Line of Control- A Thriller on the Coming War in Asia Read online

  The Air Chief got up to address the NSC.

  `Sir, the photographs in front of you are from a MiG-25 pass over the Saudi convoy. It’s currently about four hundred kilometers off Karachi, moving at around 10 knots.’

  He turned the projector on, and a magnified version of the first photograph appeared on the screen in front of the long conference table.

  `In this, we can clearly make out trails associated with seven large ships and four smaller ships.’

  Now was the turn of the Naval Chief, whose intelligence officers had spent hours analyzing the photographs.

  `All seven transport ships seem to be converted cargo ships. Each is about 200 meters long-so I’d call it about a 25,000 tons displacement. That’s not too big by transport standards, but between them they could carry a fair deal of cargo. The smaller ships include three Saudi Al Madinah class frigates. Pretty modern French designs, with a fair anti-surface and anti-air capability. One of them set a couple of Crotales after Sen’s MiG. The fourth is a smaller, unidentified corvette’

  The Air Chief smiled and continued, `This is a magnification of one of the transports. If you notice, much of what’s on board is covered in canvas, but this is a give-away- its a simple case of someone slipping up.’

  `What is it, Sen?’, Khosla asked as Sen pointed a long black tube protruding from under one of the covers. The Army Chief answered for him, `That’s a goddamn tank barrel, and I’ll bet my salary that’s going to be an M-1. Illahi wouldn’t go through so much trouble to get junk from our Saudi friends. Hey, Raman, how many tanks can each ship hold?’

  The Naval Chief could see his Army counterpart beginning to get worried, `I would say 10-15 big tanks like the M-1, with supporting equipment and all.’

  `Two goddamn regiments! They’ll be at the front in three days at the rate they’re going!’

  `Well, Randhawa, can we handle it?’, Khosla turned to the Army Chief. `Sir, this will be bad. Really bad. These M-1s are probably going to be manned by Paki troops who’ve already trained on them, and it’s a great tank-every bit a match and then some for our T-90s. Two regiments would rule out any decisive edge in armor.’

  `So let’s take the convoy out. Let’s warn them and if they don’t turn back, we sink the bastards.’

  Raman had been waiting for that one. `Sir, if this is two regiments of M-1s we are talking about, the Pakistanis will be taking it very seriously. They’ll probably have tons of land-based air cover. We’ll need some help to suppress those while we hit the convoy.’

  `I think I can work something out for that when the time comes’, Sen concluded.

  ***

  Karim’s joints were still a bit creaky from the long drive to Air Headquarters at Rawalpindi from Islamabad, where he’d had another frustrating meeting with Illahi.

  As was his habit, Karim avoided the lift and climbed the two floors, two steps at a time. The day I can’t do that will be the one when I know I’m getting old.

  He walked into his office to find Arif waiting for him.

  `Why, this is a pleasant surprise, Arif!’

  `Good morning, Karim. I was driving by on the way to the base and thought I’d say hi.’

  `Well, good you did. Anything specific in mind?’

  Arif seemed to hesitate a little and then spoke. `Listen, can we go out for a walk. I need to talk about some personal things.’

  `Why, of course.’

  Karim and Arif walked out into the sprawling lawns in front of the gray colored building.

  `Arif, what’s troubling you? Come on, be frank now-there’s nobody else here.’

  `Karim, its the whole Saudi angle. They send us F-15s and AWACS, now tanks-why? They must have some interest in all this. There are a lot of rumors that that mad Emir hatched this whole thing in the first place.’

  `Arif-I told you not to both….’

  Arif now lost his cool, turning around sharply to face Karim.

  `Give me a break! The Emir’s using our country to further his madness, don’t you see it! We are shedding out blood for his madness! We need to focus on building our economy and giving basic amenities to our people-not fighting wars. And what if it comes to a nuclear exchange-then we all die-for what?’

  Karim sat down on a nearby bench, deflated. He knew just how little conviction he himself had in what he was saying to his old friend. He tried to say something more, but then stopped, realizing just how hollow any statement he could make now would be. Instead he just looked up at Arif. He had half expected Arif to be angry, instead he saw a look of sadness, almost pity, cloud over the face of his oldest friend.

