the force. And that puts you out of the fight…or worse. Nothing is more lethal in maneuver warfare than communications. Comms with me, comms with your platoon commanders and comms with your neighboring tanks. These tanks here bring an unprecedented level of combat situational awareness to us. But don’t let that get to your head. One mistake and you will pay the price with or without the technology to aid you! Is that understood?”

He got a unanimous yes from his men and so he nodded.

“One other thing,” Kulkarni replied with a laugh this time. “These may very well be tanks and not sports cars, as the Lt-Colonel said. But I doubt you will get any closer out here!”

Absolutely gripping Vivek... I simply love the way you are building the narrative... Nothing to complain but wish you could also include a few scenarios from the other side too like your lucid accounts of Col Feng and co. Dying to see what the scene is like in Rawalpindi, Muridke, Muzzaffarabad et al... Or may be Beijing...

PS: After your weekly updates these were unexpected bonus. Hope you keep up the pace finding time from work to whet our appetites!! Thank you much! yeh dil maange more!!!

Vivek is it possible to add few Tejas Mk 1s in action too? That would be a dream come true. Just in celebration of Astra being test fired !!!

SOUTHWEST OF AMRITSAR
26TH MARCH + 1230 HRS

“Beyond those tents there?”
“Yes, sir. Take a left beyond the one here and it should be visible.”
“Thank you.” Captain Vikram “Vik” Taneja grabbed his rucksack from the back of the green-painted Gypsy vehicle and watched the driver head off again on the dirt track towards the main road. He looked around and saw a special operations force getting ready for war. But it wasn’t just these men here. All through the drive from Amritsar, it had been a similar story. Vikram had seen the exodus of civilians fearing the worst, the massed convoys of army vehicles pouring in and the skies overhead shaking with the thunder of jets of all shapes and sizes. The country was holding its breath to see what happened next. And perhaps the world did as well. The news reports on television and radio were teeming with talks of frantic last minute diplomacy as well as attempts to get both sides to back down. The expectations were not high, however.

But the war was taking another kind of toll on Vikram beyond the obvious. Standing here with a rucksack over his shoulder, he had mixed feelings of what it all represented. The place looked similar to the earlier setup he had once seen in the northern hills in the state of Uttar Pradesh, three years ago. Similar wartime environment. Similar staging areas for forces being prepped to enter Bhutan as part of what had been “Joint Force Bhutan” under Lt-General “Warlord” Potgam, during the China war.

Hell, they even managed to match the gloominess and the fog here!

Vikram sighed. That operation had ended in disaster for him and the original Pathfinder team. After ten days of near-continuous combat, the original ten man recon team had been whittled down to just three, including Vikram and his former boss, Captain Pathanya. The Chinese tactical nuclear strike on Barshong had swiped a lethal sickle through the Pathfinder force and had left Pathanya severely wounded in the leg. Vikram and the other surviving team member had carried Pathanya down the frozen peaks to the south where they had been rescued after few days.
They had managed to survive. Many others had not. The Indian paratrooper community had paid a heavy price in Bhutan. And the scars were still there. For Vikram, it represented a baptism by fire, being a newly commissioned lieutenant at the time. Since the termination of hostilities, however, the psychological scars had begun to grow. When the King of Bhutan had pinned on him and his two colleagues from Pathfinder the royal ribbon of “The Thimpu Shield”, in recognition for their services to the tiny Himalayan kingdom, it had brought him to tears. A mental threshold had been broken and it had taken Vikram a year of constant counseling with the army’s psychologists to recover. And he had almost failed to clear their requirements to be allowed to serve again. In the time since, he had recovered to his original capabilities and more, but had left his enthusiasm for war alongside the graves of his colleagues on the mountains in Bhutan…

Vikram decided that it was time to get on with it. He walked past the tents where he recognized some of the operators from the SOCOM staff, but who were too busy with their tasks to notice him. He finally made it to the set of tents beyond a rather candidly marked wooden sign stuck on the dirt track: ‘Warriors of 1ST Bat, Para’.

