No. We did our best. We… I… threw everything we had at them. There were bound to be leaks. But damn it to hell!
Verma stood straighter inside the small washroom of the crew-rest area on board the Phalcon. He rubbed his forehead with his wet hands as the events of the last few hours played back yet again in his mind.
There must have been something that we could have been done differently!
“Nothing we could do, buddy! We did what we could,” the Group-Captain piloting the aircraft stood in the doorway to the tiny room. He threw Verma a small towel. Verma wiped his face and then pulled himself straighter as he walked out of the washroom. Both senior officers saw the various operators at their consoles in the cavernous interior of the aircraft.
“So why does it feel like we failed?” Verma asked.
“This is war! There are going to be casualties. Get used to it. Just make sure that we kill more of them than we lose ours. And so far you are doing well. We lost three of our own tonight and brought down at a dozen of theirs. Older J-8IIs and a handful of J-11s make for a decent total. They threw their fighters as cover for their cruise-missiles. Same shit they have pulling for the last week! They are willing to trade the lives of a dozen of their pilots in exchange for shutting down one of our logistical centers. The bastards are committed. And so are we. There was no way we could have concentrated on the missiles with those buggers charging at us. And a few missiles got through to Thoise. Tough shit. Get used to it!”
The pilot looked at his wristwatch and patted Verma on the shoulder before moving to the cockpit. Verma watched the pilot walk away and sighed.
No. We have to do better!
Fernandez stepped out of his command trailer on to the fresh snow outside. He had the chewed-out remnants of his last cigar from hours ago still in the corner of his mouth. He looked around and saw his Pinaka launchers deployed in the valley hundreds of meters away from each other and hastily painted white for camouflage by his men. It didn’t look pretty, but pretty wasn’t his business.
Then there were a dozen other vehicles also scattered into the valley. A line of trucks bringing in more ready-to-fire rounds were continuously making their way on the mud roads from the airport. Heavily loaded vehicles made their way in, off-loaded and then drove back to the airport to pick up more rounds.
As Fernandez watched, men from his unit were currently using logs and ropes to pull out one such truck that had sunk into a patch of mud-snow slurry on the road. He chewed out his cigar in disgust.
The problem for him at the moment was not Chinese attacks from the ground or the air. His main problem was resupply. This should not have surprised anyone, but what surprised him was that it did surprise many people up the chain of command. Many of those simply could not grasp the rate at which his unit was using up rockets.
And the attack on Paru had only messed things up more. He realized that there was no need for the Chinese artillery to go head-to-head with his deadly Pinaka systems in order to disable his offensive capability. All they had to do was choke off his supply of ready-to-fire rockets and his launchers would simply become mute observers to the war.
The air-force was doing the same to the Chinese in Tibet, attacking Chinese highways and roads. The problem there was that for every road they struck, there were many others that existed on that flat terrain up on the Tibetan plateau. That was a major advantage for the PLA right now.
So Fernandez watched in frustration as his men struggled with the half sunk truck and managed to bring it out from under the muck with superhuman feats of strength. As his men cheered at the momentary victory, he felt this small problem would become a big one in the days to come…
“There he is. Let’s move, people!”
He turned to see three jeeps with heavily armed paratroopers jumping off, grabbing their backpacks and slinging it around their neck. Their CO, a Major, walked up to Fernandez and saluted.
“Who the hell are you?” Fernandez barked as he returned the salute.
“Major Sultania, 12TH Para-SF reporting as ordered, sir!” Sultania said.
“Reporting to me?”
“Yes sir!” Sultania said and then continued: “Warlord-central has directed 12TH Para to provide security for Paru including your battery and the airport. Friendly aerial drones have detected vague thermals north of here which they figure are PLA spec-ops teams attempting to locate this battery and terminate your command!”
Fernandez looked over the Major and moved his cigar butt into the other corner of his mouth.
“Like hell! The commies couldn’t terminate snow in summer!”
Then he sighed and looked north and saw some of his own troops holding rifles and patrolling the trees before turning back to the Major:
“But your men are greatly valued, Major. My boys have been providing our own security ever since we got here. Just not enough forces under General Potgam to give us security detachments back then. Looks like that is changing for the better. My men are artillery specialists, Major. Not infantry boots. I want you and your teams to reinforce these ridgelines,” he pointed with an extended arm to cover a northern arc around his battery, “and relieve my men for the job they were trained for. You understand?”
“Yes sir. Consider it done,” Sultania said and then waved at his men who began moving out to the north to scour the terrain before army trucks brought in his main force of Paras. Fernandez grabbed the Major by the arm just as the man was about to walk away:
“Just one other thing,” Fernandez said.
“Sir?”
“In case you do find one or more of those enemy spec-ops teams in the bushes out there, don’t mess around. Just waste them! Understand?”
“Yes sir!” Major Sultania smiled and ran off towards his men.
“These losses are unacceptable, Feng!” Chen slammed his fists on the table.
Feng was not moved by this show of anger. He had bigger worries than an irate commanding officer. He stared at the digital map overlay on the wall showing current locations of enemy airborne radars and possible fighter detachments.
The Indian airbase at Thoise had been destroyed. Satellite imagery that lay on the table in between the two men confirmed it. The black and white infrared images showed the pillars of smoke rising from the craters on the runway there.
In exchange, the PLAAF had sacrificed a dozen of their J-8IIs and a few J-11s, two of which had run out of fuel before reaching their tankers over northern Tibet. It had been a costly exchange by all standards. And for Chen, the trade in lives for targets destroyed had not been acceptable. Feng on the other hand had no qualms on that issue.
Not after so many days into this war…
“General, you asked me to find a way to break through the Indian aerial defenses and destroy key airbases south of the battle lines. I did exactly that. I am as grieved as you are on the loss of our pilots and airframes during these attacks. But I have no other options. If we don’t prevent the Indians from pouncing on our missiles as they cross southern Tibet, they will never get through. I had no choice! We should simply be glad that it was the older J-8s that got mauled and not the more effective J-11s.”