Line of Control- A Thriller on the Coming War in Asia Page 26
`Okay, so assuming that we’re dealing with a few warheads, what can we do to counter it?’
Sen took that question.
`Sir, if it is a mobile launcher or launchers we’re talking about, chances of our taking out the launcher before it fires are slim. During the Gulf War, for all their superiority, the Allies could not knock out a single mobile Scud launcher-it’s just too easy to hide and move about. Once it launches, it’s not as bad, but not too good either.’
`If it is a Ghaznavi or a Hatf, as it is likely to be, its a very different animal from the Scud-much faster, and much, much more accurate. Remember, even during the Gulf War, the US had a pretty low hit rate against the Scud with the Patriot. In most cases, they just deflected it away. With a nuke, a near miss is as good as a hit. Now, Delhi and Mumbai are relatively better off. We have S-300 anti ballistic missile systems guarding both and if we are talking of one or two missiles, we should have a fair chance of hitting it.’
`What’s fair?’, Khosla asked.
`Around 50 to 60 per cent.’
Groans went up around the room.
`It’s much worse if we’re talking smaller towns or tactical targets. A Corps, let’s say the XIIth, has a lot of SAMs, but given flight times from any launch point, they’d hardly get any warning before the missile hits them.’
Khosla noticed that he had nearly chewed the top off his pen. He frowned to himself, this was an old bad habit he had been trying hard to kick.
`Thanks everyone. This is what I think we should do.’
Everyone was looking at Khosla. Most were silently thankful that they had not been asked their opinion on how to get out of this mess.
`First, we try and defend. If they do launch a missile, we do everything humanly possible to try and intercept it. Second, we retaliate commensurately. If they hit our troops, we hit theirs, if they hit one of our cities, we hit theirs. Thirdly, we tell all this to them.’
Everyone was too shocked for some time, then Randhawa protested, followed by Raman.
`Relax. We tell them we’re happy they agree to the cease-fire, but our satellites or recon flights have found one of their mobile launchers missing. Let them assure us that all is under control, or the cease-fire does not come into effect. And if they launch a missile, we’ll retaliate in kind. This should also call their bluff, if they are trying something funny.’
***
Karim read the fax that had just come in from the Indians.
`Shamsher, there’s trouble. We better find Illahi or that launcher fast or we’ll be in big trouble.’
The big army man studied the fax with open contempt.
`Can they make out an individual launch vehicle with their damn satellites?’
`I’m not sure. The Americans can read license plates from space. The Indians aren’t there yet. But they’ve been active in the commercial satellite imagery market. Remember that old incident, January 1999, I think. The Americans were bombing Iraq, and needed bomb damage assessment. Unfortunately, they did not have a satellite passing overhead at that time. So they bought Indian satellite photographs. That gave us a real heads up, the Indians could make out at least building sized targets from their satellites. They may just have gotten better in the years since.’
`Or they could be bluffing’, Shamsher had a cigarette out, but resisted the urge to smoke.
`Not a bluff I’d like to call, Shamsher.’
`Yeah, I agree. Let’s find that bastard fast. Where’s Arif?’
`He said he would be checking out the airport now.’
`Yeah, good place to look. Smart guy, that friend of yours.’
`Yup, don’t know where I’d be without him.’
***
TWENTY ONE
The way to win an atomic war is to make certain it never happens.
- Gen. Omar Bradley
Singh’s fighter was steady at 20,000 feet. It felt awkward not flying with Goel, but he knew his makeshift backseater was a good aviator. Moreover, it was only a matter of time. The doctors had finally declared Goel as stable. It would be a long time before he flew again, but it was good to know that he had pulled through.
