Fenix (18 page)

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T
he fog made things impossible to see. Visibility was down to near-zero. And what should have been a short flight by helicopter had devolved into a long, bumpy ride by truck convoy…

              “Goddamn it!” Pathanya picked up his flashlight that had fallen to the bed of the truck as it had braked suddenly to avoid hitting the truck in front. Despite full beams, the drivers could only make out a few meters in front of them. The only thing that pierced the fog were the red brake lights. And when one vehicle braked, it caused a ripple effect all along the axis of the convoy. It made for a bumpy and patently uncomfortable ride.

              Kamidalla got up from his seat whilst holding on to the rails on the roof and whipped the back flap of the truck cover aside. Nothing to see. Just the barely discernable outline of the next truck behind them highlighted by its headlights and a reddish-orange horizon to the east. Kamidalla checked his wristwatch while balancing himself. Seven-thirty hours. And they still had not made it to their staging areas southwest of Amritsar. The location they were based at was a hotbed of army activity, near as it was the international border with Pakistan a few kilometers away. And just west of there was the major Pakistani city of Lahore.

              Lahore was the prize the Indian army units in this sector were clamoring for. The city was a major enemy hub and was currently working as a collection-center for extremists and jihadists, who were also expecting the fight. The civilians in the city were evacuating in droves to the west while truck convoys herded terrorists and self-declared Mujahedeen into the city. Their aim was to turn the city and its outskirts into a fortress.

              On the Indian side, three large Corps were moving into jump-off positions. Nine divisions of armor and infantry were poised to strike hard and heavy into Pakistan with the aim of isolating Lahore from the rest of Pakistan. Lahore was a price that General “Warlord” Potgam had instructed his commanders to aim for. The idea was to force the Pakistani army into a fight they
couldn’t
ignore. Potgam couldn’t care less whether he captured the city or nuked it. The idea was to seize the initiative and force the enemy to fight a battle on
his
terms. The strategic objective was to destroy the ability of the Pakistani army to wage war. The tactical objective was to bleed it white, one unit at a time.

All in all, thousands of tanks and armored vehicles were converging into the region from both sides. And it was leading to traffic jams of epic proportions on the roads near the border…

Pathanya turned his head when he heard the distinct slapping sound of someone banging on the outer skin of the truck. The other pathfinders heard it as well and got up from their sleeping bags spread out on the floor of the truck. Kamidalla leaned around the backside of the truck and then turned to Pathanya: “The boss is here.”

Pathanya had just enough time to raise his eyebrow before Ansari walked to the back of the truck and looked inside to see his precious cargo still intact. Pathanya and Kamidalla snapped off quick salutes to which Ansari promptly responded before moving on: “gentlemen, this is the end of the line as far as this road trip is concerned. We are breaking off from the main logistical axis now. Get your gear and board the vehicles outside!”

“Yes sir!” Pathanya grabbed his backpack, rifle and other equipment near his seat. Others in the truck did the same. Kamidalla was the first to jump off the truck with his gear. Pathanya was close behind him. Ansari waved them to the five
AXE
light-utility trucks standing on the dirt road just off the main highway. It was out here during the early morning daylight that the pathfinders first saw the size and scale of the invasion force Potgam was putting together. The convoy they had been on stretched endlessly for kilometers in either direction. The rumble of fighter jets providing security overhead and the noise of hundreds of vehicles moving men, ammunition and fuel, filled the air.

Pathanya shared a look with Kamidalla and headed to the parked vehicles with the rest of his men. Ansari slapped on the driver compartment door of the truck and waved for him to move on. The truck engines roared and the convoy moved off again, raising dust and grime off the tar-road.

“We are about twenty minutes down this path,” Ansari said as the pathfinders stowed their gear on the five vehicles, strapping what they had to on the sides of the vehicles to make space. Pathanya was in the vehicle with Ansari and Kamidalla. As the vehicles moved off, Ansari turned to the back to face the two young officers: “what is pathfinder’s readiness?”

“Green.” Pathanya replied. “Team strength is still minus one, though.”

“That’s been looked into,” Ansari replied. “Had to pull a lot of strings to get him out, but he’s ours now. Expect your replacement pathfinder to arrive later today.” Pathanya nodded and kept his peace.

“So,” Ansari continued, “what do you make of our presence here?”

“I take it that pathfinder is still on our original mission,” Kamidalla said, “despite all this?” He pointed to the low flying jets overhead and the dust clouds of convoys in all directions around them. Ansari smiled.

“The game just got bigger, gents. We are going after the really big fish now. General Potgam has pulled out all the stops. We didn’t start this damn business. But he
is
going to put an end to it. Pathfinder, however, will make sure that the pain is felt all the way to the top!”

Pathanya cocked an eyebrow. The idea of working on the enemy’s home turf surrounded by thousands of jihadists clamoring for death did not excite him in the least. But he had a job to do. And that was that, really.

“When is the expected jump-off, sir?”

“Hours. Latest by tomorrow. Potgam isn’t going to wait around with this massive deployment in the field. Once the logisticians sort out the mess we have going on right now, we are moving off. Pathfinder will deploy a bit later once our target individual has been located. You…” Ansari paused as two Jaguar aircraft thundered overhead, “You all should have some time to prepare your men for what’s coming.”     

              “Sir.” Pathanya replied neutrally. He had expected more time to plan any such mission. But wartime contingencies were at play now.

              “I always wanted to go see Lahore,” Kamidalla added with a sheepish smile.

              “You
will
get your wish, captain!” Ansari replied.

