LASHKAR

by Mukul Deva

  The jeeps had barely left the city limits of Bikaner when six trucks moved out from the small town of Pugal, midway between Bikaner and Khajewala. All six were loaded with contract engineers, labourers and an assortment of engineering and electrical equipment required for the fencing that had been installed by India along the Indo–Pakistan border. Comprising two fences approximately three metres high and erected a few metres apart, the border fence is a formidable deterrent to cross-border movement of the illegal kind. Normally the gap between the two fences is covered with concertina coil. In addition floodlights, electrification, radars, thermal imagers, night-vision devices and sensors stand sentinel at all likely infiltration points.

  The Indian Government had started the border fencing sometime in 1980 when it became clear that Pakistan would not desist from smuggling drugs, counterfeit currency and terrorists into India. It was decided that every inch of the 1800-mile-long border with Pakistan would be secured with this kind of a fence. With a total projected cost of about 2 billion US dollars it was a very expensive and tedious job, but then sometimes, when neighbouring nations lack responsibility, fences are required.

  On that particular day most of the Indo–Pak border in Rajasthan and Punjab had already been fenced and work was on in deadly earnest to achieve the same in Jammu & Kashmir. In fact, as far as Rajasthan was concerned precisely 1066 kilometres of fencing had already been erected and 1061 kilometres of this had been augmented with flood lighting.

  Pakistan, of course, foresaw the huge negative economic effect such a fence would have on its drugs and terror export policy and was objecting to it strenuously. ‘How can you guys not object to it?’ An affronted Pakistan Foreign Minister had asked his American counterpart during the former’s visit to Washington. ‘After all, it is almost the same as the fence that Israel has put up along the West Bank. You guys were definitely vocal about that one.’

  ‘I don’t think that is inherently correct…the two fences cannot be equated. The Indian fence is well within its boundaries, unlike the Israeli one that crosses into and eats up parts of the West Bank.’

  Ironically, this was the same Pakistani Minister who, a few months later, announced that Pakistan was going to be putting up a border fence along the Pakistan–Afghanistan border. He had been considerably put out when he was asked by a Western journalist, ‘What exactly is this fence supposed to do, Minister, other than limit the number of terrorists entering into Afghanistan?’ The look on the Minister’s face made it more than clear to the journalist that a visit to Pakistan any time in his life might well put an early end to it.

  As the six trucks from Pugal wound their way to the border fence, four more trucks moved out from Anupgarh, another border town to the north-east of Khajewala. Like the trucks from Pugal these were also filled with men and equipment, however not all the supplies had to do with border fencing. Tucked safely out of sight of prying eyes was an odd assortment of arms and ammunition. Enough, in fact, to fight a small war. Had a careful watcher been observing this particular convoy he would have also noticed that the labourers in these trucks were considerably more physically fit.

  Both convoys moved out at short intervals from each other, joined up on the solitary road that lead to the International Border between India and Pakistan, and headed straight for the border fencing.

  The six trucks from Pugal split up into two smaller convoys with each one heading for different sections of the border. The four trucks from Anupgarh headed for yet another section of the fence.

  If one were to stand in the Indian desert town of Khajewala and draw a straight line to the Pakistani town of Fort Abbas, that lies towards the north, the Pakistani BOP of Ranabhana would lie almost bang on that line about two kilometres ahead of the Indian border fence. Two platoons and the headquarters of a company of Pakistan Rangers man this BOP. The third platoon of this company mans the Majnuwala BOP, which lies about seven kilometres to the west of this BOP.

  Likewise, on the opposite side, six kilometres to the east of Ranabhana is the Lambawala Toba BOP, also manned by another Rangers platoon. Both the platoon commanders, at Majnuwala and Lambawala, report to and are under the command of the Rangers’ Company Commander located at Ranabhana BOP.

  On the Indian side, the area right up to the border was green, well-developed and almost completely cultivated. The well-laid-out Indira Gandhi Canal network provided the water required for irrigation, and sunflower was the favoured produce of the area.

  In direct contrast, the area on the Pakistani side was totally undeveloped and barren right up to Fort Abbas, about thirty kilometres north of the border.

  The trucks carrying the labourers arrived at the border fencing and the men started repair work on the fence at several different places, right from the section of the fence facing Majnuwala to the section ahead of the Lambawala Toba BOP. Two kilometres away, the Pakistan Rangers took note of this activity.

  ‘Majnu for Rana. We have movement on the IB. There are trucks with people who have come up to the fence.’

  ‘Rana for Majnu. The jokers must be carrying out repairs and maintenance of their precious fence.’ There was a sardonic laugh. ‘Some contractor must be in need of money. Keep watching and inform us if you see anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘Roger that Rana.’

  ‘Lamba for Rana. We have the same thing happening here also. There are three trucks in our area also.’

  ‘Roger Lamba. I guess the contractor must be in need of a lot of money. Keep watching.’

  ‘Yeah, right, Rana. With contractors like that who needs enemies?’

