Fenix

by Vivek Ahuja

  And that, Ravoof reasoned, was fucking dangerous! Not least because there was as yet no sign of the Pakistani prime-minister. There were rumors that the Pakistani military had taken over and had detained him. Perhaps he had been killed in one of the Indian air-force strikes in Islamabad and Rawalpindi. Perhaps he was choosing to stay low and keep his head down. Either way, he was out of the picture. Hussein was now the man to watch. And he was shrewd and ruthless. What was his nuclear trigger?

  Ravoof walked over to the phone on the desk and dialed a number from memory. The number rang two times before going through the secure encryption tag noises. Few seconds later a familiar voice came on the line.

  “Basu, are your people watching what the Pakistani media is spewing?” Ravoof asked calmly.

  “We are,” Basu noted and then let out a deep breath. “It’s not good. They are whipping up a lot of rabid jihadis across the streets of Pakistan with this stuff. The demand for the deployment of nuclear warheads against us is growing on the streets there.”

  “Well, can’t you shut them down?” Ravoof asked incredulously.

  “Not with express orders to do so, no…” Basu’s voice trailed off and got replaced with background chatter.

  “You there?” Ravoof asked impatiently.

  “Yes, I am here. Look, I got things to do over here, so unless you have something specific for me in mind…”

  “Look,” Ravoof asked, rubbing his forehead above the phone as he put his other arm on the desk., “assume for a second that we get you the authorization to shut these channels down, can you do it?”

  “Maybe,” Basu replied after consideration. “These guys are using commercial satellites and other towers too numerous or risky to take down. But take down the power and we take down everything. Communications, television and the internet.”

  Dear god! Ravoof thought. “Can’t we do anything short of shutting their entire country down?”

  “Not really,” Basu stated as matter of fact. “Maybe you should talk to the army brass and see if they have any ideas. I sure as hell don’t! What is your hesitation anyway? The Pakistanis are already used to having only few hours of electricity a day. Shut them down completely or not is not really that much of a stretch! The power grid takedown is an economic target which has direct military relevance. I suggest you consider it.”

  “I will.” Ravoof nodded and made a mental note to do that via the prime-minister and General Potgam as soon as he was done here. “Now, what about this Hussein fellow? How’s he going to respond?”

  “With everything,” Basu replied, “that we have been able to gather about the strike on Mumbai points to the complicity of that son of a bitch. He was involved. He knew. In what capacity? We have no idea. But his hands have felt the feel of nuclear warheads deployed against the infidels. He will not hesitate to use them again to stop us. Not when we are at the outskirts of Lahore.”

  “So why wait? Why haven’t they used them already?”

  “No idea. Maybe they thought they could keep us in check without resorting to nuclear weapons. Maybe they are struggling to maintain command-and-control. But now that these strikes by the army are progressing deep into Pakistani soil on all fronts, the timer has started.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?” Ravoof asked as a chill went down his spine.

  “It means,” Basu said patiently, “get your people out of New-Delhi. Now!”

  ──── 26 ────

  “Sparrow-two-two, this is pathfinder. Target is lit. You have the ball.”

  Pathanya turned to see Vikram talking on the radio as he operated the laser-designator pod. The sounds of jets above was now nothing more than background noise over Lahore. Along with the brutal artillery detonations to the east and the tank fire now easily heard from the city, the place was a blistering cacophony of military noises. Pathanya rubbed his eyes with his gloved hand to remove the sweat and then watched as columns of smoke rose from what had been the Allama Iqbal International Airport in Lahore. Now it was nothing more than smoldering wreckage following the Indian air and missile strikes. He could see the black and brown pillars of smoke on the horizon.

  The battle for Lahore was in full swing. Indian army units were pushing gradually towards the city. Although he couldn’t see any of that action from where he was, Pathanya and his men could swear that they could see the battle between armored vehicles raging on the horizon. He was out southwest of the city and west of the important N5 highway that ran to Lahore from the south. The Jhok forestry reserve was an obvious vantage for the pathfinders. It was west of what the Pakistanis were focused on, had large vegetation and relatively less urbanization. All of which meant lesser chances of discovery. Additionally, it allowed Pathfinder to stay in sight of the N5 and also to be in a vantage point to whack any high-value targets that came this way.