Tonight, however Singh had other thoughts plaguing his mind. His squadron had been scrambled just over half an hour ago. His plane was part of a massive armada, numbering almost a hundred fighters, which were strung out over the border. It was a momentous effort to keep so many planes flying, and Singh had already heard about two crashes on the radio. The squadron leaders had been briefed on the mission. The others had been told that they were to keep a watch for `intruders’ and shoot them down. Singh knew precisely what he was expected to look for. And the thought sent a shiver down his spine.
Just before taking off, he had called Sonaina. He was of course forbidden to tell her what was going on, but he had wanted to hear her voice. Who knew, it might well be the last time.
He had his main radar on, and was acting as a kind of `mini AWACS’ for the older MiG-21s and 23s. If he picked up incoming missiles, not only would he attempt to engage them, but would also guide the older fighters, which lacked his sophisticated radar, to the missile. This was necessary because though all four Indian AWACS were up, there were still uncovered gaps. Singh knew that if a missile did show up on his scopes, it would be a really tough one to crack. Probably the only fighters in the IAF capable of shooting down ballistic missiles were the Su-30, and to a lesser extent, the MiG-29. Even then, it would be a very difficult shot. The missile would be coming in at over twice the speed of sound. There was no way he would get more than one shot, and making that count would be nothing short of a small miracle. The fact that so much of the IAF’s combat strength was in the air told him just how desperate the situation was.
He kept monitoring his systems for any signs of the missile, or missiles, but kept praying that he would see nothing.
***
`No, be careful, you fool! We don’t need the Pakis to kill us, you’re enough!’
The young soldier who had tripped while handling the liquid propellant drum blanched at the Major’s comment and sheepishly put the container down with a grin on his face. The comment bought nervous laughter from the dozen men around the vehicle.
There was no great danger in what the soldier had done, but the Major thought it would be nice to get his troops in a better mood, if at all that was possible given the circumstances.
As his men got to work on the two vehicles, the Major lit a cigarette and thought just how strange his job was. You spent every working hour slogging your butt off training to do your job the best you could, and every other hour praying that you never had to do it.
He looked at the two vehicles in front of him. They were large wheeled vehicles, developed specifically for this purpose. Each had, in its cab, a small control panel in addition to normal instrumentation expected in a car. The rear had been hollowed out, and modified to carry a single SS-150 Prithvi surface-to-surface missile. The two missiles in front of him were equipped with a single 50-kiloton warhead each, and when he received authorization, would deliver their deadly payload to Karachi and Islamabad respectively.
***
Illahi felt like a petty thief, sneaking out like this. But when he heard of the raid on his house and the attack at Tariq’s office, he was thankful for Abdul’s advice. He was wearing civilian clothes, and a large hat and a pair of spectacles to try and conceal his appearance as far as possible. Abdul too had shed his trademark robe and was dressed in a simple shirt and trouser. They had left in Abdul’s own car, and were headed towards the airport. They were to board a Saudi cargo plane on a routine flight to Jeddah.
They were just about at the airport gate now, and he could see ten heavily armed Mujahideen, who were to ensure that they got to the plane unmolested. However, they were to intervene only if Illahi or Abdul got into trouble. The whole idea was for them to get away unnoticed.
As he stepped out, anyone could have mistaken him for a businessman or executive carrying h
is laptop. The airport was almost empty, with most civilian traffic avoiding this route due to the war.
Illahi and Abdul walked through the gate. The policeman on duty paid them little attention. They had valid tickets, under different names of course, and did not look as if they should merit any special attention. The two walked straight to the Saudia counter and checked in to a commercial flight scheduled two hours later. The formalities over, the two sat down in the lounge.
Illahi tried to read the paper, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t wait to get on the plane and get this over with. He knew that Karim and his men would be looking for him, and he had precious little time to waste.
`Abdul, where the hell is your man?’
`Patience, he’ll be there. His Holiness himself has briefed the crew. I think you can relax now.’
Illahi kept fidgeting for the next five minutes, when a man, dressed in Saudia uniform, approached them.
Before Illahi could say anything, he simply said, `Follow me.’
