Fenix Read online

  In this he was not alone. Pakistan was being driven to war by its jihadist momentum. There was no way to stop that ball from rolling. But the Indian response was paralyzed by the top leadership’s inability to face this new threat head on. The PM’s inability to make his stand for his nation was no longer of concern. The war was already in motion. And the service chiefs, RAW and others in the cabinet had surmised the same.

  But what was needed was what was known as the “higher-direction-for-war”. Without planning a clean outcome of a war, the end result was always a bloody slugfest of attrition battles with no clear winner. The Pakistani army was no pushover. Propped up by irregular mujahedeen and other mercenaries, and aided by the Indian losses in the China war, the balance of forces was more in Pakistan’s favor than what the Indian military would have liked. And like sharks sensing blood, the Pakistani Generals were pushing for a fight…

  “You see these tanks, Bafna?” Basu said, holding up the satellite imagery taken just hours before. “Where do you think these are headed? Hmm? Do you think Islamabad is looking for a peaceful resolution here?!”

  There was no arguing the evidence, and Bafna had no response that could override the facts. Basu moved in for the kill: “when these armored columns go over the border on a time and place of Pakistan’s choosing, I would love to hear from you about my supposed insolence in this room. In the meantime, we have a war on our hands!”

  The PM bypassed any defense of his senior party member and left-hand man, and turned to Potgam: “what is our readiness to handle a Pakistani attack?”

  “We are getting there,” Potgam said. “But there is no strategic advantage to be had now. They have been mobilizing across the board for a week. And we are only now responding. We can probably match them at the border with air-strikes to slow down their preparations. I suspect they will attempt to do the same to us soon. Apart from defeating the momentum of their army, we need to know the larger objective here if we want to ensure that this doesn’t turn into a quagmire.”

  “What do you recommend, General?” Bafna asked.

  “That, sir,” Potgam said flatly, “is your job.”

  The room was silent for several seconds. Ravoof looked around and saw that the PM and the Bafna had missed the obvious objectives of any military action against Pakistan under the current circumstances. It surprised him no end that he, of all people, had to remind them about it…

  “I would imagine,” Ravoof noted finally, “that one of the objectives should be to capture or kill the senior ISI leaders behind the Mumbai strike.”

  “General Haider?” Bafna asked, surprised.

  “Of course.” Ravoof replied.

  “Can we even do that?” The PM asked. All eyes turned to Basu, who was just as surprised at how Ravoof had seemingly gotten him legitimate orders for something that he was already prepared to do without orders.

  “We can.” Basu replied after a few seconds. “We are keeping a close eye on Haider. He and his men are organizing the jihadist units into combat groups in Lahore. At least, that’s what we think he is doing. The other ISI commanders will need more effort to locate. They will most certainly be embedded with General Hussein.”

  “And how do we propose to eliminate these men?” Bafna asked.

  “We send a few precision-strike cruise missiles into their command centers!” Potgam replied sharply, causing Basu to turn around and face the Army commander.

  “Or,” Basu added, “we send in a special-warfare team to grab Haider in Lahore and bring him back here, alive.”

  “Inside Lahore?” Potgam thundered. “Have you lost your mind? I am not sending my men that deep behind enemy lines to try and capture that man! A missile strike is clean and precise…”

  “…but for which we won’t know exactly where the target is!” Basu interjected. “Look, you need eyes on the ground regardless. Once we locate the bastard, you can take him out with a goddamned missile! Or half dozen missiles for that matter!”

  “Also,” Ravoof added, “bringing someone like Haider on trial, alive, has its own merits! He should be tried as a war-criminal, not a martyr!”

  “These are semantics I can ill afford to delve into, sir!” Potgam replied. His voice had that effect of dominating a room that few in his posts before him had managed in a long time. “This is a war we are talking about, not a public court!”

  The PM leaned back in his chair: “General, I want this man Haider to pay for his crimes. Find him. Capture him if you can. But kill him only if there is no other choice. I want his head on a platter for what he has done.”

  “Sir,” Potgam continued his lonely battle, “you do understand that Haider is a Leftenant-General in their army? He is not likely to work alone on anything. At the very least, he had the blessing of Hussein and other commanders at Rawalpindi. You know where that buck stops! They won’t let him be taken alive!”

  “You might be surprised at what we can do, General.” Basu noted neutrally. Potgam shot him a glance but said nothing. He knew what Basu was referring to.

  “Very well.” Potgam said in concession. “I can see when the decision has already been made. You gentlemen can bring your plans to me on Haider when you have them. In the meantime, I have an enemy to fight at the border! But I warn you now: plans to kill or capture Haider that depend on allocation of precious military resources under my command leaves me with the final veto authority. If I see a senseless or reckless plan involving capturing that bastard, I will choose to lob a few missiles and kill the bastard rather than risk my men. Is that acceptable to you all?”

  “Understood, Warlord,” the PM nodded politely. “That was your call-sign in Bhutan, yes?”

  Potgam smiled as he got up from his desk:

  “It still is, sir!”

