Fenix Page 7
Peng had been killed three years ago as a result of a deadly Indian ICBM attack on one of the last days of the war. He had died alongside a host of other senior party officials and senior military commanders when their arrival at the national command center west of Beijing had been pre-empted by the Indians. Wencang and Chen had survived that strike because they had not been with that group. In fact, they had been put outside that group by Peng himself, although the reasons for him doing so were far from benign.
You bastard! Wencang stared at the portrait You wrought what you had sown!
Wencang sighed and turned to Chen, who raised an eyebrow at his commander, guessing his thoughts. Wencang shook his head and started walking towards his office with Chen in tow. The large hall outside his office door was occupied only by the desks of his office adjutants. The red coloration of the various drapes and carpets in the room were hard to miss. The Lt-colonel who was in charge of the team of assistants immediately got up from his seat, sliding his chair back with a grinding noise. He saluted as Wencang walked by. Chen returned the Lt-colonel’s salute. Wencang didn’t bother. Neither man broke their stride as they walked past the man into Wencang’s office.
“So what do those bastards want, anyway?” Wencang said as he removed his uniform coat. Chen waited as the Lt-colonel closed the doors behind them.
“What the beggars always want,” Chen replied. His eyes followed Wencang as the latter walked around the desk and watched the snow glistening on the grass outside the window.
“Satellite intel?” Wencang said after consideration. Chen nodded. “Indeed.”
“What else?” Wencang asked, fishing into his pocket for the cheap Mongolian cigarettes that he loved. He had picked up the habit when he had been posted at one of the Mongolian border PLAAF airbases so many decades ago. The last decade had accelerated his habit towards it logical end. He now coughed after every cigarette and wondered each time whether the next one would be his last…
“…and additional ammunition supplies to beef up their war reserves,” Chen concluded. Wencang turned to face his colleague and realized he had missed whatever the man had been saying. He looked at Chen and caught his glance. Both men smiled and Chen tossed the file on the massive wooden desk: “You can read the list later if you want. Nothing overtly unorthodox in there. The real question,” he pointed a finger at the closed file, “is whether or not we should provide them any of what’s in here. Not after their betrayal!”
“Betrayal, Chen?” Wencang said as he turned away from the window and moved into his seat behind the desk. He extinguished the cigarette. “You mean self-preservation, no? Isn’t that what all animals do? Look out for their survival?”
“Very well then,” Chen conceded, “like animals. Self-preservation. Whatever! The point is, every gut in my body wants to tell their ambassador and their military attaché to go fuck themselves!”
“The point is,” Wencang said as he grabbed the file and leaned back as he opened its contents, “that like all animals, our friends in Rawalpindi did what they felt they had to do to preserve themselves during our war with India. They helped where they could, but drew the line very clearly when they saw that the war was not going according to our estimates.”
“So how do you explain their current behavior?” Chen asked as he crossed his arms. “Surely this strike against Mumbai is not going to be taken lightly by New-Delhi? Hussein is quite mad if he thinks otherwise!”
“From his perspective, he is quite sane, Chen. He is using the opportunity given to him by a weakened Indian military and economy, a weakened Indian government that has let go of key individuals that helped secure their survival in their war with us and a Prime Minister in New-Delhi who is more inclined for peace even when presented with conflicting evidence regarding Pakistani intentions.” Wencang read through the items in the file and closed the file, putting it back on the table.
He then looked at Chen and continued: “General Hussein and his right-hand man, General Haider, have made their bets on the outcome to this plan. In that respect we can play along as well. If the net result is the further weakening of our enemies in a bloody war, should we get in the way?”
“Agreed!” Chen said.
“There is nothing at all for us to lose in any of this. My friend, I trust you to take care of this with the utmost discretion, of course.”
“Understood.” Chen nodded.
“Very well then,” Wencang said as he glanced at the file on the desk. After a few seconds of silent consideration, he scowled: “Consider all of these requests from Rawalpindi approved! Your command will receive its orders from this office before the end of this day. Time to throttle up the pressure around the Indian necks. Make it happen!”
NEW CHINA NEWS AGENCY RADIO ANNOUNCEMENT
BEIJING, CHINA
The spokesperson of the Central Military Commission, air-force General Chen confirmed that the exercise was intended to test refinements made to the fighting abilities of the armed forces and would include a new air-ground concept for mountainous terrain. The exercise will see the deployment of our comrades in the 81ST Airborne Army as well as air-defense troops and other aerial forces over the plateau of Tibet.