Illahi and Abdul followed the man past the main immigration desk. The man kept walking briskly, as if he did not know either of the men following him. When Illahi saw him entering the cargo area, he stopped and looked at Abdul.
`Hey, what’s going on?’
Abdul had not seen Illahi so jittery before. He hoped that he would not lose his nerve. If he did, his instructions were clear. Get the codes from Illahi and kill him and carry out the plan himself. Abdul knew that it would be messy if it came to that, and muttered a silent prayer that Illahi would not lose it now.
`Illahi, don’t worry, this is as per the plan. We’ll be going on board with the cargo. There are no passengers on this flight. If we took our regular passenger flight, chances are high that Karim would have it called back once the plan began.’
`Yeah, makes sense.’
In spite of the air conditioning, Illahi found himself sweating and paused to wipe his forehead before following Abdul into the cargo hold. He took off his spectacles to adjust them, and found himself looking at a man in uniform just twenty meters away. He could not place him, but was certain he had seen him before. Well, must have been at some parade or something. He entered the door to the cargo hold and shut it behind him.
***
Arif had been looking around the airport for almost two hours and had begun to give up hope. He had gone to the snack bar to have a cup of coffee when he saw the man moving towards the cargo hold. That’s funny, nobody but crew should be in there. Then the man stopped and seemed to turn his head towards Arif. Arif nearly spilled his coffee as he gaped in surprise at the face of Illahi Khan. He tried to remember whether Illahi would recognize him, and then realized that he was being paranoid. The Prime Minister had no reason to recognize a middle level Air Force officer. As he watched Illahi enter the hold, he saw the small briefcase in his hand.
He knew that he would have very little time.
He had four Air Force Policemen with him. Men he and Karim had specially briefed for this mission. He contacted all four men on the radio and asked them to hurry to the cargo hold.
The men arrived within minutes. All four were very young, the oldest not yet twenty, and despite their attempts to look brave, were clearly terrified. They were hidden behind the snack bar, and had a clear view of the cargo hold. As he briefed the men on what he had seen, one of them spoke up.
`Sir, I was checking the manifests. There’s a special Saudi cargo plane, a Hercules. It’s scheduled for take off in less than half an hour from runway one.’
Arif was so excited he grabbed the young man by his shoulders.
`How does one get from the cargo hold to the aircraft?’
The soldier’s bewilderment was clear.
`S..sir, one doesn’t. I mean, no person goes that way. There’s a conveyor belt that carries the cargo.’
`Can we get there?’
`I don’t think so, Sir. Look!’
As Arif looked on, six Mujahideen, armed with assault rifles came over to the cargo hold, and stood casually by the door, chatting amongst themselves. There was nothing Arif could do, as the Mujahideen enjoyed considerable freedom of movement, and ever since war had broken out, were often called upon to assist civil authorities. Arif shook his head in disgust at the thought that these ignorant and brutal thugs were expected to help maintain law and order.
Arif looked at his watch. Less than twenty-five minutes to go. For all he knew, Illahi was already in the plane. Think, think. He considered the odds. He was carrying no weapon, and the four soldiers just had a pistol each. There was little chance they could get past the Mujahideen. Moreover, if, and that was a big if, and when he did get to Illahi, what the hell was he supposed to do?
He realized the four men were looking to him for guidance, and wished he could just tell them that he had no goddamn idea. He pulled out his cell phone and called Karim’s office.
As soon as Karim answered the phone, Arif rattled off whatever had happened. Karim did not say a single word while Arif finished, almost breathless.
`Arif, I’ll have Shamsher’s men over there immediately. They’ll be there in less than half an hour. In the meanwhile, get the cops at the airport to help.’
`Karim, that’ll be too late. We don’t have that kind of time. And what do I tell the cops? Hello, I need to arrest the Prime Minister? We have no proof he is up to something. You haven’t yet officially taken over power. And we don’t have time to try and convince some dumb cops. No, this is something we’ll have to handle. Now, even if I get to Illahi, what do I do?’
