“You guys aware of the situation?” He asked. The pilots turned to face him momentarily and then went back to scanning the skies for activity. He knew they were informed. The data fusion between the radar computer and the cockpits of all Indian aircraft in the skies here, was complete. If something could not be sent via datalink, it was made available via voice comms.
“We are,” the pilot said without looking away.
“So what’s our exit strategy?” The MC asked.
“If the buggers make a beeline for us, I am breaking pattern and diving for the south. Pike flight with their Sukhois are tagged to run interference.”
The MC nodded agreement. There was precedence for this. The air-force had lost one of its ERJ-145s over the border between Sikkim and Tibet during the last days of the China war. A regiment of Chinese Su-27s had decided to make mincemeat out of the Indian early-warning aircraft. In that they had been successful, despite the Indian air-force surging as many fighters it could to get into that fight. The aircraft had been shot down in exchange for large Flanker losses for the Chinese. But it had underscored the point for the surviving Indian crews who manned these early warning aircraft: they were always the main target for the enemy.
Indeed, the air-force had done the same to the Chinese 76TH Airborne Command and Control Regiment during the war. And it was expected that the Pakistanis had learnt from it as well. They had operated closely with their Chinese brethren, flying the ZDK-03 ‘Karakoram Eagle’ early-warning aircraft over the skies of occupied Kashmir. So it was impossible for them not have paid attention to the losses incurred by their allies during the war.
Which begs the question: where is that airborne radar aircraft of theirs? The MC thought. A moment later he got his answer: “Detecting atmospheric bounced signals from a long-range radar!”
Speak of the devil… he brought up the headset from around his neck and put it over his ears. Simultaneously he turned away from the cockpit and headed back in.
“Range?” He walked past the operators to the console where the electronic-warfare officer was sitting.
“Over the horizon. But southbound.” One look at the screen info gave him what the source azimuth.
“Our Gilgit bird?” The EW officer turned over his shoulder to face the MC. It was like a game of chess. These were all set-piece moves in three-dimensional space. The chessboard was the Himalayas.
“Of course,” he replied. “Both sides are setting up their chess pieces on the board. And that,” he jabbed his finger on the screen showing the source azimuth of the PAF radar aircraft, “is the enemy queen taking her place on the board!”
“Rambler is taking position on BARCAP, sir!” another operator said nearby. The MC turned to face the man as the EW operator went back to his tasks.
“They have the two Pak birds acquired?”
“Roger!” The operator replied sharply after a moment.
“Good. Tell rambler-leader to keep his flight on a short leash. No need for antics here that may snowball on us. He is not weapons-free until I say so! Understood?”
“Wilco!”
As the operators went to work, the MC wondered how he was supposed to take the initiative in an air-war where the other side was being handed the initiative by the Indian government. Until twenty-four hours ago there had been very little PAF presence hard-deployed inside occupied Kashmir. Sure, there were constant flights of Mirage-IIIs and even some older-model F-16s over the line-of-control, but these were being staged from airbases inside Pakistan. The amount of time it took to fly from these airbases into Kashmir meant that a proper window of opportunity existed for the Indians to strike from their airbases located much closer to the area. By the time the Pakistanis could have reacted, it would have been all over.
But because New-Delhi had stated its intentions prematurely, the PAF had responded within hours and had deployed fighters to temporary airbases at Skardu and Gilgit. And now this is where they would stay until the threat of Indian action dissipated. As such, these PAF fighters and support aircraft now represented a blocking force that would have to be swept aside before the strike could go through.
If they ever do! The MC reminded himself. He was not privy to what the brass were telling the civilian leaders at the moment. But he shuddered to think of what the civilian leaders might do in light of these new developments. The Chinese were making a lot of military noise now. All in all, the stage was being set to force India into inaction.
Like most men in the unit, he knew people and relatives in Mumbai who had been forced to leave the city as a result of the chaos there. He had been forced to relieve some of his men from operations as a result of their mental anguish. The post-attack devastation had gripped the soul of the nation over the past week and morale had sagged. As commander, the morale of his men was a factor that he never swept aside.
But if the Indian military was forced to sit this one out, as it had been forced to do in the past after every major terrorist attack, he feared the stress would break his men. And that worried him more than anything the Pakistanis and the Chinese could muster against him on the battlefield.
The massive Mi-26 helicopter touched down on the tarmac at Pune airbase. As the undercarriage wheels touched the tarmac and pressed down against it, the rotor-wash threw up a grass and dust cloud that enveloped the tarmac. Ambulances and fire-trucks were already heading towards it. These vehicles came to a screeching halt next to the helicopter and men dressed in NBC protection coveralls and masks rushed to the ramp and the cockpit side door, carrying stretchers and other emergency equipment…
Verma was standing in his flight-suit inside the control tower, watching the poignant sight. From here, he had a bird’s view of the tarmac. He saw a half-dozen men carry a badly shaking loadmaster on a stretcher off the rear cargo ramp of the helicopter. Medical officers were checking his body for radiation exposure as the closed the door of the ambulance. Another casualty in the tremendous operations to evacuate civilians from the radiation affected zones…
God damn it! Verma swore at the ambulance as its loud sirens died away. He saw the flight-crew of the helicopter disembarking and being scrubbed by the NBC crews, who were taking no chances. Already several vehicles had arrived that would wash off any lingering radioactive material from the helicopter before it would be declared safe to fly again. Another ambulance rapidly sped off with the flight crew.
Finally Verma turned away from the windows and faced the other officers from his staff that had accompanied him here. He nodded for them to get going. Within minutes he was downstairs and on the tarmac walking towards the three Gypsy vehicles. He turned around as they heard one of the tower control officers running to him: “Sir! Urgent call from air-headquarters!”
“I will take it in the tower. Route it via base ops comms for me.”
“Wilco, sir!” The tower officer waved Verma in. A minute later Verma took the speaker: “guardian-operations, guardian-actual speaking!”
“Verma, how are things looking at your end?” Verma recognized the Bhosale’s voice.
“We are holding, sir.” Verma said with after a heavy sigh. “I am taking casualties as we speak, but my boys are getting the job done.”
“Sorry to hear about your boys, Verma. Dirty situation overall, but by every account I have heard, your men have handled it well. Keep it up!”
“Yes, sir!”