Fenix Read online

  Not so out here.

  The Thar desert would sap the strengths of his forces. Native water resources would be scarce until they reached their final objective areas in urban terrain. Same went for fuel. Each Arjun tank had enough fuel to take them on a one way trip down the road for two-hundred kilometers. But that was on a road. And there were no roads here. Besides, even if one existed, Kulkarni wasn’t stupid enough to have his tanks roll on them straight into ambushes. No, they would have to stick to the desert. They could not move in straight lines either. Maintaining tactical formations and strategic flanking maneuvers would dramatically eat up the onboard fuel. So would the rough desert terrain and the incessant waiting on combat readiness. Two hundred kilometers of fuel would translate to only a few dozen kilometers of combat maneuvering once the first bullets went over their heads. They would need fuel. And lots of it.

  And that represented the Achilles heel of the whole plan.

  For every tank that would move forward, there would be a dozen supporting vehicles that would be needed to keep them fueled, armed and running. Brigadier Sudarshan’s two Arjun regiments had over a hundred tanks on roster. They would require several-hundred supporting trucks and other mechanized vehicles to keep them in the field. But only half of these were available. The Indian army was not equipped for high-intensity operations, especially those involving deep armor strikes inside enemy territory. The buck kept moving down the chain of command to field commanders like Kulkarni, who had to deal with the consequences…

  “We will load up the external fuel barrels on each and every tank,” Kulkarni continued. “One pair each. They will extend our range. Use that fuel first, but for god’s sake, remember to punch them off at the first sign of combat! The enemy can’t destroy our frontal armor, so they will aim for those exposed fuel barrels! Understood?”

  He got nods from all his officers as they made notes from the briefing. There was a lot to take in. Locations, times, call-signs, radio-frequencies, attached forces, aerial units, artillery, objectives, enemy units, threats and rules of engagement in civilian areas…

  “And water. Stack up as many bottles and cans of drinking water you can scrounge from the supply units. Pile them up wherever you can. Under your seat, on the sides or outside. I want each of your crews to be able to survive in a closed-hatch mode for over forty-eight hours on stretch without passing out for lack of water. Keep your men hydrated at all times. We may encounter significant resistance from the Pakistanis once they start realizing the threat we pose. They will aim for our logistics. Expect to go without being supplied with food or water for extended stretches. I plan to have every available space in my tank lined with bottles of water. I suggest you all do the same.

  “Moving on to nuclear conditions. The supply units outside have trucks pulling up with N-B-C filtration masks and suits for you and your crews. Disperse them and make sure the sizes work for each of your crew. Don’t expect to get adjustments once we move out. No need to wear the suits when we leave, since our tanks will keep us safe inside. But keep them handy in case we have to step out for repair, rearming or refueling work.” Kulkarni noted the looks amongst his young officers. “Questions, gentlemen?”

  One of the captains in the back row of seats raised a hand: “Sir, are we expecting the war to go nuclear?”

  Kulkarni nodded. It was a legitimate concern. Why else had the Brigadier asked him to disperse the individual contamination suits in the field? “The Pakistanis armed their terrorists with a nuclear warhead with the sole aim of leveling Mumbai. Thousands are dead as a result of that failed attempt. Now, nearly a month later, we are preparing to roll over Pakistani soil in thousands of armored vehicles and troops. Of course there is a nuclear threat. Corps H-Q has issued a warning. Expect that threat indicator to climb higher as we pummel over the Pakis. They have nothing to lose.”

  “We are combating savages!” Another officer noted from a corner of the room. “Let them use their nuclear card! These motherfuckers tried to desrtoy Mumbai and kill millions of my countrymen! We will roll over them!”

