by Shiv Aroor
Capt. Pradeep sent up a silent prayer of thanks to his informant. Like every time before, he was dead on.
As the two squads watched in silence, the six infiltrators trudged forward, hoping to cross the LoC undetected that moonless Sunday night. Each terrorist walked about 12 feet behind the other, to reduce the chances of damage if they were ambushed. Minutes later, the first four terrorists crossed the LoC, pausing briefly to gauge their surroundings. On the thermal imagers, the dark figures hesitated for a few minutes, appearing to assess the air for any telltale signs that they were expected. The Indian squads held their breaths. Capt. Pradeep prayed the four infiltrators wouldn’t abort their mission and run back, like several infiltrators had done in the past. But after a few minutes, the infiltrators continued onward.
When they were comfortably on ‘our turf’, Capt. Pradeep signalled to one of his men to detonate the first IED using the radio-controlled receiver. And then another. Two sharp explosions went up near the terrorists, throwing one of them to the ground. The other five, all supremely well-trained, reacted instinctively by splitting themselves into three groups and taking cover in the thick foliage to better engage their hunters.
When the blast had cleared, and the thermal imager was able to redraw its heat picture of the attack site, it became immediately clear that the terrorist injured in the blast wasn’t moving. A second terrorist was trying to pull him away to safety while firing aimlessly in the dark in the general direction of the squad, which hadn’t fired a single bullet yet. With his assault rifle, Capt. Pradeep took aim and fired a single shot, killing the second terrorist. The injured terrorist remained motionless. It was likely that he was dead too, though the squad wouldn’t take any chances.
The remaining four terrorists were firing a steady stream of bullets in the direction of the Special Forces squads, which had by now dispersed into six smaller groups of two men over short distances up the hill, firing back at the intruders from various directions. As Capt. Pradeep returned fire and the terrorists’ bullets hissed around him, he realized that Hero had separated from him and was now dangerously vulnerable. With fire returned, the terrorists had a clear idea of where the Indian commandos were. The chances of their bullets finding targets were higher now, and their vantage points in the foliage meant it was far harder for bullets to find them in return.
‘I may kill a dozen terrorists, but if I lose even a single soldier under my command, the mission is nothing but a big failure. It’s as simple as that,’ Capt. Pradeep says.
Rounds from an AK-47 were peppering the ground near Hero as he lay flat on his stomach, firing back. The Havildar was aware of the approaching fusillade, making a move to get out of the way. At that moment, Capt. Pradeep leapt from his position briefly into the line of fire, before diving for cover behind a large fallen tree. There, he flattened himself against the ground. Stepping on one of the hundreds of landmines dotting that stretch would have left him limbless, if not dead. But the safety of his buddy soldier was now his chief concern.
Partially shielded by the fallen tree, Capt. Pradeep concentrated his fire on the two intruders who were targeting Hero with a hail of Kalashnikov bullets from their position of advantage. The incoming 7.62 mm shots missed Hero by a matter of inches, yet the Havildar held his nerve and fired back at the terrorists. There was no way he was backing out of the firefight.
‘Hero, cover lo! Sab control mein hai! (Hero, take cover. Everything is under control),’ Capt. Pradeep yelled above the sound of gunfire.
The muzzle flash of their AK-47s gave away the positions of the two terrorists. Steadying his breath so he could aim better, Capt. Pradeep pointed his weapon straight into the darkness from which the bullets poured. In a series of short bursts, he unleashed a magazine of ammunition into the foliage. The Kalashnikovs fell silent. Both terrorists had either been killed, or injured enough to stop firing.
Capt. Pradeep leapt once again into the open to pull the Havildar to the safety of cover.
‘Every man in my team knows he is being covered by his comrades all the time. He knows he will never find himself alone. This faith is unshakeable and it helps us conduct the toughest of operations,’ Capt. Pradeep says.
Twenty minutes from when the first IED was detonated, four terrorists had been either killed or injured. By about 10.50 p.m., the volume of terrorist assault rifle fire had significantly reduced. The next few minutes saw a sporadic exchange of gunfire. The Special Forces squads aimed sustained fire in the direction of the two remaining infiltrators from six different directions.
