Line of Control- A Thriller on the Coming War in Asia

by Mainak Dhar

  ***

  Illahi was going to read the Indian letter aloud to the others assembled in the room. To him, it hardly mattered what the letter said, as he was already committed to his course of action. But he needed to do this for the others.

  Karim could guess what was coming when Illahi called the meeting late at night. He fervently hoped the Indians would be sensible in not pushing too hard, and that Illahi would be sane enough to accept a reasonable cease-fire offer.

  Illahi held the paper up, and began speaking in a loud, almost theatrical tone.

  Uh, oh. Looks like, we’re in trouble. Karim thought, as Illahi began. He had long come to recognize Illahi’s theatrics and the fact that these were usually the prelude to some drastic decisions. `The cowardly infidels write to us.’ Illahi was now really getting into his act.

  `Dear Illahi.’

  He stopped to sneer and then continued.

  `This is a personal request to you to help me put an end to the madness engulfing our subcontinent. Whatever the initial triggers may have been, it must be obvious to you and your government that things are not turning out the way you may have envisaged. Your attack on Kashmir has been held, and we can evict the intruders any time we want. On the plains, we are poised to launch a major attack on your key cities. Your air force is crippled, as is your navy. Prolonging this conflict will only lead to unnecessary bloodshed.

  The Indian government is willing to offer a cease-fire starting with immediate effect. This would require you to withdraw your forces from Kashmir, and open up the training camps in PoK for international inspection. In return, all Indian forces will move to pre-war borders and our navy will let Karachi port function again.

  Once again, I request you to exercise good judgment and put an end to the fighting.

  Hoping that this etcetera etcetera.’

  Illahi put the paper aside, as Karim looked closely to see what his reaction would be. Then to his horror, he began laughing.

  `Dog! He thinks we will accept defeat! Tariq, draft a reply saying that the forces of liberation in Kashmir will not give up so easily and that the Indians are suing for peace, only because we are on the verge of liberating Kashmir. Tell them the struggle continues. And release copies to the world press.’

  He kept talking, but Karim was no longer listening. He knew now what he must do. He looked at Shamsher, who unlike his usual self, was not opposing Illahi’s decision a bit. He leant over towards Karim and said just three words, `Let’s do it.’

  ***

  Colonel Hanif Mohammed looked at his men sitting around him and reflected on just how things had changed. He and his troops had marched into Kashmir thinking that they would just have to give the final push to occupy Uri, and with the PAF’s exploits in the sky above, there was little cause for worry.

  Then things had gone all wrong. The Mujahideen were now in shambles, and the morale of his own troops was wavering. Every day brought Indian air strikes and the occasional artillery barrage. Over the last three days, Mohammed and his men had learnt to use the terrain to minimize exposure to these attacks, and now casualties from these were minimal. Yet, the psychological impact was considerable.

  He knew that any moment now, the Indians would launch a ground counterattack, and he was not very sure his men could hold out. He had made frantic calls for reinforcements, but all available forces were being conserved in case the Indians did make a push onto Lahore.

  Mast Gul, the Mujahideen leader strolled up behind Mohammed.

  `Colonel, doesn’t look too good, does it?’

  Mohammed turned to the older man, with a wry grin on his face. Gul was one of the few professional soldiers among the Mujahideen, and had acquired quite a reputation during the fighting.

  Mohammed took a small sip from his canteen of water, and offered it to Gul. As he did so, he thought he picked up some movement in the mountains to his left. He unslung his binoculars and swung them around in the direction of the movement.

  His eyes caught a couple of pack mules and a man climbing the curving mountain path towards their position.

  `Gul, look there. Now that’s funny. They’re coming in from the Pakistani side. Must be some stupid farmer who’s gotten lost.’

  `Yeah, let’s shoo him away.’

  Mohammed ran towards the man, and as he got closer to the man, he saw that one of the mules pulled a cart with a fairly large box on its back. The man himself remained a mystery, his face hidden behind a black shawl.