  “Pathfinder, this is sparrow-two-two,” the radio crackled in his ears. “I have your marker. Stand by.”

  Pathanya brought up his binoculars and focused on the N5. The highway was a mass of clogged cars heading southwest, away from the city, as civilians were leaving in droves. But the other side of the road was cleared and was a highway filled with incoming convoys of military vehicles: trucks, jeeps, tanks and artillery. The Pakistani army was throwing everything at the Indian army in this sector. Striking any of these military targets would kill civilians in their hundreds on the other lanes of the highway. But that couldn’t be helped. There was a war on. And right now Pathanya’s sights were fixed on the convoy of twelve T-80 tanks rolling up the highway…

  “Sparrow-two-two has one away…and two away. Steady on the marker. Sparrow-two-three has the ball.”

  Pathanya tightened his grip on the binoculars. He had seen this show before. Kamidalla shifted in his concealed position within the trees and looked up through the scattered shadows of the leaves.

  Three seconds later he caught the faint glimmer of the fins of a laser-guided-bomb as it slammed into the lead T-80 tank on the road. The explosion was catastrophic and the T-80 was shredded underneath an inverted cone of flames and smoke. Chunks of concrete flew off in all directions along with inverted civilian cars by their dozens as the shockwave expanded out. The second bomb slammed into the fourth T-80 from the lead and similarly disappeared inside another massive detonation…

  The twin shockwaves dissipated as they expanded out whipping past the pathfinders. The trees ruffled with the pressure wave and swayed. The smell of burning metal and petroleum came with it. Vikram spat out the dirt that made it into his mouth.

  “Goddamn it!” He said and spat out some more.

  Pathanya ignored the others and focused on the mission as he keyed his comms: “sparrow-two-two, this is pathfinder. Good drop. Extensive damage to convoy. Seven T-80s destroyed. Multiple secondaries. Additional ancillary damage to convoy. Pleasure doing business with you!”

  The radio crackled: “Likewise, pathfinder. Have a nice day. Sparrow-two-two is bugging out.”

  Pathanya continued to look through his binoculars and surveyed the damage. It was extensive. He could see the bright flames furiously churning their way through what was left of the first six T-80s in the convoy. The seventh one was intact but spewing smoke. He could see other Pakistani soldiers from the trucks rushing up to get survivors out. Civilians were running about in chaos from the site of dozens of burning cars. Bodies and body parts were strewn all over.

  “Dear god!” Kamidalla added as he saw the carnage.

  “Didn’t you say to me at Vairengte that you wanted to see combat?” Pathanya slowly crawled back from his position into the small depression behind them and towed away his binoculars. “Well, here’s your fucking combat!”

  Kamidalla didn’t respond. Neither did Vikram, who was quietly stowing away the laser-designator between himself and another soldier. Kamidalla finally swallowed.

  Pathanya noted it: “you have something to add, Captain?” He asked brutally.

  “Have our rul
es of engagement changed? We just ended up killing a lot of civilians out there.” Kamidalla asked hesitantly. Pathanya hefted his rifle closer to this chest: “the enemy didn’t ask the citizens of Mumbai what they wanted. They just nuked them. So spare me your sensibilities about the enemy’s civilians. I find that I just don’t give a damn.”

  ──── 27 ────

  Grewal walked into the underground pilot’s ready-room and instantly the idle chatter ended, replaced by the noise of chairs grinding on the floor. The seven other pilots in green overalls stood at attention and saluted, which Grewal returned: “at ease, gentlemen.”

