Red Jihad

  'Men, we are very close to what we want. Do not forget how this act is going to benefit our brothers and sisters fighting all over the subcontinent. Never forget the sacrifices they made for you. Now it is time to repay them.'

  He paused, giving it time to sink in; most of them knew this mission came with a one-way ticket. 'How much time will it take?'

  'Five minutes maximum, sir,' his second-in-command answered.

  He sat down. No use hurrying them. A single error and the missile will explode somewhere over the Bay of Bengal. What a waste would that be. He heard gunshots in the background, and the faint whirring of a chopper. 'Do not panic,' he told the others. They were well dug in. All the entries had been sealed, mined and secured. No doubt, the Indians would make their way in, but not without massive casualties–if they hurried. And if they did not hurry, it would be too late. He just hoped the Indians had not realized by now what they were planning.

  Rana recited Sun Tzu in his mind to boost himself up: 'Whoever is first in the field and awaits the coming of the enemy, will be fresh for the fight; whoever is second in the field and has to hasten to battle will arrive exhausted. Therefore the clever combatant imposes his will on the enemy, but does not allow the enemy's will to be imposed on him.' He did not realize he was speaking it aloud and others could hear him. The others did not pay heed to him at first, but then a bespectacled man nudged another and whispered, 'He was Chinese, you know.' Then everyone listened to Rana in rapt attention.

  Minutes ticked by. When Rana's watch uttered a short crisp beep, he turned towards the concerned section heads and barked, 'Status of the assembly?'

  'Complete,' a man looked up to reply, his face proud with the satisfaction at a job well done.

  'Fuelling?' Rana asked.

  The section head merely nodded, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

  'Warhead?' Rana was hesitant to ask this.

  'As ordered,' came the reply.

  This was where Rana differed with his superior. If we were to fire a missile at the enemy, that too his own, then why not let it be nuclear, especially when it cannot be traced back to them? However, he had explicit orders to activate a conventional warhead from his superior. Well, so be it.

  'Silo?' he asked.

  'Cleared.'

  'Launch doors?'

  'Open.'

  'Coordinates?'

  'Check,' a scratchy voice said and immediately looked away. A wall had started to shake.

  The Indians were trying to blast their way through. He had to hurry! He ran to the master control and barked at the technician 'Come on! Do it!'

  The stocky man's hands shuddered as he hit the away button. Pre-flight sequence had been completed even before the checklist began. He was good at his work; holding an engineering degree helped in such matters. Perhaps that was why the most important part of the operation was entrusted to him.

  'Missile launch in two minutes,' he chimed pleasantly.

  The thumps and the explosions started to get louder as they got nearer. The group, apart from the one handling final launch propulsion and guidance, took out its weapons and positioned itself in key areas, taking orders from Rana. This was where his experience and tactical skill came in handy. Rana inserted his gun in a crack created by the explosions and fired a rapid burst. He heard a scream.

  The countdown continued as the Indians made a desperate attempt to move in. They must have seen the launch doors open and realized what was about to happen.

  'Missile launch in one minute,' a voice shouted.

  It was exactly when the Indian forces burst in, using gas canisters. Paratroopers, as expected. They must take us for fools, Rana thought. He and his men had worn gas masks at the first signs of trouble. The faint hiss of the gas went almost unheard due to the steady rat-tat of automatic weapons fire. Rana saw two of his men fall. An Indian fell too. He kept firing.

  No indiscriminate shots. Ammunition is always precious. He fired in single-burst mode at a target, incapacitated it, and moved to the next with a lightning reflex. He was well hidden behind a console and kept taking his attackers out as his men fell one by one.

  He saw the man charged with guidance and propulsion working furiously at the console. He should have dispensed with all the tasks until now. Finally, the man, one of his own, a Soviet war veteran and the oldest man on this mission, completed his task, as evident from the smug look on his face, and started running towards higher ground. He was viciously cut down by enemy fire. Major Rana's mouth opened to utter a profanity but before he could, he heard the sweetest voice in his life.

  'Missile launched,' the automated computer voice chirped, and was then blown away by a rapid burst from Rana's gun into its core processor.

  Rana pulled back and muttered a short prayer. He fingered the bomb strapped onto his chest. He closed his eyes and saw his younger brother beaming at him. He saw their home in the lush green valley of Swat. He saw both of them playing together, going to school…and then his brother's lifeless body after he was killed by American drones.

  The sounds were on top of him by now. He waited.

  Someone was screaming at him, asking him to surrender. Absentmindedly, not wanting to snap out of his daydream amongst all this grime, smoke, and death, Rana pressed a button on the carefully concealed device that was mounted on his chest.

  Then, in a swirling flash of colours, life, as he knew it, ceased to exist.

  Integrated Defence Command Headquarters, New Delhi

  Local time: 2215 hours

  Date: 24 April 2014

  'What!' The men were aghast, shocked and unsure of how to react. Simulations or drills, no matter how detailed, were never able to produce the same effect as actual happenings. 'They have launched the missile,' a voice announced, sombre and resigned.

