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

  `How many men do we have left?’

  `Not sure, Sir, but from the reports from the squad leaders, we’re probably down to two hundred or so who are still totally fit to fight, maybe another fifty or more who are walking wounded.’ Rahman knew that his unit had suffered devastating casualties. In a `normal’ scenario, such losses would have crippled any unit, but Rahman was under strict orders to old out at any cost. Like most soldiers, he was proud to a fault, and had uttered some bullshit about fighting to the last man and round. That seemed like nonsense now that he saw his boys being killed all around. That infuriated him-and he was channeling that fury to lash out at the enemy. He knew his boys were making the Mujahideen pay a steep price in blood, but without further support, he would literally be down to the last fucking man. He just hoped all this sacrifice would not be in vain, and that the top brass would not just forget about what they were enduring in the narrow streets of the small town.

  `Dammit. Where the hell is the fucking air force. A couple of damn choppers and we could have murdered these bastards?’

  Nearly a hundred kilometers from Rahman, a young Lieutenant was peering intently at a TV screen. Bespectacled and barely out of college, he seemed completely out of place in the middle of this war, sitting in front of a screen with a joystick in his hand. However, he was playing no video games. Through his joystick, he was controlling an Israeli-made Searcher unmanned reconnaissance vehicle flying over Uri. India had bought a half dozen of these versatile vehicles from Israel in the late 1990s. Capable of staying airborne for over 12 hours flying at a leisurely 150 knots, they were loaded with cameras which relayed back real time TV images like the one the Lieutenant was looking at. Their small size ensured that they would be invisible to most enemy radar and their cameras provided valuable battlefield intelligence.

  Rahman was about to let out some choice expletives about the boys in blue, when he nearly jumped when his radio crackled to life, `Fox 1, this is Hawk. Do you read me?’

  Rahman quickly checked his codebook and realized that Fox 1 was indeed one of the authorized codes, but he had never heard of Hawk. For all he knew this was some Pakistani playing tricks on him.

  `Fox 1 here. Identify yourself.’

  `Fox 1, I don’t have time for games, and neither do you-look up in five minutes, then I’ll call you again.’

  Rahman winced as a Mujahideen grenade exploded somewhere nearby.

  `I want one LMG on that side-quick.’ Rahman was now up again, irritated at the unnecessary interruption on the radio. The Mujahideen were fast tightening the noose around the Indians, and he knew he was in a tight spot.

  He had picked up his rifle and was about to go over to the new LMG position when one of the soldiers shouted out.

  `Sir, look up.’

  Rahman restrained an urge to shoot at the strange object when he saw the IAF colors.

  `I’ll be damned. We’re fighting like mad dogs down here, and these fuckers are flying kites.’

  The radio buzzed with life again, `Fox 1, Hawk here, That’s my little bird up there.’

  `Okay, Hawk, I like your damn bird. Now did you call me for an air show or do you want me to feed your fucking bird some bullets?’

  A couple of his men chuckled nearby at Rahman’s trademark bluntness.

  `Fox 1, our friends are gathering for a two pronged attack on the school-around 200 men from the north-east and about the same from the south. Their HQ seems to be set up in a building next to the central park. Seems like a nice party to gatecrash. You may want to have a look.’

  `Thanks, Hawk, keep in touch.’

  `By the way, COAS says, hang in there. Help is on the way.’

  Rahman gathered his men around him as he pulled out a map of the town. By now, Phadke had returned, panting and covered with dust.

  `Phadke, I want you to check the park out-have a small recon team out there. If what this Hawk says is true, I think we can give these motherfuckers something to think about’

  ***

  Rana braced himself as the hull of his submarine shook from the impact of a depth charge exploding nearby. About five minutes ago, a Pakistani helicopter seemed to have detected the Sindhughosh and had laid out a pattern of sonobouys, hoping to get a firmer lock. Rana had kept his nerve, and continued at his current two knots. But then, the Pakistanis had changed tactics, releasing depth charges all around. They clearly did not have a firm fix on the Indian sub, but were hoping to unnerve it into changing course or speed suddenly-and expose its position. Rana was an experienced sub driver and kept his cool. His young crew was beginning to get nervous, but their skipper’s calm kept them going.

