Line of Control- A Thriller on the Coming War in Asia Page 15

  Singh had locked on with his R-27 at a range of fifty kilometers, with the two planes racing at each other at a closure rate of well over a thousand knots. As Singh fired his missile, Hamid responded with an AMRAAM. The AMRAAM and late model R-27 are similar weapons, they require the firing aircraft to maintain radar lock on the target for the initial stages, and then at a range of about twenty kilometers, the missile’s own radar switches on, and guides it to the target. This was a major breakthrough over earlier radar guided weapons like the AIM-7 Sparrow and the R-23, which required the attacking plane to maintain lock till the missile hit the target. Both missiles entered service at about the same time, and the AMRAAM had enjoyed significant advantages over the early R-27. The later model missile carried by the Indian Sukhois had greatly improved capabilities, and were now almost as good as the AMRAAM. The IAF had small stocks of the much better R-77, popularly known as the AMRAAMSki for its resemblance to the American missile, but continued problems in securing assured supplies from Russia’s troubled defense sector had meant most fighters still carried the R-27 into combat. India had its own ambitious air-to-air missile project, called the Astra, but like many indigenous efforts, it was still nowhere near regular service.

  `Boss, missile in the air. Range thirty kilos.’

  Goel was using all the electronic countermeasures at his disposal to fool the missile. As the missile closed, he would activate decoys, which would give off a large radar `signature’, hoping to lure the missile away.

  `Missile’s still closing. Range twenty one.’

  On his radar screen, Singh saw his own missile closing in on the F-15. It was going to be touch and go.

  Singh’s eyes were riveted to his HUD. As the missile passed ten kilometers, Singh swung his fighter into a slight turn, heading straight for the missile.

  `Boss!’

  Singh barely heard Goel as he concentrated on the growing speck ahead of him, which in seconds could turn his fighter into a burning wreck.

  Goel activated two decoys as the missile continued to home in.

  As the missile passed five kilometers, Singh swerved the big fighter around in a punishing turn which slammed him into the back of his seat, blood draining from his head. For a split second, everything went black-what is known as a `blackout’ before Singh recovered from the effects of the extreme G-forces he was subjecting his body to. The missile sped past the Sukhoi, seduced away by a decoy.

  `You awake back there?’

  `Damn you, Boss, I nearly died there! Our friend’s still around. Three o clock.’

  Singh grinned under his mask-it was good to know he was up against someone who knew the ropes. What he did not know was that the PAF pilot had had a comparatively easier time evading his R-27. Though it was close to the AMRAAM in capability, there was still a perceptible gap. As a result, the PAF had a split second advantage over him in getting into a killing position.

  `Goel, arm the R-73s. This is going to be close in work.’

  The two fighters circled each other, looking for an opening. The F-15 made the first move-coming in with a slashing attack, firing a burst from its 20mm cannon at the Sukhoi’s flank. But Singh was ready for him-he rolled to avoid the stream of bullets and dove towards the ground. He felt a slight shudder as the Sukhoi rolled away, and wondered how many shells had hit his plane. Hamid could feel that a few shells may have grazed the Indian plane, but it was clearly not enough to down the Sukhoi. He pressed on his attack as he turned for another pass, but by the time he could get the Sukhoi in his sights, Singh had cut his engine power, and his fighter violently pitched nose up as its air speed fell to less than a hundred knots. At such speeds, other fighters would have stalled, but the Sukhoi held, as the F-15 sped by. This maneuver, first perfected on the MiG-29, had come to be known as Pugachev’s Cobra, after the first test pilot to try it. Since then, it had become a standard part of the repertoire of MiG-29 and Su-27 pilots.

  As the F-15 turned and jinked to shake off the Sukhoi, Singh turned with it, keeping it in front of him. Singh knew that the superior agility of the Russian fighter was going to be a critical factor in his favor, and he had to use it to maximum advantage. The other advantage he had was the helmet mounted cueing system he could use with the R-73. What this meant was that he could literally fire a missile at any target by just looking at it. While this of course had limitations, it offered the pilot a much broader envelope of engagement than with conventional systems. Hamid of course knew this and was trying to get out of what he guessed the envelope would be.

