The Crimson Conspiracy

by David Singh

  'What happened?' Jaffri enquired.

  'Bilal is sounding strange.' Meetha replied, 'Earlier he didn't kill Ibrahim. I had given him clear instructions to do that but Ibrahim was still alive. Then he shot Ibrahim dead only on my second command. Now he is wasting time in collecting some weapons from the caves across the valley somewhere kept hidden by Ibrahim. Why would Ibrahim tell him so before dying? Then, we already have plethora of weapons, why to waste time for more and that too with wounded men accompanying. What is his priority? Collecting weapons or reporting in time here?'

  'Young blood, bhaijaan (bro). He is youngest of us and this is his first mission that too is unexpectedly successful against our biggest and oldest enemy. He is overexcited, nothing else.'

  Meetha, unconvinced, shook his head sideways. 'He reaches here in another thirty minutes or not he is out anyway. I will take action against him for insubordination. We are in the middle of a mission. We better have men, not lads, on board. I think that would be a better lesson for him to remember for long.'

  'Let me talk to him.' Jaffri said.

  Meetha nodded a go ahead.

  'Bilal.' Jaffri spoke into the radio.

  ?

  Samarjeet had hardly bent down to tackle the steep slope below when radio crackled again.

  'Bilal.' A different voice this time.

  'Janab.' Samarjeet responded.

  'Jaffri here, what the hell are you doing? Don't you know Meetha sahib is so pissed off with your clumsiness?'

  'Janab, another twenty five minutes and I'll be there.'

  A moment's pause.

  'You have fifteen minutes, one already gone, or you better climb down back to the country and wait for the court-martial.'

  'Rahem (have pity) janab. I am just walking in.'

  'You better.' Radio fell silent again.

  Samarjeet switched the radio off and began his decent. ?

  Jaffri released the PTT button, looked back at Meetha and said meaningfully. 'Well, what do you say?'

  'None of us addresses this place as camp. We have been instructed to call it by code name the nest. And Bilal always addresses you as Rizwan bhai, never as janab.'

  'Something is surely wrong.' Jaffri agreed, 'but what?'

  'Whosoever is he, he is….' Meetha said thoughtfully, '…not Bilal.'

  ?

  Flight Lieutenant Asghar Hashim was almost finished with the final inspection of the chopper. He, assisted by another three of his men, was busy checking the chopper whether it was ready to fly. It took his team almost half hour to ensure that chopper was good to go. Hindustan Aeronautics Limited (HAL) manufactured light weight Cheetah Helicopter, capable of carrying fifteen to eighteen persons, was standing on its sleds in the center of the valley with its left side towards the enemy's base camp.

  The cowl door, master switch lights, oil pressure indicator lights, alternator and governor indicator lights were on. Actuator fuse, temperature and fuel test switches, fuel gauge, fuel filler cap all were in good condition, tightly in place and working. Auxiliary fuel drain and gearbox oil were not leaking.

  Rotor Brake actuation, flex coupling, yoke flanges, sprag clutch, control rod ends, steel tube frames, all fasteners, tail rotor control and door latches were neither eroded nor broken or abused. Interiors of the choppers had already been checked.

  'I am sure sir,' one of his men said, 'all is in place. They have kept the chopper in good condition. Only the rotor cone of the tail fin was a bit loose which we have fixed.'

  'Fine then, you all go and report that we are good to fly. Meanwhile, I'll start it and just make the bird familiar to my caresses.' He smiled.

  His men saluted him and left. He walked a few paces away from the huge machine on right side and looked at its profile. Satisfied, he walked towards the chopper, intending to climb up into the front cabin when he sensed something moving right behind him.

  He turned around and jumped with surprise and terror as he looked into the muzzle of the hand gun held by the stranger in white protective suite in front of him. One AK 56 was slung on his shoulder. Pulling out the gun would be the biggest foolishness – Asghar applied common sense. Before his mind could even query as to where his adversary had materialized from like a ghost out of this white wilderness, the man hissed, 'wanna die?'

  ?

  Samarjeet had managed to walk slowly down the valley. The risk of slipping off was minimized by the soft bed of fresh snow flakes on the steep slant. The bed of the valley was strewn with snow laden medium, large and boulder sized stones. The persistent drizzle was casting fresh layer of soft flakes on everything around slowly and quietly.

