Red Jihad

by Sami Ahmad Khan

  'If he really toppled you, then he is the government, Bipolab da.' It was not a taunt by Shahid.

  'Listen, there has been a terrible misunderstanding. I recommend we meet at once.'

  'The time for meeting is past. Pakistan will not allow India to play with the lives of Pakistani citizens with such impunity and belligerence. I just called to inform you that Pakistan is declaring war on India. I thought I would tell you in person. I owe you this much. Plus, these days we too are a democratic nation governed by the due process of law.' The tone was alternately smug and angry. An interesting combination, Roy thought, but he had bigger matters to ponder over.

  PM Roy could not believe what he had just heard. He was planning to visit Islamabad on his way back from Washington after having furthered the Indo-US nuclear deal. He also planned to visit Moscow and Paris. A decisive Ashvamedha Yagna for him. He had ended India's nuclear isolation and was about to prove to the world that India was a safe country indeed–peaceful, progressive and democratic. Everything had been going so well. But what did India have on its hands now? A coup and a war!

  'Don't do that! Please think of the lives that will be lost needlessly. Just imagine the bloodshed. We are both on the path to prove to the world that we are responsible nuclear states. With people-to-people initiatives like Aman ki Asha, things are beginning to look better for both our countries,' Roy implored him.

  'You should have thought of that before you or your military hatched plans to attack us in this cowardly way, when we were busy dealing with our internal problems. In fact, the Maoists in your country are a nuisance for you too. You are as bogged down by them as we are in NWFP and FATA by Islamists. I do not know which genius in your army came up with a plan to attack us at such a time. Now we both will be fighting on two fronts! And fight we will, to our last breath, I assure you.'

  Roy was shell-shocked. 'You do know that if you attack, we will be forced to respond in kind? And that we are stronger than you? That you will be, pardon me for using this word, totally screwed?'

  'I do. Nevertheless, that will not make us sit as you torch our house and then deny doing it. Such games will not work.'

  Roy was clutching at the last straws. Just when India was almost about to be recognized as a superpower, a responsible, democratic nuclear state, this had happened. 'Is there any hope that we…'

  'No.' Shahid's answer was firm, his tone unwavering, 'And I guess we have nothing more left to discuss. Good day, Mr Roy.' The Pakistani president hung up.

  After almost a full decade, a man named Shahid Abbasi had hung up on the Indian prime minister, and it still left a bitter taste in Roy's mouth.

  The Oval Office, White House, Washington DC, The United States of America

  Local time: 1000 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  'What? You cannot be serious!' thundered President AC Wilson and stared at his advisors as they shrunk back, conscious of the lapse in protocol, the big faux pas they had unwillingly committed by not bringing news of a major event months before it actually happened. It was a fatal mistake for careers at the White House.

  'Yes, sir. India has launched a missile at Pakistan–a stealth ICBM they were working on.'

  'A secret ICBM? Is it the same missile that the Combined Intelligence Corps assured me was decades from being operationalized?'

  Someone shifted uncomfortably and muttered, 'Yes, sir. India says its missile base was taken over by terrorists who then launched the missile at Pakistan.'

  'Seems rather a nice coincidence that the terrorists fired the missile the very day the military seized power in India.'

  'In retaliation, Pakistan has declared war on India.'

  The president continued, 'Damn! CIC failed this time! However, why launch at Pakistan? Why not attack India itself if the terrorists were against the Indian state?' asked the president.

  'That is the million dollar question.'

  'Global reactions?'

  'China condemns the act but will not be involved militarily with Pakistan to squeeze India, thanks to the Panchsheel-II treaty signed by Sino-Indian foreign ministers in the Russia-India-China meet held in Beijing last year. Since then, India has accepted Chinese suzerainty over Tibet, and China has reciprocated by withdrawing claims on Arunachal Pradesh. Both the economic powerhouses have opened their borders for trade. The relationship seems to have thawed. However, it is a cosy relationship which some in the Chinese military have not taken kindly to. As for the UNSC, it is non-committal too.'

