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

  Most disturbingly, the new Saudi regime had aligned strongly with Pakistan’s cause in Kashmir, and there were reports of financial support to the terrorists in Kashmir. The Emir had often spoken of supporting fellow Muslims in any armed struggle, and now India was faced with the real possibility of Saudi armed intervention.

  When the others left, Khosla turned to Joshi.

  `Your friend the Patriot is awfully quiet.’

  Joshi wiped his forehead before answering. Khosla had initially found this mannerism very disconcerting, but over time had come to accept it as another of Joshi’s idiosyncrasies.

  `Sir, I think he’s close to finding out something concrete. His last transmission indicates that he may be on the verge of getting some solid info. I’ll keep you posted.’

  `Joshi, he better deliver now. We’re literally walking blind. Illahi has already sprung several surprises on us, and I’m getting a bit sick of it.’

  ***

  EIGHT

  When the flag is unfurled in battle, all reason is in the trumpet.

  - Ukrainian proverb

  Sonaina was shocked when she entered the dining room. She had gone out to the shop on the base to buy some things, while Singh had stayed behind.

  The dining table was covered with an embroidered tablecloth and had a decanter with a bottle of champagne in it. Singh was standing beside the table, a single red rose in his hand. He had a shy grin on his face. She knew well that this was about an extravagant show of emotion as he could have ever mustered.

  `Happy anniversary, darling.’

  Sonaina began to say something, but then just ran over to him and hugged him, `Thanks, this is wonderful.’ She tried to say something more, but was stopped by Singh’s kiss.

  As they sat down with a glass of champagne each, she sensed that Singh was unusually tense.

  `Nuts, what’s wrong, there’s going to be war, isn’t it?’

  `Looks like it, the way things are going.’

  Sonaina got up and walked quietly to the window. From there she could catch a glimpse of a brace of fighters taking off for patrol duty over the Ambala base.

  `What’s wrong, Sonaina?’

  `Nothing.’

  `Look Sonaina, let’s not spoil this evening. I’m a fighter pilot-war’s part of the deal. If a war does break out, I will be flying in combat. It’s what I have been trained for all these years-and it’s what my duty is.’

  `I know it’s just that….’

  Singh walked up to his wife and held her shoulders.

  `Hey, don’t worry-nothing’s going to happen to me-I’m the best.’

  Sonaina turned around and looked into his eyes. She knew him far too well not to realize just how tense he really was about the whole thing. Knowing that she could lose the man she loved so much in a split-second made her cherish what she had all the more. She wished she could just hold him like this forever, but part of her remembered what her mother had told her. Sonaina’s father had been in the Army, and as he left for a tour of duty in Kashmir, her mother had told her, ‘Every soldier is scared, but can act despite his fears because he knows others count on him-the men next to him, and his family back home. You are a part of his unit, whether you realize it or not. Just as your father’s fellow soldiers wouldn’t ever show weakness, I can’t either.’

  Back then, Sonaina hadn’t thought much of it, but now she wished she could be as brave as her mother. The phone’s ringing interrupted them. Singh walked over to the phone and lifted the receiver.

  `Yes Sir, I’ll be there immediately.’

  Singh rushed into the bedroom. Sonaina followed him to see him taking out his uniform.

  `It’s begun, hasn’t it?’

  ***

  The CNN reporter was standing in front of what could have passed for a refugee camp anywhere in the world. The same symbols stood outlines of hungry men, women and children; broken down shacks; and a few tents.

  `This is Joanne Crewes reporting from just inside Pakistan Occupied Kashmir from one of the many refugee camps that have sprung up over the last two weeks since the outbreak of communal violence in India’.