  “That’s quite enough, gentlemen.” Kulkarni said, bringing the chatter to a halt. He had been quite aware of the low morale amongst many of his men for some time now. Especially those with family or relatives in Mumbai who had been displaced, missing or had been killed in the chaotic aftermath of the tsunami that have struck Mumbai from the offshore nuclear explosion. This was as good a time as any to remind his men of the rules of engagement:

  “I want zero screw-ups once we roll over. We will engage and destroy legitimate Pakistani forces without remorse or regard. But once we reach civilian areas, I want the utmost care and restraint in what you shoot at. I want no revenge attacks! Is that understood?”

  He got a near-unanimous “sir!” from the group. Only time would tell how that order would pan out. He looked at his wristwatch: “we have a two hours before we jump off. Get your men kitted out and your tanks ready. Dismissed!”

  The silence of the room was replaced with the rustle of men as they got up and talked to each other. Kulkarni watched them leave and wondered how many of these men he would bring back, alive.

  Pathanya looked at the heavy backpack he had put together and sighed. It weighed more than him. And that didn’t even include his rifle or the shoulder and thigh-strapped equipment.

  Just get on with it already…He told himself and leaned over to pick up the heavy backpack. He lifted it with a grunt and lofted it over his back. He then picked up his favorite boonie hat and fitted it snugly over his head. The INSAS rifle with the under-barrel-grenade-launcher was leaning on the nearby wooden crates. That was one of the last things he picked up. Until now the magazine had been stowed separate from the rifle for safety reasons. He picked the rifle up and slapped the magazine in but made sure the safety was off. Bringing it up to shoulder level, the red-dot sight came up in front of his retinas. All good.

  When he stepped outside the tent, he found Vikram, Kamidalla and the rest of the pathfinders lined up and waiting. Vikram had his single-ocular night-scope tilted on its hinge above his head. Kamidalla was armed with his preferred Dragunov scoped-rifle whilst the others had a variety of arms with them suited for their specific role. Pathanya nodded approval and waved to the drop-zone in the open field past the tents. The clearing had been leveled by the army engineers with their bulldozers and was now serving as the helipad for the Paras deployed here. Right now it was empty except for two men in berets. Pathanya immediately recognized them both.

  “Pathfinder good to go, major?” Ansari asked.

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  “Excellent.” Ansari checked his wristwatch: “panther is inbound.” Pathanya nodded. Jagat had taken them into Deosai in Pakistani-occupied-Kashmir when they had apprehended Muzammil and eliminated his top lieutenants. Now he was to take them into Pakistan proper. Pathanya could not think of a better man for the job.

  The whipping noise of the helicopter rotors filled the air. Pathanya and the others saw three Dhruv helicopters approaching low from the east. Ansari looked at Gephel who kept his peace. Ansari walked past the pathfinders, holding on to his beret in the rotor downwash. Gephel patted Pathanya on the shoulder as he walked by. No words were exchanged. They didn’t need to be.

  As the helicopters landed on the muddy clearing, Pathanya saw Jagat in the cockpit. He turned to his team and waved them forward. He patted Kamidalla and waved to the second helicopter. He did the same to Vikram and pointed to the third. He headed to Jagat’s bird. Boarding through the side-door, he stowed his backpack inside. A minute later the whine of the rotors increased and the three helicopters of Panther flight dusted off and headed west into Pakistan.

  ──── 23 ────

  Haider patted the shoulder of the driver sitting next to him, gesturing him to stop. The vehicle, and three others behind them, came to a skidding stop on the tar road heading into Lahore. He opened the door and stomped out, angrily slamming the door behind him. H
is adjutant, Major Akram, and other soldiers from his security detail looked at each other for a brief second and then jumped out from either side of the vehicles, running after their General.

  Haider walked up to a soldier walking to him, silhouetted against the blazing orange-yellow fires in the fields behind. As Haider approached the soldier, he noticed the man’s uniforms were in rags, and blood splattered over his arms. The man walked as though in a daze.

  “Good god!” Haider said as the man collapsed in front of him. He ran over and helped the wounded soldier to sit up. Akram ran over and knelt beside the soldier as Haider tried to get the soldier to spit out the blood in his mouth and try to breathe. “What’s your name? What unit do you belong to? Speak up!”