  Singh now had the F-15 clearly in his sights, and he turned with the PAF jet to ensure it did not get out of the R-73’s deadly envelope. He heard the growling noise in his ears indicating that an R-73 had locked on and fired a missile at a range of two kilometers.

  Hamid’s RWR screamed out the warning, the shrill sound echoing in his ears as he put his F-15 through a series of tight turns, hoping the lose the missile. The sensitive seeker in the R-73’s head ignored the flares Hamid had released and homed in on the F-15’s engine. Hamid released another round of flares, and was lucky to escape alive as the R-73 hit the flares barely twenty meters behind his plane. The small warhead on the R-73’s nose exploded as it hit the flares, spreading a deadly cloud of burning fragments which engulfed the F-15.

  Hamid’s fighter shook violently as fragments of the missile sliced through his plane. His tail fins were badly damaged, and one of his engines was now running at less than half power.

  Singh turned his fighter hard to the right to avoid flying into the debris from the F-15 and saw the F-15 roll away, trailing black smoke. Singh revved the Sukhoi in a hard turn and pressed in for the kill.

  Hamid knew the battle was lost. The best he could hope for was to escape alive. He knew the Indian pilot would be closing for the kill. He would have, if the tables had been reversed.

  Singh now had the F-15 dead in his sights.

  `Boss, another R-73?’

  `No. He’s done for anyway. Let’s just bring him down.’ What he left unsaid was that, in this age of long-range radar and missiles, a gun kill remained every fighter pilot’s wet dream.

  Singh fired two bursts from the Sukhoi’s 30mm cannon, which hit the F-15 on its starboard wing and fuselage.

  Hamid’s fire alarms were now ringing, and he could barely keep the plane in level flight. Well, this was it. He pulled the handle on his ejection seat, which propelled him to safety as the stricken fighter fell to the ground.

  `Boss, check that out!’

  Singh whooped and did an impromptu victory roll. Unknown to him, his and Goel’s cheers were joined by those of a hundred or more Indian soldiers who had been watching the dogfight from the ground below.

  `Goel, ask the AWACS to contact the nearest army guys-tell them to pick up the guest. Also, I think he got a hit in-we need to make sure we figure out how serious that was. Let’s head home.’

  ***

  Chauhan was sitting all by himself in a corner of the mess, when Pooja walked in. She got her breakfast and walked over to him.

  `Good morning.’

  Pooja had long been the butt of sarcastic and cynical comments about how chirpy she could be in the morning, when everyone else was still cursing the fact that they had to get out of bed. She could see her efforts at cheering things up were having no effect on the Colonel, but she was not going to change her natural style for this clown.

  `Mind if I join you?’

  `No, not at all. So, what’s your experience with army food been like?’

  Pooja sat down with her plate of fruits.

  `Pretty good, actually.’

  She saw that Chauhan as usual was picking at his food, lost in thought. Her past experience with him also told her that the two sentences he had just spoken were likely to be only conversation she would get out of him unless she started talking.

  `Well, Colonel, the exercises yesterday were really great-it was a completely new experience for us.’

  `Good.’ />
  Then silence.

  Great, talk about a brilliant conversationalist.

  Pooja continued watching Chauhan eat in utter silence. She wondered why it bothered her so much that he did not notice her. Perhaps it was just that he was so unlike any man she had met before. Also, if she were honest with herself, the fact that he showed no interest in her whatsoever was intriguing.

  Chauhan abruptly got up and began to walk away.

  `Miss Bhatnagar, we’re doing our daily maintenance of the tanks. If you would like to watch, please come to the ground behind the firing range.’

  Romantic guy, isn’t he, mused Pooja as he walked away.

  ***

  Phadke had ten men with him. Three of them had rocket launchers slung over their shoulders; the others carried assault rifles with night vision scopes. The Indians had put in all such rifles they had remaining into this one attack. It was a desperate mission-another night of fierce fighting in Uri had left the Indians with a further dozen dead and much of their ammunition depleted. The Mujahideen had suffered terrible losses, over fifty killed, but were now closing in with a pincer grip around the Indians cornered near the school.