  `Range to nearest destroyer?’

  `1500 yards. Target moving at 15 knots.’

  `Weapons?’

  `I have good firing solutions on four targets. Ready to fire when you want, Sir.’

  `No. Hold on-let them get within a 1000. And ignore the choppers-if they haven’t got us yet, they don’t know where we are. Don’t flood the tubes till I order it-the moment we do it, they’ll have us on sonar and will be on us like vultures.’

  The young weapons officer was getting a refresher course in submarine warfare-and he was soaking every word in. Rana was taking a risk-but if it worked, he could really score big.

  To Rana’s relief, the Pakistanis seemed to have called off their search. He hoped that they had not gone after the Sindhudhwaj, commanded by his best friend, but now it was every man for himself.

  `Target range and bearing.’

  `950 yards, one-seven-one, six knots for lead destroyer.’

  `Weapons?’

  `Good locks on all four tubes.’

  `Flood tubes and fire at will.’

  Seconds later, four Russian-made E-53 torpedoes left the Sindhughosh, quickly accelerating to 40 knots, as they homed in on the Pakistani ships.

  ***

  `Sir, torpedoes in the water. I see four trails!’

  Khan jumped at the warning. He knew this had to happen, but when it did, it took him completely by surprise.

  `Evasive action, activate decoy.’

  `Its too late, Sir.’

  Khan looked helplessly at the torpedo home in on his ship. There was very little he could do now except pray that he did not lose many of his men. He grabbed his chair and shouted out to the others on the bridge.

  `Brace yourself!’

  The torpedo slammed into the side of the Taimur, throwing Khan across the bridge and crippling the Pakistani destroyer. Two more hit the destroyer Badr, breaking her in half. The fourth hit the large missile boat Baluchistan, which disintegrated on impact.

  Khan looked up to see a scene of total devastation. The bridge was full of shattered glass, and his face stung as if someone had put a thousand needles into it. He could see several men down in the bridge, many moaning in pain. As he struggled to get up, he realized in shock that there was only a bloody stump where his right foot had been. Suddenly the Taimur began to list to port. A feeling of infinite sadness came upon him as he realized it was all over. He pulled himself up to try and get as many of his men off the stricken ship as possible. He also decided he would go down with his ship.

  ***

  `Three hits, Sir! I hear breaking noises on two contacts!’

  `Okay. Count that two kills and a damaged one. Towards the nearest wreck. Ten knots.’

  Rana was using an old tactic of the Russian Navy, which had first used the Kilo. This tactic had evolved to enable Russian subs to sneak into the heart of American carrier groups and have a decent chance of escape. It was simple-and dangerous. The attacking sub would simply dive under the wreck of one of her victims, trying to mask her own noise by the breaking noises of the destroyed ship, and then use this chaos to get out of harm’s way, or get another shot at the enemy.

  `Looks clear. Let’s get out of here.’

  `Sir, they’re all going after the Sindhudhwaj.’

  Rana sent up a silent prayer for his friend. With their ships hit
, the Pakistanis would relentlessly go after any Indian sub contact.

  `Well, we can’t do much. Let’s go.’

  The Pakistanis now had a firm fix on the Sindhudhwaj. Unlike Rana, the Indian Captain had been trapped in a pattern of sonobuoys and the only way out was to make a break for it. His sub was now running at 15 knots, but with two Sea Kings after him, it was a race he could never win.

  Realizing the futility of his attempted escape, the Indian Captain turned his sub around and made for the remaining Pakistani ships. There were now six Pakistani ships in the battle zone-two destroyers and four missile boats. The crippled Taimur was out of range.

  At a range of 2000 yards, the Indian sub fired four homing torpedoes and banked steeply, hoping to escape the Sea Kings. But it was too late. Each Sea King fired one Mark 46 torpedo, which homed in on the Kilo at nearly 40 knots. The Indian skipper activated countermeasures, which fooled one torpedo but the other struck home-sending the Kilo and its crew to a watery grave.