  He kept his crawl, through the freezing desert of cold sand, towards the nearest rock for cover. The stones and boulders were cleared in 30-40 meters of the area around the chopper. His white suite on a white background, blurred vision through the drizzle and soft snow bed were providing him perfect camouflage. Hardly could anyone imagine of someone approaching from his direction and in this manner.

  It took him around twenty minutes to cover 150 meters. He could make out the white silhouettes of a few men around the chopper. Now he was in the hearing range of enemy but still the forty meters distance was pretty much difficult to understand what was being said.

  In front of him was a clearing of around thirty-forty meters. He thought of staying put and wait for the other men will arrive.

  He counted. They were total five, armed with hand guns and spread around the chopper. It was impossible to take them all in a succession. Besides, firing was anyway a bad idea. He waited with a steady breath, snow covering him slowly with white, feathery flakes.

  Finally, his patience paid. All five men moved to gather near the chopper. They all were busy in discussion. He strained his ears. He figured out that the tallest of them all was their superior. He faintly heard what the taller one spoke to them. The other four saluted and turned to move in the direction of the base camp, leaving the taller one alone.

  So he was going to fly the chopper. Good.

  Samarjeet stepped from behind the boulder when the pilot turned towards him. In an instant reverse reflex action Samarjeet pulled himself back. He was barely caught.

  Slowly he peeped from his vantage point and saw the pilot coming towards him. He pulled himself back again.

  Has he seen me? No. His pace doesn't reflect that.

  He waited for a while and peeped out again. The pilot was now standing about fifteen meters ahead of him, facing the chopper and looking at the flying machine. Samarjeet rose from behind the boulder, AK 56 slung on his shoulder, and pulled out his hand gun. With the armed hand keeping straight he fox trotted stealthily towards the pilot whose back was still towards him. After a few seconds pilot began to walk towards the chopper. Samarjeet was almost over his head when he suddenly turned about. Samarjeet held the gun up, its muzzle pointed right between his eyes: wide with terror and jolt. Before the pilot could even think of uttering anything, Samarjeet hissed, 'wanna die?'

  ?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ibrahim took the same way back, avoiding the wooden bridge, which they had used to come but he had altered the direction just before the actual village area had begun. He did not go into the direction where wounded Shinde was waiting for him. Instead he quietly headed for the main village. An eerie of silence was creeping in entire village. Taking cover of houses and trees he managed to easily avoid the Pak soldiers deputed around the main area for vigil. Another reason to ditch them easily was that they were too overconfident to really bother about any vigil. For them, entire village was theirs now with no Indian soldier alive so vigil was just an act of whiling away the time. He had loaded the gun and kept it in his jacket back.

  He reached behind the wooden mosque in main chowk. From his vantage point he saw Pak soldiers piling up the dead bodies to burn. They didn't seem to be in any kind of rush since in snow and at this sub zero temperature dead bodies were not going to decompose for another few days but rigor mortis
in a few hours would definitely have made their task difficult since it is difficult to pull and carry a stiff corpse.

  Ibrahim bit his lips in repent looking at the repulsive sight – mutilated bodies, bullet ridden bodies, bodies without a part of limbs, heads and torsos, bodies with open, staring eyes with the last frozen expressions of terror and agony on the faces, bodies soaked in blackened blood, bodies charred, mutilated and minced by deadly shrapnel.

  'Ya Allah…' Words escaped in a barely audible whisper from Ibrahim's lips. He closed his eyes with shame and regret. With remarkable resolve he wiped the escaping tears and moved on. He knew the location of the comms room in the village post. He reached behind the post stealthily. The back side of the post overlooked a dense wood of pine trees. This side of the post was lined with toilets and stores. He knew that the line of toilets inside led to a long corridor whose farther end gave access to the comms room.

