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  Grewal grunted. A heavy enemy suppression mission against a guarded nuclear-reactor complex is a milk run? He wondered what hell these guys had seen during the China war to make them feel this way…

  “Roger, warhawk. dagger has your back.”

  Grewal noted that the enemy HQ-9 radar was no longer active. And that meant only one thing. Time for civilities was over: “mongol-two to warhawk and dagger: Starlight is in play. I say again, Starlight is in play. Warhawk, you are clear to proceed. Dagger, be advised, warhammer and scabbard flights are sweeping south and north respectively. Hold station until warhawk has suppressed enemy defenses and then move to cover. Warhawk-actual has the ball. Out.”

  Grewal saw the Jaguar pilots instinctively diving for the deck. Their flight of twelve aircraft dived away to the west to do what they did best: flying low amongst the weeds and shocking the enemy with their appearance. But he found himself holding station while everyone else got to play. It wasn’t fair. LCAs weren’t designed to be long-range fighters. That was what the Su-30s were for. No, his job was to fly escort and that is what he would do while the Su-30 and Mig-29 drivers were slashing across Pakistani skies looking for PAF scalpels. The only scalpels he would get would be leftovers…

  He sighed.

  The Jaguar pilots were already out of sight. He would cruise at high altitude to preserve fuel. They were currently burning the fuel in the centerline tanks so that it would be the first thing they dropped off if they made contact with the enemy. But their slow cruising speeds meant that the Jaguars had already accelerated ahead of them. They would be going after the Spada-2000 missile systems defending the Chushma complex. Grewal checked his moving-map-display and saw that he was scheduled to arrive over the target just as soon as the Jaguars had suppressed the enemy defenses…in seven minutes.

  These were long and boring seven minutes. Nothing to do but scan the comms, the skies and their radar screens. The comms were alive with Jaguar pilots talking to each other as they smashed the enemy’s defenses. He could also listen in on the chatter between the Su-30 pilots to the south as they tangled with whatever fighters the PAF could muster into the air to defend their nuclear reactors. To the north the Mig-29 pilots were doing the same with a pair of Pakistani JF-17s. But their own radar screens were clear. No enemy had made it past the screens of Indian fighters around him.

  The radio crackled: “well, this is shaping up to be the most boring escort mission ever!” Ramesh said for everyone.

  Grewal said nothing. The man was right. If things kept going as they are, they just…

  “Contact!” Grewal said abruptly as his radar showed him something at extreme range. “You see it, dagger-two?”

  “I have it! “ Ramesh responded. “Must be something large to even show up here. What the hell could it be? Not a fighter, surely!”

  Grewal went through his mental checklist: the contact was too large to be a fighter. But what else could it be? An airliner? No, all airlines had ceased operations from Pakistan days ago. Could it be a transport aircraft? Certainly a multi-engine aircraft. Either way, a juicy target!

  “Dagger-two, maintain cover for warhawk with dagger-bravo. Dagger-alpha: on me! We are going after this contact!”

  The four LCAs punched off their mostly-empty centerline tanks and punched afterburners. Grewal was pushed into his seat as the nimble aircraft accelerated, gaining momentum and closing range on the contact. A few minutes into the chase and he had a clear contact: a multi-engine aircraft with two escorting fighters. The group of three aircraft was heading northwest, into Afghanistan. His curiosity was spiked even more. The two escorts guarding the enemy aircraft were breaking formation and diving towards his LCAs. Some Pakistani ground radar was vectoring them…

  “All right boys,” Grewal switched for long-range Astra missiles, “spread out for a long-range shot at the two bastards protecting that transport aircraft. One long-range shot and we are in the merge. Take them down!”

  The four LCAs spread out from a finger-four formation to a line abreast. The Pakistani pilots fired off two missiles before the LCAs did. But with the fast closure rate and the conditions for the shot, the two missiles swept past the diving LCAs and did not turn back.

  Two of the Astra missiles did the same. But the last two slammed into one of the fighters and it was blotted out of the sky in fragments, disappearing from all radar screens. The other Pakistani pilot flipped his aircraft to the side and dived past the LCAs.