Home.

Vikram smiled and shook his head as he tried to figure out who was behind that signboard. One of his former classmates, he was sure. The tent in the center was marked as headquarters so he headed in, pushing the flap of the tent aside as he walked inside. He saw a tent filled with activity as soldiers and officers milled past. Banks of radios filled the side and maps stuck to boards filled the room. He saw a group of solidly built paratroopers standing around a map board. He noticed a man from his past just as soon as the man noticed him…

“Vik!” Pathanya said as he put down the images he held in his hand and walked to greet his old friend. “You made it!”

Vikram took Pathanya’s outstretched hand after lowering his salute. Pathanya was beaming at the sight of his old friend. Vikram was struggling to keep up as he met the other team members. They all looked at him through the lens of their Bhutan accomplishments. Nobody could see Vikram as the human being he was now. Not within his peers here.

Nor elsewhere, for that matter.

Pathanya led Vikram out of the tent just as the weak sunlight began to break through the dense fog hanging around the area.
“The new team looks sharp, sir.” Vikram noted neutrally. Pathanya nodded. He understood…
“We have to move on, Vik. The job requires it.”

“Fair enough, sir.”

“No,” Pathanya shook his head, “not fair. But life never is. I didn’t ask for this assignment but I did ask for you to join it. Sorry.” He smiled faintly. Vikram left out a deep breath as though shedding his doubts…
“Where are we bunked?” He asked his CO after a couple of seconds.
“Two tents down, on the left. Get yourself kitted out and head back here for a briefing on what we are up to.”
“Yes sir. Any news on the overall situation?” Vik said as he hefted his rucksack over his shoulders.

“The balloon is about go up within hours. Or less.” Pathanya replied.
“God. This war feels like a continuation of the last one we were in!”
“That’s because it is! The Pakis are like sharks sensing blood in the water. They think we are weak right now. And so are pushing their luck. We will push them into their graves instead.”
Vikram grunted in amusement and then nodded to his team-leader.

Almost starting to feel like old times…Vikram thought.
“Oh. Before I forget, Vik,” Pathanya said as he stopped midway on his way inside the tent, “We are still call-sign Pathfinder on this one!”

“Yeah. That completes my thoughts, boss!” Vikram smiled and headed off.

WEST OF LAHORE
26TH MARCH + 1830 HRS

Across the semi-arid plains west of the frontline city of Lahore, two dozen Transporter-Erector-Launcher (TEL) vehicles elevated their quad-missile tubes through the camouflage netting laid over them and pointed east towards India. Each of the four tubes on every vehicle carried the subsonic Babur cruise missiles. Essentially a clone of the Tomahawk missile, the missile was capable and lethal given its terrain-following profile. With the US having disabled GPS coverage just hours before, followed by the Russians having done the same with their GLONASS system in favor of India, the Pakistani missiles were relegated to inertial guidance. Still, this was not a handicap in the true sense of the word. Considering the short distance between the border and supposed targets, the missiles were accurate enough. And that was all that mattered to those in Rawalpindi.

As the dust settled around the deployed launchers, the war now stood a button away…

Wow 4 posts in this week. Excellent !!!!!.

More!! More!!

Been busy with GDF and did not even notice we have another installment. Thanks Vivek, now my poor fingernails are going to get some relief from getting chewed for some time.

Back to nail biting mode. Can't go to GDF, and can't stay here. The suspense is going to be the end of me.

Fabulous build up sirjee. Awaiting next installment.

DAY-1




WEST OF LAHORE
DAY 1 + 0015 HRS

The darkness of the night was shattered with the streaks of orange flashes as they disappeared into the night sky one after the other. They trailed behind the smoky columns of their boosters and streaked east, shedding their towers of flame as the boosters ran out of fuel and fell away. The rectangular flight wings snapped out of the fuselages and locked into place as the air-breathing engines roared to life, propelling the Babur cruise missiles to half the speed of sound and still accelerating…

For the citizens of Lahore, the view was visible from the rooftops as small specks of yellow-light streaked in their dozens to the east. Most of the civilians still in the city were those that had been unable to leave for various reasons. The did not envy what they knew was to follow this sudden attack. Many of the elders in town remembered when the Indian forces had reached the very outskirts of this city the last time Islamabad went to war with India. However, every war is different. And as they stared silently at the specks of light heading towards the Indian border, the streets below filled with jubilation as thousands of would-be jihadists cheered and fired their rifles into the air.

