Ansari looked at Gephel and then back to the pilots: “well that’s a problem then. Because for all we know, our target has been on a convoy making his way west while we are debating logistics.” He sighed. “What do we need to do get the fuel in there?”
“We can do a para drop for fuel the way we do for a rapid-deployment FARP,” Jagat suggested. Ansari saw that Dutt was nodding his head. That was good. “That way,” Jagat continued, “we can refuel on the way back. Can the air-force spare a C-130 for this?”
“They can,” Dutt added flatly. “But we will need some security for the location. The pathfinders will have to leave some guards there, or we will have to carry our own guards when we go.”
“No,” Ansari replied, “they can spare a few men for the refueling point. The final assault won’t need that many men anyway.”
“Hopefully.” Gephel added.
Ansari nodded as he put his arms around the edges of the table and leaned over the maps: “we are time critical on this one, gentlemen. The more time we spend discussing this, the more time our target gets to move further away from us. We need to end this… now.”
“I agree,” Dutt said as he folded his own maps and stuffed his pencils in his flight-suit’s pockets. “Let’s get rolling, folks. Ansari, you have the ball for our logistics. You have as much time to make it happen as its going to take us to get airborne and out to the pathfinders and then beyond to the A-O. Jagat and myself are taking flight. Get word to the pathfinders on how this is going to work and we all will make it back alive with the target’s head. No screw-ups, please.”
“Just so long as that head is still attached to a body,” Gephel reminded the air-force pilot.
Dutt scowled: “no guarantees.”
“Okay,” Ansari agreed as he pounded his knuckles on the table. “Let’s get this done!”
Jagat and Dutt walked out of the tent with their other pilots and gunners towing behind them. The two SOCOM commanders watched them leave. Once the last pilot had lowered the flap of the tent behind him, Gephel turned to Ansari: “any news on New-Delhi? Chandigarh?”
Ansari shook his head. His eyes did not meet Gephel’s.
“What about Basu?” Gephel persisted. “And the others? Wasn’t your family in…”
Ansari scowled. “I don’t know! I just don’t know, okay? They are all dead for all I know!” He instantly regretted losing his temper and then rubbed his eyes.
“Look,” he said after a few seconds, “they may still be alive. But without any sort of comms, we have to assume that they are dead. Or incapacitated. At the very least they are off our grids and therefore not relevant just this second. And that applies both to the higher brass as well as our families and friends. There will be enough time to dig through the rubble when this is all over. Believe me!”
“Indeed.” Gephel crossed his arms. His voice thinly disguised his anger. But Ansari knew it wasn’t directed at him. He had known Gephel a very long time for that.
The rounds of the rotors spooling up outside forced the conversation to an end. Ansari turned to face Gepheclass="underline" “we have work to do. If we don’t get that refueling D-Z set up on time, the Pathanya, Jagat, Dutt and the others are going to find themselves in hot water deep behind enemy lines. Hindon and Chandigarh have been destroyed. Where’s the nearest C-130 based right now?”
“That would be,” Gephel flipped through his notes, “Agra. All C-130J aircraft that survived the nuclear strike have been relocated there for now.”
“Can they spare one?” Ansari leaned over the maps.
“I think so,” Gephel replied. “Need to make some calls for that, however.”
“Confirm it,” Ansari ordered. “And make sure they know our requirements. Fuel cells for six helicopters, single return flight over the distance specified. And we need it now!”
“I am on it,” Gephel walked away to the other tents that housed the radios. After his colleague was gone, Ansari continued to stare at the locations and routes that they had decided on over the past hour. He knew this would be their last chance to do this. Any delays or screw ups and Haider and his henchmen would be beyond the reach of their surveillance and radius of operations. At that point it might take years to find and kill him.
And that won’t do… Ansari’s face contorted in anger. Haider had to pay for what he had wrought on both countries and the hundred-million people who had been slaughtered. That number struck Ansari for the first time just then: one-hundred million was the conservative estimate for the casualties. It was too early to tell, of course. The mushroom clouds hadn’t even dissipated yet. But even if that number was mostly true, General Hussein and Lt-general Haider were now the single biggest mass-murderers in human history.
Bigger than Hitler and Stalin…
They simply could not be allowed to escape justice. And while Hussein had been killed in Rawalpindi, having refused to evacuate into the hinterlands, Haider was still alive and on the loose.
But not for long. Unbeknownst to Haider, his comms had been zeroed in by a laborious effort by the military-intelligence and RAW personnel. And thanks to input from Pathanya and wing-commander Grewal, they knew that the medical convoy they had seen as the source of the signals was, in fact, accurate.
All the pieces were in place for the final strike.
Ansari thought over the plan and didn’t feel like they had missed anything. The sounds of the helicopter rotors was deafening. The walls of the tent were swaying under the manmade winds from the rotors. He turned over the flap of the tent and stepped out to see seven helicopters parked on the makeshift helipad. Three Dhruv utility helicopters and four LCH gunships. The latter were armed with rocket-pods and Nag anti-tank missiles on twin launchers. The gunners were already swiveling their chin-turrets as they made sure the helmet-gun-slaving was accurate and responsive.
A few moments later Dutt’s LCH lifted off the ground and leapt into the air at full power. The helicopter flew over the trees further away and headed west. The other helicopters lifted in quick unison and followed their leader. Within minutes, all Ansari could see were the distant silhouettes of the helicopters against the pink-red skies of the morning.
50
The Arjun tank rumbled to a stop at the junction of the dirt road. Kulkarni looked around and then consulted his map. He had been navigating purely by compass and his mental knowledge of the terrain for the last hour. He had kept a general direction to the east and kept away from urban areas. The last thing he wanted was to be ambushed by a swarm of jihadists out here. Inside the driver compartment of a single tank with no crew, he wouldn’t stand a chance. It was all the more important for him to make as much headway towards the east as possible before the sun came up and the visibility made his tank stick out like a sore thumb, attracting the wrong kind of attention. The ongoing chaos and darkness of the night were his friends.
He saw the pink skies to the east and then checked his wristwatch. Sunrise was imminent. By that time he had to either be within friendly lines or as far out into the eastern desert as possible. Either way, he had to get out of these urban areas. They were death traps.
The road in front of him headed east-west and looked suspiciously like the Rahim Yar Khan road. His tanks had rolled on it on their way towards the town two days ago. If he continued east on it, it should merge with the Islamgarh road and that would take him all the way east to the Indian border. But without any road signs, he couldn’t be sure this was the right road. Besides, out here all roads looked the same. Same trees and bushes scattered around them. Same dirt covering everything. But he reasoned that if he got on the eastward heading road, he couldn’t go wrong.