  The camera panned to a woman breast-feeding a sickly thin child, and then to an angry looking man who spoke in Urdu. The subtitles said it all, `I have lost everything-my home, my land. Will nobody help us poor Muslims’

  `What was an initial trickle quickly grew to at least a thousand refugees a day crossing into Pakistan Occupied Kashmir, according to the Red Crescent, which is operating here with participation from the Pakistani government and other NGOs. As soon as the communal situation seemed to go out of hand in India, the Pakistan government had announced that they would take care of any Muslim family that wanted to cross the border. And many have taken them up on the offer. Braving rough terrain, trigger-happy Indian security forces, and communal carnage, many families have been arriving at these hastily set up refugee camps, hoping for a better life.’

  The camera panned again to show several trucks, offloading sacks.

  `This is Joanne Crewes signing off from a refugee camp near the Kashmir border’.

  `Miss, your time is up. You must leave.’ The local Pakistani government official-who could remember his designation anyways-had come up.

  `You know, we never did get a look at the far side of the camp. We would like to shoot that as well’.

  `Not possible, Miss. That is sensitive area-where the women’s quarters are-many are scared, some have suffered rape in India. I don’t think it is right time yet for foreigners to intrude. We can go later.’

  Joanne did not press the matter. She had gotten what she needed-some general feel-good stuff to fill in the `human interest’ dimension of the latest crisis in the subcontinent. Now she needed to go and get some beer-damn the camp and damn these crazy people.

  ***

  The four Mi-35 attack helicopters swept low over the hillocks. Heavily armored and packing awesome firepower, the Hinds had for over twenty years formed the backbone of Russia’s helicopter striking might. At this high altitude, their performance was far from optimal. Indeed, more than a decade ago, India had not even been able to use them in the rarefied battlefields of Kargil. The peaks here were not so high-and the IAF had elected to use the Hinds. These Hinds had since then been comprehensively updated with Israeli help-resulting in a hybrid that combined Russian ruggedness and simplicity with advanced Western avionics and countermeasures.

  Their targets were a group of two camps about twenty kilometers inside Pakistan Occupied Kashmir. Satellite photographs had identified these as two of the likely staging grounds for any expected Mujahideen offensive, and MiG-25 recon flights showing a concentration of trucks and rocket launchers over the past two days had confirmed this suspicion.

  Across the border, Indian helicopters and attack planes were flying towards over twenty such targets, hugging the ground to avoid radar detection. Indian fighters flew in lazy circles near the border, ready to jump into the fray if any PAF fighters attacked the choppers before they got to their targets.

  The four Hinds split into two ship elements, each targeting one camp. The two camps were barely five kilometers from each other.

  `Target now four klicks away’

  In the dark, there was very little visible to the naked eye, but the lead pilot could just make out the telltale heat concentrations on his thermal imaging system, which indicated a large concentration of men and vehicles. The green light of his instrument panels cast an eerie glow around the cockpit.

  `Fire on three. Go for the defensive guns first.’ As they closed in, they now had a much better view of the camps, and could just make out the silhouettes of the truck mounted anti-aircraft guns guarding the camps. Refugee camps, my ass. The lead pilot was now almost within range.

  `Three’

  `Two’

  `Fire’

  The night sky was illuminated briefly by streaks of fire as four AT-6 Spiral anti-tank missiles left each Hind, flying at near supersonic speed
towards the camps. The first salvo caught the Mujahideen completely by surprise and knocked out most of the rudimentary anti-aircraft defenses. After this, it was like a Turkey shoot.

  The Hinds overflew the camps once to identify what looked like the juiciest targets, and then wheeled around for their second pass. The second salvo of missiles took out four rocket launchers near the camps. The bewildered Mujahideen began firing wildly in the sky with their assault rifles, most of the 7.62mm bullets bouncing harmlessly off the thickly armored Hinds.

  `Now for the dirty part. Red One cover me, I’m going in for my run.’

  Many of the older Mujahideen soldiers had literally frozen with fright. This attack bought back memories of Hind attacks by the Soviets in Afghanistan. As many of the Mujahideen had said at that time, `We are not afraid of the Russians, but we are afraid of their helicopters.’