  `Listen, you’re one of the few who can make a difference. I’m just an ordinary desk jockey-but you’re at the top-you’re the one who needs to rock the boat. There’s a lot of talk going around-there are many guys who think like me. Just take a stand-there’ll be many to support you. Think about it.’ Arif walked off, leaving Karim alone on the lawns.

  ***

  Karim walked back to his office to review the progress of the war over Kashmir.

  The air war over Kashmir was now in its fifth day-and had produced no clear winner.

  The superior numbers of the IAF was telling, but the F-15s had ensured that neither side had a decisive qualitative edge. The Pakistanis had only around 25 F-16s left in flying condition, and these had not been committed to battle yet, being reserved for the big battle that everyone expected in the plains once the Indians counterattacked. Also, they were the only fighters to have a ghost of a chance against the Indian Su-30s, and a full squadron was being kept at Karachi to protect the Saudi convoy. The remaining 150 Mirage IIIs and Airguards in the PAF inventory were a poor match for the Indian Mirage 2000s and MiG-29s.

  After the sanctions imposed post nuclearization, the PAF had found it difficult to obtain spares for its F-16s and the Chinese debacle in Taiwan a year ago had also led to a slowdown in spares and support from China. Emboldened by a reduction in the US forces in the South China Sea to support a build up against Iran, China had the previous year launched an air and naval attack on Taiwan-to teach the `rebellious province’ a lesson. The West really had no moral locus standi to oppose this unilateral action, given their attacks on Yugoslavia and Iraq in the closing years of the previous millennium.

  However, what the PLAF had not bargained for was the tenacity of the Taiwanese and their much better training. Flying in their Mirage 2000s and F-16s, the Taiwanese had given the PLAF a drubbing. Escalation was prevented by the arrival of an US Carrier Battle Group. As a result, the much-awaited reverse engineered Su-27 from China still had not arrived.

  In contrast, India had a fairly well advanced indigenous base, and had modernized its fleet with Israeli and Russian help when local expertise proved inadequate. The much awaited Light Combat Aircraft was still nowhere in sight, and had only just completed initial squadron trials when the war had broken out.

  Reports said that up to two squadrons were converting to the LCA from aging MiG-21s as of early 2008, but obviously these were not yet combat ready enough for the Indians to commit them to battle.

  However, the mix of modern Su-30s, MiG-29s and Mirage 2000s complemented by older but still capable upgraded MiG-21s, MiG-23s, MiG-27s and Jaguars gave the IAF a fairly decisive edge on paper. What the PAF had going for it was superb training, and a dogged determination to give as good as they got in the air. The rank and file of the PAF actually believed this war had been sparked off by the Indian communal holocaust, and they were flying to defend their nation and faith, little realizing that they were but pawns in a much larger game.

  All in all, Karim mused, his boys were doing a fine job. He only wondered whether he was the one letting them all down.

  He sat quietly at his desk for what seemed like a very long time.

  Till a few months ago, things in his life had seemed so clear. He loved his country, he loved the Air Force, and he loved his family. Everything had been so black and white for Karim. Now he found himself aski
ng increasingly uncomfortable questions about whether the path he was going down was really what he wanted to do.

  He had never been much of a rebel in his life, for the simple reason that he had led his life with the blind conviction that he had always been of the side of what was right. All he needed to do was channelize his talents and energy towards serving that greater good.

  For the first time in his life, he began to consider whether he had, somewhere along the way, failed to question what purpose he was truly serving.

  ***

  ELEVEN

  That general is skilled in attack whose opponent does not know what to defend.

  - Sun Tzu

  The tankers literally stopped dead in their tracks. Having been away from all civilization for nearly a month, they were just not prepared for what they saw before them. They had been told to expect reporters, but had not really expected a young, good-looking woman.

  Pooja had long gotten used to having men stare at her, and thought little of it as she walked past the rows of tanks.

  `Hey, are you here to shoot us in our exercises or have yourself shot for some fashion show?’

