by Vivek Ahuja
“Steel-central to rhino-actual, over.”
“Rhino-actual, receiving five-by-five. Send traffic.”
“Rhino-actual, this is steel-actual,” Sudarshan’s voice replaced the earlier one. “Care to explain what you are doing?” Kulkarni noted the irritated tone in his commander’s voice and internally muttered an “uh oh”.
“Steel-actual,” he shouted over the increased rumble of the tank engines, “we are moving to contact, sir. Rhino will not sit idly and wait for the enemy to attack. We have the advantage of fighting on the move better than the enemy and have the tactical surprise. And we intend to us it! Over!”
“I hope you know what you are doing, son,” Sudarshan noted. But he understood, being a former tank commander himself. In Kulkarni’s shoes he would have done the same. And that was all there was to it. Sudarshan was not one to second-guess his field commanders in the midst of combat…
“Roger, steel-actual. Rhino will engage surviving elements of the enemy column. Suggest you pass the word to the air-force. Rhino is moving to infrared beacons for I-F-F.”
“Right. Good luck. We have you on our view. Out.”
The comms link chimed off.
Okay…Kulkarni exhaled and relaxed his mind. The infrared beacons on top of the Arjun tanks would ensure that friendly fighter-bombers above would be able to tell the difference between friend and foe tanks. Hopefully. If the Pakistanis switched on their beacons too, it would be chaos and the bombers would have to abort their attacks and leave the fight to rhino to finish.
“Flashes,” the gunner announced, “to the north.”
Kulkarni brought his sights around. He had noticed during his talk with Sudarshan that the gunner had rotated the turret off axis and was now pointed seventy degrees off to the right of the chassis. The driver was leading the tank to the northwest, and the gunner was facing north.
“Range?” Kulkarni asked.
“Hard to tell, sir,” the gunner replied, “too much obstruction from houses and trees.”
“And zero depth-perception on the optics,” Kulkarni added. His own sights were having the same problem. He saw the flashes on the horizon just as the gunner had indicated. It was clear that the air-force Jaguars were busy causing mayhem and carnage. Kulkarni hoped that Sudarshan had managed to warn those pilots about the sixteen rhino tanks.
Kulkarni checked his ABAMS screen with its moving-map display and brought up his comms mouthpiece: “driver, enough westward motion. Bring us due north for roughly two kilometers. Then we turn east and will take positions.”
“Roger.”
As the differential track motion of the tank caused everyone inside to hold on, the gunner brought the turret in alignment with the front of the chassis. The flashes on the horizon were now to their northeast…and subsiding in frequency.
“The Jaguars are leaving,” the gunner remarked.
“We must be closing in on the enemy,” Kulkarni added and then corrected his assumptions: “or they are leaving to rearm and refuel. Can’t tell just from the flashes.” He then looked at his paper maps to see where a good place might be for them to turn east and wait for the enemy. What he needed was a good line-of-sight for his tanks. Something to open the volley with. After that, they would move to contact and engage the enemy at close range…
There…he found what looked like enough of a gap between the nearest clumps of houses and tree clusters to allow at least ten of his tanks to fit in, facing east. He then looked up at the ABAMS screen and pushed in the coordinates of the grid so that it would show up as a marker on the respective screens of all of his tanks as a rally point. He knew his platoon leaders were smart enough to see what their commander’s intent was without him having to spell it out.
He then checked his own tank’s position relative to the position he had marked: “driver, keep moving for another two-hundred meters. Then traverse right and bring us facing east in that clearing.”
“Roger, sir.”
Kulkarni liked the fact that his crew operated with the bare minimal of doubts or questions. It was like they were of the same mind. Either that or they just mindlessly trusted him. Either way, their lives rested on his conscience.
And on my decisions…he folded the paper map back into neat squares. He then pushed it back into his overall’s zipper pocket. He won’t be needing this map now.
The vehicle jerked to a halt and then turned right, bringing the turret to face straight through the opening Kulkarni had intended. He rotated his sights to see other tanks also moving into position in a line. Nine of his tanks took up position as the first line, followed by the remaining seven in the line behind them. The formation was spread over three-hundred meters, north to south.