The jihad against India had begun.

SKIES ABOVE CHANDIGARH
DAY 1 + 0015 HRS

“Mongol-two-five here. Trip-wire engaged. Inbounds, Inbounds!”

“How many?” Verma said as walked over briskly to the RSO station down the cabin. He didn’t have to wait for the answer. The screen in front of the seated operators showed a radar screen pointed westerly on top of the screen and north shown along the left-right axis of the screen. Small green dots with altitude and speed information were beginning to populate the screen from about twenty odd locations scattered around Lahore and headed east at sixty-percent speed of sound…

Shit! Here we go! Verma lowered his comms mike and mentally went into overdrive along with most of his Phalcon AWACS crew. His first call was not to the air-force’s Western Air Command. They would already be getting whatever he was seeing here. And on that end, Bhosale would be scrambling every aircraft into the air to take the war into Pakistani skies.

No. Verma’s main concern was the inbound threats and the dispersed army targets they were headed towards. With impact time measured in minutes, the three corps deployed in the field between Pathankot to the north and Amritsar to the south were at under the greatest and imminent threat by these missiles. The Pakistanis were trying to take the steam out of these forces before they struck across the border into the heavy defenses of the Pakistani army along the border…

“Mongol-two to Picket-fence-actual: I hope you are seeing this!”

The response from the ground-based integrated-air-defense commander came over some minor static a few seconds later: “Roger.”

Verma raised an eyebrow at that cryptic remark. The man was cool as a cucumber under the threat materializing in the air around him. Even experienced China veterans like Verma were not immune to getting excited when faced with a large threat of inbound missiles. But that army man on the ground was completely unfazed!

Either he is oblivious to the magnitude of the threat or has balls of steel…Verma thought as he left the defenses on the ground to the army and moved on to more pressing matters: the Pak air force.

“Mongol-two-three, what’s the long-range word?” Mongol-two-three was the EW-Operator manning another station in the cabin ahead of Verma whose sole concern was the long-range threats materializing over the horizon, so to speak. This was accomplished through the use of long range wavelength radar waves that bounced through the atmosphere beyond direct line-of-sight. The Phalcon was capable of detecting both friendly and enemy atmospheric radar scatter over very hundreds of kilometers. In inbound wave meant another source emitting them from over the horizon. It could be a ground based radar or an airborne one. Sorting between the two was accomplished by the onboard computer using the intelligence data loaded on board.

Of course, over the past weeks, months and years, the Indian forces had built up a pretty picture of the ground based systems deployed by the Pak forces across the border. Same went for the airborne systems as well barring the really new toys that the PAF had been reticent to send near the Indian border. As such, the number of surprises in such a scenario were low. But vigilance against the unknown was the name of the game since the time of Alexander-the-great…

“Getting crowded,” Verma heard on his headset and walked over to the station. The operator turned over his shoulder and saw Verma standing there before turning to point at the screen: “Atmospheric scatter from multiple ground based systems are now filling the skies. Our friends are powering up all their air-defense systems.”

“For all the good it will do them!” Verma grunted and patted the operator on the shoulder before moving up the cabin. He then checked his watch and did some mental calculations. The cabin around him was now abuzz with so many radio conversations that even thinking in one’s own head was proving difficult.

All right, time to shift gears…

Verma understood that the war, at least in the air, would belong to the side that took the initiative. Very similar to the China war three years ago. But there were fundamental differences between the two. The air war in Tibet had been to Beijing’s disadvantage right from the beginning. Their airbases near the frontlines were few, at high altitude and far between. The number of aircraft that could operate against the Indian forces from there were severely limited. But they had tried to make up for it by deploying large tanker forces, stand-off bombers and long-range fighters.