  Pooja turned around angrily to face Chauhan.

  `It’s no business of yours what I wear.’

  She half-regretted her rather hasty and angry response, as she saw a wry grin on his face. So G.I.Joe can crack a joke.

  `That it isn’t, but those shorts will get to be a pain with all the sand out there. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ With that parting shot, Chauhan walked over to his tank.

  Rahul had by now caught up with Pooja. He had fallen behind as he stopped to take in the rows of tanks arrayed all around them.

  `Another tiff with our Colonel?’

  `No, forget it.’

  Chauhan was now standing at the turret of his tank, and shouted out to them, `Hey come on, what are you waiting for, an invitation?’

  Pooja and Rahul ran towards Chauhan’s tank.

  Rahul jumped onto the tanks back and clambered in. Pooja hesitated, and then saw Chauhan extend his hand, a wide grin on his face. She thought a minute and then took his hand as he pulled her up.

  `Welcome aboard!’

  ***

  Captain Rana walked over to the sonar screen as the sonar operator called out a contact.

  `4000 yards, twelve knots’

  Rana studied the contact for a minute before relaxing.

  `Bogey. That’s a small patrol boat. Hunker down. No noise anybody.’

  Rana’s Kilo class submarine, the Sindhughosh, had been lurking just thirty kilometers off the Karachi coast for nearly ten days now, along with its sister ship, the Sindhudhwaj. Though now over a twenty-year-old design, the Kilo remained one of the world’s best diesel submarine designs, and was nearly undetectable at fewer than five knots. Rana was exploiting this to the hilt-barely moving-surfacing only once a day to receive radio transmissions. It was tedious, and deadly work. This was the fifth time in the last two days that Pakistani patrol boats had sortied out, looking for the Indian subs they knew would be there. This heightened activity was a sure sign that the waiting was going to be over soon.

  The Pakistani Navy doctrine called for an avoidance of a head on fight with the much larger Indian Navy. Instead, the surface fleet was to ensure a free passage into Karachi of supplies from the Gulf, relying on land based air cover to protect them from Indian carrier based strikes. The only real offensive weapon the Pakistani Navy hoped to use was its fleet of six French made Agosta submarines. As capable as the Indian Kilos, the Agostas had been refitted to carry Exocet anti-ship missiles, thus giving them a powerful anti-ship punch.

  As the patrol boat passed, a mere 2000 yards away, the crew of the Sindhughosh literally held it’s breath. In a submarine, silence is often the best way to save your life, with the slightest noise being potentially captured by enemy sensors.

  `Sir, it’s happening. The entire bloody Pak Navy just came out to party.’

  The Kilo was armed with Russian made Klub cruise missiles-that had a theoretical maximum range of over a hundred kilometers. However, firing the missiles at such extreme range against a moving target like a warship dramatically lowered the probability of a hit to the extent that it virtually became meaningless. To ensure a hit would require mid course guidance which could not be provided at that range by the submarine-unless it surfaced-a sure way for a submarine to get itself killed in a combat situation; or if there were friendly aircraft or helicopters to do so-again something one could not take for granted in combat. For a mission like the one Rana was on-close to enemy shores, with the primary target being surface vessels, and with no likelihood of friendly air support, the Indian Navy doctrine was clear on the matter-the Klubs would be used at long range only for attacking static targets like shore installations, oil platforms etc. For fast surface warships, the recommended mode of attack was still the old fashioned torpedo. Once within torpedo range, Klubs could be fired to add to the confusion, as the enemy would have two very different threats to deal with-one screaming down at supersonic speed from the skies above, and another from beneath the waves.

  The Kilo’s active sonar was off, but its passive sonar showed numerous surface radar emissions emerging out of Karachi harbor. The operator could identify specific warship types by their distinct `signatures’ as their blades churned through the water, which would signify the likely size of the contact, and from their radar and other electronic emissions. In peacetime, submariners of both sides had spent countless hours chronicling the signatures of their likely opponents. This knowledge would now be distilled in a few seconds of frenzied decision making in combat.

  `Blade count shows four large contacts, five small contacts. Bearing one-nine-five.’