  For Rana, the death of his friend on board the Sindhudhwaj was as real as if he had been shot next to him. He could hear the breaking noise of the stricken Indian sub, and imagined what it would be like for the men trapped in a metal coffin that till a few minutes ago had been their home.

  The Sindhudhwaj’s death was however not in vain. It’s four torpedoes homed in on the Pakistani ships-two missed their target and ran on-but the others hit home. The destroyer Noor Jehan was hit by the two torpedoes and sank immediately.

  ***

  Admiral Shoaib Ahmed was cringing under the tirade Illahi had just launched into.

  `What the hell have you come here for-to show your shameless face? While our brave mujahideen are shedding blood in Kashmir and are on the verge of capturing our first major town, and our brave airmen are battling it out-what have you come to show me-the wrecks of your sunken ships?’

  Ahmed had given thirty years of his life to the Armed Forces, and for once, lost his cool. `Sir, I told you what we are up against-the Indians have a far superior Navy-asking our men to sail out to escort the convoy is not tactically sound-the bloody Air Force should be doing it!’

  Illahi turned sharply at this insubordination.

  `Maybe your people just cannot do their job.’

  Ahmed realized that he had overreached himself.

  `Sir, I did not mean to raise my voice. Man to man, our boys are every bit as good as the Indians. Its just that the Navy has been completely neglected-our ships are getting old, and while the Indians have moved far ahead in submarine and missile technology, we’re still where we were a decade ago. I consider it a great achievement that we sank a Kilo in the battle.’

  Illahi had to control himself, knowing that what Ahmed said had a lot of truth in it. Illahi really had no understanding of the Navy, and had focused on modernizing the Army. This was only compounded by the fact that Navy depended almost exclusively on western equipment, and these had been hard to come by after the sanctions imposed after the coup. The Air Force had fared only slightly better, but even that had been largely due to Karim’s leadership.

  `Very well. Let’s just not have any such debacles again.’

  Ahmed walked out fuming, hoping one of his sub skippers got lucky. It would at least shut this arrogant and ignorant fool up.

  Illahi dismissed his secretary and sat fuming at his desk, toying absent-mindedly with his beard. Fools, all of them. Weak fools. At least the news in Kashmir was not so bad.

  Suddenly, without warning, it was back. He clutched his head and rocked back in his chair. The throbbing headache was back to torment him. It had been nearly a week since his last attack-and he was beginning to get used to life without this unbearable pain.

  It felt as if his head would explode and he found it difficult to see clearly-Illahi staggered to the cabinet and pulled out a box of tablets, knocking a vase off and sending it crashing to the ground where it shattered into a dozen pieces. He twisted open the bottle cap and popped two of the tablets into his mouth. He managed to reach his chair and sat down, his breath coming in jagged gasps.

  As the doctor had advised, he sat still, his head resting on his hands. For some time, the pain did not recede and he contemplated calling the doctor. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain went away.

  Illahi got up, wiping sweat from his brow. He knew what this had been-a signal from Allah that he had precious little time to waste.

  ***

  Pooja was beginning to wish she had heeded the Colonel’s advice. After reaching the exercise area, Pooja, Rahul and Chauhan had shifted to an open jeep, driven by the familiar Tonk. Chauhan sat in the front as Pooja and Rahul were tossed around in the back, as Tonk tried to do what Rahul referred to as his `Michael Schumacher routine’ trying to keep up with the huge tanks maneuvering in the open desert. The sand was whipped into their faces at over fifty kilometers an hour and Pooja’s exposed legs were hurting so much that she crouched in the back.

  Chauhan from time to time kept mumbling what he thought would be an explanation of the tactics, but it sounded like mumbo-jumbo to the two passengers, especially Rahul, who literally had his hands full trying to capture the exercises on his camera.

  Pooja was seeing a very different side to Chauhan. He was completely engrossed in the exercise and seemed to hear almost none of the many questions they asked. His face was a mask of intense concentration, and he seemed to be completely on edge.

  Abruptly, he ordered the jeep to stop and shouted into his radio.

  `Stop everyone. Fox 2, why did you go ahead when Fox 3 was clearly headed into the enemy line of fire? Couldn’t you see he was a sitting duck? Why didn’t you stay back to help him?’

