Dragonfire (23 page)

India–Pakistan Border, Rajasthan

Local time: 0400 Sunday 6 May 2007
GMT: 2230 Saturday 5 May 2007

‘Ready to move,
General?’ The voice of Corporal Vasant Kaul in Gurjit Singh’s headphones told him the corps was ready to advance.

Instead of replying directly, Gurjit Singh tapped Kaul’s shoulder with his boot, gave the thumbs-up sign, and the tank lurched forward. It was a breathtaking sight, line after line of
armour turning the sand of the Thar Desert into a huge dustcloud covering 100 kilometres from end to end. Thirty minutes earlier, ground-attack aircraft had blasted a path through the minefields,
so that each of Gurjit Singh’s five sector commanders would have a clear path through.

Silk sector took the road through Madargh towards Mirbur Marthelo. Cotton was next through Sandhi towards Ubauro. Gurjit Singh himself was Leather sector, with the road to Sadiqabad. But he
would turn south well before that to take Walhar. Wool and Calfskin sectors broke through the border together and separated where the road split just before Islamgarth, bypassing the town. Wool
headed towards ruins of Baghla south of Rahimyar Khan. Calfskin advanced more directly north towards Khanpur. As each armoured column finished crossing the border, infantrymen stuck a signboard in
the sand saying, ‘Welcome to Indian-administered Pakistan.’

But the euphoria was short-lived. The tank commanders were faced with a depressing tableau of the destruction caused by the artillery and air bombardments. For the first thirty kilometres (about
the range of the barrage) they met no resistance at all. The desert around them was a smouldering graveyard of charred bodies, destroyed vehicles and arid ground. After the banter of pre-battle
nerves, the advance into Pakistan was a disheartening anti-climax. They drove along a moonscape of craters gouged out of the earth by artillery shells, their radios mostly quiet, except for a
steady bleep, every fifteen seconds, to tell them that the lines were still secure.

Thirty-five kilometres in, Leather sector sighted the first enemy position. ‘Contact dug-in infantry,’ said a tank commander. ‘Contact. My tanks have engaged.’

The other sectors continued the advance.

‘No return fire,’ said the commander. ‘White flags. Platoon-size position.’

Ten minutes later Silk sector reported coming under attack: ‘One tank hit. Hand-held anti-tank weapon . . . bunker destroyed.’

‘Casualties?’ asked Gurjit Singh.

‘Two dead. The tank commander seriously injured.’

‘Damn!’ he snarled, knowing that men would be killed, but angered by the first news of casualties.

Similar skirmishes broke out throughout the afternoon. Prisoners were taken. Bunkers were destroyed. The attacks appeared to be random, as if the whole of the Pakistani command and control
system had broken down and individual soldiers had been left to fight wherever they saw fit. Indian aircraft flew overhead with control of the skies. Helicopter crews had the most dangerous
assignments, flying into far forward positions to test the enemy fire and reporting back.

‘Continue to avoid civilian population centres,’ ordered Gurjit Singh. ‘But armour remains a threat and must be engaged when seen.’

In the first six hours of the assault, the Pakistani vanguard troops shot down three helicopters and damaged five others with machine-gun fire. They mainly operated in the fast-moving,
Chinese-made armoured personnel carriers, which were far more mobile than the Indian armoured formations. They destroyed ten tanks and immobilized another eight others.

Then, in the early afternoon, Cotton sector came under a short but damaging artillery attack. Two damaged T-90s blocked the cleared minefield path and stopped the advance in its tracks. The tank
commanders behind had no choice but to sit it out for thirty-five minutes while enemy spotters in hidden bunkers directed fire onto their positions. They heard radio reports of tank crews calling
in hits or getting blown to pieces around them. Finally, Indian aircraft silenced the guns, then blew a new path through the minefield on either side of the Madargh road.

The worst confrontation took place with Wool sector around the ruined ancient settlement of Bhagla, where satellite pictures had shown only a token Pakistani presence. Thirty minutes before
approaching the area, helicopters buzzed it and failed to draw enemy fire. The crew reported signs of fresh wheeltracks, sandbag positions having been removed, and some civilian movement inside the
old settlement walls.

‘Bhagla unlikely to present a challenge,’ reported the helicopter pilot.