  The Mujahideen squad leader picked up his LMG and rushed out, firing at the fast approaching Indian helicopters. It was a brave but futile gesture. The lead Hind emptied its rocket pods-firing 256 rockets in a deadly salvo that could saturate two football fields. By the time the second Hind came in for its run, there was not much left to kill. With over a thousand high explosive rockets hitting the two camps, there was not much place to hide for those on the ground. It was not pretty or fancy, but it did what the Hind was designed to do-deal out sledgehammer blows of death.

  `Let’s go home. The PAF will be up now.’

  The four Hinds regrouped for their dangerous flight back to Indian airspace. They left behind smoldering ruins that marked where the camps had once been. As they left the target area, they could still hear the occasional secondary explosion from hits to ammunition dumps and fuel tanks.

  Two Mirage 5s of the PAF had taken off from a nearby base. Lacking sophisticated night fighting equipment and only rudimentary radar, the Mirages were not exactly top-of the line fighters, but they were the only ones around and would have to do.

  `Shit, we’ve got company.’ The radar warning receivers on the Hinds had just lit off.

  The lead pilot looked up at the night sky, trying to catch a glimpse of their attackers when a streak of light off to the port side caught his attention.

  `Missile away, missile away. Evasive maneuvers!’

  The bulky Hinds jinked and dove for the ground as an AIM-9 Sidewinder streaked towards them.

  `We’re dead now!’

  The Indian helicopter pilots breathed a collective sigh of relief as the missile missed and hit the ground. Even the sensitive seeker of the American designed missile had been fooled by the combination of defensive flares the Indian Hinds had discharged and interference from ground clutter.

  The Indian pilots looked up, searching for their attackers and saw two dagger shaped planes diving after them, belching fire from their cannon. They braced themselves, cursing the heavy armor and bulky build of the Hinds, which while offering superlative protection against small arms fire, meant that the Hind was one of the least maneuverable aircraft flying.

  A split second later, the Mirages were snuffed out of the sky, exploding in fireballs as if they had been swatted away by a giant unseen hand.

  `Red squad, this is Eagle flight, you’re clear. Come on home. Good job on the bases.’

  The pilot spoke over the radio to the other Hind pilots, `I don’t know about you, but I’m never going to make any jokes about those fighter jocks again.’

  Eagle was the call sign for a pair of MiG-29 Fulcrums covering the escape of the Hinds.

  ***

  Khosla was feeling distinctly uneasy about the upcoming meeting. Though nearly ninety now, Tarapore still wielded considerable influence and could literally decide the fate of Khosla’s government. With several seats in parliament, Tarapore’s party commanded a lot of influence in Khosla’s coalition, with many of Khosla’s ministers having started their political careers with Tarapore.

  The aging patriarch walked in with an amused expression on his face. As usual, he was dressed in a spotless kurta pajama with a red shawl draped across his frail shoulders.

  `So Vivek, why do you have this old man flown down? I hope all is well.’

  `Yes, Taraporeji, please have a seat. You may have heard about the strikes in Kashmir. Looks like we’re heading for war again.’

  `I read about it-great work. I have been saying for years that we should throw those dogs out of our land. But why do you want to see me?’

  `As you’re probably aware, the riots are doing our cause a whole lot of damage internationally, and also tying up reserves. If it comes to war, we’ll need all the troops we have at the front, not in our cities. Also the only real way to ensure many Islamic countries don’t side with Illahi is to convince them that we have things under control.’

  `I agree completely. These Muslim terrorists are causing great havoc.’

  Khosla’s patience snapped, as he got up. The pent up tension of the past few days and the revulsion he had felt on seeing the tape Pooja had given him now exploded with a fury.

  `Let’s cut the crap, okay. You know that only the initial strikes were by terrorists-they wanted to provoke you and your thugs-and you played right into their hands.’

  Stunned by this outburst, Tarapore took a long time before composing himself and answering. When he spoke, it was with a calm assurance and confidence.