  Grewal saw the Mirage-III dash past his cockpit and lose altitude. He flipped his aircraft and did the same. His wingman followed him like a shadow. The pilot of the Mirage-III was experienced and was weaving in three-dimensional space. Grewal had to call on all his skills to stay behind. All the while, the Pakistani pilot was maneuvering into position behind one of Grewal’s LCAs that had dived to avoid the initial missile salvo…

  This guy is good! Grewal could feel the sweat inside his mask and the dryness in his mouth. He had to get this bastard before he got one of his boys. The skies was lit up with tracers as the Mirage-III pilot began to rattle the novice pilot in dagger-alpha-two.

  Grewal tried lining up for an infrared shot with an R-73. But the Pakistani pilot kept avoiding him. He would make a violent maneuver just as Grewal would try to get a shot off, dumping chaff and flares in his wake. These represented a kind of hazard in their own way, considering the close distances between the Mirage-III and the LCA. Grewal knew he must be dealing with a senior Pakistani pilot here. He was keeping four LCAs at bay with his outdated Mirage-III!

  All Grewal needed was one mistake from this enemy pilot. And it happened a split second later when the man maneuvered yet again. He slid across Grewal’s gun optics and Grewal let loose a long salvo of cannon rounds. The tracers ripped into the Mirage-III from above like a deadly scythe and the aircraft detonated into a fireball. Grewal had to maneuver violently to avoid passing through the debris. He barely managed to avoid it.

  As he pulled away to the west, he saw the flaming debris of the Mirage-III disappear into the white clouds below. He didn’t see a parachute. Grewal made a mental note to find out who it was that he had killed tonight. It certainly had been no average PAF officer…

  But that was for later. Right now, they had to catch the enemy transport. Where was it? He checked his radar and found that the transport was making a dash to low altitude under the clouds as it headed north towards Peshawar. Grewal opened comms: “dagger-alpha: regroup on that transport! Don’t let it escape!”

  He checked his fuel and found he had enough for no, so he punched afterburners and dived through the cloud cover. The enemy contact was not far, and he could see the unmistakable silhouette of a Boeing-777…

  “What the hell?” His wingman blurted out. “What’s a civilian airliner doing here? And why was it being protected?”

  “I have no clue, dagger-alpha-four.” Grewal responded. “Dagger-alpha elements: standby. Do not kill this bird. We need to call this one in.” He changed comms: “mongol-two, we have a bit of situation up here! A Pakistan-International-Airlines Boeing-triple-seven is in the skies and we intercepted it heading west out of Pakistani airspace under fighter protection. We nailed the two experienced fighter escorts. There is something going on. We require instructions. Over.”

  “Uh, roger, dagger-actual. Can you force the aircraft to comply? Over.”

  Grewal pulled up alongside the B-777: “out here in the middle of enemy airspace? That’s a big negative. This aircraft is heading to Peshawar. It diverted course as we showed up!”

  There was several seconds of silence on the comms. Grewal took that time to look closer at the airliner flying parallel to him. The windows on the side began opening and he could see passengers inside.

  Good god. Could this be an evacuation flight? “Mongol-two, there are possible civilians on board! Over.”

  “Roger, dagger-actual. You are advised to let the aircraft go. I say again, let it go. Over.”

  “Mongol-two
, understand that this aircraft may have originated from Sargodha airbase. This may be an evacuation flight. Out.”