It represented a firing squad.
Kulkarni smiled at that realization and gripped the sights close to his eyes. His tank was the northernmost tank in the formation. His gunner was already swiveling the turret to the northeast as they waited for enemy movement. Kulkarni flicked on the thermal view on his sights. The view instantly changed from the green-black to a white-grey-black monochrome. The thermals registered on his sights as black. And cold objects were being rendered white. That was his personal preference setting. This view instantly showed him the black-grey columns of smoke from the Jaguar strikes, one kilometer northeast of them…
“There!” He exclaimed as the first black blob on his screen moved in jerks that only a tank crew understood. Then two more. And then half a dozen. All heading south. The Pakistanis appeared to be reorganizing their formations following the Jaguar strikes. As Kulkarni expected, the center-of-gravity of their formation was to the southeast: the direction they expected the enemy to be.
“All rhino-alpha tanks,” Kulkarni shouted, “hold fire until we have enough of the bastards for our first line gunners!”
The last thing he wanted now was a premature initiation of his ambush. Once that first sabot round left a tank gun, the surprise would be gone and the enemy would reorient towards them. He had to take maximum advantage of his surprise while he had it. Besides, there was no way to tell how many more targets were behind these ones…
“Come on…come on…” he muttered as more black blobs began aligning themselves across their line-of-sight. “Keep coming, you bastards!”
He counted off the blobs as the seconds ticked.
Ten. More than the guns in his first line…
“All tanks! Fire!”
The night was instantly shattered with the orange-yellow flames erupting from nine Arjun tanks. All nine gunners fired simultaneously. At less than a kilometer separation between them and the Pakistani T-80s, the sabot rounds reached their targets in a second…
Kulkarni watched through his sights as smoke from his gun dissipated and seven explosions erupted in black coloration within the enemy column. Three catastrophic detonations occurred in quick succession as some of the T-80 turrets fell aside their blazing chassis. Four others shuddered to a halt or stopped dead in their tracks, smoke and flame spewing from all hatches. The three surviving T-80s drove past the explosion and instantly disappeared behind smoke clouds as their commanders went into evasion mode. Kulkarni saw other enemy tanks further behind these ones. They were reorienting to face his tanks.
“Rhino-alpha! Advance! Advance! Advance!” He shouted into the comms as his gunner fired another round: “fire at will! Kill them all!”
All sixteen Arjun tanks rumbled forward, firing main guns. Enemy mortar rounds began impacting around them as the enemy infantry started supporting their tanks. The remaining three T-80s began moving east in full reverse. They fired their main guns through the smoke cloud in desperation. But the smoke obscured everyone’s visibility. The Arjun gunners kept calm and focused on secondary targets.
As they made their way through the drifting smoke, the Arjun tanks went into free-fire mode. The Pakistanis had several Al-Zarrar tanks supporting their T-80s, but these were obsolete tanks more suited for infantry support operations rather
than toe-to-toe combat with enemy armor. Based on the Chinese Type-59, the Al-Zarrar was upgraded with reactive-armor systems and a better fire-control. But they were still old designs and could not fight on the move the way the Arjun could.
So while the Al-Zarrar crews halted their tanks to take aim, the Arjun tanks kept moving. This made it even harder for the enemy gunners but did little to hinder the Arjun gunners. Two-dozen sabot rounds flashed back and forth in the darkness, lit by the orange glow of fires and explosions. The Al-Zarrar crews did not stand a chance. Their only hope was to hit the Arjun lower in its chassis and hope to kill its mobility. Or a chance shot in one of the few weak areas in its Kanchan composite armor panels. In the darkness and against moving targets, it was a slim hope…
Kulkarni watched as his gunner rotated the turret as they moved past a burning T-80 chassis. Center in that view was an Al-Zarrar facing them at point-blank range. It fired its main gun before anyone could respond. The enemy sabot round slammed straight into the right, frontal Kanchan panel on the turret and sparks and smoke flew in all directions. The sixty-ton tank was dragged aside by the momentum of a point-blank sabot round. Then another explosion rocked the interior of the tank and smoke and sparks lit up the interior.