  The words sunk in slowly. Heads started to buzz. The light in the room became surreal. Hearts started to beat faster and then slowed down to nothingness. The missile. Away. Directed at god knows where. Our missile. Their target.

  'Were not our forces supposed to stop them?' another voice asked, bitter and afraid.

  'They set it off just as our men reached the control station,' the RAW head explained.

  'Why did it take our men so long?' asked the external affairs secretary, desperately trying to find someone to blame.

  'The entrances were mined and closely guarded. Seems they knew about all the possible points of infiltration. They had the detailed plans of the complex. They expected us. They even knew exactly how we would come in,' the admiral reported.

  'Damn!'A collective sigh ran through the group.

  'Status of attackers?' Malhotra, who had been listening quietly until now, spoke up. It was time to react. He knew that damage control should be the foremost thing on his mind now. There was always time for self-pity and denial later.

  The general began to fire questions one after the other. The men around the table answered. It felt like a rapid-fire round in a school quiz. Nervous faces looked at each other, united by grief and determination. 'Tell me, what about the attackers? Did we find anyone alive?'

  'All dead.'

  'Pralay?' Malhotra asked.

  'Airborne.'

  'Warhead?'

  'Unknown.'

  'Target?'

  'Presently unknown. Further information needed for calculations.'

  'Estimates?'

  'It has a range of 8000 km with a 500 kg conventional warhead. Pros for us: it is a test missile and can splutter and drop down in the sea any time. Cons: it is nuclear capable. 150 kilotons strategic yield,' sputtered the chief of DRDO.

  'Damn!'

  'And with a range of 8000 km, it can hit any city in India, including New Delhi.'

  'Hmm... It is my opinion that we must prepare for the worst and hope for the best.' Who else but the cabinet secretary could have said that!

  'Hang on. If the missile is airborne, all we need to do is use the guidance boosters to make it drop harmlessly in the Bay of Ben
gal,' suggested Air Chief Sharma.

  'We have already tried doing that. The attackers have installed a program that locks and encrypts further modifications made to the trajectory of the target,' said the director general of DRDO, slumping in his chair.

  'Are you telling me we are locked out of our own system?' asked an incredulous Malhotra.

  'Yes, but we are working on it.'

  'But how can they install such a program? Now that I think of it, how can they even build one?' The admiral was furious, 'Looks like the attackers had some backing from the Silicon Valley itself!'

  'Oh come on...' the air chief stopped midway as he scrutinized a note thrust in front of him. 'Sir, this news is just in. We have calculated that the expected target of the missile, as per its current trajectory, is...' He looked unsure.

  'Yes?'

  'Delhi.'

  Moans of 'Oh my God', 'Is this really happening?', 'This cannot be true!' rendered through the air.

  'Time of impact?' General Malhotra asked, unfazed by the recent development, or at least pretending to be so.

  'Unknown.'

  'Unknown? What do you mean by that?'

  'Pralay employs a multi-ring laser gyro-inertial navigation system Mark II. It keeps the speed of the missile and bearing constantly changing in order to confuse the enemy about its time and location of impact.'

  'Gosh. We created that?'

  'Indeed we did,' said the DRDO chief, unsure whether to feel proud or ashamed.

  Malhotra started to give orders. 'Fine. Contact the Central Emergency Response Agency. Start evacuating Delhi. We can only speculate that the target will be Raisina Hill, which should be symbolic enough for the attackers. Start evacuating people to Gurgaon, Noida, and Faridabad. The farther they can go, the better. What is the status of our Strategic Forces Command?'

  'It is still at Level 7, sir, all green,' the ACM replied.

  'Huh? All green? What is that?' asked a confused administrator.

  Sapra almost smiled before saying, 'SFC follows a prioritized seven-level alert that is based on the current threat perception. In the lowest, that is Level 7, the nuclear core is kept in secure and concealed storage facilities managed by the Atomic Energy Commission.'

  'Ah. So what do we do now?' asked the secretary to the Ministry of External Affairs.

  'Simple. We raise alertness from Level 7 to Level 5, Amber,' said the general.

  'And that would mean?'

  'It means that some of the nuclear cores are mated to the warhead by DRDO. Also, we review strike plans.'

  'I have a feeling we might need it. It is better to bare fangs now than to bite later. If any country thinks it can attack our soil with our own weapons, then it is time to set things in better perspective.' A decision, huge one at that, was about to be taken. Despite the gravity of the situation, someone involuntarily yawned.

  Launch Silo 01, NMRC

  Local time: 0010 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  The dark shadows swept across the bleeding room. One by one, they picked up the moaning enemy targets, destroyed them with controlled bursts from their Micro-TARs and moved forward, unhindered by walls of steel or fire. They were tasked with reaching the centre of the missile complex – the main control lab – as soon as possible, and then retake the area.

  Rush in, sterilize the area, and prevent the enemy from inflicting any significant infrastructural damage. Although they had been successful in neutralizing the enemy until now, they had been failing on the second front. The enemy had been able to block their path with mines and sharpshooters, not to mention the tactical positioning of their men that gave them an edge. To top it all, unlike the attacking Special Forces, the enemy had been using heavy weapons and anti-material weaponry, designed to cause maximum damage to personnel and property.

