Red Jihad

  The birds of prey were out to hunt.

  Uri, Jammu and Kashmir, India

  Local time: 1200 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  The eight-year-old Sophia sat in a low ceilinged, two-storeyed makeshift bunker, which passed as the village school's classroom. The thick mud splattered walls did little to stop the steady tat-tat of a not-so-distant firing; nor the shouts of playing children coming from the school's playground outside. Sophia shook her head, trying to clear the disturbing noise from her mind.

  It was then that she heard it.

  A groan, a wail that soon became ear-splitting. She ran to the window to see silver birds streaking past and dropping black eggs on them. As they touched the ground, there was a loud bang and the earth started to shake. The Night Arrows had unleashed their lethal bombs.

  Sophia screamed. She felt dizzy. She tried to steady herself by getting hold of the small desk in front of her and gave the teacher a quizzical look. The teacher was standing dumbstruck in the middle of the classroom, with a look of utter amazement on her face. The walls of the classroom started shaking on their own accord, as if occupied by evil djinns. There was a sudden roar in the distance, louder than even the artillery shells that sometimes used to bombard her village. The teacher shouted at everyone to get outside.

  Sophia did not need to be told twice. She stood up and proceeded towards the door. Unfortunately, it was becoming difficult to walk with the ground shaking so vehemently and the door seemed farther with each passing second. She looked up to see her teacher who was urging Sophia to hurry. Sophia nodded to reply in affirmative, panic starting to clutch at her heart. She was still nodding when, with a crash, she saw something fall on the exact spot where her teacher stood.

  A second later, there was a blood-splattered arm sticking out from under the rubble. Sophia suddenly stopped, shell shocked. She again heard a noise overhead. She looked up to see something right on top of her head, approaching her with great speed. Then, everything went black.

  Meanwhile, the predatory birds of the Pakistan air force kept pounding the earth until the Indian air force scrambled the newly acquired Dassault Rafale multirole fighters from Srinagar Air Force Station that intercepted the F-16s, forcing them to retreat. PAF had found and exploited a window in the Indian air defences.

  Angered at the intrusion, the Rafale pilots swore that the Pakistanis would pay for their aggression, and followed them over into the Pakistani airspace laden with deadly GBU-12 Paveway-II laser-guided bombs.

  ♦

  A moan escaped the lips of the stirring figure. Sophia saw black spots dancing in front of her still closed eyes–she was gaining consciousness. She forced her eyes open, only to realize a nano second later the fatal folly she had committed. Her head felt as if being split with a sledge hammer. She gasped but lay still, as she did not have enough energy to move even a finger. She closed her eyes and did what she would always do in situations she could not comprehend – she prayed. In between praying and crying, she lost track of time. Finally, when the pain in her body had slowly receded to a dull throbbing in her right leg, was she actually able to think.

  Her heart almost stopped beating as she heard loud bangs and screams in the distance as the earth shook further. Loud sounds usually meant gunfire and terrorists. Moreover, it meant that her father, as the head of the Village Defence Committee, would have to go and investigate. And that in turn implied that he was not coming to look for her.

  ♦

  Bent by old age and fate, the old man wandered aimlessly for now he had no reason left to live, waiting for nature's coup de grace. The Pakistani bombing raid had killed his granddaughter. Mohammad Shabbir need not bury her, she already was buried. He scanned the horizon. The once beautiful landscape was now dotted with the tale of terror, havoc and destruction.

  Shabbir was too immersed in his own thoughts to notice that he had wandered near the school building. Or rather, the bunker which had been the school building, for now it was a junkyard of building material and human remains. He heard noises. Shabbir bent down and put his ear to the rubble. There it was: a voice loud and clear. The old man forgot his woes, and with a trembling, withered hand, started working the rubble away, reaching towards the source of the voice. He had already lost his granddaughter, and he did not want any other grandfather to lose his, too.

  Shabbir kept digging, seldom stopping, and trying to mouth words of hope to the poor soul trapped in the abyss of despair below. It was after four hours that some soldiers from the 8th Sikh Battalion stationed nearby noticed the old man, with bloody hands and a sweaty face, trying to clear the rubble at a distance. They approached him, having long abandoned hope of finding anyone alive inside, but were astounded to hear a slight whisper emanating from the rubble. The soldiers immediately swung into action.