  For the first time, Pooja thought she saw real emotion on Chauhan’s face. His face was flushed and he was fuming.

  The voice at the other end of the radio was shaky, `Sir, we were outnumbered five to two-staying would have meant my tank getting killed as well-I thought it would serve the mission objectives better if at least one of us got out….’

  Chauhan did not give the man a chance to finish, `Bullshit. Pure bullshit, Vohra. Your mission is not to protect your pathetic ass. Leaving behind a comrade to die is the worst crime you can commit. Do that in combat and I’ll take out your tank myself. Do I make myself clear?’

  `Yes, Sir.’

  Chauhan seemed to have calmed down by now. Even the usually placid Tonk seemed to have been taken aback at his outburst.

  `Okay, guys, let’s do it again.’

  As they drove on, Pooja continued to look at the inscrutable Colonel. His face now again an emotionless mask.

  ***

  It was almost two in the morning, and as had become his habit, Illahi was staying awake well into the night, poring over reports of the day’s happenings in Kashmir. The quiet of the night was shattered by the ringing of a telephone next to him-normally his secretary would screen any calls-but this was not just any telephone-this was a hotline directly to the Emir. Abdul had got it installed once planning for the operation began-so that it would be easier for the Emir to keep in touch. `Hello, this is Illahi here.’ Illahi had not heard the Emir’s deep voice for several months.

  `Hello Illahi, I have been hearing good reports. The first phase seems to have gone off flawlessly, and progress in Kashmir is good. I am happy with the way things are panning out. Just wanted to check if there’s anything else to be done.’

  `No, your Holiness. All that we need now is for the convoy to get in safely-then we are in a real position of strength and, Inshallah, then we can really activate the second phase without too much risk.’

  `That is good, Illahi. But something’s worrying you, is it not? What is it?’

  Even over the phone, and thousands of miles away, it was as if the Emir could see right through him. Illahi remembered his first meeting with the man, shortly after he came to power in Pakistan. The first thing that had struck him then were the Emir’s sharp and penetrating eyes.

  `The Indians h
ave hit our navy pretty badly. I’m just concerned about the convoy getting through. It is critical to our plans.’

  `Illahi, as long as you have faith in Allah and belief in yourself, do not worry too much. As it says in the Holy Koran-and when the misbelievers plotted to keep you a prisoner, or kill you, or drive you away, they plotted well; but God plotted too. And God is the best of plotters.’

  ***

  TWELVE

  The enemy advances, we retreat. The enemy camps, we harass. The enemy tires, we attack.

  - Mao Tse Tung

  Singh’s Sukhoi was now alone. His wingman had developed an engine glitch and returned to Srinagar five minutes ago. This was just the mission Singh and Goel were looking for-an offensive air combat sweep in an area known to be frequented by PAF F-15s. They had been flying in lazy circles for over half an hour, hoping to lure PAF fighters into combat. So far, they’d had no luck. Now that they were alone, Singh had no intention of hanging around. He was about to turn his fighter around, when Goel’s voice rang out, `Boss, bandit at eighty kilos, bearing six-one’.

  `Roger, its coming in hard. 680…make that 700 knots.’

  `Boss, I think we finally got ourselves an Eagle.’

  `Yup. Now we get to dance with the prima donnas.’

  The Sukhoi wheeled around to face its adversary as Goel armed an R-27.

  Flight Lt Hamid had the IAF fighter on his radar now. And instead of running, which most Indian attack planes did when their RWRs lit off at this range, this one was coming straight at him. That meant a Flanker or a Fulcrum. Hamid armed one of his AMRAAMS as he kept his eyes glued to his HUD.

  Hamid had shifted to F-15s from his old F-16 when the Saudi fighters arrived. He had flown F-15s during his stint in the Gulf as an instructor-and no matter how many times he flew the monster; he never failed to marvel at its power. He had already tasted blood-splashing an Indian MiG-27 on his third sortie. But that had been an easy kill. He had jumped the heavily bomb laden and unescorted attack plane and had killed it at short range with a Sidewinder. This was going to be a different ball game altogether.