  'I thought we were the Security Council. Anyway, carry on,' said the president, smiling.

  'The Indian diplomats have done a good job of proving to the world that the missile was rogue. The erstwhile allies of Pakistan–Iran, North Korea and Saudi Arabia–are still miffed at the treatment meted out to them by the new Pakistani quasi-secular regime and may not support Pakistan because of its recent shift in policy to persecute the mujahideen, thanks to us.'

  'Russia?

  'As for Russia, the traditional Indian ally, it has a nuclear and gas deal with the new government of Pakistan in response to our own deal with the Indians. They will not support either side. Call it the global balance.'

  'We too have a nuclear deal with those guys! We brought India into the Nuclear Suppliers Group and the Vienna Group. They seemed to be a stable lot. Why this hara-kiri?' The president shook his head and said, 'Get me the Indian ambassador. I will talk to him directly, protocol be damned.'

  Twenty-five minutes later, President Wilson finished his conversation with the Indian ambassador to Washington, Dr Puneet Sharma. The soft-spoken Dr Sharma had sounded even more confused than Wilson himself, but was sure that India had not intentionally launched any attack against Pakistan. On this, the erudite diplomat had sounded very convincing.

  President Wilson made another call, this one to the director general of Combined Intelligence Corps (CIC), and talked to him for a full hour.

  CIC was not one to fail. Something was not right. Though Wilson had been arm-twisted by certain American industrial lobbies to appoint Jason Cartman as the director general of CIC, he had grown to respect the man as a patriot and a brilliant leader.

  In his weekly International Ballistics Technology briefing a few days ago, Cartman had ensured President Wilson that the Indian missile was not a threat to anyone for at least a decade, maybe even more, and that the CIC had positive HUMINT corroborating it. Sanctions or even talks with the Indian government were simply not needed at this stage.

  Well, it seemed he was wrong. Cartman had been behaving strangely since the past few months. Cartman's son, a defence contractor, was killed in Afghanistan a year ago. He was no longer the same man he had always been.

  The president finally hung up and looked around the room, trying to ascertain what had gone wrong. He sighed, cleared his throat and said, 'Well, this is confusing indeed. We just cannot antagonize our nuclear partner so easily. We have deals with their energy and infrastructural companies worth multi-million dollars. So, until we have more information, we too sit on the fence.'

  He returned to his files, not knowing what to do for perhaps the first time in his life.

  7 Race Course Road, Prime Minister's Residence, New Delhi

  Local time: 1100 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  The PM (or the former PM) Bipolab Roy sat on a cane chair, sipping tea and reading a Feluda story. Through his window, he saw the gates to the inner compound open and General Malhotra rush towards his room. Roy put the book down as he studied the lanky man walking towards him, though his mind was working furiously to extricate his country from the mess it had just landed itself into. Shall I try international pressure? UN? The US? OPEC? Roy thought, and hoped that Pakistan did not become an Israel when it came to brushing aside international pressure.

  Roy's chain of thought was broken as Malhotra entered the room. He looked at the PM uncertainly, the swagger was now gone. He sat down, staring intently at the opposite wall. No one spoke for
some time.

  Roy finally broke the silence, 'Did you do it?'

  'Of course not,' Malhotra muttered, hurt evident in his voice.

  'Are you sure? What guarantee do I have that your men did not launch the missile when you took over? You knew that would lead to war. What could strengthen your position more?' Roy plunged the knife deeper.

  Malhotra felt slighted. 'Do you think I can risk thousands of innocent lives for the sake of my personal ambition? I have a daughter; like me, she is in the military. Do you think I want to see her suffer the pangs of war?'

  PM Roy nodded, 'Calm down.' He felt better as he came to know that he was not the only one baffled by the recent unfolding of events. 'I was just…confirming that you did not do it.'

  'I did not do it.'

  'Then might I be bold enough to ask why you are here?'

  'Pakistan has declared war on us,' Malhotra said, his shoulders drooping. The last thing he wanted to give his country was a war, especially one that was bound to go nuclear.