The Wool commander, Colonel Neelan Chidambaram, gave the order to bypass Bhagla and leave behind a token occupying presence until the second wave arrived. But as they came within 275 metres of
the main settlement, a fusillade of enemy fire with anti-tank weapons, recoilless rifles and heavy machine guns opened up on them.

‘Sustained and heavy anti-tank fire,’ reported the commander. ‘Request permission to take Bhagla before proceeding.’

General Headquarters, Rawalpindi, Pakistan

Local time: 1400 Sunday 6 May 2007
GMT: 0900 Sunday 6 May 2007

In the underground
war room, Hamid Khan leant over the button of the intercom on his desk. ‘Hold Baghla at all costs,’ he said.

He had decided to make a stand at Bhagla, sensing that General Gurjit Singh would go for Walhar to sever the rail link. It was twenty-five kilometres from the main depot at Rahimyar Khan. Even
if India got as far as Baghla, it could reinforce the road and bring in its heavy towed artillery and shell the city.

‘Then we need air support, General,’ came the voice through the intercom.

‘Baghla must not fall,’ Khan repeated.

Baghla, Thar Desert, Pakistan

Local time: 1400 Sunday 6 May 2007
GMT: 0900 Sunday 6 May 2007

‘Can you not
bypass Baghla?’ said Gurjit Singh, questioning Colonel Chidambaram’s decision.

‘Negative, sir. The level of fire indicates a substantial enemy force. Our final position is only ten kilometres north of here. Baghla must pose no threat to our position.’

‘How long to secure it?’

‘Three hours.’

‘You have two.’

Chidambaram ordered his vehicles to move towards the southerly and easterly sides of the settlement, giving each line of tanks a clear firing line. Twenty tanks fired simultaneously on Baghla
from the south in a massively destructive volley. Thirty seconds later twenty tanks from the east fired a similar volley. Straight after that, enemy positions were strafed with cannon fire. Then
Chidambaram ordered his men to hold their fire.

But in the sudden quiet which came after the firing, twenty Pakistani warplanes screamed in at low level, unleashing cannon and missile fire on the tank positions, turning and tearing back again
before the Indian air force could make a response. The impact of the attack was devastating. Before Chidambaram could get back on the radio to check on the casualties, the anti-tank guns opened up
again from inside Baghla.

‘Call in your hits,’ ordered Chidambaram.

Some reports came in of damage. Other call signs were silent because the tank was destroyed and the crew dead.

‘Request air support on Baghla,’ said Chidambaram on the main link to Singh.

‘What the hell is going on there, Wool sector?’

‘Enemy position with air cover.’

‘Fifteen T-90 and Arjun tanks destroyed. Casualties not known. Substantive minefield and anti-tank opposition.’

The Indian air assault on Baghla was later described as the decisive attack which changed the objectives of the war. It was relentless, unforgiving, allowing no room for let-up or surrender. For
thirty minutes Indian warplanes pummelled what was no more than a desert ruin. The enemy who had remained to hold Baghla were buried in scorching rubble. No one escaped and Chidambaram witnessed
it, wondering with horror what he would find when his units could finally move in.

General Headquarters, Rawalpindi, Pakistan

Local time: 1445 Sunday 6 May 2007
GMT: 0945 Sunday 6 May 2007

‘Baghla has fallen,
sir,’ said Masood, relaying the message from the Military Operations Directorate. ‘Indian forces are advancing towards Rahimyar
Khan. Flanking forces also advancing north.’

‘And the situation in the northern sector?’

‘We are holding the LoC well. In Siachen we have advanced. But Lahore is threatened. Indian forces are within ten kilometres of the city and are shelling the cantonment area. We have lost
General Iqbal Faisal, I’m afraid, sir. The town of Wagah is completely under Indian control. Sialkot is expected to fall within the next forty-eight hours and India will then have control of
the Shakargah bulge. We are managing lightning airstrikes, such as the one we carried out around Baghla, but it is difficult to hide the aircraft. Our forward bases at Sukkur, Bahawalpur,
Nawabshah, Mirpur Khas—’

Hamid Khan stood up and held up his hand for Masood to stop. ‘All right, Captain. Are Dr Malik Khalid and Air Marshal Kalapur outside?’

Without answering, Masood opened the office door and waved in the missile scientist and the new head of the Pakistani air force from the war room outside. Dr Khalid entered with a bundle of
diagrams and maps and sat down opposite Khan’s desk. Yasin Kalapur carried nothing and stood by the map near the door.

