by Deva, Mukul
Still huddled just 60 metres away from the section commander, Iqbal too heard the shouted exchange. He saw the section peel away and realized he was alone again. Iqbal immediately reached for the handset and pressed the transmit button.
And you will know that I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.
Book of Ezekiel
Powell had put down the handset after activating Thunderstorm. The Pakistani duty officer had passed orders to abort the meeting. The mujahideen radio operator had conveyed the orders to the Ameer. The tanzeem had begun to move out. And the Pakistani battalion commander was now almost 100 metres from his command post and going strong.
Just then, the radio set in the Force 22 ops room suddenly crackled to life. For a moment everyone in the room froze as Iqbal’s voice filled the room.
‘Fox Base, this is Babur. Majnu is intact.’
‘Babur, this is Fox,’ Anbu replied sharply. ‘We have eyes on you. Confirm your location.’
Iqbal was perplexed. This was the last thing he had expected to be asked to disclose on an unsecured radio link. But he did not doubt Anbu even for a second. ‘The large rocky outcrop about 1200 metres north of the main compound. The largest one, just below the cliff face.’
Back in the ops room, eager eyes swivelled to the screen.
Ankita located it and frantically tapped some keys, zooming into the rocky outcrop.
It was not far enough.
‘We have you, Babur. I want you to drop everything right now and head for the cliff. Get to the other side and lie low.’
‘What is the problem, Fox?’
‘The heavies are about to fire, Babur. You have barely a couple of minutes. Drop it and move. Now!’ The last word jolted Iqbal into action.
Artillery guns? Aren’t artillery guns area weapons? I thought they would go in for a precision strike!
Tossing aside the radio set and the rifle, Iqbal leapt off the ledge and began to run like a man possessed. He had no idea of the lethal firepower that was being unleashed on the target, but he knew that Anbu was not a man to panic without reason.
At the other end of the compound, there was a flurry of activity as the tanzeem members stormed out of the hut. Orders were shouted and men exploded into action. Drivers raced towards the vehicles which had been scattered around and parked under camouflage nets all over the compound to avoid aerial or satellite detection. Escorts and bodyguards grabbed their weapons and ran towards their respective protectees to hustle them into the vehicles.
No one, not even the Ameer himself, was really sure of the magnitude of the threat coming at them but they all knew they had to get clear of the compound. Or die. The duty officer had made that much abundantly clear.
In the ops room, on the large screen showing the Cartosat feed, Anbu and the other Force 22 officers suddenly saw a man emerge from the shadows of the rocky outcrop and begin to race towards the cliff. He was going flat out, like a 100-metre sprinter, except that he had a lot more distance to cover.
Go! Go! Go! they began to urge him on silently.
Several miles away, the Thunderstorm clock hit home stretch with shocking speed.
Two regiments of SMERCH roared into action, the thunderous boom splitting the countryside for miles around. An Armageddon worth of rockets soared into the sky, making their way to the target. Both regiments immediately began to reload.
The Cruise missiles were already en route, they had been launched seconds earlier to compensate for the longer distance they had to traverse. Clinging to the terrain to evade radar detection, the salvo of lethal missiles raced forward in NOE mode, carrying their message of death and destruction. The HIMARS let fly a few moments later.
Thunderstorm had been unleashed.
On the wider screen that was now being projected by the American spy satellite, Anbu saw blinding flares of light as the SMERCH launchers roared into action. Further away, he saw the HIMARS flame to life. On the more focused screen of the Cartosat satellite feed, he noticed the first of the jihadi vehicles reach the hut where the tanzeem had been meeting. Several other SUVs were driving up.
Damn! Are they going to make it out of the kill zone?
On the other side of the silent screen, he saw Iqbal run towards the cliff. Would he make it out in time?
Every eye in the ops room was fixed on the screen.
To one side they could see two of the tanzeem vehicles converge on the hut, pick up their charges and race away. Each man in the ops room wanted the rockets to swoop in before any of them could get clear of the compound.
On the other side of the compound, they could see Iqbal running to safety and they wished the rockets would fly slowly so he would have enough time to get away.
The terrain-hugging Cruise missiles were not visible on the screen but Anbu saw the rockets flame through the sky, moving with great speed. They reached the zenith of their trajectory and began to arc down on the target, gathering speed with every passing second.
Anbu saw the first two tanzeem vehicles rocketing away, now hitting the edge of the compound and making for the exit. The Ameer’s SUV was leading the way. The second was barely 20 metres behind. The other five vehicles were torn apart, two had started driving away from the hut, there were men trying to scramble inside the next two, and the last one was now pulling up outside the hut. The final set of bodyguards could be seen hustling their protectee into his car.
At the other edge of the screen, Anbu could see Iqbal running, regardless of the attention he was drawing from the men in the other trenches; several of them were gawking at him, thoroughly puzzled. A few of them were reaching for their weapons, still trying to figure out what was happening. They could see the pandemonium and hear the vehicle engines being gunned mercilessly as panicked drivers tried to steer clear of each other and get out of the compound. They could also see the Pakistani soldiers clearing out. But no one had given them any orders. They did not know that the ones who could have given them orders were burning rubber to get clear of the area. Despite that, the panic spread contagiously and some of the men began to hightail it out of the compound. Confusion held the others for a moment before they followed suit. By now the entire compound was in an uproar.