‘The terrorists would fire a burst, and then pause. The pattern was repeated. They were running low on ammunition and were clearly firing only to draw return fire and pinpoint our positions,’ Capt. Pradeep says. This was military-style tactical training on display. But Capt. Pradeep noticed something else too.
The spread of the bullets fired by the infiltrators wasn’t the typical AK-47 spray. They were using sawed-off Kalashnikovs, with the shortened barrels scattering the bullets wider. The idea was to try and hit a larger area at once, increasing the chances of a bullet finding Indian flesh.
With gunfire now reduced to sporadic pops, the intruders carefully emerged from their hiding positions in the foliage, slipping between rocks down the hill before reaching level ground. Then they started to run back along the trail they had taken towards the LoC, in a clear effort to escape back into Pakistan. As they ran, the two terrorists raised their weapons and opened fire at the Indian commandos. It was clear that the two weren’t prepared to fight to the end.
‘They wanted to stay alive so that they could return another day. We were not going to let that happen,’ Capt. Pradeep said.
Slipping out from their own positions, the dozen Indian commandos trudged down the slopes to the trail and towards the retreating intruders, taking supreme care to duck behind rocks as the Kalashnikovs fired without interruption. As Capt. Pradeep and his men watched, with a six-way line of fire zeroing in on the running terrorists, it became clear that they were now only about 50 m from the LoC. Once they crossed over, the operation would become exponentially more difficult, given that the Pakistani Army was already likely to be on high alert to aid the intruders in any way possible.
Capt. Pradeep shouted to his men, who were close by, that the two intruders had to be stopped at all costs. The teams paused for a few seconds to reorient, slam fresh magazines into their assault rifles, and then took aim as the terrorists sprinted across the final stretch to the LoC. That final burst found the two terrorists. The Indian commandos fired their last shots at 11.15 p.m. No more fire was returned. The last echoes of gunfire and smoke lifted off the mountain as the sounds of the night returned.
But the operation wasn’t over yet.
‘We had to be certain all the terrorists were dead and more weren’t lurking around the corner. We waited till first light to clear up the area. That’s standard protocol,’ Capt. Pradeep says.
At dawn, the men recovered the bodies of the six infiltrators, along with their AK-47 rifles, dozens of unused magazines, grenades, a satellite phone and Chinese-made pistols—all standard issue kit for Pakistan-sponsored terrorists.
With four commandos still on the lookout for more terrorists, Capt. Pradeep gathered his men for a quick debrief at the site. He congratulated them on a sharp, well-executed mission without casualties or injuries. On their way back to base, he sent a text message to the Colonel announcing the outcome of the operation. After more than three weeks of near-sleepless preparation, the encounter had lasted 45 minutes. Every bit of intelligence gathered by the teams that worked with Capt. Pradeep had proven to be correct. It was a small but ringing success against a machinery that would view the night’s proceedings as no more than a temporary setback against an inexhaustible arsenal of human weapons.
But back at the Special Forces camp, celebrations had begun. Capt. Pradeep allowed himself a full bottle of Old Monk rum, his first drink in many years. The CO had also ordered
a cake. It was Capt. Pradeep’s birthday the following day, 30 May.
In Bengaluru, Deepa got the call she had been waiting for. As their daughters, Dhriti and Dhiksha, slept, Deepa stayed awake—she hadn’t closed her eyes with any success for 48 hours. Exhausted but overcome with relief, she listened to her husband matter-of-factly report that he was well and that he had returned to base. Nothing more was discussed.
‘The commando missions were completely new to me. I thought I had married an IRS officer,’ says Deepa. ‘I remember telling him I never signed up for this. He was always very passionate about the uniform, but I had no clue that this was the route he was going to take.’
Being the spouse of an Army officer can be unimaginably hard.
‘There are ups and downs, there’s pride and there’s pain. My heart skips a beat whenever Pradeep calls to tell me that he will be away from his phone for a few days. Yet, I feel proud of his accomplishments and have no regrets. The uniform will always be his first love. The way I look at it is that I should not be the reason for him to not do what he wants to do,’ Deepa says.
