“Our meteorologist will have better estimates later today of the fallout’s path, based on the current and predicted weather over the next few days.”
He shook his head. “Our estimate of casualties from the explosion hasn’t changed significantly, because we really have very little demographic information on the region. Our guess, and it’s only that, is that several hundred, at most a thousand souls were killed by the initial blast. That includes many who will not be able to receive medical help for their injuries in time. There may be twice that many injured who will recover, but there will be tens of thousands, possibly many more, who will suffer long-term health effects from the fallout-induced radiation.”
It had been a long flight from Nebraska, but the crew barely had time to eat while the aircraft was refueled. By the time they got back to the flight line, the ground crew had the plane ready for engine start.
They’d brought over thirty people with them to Diego Garcia from their home base in the U.S., but for this flight, there’d be the bare minimum complement — only enough crew to safely operate the aircraft. That was to minimize any exposure while they flew through the fallout cloud.
There was an atmosphere of urgency, but not haste. The sooner they got to the area and collected their samples, the better. Not only were the radioactive remnants of the blast decaying and dispersing by the minute, there were a lot of people who were waiting for answers.
The WC-135 was officially code-named “Constant Phoenix,” but the crew just referred to it by the tail number, “67.” There were only two of them in the air force. The other bird, back home at Offutt Air Force Base, was “93.” A modified C-135, itself derived from the long-obsolete Boeing 707, it carried devices to capture samples of the atmosphere and any fallout particles that might be present.
The big white and gray aircraft, call sign “Windsock,” began to taxi. Nearby, two F-15 fighter escorts came to life and fell in at a respectable distance behind. The U.S. already had overflight rights in Pakistan and had obtained permission from India for this mission, but its course would take Windsock into a shaky cease-fire zone, and right up to the edge of Chinese territory.
Windsock’s transponder would identify it as a U.S. Air Force plane, and both the Pakistani and Indian air defenses would be notified before Windsock entered their airspace. The mission would not violate anyone’s borders, but the Air Force was taking no chances. An E-3 Sentry radar plane and a RC-135 Rivet Joint SIGINT aircraft were already in position to watch and listen for any reaction from Indian or Chinese air defense.
Aerial tankers would orbit off the coast of Pakistan, over the northern Arabian Sea. Windsock would need to refuel during its eleven-hour mission, and the tankers would also keep a flight of four more F-15s on station over the water topped off and ready until Windsock cleared the area and was headed south again.
Vice Admiral Badu Singh Dhankhar tried to project an air of calm, in both his tone and his words. “No, Captain, we’re not going to cancel the operation. We owe it to everyone who’s supported us up to this point.”
“Admiral, please, it’s not just the press. That’s bad enough, but the prime minister says there will be a formal inquiry.”
“Of course, but we both know that’s all for show. Everyone is blaming India for the Kashmir incident, and after all, you are the head of the navy’s nuclear weapons program.”
Dhankhar sighed and sat down, but not at his desk. Instead, he used a chair next to Captain Kapil Asrani, and poured more tea. Asrani was taller than the admiral, and younger than Dhankhar by fifteen years, but the admiral wore his rank well. His authority and experience were well known. He’d distinguished himself as a junior officer in the Indo-Pakistani War of 1971. Now almost seventy, and commander of India’s Eastern Naval Command, he was widely respected and liked, a pillar of the fleet.
He paused, as if in calm contemplation, but internally gauging Asrani’s level of agitation. Too much depended on this man. The captain’s office was in charge of developing nuclear warheads for India’s submarine-launched missiles: the Sagarika ballistic missile that would go aboard Arihant, and the Nirbhay cruise missile that could be used by any submarine, and also by aircraft and from ground launchers. Both programs were a long way from being successful, though. The technical challenges were ferocious.
Asrani was smart and well educated, and Dhankhar believed him to be a patriot, but he was also a worrier. The Indian military was in shock over the nuclear explosion in Kashmir, and the entire world was blaming India for it, so it was no surprise that the captain was on edge.
Finally, Dhankhar said, “Tell them your office had nothing to do with the Kashmiri explosion, that the Indian Navy had nothing to do with the explosion, and of course that you had no personal knowledge of the explosion, before the event.” Dhankhar smiled reassuringly. “The first two are certainly true, and the last is only partially false.”
The captain listened, then nodded — reluctantly, but agreeing. “I’ve told bigger lies than that in the past months. You’re right, Admiral. There’s nothing there that leads back to us, and we really don’t know exactly what happened in Kashmir. We can safely continue with the project.”
“Continue, and finish more quickly,” Dhankhar added firmly. He saw Asrani’s surprised expression. “There really is nothing in Kashmir that will lead to us, but an investigation’s questions and probing might accidentally trip over our project. Also, the explosion’s made everyone nervous, and nervous people make mistakes.” He directed a piercing look at Asrani, who nodded again.
Dhankhar said, “Orlav’s been working long hours, but he can do more. We are well into the project, and there have been no surprises or problems. Everyone knows what needs to be done to finish. I think we can be ready within a month.”
The admiral stood and ordered, “Come back to me tomorrow morning with a firm completion date if we abandon the schedule and work at full speed.” Dhankhar saw the captain open his mouth to object, but cut him off. “The quicker we finish, the less exposure and the less risk of accidental discovery. By the time the formal investigation is under way, we’ll be done.”
“Yes, Admiral, I’ll give you a detailed answer tomorrow morning,” Asrani acknowledged, standing. “But what about Chakra’s refit?”
“After you give me our completion date, I’ll go to the yard supervisor and tell him that the refit is being cut short because of ‘heightened tensions’ after the Kashmir explosion. The way everyone’s reacting, that’s certainly believable. I’ll brief Captain Jain myself.”
Captain Girish Samant found most of his staff in the conference room, huddled around a television tuned to a news channel. The announcers were babbling about the first eyewitness reports from the area, and displaying aerial photos. “Back to work! This has nothing to do with us!”
Samant’s tone was sharp, almost venomous, and the staffers fled. There were two doors into the conference room, and nobody used the door nearest Samant. In fact, nobody even looked directly at the captain.