General Chen confirmed that the timing of the exercise was not intended to coincide with the recent happenings on the Indian subcontinent and were not designed to be hostile to other nations. However, he confirmed disappointment within the politburo with New-Delhi’s aggressive warlike postures against Pakistan. General Chen noted that New-Delhi was correct to pursue the perpetrators of the nuclear violence in Mumbai but were wrong to think that nations in the region will stand by and watch a blatant attack on a smaller sovereign nation like Pakistan. He hoped that New-Delhi will see the light and conform to diplomatic channels to pursue the criminals behind the Mumbai attack…”
The peace and calm over Lhasa was drowned by muffled jet engine noises during the afternoon as the first Chinese transport aircraft began approaching the city at high altitude from the northwest. As the civilians ran into the streets, the blue skies above started to fill with circular white contrails of multi-engine aircraft while other contrails dissipated in a straight line to the north. Those near the airport got to see firsthand as the first Y-20s of the Chinese air-force landed on the concrete runway with their large wing flaps deployed. As one aircraft landed, another took up approach until aircraft were making a line in the skies above. The PLA 81ST Airborne Army had started to arrive into its theater of operations.
“Care to explain what you are up to?” Ravoof said to the Chinese ambassador sitting across from him. The latter man simply sipped his tea with all the deliberations of a snail. The act was designed to get under Ravoof’s skin. But the veteran Indian minister was not new to the game. With decades of experience dealing with the likes of such state representatives, he could play the game as good as anyone else, when time had not been a factor. Today was different.
After what seemed like an eternity, the Chinese ambassador put his cup on the table and looked up at his host across the meeting room: “I am afraid I don’t know what…”
“Let me just cut to the crux of the matter here,” Ravoof interjected. Sharp enough to cause his opponent to grimace. “Your country is currently in the process of deploying a massive airborne army inside Tibet. Spare me the denials and the faked surprise, sir. We know. You know that we know. So I am asking you directly. What is Beijing’s intention here?”
The ambassador kept his tone neutral: “The scheduled military exercises inside our territorial borders is nobody’s concern other than China’s.”
Ravoof
noted that the gloves were now off. “When such exercises threaten the borders of a neighboring country undergoing a tense standoff with your supposed ally, they cease to be the concern only of Beijing, sir!” Ravoof leaned back in his seat and rested his arms on the armrest: “I should remind you that while we don’t particularly relish the idea of going back in time by three years, we will not hesitate to do so.”
The Chinese ambassador shook his head in feigned dejection: “Such a belligerent stance is typical of New-Delhi off late.”
“When we have neighbors who enjoy costly provocations,” Ravoof replied, “it is hardly a surprise, sir, that such stances need to be created.”
The lack of diplomatic tact and civility between Beijing and New-Delhi did not surprise Ravoof. The costly war in Tibet had created deep scars on both sides that were not going to heal easily. Of course, it didn’t help to have a painful neighbor in the form of Pakistan attempting to take advantage of the delicate and precarious peace between the two regional powers…
“This would be so much easier,” the ambassador noted after several seconds, “if your government was to approach this Mumbai matter via diplomacy with Islamabad rather than through military belligerence.”
And there it is…Ravoof thought. The real message had been delivered. “I doubt Beijing would be advocating peaceful diplomacy if this nuclear strike had taken out Shanghai. We have offered to resolve this diplomatically. It has been a week since the attack and we have still held off our military response to allow diplomacy to work. If you expect anything more, I would be inclined to say your allegiance is less to maintaining peace and more to provoke war, sir.”
“Should I take that as a threat?” the Chinese diplomat asked neutrally.
“Take it for what it’s worth.” Ravoof added flatly. “I only represent the government and do not make unilateral policy statements. Least of all on national security matters.”
“So you are only the messenger?”
“If you insist on calling me so.”
The ambassador leaned forward in his chair: “And what is your government’s message?”
Ravoof leaned forward as well for emphasis: “Stand down your military deployments currently taking place in Tibet. Pakistan is not worth it.”
The Chinese diplomat nodded for a few seconds and then prepared to leave, collecting his suitcase by the chair. Ravoof also got up in response.
“I am afraid,” the ambassador noted as he buttoned his coat, “that as much as you are a messenger and servant of your government, so am I of mine. As such, I will convey your concerns to Beijing. That said, I do not think Beijing’s response will be nearly as civilized as mine. The war in Tibet is still a festering wound on the souls of many who now lead both our nations. Don’t you agree?”
Rvavoof nodded slightly. He understood and echoed some of the same hostile sentiment. Even so, he understood clearly his country’s current weakened state more than any military officer. Unlike many in South Block, he actually listened when the senior military brass spoke. He heard from them not what he wanted to hear but what they were telling him. And what they had been telling him was their inability to fight both Pakistan and China at the same time. And from their faces Ravoof had seen the clear-as-day message from the military to the government: keep China out of this.
But as much as Ravoof would have liked to deliver on that, he feared that Beijing would not be so cooperative. They may not go all out, but they would keep India under pressure along its Tibetan border. The Chinese 81ST Airborne army and it’s three divisions were already piling into Lhasa and surrounding airbases. One division and its convoy of vehicles had already been spotted heading west from Lhasa towards the Tibetan border with Ladakh. These units were forcing the Indian military to keep a wary eye on their Chinese front and in doing so, were beginning to sap New-Delhi’s determination to see the issue through to the sticky end.