No such terrain difference existed between India and Pakistan. Both had dozens of airbases within striking range of each other and had deployed advanced ground-based air-defenses across the border. Both sides had the same advantages of low-altitude bases as well. So the advantage boiled down to weapon systems, training, raw numbers and attrition reserves.

This air-war was not going to be a chess game. It was slated to be a raw slugfest…

“Picket-Fence is engaging.”

Verma jerked out of his thoughts and turned to the RSO station monitoring the inbound Babur missiles. This would be interesting! “Those missiles over the border yet?”
“Negative. Picket-Fence is engaging over the border!”

Verma grunted and nodded. Yup. That action fell in line with the ground commander’s ball-size. The missiles hadn’t crossed the border yet so the Pakis could still claim that the war had not been started by them. But the army commander controlling the line of aerostat radars and Akash surface-to-air missile batteries protecting Warlord’s three-corps strike force on the ground was an aggressive ba$tard. He had his forces deployed in such a manner so that they were practically leaning over the border into Pakistan. It allowed him to strike quicker and harder against inbound threats.

Verma approved all of this, of course. A lot of lessons had been learnt by the Indian military the hard way during the war in Tibet. A major one had been the ability to detect and destroy large saturation missile strikes. The defensive mindset was the first thing that had been shed in light of the sobering losses encountered at the hands of Chinese missiles. Its effects were visible tonight as dot after dot on the screen in front of Verma disappeared from view after coming in contact with the rising Akash missiles…

“Leaks! We have missiles leaking through Picket-Fence!” The RSO observed excitedly as about a dozen of the Babur missiles out of the original attack force of forty-odd missiles moved past the line of air-defenses as the Akash missile batteries cycled to reload. At the low altitude terrain-contouring flight of the inbound Babur missiles, the miss percentage amongst the defending forces was always much higher. The aerostats helped a bit, but not much. The Akash system was designed to take out such threats close-in or at higher altitude. So now the launchers reloaded as the twelve enemy cruise missiles slipped past the outer defenses…

Verma noted the results on screen before Picket-Fence-actual chimed in matter-of-factly: “Picket-Fence here, we have airspace penetration by enemy missiles. I am all out. Over to you, Mongol-two.”

Yeah, no shit, genius! Verma noted sourly and then turned to the comms people sitting on different consoles: “Get any flight of aircraft with an air-to-air payload and vector them to take out the remaining missiles before they strike!”

“Wilco!” The comms officer noted and switched frequencies on the controls in front of them. Even though they were acting quickly, to Verma it appeared as though they were moving in slow motion. Considering the impact time of the missiles now, perhaps that was not an exaggeration…

“Mongol-two-five here. Inbound tag-three-seven has disappeared off screen! I…I think it has struck, sir! Tag-three-one is off screen as well. They are striking their targets!”

Shit! Verma thought and turned to the comms officer just as the latter was speaking into his headset: “Dagger-flight, break pattern and engage low-altitude targets on bearing two-one-five! Mongol-two has the ball! Vectors to follow!”

AIRSPACE SOUTH OF AMRITSAR
DAY 1 + 0015 HRS

“Wilco. Dagger moving to intercept.” Wing-commander Naresh Grewal looked to his side to see the other three LCA Tejas fighters in a echelon-left deployment off his port side. The pilots were all equipped with the helmet-mounted night-optics that rendered the world around them in shades of green in addition to their cockpit. The cloud cover below reflected the moonlight and was enhanced in their views as floor of green-white.

“Dagger-actual to all Dagger birds, you heard the man. Follow me!”

He flipped his advanced delta-winged interceptor to the starboard and dived through the clouds below, followed by his three other pilots. His visibility disappeared as the starlit skies above disappeared the slick clouds engulfed the cockpit glass from all sides. The aircraft jerked under the turbulence for several seconds before the four aircraft broke under the clouds, facing a dark-green landscape below punctuated with a several unnaturally enhanced white light-balls.