  He waited for a while before noticing a soldier strolling parallel to the back side. His gait had distinct bearing of boredom. Ibrahim waited for him to turn about and move away then he quietly came out from his vantage point. With the agility of a cat he rushed behind the soldier. When he was just three steps away, the soldier, sensing some movement behind him, turned about. His eyes spread in shock but that was all he could manage. Ibrahim's knife entered his throat, muting and disabling him instantly. Gurgling helplessly, soldier fell down. Ibrahim grabbed both the legs of the dying soldier and dragged him into the woods leaving a faint trail of blood behind him which was quickly buried under the cover of fresh drizzle. He slowly approached the back wall and kicked the old wooden door with all his might. Withered wooden door yielded with a crackling noise. Ibrahim crept inside and found himself standing before the line of toilets. No one! He took out S&W and peeped into the twenty feet long corridor. Empty! He slowly stepped into the corridor, uttered something between his lips, touched the taveez (talisman) in his neck and dashed across its length. Finally he took the left door and entered the comms room. Another door of the comms room, in the opposite wall, opened into the main command section.

  Without a blink, he shot all three soldiers, manning the comms equipment, dead. The three successive shots boomed in the confined place. He hurriedly bolted both the doors from inside and turned towards the comms equipment. He knew his way around with comms stuff thanks to his training. Within seconds he tuned the equipment with Post 9's frequency. Someone spoke something from the other side. There was no time to exchange shake-hand codes. Ignoring the banging from outside the closed doors he screamed into the microphone. 'Post 9, code red! Turtuk Post has fallen…...to Pak. All dead but Kaushik, Sapru, Shinde, Vijay. North side, beyond wooden bridge, is enemy camp. Need bombers…..'

  The main door of the comms room left the hinges and came down, hitting the floor violently. Enemy soldiers filled the room. He straightened his armed hand and kept the trigger squeezed, switching the gun to automatic mode while moving it in small arc. Not bothering as to how many he killed, he didn't stop shouting into the microphone, '……around 125 enemy….drop your soldiers….I repeat drop your soldiers……….Now! Now! Now!'

  Bullets riddled him all over, plunging their way into his abdomen, limbs and face.

  'La ilaha illallah Muhammadur Rasulullah (There is absolutely no deity worthy of worship except Allah, and Mohamed (saws) is the Messenger of Allah.)!' Ibrahim, drenched in his own blood, slumped down to the floor, beside his empty gun, dead.

  ?

  Flight lieutenant Asghar shot his hands up.

  'Any silly move and you die.' Samarjeet warned.

  Asghar shrugged and said, 'I am not a fool. I will do whatever you say.'

  'Your head gear and radio... throw it away and turn around.' Asghar did. Samarjeet shoved the hand gun in his nape and searched him staying behind. He was armed with a gun which Samarjeet kept with him.

  'Turn back.'

  Asghar turned about.

  'Where have they kept the Colonel?'

  'There,' Asghar pointed in the direction of the base camp, 'in the

  nest, camp, I mean.'

  'What's the head count?'

  'Around twenty five.'

  'How many would fly?'

  'Eight, including me.'

  'What's their plan?'

  'Destination Thoise. They are to capture Thoise before tonight.' 'What's your name?'

  'Flight Lieutenant Asghar Hashim'

  'So, you will fly the chopper?'

  'Yes.'

  'Get up. Slowly. With hands over head.'

  Asghar complied and played his card. 'If you shoot me, the gun shot will echo in this wilderness and will be easily heard in the base camp. This is something you can't afford in this delicate situation. Am I right?'

  For a moment Samarjeet was taken aback but instantly mustered his confidence back. 'So what are you gonna do? Jump on a man armed with a loaded gun?'

  'Not a bad idea.' Asghar replied bringing his hands down slowly. 'C-mon kid. It has been long since I have broken my regime of exercise. Let me tear you apart with my bare hands.'

  Samarjeet sized up a six and a half feet tall, heavy weight, muscular and agile Asghar who had now taken the stance of a freestyle boxing attack position.

  Samarjeet shook his head helplessly and put on the safety catch of the hand gun. 'Why didn't you use your gun in the first place? Why give it away?' Saying, Samarjeet opened the front of his jacket to tuck the gun inside.

  'You gave me the shock of my life. It didn't cross my mind that time but you can return the gun. That way you will die a quick and less painful death otherwise I will beat the hell out of you until you beg me to shoot you.' Asghar laughed mockingly.

