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

  All three men were getting slightly tipsy-each trying to get an escape, no matter how temporary, from the tensions and frustrations of their jobs. Shamsher and Shoaib did not know that Karim had any specific agenda, but were just glad to get a much-needed break from the daily grind.

  `So, Shamsher, what do you think of the ground offensive?’

  Shamsher looked up, his broad shoulders sagging, `You know how I feel, Karim. You both know-and I imagine neither of you feels any differently.’

  The normally reticent Shoaib now spoke up with more emotion than Karim could ever recall seeing in him before, `But we’re bloody professional soldiers-ours not to question why and all that crap-so we just march to the tune the politicians play.’

  Shoaib almost spat out the words, and Karim could see tears well up in the Admiral’s eyes. The oldest of the three, Shoaib normally was the least given to open displays of emotion. But this time, Karim knew the reason. His eldest son had died on board the Taimur.

  Karim decided to lay his cards on the table.

  `And what if we don’t like that tune?’

  The question was asked softly, and both Shamsher and Shoaib started, looking up to see if Karim was joking. Karim’s expression indicated that he was indeed dead serious.

  Both Shamsher and Shoaib were completely taken by surprise at this question. Shoaib answered for both of them. `We quit. Anything else would be mutiny and treason.’

  `Treason against what? The people? Do you really believe that? What do you think the people of Pakistan would say to what’s happening-they don’t know anything because of the way Tariq and his goons have the papers terrified. Our duty is to Pakistan and its people-not Illahi.’

  `So what do you suggest-a coup? Come on, for better or for worse, we’re in the middle of a war. Any chaos here and we just weaken ourselves further for India.’

  `Shamsher, you’ll be surprised how many officers think like us. And I’m not suggesting doing anything that would give the Indians an advantage. I don’t like them any more than either of you. But we need to be pragmatic. A war like this serves no purpose, except the Emir’s and Illahi’s. Remember, there’s a very thin line between mutiny and doing what is in the country’s interest.’

  `And Karim, how do we decide where to draw that line.’

  `That’s for us to decide, Shoaib. Personally, for me that line is when we step towards using nuclear weapons. Frankly the way things are going, that’s just a when, not an if.’

  The other two men were silent for a while, and then Shamsher spoke, and Shoaib nodded along, to indicate his agreement.

  `Karim, on that, I’m with you-that line can be the one we choose. Till then however, we do not flinch a bit in carrying out our professional duties in prosecuting this war. Any weakness on our part now would weaken the nation, and we would just have given the Indians an opportunity to hurt us.’

  `Yeah, let’s finish quickly and catch some sleep-we all have a war to fight.’

  ***

  Jim Lafferty was getting impatient with his advisors.

  `Listen, guys-you’ve been sitting here day after day, all week, telling me what’s happening in the Indian subcontinent-but not what we should be doing. I don’t want a goddamn live commentary-I want some real advice.’

  The Secretary of Defense, John Whitewater, answered. A career military officer, he shared his President’s disdain for what he too perceived as America not doing its rightful bit.

  `Mr. President, the way things are going-I see one side or the other escalating to nukes. We need to do something now.’

  `Come on, John, we’ve been through that before. We do anything and the Emir just ends up being even more popular than before-and we just have a few more fanatics at our throats’, Bill Winters, the Secretary of State countered.

  `Come on, Bill, we all know that sooner or later, we’ve got to take the Emir out, if not now, then within the next ten years. He’s just waiting to hit us, probably by choking oil supplies. My guess is, he’ll grab a few nukes first-that’s probably all he’s waiting for. Doing it now just makes him look like a rogue and the whole West, not to mention Japan and Russia, will step on him. He’s building up his support base. He talks of another Crusade, and I believe that’s what he actually is leading up to. You guys know we’ve tried taking him out before-missile strikes, even a few failed covert missions. That bastard’s just too smart. Never moves by day, always changes locations and so on. If we have a chance now, let’s hurt him bad.’