  The eleven men moved silently in the early hours of dawn-and stopped just outside the sprawling central park. In front of them was the Mujahideen command post-just as the enigmatic Hawk had promised.

  Phadke guesstimated that there were close to three hundred men sleeping in the open, rifles near their heads, and off to a side about a hundred meters away, two tanks and a dozen trucks-the primary targets for this raid.

  The Hawk on his second transmission had informed Rahman that the Mujahideen had their spare ammunition stocked in five of these trucks. Amazingly, he had also reeled off their license plate numbers. Phadke used his night vision binoculars to identify the vehicles. Thankfully, they were the ones closest to the Indian raiders.

  The Indians split up into two groups. The first group of five crept towards the trucks. The second, led by Phadke took up firing positions just outside the park.

  The five Indian soldiers were now just a dozen meters from the trucks, using the darkness and cover of trees to hide themselves. They could see two men guarding the trucks-once again; Hawk had not failed them with its information.

  Two of the Indians went forward, having discarded their rifles, commando knives in hand. The Mujahideen guards, who of all things never expected an Indian attack, were taken completely by surprise. Both died without being able to raise an alarm.

  Phadke aimed his rifle at the sleeping Mujahideen closest to the trucks.

  `Okay, men, choose your targets.’

  Three other Indian soldiers aimed their rifles in the same direction as Phadke. Any Mujahideen soldier who attempted to get to the trucks would have a very short, and exciting, life.

  `Anytime now.’

  The Indians were almost at the trucks-one man to a truck.

  As the first soldier got in, Phadke raised his rifle to his shoulder.

  To Phadke’s immense relief, all the men got inside the trucks without incident. Now was where the crunch happened. Three of the trucks had their keys inside and the Indians turned the keys to start the trucks. The two others were not as lucky and fumbled in the dark to jump-start the vehicles. Phadke mused that this was Hawk’s first failure-it had reported that the Mujahideen routine was to leave the keys inside.

  As soon as the engines revved to life, Mujahideen around the park woke up with a start-groping around for their weapons. The Indian drivers turned on the headlights to disorient the enemy. As was usual, nothing went perfectly in real life war-only two trucks had functioning lights. As the three trucks turned away and began picking up speed, the Mujahideen began firing-bullets slammed into the cabs of the remaining two trucks, killing both Indian soldiers.

  `Get them!’

  Phadke and his men opened fire, taking the Mujahideen by surprise. The first volley sent four men down as the Mujahideen wheeled to face this new threat.

  Gunfire crisscrossed the night sky as the Indians and Mujahideen exchanged rifle fire. The Mujahideen were exposed in the open and two more fell before the others began scrambling for cover.

  The soldier next to Phadke shouted over the din of gunfire.

  `Sir, the trucks are clear!’

  `Blow the rest.’

  The three Indians with the anti-tank launchers aimed at the remaining trucks and fired. The sky was lit up with a huge orange flame as the two ammunition filled trucks exploded. The huge fireballs they produced engulfed dozens of Mujahideen near the trucks, as others ran for safety.

  Phadke felt himself being literally lifted off the ground by the force of the explosion.

  As the initial shock wave subsided, he shouted out to his men.

  `Let’s get out of here, guys!’

  The Indians ran off into the night as secondary explosions continued in the park behind them.

  Mast Gul was horrified at what he saw. He had never expected something like this. He had been dreaming of his home back in Jalalabad when he had been jolted awake by the sound of gunfire. He had rushed outside to find his men firing at the trucks.

  `Fools, what are you doing?’

  He had scarcely completed his sentence when the truth dawned on him.

  `Stop the trucks!’

  He had rushed out; rifle in hand-when the two trucks exploded and Gul was thrown back by the impact, a sheet of heat billowing across the field.

  When he got up, he saw absolute carnage around him. His face was bleeding from flying glass splinters and as looked around, he saw at least fifty Mujahideen lying dead around the park-with at least double that number wounded, crying for help.

  To add to his misery, three of the trucks were gone.

  Gul sat down, flinging his rifle angrily to one side. With almost seventy per cent of his ammunition stolen or destroyed and at least one-fifth of his remaining force of around 500 out of action, there was no question of pressing home the attack.