Kulkarni shook his head and saw blood dripping from his forehead. He had a severe headache. His arms and legs ached as well. The radio was blaring away in chaos as the battle raged outside. Inside the turret, however, there was the sounds of shuffling as the crew moved back into their seats. All were suffering from concussion, but they were alive. And that was all Kulkarni cared about for the moment.
“You guys all right?” He asked as he ran his fingers to his forehead and saw that they had turned bloody. He must have a gash somewhere. But there were no mirrors for him to see it in. He felt around the wound with his fingers and realized it to be just a gash. He must have hit something when the explosion knocked him off.
He heard the muffled voice of his driver on the comms. Looking around , he noticed his helmet headphone laying by the side of his seat. He pulled it up and put it back on. The voices became clearer: “sir, are you okay back there?!”
Kulkarni gave the others a look: “we are fine. How does the vehicle look?”
“The gun stabilization is off and the turret is off to the side. Left track is damaged but we should still be able to move. Right track is fine. Engine is fine. Looks like we took a round straight on the turret armor panel!”
Kulkarni pulled himself back to see his ABAMS screen disabled. He muttered an expletive and pulled his sights around: “gunner, is the main gun responsive?”
“Stand by,” the gunner tried moving the gun. It lifted jerkily and locked into its default stowage. “Looks like the gun is still responsive, sir.”
Kulkarni rotated his optics and saw that the Al-Zarrar that had fired on them was still there. But its turret seemed tilted and flames were leaping out of all its turret hatches. The roar from its fires was heard even over the battle.
“Looks like the bastard got hit before he could finish us off with a second shot,” Kulkarni noted dryly.
On further rotation of his sights, he saw that the turret-mounted machine gun was dislodged from its position and there were scorch marks everywhere. The main barrel of the machinegun was bent backwards…
“And we lost our external machinegun,” he noted for the benefit of his crew. He also noted that the ABAMS antennae was destroyed. That was the end of his network-centric operations for the rest of this war.
He lowered himself back in his seat and winced at the pain on his forehead. But he also felt rage. His tank was severely damaged. His networked fighting abilities were gone. The only good news here was that his mobility was still alive and so was his tank’s primary armament. And luckily, and most importantly, his radio was still working.
The tank’s engine rumbled to life. He hadn’t even noticed that the driver had switched them off to prevent a source of secondary explosions in case the damage had been worse. He exhaled and cleared his head.
“Okay, gents,” he said, “time to get back to the fight. Driver, get us moving. Gunner, check your main gun while I try to see what the hell is going on!” He switched comms: “rhino-alpha, this is rhino-actual. My networks are down. Give me a verbal sit-rep, over.”
As the other tank commanders started filling him in, he pulled out his paper map and stuck it in the gap between the ABAMS screen buttons. This map would be his main tool now. Time to do this the old fashioned way, he told himself.
Looking around, he saw that the battlefield was ablaze. Four of his tanks were damaged, including his own. Only two tanks had been completely destroyed. Ten Arjun tanks were fully operational and had hammered past the last remaining Al-Zarrar and T-80s. They were now rolling north under command of rhino-alpha-two. The latter had taken command assuming Kulkarni to be dead or incapacitated. And while they were relieved to hear his voice, Kulkarni had no intention of breaking their momentum to retake command. Not from inside a damaged tank, at any rate.
So he let them continue their charge as they overran the rear-end vehicles of the Pakistani column, about a kilometer north. He would take over and nurse the three other damaged tanks back to the south where trishul had its engineering elements.
He opened comms to Sudarshan: “steel-central, this is rhino-actual, over.”
“Steel-central copies, rhino-actual.”
“Rhino-actual reports destruction of enemy armored and mechanized columns north of waypoint red. Enemy has been overrun and rhino is in pursuit. We have two dead tanks and four more bruised, but mobile. We are returning to waypoint red. Requesting medical evacuation for six crew members. Confirm receipt of message, over.”