  `That’s exactly my point too. We do anything and Illahi gives him a few nukes, and we just precipitate the whole thing.’

  Lafferty was watching his two senior advisors spar. He knew they were the best guys on his team, and each had a point, but he also knew that the US could no longer just keep sitting on the sidelines.

  `Guys, this is all great debate, but the fact is our satellites show Pakistani troops massing for a ground attack in Kashmir. With the highway closed, the Indians are bound to try and airdrop reinforcements to their troops in, what’s that place called again?’

  `Uri’, Bill helped him out.

  `Yeah,Uri. And with those F-15s and AWACS around, they’ll have a bitch of a time’, Whitewater completed the sentence as he saw an opportunity to get the President on his side.

  That seemed to set off a spark in the President’s head, `You know, John, it doesn’t make for very good press either-American planes being used against a democracy by forces working for the Emir.’

  `Sir, what do you suggest? We can’t just start lobbing Tomahawks into Islamabad?’ Winters wasn’t going to give up so easily.

  `I have an idea. We don’t need to fire a single shot.’

  Everyone turned to look at Whitewater.

  `Sir, all our E-3s that we sell to foreign nations can be, uh, made to fail. Given their awesome potential, we’ve always been wary of what would happen if one fell into the wrong hands.’

  That got Lafferty’s attention immediately.

  `Tell me more.’

  `Sir, the E-3 is just a slow converted passenger plane except for its electronics. And those depend on computer chips. Over the years, we have tried various means of inserting what we call `Trojan Horse’ viruses-which we can set off if need be. These would effectively shut down all processing power on the plane’s computers. Of late, we have gotten more developed versions where we can actually create false data, but the Saudi AWACS have the first generation systems-still, should be good enough if we need to use them.’

  `Well, what do you guys think?’ Lafferty’s body language said that he had pretty much already made up his mind, but he still wanted his inner circle to back him up on such a big move.

  ` Saudi Arabia was an ally, its not one anymore. We just didn’t believe we would have to do this. Let’s just do it. Just make sure our involvement is not obvious.’

  `And another thing, I want a contingency plan in place if Pakistan tries to use its nukes. I hate to step in and mess up the already delicate balance in the region, but we cannot sit around when people start lobbing nukes around.’

  `With pleasure, Sir.’

  ***

  `There he goes again. Sir, I swear I got him.’

  Ramnath smiled down at the young sonar operator. He knew the kid was doing a fabulous job of tracking what was probably one of the Pakistani’s best sub skippers. He had been stalking the Indian fleet for over ten minutes, and the Indians had not been able to get a firm fix on his position.

  `Send another bird up. This guy’s in a real mood to play hide and seek.’

  A Sea King helicopter took off from the flight deck of the Vikramaditya to join the two helicopters already on the hunt. The Indian choppers had deployed dipping sonar, skipping from position to position to try and get a firmer fix on the sub.

  `There! I’ve got him!’

  Ramnath ran over to the sonar operator, `Calm down, son. Now’s when you’ve got to keep your calm. Yeah, we’ve got him all right. Range?’

  R
amnath looked at the screen, which besides indicating data from the ship’s own hull mounted sonar, was also down linking data from the Sea King’s sonar.

  `Thirty kilometers, Sir.’

  `Close enough to launch. Probably wants to be sure of a kill.’

  `Sir, he’s turning around to the far end of the convoy!’

  Ramnath grimaced. This was one tough bastard. He had probably realized that he had been detected, and was making for the far end of the task force, which was the least defended. He had done a good job of figuring out the task force’s defenses. The near end had the Vikramaditya, defended by fewer, but more capable ships, the Delhi and the Godavari. The far end had more ships, but they were considerably less capable. The Pakistani captain now wanted a sure kill, and was making for the area where he would have the most targets, and the easiest ones to hit. Ramnath knew that he was dealing with a thinking soldier-not just one who would blindly wade in at the Indian carrier, as several other subs had done, but would carefully evaluate where to strike.