  Captain Rajiv Thomas of the 901 Paratrooper Battalion moved forward, stealthily and steadily. As a battalion intelligence officer, his CO had ordered him to gather any clues to ascertain the identity of the attackers. Thomas was not active in combat duty on this mission, going by the real meaning of the term 'combat'. His task was to tag along his mates, observe enemy behaviour, focus on their dress, language, supplies, weapons, tactics and strategies and try to speculate on their intentions, goals, methods and of course, their parent body.

  Thomas moved forward, acting as a staff agency, registering every minute detail. In the intense fighting that was happening all around him, he had not fired a single shot. He was there to act as a detached observer. An involved observer may miss crucial details. Thus, be detached and cold. It could save many lives in the future, at the expense of one life today.

  He heard shouts. Thomas focused, trying to filter the words from background noise. It struck him. Kharia! They were talking in Kharia, an Austro-Asiatic language spoken by a tribal group living in the states of Jharkhand and Orissa. Thomas knew them from his counterinsurgency operations in the Red Corridor.

  What were they doing here? The answer struck him like a newspaper roughly flung in through his second floor window early morning, and onto his sleeping dog. It was clear to him. Kharia. Jharkhand. Naxalites.

  Precision firing had, by then, cut down the insurgents. They did not stand a chance. There were no jungles to run back into and disappear. Within minutes, three more attackers lay dead.

  Another attacker came out, threw his gun down and surrendered. Operating under standard procedures, attempts were to be made to capture him alive, but not in all cases. Such men, even if caught, rarely sung. Why bother wasting men over such a source of information that might never talk? He was shot when he tried to throw a grenade at Thomas.

  Thomas was assimilating the information when he heard another voice from the adjacent room. Radiating calm in the pandemonium, the voice sought to bring order to chaos. It barked orders in English with a heavy Punjabi drawl. And that pointed the needle of suspicion towards Pakistan.

  Thomas saw the guns, the tactics, and was transported back to the days of his training in enemy identification. The Pakistani Special Service Group was working hand-in-glove with the Naxalites, he realized. His brain jolted at it processed this information, so did his body. Thomas tried to move forward when he was suddenly thrown backwards by an explosion. He was not hurt but two of his mates were not so lucky. Thomas looked back to see their guts sprawled open. They opened their mouth to moan but no sound came out. It seemed the last attacker had blown himself up, and a couple of Indian paratroopers and an entire wall went with him. Thomas was lucky to have escaped with minor injuries.

  He shouted for the medic to attend to his fallen comrades and moved on. The radio started chattering. The facility had finally been secured. Damage assessment was under way. Thomas started scanning other rooms, quickly peeking in and ensuring that all was well–or not all that wrong, he thought wryly. His mind focused on only one thing–getting information, clues and answers to this riddle, so that whoever did this could be repaid in kind.

  Integrated Defence Command Headquarters, New Delhi

  Local time: 0100 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  The room was witnessing confusion distilled to its purest form.

  Caught unprepared in an unusual situation, with no knowledge of what they were facing, the men present in the room had to rely on their experience, ingenuity and courage. They were expected to take shots at an elusive, invisible target, that too in the dark.

  Because of their painstaking efforts, Delhi was a city in motion. The military and CERA had swung into action to implement their orders. Entire cantonments, air bases, the Central Paramilitary Forces and police lines had been mobilized for that. The authorities were busy goading people to initiate a quick evacuation of the city. Bus terminals were full of people assembled for transport to distant locations or to be shepherded into bunkers. There were long but well-managed queues as hastily recalled DTC bus drivers came running in their pyjamas, and sped their jam-packed buses away. Trains inbound for Delhi were sto
pped and unloaded at the borders of the National Capital Territory (NCT), sent forth empty, loaded with people at pre-planned intra-city stations and were rushed out. The smaller railway stations of Sarojini Nagar and Pragati Maidan were acting as transit points where citizens residing nearby boarded the next train out of the city. The government had already issued instructions to the Delhi Metro Rail Corporation to divert all coaches to the Delhi-Meerut, Delhi-Faridabad and Delhi-Rohtak lines of the Delhi Metro.

  Consequently, from every metro station in Delhi, an express train with seven overflowing coaches left Delhi for a station in another state every ninety seconds.

  The plan to evacuate Delhi integrated trains, buses, metros and the Mass Rapid Transport System to empty the city into its surrounding satellite sub cities where the impact of the explosion would be less than in Delhi. Protocol-wise, units had swung into action to transport people, starting from the high and mighty to the aam-aadmi, to underground shelters and places far away. North Block, South Block, the presidential estates, residences of the top brass, the diplomatic enclave were already empty by now; crucial staff were airlifted to secure locations. The evacuation of others continued.

  Malhotra read a status report of the process handed over to him, nodded in satisfaction and turned to the room.

  'Estimated time of impact?' he asked.

  'Two and a half hours, sir. Its speed seems to puzzle us. Perhaps it is the navigational system of the missile. The target is bang in the centre of Delhi–India Gate,' said the operations officer, not being able to believe the words coming out of his own mouth.