SALIM MUST DIE

by Deva, Mukul

  The discussion spun in circles and progressed deep into the night. It was sometime after midnight that things began to take shape. The conversation became quieter and more focused. Ironically, the rays of a new sun were beginning to lighten up the darkness when they finally took the three dark decisions that would change the lives of thousands of people in different parts of the world – the three last straws that were destined to finally break the camel's back.

  The First Big Straw

  THREE DAYS LATER. BRUSSELS

  IT WAS A WELL-KNOWN FACT THAT THE MAN WHO MADE THE call was working for the American CIA. Even if he was not on the muster roll of that honourable organization, there was no denying that he had fronted for them on a number of deals where they did not wish to appear themselves.

  ‘We need the arms to be delivered to the Afghan army in the next three months.’ Like his appearance, his tone was accent-neutral and he had that peculiar easy-to-forget personality which was ideal for the line of work he was in.

  ‘What kind of quantities are we talking about here?’ the Russian representing Rosoboronexport, the Russian defence industry giant, asked. He had dealt with the American trouble-shooter before and they shared a decent working relationship, even if there was no trace of camaraderie evident.

  ‘To begin with, about 78 million rounds of AK-47 ammunition, 100,000 rocket-propelled grenades and 12,000 tank shells,’ the CIA man replied, his tone casual.

  ‘Wow!’ The Russian gave a low whistle as he absorbed the size of the order. The quantity was roughly equal to fifteen times the British army's annual requirements. ‘You guys planning to start a war out there?’

  ‘There is a war going on out there, in case you haven't noticed,’ the American retorted. Both men laughed. There was nothing even remotely pleasant about the laughter. ‘Can we have the quote ASAP?’

  ‘Of course you can,’ the Russian replied happily, visualizing the huge bonus he would make from this deal. ‘You are in a real hurry on this, aren't you?’

  The other man did not bother to respond. He didn't have to. It was no secret that the present US administration was in a hurry simply because they had no clue what the incoming Democratic regime would do about Afghanistan and Iraq once they took charge. It didn't seem likely that the Democrats would pull out, but they could reduce support levels for the locals.

  ‘Look!’ the American finally said. ‘You can imagine what you want to, but you need to make damn sure the deliveries begin in the next two to three weeks… if your quote is right, that is.’

  Right! Arsehole! Where else do you think you can buy the stuff? At the neighbourhood 7-11? The Russian didn't speak out loud of course. So what if he is an arsehole? His money is just as good. ‘Don't worry about it. The quote will be with you first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Good!’ the American replied haughtily. He left the meeting satisfied that he had done his job well.

  A FORTNIGHT LATER, AN ADDITIONAL 29,000 US TROOPS WERE inducted into Iraq.

  On the face of it, the induction was justified by the worsening security situation in Iraq. But none of these troops was moved into any of the active theatres in Iraq. In fact, within days of their landing, the complete US contingent moved out to various locations and began induction and familiarization training. It was no coincidence that most of these training areas happened to be on the borders that Iraq shares with Iran. Slowly but surely, the noose was beginning to tighten.

  The Second Big Straw

  THREE WEEKS LATER. 2336 HOURS. HATZERIM AIRBASE, NEGEV DESERT, ISRAEL

  THE HIDEOUS SCREAM OF ENGINES DROWNED OUT ALL SOUND. A series of thunderclaps shattered the night as the afterburners kicked in. Four fighters slashed down the runway in pairs. Lifting off in meticulous unison, the F-16Is clawed their way into the coal-black night.

  Silence returned with equal suddenness as they receded into the darkness.

  Codenamed Sufa (Storm) by the Israeli Air Force, the heavily modified F-16I with massive conformal fuel tanks has a combat radius of approximately 2100 km. The highly versatile aircraft is a deadly fighting machine capable of functioning in the most intensive warfare scenarios. It carries on board an amazing array of weapons that can wreak mind-numbing destruction.

  That particular evening the four fighters of the 69 Squadron were carrying a highly specialized weapons load. The 69 Squadron, also known as The Hammers, had seen more than its fair share of action since it was formed in 1948. Leading the four fighters tonight was their squadron commander, Ilan Yarkoni, a man with several combat sorties under his belt.

