“Rhino-four, I see you to the southwest. Be careful of your fire! We are on your right, five-hundred meters east of the convoy you are engaging! Over.”
“We see you, rhino-one. No worries.”
Kulkarni smiled. Nothing calmed men in combat more than a simple gesture of calmness from their leaders. Rhino-four units were professionally mopping up the Pakistani rear echelon units.
The driver chimed in: “trenches in twenty meters. Hold on.”
Kulkarni gripped the turret frame tighter. The tank jerked down, hit the other end of the trench and climbed back up, its engines groaning all the way. They were passing through the enemy positions now. The constant clatter of machinegun fire was dying.
A flash of light caught Kulkarni’s peripheral vision. He looked just in time to see an RPG-29 rocket, fired from a nearby group of shrubs, hit the left tread of an Arjun parked to his right. The small explosion ripped through the treads and the tread links flew off in all directions along with two of the wheels. The latter slammed into Kulkarni’s turret with a massive clang before smaller debris showered all around…
The radio came alive instantly: “rhino-one-three is hit! I say again, one-three is hit! We just took a fucking anti-tank rocket to our tread!”
“This is one-seven! Who fired? Does anybody see the shooter?”
“Negative! Negative! I don’t see anybody.”
“Shooter in the shrubs!” Kulkarni shouted. “Near the burning M113! One-fifty meters west!” The damaged Arjun tank to his right staggered to a halt.
“Kill those bastards!”
Five separate tanks fired a combination of tank rounds and machinegun rounds into the shrubbery pointed out by Kulkarni. The latter location disappeared into a ball of fire and dirt. Two other surviving Pakistani soldiers made a break for it from behind the wrecked M113. They were ripped to shreds by a volley of machinegun rounds from the tanks.
Kulkarni noted that the gunners didn’t stop there. They were still hammering the shredded bodies of the soldiers with rounds out of sheer rage…
“Check fire! Check fire!” Kulkarni ordered. “You got them, damn it!” He swiveled his sights to rhino-one-three, bellowing smoke now from its front chassis. “What’s your status, one-three?”
“We are mobility-killed over here, one-one. Driver injured. We need to get him out. Over.”
“Roger,” Kulkarni replied. He looked around and saw no signs of surviving enemy soldiers. Still, it was highly dangerous for the crew of any of his tanks to unbutton their turrets to help a crewmember. It was time to bring up the combat-engineers…
“Rhino-one to trishul-actual. We have one tank immobilized three kilometers east of your position on way to waypoint baker. Also one casevac. Suggest you get some of your boys up here. Over.”
“Trishul-actual copies. Standby for support. Out.”
Kulkarni couldn’t wait around, however. He switched comms back to rhino-one-three: “can you guys hold out here while trishul catches up? What’s your weapon status?”
“We can hold here, sir. Main gun and co-ax are operational. We are a sixty-ton pillbox. Don’t wait around for us. We will catch up with you before you know it!”
Kulkarni nodded to himself as he replied: “roger. Don’t take too long. All other elements, prepare to ro…”
That sentence stopped in his throat as a massive rain of artillery shells slammed into the parked tanks, enveloping them in a dense cloud of dust and smoke. Inside the turret, Kulkarni felt the cling-clang of ricocheting metallic shrapnel.
“God. Damn. It.” He said and then realized the comms were still open: “all elements, move! Now! The Pakis are shelling their own positions! I guess they figured we have already taken it!”
Kulkarni got on the comms to Sudarshan just as his tank rumbled forward, followed by the others: “for the love of god, will somebody please take care of the enemy artillery?!”
“Up you come, you brute!” Major “Ferrite” Subramanian said as he watched the lead Tatra 8x8 trucks pitch up on the sandy embankment of the road. The truck engines groaned as the front wheels lifted into the air. The driver pressed the accelerator to bring the vehicle forward and it landed back on all eight wheels and tossed a cloud sand backwards. The combat-engineers guiding the traffic off the mine-cleared lane pulled their arms up into a cross when all eight wheels cleared the sloped embankment walls. That was the sign for the driver that their vehicle was clear on the road and free to maneuver.
Subramanian squinted in the sunlight blazing into his eyes and walked back to his parked Gypsy. His radio-operator was sitting in the cloth-covered rear cabin with an embankment of radios: “get me steel-central.”
The radio-operator pulled a phone-like speaker off and checked the comms: “ferrite to steel-central, over.”
“Steel-central copies. Reading you five-by-five. Over.”
Subramanian took the speaker: “steel-central, this is ferrite-actual. Be advised, Ferrite is clearing the breach point and heading into murky waters.”
“Roger. Advise you hurry! Rhino is getting hammered west of you! Out.” The link was replaced with static. The abruptness of that caught Subramanian by surprise. He looked at his headset as though it were a person and then handed it back to the radioman.
“I guess they want us to hurry.” Subramanian frowned. It wasn’t his fault the Pakistani artillery guns were located outside the effective operating range of his systems. He had told the division commander that this was going to happen. The Pakistanis were smart enough to deploy their crown jewels further west, outside the range of the forward-deployed Indian counter-battery systems. His mobile BEL weapon-locating-radars, or “welars”, as his crews called them, had a theoretical instrumented range in excess of actual practical ranges. He knew to deploy his radars with potential targets within the smaller practical ranges rather than the longer theoretical ones. But somebody at command had overridden his suggestions and placed him well inside Indian defense lines for protection against Pakistani air attacks.
Well, that was all fine and good, but what purpose was he to serve with his radars if they were outside the detection range of targets? It had been simple numbers. Command had placed his units a few kilometers inside Indian lines. Rhino was now five kilometers west of that line. And the Pakistani guns were about twenty kilometers west of Rhino! With an effective range of about twenty-five kilometers, how was he supposed to detect anything?
So when the Pakistani shells began raining down, he had found his trucks in the long convoy of vehicles making it through the breach lanes instead of being any help in locating and destroying the enemy guns.
“Somebody seriously fucked up!” Subramanian growled as he put on his sunglasses and got into the front seat of the Gypsy next to the driver, motioning him to drive on. The latter folded the paper maps in his hands into neat squares so that only the next location and the nearby grids were visible on the top-most fold. He put it on the dashboard before attending to the gears.
The vehicle accelerated off the shrubs near the road. Subramanian held on to the vehicle as it pitched up and got on to the Islamgarh road in front of his assembled convoys. He looked back from the side of his vehicle to see the half-dozen Tatra vehicles and several army trucks plus other vehicles revving up behind him. He turned to his driver: