Line of Control- A Thriller on the Coming War in Asia Page 23

  Shamsher looked at the fancy charts and graphs his staff had prepared. There were tables giving details of attrition, fuel consumption, munitions expenditure and so on. And all of them pointed in one direction-that if the Indians chose to press home the offensive, it would be a matter of days before the Pakistani forces would crumble. The attack in Kashmir had been stopped dead in its tracks, and while the Mujahideen retained some ground, an Indian counterattack to drive them at least back to the pre-war border was inevitable. The battle at Kasur had been a solitary silver lining in the war so far, but it had bled the Air Force dry. To Shamsher the only option that presented itself was a cease-fire. But he knew that ultimately it would not be his data or judgment that would really decide what would happen.

  Karim seemed lost in thought, virtually ignoring the beer mug in front of him. He looked at Shamsher and spoke aloud what he had been thinking of all day.

  `Shamsher, what if Illahi does not go for a cease-fire, even if the Indians offer it?’

  The Army Chief took a long sip of his whiskey and answered.

  `Well, then thousands more of our young men die for nothing. But what I can’t figure out is where does Illahi think this is leading. He certainly isn’t stupid enough not to see the writing on the wall.’

  Shoaib had been toying with the French fries in front of him. He popped one into his mouth and said what was on all three men’s minds, though no one had mentioned it, as if its mere mention was something to be avoided.

  `Do you think he seriously would consider using nukes?’

  Karim shivered involuntarily.

  `Well, I wouldn’t put it beyond him. With that Emir around, anything’s possible.’

  All three men knew that Ilahi’s latest public statement had made a thinly veiled reference to the fact that while India had declared it would not be the first to use nuclear weapons, Pakistan had made no such promises. That was however, not aimed as much at the Indians, as at Islamic states like the United Arab Emirates, whom Ilahi was still trying to drag into the war on Pakistan’s side. Shamsher moved his chair a few inches closer to Karim.

  `Karim, remember the discussion we had at this place?’

  Karim looked at Shamsher and paused for a long time before speaking.

  `Yes, I remember. Do you think its time?’

  `It’s as good a time as any. I say if we wait any longer, it may be too late.’

  Shoaib finished his drink and began to gather his things.

  `Guys, I’ve said before I agree with you on this. But, and I do hope you understand, I don’t want any part of the actual action. I’ve lost my son, and my family is still trying to pull itself together. I don’t want to put them through any more.’

  Shamsher started to get up, as if to restrain Shoaib, but Karim held his hand.

  `Shamsher, let it be. God knows what we ourselves are getting into. I myself have been thinking hard on this-I don’t blame him at all for doing what he’s doing.’

  Shoaib got up and walked out the door. Shamsher laid aside the battle plans his staff had prepared and opened a blank sheet of paper in front of himself and Karim. They were to spend the next five hours drafting out a different kind of battle plan.

  A plan that would decide the continued existence of Pakistan.

  ***

  Illahi had just taken his daily painkillers when the hotline rang. He pushed aside the file in front of him and picked up the phone.

  The voice was unmistakable.

  `Hello, Illahi. I trust that all is going well and we are on track, Inshallah.’

  Illahi was about to give an angry answer, but restrained himself. Shouting at the Emir would be a sure way to bring a swift end to his political career.

  `Your Holiness, we are frankly in a precarious position. We held the Indians at Lahore, but they are now attacking from the South. Without the AWACS and M-1s, I don’t think we can hold out much longer.’

  There was a little pause. Illahi thought he could hear the tinkling of jewelry in the background. He knew the Emir was fond of wearing heavy chains. It was rumored that each was originally an identification tag belonging to an American soldier. The Emir wore one for each enemy soldier he had killed in Afghanistan and Iraq. Illahi found that very easy to believe.

  `Illahi, Illahi. Come on, don’t tell me that you are losing faith.’

  Illahi was instantly on guard. But he found himself talking more freely than he could have thought possible. Maybe it was due to the strain of the last few days, combined with the pent up frustration.

  `Your Holiness, we are really with our backs to the wall. Initially, many things went right, but many did not. We do not have other Islamic brothers rushing to our aid, without the AWACS and M-1s, our forces are badly outgunned, I just don’t….’

  `No more.’

  The words were spoken softly. The Emir did not even raise his voice, but the authority in the words made Illahi break off in mid sentence.

  `Illahi, let me tell you a story.’

  Illahi shuffled uneasily in his chair. He had no idea what was coming. The Emir continued after a brief pause.

  `Many years ago, let’s see-more than five hundred yeas ago, if I remember my history, our faith was engaged in the Crusades. The greatest victory came with the conquest of Constantinople that really broke the back of the Holy Roman Empire. Do you know how that came about?’

  Illahi groped around for the answer. He had never liked History in school.

  `Not really, but I think there was a decisive siege of Constantine’s castle by the Islamic king Mahomet.’

  `Very good, Illahi. Very good, indeed. But it was no ordinary battle. You see, for years, our warriors struggled to break through the walls of Constantinople. But to no avail. Then, something historic happened.’

  Illahi had no idea what the Emir was getting at, but listened without interrupting him.

  `You see, after years of breaking logs and hurling stones against the big walls of Constantinople, Mahomet got a new weapon-an artillery piece devised by a Hungarian engineer-a huge gun, which was justifiably called the super-gun. And after just a few hours of bombardment, the walls came crashing down. Now what does that tell you?’

  Illahi thought it over for a minute.

  `That means that a decisive weapon or tactic is what can really prove to be a turning point in war.’

  `Very good, Illahi. That’s exactly what it means.’

  `But your holiness, we do not have any such breakthrough weapon…….’

  `No, Illahi. There you are wrong. You have a weapon that is to your conventional weapons what the super gun was to the musket.’

  A chill went down Illahi’s spine. He had often contemplated what he would do if it came to this, but had convinced himself that with Saudi military assistance, it would never come to this.

  `Your Holiness, we cannot use nuc…’

  `Illahi, God has given you this opportunity to make a name for yourself in the history of our faith. Why are you so scared at the prospect of using these weapons.’

  `But these are not just any weapons.’

  `Illahi, this is also not just any war. I am not saying you should unleash a holocaust on your people. It is a limited demonstration I am talking of-something that would send a very clear signal out to the kafirs. And Illahi, you will not be seen as the aggressor if you listen to my plan.’

  Illahi listened without asking any questions. When the Emir finished, Illahi had to admit it was a clever plan, but perhaps it was a bit too clever. It was like playing with fire. And Illahi had no intention of getting burnt.

  He said a quiet prayer as he gathered his strength.

  `Your Holiness. It is a good plan….’

  `But what do you have to lose personally. You have no family and just six months to live. Why think so much?’

  It took a while for the statement to register. It had been uttered so casually, so without a trace of emotion, that Illahi found it hard to believe that it had been said at all.

&nb
sp; `I’m sorry, I don’t…’

  The Emir cut him off. His voice was still soft, without a trace of anger or emotion, and that was what made it even more ominous.

  `You know exactly what I am talking about, Illahi. I do not need to repeat myself.’

  Illahi’s heart was pounding, his throat had gone dry. He tried to think of something to say, but was struck speechless.

  The Emir continued, almost reveling in his cruelty. `Let me read from your report. Rare brain tumor. No known cure. Maximum life span two years. That makes less than six months to go. Need I go on?’

  Illahi put down the phone, unwilling to hear any more. He gripped the sides of his chair, his knuckles turning white under the pressure. Just then, the door opened and Abdul walked in.

  `Illahi, I think you should pick up the phone.’

  Illahi picked up the receiver, his hand shaking. He did not even notice that Abdul had clearly been listening in. The Emir continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

  `All said and done, Illahi, I think it is a good deal. A shot at fame and immortality-and the downside? Even if you fail, you will not have to live with it very long. Anyways, if you are still apprehensive about the consequences, you can fly out with Abdul.’

  With that, the Emir hung up. Illahi was still sitting in front of the phone, staring dumbly at it. He could not think of what to do, of what to say. Abdul laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

  `Illahi, now we need to be fearless and focused. I think we need to begin work.’

  ***

  NINETEEN

  Justice without force is powerless, force without justice is tyrannical.

  - Blaise Pascal

  Though the fire had largely died down by now, with nearly a dozen hand held fire extinguishers spraying foam on the tank, the smoke was still overpowering.

  Pooja fell to her knees, unable to walk any closer to the wreck. She buried her head in her hands, not willing to look at the ghastly sight in her front of her. Then she heard a familiar voice shout out, and loud cheers go up from the men around her.

  She looked up to see Chauhan staggering down the side of the tank. His hair was singed, and his face was black from the smoke. He was carrying Rahul, who was slumped over the army man’s shoulders. Chauhan walked a few, unsteady steps before collapsing to the ground. Immediately his men crowded around him.

  Pooja pushed two soldiers aside to see Rahul, miraculously unhurt, sitting up, drinking water offered by one of the soldiers. Rahul looked up and Pooja and winked.

  `Boss, he got me out. I was trapped under another guy-which is why I probably lived long enough for Chauhan to get in.’

  Pooja touched Rahul’s cheek and saw that he was only lightly burnt. `What about the others?’

  Rahul just shook his head sadly.

  She now looked over at Chauhan, who was lying prone on the ground. His left hand looked badly burnt, and his breath coming in jagged gasps. Pooja took a cloth from one of the soldiers, wetting it with water from a canteen.

  She knelt beside Chauhan and began wiping his face clean. Thankfully, his face was not burnt. By now another soldier had bought the first aid kit over and was cleaning and dressing the wound on Chauhan’s hand.

  Chauhan opened his eyes and looked up at Pooja. He spoke with a visible grimace of pain.

  `Is he….’

  Pooja now cradled him in her arms, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  `Yes, he’s fine. Why did you do something crazy like that. What if something happened to you…’

  That question was left hanging as Chauhan took Pooja’s hand in his.

  `I had to do it. Remember, you’re the one who talked about facing one’s fears. Well, I guess I couldn’t have got a better chance.’

  Without even thinking of the fact that she was surrounded by over a hundred men, Pooja stopped Chauhan from saying any more by pressing her lips against his. A second later, she got up, looking visibly embarrassed as she realized what she had done. As she got up and Chauhan was helped to his feet, she heard Rahul talking to a tanker,

  `Now, that is how you treat burns where we come from.’

  ***

  The mood in the NSC was distinctly upbeat. The news of the tank battles had come in just hours ago, and it all pointed to some spectacular progress by the Arjun regiment that was spearheading the charge. But Khosla wanted to do more than just discuss the progress of the war. He considered it much more important to discuss which direction India wanted to take now.

  Which was why he had ensured that all the major decision-makers were present-the Home Minister, Prasad, Joshi-representing the Joint Intelligence Committee, and the three Service Chiefs. With Khosla himself holding the foreign portfolio, all relevant departments were represented.

  Khosla began by asking the Service Chiefs for their assessment of the war and likely Pakistani moves. Randhawa got up to begin the debriefing.

  `Sir, I will divide my presentation into three fronts-Kashmir, Lahore and Multan.’

  He clicked the remote in his hand and a map of Kashmir appeared on the wall.

  `We have secured Uri fully now and as we speak, a reinforced infantry company is being airdropped to supplement the forces already there. In a day or two we will have enough forces to begin a real counterattack. As you can see on the map, the enemy is still some eight kilometers in Indian territory. But these forces, we estimate them to number about 1500 men-a mixture of Mujahideen and regular troops, are in a bad state. We are hitting them almost daily from the air and with long range artillery, and its a matter of time before we can push them back.’