“W
hat is the problem here?”

Kulkarni grabbed the side armor panel of the parked Arjun and clambered up on top of the turret. Two of his regiment’s maintenance officers were kneeling next to the long comms antennae. Other maintenance personnel as well as several crews were standing near the vehicle. One of the engineering officers was a Lt-colonel. He got up and pointed to the comms antennae: “this one is broken from yesterday’s maneuvers. You have
got
to tell your men to be
more
careful with their maneuvers in the desert. There are patches of hard areas in the sand next to soft ones out here. If you come in too fast, you are liable to break something important on impact. We are lucky
this
one was just an antennae!”

“Can you replace it?” Kulkarni asked deferentially. The Lt-colonel nodded and stepped off the turret on to the chassis. “Give me an hour to replace the unit.” 

As the engineering officer jumped off the chassis on to the sand and dusted his uniform, he had one last piece of advice for the young armor commander: “these are tanks, Kulkarni. Not sports-cars. Don’t let your crews forget it.”          

              Kulkarni smiled as he looked away from the departing maintenance personnel and towards his crews standing nearby like school-kids waiting to be punished. He jumped off the tank turret as well.

              “Pay attention to what he said,” Kulkarni ordered. “Look for the transition patches in the desert hardness and change your speeds accordingly.
If
you break your comms, you break contact with the rest of the force. And
that
puts you out of the fight…or worse. Nothing is more lethal in maneuver warfare than communications. Comms with me, comms with your platoon commanders and comms with your neighboring tanks. These tanks here,” he patted the side of the Arjun tank, “bring an unprecedented level of combat situational awareness to us. But don’t let that get to your head.
One
mistake and you
will
pay the price! Is that understood?”

              He got a unanimous “yes, sir!” from his men and so he moved on: “one other thing: these may very well be tanks and not sports-cars, as the Lt-colonel said. But I doubt you will get any closer to a sports-car out here!”

“B
eyond those tents there?”

“Yes, sir. Take a left beyond the one here and it should be visible.”

              “Thank you.” Captain Vikram “Vik” Taneja grabbed his rucksack from the back of the green-painted Gypsy vehicle and watched the driver head off again on the dirt track towards the main road. He looked around and saw a special operations unit getting ready for war. But it wasn’t just these men here. All through the drive from Amritsar, it had been a similar story. Vikram had seen the exodus of civilians fearing the worst, the massed convoys of army vehicles pouring in and the skies overhead shaking with the thunder of jets of all shapes and sizes. The country was holding its breath to see what happened next. And perhaps the world did as well. The news reports on television and radio were teeming with talks of frantic last-minute diplomacy as well as attempts to get both sides to back down. 

              But the war was taking another kind of toll on Vikram. Standing here with a rucksack over his shoulder, he had mixed feelings of what it all represented. The place looked similar to the earlier setup he had once seen in the northern hills in the state of Uttar-Pradesh, three years ago. Similar wartime environment. Similar staging areas for forces being prepped to enter Bhutan as part of what had then been the “Joint-Force-Bhutan” under Lt-general “Warlord” Potgam. 

             
Hell, they even managed to match the gloominess and the fog here!  

Vikram sighed.
That
operation had ended in disaster for him and his small team. Following two weeks of near-continuous combat and the Chinese nuclear-strike on Barshong, Vikram and the other team member had carried Pathanya down the frozen peaks to the south where they had been rescued after a few days.

They
had
managed to survive that war. But many others hadn’t. The Indian paratrooper community had paid a heavy price in Bhutan. And the scars were still there. For Vikram, it represented a baptism by fire, being a newly commissioned lieutenant at the time. Since the termination of hostilities, however, the psychological scars had begun to grow. When the King of Bhutan had pinned on him and his two colleagues, the royal ribbon of “The Thimpu Shield”, it had brought him to tears. A mental threshold had been broken and it had taken Vikram a year of counseling with the army’s psychologists to recover. And he had almost failed to clear their requirements to be allowed to serve again. In the time since, he had recovered to his original physical capabilities and more, but had left his enthusiasm for war alongside the graves of his colleagues on the icy slopes in Bhutan.

Vikram decided that it was time to get on with it. He walked past the tents where he recognized some of the operators from the
SOCOM
staff. He finally made it to the set of tents beyond a rather candidly marked wooden sign, stuck into the dirt track that said: “Warriors of 1
ST
Bat, Para”.

Home.

Vikram smiled and shook his head as he tried to figure out who was behind that signboard. One of his former classmates, he was sure. The tent in the center was marked as headquarters so he headed in, pushing the flap of the tent aside as he walked inside. He saw a tent filled with activity as soldiers and officers milled past. Banks of radios filled the side and maps stuck to boards filled the room. He saw a group of solidly-built paratroopers standing around a map board. He noticed a man from his past just as soon as that man noticed him…

“Vik!” Pathanya said as he put down the images he held in his hand and walked to greet his old friend. “You made it!” 

              Vikram took Pathanya’s outstretched hand after lowering his salute. Pathanya was beaming at the sight of his old friend. Vikram was struggling to keep up as he met the other team members. They all looked at him through the lens of his Bhutan accomplishments. Nobody could see Vikram as the human being he was now. Not within his peers here.

              Pathanya led Vikram out of the tent just as the weak sunlight began to break through the dense fog.

              “The new team looks sharp, sir.” Vikram noted neutrally.

Pathanya nodded. He understood. “We have to move on, Vik. The job requires it.”

              “Fair enough, sir.”