  He radioed the Pakistani command base with the news.

  By morning, the word had spread. The tide had turned in Uri.

  ***

  Illahi was fuming when everyone walked in. He looked straight at his Army Chief.

  `What the hell is going on? Shamsher, I thought we were supposed to have got Uri by now!’

  `Sir, there always was a risk in using the Mujahideen. They’re not professional soldiers like the Indians. Also, we did not have much to do with their battlefield tactics. You insisted we leave that to Tariq’s bunch.’

  The big soldier bristled and was about to retort, when Illahi cut him off.

  `Shamsher, there’s no point in blaming each other now. What are our plans for moving in to take Uri?’

  `I don’t understand-why would we move in?’, the surprise in Shamsher’s voice said it all.

  `Well, we need to secure Uri and move on in the valley.’

  `But Sir, the plan was that the Mujahideen capture at least one town, we say that it was an internal uprising helped by Muslim volunteers from POK, and we send in limited ground and air support under the pretext of helping them-and then move ahead from there. Sending our troops in now would be an obvious and open act of aggression.’

  What he did not need to say was the simple fact that if things got too hot for India in Kashmir, it would retaliate in the plains, striking at the heart of Pakistan. That had been the widely accepted doctrine ever since the two nations began trading blows over Kashmir. And Shamsher Ahmed also did not need to reiterate that the correlation of forces was nowhere as favorable in the plains as it was in Kashmir.

  `Well, Shamsher, then the plan just changed. We can’t just back off now-we are now committed, and need to push ahead. If we need to raise the stakes, so be it. We will not have another chance-so let’s go ahead.’

  Karim had been watching the exchange in silence, but now spoke up.

  `Sir. I would look at it differently. We’re still not committed as deeply as we could be-we ha
ve no ground troops on Indian soil. We can still back out if we want-and do it with honor intact. On the other hand, if we go in on the ground-there’s no going back. The Indians are bound to retaliate in kind-and then we get into a spiral where the use of nuclear weapons is a real possibility.’

  `Karim, I understand your concern-but you’re wrong. We cannot look back now. Shamsher, have your troops ready to move.’

  Shamsher had known Ilahi long enough to know when arguing with him was futile, but on something as important as this, he decided to give it one more attempt.

  `But sir, the M1s aren’t in yet. They’re still a couple of days away from being at the front. If the Indians counterattack in the plains, we won’t have the M-1s, as was the original plan.’

  `Well, then we’ll just to make do with what we have’, Illahi waved his hand and went into his study, indicating that the meeting was over.

  Shamsher looked at Karim, and their eyes met for a minute. As Shamsher walked out, Karim thought he could see something in the old soldier’s eyes-something he had seen in Arif’s eyes.

  That reminded him-Arif would be in town tomorrow and he had a dinner appointment with him. It would be good to share a couple of beers with him, remember the old times and get some of his frustration out of his system.

  ***

  Ramnath was living a task force commander’s nightmare. A Sea King had got a sub contact ten minutes ago, and now five helicopters were searching the waters around the Indian task force for the Pakistani submarine.

  The formation of the task force was meant to provide maximum security to the Vikramaditya. The Vikramaditya was roughly at the center of the group that spanned an area of nearly twenty-five square kilometers. In front were the INS Delhi and the INS Godavari, with the rear being protected by the Godavari’s sister ship, the INS Ganga. The INS Delhi was the most powerful surface combatant in the Indian Navy, packing a powerful anti-ship punch with 16 SS-N-25 missiles, a battery of Trishul SAMs and a powerful anti-submarine capability with mortars, torpedoes and two Sea King helicopters. The Godavari class ships-the Godavari and the Ganga, were nearly a decade older, and carried only four SSMs, but each carried two Sea Kings to give a powerful anti-sub standoff capability. The flanks were guarded by Indian designed Khukri class frigates, which for their size carried a sizable anti-ship punch with SS-N-25 missiles. To get to the Vikramaditya, any Pakistani submarine would have to run the deadly gauntlet thrown by the Indian ships.