  'I know. I just spoke with the Pakistani president.'

  Malhotra felt a chill run down his spine. Who else has he spoken to? Was not he supposed to be incommunicado? He decided to talk to the captain in charge of the PM's confinement later; for now, there were more pressing matters.

  'Since we are under attack, I feel it is no longer about the internal polity of the country. The time for internal restructuring is lost. We face an even greater challenge–external aggression. Other concerns need to be put on hold for the moment.' Malhotra sagged into a chair and closed his eyes, tired of the events.

  Roy spoke up, this time his tone understanding, 'What do you want from me?'

  'I have decided to reinstate you,' Malhotra said, and his shoulders drooped even more.

  'What?' Roy was not sure whether to be happy or offended.

  'I mean, the military has decided to relinquish power and transfer it back to the civil government.' This time Malhotra chose the words with greater care.

  'As your puppet? No thanks. I will stay exactly where I am now and let the people of this country decide my fate. If the people can vote the iron lady herself out of power, they sure as hell can vote me back. Moreover, thanks to what you did, I am now a celebrated icon of democracy,' Roy taunted the general.

  Malhotra sat down next to Roy, looked him straight in the eyes for the first time since he had entered that room and said, 'OK, I speak bluntly here. At least, I will try to. I took over this country because there was no other option left. That was not the time for political dictatorship.'

  Roy coughed.

  Malhotra paused and then continued 'But now, it has proved to be bad timing. Plain bad luck. For me, at least. Some people hijacked our own missile and attacked our sworn enemy. Now it wants blood in return.'

  'Whose blood? Yours or mine?' PM Roy said.

  Malhotra shrugged helplessly, 'It is no longer about you or me, democracy or martial rule. It is about the survival of India. I can fight this war without civilian support, at least political, but the armed forces do not want to.'

  Malhotra looked away and continued, 'After all, we represent, just like you, the will of the people. In light of the current exigencies, we submit to the democratic structure of this country. We will discuss and resolve this matter after the war. First let us tackle the external enemy and then we will handle the internal mess. I am sure you too will put India before your political ambitions.'

  'This is just what Hitler had said. Fight for Germany now, we will sort out the domestic spats later. I want something more,' Roy said, no more willing to sweet-talk the man who had insulted him in front of the entire world.

  Malhotra knew what was coming. He replied, 'I understand. I assure you I will resign and face disciplinary action when the war is over.'

  'Will you give that to the people of this country in writing?' Roy insisted.

  'In writing.' Malhotra nodded.

  The prime minister thought for a few moments, 'It is done then. You are a good man, Malhotra.'

  'Thank you, sir.' The relationship was back to square one.

  'Well, with that behind us, let's rush to the president, shall we? I will ask the Cabinet to assemble there. Only the president can declare war or conclude peace, and now that we are back to being a democracy, I suggest we proceed as per the Constitution.'

  'Yes, sir.' Malhotra suddenly felt a lot better.

  'Brief me on the situation,' Roy asked, knowing that he would be required to take major tactical and strategic decisions on diplomacy and war very soon.

  Malhotra said, 'Sir, the Pakistani strategy has been to attack us in case of any threat to it. They want to throw us off-balance. They know that if they attack us first and capture our territory, not only will they prevent us from launching an offensive into the Pakistani territory, as we will be tied up defending ourselves, but will also inflict collateral damage on our side of the border.

  'Moreover, if they capture our territory, they will use it as a bargaining chip in the aftermath of a ceasefire brought about by international pressure and the fear of nuclear escalation. Which will happen soon, judging by our international positions.'

  'Hmm…and what counter-steps are we talking about?'

  'We have mobilized our forward divisions, both holding and strike, and readied them to a state of full alert. Depending on your decision to either defend ourselves or counter-attack, we can deploy the respective formations. We hope you will be able to give us a better direction.'

  'We will see to it. As for facilitating your war effort, will a national emergency under Article 352 provide you with enough space to operate efficiently?' PM Roy asked his chief of army staff as they both walked towards the general's convoy.