  `Vivek, you have much to learn yet. You are in power because of us-so don’t bite the hand that feeds you.’

  `You really believe that? God, I almost feel sorry for you. How do you think the people would react if the full extent of your involvement in these riots became known? I may lose my office-but you would be finished!’

  Tarapore’s expression was now even more smug.

  `Vivek, everyone cries themselves hoarse about these riots-and our supposed role in them. How come nobody ever has any concrete proof?’

  `You want proof? Here, watch this tape!’

  Tarapore sat down, unable to speak, as the tape played out in front of his eyes.

  `Vivek, I….I had no idea that Vinay would go so far..’

  `I don’t care what you thought. I’ve had enough of this. Call off your thugs-or I go public with everything I know.’

  `But….I can’t…’

  Tarapore’s confident demeanor had now disappeared. What was left was the frightened old man that he really was.

  Khosla glared down at Tarapore, who was now gripping the arms of the sofa, as if they could in any way support him.

  `I get it. You really are pathetic-you’re afraid you won’t be able to control Sethi. Well, then I’ll just have a word with him and deal with him myself. But I want to make my expectation clear, you’ll issue a public statement condemning some of your party members for inciting the riots, and assure the people that you’ll do everything possible to control the violence now. If I hear of any more of your people being involved in the riots, I’m sending the army after you and your goons. Those goons may think they’re tough butchering unarmed women and children. I’d like to see them react to the business end of an Army commando’s knife.’

  `Vivek, you’re making a mistake.’

  `Just call it off-now.’

  As the old man walked out, Khosla sat down quietly. He could hear his heart beating loudly and waited for a long while to compose himself. It had been a long time since he had lost his temper like that. He knew that he had probably destroyed his political career. He knew many in his party would question his decision and he would have virtually no chance of leading his party again. Yet, he felt satisfied. As a young man, he had harbored idealistic visions of what he would do in politics, only to see all of them shattered over the years. Now was probably his last chance to make up for all those lost years.

  ***

  Tariq was standing before Illahi, and his expression said it all.

  `Well, what’s up, Tariq? Why are you standing there as if you’ve seen a ghost?’

  `Sir, the Indians have hit our bases in Azad Kashmir.’


  Illahi winced and put down the cup in his hand.

  `The bastards have more balls than I thought. How bad is it?’

  `The freedom fighters put up a brave fight, but the Indians overwhelmed us with their helicopters. We’ve taken high losses in the North and South. In the Central zone, we seem to have gotten away lightly-we got warning from observers on the ground in Kashmir and our people were able to disperse and take cover.’

  `And what was our Air Force doing with its shiny toys?’, Illahi glared at Karim.

  Karim bristled at the public rebuke. But one thing he was not going to stand was to have the competence of his officers and men questioned, that too in front of a roughneck like Tariq, who was more of a thug than a professional soldier.

  `Sir, the only fighters around were Mirages and Airguards. Both are not exactly top of the line fighters now, and they were easy meat for the Indian MiG-29s and Mirage 2000s. We lost seven fighters, and got two or maybe three Indian ones. As I had already discussed with you, we decided not to commit our F-16s given our critical spares situation and held them back for defense of strategic targets.’

  Illahi did not seem to mind Karim’s talking back to him. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. A twisted grin came over his face as he turned towards Karim.

  `Well, that will change soon, Karim. I’m activating Project Skywatch. That should come as good news to you! Also let’s move on the ground-the Indians may have pre-empted us, but they don’t know the full extent of what we have in store for them. Now the Indians will get a nice surprise!’

  ***

  Raj Deora got up to stretch and ease the knots in his neck and shoulders. With the escalating tensions and the recent air strikes, he expected an upsurge in terrorist attacks in the Kashmir valley. And as the Director General of Police, he was the one man responsible for civil authority. The brief given to him had been simple-don’t let the army get bogged down in civil affairs-we need every man to prepare for a border conflict. That was easier said than done.