  Tonight was not the first time that a military aircraft had taken to the skies with nuclear weapons since that fateful day in August 1945 when the nuclear bomb named Little Boy (a gun-type fission weapon with sixty kilograms of Uranium-235 that had a blast equivalent of about thirteen kilotons of TNT) had been dropped over Hiroshima from a B-29 plane piloted by Colonel Paul Tibbets of the US-509 Composite Group. Ironically, the plane had been affectionately nicknamed Enola Gay after Tibbets’ mother. The bomb it dropped that day left many children motherless and many mothers childless.

  However, tonight was the first time since then that such weapons were being carried with a firm, committed resolve to put them to use.

  All four F-16s attained cruising height and levelled out. They were following a carefully plotted course. None of the men who rode in those metallic monsters had any doubts as to what awaited them as they sliced through the still, dark night. If any of them had been the betting kind they would not have put any money on their chances of returning home alive.

  I just hope we are able to complete the mission. Ilan shrugged away the thought as he settled deeper into the seat. We have to… failure is not an option.

  NINETEEN MINUTES LATER

  ‘SIERRA TANGO STRIKE TEAM, YOU'RE NOW APPROACHING merger point. Four minutes and closing.’

  The coded transmission from the unknown controller hundreds of miles away crackled into the headphones of the four flying fighters. None of them bothered to reply. Strict radio silence was in place. A few seconds later, the large, unsuspecting target appeared on their screens. With its strobe lights flashing majestically, the massive passenger aircraft was proceeding sedately along its path.

  The four fighters closed ranks and came together in a tight diamond formation. As one, they angled sharply up and towards the right. Four minutes later they were in position.

  ‘Sierra Tango, you are radar negative now. Hold steady.’

  Twenty-seven minutes later, the point of no return was crossed as the four Israeli aircraft entered enemy airspace. The strike had begun.

  LUFTHANSA FLIGHT LH-600 HAD TAKEN OFF FROM FRANKFURT airport at 1802 hours, two minutes behind schedule. The pilot hoped to make up the two minutes during the flight to ensure it reached Tehran at the stipulated time of 0125 hours. The flight was being managed with Teutonic efficiency and proceeding without incident. The Boeing 340 was cruising smoothly at an altitude of about 30,000 feet when it entered Iranian airspace a little after midnight.

  There were exactly one hundred and eighty-seven passengers on board, including eighty-three women and sixteen children. Most of them were fast asleep, though a few were surfing the in-flight movies. In any case, none of them was aware of the Israeli F-16Is that had linked up with it a few minutes short of entering Iranian airspace and were now flying in the shadow of the huge jet. All four fighters were flying in a dense pack immediately below the jetliner. This ensured that their radar profiles merged with that of the Lufthansa craft.

  Seventeen minutes into Iranian airspace.

  ‘Sierra Tango, time to hit the deck.’ The unseen controller rapped out the command.

  There was a second's pause. Then, as one, the jet pack broke cover. Falling away from the jetliner, the four fighters fell into a steep dive angling away to the right.

  The last leg of their journey had begun.

  ON THE GROUND, THERE WAS A MOMENT OF TOTAL consternation as the four fighters
suddenly erupted on a dozen radar screens of the Iranian air defence system.

  However, the confusion did not last very long. Memories of the Israeli air strike of 7 June 1981 on the Osirak nuclear reactor in Iraq2 were still sharp in the minds of the Iranians.

  A few seconds later, the Iranian radars had identified the intruders and got a fix on their likely destination. Alarms began to scream as the air defence system kicked into play. Almost immediately the instrument panels of all four Israeli fighters lit up as they began tracking the inbound radar hits and missiles. Disregarding the cacophony of alarms flooding the cockpits, the four fighters dived straight towards the target lying in wait for them below. Their lives were not important. The mission was.