  The man mumbled something incoherent before slipping away in his hands. His body had given in. Haider lowered the body on the road and stood up, straightening his digital-camo uniform and sidearm holster. He looked at the blazing tower of flames and smoke to the east. He could make out the charred wreckage of what looked like command trailers and trucks…

  “Akram!” Haider thundered. “Find out what unit this man belonged to. And find out what unit that command center belonged to. Looks like a Brigade H-Q based on the type of vehicles, doesn’t it?”

  Akram walked over to Haider’s side and saw the blazing fires. He noticed the nearly circular line of fires in the cultivated fields around the vehicles. There was no doubt in his head what had happened here.

  “Cruise-missile strike, sir. The Indians decimated this brigade command post. We should report this!”

  “Get to it!” Haider ordered.

  “Yes sir.” Akram ran back to the parked vehicles. One of the other soldiers walked over to Haider with something in his hands. Haider took what turned out to an identification card from the soldier who had died in his arms. The papers had his current unit information on it.

  11TH Infantry Division…Haider went through the papers. The division was part of the corps in charge of defending Lahore and surrounding areas. They were all part of a command whose job it was to prevent the Indians from breaking through whilst allowing other forces to maneuver and strike into Indian territory. In theory.

  “They won’t be holding anything when they are fucking dead!” Haider threw the identification paper into the bushes past the road. The soldier who had brought it to him watched the papers of the dead soldier flying off into the bushes. He continued to stand next to Haider, who caught the gesture and looked at him in the eyes: “Yes? Anything else?”

  “I…uh, what about the body?” The soldier gestured to the road where the body lay.

  Haider looked at the soldier: “we don’t have the space in the vehicles. Push it to the side of the road so the poor man doesn’t get run over by a tank.”

  That answer caught the soldier by surprise. His mouth opened to say something about the ignominy of the deceased man who had just died fighting for his country. Haider turned to face him and the other soldiers: “did I not make myself clear? Get rid of the body! I will not be bothered with burials when a jihad is waging all around us.” He pointed to the body on the road: “This man should simply be happy that he fought and died for this country.” His voice then trailed off as he watched the eastern skies lit up by tracers and flashes of explosions.

  “Sir! Over here!” Akram shouted from where he stood near the hood of the truck in Haider’s convoy. Haider walked over as the other soldiers picked up the body of the dead soldier by his limbs and carried him past the road and into the bushes. Haider saw that Akram had set up the radio on the hood of the truck. The vehicle’s engine was rumbling away on idle.

  “Well?” Haider asked in obvious irritation.

  “Command net is going haywire with all sorts of traffic. The Indians struck hard against the 10TH and 11TH Infantry Divisions east of here. I am hearing back and forth chatter filled with chaos and confusion. Supposedly somebody up the line issued orders for the 3RD Armored Brigade to advance to contact in anticipation of Indian forces preparing to cross over on to our territory.”

  Haider banged the hood of the truck with his fist: “who passed that order? Find out! Don’t they know what is happening here? The Indians are striking hard against all openly exposed forces. When those tanks move past the outskirts of the city and on to the roads and fields, they will be destroyed before they even get a chance to fire their main guns! The Indians are already taking control of the air!” Haider unstrapped the chin-strap of his helmet before removing and placing it on top of the hood. He ran his hand over the sweating head. It was time to consider options.

  “Akram,” he noted after a full minute of consideration, “We need to marshal the irregulars under our control and keep them at bay inside the city. Hussein is either clearly deluded or completely out of touch with what is happening out here. The Indians are going to break through the lines of the 10TH and 11TH Divisions. If not today, then tomorrow or the day after. Let the army bleed the Indians as much as they can, while they can. We need to stay out of it until it is the right time. That will come when the Indians reach the outskirts of Lahore, tired and depleted, hoping for a respite. That is when we will release the wave of Islamic warriors like a tidal wave of death!”