  Abruptly, his laughter ceased, turning into a choked, agonized gurgle. He never saw Samarjeet's hand coming out of his jacket's front like a flash. He, also, couldn't see the small, sharp knife that leapt at him. He could only feel the icy cold four inches blade which was now stuck in his throat, piercing through the wind pipe.

  'Hardly one second. New record.' Samarjeet smiled cruelly, caressing another knife grip under his belt.

  Gripping the handle of the knife with both his hands, Asghar slowly fell on both of his knees. Blood gushed through the wound and began flooding his lungs. Coughing, choking and spluttering helplessly, he sprawled on the ground. While dying slowly, he stared at the young Indian captain, in disbelief, who was far much cunning, smarter and swifter beyond his estimate and who was now looking at him in disgust with eyes devoid of any pity.

  ?

  Nissar listened to what Meetha had told him. His eyebrows knit together with worry. 'Are you sure?'

  'Hundred percent.' Meetha replied.

  'Hmm…. talk to this man and tell him that……'

  'Sir!' Malik was abruptly interrupted by another of his men that showed up at the entrance of his cozy tent.

  'What!!?' he didn't like the interruption but seeing his chief comm. operator, he calmed down. 'What?'

  Operator was holding the portable transmission equipment. 'Emergency sir, Village Post.'

  Malik took the device and spoke into the microphone, 'what is it?' 'Sir, Usman here. Our mission is in dire peril.'

  'Can you come clear at once Usman?'

  'Sir, double agent Ibrahim was not killed by Bilal. He has attacked

  the comms room single handedly and killed all comm. operators. He has also alerted Post 9.' Malik's face turned dark and eyes red with furious rage. 'How could he!? How, the bloody hell, could he!? What were you all doing? F***ing your mothers? Where is he now?'

  'We have killed him sir but Post 9…' 'Put everyone on alert. No one will speak on frequency 88. It is being shared by the enemy soldier. We are assaulting Thoise now! I am alerting Control Command back home. Install the machine guns and get ready for the war. Before night fall we have to attack Batalik at any cost. Get your men ready to die for the beloved watan. Over and out!' Malik finished barking into the device then turned towards Meetha. 'You heard me. G
et going. By six PM I don't want any Indian dog at Thoise breathing. Move now! You have thirty minutes to cross Post 9. Move!!'

  Meetha turned and rushed out.

  ?

  Vijay Kumar glanced at his wrist watch. Ten past five. Ignoring the throbbing pain in the leg he looked around to secure a suitable place for position. He mentally marked the three random positions

  roughly fifteen-twenty meters apart. Then he chose the middle one to settle down. It was a three feet gap between the two snow laden boulders on a small hilly protuberance over the edge of the cliff. He could see the chopper on his right hand side, standing in the valley through the semi-transparent curtain of drizzle. Enemy's base camp was on his left. He could see the tents of the base camp and a few sheds.

  He caressed the cold metal of the rifle. Never in his life had he seen such a sophisticated piece of killing machine. He spent a few moments to get familiar with the nuts, bolts, screws and knobs on the rifle. Finally, he pulled out the rifle's small bipod and fixed its feet firmly into the snow ensuring that the gun too was balanced and secured in its place. He adopted the prone firing position on the right hand side of the rifle, cocked the rifle and pushed the safety catch forward. Placing his cheek on the stock just touching the bolt shroud, he placed right eye behind the telescopic sight. He screwed the elevation knob over the telescopic sight, adjusting it to gain correct eye relief and to bring the chopper in focus. He swiveled the sight a little to look around the chopper. He could see a few men leaving the chopper and moving towards the base camp.

  Samarjeet sahib had said to shoot if anyone “approaches” the chopper. He decided to wait which wasn't for long. He saw a few men,

  completely dressed in combat camouflage uniform, emerging from behind the cliff at the base camp side. Five men were walking ahead followed by two men carrying someone on the stretcher. He focused on the occupant of the stretcher and a pleasant smile stole over his lips. Through the sight lenses he was looking at their commander Kaushik's haggard but firm face.

  His finger crept over the trigger. He waited for the leading man reach near the chopper and set both the elevation knob and windage knob to zero. Bringing the reticle right above the shot holes, he focused the crosswire on the head of the leading man and pulled the trigger.