“Looks like the bastard got hit before he could finish us off with a second shot,” Kulkarni noted dryly.
On further rotation of his sights, he saw that the turret-mounted machine gun was dislodged from its position and there were scorch marks everywhere. The main barrel of the machinegun was bent backwards…
“And we lost our external machinegun,” he noted for the benefit of his crew. He also noted that the ABAMS antennae was destroyed. That was the end of his network-centric operations for the rest of this war.
He lowered himself back in his seat and winced at the pain on his forehead. But he also felt rage. His tank was severely damaged. His networked fighting abilities were gone. The only good news here was that his mobility was still alive and so was his tank’s primary armament. And luckily, and most importantly, his radio was still working.
The tank’s engine rumbled to life. He hadn’t even noticed that the driver had switched them off to prevent a source of secondary explosions in case the damage had been worse. He exhaled and cleared his head.
“Okay, gents,” he said, “time to get back to the fight. Driver, get us moving. Gunner, check your main gun while I try to see what the hell is going on!” He switched comms: “rhino-alpha, this is rhino-actual. My networks are down. Give me a verbal sit-rep, over.”
As the other tank commanders started filling him in, he pulled out his paper map and stuck it in the gap between the ABAMS screen buttons. This map would be his main tool now. Time to do this the old fashioned way, he told himself.
Looking around, he saw that the battlefield was ablaze. Four of his tanks were damaged, including his own. Only two tanks had been completely destroyed. Ten Arjun tanks were fully operational and had hammered past the last remaining Al-Zarrar and T-80s. They were now rolling north under command of rhino-alpha-two. The latter had taken command assuming Kulkarni to be dead or incapacitated. And while they were relieved to hear his voice, Kulkarni had no intention of breaking their momentum to retake command. Not from inside a damaged tank, at any rate.
So he let them continue their charge as they overran the rear-end vehicles of the Pakistani column, about a kilometer north. He would take over and nurse the three other damaged tanks back to the south where trishul had its engineering elements.
He opened comms to Sudarshan: “steel-central, this is rhino-actual, over.”
“Steel-central copies, rhino-actual.”
“Rhino-actual reports destruction of enemy armored and mechanized columns north of waypoint red. Enemy has been overrun and rhino is in pursuit. We have two dead tanks and four more bruised, but mobile. We are returning to waypoint red. Requesting medical evacuation for six crew members. Confirm receipt of message, over.”
“Steel-central copies all. Good work out there.”
Kulkarni sighed. He could feel the adrenaline causing his body to shake uncontrollably, but forced himself past it: “roger. Requesting sit-rep on the southern enemy column.”
“Southern column is in retreat, rhino-actual. They have incurred massive losses following strikes by gladiator. Gladiator will rearm, refuel and pursue the enemy. Rhino needs to return to waypoint red upon destruction of north column and fold back into the defenses there. Over.”
“Wilco,” Kulkarni said half-mindedly. He realized he was very much in concussion. That was to be expected given that they had been inside a metal box that had just been rattled by a fast moving projectile. He found himself having to shake off the blurry vision in his eyes…
“Rhino-actual, do you copy? Over.”
He forced himself to be attentive: “Wilco, steel-central. Rhino-actual copies all. Out.” He then changed comms: “driver, we are heading back to waypoint red and are leading three other damaged tanks. Get us on a direct heading and move out.”
“Sir,” the loader said as Kulkarni fell back into his seat, “you have a gash on your forehead that is bleeding.” He got up from his seat and handed Kulkarni some bandages and painkillers from the turret’s first-aid kit. Kulkarni nodded his appreciation and took the bandage just as the tank reversed its orientation to the south and accelerated back to Rahim Yar Khan.
44
The line of seven Al-Khalid tanks moved obliquely, their main guns fired as they advanced. Two kilometers west, the green-white flashes of their guns saturated the night-vision optics on his binoculars, so Haider lowered them and let his eyes adjust. As he watched, a distant crackle of fireballs indicated artillery shelling on some poor souls…
Haider turned to see Akram standing behind him, watching silently. His low-light goggles were push up above his forehead on to his hair. Neither men said anything, but the silence was punctuated by the chatter of several radiomen and staff officers running the army units. Haider finally walked up near Akram and rubbed his eyes.
“This front is stabilizing,” he said, his voice filled with exhaustion. “Looks like the 6TH Armored will hold its ground. For now, anyway.”
“Yes, sir.” Akram said quietly. A stabilized front was hardly the desired outcome for officers of his generation, brought up on the humiliation of defeat from previous wars. Haider patted the man on his shoulder. He knew how it felt. He turned to face the young major: “this is not how this was supposed to unfold.”
He looked his young aide in the eyes. He knew they had all seen and heard the state of the war as it stood tonight. The Indians had reacted to the strike on Mumbai with shocking force. And the results of all that had landed them here. But living in the past was something Haider could ill afford.
“I need to get some sleep if I am to function,” he said finally. “Wake me up if something happens.”
Akram nodded and muttered a “yes, sir”. Haider walked past him and the radiomen towards the houses that had been requisitioned from their owners to serve as his command center, at least until the Indians found this one too. But he was not going to sleep out here in the mud and cold. He needed a bed. A Pakistani general sleeping in the mud with his troops? Unthinkable. Even under the circumstances.
He walked past dozens of soldiers and civilians resting on the streets outside the house. Some were eating food and others were sleeping. These men belonged to the units he had gotten out of Lahore. Most of these units were exhausted, expended and disorganized. The battle for Lahore had proven very costly. One part of him wanted to wake these men up and send them off to the frontline. After all, that was what their comrades in the 6TH Armored Division were doing. But he was too exhausted from the efforts of the day, trying to keep the 6TH Armored from disintegrating. A voice inside him wondered what would have happened to the defenses if he hadn’t stepped in?
Perhaps his inner voice was trying to find justifications for his exhaustion. Maybe all his body wanted was some sleep. A few hours. After that he would determine what had to be done next. He walked into the living room of the large house and found the stench of soldiers, officers, equipment, blood and food to be nauseous. He winced and walked past the soldiers to the second floor where a room had been kept aside for him. He walked in and went for the helmet chin strap, before realizing that it had been broken since his time in Lahore.
God! Was it really just two days ago? He asked himself as he sat down on the bed. It felt like it was months!