  The Sea Kings were now on top of him, dropping sonobouys and depth charges hoping to force him to the surface. But he held his course.

  At a range of twenty kilometers, the Pakistani submarine fired four Exocets.

  One of the Vikramaditya’s Sea Kings noticed the exact spot of the launch and dropped two depth charges. The charges exploded just meters from the submarine’s hull. The Agosta sank with no survivors. Later Ramnath would wonder just how desperate the Pakistanis were that they were willing to sacrifice their best assets on such attacks which, even if successful, gave the attacking platform a low probability of escape. Such desperation was dangerous, especially when the adversary in question had close to a hundred nuclear warheads.

  The four Exocets were now less than ten kilometers away and homing in on the Indian ships. The Delhi had fired a salvo of Trishuls, and the Godavari fired a brace of older and less capable SA-N-4 missiles. Two of the Exocets were hit but the others homed in on the light frigate Kuthar.

  The Kuthar had anti-aircraft defenses puny in comparison to the Delhi but got off two Trishuls before the missiles hit. One Exocet was hit a hundred yards out and exploded without causing much damage. The other, however, hit the Kuthar just below the bridge. The missile penetrated several feet into the ship’s hull before the warhead exploded.

  Ramnath cringed at the explosion and when the smoke had cleared, he raised his binoculars to see a gaping hole in the side of the Kuthar. The ship was listing slightly to port and he could see several sailors in the sea.

  `Get some choppers out there to pick up the guys in the water! And try and raise the Kuthar on radio.’

  `Sir, the Captain’s dead. So is half the crew. A petty radio officer is on the radio-and he’s nearly hysterical.’

  Ramnath took the radio.

  `Son, what’s your name?’

  `K….Kishore, Sir. Sir, everyone’s gone-the captain….’

  `Relax, son. We’ll get someone there immediately.’

  Two Sea Kings left the Vikramaditya, filled with medical personnel and a crew to handle the stricken ship.

  The ship could probably just make it back to the nearest port, but had suffered over 50 dead. The remaining 30 odd crewmen were all wounded or in shock. A ten man emergency crew from the Vikramaditya flew over to nurse the ship back to port.

  Ramnath retired to his cabin, drained. He knew casualties in war were inevitable, but it was always tough when they actually happened.

  ***

  FOURTEEN

  If the enemy leaves a door open, you must rush in.

  - Sun Tzu

  The Flight Lieutenant in charge of the E-3 was beginning to get bored. The inside of the converted Boeing 707 resembled something out of a science fiction movie, with computer screens and sensors all around. The E-3 needed a full crew of 16 to man and monitor all its equipment. Two Saudi E-3s had flown in to help the PAF, and at any given time, one was aloft in the skies over Kashmir. With its powerful radar, the E-3 could detect any Indian aircraft well over three hundred kilometers away.

  So far this had been a relatively quiet day. Only two Indian aircraft had been detected flying towards the border but had turned back when the AWACS had directed PAF fighters towards them. Though he had now been flying on the E-3 for over two years, the young officer never ceased to marvel at the power of its technology. A single AWACS could control an air battle involving hundreds of fighters over an area of over a thousand square kilometers. In addition, its powerful jammers and ECM equipment could defeat most enemy radars. He could just about `see’ the Indian AWACS, two hundred kilometers away and flanked by four fighters.

  He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down. Three more hours to go before he could get some much needed shut-eye while the other AWACS took over control of the air battle.

  `Sir, multiple contacts!’

  He rushed to the radar operator’s chair and stared in fascination at the screen that was fast filling with contacts.

  `Twenty two, twenty three, twenty five!’ the excited radar operator was counting at the top of his voice. The officer snapped at the operator, `I can count! Give me their likely heading.’

  Suitably chastened, he made a few quick calculations, `Sir, they’re doing three hundred knots, bearing one six four. No radar emissions as of now. They’ll be bang over Uri in twenty minutes.’