  Rana would have loved to wade into the Pakistani ships and get the first shot, but he wanted to be sure he was not going to give away his position to sink some fishing boats or trawlers. His mission was to take out the capital ships, and that’s exactly what he planned to do.

  `Got a fix on the radar?’

  `Yeah-three Gearing class destroyers, two FRAM frigates and five Hainan class missile boats.’

  `The whole damn Navy. Wait until they’re within 2000 yards-lock on to the four largest screws and then fire point blank.’

  `Aye, aye sir.’

  Rana could almost feel the tension in the cramped confines of the submarine. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, sending up a silent prayer, and then he gripped the edge of the console as his crew prepared to go to war.

  ***

  Captain Khan studied his radar and sonar screens with interest. Nothing, yet he knew Indian Kilos would be out there. Well, he wasn’t going to make it any easier-two land based Atlantic anti-submarine aircraft were overhead, dropping sonobouys in front of his small fleet to smoke out the Indian subs. So far, there had been no luck.

  Khan’s mission was a dangerous one-and he was proud he and his ship, the PNS Taimur, had been chosen for it. They were to link up with a Saudi convoy carrying critical war material and escort them to Karachi-while fighting off any Indian ships or subs. The Air Force had promised to provide air cover with F-16s from Karachi to ward off any Indian air strikes.

  His ship was an old ex-US Navy destroyer. Modestly armed compared to the best ships in the Indian Navy, it’s six Harpoons nevertheless made it the most powerful surface combatant of the PNS. More importantly, it’s Sea King helicopter gave it a decent anti-sub capability, which it would need for this mission above all else.

  He silently cursed the Kilos and hoped the much-pampered Agostas would do their job. Five Agostas were now patrolling the vast expanse of the Arabian Sea-hoping to catch the Indian carrier group by surprise.

  Like most surface ship skippers, he had a healthy distaste for submarines and those who rode in them. On the surface, it was a fair fight, but with submarines it was all about hiding and striking when the enemy could not see you.

  ***

  `Mortar shell coming in.�
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  Phadke shouted his warning as four shells exploded around his position. He and five men were occupying an LMG post near the city school. The Mujahideen had by now entered the city in force, but the Indians, using their superior knowledge of the local geography, aided in no small measure by their local guides, were luring the Mujahideen into ambush after ambush.

  Phadke jumped behind a building to take cover from the shrapnel, but a soldier to his left was not so lucky. Phadke saw him going down, apparently hit in the face. Phadke knew what would come next-a charge by the Mujahideen.

  `Four dogs coming in’, a young JCO shouted out, confirming his guess.

  `Relax-don’t jump the gun.’ Phadke had only four men and an LMG. He wanted to make each shot count and retreat to a new covering position before the Mujahideen could overwhelm him and his men through sheer numbers.

  As the four Mujahideen came into range, the Indians opened up with the LMG. Three of the Mujahideen fell dead, hit by the first burst and the other dived for cover.

  `More around the corner, Sir!’

  Phadke saw a dozen men rushing his position. He aimed and fired a burst from his rifle at the oncoming Mujahideen, seeing one fall as the others took cover and returned fire. Their fire was both accurate and concentrated. Phadke saw another Indian clutch his hand and go down with a shout of pain.

  The exchange of fire continued for several minutes. The Indians were greatly outgunned, and with more than a dozen weapons firing at them, often Phadke could not even get time to aim. He would just turn the corner, fire off a burst, and then retreat to the cover the building afforded him. He had no idea whether he hit anything or anybody.

  As he swung out to fire again, he saw two black objects flying through the air at his position. He did not need to be told what those would be.

  `Grenade!’

  The Indians scrambled for cover as the two grenades skittered across the ground and exploded near their position. The LMG wrecked and two men dead, the Indians retreated to the next building.

  Further to the East, Rahman was directing the battle from a makeshift bunker. The Indians had split up into small squads, four to eight strong and were making maximum use of the terrain to keep the Mujahideen at bay. The battle was now raging throughout the city and while the Indians were inflicting heavy casualties, they were being forced into a tight corner near the school.