by Deva, Mukul
‘Well, they don’t really need to tangle with you guys,’ Anbu pointed out. ‘They just have to warn the Ameer’s people to get the hell out of there if they spot the SMERCH regiments moving up to the border and realize there is a possible threat.’
‘That’s a possibility. Which is why they are just moving parallel to the border right now, not actually heading for it. Just before the SMERCH regiments get within range, we will unleash a barrage of radio chatter instructing the regiments to stop for a refit and reorg. We will make no attempt to camouflage their move. That shouldkeep the Pakis from getting antsy.’
‘You hope.’ Anbu sounded doubtful.
‘Do you have a better idea?’
‘No, not really. Guess we will just have to chance it. Of course, if we do see the tanzeem start to scatter we can always send in the Cruise missiles, the HIMARS and the Reapers, and hope they finish the job.’
‘That’s the plan, Colonel Anbu.’
Both men knew it was not foolproof, but then most combat operations do need some luck to succeed, much as the military mind may find that abhorrent.
‘So, what is the last problem?’
‘I have an asset in the area, colonel, a very valuable asset. He has already given a lot to this war.’
‘Then I suggest you get him out before the ordnance goes in.’
‘I wish I could, but I have no way to contact him.’
‘Isn’t he the one who guided us to the target?’ ‘He is, but I cannot call him; he has to call in, if he can.’
‘When did he last check in?’ ‘We were talking a while ago when he suddenly went off the air.’
‘I see. What if he is unable to call in… or if he has already been neutralized?’
‘Well, in that case we wait for the remaining targets to clock in and then go for the strike,’ Anbu answered unhesitatingly.
‘So there’s the answer. You have fixed the problem yourself, colonel. I suggest we cross each bridge when we come to it. In any case, you will appreciate that it is the life of one man versus the lives of thousands who will certainly die if the tanzeem is allowed to get away. As you yourself said, we may never get this opportunity again. God knows when and where they will all come together again – if at all – and even if they do, will we be lucky enough to have an asset on ground to inform us?’
‘I understand and I agree with you, colonel,’ Anbu replied. The soldier in him did, but the heart beating within did not.
‘Let’s hope your man checks in soon, colonel,’ said Powell sympathetically, ‘before they all get in.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Anbu murmured, anxiety starting to build in his head as he saw the fourth set of SUVs enter the compound. On both sides of the screen in front of him, the image was startlingly clear. He could, if he wanted, zoom in and read the number plates of the vehicles. ‘I can see the next one coming in right now.’
‘That’s right, Colonel Anbu. I see it too. Let me get this thing going. I will be in touch soon.’
The call ended as Powell returned to execute the plan.
Miles away from both officers, men and machinery raced into position, getting ready to deliver death to the assigned target.
The next mini-convoy of vehicles was visible on the extreme corner of the screen. It was still some distance from the jihadi compound but it was closing in rapidly. Anbu estimated they would be there in about thirty minutes.
They were moving too fast for Anbu’s liking. He scoured the satellite feeds on the screen before him, trying to spot the man whose call he awaited so desperately. With the high-resolution feed coming in, it was possible to identify anyone. In fact, all this while Ankita and Khare had been zooming in and recording the details of each man they could spot, especially those who were arriving with the tanzeem members.
They knew that every little input was invaluable. After all, even after the tanzeem had been neutralized, it would still be important to know who they all were. That would allow security forces and intelligence agencies to home in on their allies, supporters and sympathizers. This closure was extremely important if the tanzeem had to be wrapped up fully and sustainable damage done to the terror networks.
‘Anything?’ he asked his two int officers.
Khare and Ankita reluctantly shook their heads without taking their eyes off the screen.
‘Where are you, Iqbal?’ The question echoed in the eyes and minds of each person in the Force 22 ops room.
The same question plagued the Pakistani corps commander. He had just finished another restless circuit of his office when the phone rang.
‘Have they got him?’ General Khan snapped as he recognized his duty officer’s voice.
‘No, sir, they are still looking for him,’ the youngster admitted reluctantly. ‘But this is about something else, sir.’
‘Now what?’
‘We have reports of a couple of Afghan artillery regiments moving along the border.’
‘Damn! You sure? Are they moving to the border or along the border?’
‘They are moving along the border.’
‘Where are they now and what route are they following?’ Khan asked, walking across to the map on his office wall.
The duty officer told him.
The general identified the position. ‘Damnit! That will put them in range of the meeting place very soon. Any idea what this is all about?’
‘I’m not sure, sir, but there is a lot of chatter between them and the ISAF HQ. It seems to be an admin move.’
‘How likely is that?’
‘Possible, but not very likely. It seems too much of a coincidence, though we can also see a supply convoy heading towards them from the opposite direction. So maybe…’ The duty officer offered his opinion reluctantly, knowing he would be in trouble if he got it wrong. After all, generals never take the fall.
‘Right.’ The general was no fool either, but he needed the meeting to take place successfully. ‘If they stop and begin to deploy, let me know.’ He banged down the phone.