Grewal pulled the aircraft level and scanned the skies to the northwest for white blobs of light moving against the dark background. Of that he found many! Army and air-force helicopters were flying all over the place…

Grewal’s helmet speaker sprang to life: “Damn! Dagger-leader, how the hell are we supposed to I-D the missiles amongst all this?!”

Grewal frantically looked left and right as they thundered to the northwest. “Roger, -two! Keep your eyes peeled for light-balls moving fast and low, then close in for I-D from the six position before engaging! Last thing we need is to be shooting at our own guys here!”
“Wilco.”

The radio chimed again: “Mongol-two here: Enemy missiles just passed underneath you! What the hell is going on, Dagger?!”

Goddamn it! Grewal growled and enabled the transmit: “Mongol-two, Dagger-actual here! I have dozens of inbounds here showing up on my night-optics! Somebody needs to pass the message to those chopper pilots to land their birds else we are likely to light up our own guys here! I need a vector!”

“One-three-five relative!” Grewal ignored the curt response from the Phalcon and flipped his aircraft and bring it about on a easterly heading. He then dived for the deck as two of the Babur missile engine exhausts showed up on his night-optics as massive white balls of light…

“Dagger-actual has visual on two inbounds heading south in general direction of Bathinda!”
“Dagger-three has visual on one inbound heading east!”
“Dagger-four has visual on one inbound also heading east!”

Grewal added it up in his head. The numbers came up short. What happened to the other missiles?

No time. He enabled the infrared guidance on his R-73 heat-seeking missile. It had no difficulty locking on to that massive thermal plume from the Babur missiles in front of it, chugging along at a cruising speed, oblivious to the threat materializing to it’s rear. Grewal heard the tone and depressed the launch button on his control stick. The shower of white blanketed his vision abruptly as it leapt off the rails and fell lower in altitude, matching the terrain-hugging missile underneath. Two seconds later it exploded behind the Babur missile in a ball of orange-yellow flame, shredding the target into fragments that struck the farmland below in a shower of sparks as Grewal’s LCA thundered overhead.

As he banked to the side, he saw his wingman nailing the other Babur missile before pulling above the exploding fireball. The underneath of the LCA was momentarily lit up in the orange-yellow glow when Grewal raised his night-optics up on the helmet to reorient his vision. He rubbed his eyes with his gloved fingers whilst climbing up towards the hanging cloud cover.
“Dagger-three here. We splashed two more of targets here! No more inbounds to be seen. Over.”

“Roger. Good job, gentlemen!” Grewal said as shook his head and cleared his vision before lowering the night-optics once more. “Formate with Dagger-actual and return to altitude! We are burning up a lot of fuel down here!”
“Wilco.”

Grewal then changed frequencies: “Dagger to Mongol-two. We splashed four enemy missiles and are awaiting vectors. Over.”

“Negative on vectors, Dagger. We count eight missile strikes against ground targets in the field. No more targets to intercept.” Grewal tightened his grip around the control-stick. Despite their efforts, eight missiles out of twelve had broken through to their targets and struck. God only knew how many lives had been lost…

The radio chimed in after several seconds of silence: “Dagger, what’s your combat status?”
“All green, Mongol-two. Dagger is still in the fight.” Grewal checked the fuel and weapons indicators. Yup. All green.

“Roger. Move to vector three-five at ten-thousand feet and hold station.” The four LCAs broke through the cloud cover seconds later and were once again staring at the majestic starlit skies above. Grewal could now see numerous sets of lights showing up on his night-optics on the horizon. A lot of friendly combat aircraft were collecting in the skies around him…

“Dagger requesting sitrep, Mongol-two.” Grewal was not one to sit in the dark while the war lit up around his ears. He needed to know what the threat picture was. The onboard radar on the LCA was meant to seek and destroy, not scan the skies like a flashlight in the dark. That was the Phalcon’s job.

“Sitrep is fluid, Dagger. Will advise momentarily.”

Thanks for the detailed response…Grewal didn’t say out loud.