  Akram smiled cruelly: “I understand, sir!” Then the smile went away: “but it will be difficult to hold the jihadists at bay, sir. They will not want to wait around in the city while the jihad against the Hindus is waging just kilometers east of them. They are not disciplined soldiers.”

  “Valid point, major.” Haider nodded. “But we must convince them somehow. If they charge into the open in front of Indian forces, they will die like flies to little gain!”

  “They won’t see it that way.” Akram replied. He knew most of the jihadists would happily charge into Indian armored vehicles with a bomb strapped to their chests. Their only driving concern would be to get to heaven where the promised female companions awaited them. Military gains on the ground and combat strategy were nuisances to them. Mere hindrances on their path to Allah. And certainly they were not going to take orders from the Pakistani Punjabis from the army!

  “Akram,” Haider said finally, “we need to head back to the city and speak with the commanders of the irregulars. They must be made to see the flaw in their plans! Else we stand to lose this city!” Haider turned to see the fires in the charred remains of the commander center east of the road. “But if we succeed, then we will fertilize these very fields and roads with the blood of the Indian soldiers! Inshallah.”

  ──── 24 ────

  “All section leaders on rhino net, this is rhino-actual.” Kulkarni said as he adjusted his helmet. “Give me op-con status. Over.”

  As the various commanders in the armored task-force chimed in, Kulkarni pressed the power button on the small screen installed next to his commander-sights. This was the new Arjun-Battlefield-Management-System, or ABAMS, as his people called it. It was the next-generation force-multiplier that increased the lethality of the Arjun tank beyond its own sixty-ton mass. The ABAMS allowed better command-and-control of friendly tanks from within the commander’s vehicle. Kulkarni had used an earlier version of the same system during the battles in Ladakh. He knew the technology worked. But this would be the first time he would be using it to command a force far larger than any he had commanded.

  Kulkarni noticed that the last of the section leaders had chimed in and reported full readiness. Time to change frequencies and call Sudarshan’s people: “steel-central, this is rhino-one. We are green across the board, over!”

  “Steel-central copies all, rhino. Jump off as planned. Out.” Kulkarni pulled his overall’s shoulder sleeves back and checked his wristwatch despite having a digital readout on the optics in front of him. Old habits.

  Okay. Two minutes to Zulu time.

  He grabbed his binoculars, opened the turret hatch above him and pushed himself out. He surprised his loader who was sitting behind his turret machine-gun mount, looking for t
argets via his night-vision goggles. Powering on the night-scopes of the binoculars, Kulkarni looked into the pitch-black darkness on either side of him to see dozens of Arjun tanks lined up through the vast expanse of the desert.

  Kulkarni lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes to allow him to adjust to the darkness. After a few seconds his pupils dilated and he saw more of the surroundings. To his east, he thought he saw the first dull-red lines of morning. The timing of the offensive was by no means random. The tanks of his rhino force would assault into Pakistan with the early morning sun riding low behind them. That would enhance the sights on the Indian side and blind the Pakistani defenders facing them.

  Hopefully we would be hunkered down at our objectives before the reverse happens to us at sunset…Kulkarni checked his watch again. It was time. He lowered himself back down the hatch just as his loader did the same.

  The gunner looked at the two men entering the turret: “Zulu time, sir?”

  Kulkarni smiled faintly: “Zulu time.”

  As the driver up front brought the rumble of the diesel engines to a roar, Kulkarni plugged into his radio once again: “all rhino elements, this is Rhino-one. Advance! Advance!”

  “I see flashes on the horizon!” The gunner shouted over the tank comms. “Twenty degrees positive, off axis.”

  Kulkarni looked away from the ABAMS scope and instead looked through his own external optics. He swiveled the sights to the right and saw the whitish flares erupting on the horizon against a jet-black night. They were still too far west for any noise to be heard over the constant rumble of the tank’s diesel engines.

  “Ours?” The gunner asked.

  Kulkarni backed away from the eyepiece of his optics and looked at his watch. “Can’t be ours. We are still off by five minutes.”