  Mohammed took a few steps towards the man and shouted out at him.

  `Hey you! Go back. There’s a bloody war going on over here.’

  To his astonishment, the man stood up straight and saluted, addressing him by name.

  `Colonel Mohammed, I come from the SSG Special Unit. It is too dangerous to travel by road, with the Indians shooting up anything that moves, so I had to surprise you like this.’

  Gul had now caught up with the younger man, and was equally confused.

  `What in devil’s name are you doing here, and why should we believe you?’

  The man, his face still obscured, held out a sheet of paper.

  It read.

  `Soldiers of Pakistan and of the faith. My compliments on your bravery. Hold on-for help in on the way. In the meanwhile, I ask you to keep the box with the carrier of this letter. This box contains highly classified material critical to our nation’s security. In time, its contents will be revealed to you when reinforcements join you. In the meanwhile, do not, I repeat, do not open the box-or tell anyone about it.

  Illahi Khan

  Prime Minister’

  As far as Mohammed could tell, the letterhead was genuine, and the signature looked real, as did the SSG man’s identification card.

  Well, it was only a box, wasn’t it?

  `Okay, put it over there in that tent.’

  He turned to Gul, who had a big grin on his face.

  `I tell you, these bloody secret service types. All think they’re some James Bonds. What do you think is in that thing?’

  Mohammed hefted the box. `Seems pretty heavy. God knows. Maybe some communication equipment or something.’

  The SSG man left in a hurry, as Gul and Mohammed kept debating what could be in the box. At least it was a diversion from worrying about when the next Indian air strike would come.

  ***

  The room was thick with smoke as Karim and Shamsher sat, poring over maps and scribbled notes. Shamsher had kicked the habit years ago, but whenever he was under too much stress, as had been the case for the last ten days, he would relapse.

  Karim’s wife came in with more coffee as the men worked. Karim had told her what he was about to do, and to his relief, she had supported him fully.

  In the Officer’s Club, Karim and Shamsher had essentially brainstormed a veritable gaggle of ideas on how they could go ahead. Now that they had had more time to think through things, Karim wanted to approach this a bit more systematically.

  `Shamsher, I think it’s important we lay down the key objectives and principles behind this mission-both to clarify our thinking and also put it down for the record in case anything happens to either, or both, of us.’

  `I agree. Shoot.’

  Shamsher pressed the Record button on the small two-in-one on the table in front of them as Karim began talking.

  `Key objective-get control of Pakistan’s nuclear stockpile to prevent likely use in current conflict.

  Sub objectives-one- physical control of Illahi Khan and the suitcase containing launch codes and detonation triggers for warheads. Two-Control over Tariq’s HQ, where the launch codes are kept under strict security. Three-control over the four mobile Hatf launchers that we know are currently armed with nuclear warheads. Four-ensuring the twelve air dropped warheads at Kahuta and Sargodha are not used. Five-unassembled warheads, numbering six, which are kept at Kahuta. Six-control over all twelve static missile launchers, and their attendant twenty-four warheads.’

  Shamsher shut
off the recorder, as he finished detailing the deployment of these nuclear assets.

  `Excellent summary, Karim. I think the key principle should be minimum bloodshed. We don’t want our soldiers fighting each other. I have ordered the 24th Paracommandos to be stationed just outside Islamabad. I commanded this unit for ten years-they’ll do whatever I say.’

  Karim studied the map in front of him.

  `Okay. A small unit hits Illahi’s house near the Legislature. The main body goes on to hit Tariq’s HQ further south on Murree road. I’ll ensure the air droppable warheads are not moved. That takes care of one, two and four. What about the other objectives?’

  Shamsher thought it over for a while.

