Fenix

by Vivek Ahuja

  “Sierra-two-two is active.” Captain Saadat said as Haider and Akram walked up. Saadat was in charge of the unit operating the short-range, unmanned-aerial-vehicles.

  “You have the feed yet?” Akram asked.

  “Hold on,” Saadat said as he spoke into his comms mouthpiece and then flipped open his battlefield computer. He talked through its boot-up process and then turned to the senior officers: “the boys just sent up a hand-held drone a kilometer away from the road that the Ghazi group is going after. It will have limited endurance so there might be down times when we recover the birds and rearm the batteries.”

  “Understood,” Haider noted. “It will have to do.”

  Saadat turned back to face the screen as it lit up with a birds-eye view in thermal monochrome lighting. They could see the road and what were dark, black blobs of tanks driving, turrets swiveling on either side: Indian T-90s. The screen also showed blobs on the marshy fields on either side of the road and much smaller heat blobs showing humans moving tactically alongside the tanks.

  “Go white-hot,” Akram ordered.

  Saadat pressed one of the buttons on the side of the screen marked “B/W-HT” and inverted the monochrome color. The thermals were now white. The coloration changed just as one of the leading blobs let loose a tank round and the screen flickered. Saadat zoomed out and saw a building sidewall blown to smithereens. A battle was on. The Indian soldiers were shepherding away civilians caught in it.

  “Wait for it…” Akram said, holding his breath.

  The screen flickered again as the group of Indian soldiers and civilians disappeared in a massive flash of white that faded to black. The battlefield turned into an instant chaos with surviving civilians running in all directions while other Indian soldiers ran towards the smoking remains of half-a-dozen of their comrades. In all the confusion and chaos, some of the civilians ran towards the Indian vehicles…

  One of the Indian tank commanders caught on when he saw a jihadi dressed as a civilian run up to his tank. He shredded the imposter with his machinegun fire. But there were a lot more of the jihadists now. One of them ran to the side of an Indian T-90 a split-second before a terrific explosion ripped through his body. Pieces of metal and the tank wheels flew in all directions.

  Other Indian soldiers were now engaging the jihadis in civilian clothing and were engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Some of the jihadis pulled out rifles from underneath their dresses and mowed down two Indian soldiers who had taken them to be civilians. The jihadists took out grenades and began tossing them on the other tanks nearby.

  One T-90 gunner fired a continuous volley of machinegun rounds on a group of jihadis who had run out of a small hut and were clambering atop one of the BMP-II personnel carriers. The fire riddled the top of the vehicle with sparks as the jihadis were ripped to shreds with their war-cry still lodged in their throats. A moment later a rocket-propelled-grenade slammed into the T-90 turret and detonated the reactive armor panels. The shrapnel from the explosion cut down several Indian soldiers in close proximity to the tank. As the chaotic combat continued, the Indian tanks and other vehicles began rolling backwards, engaging their newfound enemies as they did so. They left behind three burning T-90s and one disabled BMP-II. The jihadis scrambled on top of the disabled vehicle covered with the remains of the their comrades and dragged out the body of a dead Indian crewmember. They began to behead it with a curved knife on top of the turret. They never did get there, as one of the retreating T-90s fired a high-explosive round into the BMP-II and destroyed it in a massive fireball.

  The screen in front of Saadat blinked off. He took a breath and then turned behind: “our bird lost power. We are recovering it now.”

  Haider patted him on the shoulder and gestured to Akram as he walked away, leaving Saadat stroking his beard and feeling satisfied.

  “That went well,” Akram muttered sarcastically once they were out of earshot.

  “You disagree with the results?” Haider asked curiously.

  “Well it certainly wasn’t a glowing success,” Akram responded. “The idiots are more savages then soldiers. They could have inflicted a lot more damage with the surprise element if they had just shown some discipline.”

  “Perhaps.” Haider ceded. “But perhaps that brutality will petrify the enemy from entering the city, if they know what awaits them around every corner. This war is as much psychological as it is real. And while I don’t disagree with your assessment, I will add that you shouldn’t underestimate the impact of what we just saw. The Indians just retreated under the brutal surprise. A few more attacks like this will blunt their invasion far more effectively than anything else we could throw at them!”

  ──── 29 ────

  The thunderclap rippled through the room. Grewal and his pilots instinctively looked up to see mounds of cement dust fall off the roof.

  “What the hell was that?” One of his pilots asked the group. Grewal didn’t have time to answer. The klaxons were already whining away on the airbase.

  “We are under attack!” He grabbed his papers and maps. The other pilots saw their leader in action and sprang to it as well. Grewal turned to his pilots: “stay here! If we are indeed under attack, I don’t want you all running into the open and getting fragged! Ramesh, you are with me. We need to find out what’s going on. Let’s go!”

  The corridors outside were abuzz with ground-control officers and NCOs rushing past each other. Two more loud booms rippled through the underground center. Grewal looked to see if he could grab someone who he might know what was happening. But his squadron was only a temporary guest at this base. He didn’t know enough people here…

  Oh to hell with it! He grabbed the nearest squadron-leader who was rushing past him. Before the man could utter a word, Grewal was in his face: “what’s the word? Who’s attacking us?”