  The Iranian air defence system was nowhere as sophisticated as the fighters it was up against. A legacy of the CENTO (Central Treaty Organization3), the Iranian early warning system was established in 1950 and had last been upgraded in 1970. It comprised a number of Chinese SA-2 missiles, Russian SA-5 and SA-6 SAMs, the highly capable SA-10 Grumble missile system and twenty-nine newly inducted TOR M1 systems. The areas most heavily defended were obviously Tehran, and the various R&D and production centres like Bushehr and Natanz, which were critical components of the Iranian Nuclear Biological and Chemical (NBC) weapons program. However, there was no nationwide integrated air defence network. Consequently, the Iranians relied almost entirely on point defence of key locations using SAM batteries while the SA-10 and TOR M1s posed a highly potent threat when deployed in an integrated array.

  The Achilles heel of the Iranian system was its inability to generate effective real-time early warning and act as a fully integrated system. This allowed the attacker a window of opportunity. The window was only a few seconds long, but in such high speed aerial warfare scenarios, it is usually these few vital seconds that count. They are what tilt the balance between success and failure, life and death.

  The scream of a dozen alarms filled the cockpits and the minds of the four fighter pilots as they raced towards their objective at supersonic speeds. Each of them tried to shut out the urgently clamouring beeps as they activated electronic countermeasures. For those few fragile seconds technologies clashed as the Israeli jet fighters sought to elude the Iranian weapons seeking them out. Jammers and active array radars glowed into action either to blind the electronic eyes seeking them out or decoy them. Chaff and flares spewed out of the aircrafts, drawing the incoming missiles away from them.

  The Israelis exploited the only two factors in their favour: the slim window of opportunity that the Iranian system gave them and the shock of the tactical surprise they had managed to achieve when they had fallen out from below the Lufthansa jetliner.

  Suddenly the target was right there in front of them.

  ‘Commence home run.’ Ilan's voice snapped into the headsets of Sierra Tango.

  Twisting through the flak-riddled air, the four F-16Is snarled rapidly into attack profile and, splitting into pairs, began the final approach.

  ILAN SAW THE TINY BALL OF FIRE FLARE OUT FROM THE DARKNESS below and arc up into the sky. Like a bolt of lightning it raced towards them with incredible speed and silently coalesced with the aircraft it had targeted. For one tiny fraction of a second the hunter and the hunted slid through the air together in perfect harmony. Then there was a blinding explosion. Bits of blood, bone and metal confettied out into the darkness.

  Ilan saw the plane on his left mushroom into nothingness. One moment it was there and the next there was just an uneasy dark cloud hanging in the air. His jet tore through the night, soon leaving the flaming debris behind.

  In his mind's eye, Ilan saw the missile slam into the jet. He heard Sierra Two's scream as the plane disintegrated around him. Ilan's body cringed as it waited for another missile to seek him out. His heart egged his fighter on towards the target racing towards them at twice the speed of sound.

  Then a mosaic of anti-aircraft fire ripped apart the night. It seemed like a blizzard of fireflies was slashing through the skies, tearing it up into random shapes.

  Suddenly he felt his mind expand and take charge. It seemed to be willing away everything that the Iranians were throwing at him. A strange icy calm settled over him. It froze everything around him, yet left him intensely aware and alive. Ilan could clearly feel each individual heartbeat as it thrummed through his body. He was acutely aware of the droplets of blood pulsing through the vein in his temple, of each icy-cold breath that swept through him. The Zen-like calm shrouding him deepened as the target loomed larger and larger on the instrument panel in front of him. His fingers flexed and stressed as they itched to trigger the bomb release. He wanted the bombs held in the belly of his aircraft to be on their way before his luck ran out.

  Not yet!

  His mind stilled his fingers as the target moved relentlessly into the gun sights on the electronic display glowing before him.

  Not yet!

  Slowly… unbelievably slowly… with each nanosecond spanning a century… the electronic cross-hairs began to settle on the target.

  Almost there!

  The weapons-targeting computers told him the time was right.

  NOW!

  The unspoken command jolted out of Ilan's mind and raced towards his waiting fingers. Simultaneously the shroud of calm enveloping him lifted away, as though its job was done.