Karim was silent for some time. While taking out Tariq’s HQ had proved easy, gangs of Mujahideen had fallen upon Shamsher’s men, and fierce gun battles had erupted all over Islamabad. Without subduing these, there was no way they could get on with actually taking over power. Finally, he thought of the briefcase that Arif had mentioned and made up his mind.
`Arif, you know how serious this is. Just stop him. Anyway you can.’
`Karim, I need you to confirm. If I have to kill him, is it okay?’
More silence.
`Arif. Do whatever you deem necessary.’
***
Arif took the four soldiers to one side.
`Men, you already know why we are here. It is imperative that we stop Illahi. It’s up to us-we will not get reinforcements in time. Now I need you guys to keep those thugs busy. Don’t do anything stupid-I want all of you alive, but get them away from that door long enough for me to get in. Now you have exactly five minutes to think up something. I’ll go get some stuff.’
Arif walked off towards the bathroom, leaving the four soldiers, none of whom had ever shot at a man before, to consider how they would lure away their six opponents.
Arif walked into one of the toilets and closed the door. He got down on his knees and reached behind the toilet bowl to lift out a small cloth bag that he had bought with him. As the senior officer in the PAF’s Maintenance Wing, he was often called upon to help the civil aviation authorities especially when it came to accident inquiries. He was well known around here, and had not been checked on his way in. However, he had not wanted to risk carrying the bag around and had hidden it here.
He opened the bag to take out a 9mm pistol. He had two magazine clips with him. He inserted one into the gun and chambered a round, and put the other one in his left trouser pocket. The gun went into his right pocket. He took out the remaining contents of the bag and examined it for a while. It looked like a small alarm clock, expect for the thick layer of plasticine like material that padded its back, and the two small wires that ran along the top.
Arif hefted the object in his hands. It was not more than five kilograms in weight, yet he knew the devastation the small package could cause. He set the dial on the clock face to the desired setting and placed the object back in the bag. He then walked out of the bathroom.
***
Arif walked past the four soldiers and without breaking his stride just said `Now!’.
As he sat down at the snack bar, he watched the four men get to work.
Two of them walked ahead past the Mujahideen, who eyed them for a second and then seemed to ignore them. After waiting about five seconds, one man ran after his comrades shouting. The fourth man remained behind the bar.
`Fire! Fire!’
There was thick smoke coming from behind the bar. The bewildered waiters ran helter skelter as fire alarms began to go off. The Mujahideen were not sure what to do, and stood their ground nervously. One of the soldiers went up to the Mujahideen, and spoke to the man nearest to him.
`Are you guys crazy? There’s a fire out there. Get out of here!’
From where they were, the Mujahideen could now see flames as high as a man reaching out from the bar. Reluctantly, they began to follow the soldiers towards the fire exit to the left.
Arif kept an even pace as he approached the cargo hold. There were people running all around the terminal and nobody noticed him in the chaos. He quickly entered the room and closed the door, latching it behind him.
***
The black helicopter flew no higher than twenty feet above the waves. It bristled with electronic equipment and jammers that would render it all but invisible to any prying radars. Its cargo was a squad of ten US Delta Force commandos. It had been on a standing patrol for the last two hours, ever since they had gotten word that the Pakistanis were getting a mobile launcher into firing position.
The Indians had not been the only ones watching out for Pakistan’s missing nukes.
Ever since Ilahi had rejected the cease-fire offer, and especially after the tumultuous events in Islamabad, US satellites and high altitude spy planes had been operating round the clock in search of the missing mobile launcher. With technology that allowed them to read the cover of a small paperback novel from outer space, the US had been carefully cataloguing the locations of all Pakistani mobile missile launchers. It had been a painstaking task, and finally a few covert teams had been inserted to provide `eyes on the ground’.