  ♦

  Sophia felt fresh air and light. Before she knew what was happening, she was lifted out of her small burial hole by two feeble hands. Shabbir was moved to tears to see the tiny girl in his arms crying her heart out. He recognized her, for she was the daughter of one of his friends, who had perished along with his entire family in the earthquake. Now, the poor child was without a father. He knew only one thing that he could do now. He would adopt her and raise her as his own.

  Panting with physical exertion and a myriad of emotions, Shabbir fell to the ground, but not before having carefully handed the child over to an army doctor. Yes, he thought, he would raise her. He would be, at last, happy again. Lost in his own world, he never felt the sharp pain of an exertion induced cardiac arrest. Tears had dominated his life, but at least he had died smiling.

  Somewhere Over Punjab

  Local time: 1300 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  The entire world seemed to be coming apart.

  The Graffs patrolling the international border were clearly in a soup. Not the delicious creamy soup you get in a five-star hotel! The Graffs had reached the border and were scanning the area hoping to find any blind spots in the round-the-clock Combat Air Patrols launched by the Indian air force. Ilyas's formation hoped that the Indians regarded their posture as defensive and went after the other aircrafts of Graffs and Night Arrows when they split and headed towards India, thus leaving the border undefended for a crucial ninety seconds, giving them time to execute their penetration.

  At a short command from Ilyas over R/T, most of the Graffs and Night Arrows veered up north to attack a different target, a target less defended as per intelligence, and burst into the Indian airspace. Only three Graffs were left to take care of their target, hardly a minute of flying distance away from their current location that was well within the Pakistani border.

  Hardly a minute. Provided they went unchallenged. There was no use dogfighting over Indian territory if the target escaped bombing.

  The Indian fighters raced away to intercept the incoming Pakistani horde as Ilyas listened intently to Pakistani air force's Saab 2000 Erieye AEW&C (Airborne Early Warning and Control) craft for information on any openings in the Indian air defence.

  None was forthcoming.

  As planned, his boys got behind each other in a stream, pulled up in a steep climb to attain a height of about 5000 metres, and adopted a defensive patrolling posture. So far, their attempts to confuse the Indians had failed. The Indians did not take the bait and follow the majority group. Rather, they were still on the three Graffs' tails.

  The radio silence was broken by rushing voices belonging to the group that had gone into India. 'Target ETA 03 […] we have incoming bogeys […] multiple contacts […] flankers […] engaging […] more bogeys […] bombs away […] heavy fire [...] damage [...] two at six [...] under fire [...] mayday.'

  It continued, 'Damn...'

  It seemed an entire Indian squadron was waiting for such an attack to commence. The Indians knew what the target of the Pakistani aircrafts would be, thanks to their superior AEW&C capability. IAF waited for PAF to come close enough to the ta
rget, close enough to even partially bomb it, but the gamble paid off. The Pakistani F-16s that were deep in the Indian territory, were outflanked by MiG-27 fighters from Evepore, cutting their egress, and were then massacred as a MiG-29 squadron from Srinagar swooped on them. Of the eleven Pakistani F-16 aircrafts from the Graffs and Night Arrows, only one made it back to its base in Sargodha.

  Meanwhile, Ilyas stared at the Indians patrolling on the other side of the border. This is what happens when one fights an enemy who has such numerical superiority, he thought. The Indians need not chase our second group. Another Mig-29 squadron can take off from Evepore and handle the matter. Whereas we are left to deal with them!

  'How many did you say?' Ilyas asked.

  'Six bogies, shadowing us on the other side of the border.'

  'It was expected that the Indians would have increased patrolling, but...'

  'Classification?'

  'Fulcrums. Mig-29s.'

  Ilyas swore under his breath, 'Couldn't they have sent Mig-21s instead?', knowing fully well that the last Mig-21 was phased out of IAF about an year ago.

  Someone else snorted, 'Yeah, why not hope for Gnats then?'