Wowww finally Tejas in action !!!

Thanks Vivek for fulfilling a dream to see Tejas in action.

_/\_

Always wished that important military garrisons with in proximity of Pakstani border should be protected by Iron Dome

You now need to change the PM and think of next 20 years.

the streets below filled with jubilation as thousands of would-be jihadists cheered and fired their rifles into the air.
The jihad against India had begun.

lovely writing and very true.

There will be no soft spoken PM this time Ahuja sir, There will be White bearded one with black bearded one as his minister in charge of PMO and a farmer from UP may be a defence minister. ( I hope not but we have been unfortunate before)

It is ot but cant stop my self sir farmer from up specially jats dont fear anyone and time and time again kicked *ssess of mughals,angrej and recently pakistanis so pls dont hurt our fellings....

Farmer from UP RNS happens to be a Rajput. Even Jat leaders are ok, as long as it is not Ajit Singh. Any way Jat themselves have kicked in the a** of Ajit Singh last week.

chaanakya wrote:You now need to change the PM and think of next 20 years.

Narayana Rao wrote:There will be no soft spoken PM this time Ahuja sir, There will be White bearded one with black bearded one as his minister in charge of PMO and a farmer from UP may be a defence minister. ( I hope not but we have been unfortunate before)

It would seem that events have overtaken my characterization of the Indian government's strategic mindset.

But before I revise the strategic scenario, I will wait to see how the new government actually behaves and acts after it has taken over the reins. We have been fooled before. Next week is when the river meets the road and it will put Modi to the test. I hope he succeeds in proving himself different from the babudom crowd that waits for him in Delhi.

However, this is one of those cases where I am very happy to eat my own hat when proven wrong. Please don't hold me to the literal hat-eating, though.

In the meantime, the war goes on!

[quote="vivek_ahuja"
But before I revise the strategic scenario, I will wait to see how the new government actually behaves and acts
In the meantime, the war goes on! [/quote]


Only on one condition. If you promise to post at least 4 posts on every sunday without fail.

Long time no See vivek Sir

SOUTHWEST OF AMRITSAR
DAY 1 + 0040 HRS

Pathanya ran out of the tents as the thunderclaps ripped through the frigid air. The cold winds over the barren terrain over here hit him square in the face. He could see his breath condensing before his eyes. The scene outside was utter chaos. Men ran past and vehicles rolled along all the major logistics routes north and south of them. The wind added to the harsh conditions by battering the tents.

Another thunderclap ripped through. And this time he knew where to look. North by north-east. Sure enough, a cylindrical booster section of a Brahmos missile fell towards the earth on a parabolic trajectory as the main vehicle of the missile went transonic not far above their heads to the north. The small flicker of light from its exhaust disappeared to the west into the darkness…

“What the hell was that?” Vikram said as he and Kamidalla caught up with Pathanya, standing outside in the wind, staring at the night skies above. Not receiving an answer, Vikram walked over to his team-leader.

“What…” Vikram stopped mid-sentence as another thunderclap reverberated on top of the wind noise. This time they could see the launch vehicles silhouetted like vertical ‘L’ shapes against the orange-yellow glow of the booster exhaust. The tower of flame and exhaust went vertical, climbed and then flipped to its side before really kicking in the horizontal acceleration. Seconds later it too, disappeared into the darkness as it swept towards some target inside Pakistan.

Pathanya turned to face his two subordinate team-leaders with a frown on his face laced with a sort of militaristic fait-accompli.

“It’s begun.”

Pathanya let that settle in. Then shook his head and went into overdrive: “Gentlemen, get ready to move out while I figure out our mission status. I want each man ready to leave with the logistics of our original mission. If that mission still stands, we will execute it. If it has been scrapped, I still want us ready to provide options to the Battalion C-O. Understood?”

He got two nods and no questions. So he walked past the two men and headed towards the command tent to find Colonels Ansari and Gephel and the RAW officers embedded with this task force. If they were going after General Haider and his men, now was as good a time as any to get started…