Eight months after the LoC operation, the government announced India’s third-highest peacetime gallantry honour, the Shaurya Chakra, for Capt. Pradeep on the eve of Republic Day in 2018, for prominent acts of courage. His citation for the medal is replete with expressions that describe his actions: ‘pre-eminent valour’, ‘heroic initiative’, ‘inspirational combat leadership’ and ‘unmindful of his own safety’.
On 23 April 2018, after President Ram Nath Kovind bestowed the award on Capt. Pradeep, the Rashtrapati Bhavan tweeted, ‘He displayed audacity in the face of terrorists’ fire and extraordinary valour in risking his life beyond call of duty and eliminated six terrorists.’ 2
At forty-six, Capt. Pradeep, holding a position in the IRS equivalent to a Brigadier’s in the Army, was the oldest recipient of a gallantry award at the Rashtrapati Bhavan Durbar Hall that evening. Unlike regular Army officers who walk out of military academies as lieutenants at twenty-one or twenty-two, the Territorial Army allows volunteers to join its ranks till the age of forty-two. Allowing a forty-six-year-old, seconded to a Special Forces unit, to lead a dangerous mission can only be an indicator of the calibre of the officer in question, his reputation, his soldiering skills and commitment.
‘Here’s a guy, a bureaucrat. A tax official. Who one day packs his bags and goes off to stop terrorists,’ says another officer from Capt. Pradeep’s unit. ‘It’s rare to find people outside the uniform who can influence others to get out of their comfort zones. He could have chosen to be in Mumbai, but here he was, willing to put his life on the line on a godforsaken hill. There has to be something in you if you are ready to take that step.’
He prefers to be addressed as ‘Capt. Pradeep’, his identity as an Army officer taking precedence over the other hats he wears. His unit comrades don’t find this even remotely surprising.
‘A bureaucrat sporting combat fatigues is a rarity in India, where the military is neither the first nor an obvious career choice for many. Most of all, the Special Forces are a different species and a prized national asset,’ one of them says.
The mission and the Shaurya Chakra have changed many things for the officer. Capt. Pradeep, for all practical purposes an outsider in the Army, is now accorded all the trimmings and respect due to one of their own.
But many things haven’t changed at all. Capt. Pradeep continues to divide his time between income tax work and his study of terror financing.
He listens frequently to his favourite Hindi song, which is, ‘Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya, har fikr ko dhuen mein udata chala gaya ’.
And he remains in constant anticipation of that next phone call.
10
‘What’s Higher than Saving Someone’s Life?’
Captain P. Rajkumar
Arabian Sea, off Kerala coast
1 December 2017, 7 p.m.
‘Laser beam spotted on port bow, Sir!’
The navigator was screaming the words to the pilots, forcing them to throw the helicopter into a sharp left turn and descend from 200 feet towards the storm-churned blackness of the Arabian Sea. What the five men on board the Indian Navy’s SK 528, an old grey Sea King helicopter, had been hunting through the furious, beating rain and swells of Cyclone Ockhi had finally been sighted.
As the helicopter shuddered and carefully lowered itself over a sea churned dangerously into a heaving maelstrom by the rain, the flight commander followed the thin, green, barely visible laser beam. Buffeted by 150 kmph wind speeds, he strained to keep the helicopter in control while maintaining a visual lock on the thin green line. With the laser beam flickering and disappearing for whole seconds into the surging sea surface, he knew that if he lost sight of it, this mission would end in at least one death.
At least.
A few feet at a time, the SK 528 descended into an engulfing darkness, broken only by a cone of light from its search lamp that was rendered virtually useless in the storm. At 50 feet, the flight commander paused for a moment, bringing the helicopter into a tense shuddering hover, the roar of the rotors nearly drowned out by the thrashing rain and wind. The four other men looked at him. They knew his dilemma. Any lower in this weather, and there was a good chance that the smallest in-flight emergency would mean disaster. But seconds later, the helicopter heaved and continued its downward drift, the darkness and rain so overpowering that the crew couldn’t see the tips of their helicopter’s rotor blades.