  The radio operators at all three BOPs sniggered. It was the same old story no matter what side of the border you stood on. None of the Pakistani BOPs did anything beyond recording this activity in their daily log. None of the BOPs even bothered to send out a cursory patrol to take a closer look at what was happening on the fence or inform their force headquarters.

  Even if they had sent out their patrols they would not have noticed anything amiss. Although if someone had been observing the work closely they might have noticed that the gang working at one of the sites seemed to be doing more dismantling than repairing. This was the gang working on the section of the fence almost exactly in the centre of the six-kilometre gap between Ranabhana and Lambawala BOPs.

  At this particular site, just a little away from where the men were working was a small, sand-coloured tent pitched in the lee of a dune. The tent blended in perfectly with the surrounding sand and would have been hard to pick out even in an aerial photograph.

  Even if the tent had been spotted no one could have seen the pile of automatic weapons neatly stacked on a wooden rack in a corner of the tent. Nor could they have seen the radio set installed on a small table in the other corner.

  The radio set looked exactly like the ones used by most Indian Army units. It operated on VHF frequency and was the standard frequency hopper used to degrade enemy Electronic Warfare attacks. The difference was that this radio set was far more sophisticated than the ones it resembled. A team of top-notch Indian scientists, who had once figured on the payrolls of communication giants like Motorola and were now more gainfully employed by the Indian government, had assembled this particular model. The radio set was virtually impossible to hack into within any reasonable time frame. Barely a hundred sets of this model had been pressed into service so far and most of these were with the Indian Special Forces.

  Today this particular set had been activated just once since the tent had been set up. ‘Chengiz for Tiger.’ The Team Leader had reported to Anbu as soon as the tent had been pitched, ‘We are in position. Over.’

  ‘Roger Chengiz. This is Tiger. Remain on listening watch and maintain radio silence. Out.’ Sitting in his well-equipped command post in the Kasauli hills Anbu kept close track of each development. So far things were moving per plan. ‘I wonder how long that will last,’ Anbu mused; he was a seasoned veteran and knew it was only a matter of time before Murphy’s
Law came into play.

  1640 hours, 30 October 2005, Khajewala Sector, Rajasthan.

  The innocuous-looking helicopter that had taken off from Bikaner carrying the six Force 22 officers and their gear landed near a small hut outside Khajewala. The spot was barely three miles as the crow flies from the house of Afzal the smuggler. Afzal was of course nowhere near his house when the chopper landed. On the way from Bikaner to Khajewala along with his two terrorist charges, he had suffered a couple of punctures that set him back an hour.

  The Indian Army and other not-so-overt agencies used this particular hut once in a while. It had a dilapidated exterior but the interior was more than adequate and a small generator ensured power at all times. It boasted the basic amenities required for a short stay, including a well-equipped medical kit and some seriously unpalatable ready-to-eat Army meals. Legend has it that once a senior Army General was questioned about the awful quality of these meals and the unfortunate effect they had on human tastebuds. ‘Why doesn’t the Army do something about it, General?’

  ‘It is because we eat such stuff that we are always ready to fight,’ the General is reported to have replied.

  A Military Intelligence man who had driven down from Bikaner was standing by. He stepped forward as the men began to get off the chopper. ‘The vehicles we have to hand over to you are here. They are in very good shape. We have also placed some critical spares and extra fuel in the jeep. Here, let me help you with that.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  As the MI officer helped to unload the chopper, one of the Force 22 officers left to check the vehicles. Despite the cordiality, no introductions were made; it was nothing personal, just the way things happen in such operations.

  It was almost sunset when four of the Force 22 officers who got off the chopper, Captains Tony Ahlawat, Mohammed Sami, Vikram Tiwathia and Pradeep Katoch of Force 22, had re-checked and loaded their gear on the jeep with the motorcycle strapped in at the back. They were ready to move.

  While they were busy the other two Force 22 officers, Squadron Leaders Gautam Vashisht and Rajesh Tiwari, quickly unpacked their gear and started setting it up in the hut. By the time the four officers were ready to leave, the small hut in the middle of the desert had been transformed into a mini StarWars-style command centre. Tiwari activated the first piece of machinery as soon as the command centre was operational. It was a radio set that was identical to the one deployed in Chengiz Khan. He too reported in to Anbu. ‘Tango for Tiger. Foxtrot Bravo is up and running. Over.’

  ‘Tiger for Tango. Good. Keep me posted. Out.’

  It took Vashisht and Tiwari another twenty minutes to open the two long wooden containers that had also been part of their cargo and to start setting up the two Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAV) packed inside.

  As darkness fell upon the desert the four Force 22 Captains climbed into the jeep and headed for the border. All four men were natives of the desert. In fact, like Afzal, two of them, Mohammed Sami and Tony Ahlawat, were from this very area of Rajasthan. They could well have taken a short detour and dropped in to say hello to their families, but home was the last thing on their minds just then.

  ‘Fox One for Tango.’ Ahlawat made the call when the jeep was a couple of miles away. ‘Report my signal.’

  ‘Tango for Fox One. You are strength five,’ Tiwari replied confirming that communication with Foxtrot Base was working well.

  ‘Fox for Tiger. That’s it then. We are off.’