  Grewal gave the aircraft a last look and pulled away, not exactly sure what he had just seen or what it meant. Scenarios ran through his mind. Could it be families of senior Pakistani military officers? Could that explain the escorts and the determined efforts of the two Mirage-III pilots? Were they fighting to protect their families? But why not evacuate by road? Granted that any association with the Pakistani military was liable to get a person killed in the tribal hinterlands, but why not try to bribe their way out? The sea option was not possible now that the Indian navy was laying siege in the Arabian sea. The aerial route had been desperate and risky. But why do it at all? Why not just leave them where they were. Surely they would be safer in their homes? The only reason the Pakistani command might be wanting to get their families out using such a high risk way was because staying where they were was considered by them to be riskier…

  Grewal felt a shiver go down his spine. As his aircraft flew over the burning remains of the Chushma reactor complex, his mind was occupied by that realization. The blazing reactor buildings below and the sweeping jaguar strike fighters strafing what remained was just a sideshow to him now. A dreaded feeling took over as he wondered how close they were to pushing Pakistan over the edge…

  ──── 30 ────

  “Surely you are not surprised?” Potgam asked blandly.

  The room went silent as all eyes focused on the prime-minister. He looked at the army commander: “just that it is all going down so fast! It is cascading out of control!”

  Potgam nodded. And so did Ravoof and several others.

  “The decision to strike their power complexes and nuclear reactors was correct and the execution has been successful,” Bafna said as he reviewed his notes. “Pakistan is dark. Our armored forces are deep inside Pakistan in the desert and the Pakistani line-of-control defenses have been smashed.” Bafna cleared his throat and then looked at Potgam: “the strike across the Punjab border and near Lahore is proving costly…”

  “It is.” Potgam said flatly. “The advance to the city has been stalled thanks to the jihadis. But mark my words, the city will fall. If not tomorrow, then few days from now! We will not allow that cesspool of jihadists to remain standing. Our artillery is already turning the city to rubble. The airport is already destroyed. And…” Potgam stopped as Ravoof jabbed his finger on the table and leaned forward.

  “And what happens after the city falls?”

  “What do you mean?” Potgam cocked an eyebrow.

  “I mean, what is the end-game scenario here? Assume for a second that we reduce the resistance in the city to ashes and march in. What happens? How will the Pakistanis react?”

  Potgam sighed and leaned back in his chair: “I am not Hussein. I cannot imagine what he will do next.”

  “On that note,” Bafna turned to Bhosale: “what’s the debrief on your pilot who intercepted the escaping Pakistani-airlines aircraft?”

  “What’s this about?” The prime-minister asked worriedly.

  Bhosale nodded slightly: “yesterday, our combat aircraft intercepted a Pakistani-airlines aircraft escaping out of Sargodha airbase in Pakistan. This airliner was being escorted by two enemy aircraft which our boys destroyed. The airliner turned north and flew out of the combat zone.”

  “And why is this important?” Ravoof asked.

  “It’s important,” Basu interjected, “because we believe the Pakistani high-command was ferrying their families out of the country.”

  “But why?” The prime-minister asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Basu replied neutrally, as though teaching a bunch of students. “The Pak army doesn’t want their families to be on the ground when all hell breaks loose with nuclear weapons. This is the surest sign. We are getting indications of this from all our intelligence sources.”

  “Good god!” The prime-minister said and let out a breath as he stared at the table.

  “My god, man,” Bhosale said angrily to Basu, “how about you boys let us in on things like this as you get them?! I would prefer not to get these snippets of information as a fucking ‘by-the-way’!”

  “What the hell are you shouting at me for?” Basu retaliated and then looked at Potgam: “if your military-intelligence boys weren’t shutting us civilians out of the loop, I would be much more happy to share what my boys are gathering deep inside enemy territory! And what the heck is your vaunted M-I doing, anyway? How is it that this is the first you are hearing about Pakistani nuclear plans?”

  “Gentlemen! Please!” Ravoof interjected with a wave of the hand before the seething service chiefs could pounce on the diminutive RAW chief. “We are all on the same team here! Check your inter-departmental rivalries! Coordinate with each other or we are all going to be dead by end of the week!”

  “So what do we do?” The prime-minister asked. “Should we let the Pakistani government know that any use of nuclear weapons will be responded in kind?”

  “They already know all that!” Basu said irritably. “Why do you think they are trying to get their families out?”

  “Besides,” Ravoof continued, “who would you even talk to? All our indications are that the Pak military in charge now. That means Hussein and his cronies. The government has been shunted out. Considering the jihadist fervor on the streets, there isn’t much even the Pak army can do now.”