  As the pilots took their seats, he walked over to the projector and powered it on. The screen came alive with a true-color, daylight satellite image of a complex of whitish-brown buildings. The center of the image was dominated by the near-vertical image of a large cylindrical structure. The bottom-right corner of the image was indented: CHUSHMA NUCLEAR REACTOR COMPLEX, PAKISTAN

  Grewal looked at the screen and then the pilots to let that image sink in. He saw the slight shifting on the seats and the exchanged glances amongst the senior pilots. The body language amongst his pilots was aggressive. Good.

  “As you are aware, the primary strategic objective for us has always been to punish Pakistan for the attack on Mumbai. That has translated to surgical strikes against terrorist encampments, infrastructure and support elements within the Pakistani military establishment. But Rawalpindi has retaliated with full-scale mobilization for war. We have preempted them and the chain reaction has brought us here today. The air-force has been directed to take apart the enemy air and missile capabilities. This we are aggressively prosecuting. The Pakistani air-force has been pushed back from the border and is being stretched to breaking point. Soon it will snap, not with a bang, but with a whimper and disappear into the background noise. We realize this. And as such, certain elements are now already transitioning to phase-two to include strikes against specific Pakistani national infrastructure. We are one of these elements.”

  “Okay,” he said as he pointed to the screen showing the satellite image, “this right here is the Chushma nuclear complex, two-hundred kilometers inside Pakistani territory. It is heavily protected and is one of only two functioning reactor complexes in Pakistan. The second location is near Karachi. We won’t worry about that one. The navy is going after it with gusto tomorrow. We will focus our attention on this target right here. Other elements will strike other coal and hydropower plants across Pakistan. Questions?”

  Grewal looked around and saw three raised arms. He nodded to the first pilot in front of him: “sir, are Pakistani civilian infrastructure now allowed as legitimate targets?”

  “Not across the board. Selective only. All civilian infrastructure hits must be authorized by command. Do not consider them free-for-all secondary targets!” Grewal saw the suppressed smiles within his pilots. He noted the morale, which was high despite the three pilots they had lost so far in the squadron. He nodded to the next pilot behind:

  “Sir, Why are we striking these targets at all? Why not just launch missiles at them from a safe distance?”

  “Good question,” Grewal noted and turned to the screen. He pressed a button that moved the image out and showed the red-circled locations around the complex like a star pattern. “These,” he gestured with his hand, “are battery locations showing the Spada-2000 medium-range SAMs deployed northeast and southwest of the complex. Further east, between the complex and Lahore is this one HQ-9 long-range SAM battery. The reason these are alive and active is because we haven’t had the chance to go after them yet. But rest-assured, we will. The HQ-9 is a Chinese copy of the S-300s and we have plenty of experience of taking those down from the China war. The HQ-9 is not as effective: lesser range and lesser reliability. But it is still lethal.

  “So it will be taken down by air-launched Brahmos missile strikes. We will trail behind flights of Jaguars who will nail the Spada battery near the nuclear complex. Once the battery is down, they will initiate a strike against the nuclear complex. We,” Grewal turned to the pilots, “will provide overhead security to the Jag boys.”

  “What’s the airborne threat picture there? We are going to be deep inside bad-guy territory here.”

  “Expect limited resistance from the PAF survivors at Peshawar and Multan. The Flanker boys are going to be sweeping north and south of us to keep the enemy hunkered down while we do our job. However, any enemy aircraft that slips past the Flankers is fair game. We are going in with eight birds in two flights of four. Call signs: dagger-alpha and dagger-bravo. I will lead dagger-alpha. Ramesh, you have dagger-bravo.”

  “Air-to-ground?” Ramesh asked speculatively.

  Grewal looked back at the screen and thought about that for several seconds. Their job was not air-to-ground on this one, but the opportunity could present itself. And it wouldn’t be good to be caught without options.

  “That sounds reasonable. We may get some targets to mop up,” Grewal nodded. “Say, one bird each flight, two thousand-pounders with guidance kits and a offset-centerline designator each? Keep all other birds loaded for air-to-air and centerline tanks.”

  “You read my mind, sir.”

  “Okay,” Grewal sighed, “other questions?”