He did not realize his preoccupation with the earlier report of an illegal radio transmission had screwed up his judgement, otherwise he would have asked his duty officer what type of artillery was coming up to the Af-Pak border. Any staff officer worth his salt would have done so. That, in fact, is why all HQs have staff officers, to make sure the commander receives a comprehensive intelligence picture at all times. By short-circuiting the chain of command, the general had actually made things even more difficult for himself.
The duty officer had been told they were SMERCH units, but had been so flustered from the bollocking he had received a while ago that he forgot to communicate this vital fact to the GOC. Had he done so, it is certain that Khan would have aborted the tanzeem meeting immediately. After all, SMERCH units were capable of deploying and firing almost instantly. That, coupled with someone transmitting from inside the protected area, did not leave any room for doubt that the meeting had been compromised. However, the corps commander, due to retire soon and eyeing the governor’s slot, was under immense pressure to see that the meeting concluded successfully.
General Tariq Khan continued pacing his office. ‘Why the fuck do these things have to happen on my watch?’ he cursed out loud. ‘The chief will not be pleased. He told me a million times that we need to get this meeting over and done with.’ A bout of indecision wavered through him. ‘Well, as long as they do not stop and deploy, we should be able to get the meeting finished and get the frigging muj out of there.’ His head was beginning to hurt, he could feel another migraine coming. ‘This could also be the ideal opportunity to… should I?’ He looked at the phone on his table. He knew it was a secure line and the chances that anyone would ever find out about the call were remote, but there was still a chance. Was the money worth it? The dilemma deepened, worsening his headache. ‘I wonder who that bastard with the radio set is. He must have brass balls.’
While the Pakistani corps commander and his duty officer had been talking,
the man with the brass balls, still trapped on the far end of the tiny ledge, was watching the fifth tanzeem member arrive. By now, huddled motionless in one tight corner, Iqbal’s body had begun to cramp and he yearned to stretch.
Meanwhile, the Pakistani patrols finished sweeping the western quadrant and moved on to the southern part of the defensive perimeter. Although they were moving slowly and cautiously, since they had to scan every corner of the rugged terrain, it would not be long before they reached the shithouse. Slowly, inexorably, the noose was tightening on the man who was making life difficult for Pakistan.
For the next twenty minutes, the boredom of an extended watch returned. It ended when Iqbal spotted more movement on the horizon.
It was the final member of the tanzeem. He would reach the compound soon. As the minutes ticked by, Iqbal felt excitement and anxiety begin to pace the corridors of his mind restlessly.
After marching along the southern part of the compound, the Pakistani patrols had now entered the eastern quadrant. The ragged line of soldiers advanced slowly, poking and prodding through every bush and rock that could conceal a man. They were now barely 800 metres away from the ledge on which Iqbal lay hidden. Luckily for him, they were following the lay of the land and it would be a little longer before they got to him.
Iqbal saw the sixth cavalcade race up the final stretch of the road leading into the compound. The Ameer stepped forward to greet his comrade-in-terror. He watched the two men embrace before they trooped across to the house where the meeting was being held.
That’s it! One more call to the colonel and I am done here.
Iqbal had no idea that Anbu had a clearer view of the target than he did. At that moment, Anbu’s team was recording every movement and every face in the crowd of men in the compound.
Iqbal suddenly realized he was alone. There wasn’t a single sound in the rocky outcrop around him. Cocking his ears, he began to scan the area to make sure there really was no one there.
He realized that the crucial moment was finally at hand. Everything that he had gone through in the past year was now about to bear fruit.
Gripping the radio set in one hand, Iqbal began to crawl across to the other end of the ledge, where the signal strength was better, to send one last message to Colonel Anbu.
The Pakistani patrols finished sweeping through the eastern quadrant and now focused their attention on the northern and central parts of the compound, the only two areas that remained. By now it was obvious to the company commander who had been entrusted with the task of sweeping the compound that the man he sought must be here. Luckily neither of these areas was as large as the other parts of the compound. It was with a keen sense of anticipation that he turned to focus his men on them, ordering one platoon to take on the northern sector while he himself headed for the centre with another platoon.
By the time Iqbal spotted the first soldier and then the rest of the leading section, they were barely 400 metres away. The section was advancing in an extended line with their rifles ready. The bayonets affixed on the rifles gleamed wickedly in the red rays of the setting sun.
Iqbal instinctively knew they were hunting for him. Either the radio operator had been reported missing or they had picked up his transmission. He knew the game was up. He began to evaluate the options available to him; there did not seem to be too many. He could possibly abandon the radio set and head back to his machine-gun post.
Iqbal was still struggling to make up his mind when the first Pakistani patrol turned its attention on the shithouse. Much as the section commander was against the idea of rooting through a shit-strewn area in the fading light, he knew it had to be done.
The Pakistani corps commander snatched up the phone even as it began to ring.
‘Sir, the Afghan SMERCH units have stopped.’ The duty officer’s tone was now strident with panic. ‘The first one has already stopped and the second one is coming up now. They seem to be deploying.’
‘Fuck! Why the hell didn’t you tell me they were SMERCH units?’ For a moment the general almost lost it, then his training reasserted itself rapidly. His decision was instantaneous. ‘Abort the meeting. Get those muj fuckers out of there. Now!’