  “So what are you saying?” Bafna asked.

  “I am saying that Hussein has already demonstrated that he is not above using nukes against us. Just ask the citizens of Mumbai. I don’t think he is going to stop now. Especially with us pounding down the door on Lahore and putting the entire country in darkness. This has only one outcome.”

  “My god…” the prime-minister muttered under his breath as he rubbed his hands on his face. Bafna looked at him and then to the service chiefs: “what are our nuclear contingency plans in case this entire thing goes south?”

  “The usual,” Potgam stated. He had been through all this before. He still remembered the dusty mushroom clouds over the snowcapped mountains of Bhutan…

  “All missile-defense batteries went live around the major cities ever since the strike on Mumbai. StratForCom is online and the aerospace command is monitoring missile sites in Pakistan. On the defensive side,” Potgam turned to the navy commander: “admiral?”

  The latter looked at the prime-minister, who was still holding his face in his hands: “the Arihant nuclear-ballistic-missile-submarine left its dock weeks ago. It is now in the Bay-of-Bengal, armed with long-range ballistic missiles capable of targeting both Pakistani and Chinese mainland cities from its launch positions in the bay. I…”

  “Wait!” The prime-minister looked up abruptly: “why the hell are we talking about China now?!”

  “Well,” Potgam replied, “considering their massing troops in the Tibetan plains, we have to assume that they are going to side with their Pakistani allies in all this.”

  “But why?” The prime-minister pressed. “Islamabad left their Chinese allies hanging high and dry during the Tibet war. Why would Beijing come to their aid now?”

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Basu said to no-one in particular, but all heads turned to him, so he continued: “Wencang and his crony Chen are no fools. They know which side of the bread to butter. They are already sending much-needed arms and ammunition to the Pak army via the northern mountains. They are almost certainly sharing electronic and satellite intel with Rawalpindi. How else do you explain the precision strikes the Pakistanis are launching against our airbases? Beijing is deploying its fleet to the Arabian sea to protect their merchant shipping assets. But if push comes to shove, they won’t hesitate to attack our ships blockading Pakistani ports. The port of Gwadar is a good example. One strike there from us and that is all the provocation Wencang will need to pile into this war. But whether he will join the nuclear fight? We don’t know.”


  “But we have to be prepared,” Potgam stated. “Hence the defensive measures by the navy to provide Beijing some pause should they consider some nasty plans.”

  “A cheerful thought.” Ravoof said as he leaned back into his seat.

  “What can we do to prevent Chinese help to the Pakistanis?” Bafna asked.

  “Short of declaring war on China?” Potgam replied. “Not much. We just have to roll with the punches on that one. We just don’t have the capability to take on both countries at the same time.”

  “We should put some strongly-worded statements to the media, warning Beijing to stay away.” Ravoof suggested.

  “I agree.” Potgam replied with a nod.

  “Will it do any good?” The prime-minister asked.

  Ravoof grunted: “not in the least. Wencang will ask for peace and yet continue to arm the Pakistanis. But we should at least make them uncomfortable.”

  “What about us here in New-Delhi?” Bafna asked, his self-preservation kicking in.

  “We should consider evacuating all of the senior government officials. Nuclear command protocol needs to be invoked,” Potgam stated, looked around, and then faced the prime-minister: “and that’s a decision that needs to be made now.”

  The prime-minister pushed back his chair as he got up: “We are leaving.”

  ──── 31 ────

  A ball of white light disappeared into the green background. The thunderclap passed through the tank seconds later.

  “Hit!” Kulkarni’s gunner exclaimed.

  “Target destroyed, rhino-one! Good kill!”

  Kulkarni was lost in other thoughts. He eyes were away from his commander’s sights and focused intently on the paper map unfolded on his thigh. The scribbled comments and highlighted routes were visible in the dim interior lights of the turret. He compared the ABAMS moving-map coordinates and followed it through on his paper map, traversing the route they had taken so far.