  Tiwathia gunned the engine and they headed straight for the section of the border fence between Ranabhana and Lambawala Toba BOPs that had been codenamed Chengiz Khan. ‘Happy hunting Fox. See you tomorrow.’

  Then Fox was off; moving fast and silent through the rapidly gathering desert night.

  The first prong of the Indian counter-strike had been unleashed.

  Based on a platform akin to the American Predator UAV, though several technological steps ahead of it, the Krishna UAV was the latest and most covert addition to the Indian arsenal. It had not been revealed to the Indian public. Nor, if the Army had a say in the matter, was it likely to. The Indian Army had no desire to let the world in on their real capabilities in this field.

  After all, what the enemy didn’t know about it couldn’t counter.

  The Krishna did full justice to the ingenuity and hard work that had been put in to it by a dedicated team of scientists working for over two years. Made from a mixture of carbon and quartz blended in a composite with Kevlar, the UAV’s airframe is supported by Nomex, foam and wood laminate pressed together in layers. A sturdy fabric sandwiched between these layers provides the required insulation to the sensitive equipment carried on board the UAV.

  The ten-metre-long Krishna has a 21 metre wingspan and is powered by a highly fuel-efficient 4-cylinder, 4-stroke, 120 horsepower engine. It has a minimal RCS (Radar Cross Section) and a reduced infrared footprint thus making the Krishna almost impossible to detect. With a flight endurance of about forty hours and the ability to operate up to an altitude of 14000 metres, it is capable of carrying a payload of about 250 kilograms in addition to the fuel load that it carries in its twin tanks.

  The payload carried by a Krishna could include an ultra-sophisticated surveillance package comprising a full colour nose camera, a Variable Aperture camera, a Variable Aperture Infrared camera for low light or night viewing and a Synthetic Aperture Radar for seeing through clouds, haze and smoke. The data can be transmitted in real-time through a Ku-band satellite communication system fitted onboard the Krishna. The complete package is a formidable force multiplier and presents a bird’s-eye view of the complete battlefield to a commander sitting hundreds of miles away.

  In its other, deadlier avatar, the Krishna can also carry a weapons-load of up to four highly lethal, precision-guided weapons. The weapon system is an electro-optical infrared one with a laser designator and a laser illuminator. As and when required the Krishna can also carry a mix of both, an abbreviated surveillance system and a reduced missile load. It is an ideal weapon for a precise, selective strike against a small target without exposing expensive aircrafts or even more valuable manpower to risk.

  Tonight the two Krishnas operating ahead of the Force 22 team were equipped with the most sophisticated surveillance package possible. They silently clawed their way into the cold night air and gained height rapidly. A few seconds later they had vanished into the darkening night sky.

  ‘Isn’t this beautiful?’ Vashisht said admiringly to Tiwari, pointing at the real-time data streaming in on the array of monitors before them. The data feed was also being simultaneously piped across to the main command post at the Force 22 headquarters at Kasauli, to enable Anbu to keep an eye on things. This was always a dangerous and double-edged proposition since a lot of commanders tend to get into the thick of an operation and try to fight ground action from hundreds of miles away without realizing that things are never as simple and clearly defined as they appear on the screens in front of them. Anbu was mature enough not to get too closely involved and start micro-managing the operation, but human enough to want to know every last detail of what was happening.

  ‘Technology! A real bitch!’ Tiwari grinned as he looked at the monitors. Sitting at the command post they had a fabulous panoramic view of the desert ahead. ‘Just look at that!’ He pointed at one of the monitors as the Rangers’ sentry at the Lambawala BOP stepped out to take a leak in the desert. The imagery was so sharp that the urine hissing away from the man glowed red through the thermal imagers. ‘Tango for Tiger. Are you getting the feed?’

  ‘Roger that Tango. I’m getting it loud and clear.’ There was a smile in Anbu’s voice. ‘Stop pissing away the tech, guys and show me something worthwhile.’

  Sitting in the improvised control room near Khajewala both Force 22 officers grinned as they put their heads down to the task at hand. High up in the air, the two Krishna UAVs moved into a carefully calculated pattern a little ahead and over the four Force 22 officers as they raced
through the desert night in the jeep.

  Travelling a couple of kilometres towards the east, but following a path very similar to the one that Afzal was taking the two terrorists out on, the jeep with the Force 22 officers headed straight for Chengiz Khan where the slightly implausible labour gang had carefully created a gap in the fencing.

  ‘Tango for Fox.’ Tiwari’s voice crackled into the headset Tony Ahlawat was wearing. ‘You are six hundred now. Chengiz get ready to rock.’

  ‘Roger Tango. We are ready. Come on in, Fox.’

  The Chengiz team leader turned away from the radio set and signalled to his second-in-command. Immediately the work on the fence speeded up. The eight-foot-wide section of fence covering the gaps in both the fences was removed just as the jeep drove up to it. It barely had to check its speed as the fence section was swiftly moved out of the way. The minute the jeep went through the gap the workers replaced the section of the fence. However they did not fix it back in a particularly permanent manner.