  'Our plan has failed, sir. Not only was the initial attack party intercepted, we failed to create an opening to rush in their...' Fareed was not able to complete his sentence. His on board computer started screaming of a lock. 'Shit,' he cursed. He was so busy in cracking jokes he just might have bid his life goodbye. The enemy had fired upon him. He had just kissed the Beyond-Visual-Range (BVR) zone of the Mig-29 and it had taken its chance.

  As he would have.

  The air-to-air missile streaked towards Fareed's F-16 with a speed of over Mach 5 and carried a high explosive fragmentation warhead. Meteor BVR, newly acquired by India, was integrated with the Russian MiG-29, as Fareed was about to find out.

  'Furry, climb to 20 klicks...climb, climb,' Ilyas screamed. He tried to dodge it, used chaff and flares, and swerved at the precise moment, but it was of no use. The missile hit. Fareed managed to eject and glided towards the ground as his plane crashed in a burning ball of molten steel and fire.

  Ilyas did not react for a minute. This was the first loss under his command. He felt responsible, frustrated and…angry.

  'Ok boy, listen up,' Ilyas said to the last remaining Graff, anger seeping into his voice, 'the Night Arrows have left us for bombing sector Khmer. We are outnumbered but we will do what we have to do.'

  'Yes, sir!' his eager wingman echoed.

  'Get Arrington!' Ilyas confirmed.

  He and his wingman jumped into the fire.

  ♦

  Meanwhile, an IAF Beriev A-50EI Mainstay AEW&C aircraft was flying far away, directing the MiG-29 archers of the Number 47 squadron to incoming threats or potential targets. The AEW&C aircraft was divided into sections, with every cubicle having a radar console and was manned by the technical personnel of IAF, who were monitoring the international border in excruciating detail for any intrusions.

  The eyes in the sky had started scanning again for any other hostile crafts that came within the kill range of the MiG-29 archers. The chirps and beeps on-board faded into the background as someone swore loudly. It was Flying Officer Shameem Aftab. Before his CO could admonish him, he continued, almost hurriedly, as if to explain his behaviour, 'Contact, sir […] two unknowns […]'

  'Specify,' asked Squadron Leader AS Raina, commanding the Beriev A-50EI flying somewhere over Haryana.

  'Sir [...] two F-16s penetrating Indian airspace in 02 minutes [...] Amrit 1 sector [...]' gushed Aftab, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of kill.

  Squadron leader Raina, rubbing his hands in glee, immediately switched to the predetermined frequency. He sent a 'Murder Murder Murder' command to the MiG-29s with the location and direction of the incoming Pakistani F-16s.

  The IAF fighters moved to intercept and Raina realized that it was time to have a scotch on-board to celebrate the occasion.

  Aiwan-e-Sadr, Pakistan

  Local time: 1600 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  'Sir, the news is mixed,' General Akram, the chief of Pakistan army, reported to the president.

  'What happened?'

  'We did not manage to strike Amritsar. Only some outlying areas were bombed. The Indian air force intercepted us and we lost on count of both sheer numbers and technology. In Rajasthan too, we were stopped by enemy aircrafts. We have had massive casualties. Twenty-four aircrafts have been lost. Expected enemy aircraft kills: seven. On the other hand, we have been able to successfully bomb the Line of Control in Kashmir.

  'We succeeded in Kashmir only because the enemy did not expect us to bomb it. It concentrated all its might in the Rajasthan and the Punjab sector. We are heavily outnumbered. The enemy aircrafts just don't stop coming!'

  President Shahid exhaled; it seemed it was time to take the tough decision. 'This is why we created the last resort. Why do you think we created the bomb? Not because we wanted to use it, but because we were so outnumbered that we needed to gain at least some parity. They may have more aircrafts and guns than us, but for every nuke they have, we have two.'

  'Sir, do you intend...' asked General Akram, cautiously.

  'No, of course not. At least not yet,' replied the president, 'Ask your men to hold their ground. Reinforce them and launch fresh offensives. Pull out your forces from all operations in the North West Frontier and prepare assaults deep into the Indian territory. Focus on Rajasthan. Ask the air force to provide you what you want, but we need to go on the offensive. Now!'