  `Okay-I think we can handle objective Five and Six. I’ll have a small detachment sent there to take charge of the unassembled warheads and the fixed launchers. We can say that we just wanted to secure them in case of an Indian attack. But, the mobile launchers will be a bitch. They are spread out over four conventional missile units, and being mobile, can be moved at very short notice. What we’ll have to ensure is that they are taken down within minutes of our hitting Tariq’s HQ.’

  Karim studied the maps in silence. He knew it was going to be a tough job. Ever since Illahi came to power and with the Emir’s growing influence, there had been a drastic change in Pakistan’s nuclear command and control structure. In the old days, the control lay with the civilian government, and the military would exercise the nuclear option only after the government directed it to. Even with the coup in 1999, control over the arsenal lay not with any one man. Illahi, showing his characteristic distrust of others, had turned this on its head. The launch codes were kept in Tariq’s heavily guarded headquarters in Islamabad, yet another indication of the growing power of the SSG man. While the air launched weapons were at key airbases, and thus out of Illahi or Tariq’s control, Illahi had understood that in any crisis, the four mobile launchers would be his trump card. And he had ensured his control over them. They were scattered over different conventional artillery units, and commanded by officers loyal to Tariq.

  Karim looked at Shamsher, `You know, I don’t know which is going to be more difficult-taking out Illahi and Tariq or finding those bloody mobile launchers.’

  `Yeah, well we’ve got no other choice. Let’s just pray things go off all right.’

  As they parted ways, Karim was looking forward to meeting Arif. In these tense times when things seemed to be changing constantly, Arif had been an excellent sounding board for what he had been planning.

  ***

  The box lay just five feet from Mohammed, who was fast asleep. Gul sat a few feet further away, reading from the Koran in candlelight. The Indians had made a limited attack the previous day, and the Pakistanis had retreated further. Now they were only four kilometers inside Kashmir. Mohammed was awaiting orders to pull back to the relative safety of PoK.

  Gul looked at the black box once and then resumed reading. He had had to drag the box along during the retreat, and it had not been a very pleasant experience. It had taken a dozen men with pack animals to get the box moving, and more than once, Indian mortar shells had landed uncomfortably close to the box. Gul could not imagine what was in the box that was so important that six more SSG men had arrived later specifically to guard it. But he knew how to obey orders, and his orders were explicit-not to let anything happen to the box. Oblivious to the men, inside the box lay a small one-kiloton nuclear warhead with enough destructive power to lay waste a small city block. Its computer brain was also asleep like Mohammed, waiting for the electrical impulses that would awaken it. Then it would unleash its awesome destructive power.

  ***

  TWENTY

  There are no warlike peoples-just warlike leaders.

  - Ralph Burke

  The young Lieutenant just could not figure out what was going on. But he could not let his men see his uncertainty or let it get in the way of his doing his duty. He, along with four of his men, was to attack the Prime Minister’s house, and capture Illahi. He had been shocked to have been called by Shamsher Ahmed himself. Shamsher had trained the young man, and was almost hero-worshipped in the regiment. So, as weird as the mission sounded, the young soldier was going to go ahead. All Shamsher had confided in the men was that Ilahi was going to order the use of nuclear weapons, when peace was a real option within their grasp. That was all the men wanted to know. All five men wore black dungarees, and were armed with a silenced Uzi each. Shamsher had been explicit on one count-no casualties unless absolutely unavoidable. Well, that was fine with him-he did not relish the prospect of firing at fellow soldiers.

  He took out his night vision binoculars and was surprised as he surveyed Illahi’s posh house. The security did not seem as heavy as usual. The tricky part would be getting across the 10 feet or so of garden in front of the house-when they would have no cover. Well, he had that one figured out.

  He signaled to one of his men, who threw a smoke grenade across the street-away from the house. The grenade skittered across the pavement and exploded with a dull thud in an alley. The dull explosion and thick smoke emerging from the alley immediately caught the attention of the four guards in the guard box, and two of them went across the road to check. The other two remained at the box, but kept looking at the smoke. Using this distraction, the five commandos silently ran across the garden.