  He looked around the room and didn’t see any other raised hands. So he walked over to the podium and sorted through his papers: “the usual suspects here for you to memorize. Call-signs, airborne radar and tanker coverage, friendly assets on the ground and in the air. Departure times and time-on-stations etcetera.” He then looked at his wristwatch and then back at his audience: “We are wheels-up at nineteen-hundred.” He waved the papers: “so get to it!”

  ──── 28 ────

  The skyline in the eastern part of the city was already awash with black smoke. The sound of merciless artillery and tank fire was deafening. And as the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the war-torn city, the blazing fires were beginning to casting sickening hues of yellow and orange to the thick smoke clouds…

  Haider stood on the rooftop of a former apartment complex near the center of the city. He could see the eastern parts of the city being torn asunder. A barrage of fireballs ripped into a section of buildings near the international airport, causing them to implode and collapse under a dark-brown dust cloud. The whump reached him in a few seconds.

  Haider held on to the sidewall as the shockwave dissipated past the building. Akram, lowered his binoculars.

  “Well?” Haider asked curtly.

  “Precision rocket-artillery fire. Looks like they struck northeastern of the airport. 10TH Division territory.”

  “Likely some battalion headquarters just got levelled,” Haider noted with disgust. The war was not going well. The Indians had made it to the edge of the city despite heavy losses. There just was no stopping the Indian juggernaut east of Lahore. Now the airport was almost inside mortar-fire range. And reinforcements weren’t making their way into the city as Haider had hoped. The loss of control in the skies above had been swift and decisive. The PAF had been swatted away, leaving this city and its defenses at the mercy of Indian airpower. And the latter had been decimating convoys of armor that were trying to fight its way into the city. Haider knew that organized resistance by the Pak army here was no longer an option. With mass exodus of the city’s civilians clogging every possible road, the logistics were crammed…

  He sighed as he unstrapped his helmet chinstrap and wiped the sweat off his brow with his arms: “if this doesn’t work, we will to lose control of this city. Where are they?”

  Akram waved over his radioman standing behind them and took the speaker. Haider waited patiently for news as the smoke clouds rose silently into the darkening, pink skies. The rumble of jets overhead caused him to look up and see white circular contrails: enemy jets looking for targets. He wondered whether they could see him. Maybe not. Could they instead home-in on his communications and hit this rooftop while he sto
od here? Would he even know if that happened in the very next instant? Would Allah be merciful and understanding of his actions against the kaffirs? Could he not take responsibility for the death of thousands of unbelievers in Mumbai as his contribution to the jihad? Had he done his duty to Allah?

  “Sir,” Akram said forcefully to get his commander out of his reverie. Haider terminated his thoughts away and stared at Akram standing next to him with his palm over the radio speaker. He nodded to him to continue. “The Ghazi group is in play. They report a force of Indian armor vehicles approaching the road past one of the outskirt villages. They are about to move.”

  “Get some eyes overhead,” Haider ordered.

  Akram nodded and then removed his palm from the speaker and gave some terse orders. A few seconds later he handed the speaker back and looked at Haider: “done.”

  “Let’s go then,” Haider walked past the men towards the staircase. He walked down the six flights of stairs and reached the bottom floor where several dozen officers and soldiers manned his field command post. This was now the beating heart of his defenses. What the rest of the army did outside the city was not his concern, but everything inside the city, was his jurisdiction. And this center was where he ran the show. The place was alive with chatter and men running back and forth. Chaos reigned.

  Outside, the city was made to look as normal as possible. The streets were deliberately devoid of all military vehicles for one block in any direction. Haider had even forced the civilians to be made to stay visible in the streets to ensure the Indians continue to believe that this block of houses was nothing special. One block away, the field hospital was overflowing with casualties. A day ago it had been possible to fly in helicopters to the rooftops. But the swift demise of the PAF had meant that helicopter pilots were now no longer allowed to fly into the city. Haider himself had placed that order after he had seen an army liaison helicopter blasted out of the sky by a strafing Indian Su-30. The charred wreckage of that helicopter still lay inverted between the gaps of two buildings, a kilometer away…