As Ravoof wished the Chinese diplomat a good trip and walked back to his office, he sensed that Beijing was using the current standoff with Pakistan to good effect. The window for action was fast closing. He made a mental note to call on Basu and impress the same upon him. Ravoof understood that his main job was to buy time for Basu and the military brass to get the job done. He was willing to pay the price to buy this precious entity.
But soon there would be none left to buy.
──── 8 ────
As the tires touched the concrete, a puff of smoke rose to the air and was sucked up into the trailing vortices behind. The engine roared as the F-16 pair thundered down the runway. In the cloudy skies above Skardu in Pakistan-occupied-Kashmir, more white contrails made circles in the freezing air as other aircraft prepared to land. While the two F-16s were escorted off the runway into the empty hardened shelters, the engine noise echoed in the valley in dampened thunder. The second F-16 pair was barely rolling off the runway when the next pair began their approach. The aircraft were quickly pulled into the shelters to bring the detachment at Skardu up to its predetermined wartime allocation. These F-16s of the Pakistani air-force were the advanced Block-52 versions of the venerable F-16 fighter design. And as such, their arrival at Skardu to compliment the older generation detachment was as much a signal as was the arrival of many Su-30 and Mig-29 detachments to forward airfields on the Indian side of Kashmir.
Darkness enveloped the valley and the fading sunlight began to silhouette the western Himalayan peaks against the reddish-orange sky. By this time, ten F-16s of the PAF filled up all of the hardened shelters at the base. Inside the shelters, yellow lighting illuminated the aircraft and allowed the ground crews to help the pilots unstrap themselves from the cockpits. These aircraft were quickly refueled and the underwing pylons were fitted with live AMRAAM beyond-visual-range missiles.
Jeeps took the pilots to their ready rooms and the next sorties of transports began arriving. Two C-130 transports landed in quick succession, bringing the requisite backup flight crews and ground crews as well as auxiliary equipment needed to support the much more modern Block-52 F-16s. Two of the PAF’s highly precious IL-78 tankers, purchased from Ukraine, as well as a SAAB turboprop airborne early warning aircraft diverted to Gilgit airport, further north of Skardu and away from the Indian airbases to the south.
Hours later the first of the Indian RISAT satellites confirmed the arrival of the PAF in force. The imagery was enhanced and analyzed. The presence of the two advanced F-16s on the readiness platform as well as the two C-130s disgorging crews and equipment was easily spotted. Rawalpindi had just provided its rebuttal to the Indian government’s threats to strike terrorist targets inside Kashmir. Far from letting the Indians push their aerial strike packages through, the PAF had instead staked its claim to the airspace above its side of Kashmir.
Further satellite passes confirmed more of the same. Endless ground convoys were now beginning to move troops and artillery into forward positions all along the line-of-control. With the mountain passes barely allowing either the Pakistanis or the Indians to surge ground-based logistics and with the Pakistanis now on the alert, Bafna’s plan to release Indian plans before acting on them had cost the Indian military dearly. The element of strategic surprise had now been lost.
The crowd of Pashtun tribesmen got up on their feet and cheered his speech. Muzammil smiled and waved his AK-47 in the air. The stunning mountain backdrop of Skardu added the backdrop for his rifle. Following the Indian government’s warning to Pakistan to hand over the culprits or face massive aerial bombardment, Muzammil and his followers had responded with a call to jihad from all cadres of the mujahedeen devoted to a free Kashmir. As one of his colleagues standing next to him pointed out the circular contours of the Pakistani air force fighters patrolling the blue skies above, he smiled and recognized that his back was against a very supportive wall. The Indians would be foolish to wage all-out war in their weakened state against a Pakistani military armed to the teeth like never before in history. And if they did, his cadres would wage r
elentless warfare in the Indian rear lines forcing them to divert troops from the line-of-control. In fact, should they do such a foolish act, they may very well lose Kashmir altogether.
And that was a vision worth fighting and dying for!
Muzammil knew he was under watch, and he used it to his advantage. He spotted several of the local Pakistan news crews filming his moves from the perimeter of the grounds. He wanted them seeing his speech. After all, he was calling New-Delhi’s bluff right on their faces and declaring jihad against the infidel occupiers of Kashmir. He wanted the viewership from South Block to see this…and fear it.
“Cheerful bastard, isn’t he?” Basu said as he took the remote and switched off the television screen. He turned to see a dozen faces of young and tough special-forces operators standing casually without a word. All of them were outfitted in white combat smocks designed for winter combat. Their faces remained stoic, as though chiseled in stone. If any of them felt any emotions at all from seeing Muzammil declaring jihad against their country, they kept it to themselves. Basu reminded himself that these warfighters were not known for being verbose.
“Indeed he is,” Ansari said for his group and got up from his seat. “That son of a bitch was a key player in the strike on Mumbai. He doesn’t know it yet, but his days are numbered!”