  ──── 20 ────

  The fog made things impossible to see. Visibility was down to near-zero. And what should have been a short flight by helicopter had devolved into a long, bumpy ride by truck convoy…

  “Goddamn it!” Pathanya picked up his flashlight that had fallen to the bed of the truck as it had braked suddenly to avoid hitting the truck in front. Despite full beams, the drivers could only make out a few meters in front of them. The only thing that pierced the fog were the red brake lights. And when one vehicle braked, it caused a ripple effect all along the axis of the convoy. It made for a bumpy and patently uncomfortable ride.

  Kamidalla got up from his seat whilst holding on to the rails on the roof and whipped the back flap of the truck cover aside. Nothing to see. Just the barely discernable outline of the next truck behind them highlighted by its headlights and a reddish-orange horizon to the east. Kamidalla checked his wristwatch while balancing himself. Seven-thirty hours. And they still had not made it to their staging areas southwest of Amritsar. The location they were based at was a hotbed of army activity, near as it was the international border with Pakistan a few kilometers away. And just west of there was the major Pakistani city of Lahore.

  Lahore was the prize the Indian army units in this sector were clamoring for. The city was a major enemy hub and was currently working as a collection-center for extremists and jihadists, who were also expecting the fight. The civilians in the city were evacuating in droves to the west while truck convoys herded terrorists and self-declared Mujahedeen into the city. Their aim was to turn the city and its outskirts into a fortress.

  On the Indian side, three large Corps were moving into jump-off positions. Nine divisions of armor and infantry were poised to strike hard and heavy into Pakistan with the aim of isolating Lahore from the rest of Pakistan. Lahore was a price that General “Warlord” Potgam had instructed his commanders to aim for. The idea was to force the Pakistani army into a fight they couldn’t ignore. Potgam couldn’t care less whether he captured the city or nuked it. The idea was to seize the initiative and force the enemy to fight a battle on his terms. The strategic objective was to destroy the ability of the Pakistani army to wage war. The tactical obje
ctive was to bleed it white, one unit at a time.

  All in all, thousands of tanks and armored vehicles were converging into the region from both sides. And it was leading to traffic jams of epic proportions on the roads near the border…

  Pathanya turned his head when he heard the distinct slapping sound of someone banging on the outer skin of the truck. The other pathfinders heard it as well and got up from their sleeping bags spread out on the floor of the truck. Kamidalla leaned around the backside of the truck and then turned to Pathanya: “The boss is here.”

  Pathanya had just enough time to raise his eyebrow before Ansari walked to the back of the truck and looked inside to see his precious cargo still intact. Pathanya and Kamidalla snapped off quick salutes to which Ansari promptly responded before moving on: “gentlemen, this is the end of the line as far as this road trip is concerned. We are breaking off from the main logistical axis now. Get your gear and board the vehicles outside!”

  “Yes sir!” Pathanya grabbed his backpack, rifle and other equipment near his seat. Others in the truck did the same. Kamidalla was the first to jump off the truck with his gear. Pathanya was close behind him. Ansari waved them to the five AXE light-utility trucks standing on the dirt road just off the main highway. It was out here during the early morning daylight that the pathfinders first saw the size and scale of the invasion force Potgam was putting together. The convoy they had been on stretched endlessly for kilometers in either direction. The rumble of fighter jets providing security overhead and the noise of hundreds of vehicles moving men, ammunition and fuel, filled the air.

  Pathanya shared a look with Kamidalla and headed to the parked vehicles with the rest of his men. Ansari slapped on the driver compartment door of the truck and waved for him to move on. The truck engines roared and the convoy moved off again, raising dust and grime off the tar-road.

  “We are about twenty minutes down this path,” Ansari said as the pathfinders stowed their gear on the five vehicles, strapping what they had to on the sides of the vehicles to make space. Pathanya was in the vehicle with Ansari and Kamidalla. As the vehicles moved off, Ansari turned to the back to face the two young officers: “what is pathfinder’s readiness?”

  “Green.” Pathanya replied. “Team strength is still minus one, though.”

  “That’s been looked into,” Ansari replied. “Had to pull a lot of strings to get him out, but he’s ours now. Expect your replacement pathfinder to arrive later today.” Pathanya nodded and kept his peace.

  “So,” Ansari continued, “what do you make of our presence here?”

  “I take it that pathfinder is still on our original mission,” Kamidalla said, “despite all this?” He pointed to the low flying jets overhead and the dust clouds of convoys in all directions around them. Ansari smiled.

  “The game just got bigger, gents. We are going after the really big fish now. General Potgam has pulled out all the stops. We didn’t start this damn business. But he is going to put an end to it. Pathfinder, however, will make sure that the pain is felt all the way to the top!”

  Pathanya cocked an eyebrow. The idea of working on the enemy’s home turf surrounded by thousands of jihadists clamoring for death did not excite him in the least. But he had a job to do. And that was that, really.

  “When is the expected jump-off, sir?”

  “Hours. Latest by tomorrow. Potgam isn’t going to wait around with this massive deployment in the field. Once the logisticians sort out the mess we have going on right now, we are moving off. Pathfinder will deploy a bit later once our target individual has been located. You…” Ansari paused as two Jaguar aircraft thundered overhead, “You all should have some time to prepare your men for what’s coming.”