None of the men on ground could see them, but the rockets and Cruise missiles were closing in with incredible speed. Another few seconds and the piercing screech of inbound rockets would be audible to the men below. Of course, by then it would be too late for them to react.
And in the thick of it all, Iqbal kept running. He was still 100 metres away from the safety of the cliff.
Safety was almost thrice as far away for the tanzeem vehicles, but they had far more powerful engines gunning them away in the opposite direction.
Iqbal had covered most of the remaining distance when the rockets arrived over the target, beating the inbound Cruise missiles by a fraction of a second.
He heard the screech of the incoming rockets. It drove shards of fear through him. Shit! Shit! I’m not going to make it!
Iqbal sprinted full tilt, throwing himself forward. If not the cliff, then at least that little fold in the ground just short of it. At least it offers some cover, maybe enough…
With a final, superhuman spurt of speed, Iqbal launched himself into the air.
On the other side, the Ameer’s vehicle had cut across the compound and was almost clear. In a few seconds, it would be out of the danger zone. The second vehicle was still following closely. However, the other five vehicles were still navigating their way through the compound. They too must have heard the rockets coming in since all of them drove faster, the drivers coaxing every ounce of speed out of the madly revving engines.
Though unleashed from guns and aircraft miles apart from each other, an almost incalculable tonnage of precision-guided ordnance arrived on the target almost at the same time. The SMERCH salvo hit first, beating the Cruise missiles by a few seconds. Already en route was the second SMERCH salvo. Following hard behind was the first of the
FAE bombs. And within effective range was a complete array of Reaper drones, watching to see if anything left the area alive.
A stunned silence held the ops room. They were all hardened soldiers and not one of them doubted the supremacy of the mission, but inside they were only human. And at that moment, to each one, the life of their comrade who had delivered the tanzeem to their guns was as important as the destruction of the tanzeem.
They all saw the tanzeem vehicles flying towards safety with alarming rapidity. On the other hand, the distance between Iqbal and the cliff receded with terrifying slowness.
Just as the rockets covered the final remaining mile to the target, they all noted the sudden and final burst of speed as the tanzeem vehicles and Iqbal accelerated, both moving with the same aim in mind but in opposite directions.
They saw Iqbal launch himself into the air. They knew he must have heard the rockets coming in.
Iqbal was flying through the air, his body inches short of fold in the ground.
By now the Ameer’s vehicle had hit the edge of the compound. In seconds it would be out of danger zone. The other vehicles were also making good time, as people tend to do when death is on the rampage.
Anbu, Sami, Tiwathia and Ankita… they all saw the rocket salvo descend with a harsh blaze of light. Both windows of the screen in the ops room lit up in a huge seething, churning cauldron of flame and fury, the effect ominous due to the absence of any sound. The crescendo of the Cruise missiles slammed in almost simultaneously, adding to the devastation.
With bated breath, they watched the target explode as the rockets and missiles pounded and decimated it into nothingness. Then the lethal load lobbed by the HIMARS arrived and the FAE burst over the target area like a broiling sea of fire, obliterating it from view.
The devastation continued. They all knew that by the time the flames settled down and finally died so would every living thing in the area.
The tanzeem was, undoubtedly, as dead as it is possible to be. No one in those vehicles that had been speeding away or in any of the huts or trenches in the compound could have survived the massive onslaught. Not by a long chalk.
Mission accomplished!
For once, these much-anticipated words did not bring with them the satisfaction they usually did.
Every person in the Force 22 ops room stayed glued to the screen long after the explosions had died down.
They all watched with unblinking eyes but nothing stirred on the screen. They focused on the small patch where they had last seen Iqbal begin his desperate dive for life. Barring the smouldering fury of the fires that raged over the target area, nothing moved.
Yet, not a single eye looked away from the screen. And every eye was glistening wet.
It is true that the mind is restless and difficult to control, but it can be conquered, Arjun, through regular practice and detachment.
Bhagavad Gita
Long after the others had left the ops room, Colonel Anbu remained standing. His eyes were still fixed on the point on the screen where he had last seen Iqbal.
The devastating effects of Thunderstorm had subsided and the stillness of death shrouded the target area. The vehicles that had been carting the tanzeem barely existed any more. Here and there, one could spot parts of human bodies or broken bits of a building, vehicle or weapon. Other than that, death and destruction hung heavy over the area.
Eventually, everything faded away and the huge screen receded into darkness as both satellite feeds shut down one by one. But Anbu did not register any of this.
Anbu’s mind saw the life of the tormented but infinitely brave young man whom he had taken under his wing, who had unflinchingly stepped in harm’s way whenever the occasion had risen.
Anbu saw the beautiful young woman who had loved and believed in Iqbal, walked bravely beside him, and paid the price. The memory of her tortured body seared through Anbu to this day. That was a failure the colonel would carry on his conscience all his life.