  Heads turned abruptly as Shahid Abbasi continued, 'And yes, I want a meeting of the National Command Authority.* ASAP.'

  Voices in the room flickered like a dying candle on a windy night.

  ____________________

  * NCA is the Pakistani organization responsible for policy formulation and the exercise of employment and development control over all strategic nuclear forces and strategic organizations.

  Thar Sector One, Rajasthan, India

  Local time: 1900 hours

  Date: 25 April 2014

  Serving in the cavalry always had benefits of its own. Sipping bitter, lukewarm coffee inside a stuffy T-90 Bhishma, enjoying gusts of dust-laden winds on a hot Jaisalmer day, and waiting for an enemy attack were some of them, thought Captain Gurwinder Singh Ahluwalia of the 262nd Cavalry, and shook his head in mock disgust.

  IMINT* had picked up massive mobilization by the Pakistani army across the Rajasthan border. The Pakistanis, as per RAW reports, had shed away the stand-and-fight approach of 1965 and 1971. They had realized that it would lead to the destruction of their forces by the numerically superior Indian forces. Therefore, the Pakistani intent was clear: go on an offensive. A thrust across the Indian mainland by the Army Reserve South of Pakistan was on the cards. As Kashmir, Line of Control and northern Punjab were heavily fortified by both sides and thus ill-suited for large mechanized offensives, it was assumed that Pakistan might launch its offensive in the semi desert sectors in southern Punjab and the Sindh Province.

  The Pakistani strategy was clear. Try to rage a six-day war on India, in a shock and awe Blitzkrieg. Trample across the Indian mainland, cut supply routes, hold territory, terrorize the Indians, wait for an internationally-brokered cease-fire and then bargain using the conquered ground. Make India surrender in the first twenty-four hours of intense battle. The Pakistani II Corps had been tasked with the invasion of this particular sub sector that Singh was supposed to protect.

  Surrender my unwashed-in-four-days-socks, thought Singh. He had studied mechanical engineering at Punjab Engineering College, Chandigarh, and had been involved in many a college brawl to realize that there was either total victory, or eternal shame.

  Moreover, defence is always easier than offence, especially when the defender gets the time to prepare. By now, they had mined the entire border of Rajasthan with Sindh, thereby creating another 38th parallel. The Pakistanis had no chance to penetrate that. He pu
t the radio to his ears and awaited further news.

  Singh eagerly heard the chatter. The radio was abuzz with updates. II corps was striking. But where? It was when he saw a Jaguar fly over his tank. Where is he going, we can take care of the enemy, Singh thought and snorted. 'Oye yaar,' the burly captain shook his fists and shouted at the plane passing overhead in mock anger, 'you are supposed to come at the end!'

  His tank loader smiled; the gunner, on the other hand, looked unsure of whether to feel reassured by Singh's bravado or be worried about going into battle under this Don Quixotic commander. However, Singh knew how important it was to keep one's spirits up in battle. Wars are won on spirits, he thought, and paternally patted the Old Monk in his pocket.

  A minute later, he was glad he had fighter protection. Six enemy aircrafts streaked above him, each one of them in a bombing dive to decimate him. PAF was attacking, paving way for the II Corps. Good thinking by the command, we needed the air support, he thought.

  He cursed and dove into the tank, clamping the hatch shut with a metallic twang. His platoon did the same as Singh prayed that Bhishma's three-tier shield system comprising of the composite armour, the Kontakt-5 ERA (Explosive Reactive Armour) and the newly installed Shtora-1 countermeasures suit, gave his tanks not only adequate conventional, but also nuclear, biological, and chemical protection.

  Singh strained to see anything via the optical periscope, listened intently for any updates, and waited for the bombs to fall. They never came.

  Unknown to Singh, an IAF Rafale patrol flying from AFS Suratgarh and led by Flight Lieutenant De Kosta of the No. 23 squadron, Pouncing Panthers, had been on combat air patrol over Rajasthan when the JF-17 Thunder multirole combat aircrafts of PAF had decided to attack. An Indian UAV drone had picked up the intrusion; the Rafales were ordered to intercept the attacking Pakistani aircrafts of No. 26 Squadron Red Spiders.