  Frantic fingers jabbed at the weapons release. There was a very slight, almost imperceptible jerk and lightening up of the aircraft as the bombs fell away. A fraction of a second later, the pair of F-16Is behind him also triggered their weapons release.

  Ilan was so intent on his task that he did not see the blizzard of TOR M-1 missiles geyser out of their launchers. The second wave of Iranian missiles raced forward, converging on the Israeli jets like rapidly increasing pinpricks of light. With a hit probability of over ninety-two per cent there was little chance of the missiles missing the low flying jets as they screamed over the target area.

  They didn't.

  Ilan did not even realize the exact moment when his aircraft disintegrated. Nor did the pilots of the remaining two fighters, although one almost managed to get clear. He was zooming heavenwards in a perfect vertical charlie and was nearly out of range when the dying anti-aircraft missile sought him out and speeded up his journey to his maker.

  They all died without knowing whether they had managed to complete their assigned task.

  FALLING AWAY FROM THE F-16IS, THE B61-11 BUNKER BUSTERS righted themselves and swooped down towards their designated target.

  The B61-11 is supposed to be a modification of the B61-7 bomb that was first pressed into service by the Americans in 1985. It can be fused for an air or a surface burst and has a hardened ground-penetrator nose with a retarded contact burst fusing option. It can be deployed with or without a parachute and can be configured with a variety of yields from 0.3 to 340 kilotons. The B61-11’s unique earth-penetrating characteristics and its wide range of yields allow it to threaten seemingly indestructible targets from the air. In fact, this is the raison d'etre of the B61-11.

  Considering the altitude at which they were to be released today, the B61-11s had been deployed without parachutes. They slid through the turbulent air and homed in effortlessly on their designated target. A few seconds later, there was a series of blinding flashes and huge balls of fire exploded above the ground. The explosions that burrowed into the ground were much more severe, but nobody remained alive to testify to this.

  Though buried under seventy feet of reinforced concrete, the Natanz enrichment facility had ceased to exist by the time the dust and smoke settled. The radiation would take much, much longer to disappear.

  2 Operation Opera (also known as Operation Babylon and Operation Ofra) was the code name given to the 7 June 1981 air strike on the Iraqi nuclear reactor at Osirak. A squadron of F-16A multi-role fighters used in ground assault, escorted by F-15A tactical fighters, had bombed and heavily damaged the Iraqi reactor.

  3 Iraq, T
urkey, Pakistan, Iran and the UK adopted the Central Treaty Organisation, originally known as the Middle East Treaty Organisation, in 1955. The US joined the central committee in 1958. It is generally viewed as one of the least successful alliances of the Cold War.

  The Final Straw

  ALMOST SIMULTANEOUSLY. ISLAMABAD AIRPORT, PAKISTAN

  THERE WAS A FAIRLY DECENT CROWD OF JOURNALISTS AND A whole bunch of American and Pakistani security men waiting on the tarmac when the doors of the sleek corporate jet slid open and the man emerged. The jaunty spring in his step and the energetic wave he gave them belied his age, which was clearly on the wrong side of sixty. His superbly fitted suit and general demeanour subtly but clearly bespoke the old money that he came from. He had about him the undeniable aura of a man who was not to be taken lightly, a man who it would be hard to say no to.

  Richard Wentworth the Third, a true blue Boston Brahmin, touted as one of the richest men in the world, was currently on the board of one of the largest corporations of America. In his previous avtaar he had been an advisor to two successive US Presidents and he had acquitted himself quite capably, if not honourably, both times. The honour part was understandably hard for him to live up to, given that both those esteemed gentlemen and their administrations had assiduously supported a number of brutal dictators and illegitimate regimes, with arms and money. One of these august gentlemen had even been indicted for this and certain other below-the-belt activities that his electorate did not find particularly appetizing.

  Wentworth's arrival in Islamabad was a much-publicized event and was touted by Pakistan's military regime as a historic achievement. Wentworth had arrived like Santa Claus, albeit a few weeks late, to announce one of the largest ever foreign investments packages for Pakistan. This gigantic investment would not only provide jobs to several thousand people but also prop up the sagging economy.