  There were satisfied nods all over. Every man knew just how close it had been. If Uri had fallen, it would have opened up a floodgate.

  `Let’s push them back and take back all of POK.’

  Ram Prasad, the Home Minister, was a man better known for his political histrionics rather than any strategic understanding. He had been subdued for several days after the Ram Sharan episode, but of late had returned to his old bombastic self.

  Khosla looked at the fat man wearing his usual dress of a spotless white dhoti, and shook his head in disapproval. The man thinks international relations are as simple as rigging elections in his home state.

  `Prasad, let Randhawa finish. Then we can get to these matters.’

  Randhawa looked at Prasad with obvious distaste and continued after clearing his throat.

  `Now, coming to the Lahore front. The battle at Kasur was a setback, but on the flip side, in holding our advance, the Pakistanis bled themselves dry. All their Cobras are gone, and the PAF has suffered a body blow. If we attack again, they will not hold. Add to that the northern armored thrust, which is making brilliant progress, and we’ve got them in a real tight spot at Lahore. Give us two days and we can break through to Lahore.’

  `Now further south, our feint towards Multan worked. We probably don’t have enough forces to actually push on, but we can hold any Pakistani counterattack, which looks doubtful enough. Net, we have them against the mat.’

  Sen and Raman nodded as Randhawa concluded his presentation and took his seat.

  Khosla was happy with the detailed briefing and now it was time for the tough bit-taking decisions. He asked the orderly to pass around another round of soft drinks before he began. He wanted everyone to be fresh when they began.

  `As I see it, we have only two broad options. Really go for their jugular and break their back or back off and call for a cease-fire.’

  While the others nodded, Prasad spoke up animatedly.

  `Cease-fire. No way. We have the bastards where we want them. Let’s move for the kill.’

  Sen spoke up. Sometimes Khosla thought he was too cautious, but now he thought some caution was called for.

  `Sir, if we press on, we’re asking for disaster. If the Pakistanis think they’re cornered, the chances of their using nukes goes up. I think we’ve taught them and the Emir a lesson-why overdo it?’

  Randhawa also piped up in support of
his colleague.

  `Plus it will get messy on the ground. We smash their defenses and press on to Lahore, and we’ll be caught in real messy house-to-house fighting. That’s not what we should aim at. I say we go for a cease-fire. But I’d add that we put terms that work to our advantage.’

  As Khosla mulled it over, Prasad made yet another attempt to get his point across.

  `No, no, no. They won’t use nukes. Come on, nukes are for deterrence-that’s what the Cold War was all about. They won’t dare use them. Let’s teach them a real lesson. Hit Lahore, don’t occupy it. Show them we mean business.’

  Khosla thought it over for several seconds and then spoke.

  `I’ve heard all of your opinions and this is where I come out. We offer a cease-fire, calling for an immediate withdrawal of all enemy forces from Kashmir, closure of all training camps and opening them to external confirmation and also ending all support to terrorists in PoK. In return, we’ll withdraw to pre-war lines in the plains and remove our blockade on Karachi.’

  Prasad was about to say something but Khosla cut him off.

  `Now to your point, Prasad. You’re right that the Cold War was all about deterrence-simply because the stakes were too high-an exchange between the Superpowers would wipe out all civilization. Between two small nuclear powers, the stakes aren’t as high. Sure, millions would die, but the world would not end. This has been an established part of nuclear doctrine-that an exchange between two small powers is far more likely than the risk that ever existed of a nuclear war between the US and USSR during the Cold War. Add to that an unstable leadership in Pakistan, and we’re courting disaster.’

  Joshi smiled as the meeting ended. This was vintage Khosla. He would listen to everyone, would assimilate it, and then make up his own mind. Well, Joshi knew that his work was going to increase a lot now. He would need to tap the Patriot more than ever before to figure out what was going on in Pakistan. Plus the special project the Patriot had been working on seemed to still not have yielded any conclusive results.