  Malhotra was pleasantly surprised, 'It will indeed, sir. Moreover, I hope after your visit to the Rashtrapati Bhawan, you can join us in the war room at the integrated defence headquarters. If we are going to fight, it should not be amongst ourselves. Let us face the enemy as we always have–united.'

  The duo climbed into a car. The ground realities had not changed, but it seemed that the problem was no longer irresolvable.

  Air Force Base Mushaf, Sargodha, Pakistan

  Local time: 1000 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  Wing Commander Nadeem Ilyas adjusted his flight suit and led the way, trying his best to keep his inner turmoil from spilling out. His boys ran out with him from the Operational Readiness Platform (ORP) to their respective F-16/A fighters of the No. 9 Squadron Graffs.

  The F-16, initially produced by General Dynamics, was a multirole jet fighter aircraft with a frameless bubble canopy (for better visibility), side-mounted control stick, reclined seat (to reduce the effect of g-forces) and the first use of a fly-by-wire flight control system, making it a highly capable dogfighter.

  The aircrafts were lined up like ducklings behind their mother, except that they were fuelled, armed and ready for combat. So were the men. They had already been briefed about their mission. No. 9 was to launch, pretend to patrol the India-Pakistan border, suddenly rush into the Indian airspace, attack and move out before the Indians had a chance to react. The Graffs would hit and run, whereas a couple of Chengdu J-20 fighters of No. 11 Squadron Night Arrows – recently 'borrowed' from China–were to travel with the Graffs in close-knit battle formation (to reduce their radar signature) until they reached the border, and then were to move to attack a different location. The target of the Graffs was clear.

  That was why Wing Commander Ilyas was worried. The target was too familiar to him. Amritsar, his grandfather's pind. Not a day passed when his family did not recall, nostalgically, the old times spent on the streets of Amritsar. Bombing his old home, which also happened to be a purely civilian target, was not an easy task for an air warrior.

  The command believed that only Amritsar would be a befitting reply to the attack on Lahore by the Indians. Pakistan had to show it was serious. If it were cowed down now, Pakistan would always be looke
d upon as a spineless nation that failed to utilize its might when it was needed the most. Still, the twin hearts of Punjab were about to be crushed, mutilated and thrown to the dogs of war.

  He tried to divert his mind. He was a soldier, under direct orders to achieve a task and he expected to do just that. Ilyas realized that his morality or individual past was irrelevant when his country was confronted with the larger national realities.

  National? Ilyas thought. Cannot Amritsar be as close to my heart as Lahore? Lahore nourished me, made me what I am. Amritsar, on the other hand, fed my family for generations. It made them what they are. Without them, I could have been nothing. Will the sixty years of bitter hostility negate all our past and decide what is ours and what is theirs? But then, someone had to pay.

  Oh, his loyalties were not conflicting, he thought. He was a Pakistani foremost and proud of it. In addition, he was a brilliant officer. Ilyas had graduated with top honours at the Combat Commanders School and was rewarded with the command of the Graffs. Not that he was not ready for it. He had practised – all his life – to strike at key enemy targets when his nation was under threat. Their airbases, cantonments, forward posts, defence factories, supply installations, and the like. Never a populated city. It was disgraceful. Who attacks Harmandir Sahib, he thought? What drives people to such desperation? A thought flashed in his head: the same people who almost flattened Nankana Sahib.

  He gritted his teeth. Making up his mind, he reached his bird and climbed in. After strapping himself up, he requested permission to take off–this was granted immediately. There was no time to taxi.

  As the aircraft gained speed, Ilyas pulled the joystick back and he was airborne in a minute. He reached the cruising altitude and was directed to an initial vector by his controller. A formation from the Night Arrows joined his group at the rendezvous. He coordinated with the flight commander of the Night Arrows and ensured that they were flying low, skimming treetops, that too in a tight formation to confuse the enemy about their numbers. From a distance, it looked like one large airborne mass.