“Steel-central copies all. Good work out there.”
Kulkarni sighed. He could feel the adrenaline causing his body to shake uncontrollably, but forced himself past it: “roger. Requesting sit-rep on the southern enemy column.”
“Southern column is in retreat, rhino-actual. They have incurred massive losses following strikes by gladiator. Gladiator will rearm, refuel and pursue the enemy. Rhino needs to return to waypoint red upon destruction of north column and fold back into the defenses there. Over.”
“Wilco,” Kulkarni said half-mindedly. He realized he was very much in concussion. That was to be expected given that they had been inside a metal box that had just been rattled by a fast moving projectile. He found himself having to shake off the blurry vision in his eyes…
“Rhino-actual, do you copy? Over.”
He forced himself to be attentive: “Wilco, steel-central. Rhino-actual copies all. Out.” He then changed comms: “driver, we are heading back to waypoint red and are leading three other damaged tanks. Get us on a direct heading and move out.”
“Sir,” the loader said as Kulkarni fell back into his seat, “you have a gash on your forehead that is bleeding.” He got up from his seat and handed Kulkarni some bandages and painkillers from the turret’s first-aid kit. Kulkarni nodded his appreciation and took the bandage just as the tank reversed its orientation to the south and accelerated back to Rahim Yar Khan.
──── 44 ────
The line of seven Al-Khalid tanks moved obliquely, their main guns fired as they advanced. Two kilometers west, the green-white flashes of their guns saturated the night-vision optics on his binoculars, so Haider lowered them and let his eyes adjust. As he watched, a distant crackle of fireballs indicated artillery shelling on some poor souls…
Haider turned to see Akram standing behind him, watching silently. His low-light goggles were push up above his forehead on to his hair. Neither men said anything, but the silence was punctuated by the chatter of several radiomen and staff officers running the army units. Haider finally walked up near Akram and rubbed his eyes.
“This front is stabilizing,” he said, his voice filled with exhaustion. “Looks like the 6TH Armored will hold its ground. For now, anyway.”
“Yes, sir.” Akra
m said quietly. A stabilized front was hardly the desired outcome for officers of his generation, brought up on the humiliation of defeat from previous wars. Haider patted the man on his shoulder. He knew how it felt. He turned to face the young major: “this is not how this was supposed to unfold.”
He looked his young aide in the eyes. He knew they had all seen and heard the state of the war as it stood tonight. The Indians had reacted to the strike on Mumbai with shocking force. And the results of all that had landed them here. But living in the past was something Haider could ill afford.
“I need to get some sleep if I am to function,” he said finally. “Wake me up if something happens.”
Akram nodded and muttered a “yes, sir”. Haider walked past him and the radiomen towards the houses that had been requisitioned from their owners to serve as his command center, at least until the Indians found this one too. But he was not going to sleep out here in the mud and cold. He needed a bed. A Pakistani general sleeping in the mud with his troops? Unthinkable. Even under the circumstances.
He walked past dozens of soldiers and civilians resting on the streets outside the house. Some were eating food and others were sleeping. These men belonged to the units he had gotten out of Lahore. Most of these units were exhausted, expended and disorganized. The battle for Lahore had proven very costly. One part of him wanted to wake these men up and send them off to the frontline. After all, that was what their comrades in the 6TH Armored Division were doing. But he was too exhausted from the efforts of the day, trying to keep the 6TH Armored from disintegrating. A voice inside him wondered what would have happened to the defenses if he hadn’t stepped in?
Perhaps his inner voice was trying to find justifications for his exhaustion. Maybe all his body wanted was some sleep. A few hours. After that he would determine what had to be done next. He walked into the living room of the large house and found the stench of soldiers, officers, equipment, blood and food to be nauseous. He winced and walked past the soldiers to the second floor where a room had been kept aside for him. He walked in and went for the helmet chin strap, before realizing that it had been broken since his time in Lahore.