And he saw the baby boy they had left in his arms, one when she went to her death, the other when his karma beckoned to him.
Anbu suddenly remembered consoling his sister when Arjun, her husband, his comrade, had fallen on the battlefield. Despite the passage of years, his words rang out loud and clear in his mind as though it had happened yesterday. ‘Just remember that he was a soldier… soldiers die.’
Anbu remembered the first time he had lost one of his men in battle. And he remembered Lord Krishna’s words to the warrior Arjun. ‘You grieve over those who should not be grieved for… Arise, O son of Kunti, determined to fight. Treating alike pleasure and pain, gain and loss, victory and defeat…’
And just as they have done down the ages, these words delivered some peace to the colonel from Chennai, the warrior who had to kill so that the rest of India could sleep in peace. And eventually, some of the calm that had always held him in good stead all his life returned.
Finally, Anbu turned and headed out of the room. There was still a task to be done. There would always be. For a country like India, with the kind of neighbours it had, there would always be a job for the soldier who stood sentinel on its borders.
As Anbu walked out of the ops room, his spine became straighter, his chin was held high and the resolve of the soldier returned to his eyes.
The end of birth is death; the end of death is birth; this is ordained! And mournest thou, chief of the stalwart arm! For what befalls which could not otherwise befall?
Bhagavad Gita
The little boy was playing in the sprawling garden of a colonial bungalow located in the heart of the army cantonment in Delhi when a black Ambassador with darkened windows came to a halt at the gate. A small red flag fluttered from the flagstaff fixed to the side of the bonnet. A red plate sporting a solitary brass star shone above the car’s number plate.
The child was so engrossed in trying to snatch the ball back from the golden retriever he was playing with that he did not notice the car. The dog was almost twice his size and bounded around him with ease, letting out playful growls as he kept the ball away from the boy’s tiny hands.
A man got off the car and walked towards the gates. He was clad in the olive-green uniform of an Indian Army officer. He sported the stars and crossed swords of a brigadier on his shoulder boards. He was carrying a well-worn, black leather briefcase.
The minute the man’s hand touched the gate and slid open the bolt, the dog cocked its head. It turned and looked up, dropped the ball and, barking loudly, streaked across the garden like a furry bolt of golden lightning. The man quickly closed the gate behind him and put down the briefcase, bracing himself against the assault.
Barking madly with joy, the dog launched himself in the air at his master. Hard in his wake, the tiny tot ran up with shaky, excited steps, shrieking in delight.
The woman inside the house drew back the curtains of the living-room window. By now they had him down on his knees; one was licking him lavishly while the other tried to fight past the dog and get to the man he knew as his father. There was a glow of contentment in the woman’s eyes as she watched the excited trio.
Brigadier Rajan Anbu’s eyes were moist as he finally got past the dog and swept up the toddler in his arms.
‘Down, Sandman!’ He tried to calm the dog. ‘Down, boy!’
‘Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!’ the boy screamed as he clung to him.
‘Yes, my son! I am right here!’ He picked up the boy and held him close to his heart. And for that one brief moment they were as one, father and son.
‘Daddy will not go to office now?’ the boy asked, his unformed speech further slurred by excitement.
‘No, son, daddy will not go to office till next Monday.’
‘Yay! Gimme five!’ the little boy shouted, aping the two elder siblings he was growing up with, as he held up his tiny palm. ‘Daddy play now?’
‘Yes, daddy will play now,’ Anbu replied with a laugh, giving him a high-five and holding the boy close, Sandman sti
ll running in circles around them. Together, they went to retrieve the abandoned ball.
One day, my son, Anbu thought, I will tell you about your real mother and father. I will tell you about the man and woman who sacrificed everything they had for the sake of our country. They died unsung and unacknowledged, but they died true heroes in every sense of the word and this nation owes them a huge debt of gratitude.
Deep within, Anbu mourned for the couple he had grown to love and missed ever so much… for the man he somehow felt he had let down. And for his son, this innocent boy in his arms, who had never known his mother or his father.
But I swear to you, my child, you will never feel the absence of either, not as long as I am alive. I promise you that.
Anbu held the laughing boy closer to his heart.
Yes, my son! One day I will tell you about the man named Iqbal…
Acknowledgements
Before all else, I must thank Goddess Saraswati, for enabling me to finish this four-book series as planned. I couldn’t have done it without the unflinching support I received from all those people who have shared my life during these years. To each one of you, I offer my humble and most heartfelt thanks.
To my wonderful family, for giving me the time and space to indulge in the (almost) solitary love of my life: writing.
To my comrades-in-arms in the Indian Armed Forces who were kind enough to ensure that I did not make any major blunders while writing about tactics, weapons and weapon systems.
To my publisher and now dear friend, Karthika V.K., and to my wonderful editor, Neelini Sarkar, for believing in me, keeping me on track and giving final shape to this book and this series. Without them watching over me, I do not think I could have achieved my goal of bringing out a book every year for the past four years.