Ending the call with trembling hands, the duty officer began to make another, then realized it was not possible, the muj were only available on radio. Some fool had not felt the need to lay a phone line to the mujahideen. Or perhaps it had been sheer overconfidence that such an eventuality would not arise.
Dropping the handset, he charged out of the room.
General Khan glanced at his watch; he knew the SMERCH had an emplacement time of about three minutes. At the most five or six, if the Afghan gunners were not as well-trained. That was a reasonable assumption, given the current level of training and recruitment in the Afghan army. Even then it was close. Too close. The Ameer’s group might just make it out if they moved right away.
Should I have the F-16s go for the SMERCHs? They could neutralize them in the time available, hopefully. He ran through the options. Should I play safe and speak to the chief first? It was a fair bet; even if they did not get all of them, the F-16s could degrade the SMERCH strike.
The general knew that this time he had to make the right choice, and he had to make it fast. There was too much at stake. For himself, most of all.
Making up his mind, Khan reached out for the phone and began to dial another number. One that he had not used for a very long time.
Anbu scooped up the handset as the phone rang.
‘Colonel.’ Powell’s voice was crisp and curt. The time for talking was over; the operation had moved into the action phase now. ‘That’s it then! The last man is in. We have the tanzeem where we want it.’
‘That’s right, colonel,’ said Anbu reluctantly, his eyes still desperately seeking Iqbal on the screen.
‘The SMERCH units and HIMARS have almost finished deploying, the B-52s are in place, the missiles are hot, and a flight of Reapers are in position. Is there anyone or anything else we need to wait for? I need your confirmation on that, colonel.’
‘No. As per the intel we have on this, the tanzeem has assembled.’
‘Then we are a go!’
‘It’s a go!’ Anbu replied.
‘Any news of your man, colonel?’ Powell asked gently.
‘No, not yet.’
‘Get him out now if you can. We have a couple of minutes before the guns go live. Another couple of minutes flying time and then it will be over.’
‘Please go ahead, colonel. What has to be done has to be done!’ Anbu said in a flat voice. ‘We have no way to reach our man.’
Powell knew what Anbu was going through and he empathized with the man. It always hurt to see one of your own go down. But the show must go on, both knew that. ‘Good luck, colonel.’
Powell turned to give the command to fire. ‘Tango Charlie for all units. Thunderstorm.’ He enunciated each word loudly and clearly. ‘I repeat, Thunderstorm.’
A series of Ten-Fours acknowledged his crisp command.
Within seconds, rows of artillerymen, strung all along the Afghan-Pak border, Americans and Afghans alike, reached for their weapons. Miles away, high up in the sky, two American B-52H bombers snarled through the air, moving into strike position; both were capable of unleashing six AGM-86B cruise missiles from each of the two externally mounted pylons and an additional eight from the modified bomb bay rotary launchers. Vertically separated by a few thousand feet, the killer Reaper drones began their wait, their electronic eyes scanning the target area, their missiles waiting to destroy. They would ensure no one in the compound got away, if anyone survived what was going to be lobbed at them. Each man checked his watch. The strike had to be perfectly synchronized.
The countdown to Thunderstorm had begun.
Even as Anbu picked up the phone to talk to Powell, the duty officer at the Pakistani Corps HQ in Peshawar ended the call with the GOC and ran to the radio room at the end of the corridor.
&nb
sp; A minute later, the radio set in the hut about 100 metres away from where the tanzeem was meeting chirruped to life. It took another minute for the import of the message to get through.
There was immediate panic. Tossing down the handset, the mujahideen radio operator raced out of the communications hut and towards the meeting place.
There was a stunned silence in the hut when he burst in without warning.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ the Ameer growled. Then he saw the look on the man’s face and realized something was amiss.
Around the same time, the corps commander finished talking to the CO of the unit that had been defending the compound. The battalion commander, who himself was in the trenches with his unit, was understandably upset at what he heard.
‘How long do we have, sir?’
‘Not long,’ the general replied tautly, ‘get your men out now.’
Throwing down the handset without bothering to sign off, the battalion commander rushed out of the command bunker, shouting orders. Deciding to lead by example, he turned and headed away from the compound at a rapid pace. He knew enough about SMERCH rockets to know that he did not want to be here when they arrived. Had he known about the Cruise missiles, HIMARS and FAE bombs also coming in, he would have run even faster.
The sight of him rushing off communicated the urgency of his orders far more efficiently than anything he could have said. The rifle company around him also began to move swiftly. The other sub-units saw them and followed suit.
The Pakistani section had reached the fringes of the shithouse when the section commander heard his platoon commander shouting. The man was still far away, so the section commander had to shout back and query him. Finally, he understood the message as well as the urgency with which it was relayed. Immediately, the section turned and began to jog away, following the rest of the battalion.
By now, several of the mujahideen in the area were tuning into what the Pakistani soldiers were doing. They were still not clear as to what was going on but they realized it was something serious, and more and more of them emerged from their weapon pits and trenches.