The elusive laser beam threatened to disappear as the helicopter descended from 50 feet to 40, then to a dangerous 30 feet. In a final push, the SK 528 came to a hover 20 feet over the sea surface, its swells so rough that they threatened to reach up and hit the helicopter’s belly. Vulnerable and dangerously close to a catastrophe, the flight commander knew he had bare minutes. As the cone of light from the helicopter’s search lamp scanned the small patch of sea below, he saw it.
‘Target spotted!’ he breathed into his cockpit talkback. Twenty feet below the trembling helicopter, bobbing dangerously in the middle of the sea, was the very object they were looking for.
Six hours earlier
In his green flying overalls, Capt. P. Rajkumar jogged to the SK 528, the Sea King helicopter that was primed and waiting on the tarmac at INS Garuda . The Indian Navy’s air base at Kochi was on high alert. The Captain’s crew was waiting at the chopper as an unusually dark afternoon sky visibly worsened over their heads. The Navy’s INAS 336 squadron, of which the helicopter and crew were a part, is dedicated to anti-submarine warfare operations. On that December afternoon, they had been scrambled to embark on a hunt. It wasn’t submarines they were being sent after, but fellow citizens.
By 1 December, Cyclone Ockhi was just hours away from assuming its most fearsome form right off the coast of Kerala. Capt. Rajkumar, a decorated Navy pilot, had flown terrifying helicopter missions in the past, including a daring rescue of scientists in Antarctica three decades earlier. But the next 6 hours would dwarf everything else. As he climbed into the SK 528 that afternoon, strapped in and turned the chopper’s twin Rolls-Royce Gnome engines on, he had only the barest sense of what lay ahead.
Sea King helicopter
‘We’re trained for this, but you can never be completely ready for what’s in store for you. In the military, we’re fatalists. And I’m even more of a fatalist because I’m a Malayali,’ Capt. Rajkumar laughs. ‘Nobody expected the full force of a cyclone in this side of the country. The meteorological department can cry hoarse as far as the onset of Ockhi is concerned, but on the west coast of India, cyclones are a rare phenomenon. You only hear about them on the east coast. It’s only when she hit that it became clear what we were dealing with. And it was not pretty.’
Capt. Rajkumar was flying with co-pilot Lt Cdr Abhijit Garud, navigator and tactical coordinator Lt Cdr Mayoor Chauhan, and two young combat divers, Sumit Raj and Deepak Saini. Also hitching a ride on that 200-km flight to Kerala�
�s capital, Thiruvananthapuram, were a handful of sailors who were required for a separate mission on another aircraft waiting for them there.
Flying south over land, the crew of the SK 528 could easily see the ominous swathe of rain-laden cyclonic cloud on their right, bearing down along the coast. Ockhi had struck two days before and was rapidly whipping itself up into one of the most devastating cyclones of the year. Advisories had been sent out to fishing communities not to venture out to sea and to stay away from the waterline. But a mixture of scepticism—nobody really expected a west coast cyclone to be anything major—and the sobering reality of earning a livelihood meant that scores of fishermen were out at sea precisely at the time when Ockhi was morphing into its full, terrifying form.
At Thiruvananthapuram, the group of sailors who had hitched a ride disembarked. With rotors still running—there wasn’t a moment to lose—Capt. Rajkumar soon had the Sea King fuelled up. The big grey helicopter lifted off from the dispersal area and peeled away, heading out directly over the sea.
On a normal day, 2 p.m. would have offered the best flying conditions, with thick sea air giving the helicopter all the lift it needed, and a crisp blue sky offering the crew perfect visibility for an even flight. But on that day, just as Capt. Rajkumar pitched the helicopter forward and speeded out over the Arabian Sea, the crew immediately ran into cyclonic weather with sudden, violent winds and rain that put paid to any visibility they had been blessed with only a few minutes earlier.
‘In a typical cyclone like Ockhi, the wind speed picks up, and therefore the sea starts churning and a long swell develops. We knew we were going to face extreme weather. The rain was coming down in sheets, visibility was almost zero,’ the Captain remembers.