  “We are getting hit with cruise-missiles. The base is taking severe damage! Sir, I need to go!” The man resisted the arm grab that Grewal had placed on him. He was on his way somewhere within the base-operations facility, but Grewal needed information too.

  “Hold on!” Grewal responded angrily, “any news on damage topside?”

  “Two hardened shelters have taken hits. The control tower is destroyed. And we have more inbound missiles!”

  “All right. Go!” Grewal released his hold and the man ran off. Grewal turned to Ramesh: “we need to find out if any of our birds were burned and if the runway is still operational. We need to get the hell off this airbase before it is completely wrecked! The bastards will have us by the balls if the runway is destroyed and we are stuck on the ground. Those Jag boys are going to get stuck deep inside enemy territory with no friendly air-cover!” He looked at his wristwatch. “We are already getting late! Let’s go!”

  They ran through the corridors, bypassing various people heading the other way. They turned and entered a narrow corridor that led to the nearest of the two hardened aircraft shelters. It was a claustrophobic place to be especially with the threat of imminent collapse. A few moments later they emerged on the other side where the frigid air blew through the domed concrete shelters housing two LCAs. Grewal recognized his bird and saw his ground crewmen running about. He ran and squatted underneath the delta wing to see the drop tanks, Astra missiles and the R-73s already mounted. His bird was also outfitted with a low-optics designator on an offset pylon next to the centerline fuel tank.

  This LCA was ready for war.

  He and Ramesh walked past the aircraft and headed to the taxiway that led past the concrete protection walls for the shelter. The open view from there revealed that Ambala airbase was ablaze. Fires were roaring where the control tower used to be. All he could make out was a blackened carcass of the building amidst the licks of flame. Further east he could see fires within the bellowing smoke from a destroyed aircraft shelter. That section of the base was occupied by a gaggle of Jaguars from the No. 5 “Tuskers” Squadron. Unless they were out somewhere on a mission, the
y had just been dealt a body blow.

  The sounds of jet engines overhead caused Grewal to look up. There was nothing to see in the darkness except for small clouds silhouetted against the moonlight. The corner of his eye caught a flash and he instinctively turned away just as another Babur cruise-missile detonated above the end of the runway. The spherical flash of white light turned yellow, then orange and then disappeared behind a mushroom shaped dust cloud. The shockwave swept over the curved tops of the hardened shelter and ricocheted off the protection walls. A wall of dust and the smell of petroleum swept past him. Grewal spat out the dust on his tongue.

  “Okay,” he said as he shook Ramesh and the latter got up from his prone position on the concrete, “we need to get out of here. Our birds are fine. Get the rest of the boys moving. I am going to spool up and get base operations to get us permission to leave.” He saw Ramesh still a bit shaken from the rapidity of the strikes taking place. Grewal shook Ramesh by his flight-suit: “Hey! You listening?”

  “Yeah. I got you. Get the boys, get the planes. Leaving this place ASAP! I heard you!”

  “Then move!” Grewal released his hold on his flight-suit as Ramesh got up and ran back towards the tunnel.

  Grewal turned to see a warrant-officer waiting with his helmet that had fallen on the floor: “ready, sir?”

  The senior NCO had white hair and a smile. Grewal returned it as he took the helmet: “yes, warrant-officer. Time for us to go do our job. I see you have already done yours!”

  The two men walked up to the parked aircraft as Grewal fitted the helmet on his head. A ladder wasn’t necessary. Grewal simply hoisted himself up the side and into the cockpit. Despite his seniority, he made sure he retained his fitness. He looked around the cockpit. This was his aircraft for the moment. His earlier one had been damaged on the first night of the war.

  Oh yes…he remembered and looked at his boots to see the scarred leather from the shrapnel that had missed him. A reminder to be careful and aware at all times, for death was always just one mistake away.

  Time to get to business.

  He went through the spool up of the systems. Within a minute the tiny aircraft’s engine turbines were rotating, making a gradually increasing whine. He turned his head on either side to see the ground crewmen pushing aside all equipment. Another of his pilots rushed past the entrance to the shelter on his way to the second aircraft. So Ramesh had passed on the word and his pilots were moving.

  He plugged in his oxygen mask and took a deep breath to ensure it was working. Then the night-optics, which he lowered from their mount on the helmet and locked it in front of his eyes. The green-light of the sights reflected off his visor. The engines were already making a din. Finally the comms: before he could leave, he had to make sure that their original mission had not been scrubbed by recent events. The complex operation needed the closest of coordination. Failure of one element might have ripple effects elsewhere…

  “Dagger-actual to mongol-two: dagger is preparing to depart. Requesting sit-rep, over.”

  There was static on the comms for several seconds during which Grewal all sorts of doubts raced through his head. Was mongol-two still alive? Given the savage attack dealt here, had other airbases suffered a similar fate?

  “Mongol-two here. We copy, dagger. Understand you are in the hot seat at the moment. Confirm status. Over.”

  “Dagger is fully operational, mongol-two,” Grewal said whilst nodding to the warrant-officer outside. The latter gave him a thumbs up gesture. “We are preparing to roll. The tower is out, so we are switching control, pending departure.”