  The Lieutenant forced open the nearest window, and climbed in, followed closely by his men.

  As he entered, he surveyed the situation. So far, it had been almost too easy. They were in the main hallway. From the diagrams he had seen, Illahi would be either in the third or fourth rooms to the right-his bedroom and study respectively. There would be three guards in the room opposite his bedroom, but if all went well, they would not even wake up.

  He motioned to two of his men to cover the guardroom. Another took cover behind a vase, covering the mouth of the hallway. The fourth stood by the window. The Lieutenant himself went for Illahi’s bedroom. He tried the doorknob, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the door was unlocked. He pushed it open, and in the same motion, dove along the ground, rolling and coming up in a crouch, his gun pointed at the bed. Nothing.

  Frustrated, he came out and tried the study. Nothing again.

  He was trying to think of what to do, when Illahi’s guards solved his problem. Two men, having been awakened by the noise outside, had come out of their room, sleepy eyed and fumbling with their weapons. Both fell dead within seconds as a commando fired precise bursts into both men.

  The Lieutenant considered his situation. Either Illahi had already gone someplace else, or he was somewhere else within the house. He discounted the second option-at three in the morning, there was little chance he was anywhere else in the house. The guards outside had still not realized what was happening inside, and he knew that the longer they stayed, the greater were the chances of being discovered. And then it would get very messy. He signaled to his men to leave. One man climbed out the window and crouched by the side of the house, covering the guard box with his gun, as the others crossed the garden, down on all fours.

  From the time the smoke grenade had been thrown, the operation had lasted just two minutes, and the soldiers outside were still figuring out what to do about the grenade incident, and did not notice the black shapes disappearing into the night.

  ***

  Rahul always considered himself very good at judging people and understanding their gestures. As a kid, this usually took the form of prophecies on who had a crush on whom. Given his high success rate, his considered opinion on the subject was sought by many, usually his classmates who wanted to know if someone had a crush on him or her.

  He found it funny that he remembered such a thing now-he had barely gotten over the shock of the tank incident, and was riding in another tank. The regiment was cruising along at over forty kilometers per hour and was now only two hours away from linking up with the large Indian force at Kasur.

  B
ut then, he mused, it did make sense, for he was getting the same kind of feeling. Yup, there was no doubt about it, Pooja was in love with the Colonel.

  In the tank just next to the one Rahul was riding in, Chauhan was barking commands to his men. Though he had been burnt fairly badly, he had flatly refused to slow down, and was running his men and tanks as hard as ever.

  When he did get some time to think things over, he realized that the tank incident had had a profound impact on him-the feeling of lightness was almost physical. He had exorcised the demons that had haunted him for the last two years. He looked up to see Pooja recording her report in her small recorder. She finished and looked at him, flashing a smile most men would have killed for.

  Pratap and Ram shared a secret smile. Like most other men in the regiment, they had noticed the vibes between the two, and were glad that finally their boss seemed to have found someone.

  Chauhan stood up to look around through the periscope. The IAF had reported that there were no enemy forces around for at least twenty kilometers, and even those were rapidly falling back to bolster the defenses at Lahore.

  Pooja spoke, asking the question that was on the minds of every man in the regiment.

  `What now?’

  Chauhan thought it over. He had never really expected to have to get involved in messy house-to-house fighting in Lahore. He had planned only to smash the Pakistani defenses and link up with the XIth at Kasur. Almost everyone had assumed that it would not get further than that-that if Lahore was so seriously threatened, a cease-fire would be imminent. Now that Illahi had rejected the cease-fire offer, everything had been turned upside down.

  `I really don’t know. The simple part now seems to be getting to Kasur. With the Pakis turning down the cease fire offer, it’s getting dicey?’

  Both Pratap and Ram were listening intently. They both had families living near the border, and the prospect of a nuclear war was weighing heavily on their minds.

  Pooja then asked the question which was on everyone’s mind.