  “Sir.” Pathanya replied neutrally. He had expected more time to plan any such mission. But wartime contingencies were at play now.

  “I always wanted to go see Lahore,” Kamidalla added with a sheepish smile.

  “You will get your wish, captain!” Ansari replied.

  “What is the problem here?”

  Kulkarni grabbed the side armor panel of the parked Arjun and clambered up on top of the turret. Two of his regiment’s maintenance officers were kneeling next to the long comms antennae. Other maintenance personnel as well as several crews were standing near the vehicle. One of the engineering officers was a Lt-colonel. He got up and pointed to the comms antennae: “this one is broken from yesterday’s maneuvers. You have got to tell your men to be more careful with their maneuvers in the desert. There are patches of hard areas in the sand next to soft ones out here. If you come in too fast, you are liable to break something important on impact. We are lucky this one was just an antennae!”

  “Can you replace it?” Kulkarni asked deferentially. The Lt-colonel nodded and stepped off the turret on to the chassis. “Give me an hour to replace the unit.”

  As the engineering officer jumped off the chassis on to the sand and dusted his uniform, he had one last piece of advice for the young armor commander: “these are tanks, Kulkarni. Not sports-cars. Don’t let your crews forget it.”

  Kulkarni smiled as he looked away from the departing maintenance personnel and towards his crews standing nearby like school-kids waiting to be punished. He jumped off the tank turret as well.

  “Pay attention to what he said,” Kulkarni ordered. “Look for the transition patches in the desert hardness and change your speeds accordingly. If you break your comms, you break contact with the rest of the force. And that puts you out of the fight…or worse. Nothing is more lethal in maneuver warfare than communications. Comms with me, comms with your platoon commanders and comms with your neighboring tanks. These tanks here,” he patted the side of the Arjun tank, “bring an unprecedented level of combat situational awareness to us. But don’t let that get to your head. One mistake and you will pay the price! Is that understood?”

  He got a unanimous “yes, sir!” from his men and so he moved on: “one other thing: these may very well be tanks and not sports-cars, as the Lt-colonel said. But I doubt you will get any closer to a sports-car out here!”

  “Beyond those tents there?”

  “Yes, sir. Take a left beyond the one here and it should be visible.”

  “Thank you.” Captain Vikram “Vik” Taneja grabbed his rucksack from the back of the green-painted Gypsy vehicle and watched the driver head off again on the dirt track towards the main road. He looked around and saw a special operations unit getting ready for war. But it wasn’t just these men here. All through the drive from Amritsar, it had been a similar story. Vikram had seen the exodus of civilians fearing the worst, the massed convoys of army vehicles pouring in and the skies overhead shaking with the thunder of jets of all shapes and sizes. The country was holding its breath to see what happened next. And perhaps the world did as well. The news reports on television and radio were teeming with talks of frantic last-minute diplomacy as well as attempts to get both sides to back down.

  But the war was taking another kind of toll on Vikram. Standing here with a rucksack over his shoulder, he had mixed feelings of what it all represented. The place looked similar to the earlier setup he had once seen in the northern hills in the state of Uttar-Pradesh, three years ago. Similar wartime environment. Similar staging areas for forces being prepped to enter Bhutan as part of what had then been the “Joint-Force-Bhutan” under Lt-general “Warlord” Potgam.

  Hell, they even managed to match the gloominess and the fog here!

  Vikram sighed. That operation had ended in disaster for him and his small team. Following two weeks of near-continuous combat and the Chinese nuclear-strike on Barshong, Vikram and the other team member had carried Pathanya down the frozen peaks to the south where they had been rescued after a few days.

  They had managed to survive that war. But many others hadn’t. The Indian paratrooper community had paid a heavy price in Bhutan. And the scars were still there. For Vikram, it represented a baptism by fire, being a newly commissioned lieuten
ant at the time. Since the termination of hostilities, however, the psychological scars had begun to grow. When the King of Bhutan had pinned on him and his two colleagues, the royal ribbon of “The Thimpu Shield”, it had brought him to tears. A mental threshold had been broken and it had taken Vikram a year of counseling with the army’s psychologists to recover. And he had almost failed to clear their requirements to be allowed to serve again. In the time since, he had recovered to his original physical capabilities and more, but had left his enthusiasm for war alongside the graves of his colleagues on the icy slopes in Bhutan.

  Vikram decided that it was time to get on with it. He walked past the tents where he recognized some of the operators from the SOCOM staff. He finally made it to the set of tents beyond a rather candidly marked wooden sign, stuck into the dirt track that said: “Warriors of 1ST Bat, Para”.

  Home.

  Vikram smiled and shook his head as he tried to figure out who was behind that signboard. One of his former classmates, he was sure. The tent in the center was marked as headquarters so he headed in, pushing the flap of the tent aside as he walked inside. He saw a tent filled with activity as soldiers and officers milled past. Banks of radios filled the side and maps stuck to boards filled the room. He saw a group of solidly-built paratroopers standing around a map board. He noticed a man from his past just as soon as that man noticed him…

  “Vik!” Pathanya said as he put down the images he held in his hand and walked to greet his old friend. “You made it!”