  `Three hundred knots. Doesn’t sound like they’re attack aircraft….’. Before he could complete his sentence, realization dawned on the PAF officer.

  `What are the nearest assets we have aloft?’

  `Sir, we have four F-15s on CAP just east of Uri. They just took off, so they’re fully loaded. We also have four Airguards at Abbotabad on ready.’

  `Vector the Eagles to an intercept solution, and get those Airguards up immediately!’

  ***

  Colonel Rang Singh Thapa hated flying-it always made him feel powerless. On the ground, things were much more under his control. He had his rifle and knife to fight, and if need be, his legs to run. Up here, he was completely at the mercy of these bloody pilots. But he had long gotten used to it. As the commanding officer of the 5th Battalion of the Indian Paracommandos, he had come to accept aircraft as a means to get him to the enemy faster. It was an uneasy truce that had worked for five years. He and his four hundred and fifty commandos were being flown to be dropped over Uri by twelve An-32 transports.

  The Paras were the closest equivalent the Indian Army had to Special Operations Forces in the way the US Army had its Rangers. The Indians had small special units like the National Security Guard for dealing with hostage rescues etc, but for large-scale infantry operations, the Paras were the cutting edge.

  Clearly the Air Force isn’t taking any chances with this one, thought Thapa as he caught occasional glimpses of the escorting fighters. Twelve MiG-29s and Su-30s were hovering nearby, to tangle with any PAF fighters that got in the way.

  Thapa looked at his watch. Five more minutes. Looking around at the forty troops in his plane, Thapa saw a couple of the younger soldiers trying to crack jokes, following them with their own nervous laughter. The more experienced troops were still and quiet, occasionally checking their weapons and equipment.

  ***

  `Sir, the F-15s are now only eighty kilometers away from the Indian planes. Their RWRs indicate that the Indian fighters are tracking them. The Airguards are twenty kilometers behind. We’ve scanned the radar transmissions-those twelve bandits are the transports’, the radar operator indicated by jabbing at the screen with his fingers.

  The Flight Lieutenant was always reminded of the video games that he played as a child whenever he looked at the screens on the E-3. The Indians were approaching at a steady 300 knots, and were represented by twelve arrow-like symbols on the top right hand corner of his display. Uri was marked by a dot in the center. Rapidly approaching from the left were the PAF fighters.

  `What kind of fighters?’

  `Eight Fulcrums, four
Flankers.’

  `Whoa, those fighter jocks are going to have their hands full. Let’s do them a favor. Begin jamming the Indian radars and give our friends in the Eagles the best vector to get at the transports.’

  `Jamming initiated, Sir.’

  With odds of twelve to eight, the Indian fighters had an edge, even though four of the Pakistani fighters were AMRAAM equipped F-15s. However, with their radars scrambled by the E-3s powerful jamming suite, the balance would shift rapidly in favor of the PAF fighters.

  The PAF officer commanding the AWACS was intently watching the two groups of planes merge on his radar screen. Any moment now, the F-15s would let loose with their AMRAAMs. It had already been agreed that the first targets were to be the transports.

  Then without warning, the radar screen went blank.

  `What the hell is going on!!’

  The radar operator was fiddling madly with all the controls in front of him. He had no idea what had just happened.

  The officer looked at the others. It was the same story at all the consoles. The radar, ECM and jamming systems were all not working. Now the E-3 was just another big transport aircraft-and an easy target for any fighter pilot worth his salt.

  `Get us out of here! The fighters will have to fend for themselves.’

  ***

  The IAF fighters were temporarily disoriented with the powerful jamming, but then something miraculous seemed to happen. The E-3 seemed to have turned it’s radar off and was turning away.

  Now it was the Indian AWACS turn. Not as sophisticated as the E-3, it could still make a big difference on the battlefield. It began to vector the IAF fighters into positions where they would have the best chances of scoring kills. Two MiG-29s went straight after the E-3 while, except for two that stayed behind with the transports, the others peeled away to attack the PAF fighters.