  The comms were again filled with static for several seconds. Grewal was convinced that Verma would be getting confirmation from Ambala operations center that the runway was still operational. The latter would probably have some guys on a vantage point with some thermal optics to survey the damage…

  “Roger, dagger. We have you cleared to depart. Get yourselves up here and report to I-P Satin as per original flight plans. Out.”

  Okay. Grewal realized he had already told Verma that his flight was operational before having actually checked to make sure. He just didn’t want to provide any excuse for getting themselves fragged from the current operation. He could always make up a story about engine problems if any of his boys failed to depart…

  Thankfully, the other seven pilots chimed in and were ready to roll. Grewal changed frequencies: “dagger-actual here. We are rolling for immediate departure. Over.”

  “Roger…dagger-actual. You are cleared. Watch for debris and damage to primary runway. If in doubt, abort departure and return to shelters immediately. Over.”

  Like hell! “Dagger-actual copies all.”

  He powered up the engine and released the brakes. The LCA’s nose emerged from inside the shelter to find the airbase in complete blackout conditions. The moonlight was reflecting off the concrete. As he cleared past the shelter walls, he could see the full scope of the damage. It made him feel somewhat vulnerable inside the cockpit. The sooner he was off the ground, the better he would feel. To his side he saw the other LCAs moving out of their shelter. The flames from the tower were beginning to die down. His enhanced night-optics vision also showed him the black silhouettes of point-defense Mig-21s flying overhead.

  As he reached the runway and began to align the nose of the aircraft with the centerline on the concrete, a brilliant flash of light erupted over the main tarmac.

  He had to close his eyes because the flash was enhanced a hundred-fold in his optics. Bringing his shoulder in front of his eyes as a shield was instinctive. The LCA began to roll to the side and he corrected it before the aircraft drifted off the concrete and into the adjoining grass!

  His comms came alive: “the bastards are trying to nail us on the ground! They won’t get us so easy!”

  Grewal kept his peace. Ramesh was correct, though. The Pakistanis were launching strikes in staggered times so that the defenders could be lulled into thinking the strike was over, step outside and then get hammered when they were most vulnerable. There was a reason, after all, why this last explosion had smashed the apron that would normally be used to house aircraft if the shelters were full. Now that apron was a smoldering crater, but the strike had failed to knock out aircraft on the ground.

  Grewal’s LCA began rolling down the tarmac. The LCA had good short-field launch capability. It allowed the pilot to take off from small stretches of the runway that were intact. It was being put to the test tonight. Grewal powered up the afterburners, released the brakes and the aircraft ran down the length of the runway. The aircraft lifted into the air much before it reached the crater on the runway. He smiled at that and got down to business.

  The international border was visible even at night. Both Amritsar and Lahore were dark, but the former was dark because of mandatory lights-out conditions. Lahore didn’t have a choice. Its power supply sources had been hammered into oblivion the previous day. But the battles raging in and around the city were visible like a thousand fires.

  Grewal looked to the side of his cockpit and down and saw the green-black landscape of the city and the surrounding countryside peppered with white balls of light that flickered in and out. Verma had given Grewal and his pilots a clear berth from the artillery trajectories mapped out by the Indian army for targets in Lahore…

  “You seeing this?” Ramesh’s voice crackled on comms.

  “Yeah,” Grewal noted. “Lots of our boys won’t see the sunrise tomorrow down there. Perspective, daggers. It’s all above perspective.”

  Did that even make sense? Probably not. The others weren’t privy to his thought process. They would probably just put it down to “one of the old man’s musings” and let it be. The radio crackled again: “mongol-two to dagger-actual.”

  Grewal flicked comms: “dagger-actual here.”

  “Dagger, we copy you approaching I-P Satin. Hold there while warhawk arrives. Airspace west is under enemy ground-to-air control and should n
ot be ventured into for now. Will advise. Over.”

  “Dagger copies all. Holding until you say otherwise.”

  Grewal looked to the side and saw his other LCAs staggered in two “finger-four” formations. Ramesh’s flight was northeast. They were currently northeast of Lahore and continuing west, deeper into Pakistani airspace. Operation Starlight was aptly named by the air-force. Once it was done, astro-luminance would be all that the Pakistanis would have at night. Starlight’s objective was the decimation of Pakistan’s power and energy facilities. The strike on Chushma Nuclear Complex was Grewal’s little piece of that pie.

  He looked below and to the sides, hoping to see their charges coming up to the rendezvous point. The Brahmos missiles heading west to take out the HQ-9 missile battery west of Lahore would be happening already. His only indication of the strike would be the termination of the noise being made by his onboard radar-warning-receivers when the long-range surveillance radar of the battery was destroyed. They weren’t even get close enough to see the impact from the missile strikes. Too bad…

  But he did see his charges: three flights of four Jaguars each were approaching from the northeast: “dagger, this is warhawk-actual. Be advised, you have friendlies approaching from your five-o-clock, three-thousand feet below.”

  “We see you, warhawk.” Grewal responded.

  “Glad to hear it, dagger. I understand you boys will be our escorts for this milk run?”