‘Is Sargodha still secure?’ Khan asked Kalapur.

‘The runway and airbase buildings are damaged. But the underground facilities are intact.’

Khalid leant forward in his chair. There was only one reason for him to be summoned. He was not a military man and was unable to discipline his curiosity. ‘Are you thinking of the northern
or southern sector, General?’

‘The southern,’ replied Khan. ‘We strike once and once only.’

‘Then I suggest a mix of the Mirages and the Shaheen, fired from Sargodha. The target range will be between 450 and 500 kilometres. Each missile will carry a 500 kilogram warhead yielding
a 20 kiloton explosion.’

Khan shook his head. ‘The missiles will be kept in reserve. Both the Shaheen and the Ghauri must be primed and ready for the second strike. But wait until darkness so that, God willing,
they will escape satellite detection.’ He turned to Kalapur: ‘Yasin, are the Mirage 111s and the FC-1s still intact in Samungli and Pasni?’

‘Yes, sir. The Indians have confined their strikes to the border areas so far.’

‘Good. The F-16s?’

‘We have six at Samungli and four at Pasni.’

‘The Mirage 111s and F-16s will carry out the toss-bombing attack using the 500 kilogram warheads . . .’

Khalid nodded enthusiastically. ‘That will yield a 20 kiloton explosion per weapon.’

‘The FC-1 will give air support, particularly if the enemy deploy the SU-30.’

Kalapur nodded with approval. The FC-1 (Super 7) was Pakistan’s latest multi-role fighter. Its development had been delayed to equip it with weaponry and avionics which could take on the
threat from India’s SU-30. The technology was derived from the American F-16 and the Russian MiG-29, particularly the Klomov RD-33 turbofan design. The aircraft was jointly made by the
Pakistan Aeronautical Complex (PAC) and China’s Chengdhu Aircraft Industrial Corporation, with much of the engine input coming from Russia’s Mikoyan OKB Design Bureau. Kalapur had flown
one himself and declared it among the finest aircraft he had ever piloted. China would be keen to see the fighter tested in a real combat situation.

‘At night?’

‘Yes. Once the missiles have been prepared.’

‘Captain Masood, have we had confirmation from Beijing that we have complete access to their satellite imagery for the next twenty-four hours?’

‘The Ambassador has confirmed it, sir.’

‘What sort of strike would you want?’ asked Khalid.

‘Their doctrine is to destroy Pakistan if we strike first with nuclear weapons. But I don’t think Dixit would have the nerve to do that in response to a battlefield strike. Their
first targets would be our nuclear facilities. We can assume that Sargodha and Multan would be destroyed and we must ensure that all personnel are in secure bunkers. We will have no more than
eleven minutes to respond, probably less by the time we detect the launch.’

Khan stood up and moved towards the map where Kalapur was standing. ‘For defence purposes we should strike Chandipur here at 21° 28' N, 87° 00' E, at Hyderabad, 17° 14' N,
78° 21' E and Jullundur, 31° 19' N, 75° 34' E. These are all missile bases. We know that the Agni is in Hyderabad. If you think we have enough warheads, Dr Khalid, I would like to take
out the nuclear research facility at Trombay at 19° 02' N, 72° 56' E. But that is more symbolic than strategic’

‘We shall see,’ said Khalid pensively. ‘And a third strike?’

‘It won’t come to that,’ said Khan. ‘But we will have to retain a credible deterrent for at least one large population centre.’

‘Hamid,’ said the Air Marshal, ‘during the Baghla operation, we would need to carry out air attacks on nuclear-capable Indian airbases. It would mean simultaneous sorties
against the Jaguar and SU-30 squadrons at Ambala, the Jaguars at Gorakpur, the Mirages at Gwalior and the remaining SU-30s at Lohegoan. Those are the bases from which we would expect an airborne
nuclear strike to take place. If we keep those occupied it lessens the risk of a false response.’

‘You’re saying, then, that we only react after the detection of a missile launch?’

‘Exactly. Indian aircraft will be in action anyway. We want to eliminate the confusion between conventional and nuclear.’

‘When would you be ready?’

‘Any time.’

‘Dr Khalid?’

‘If we want to prepare under cover of darkness.’

‘Captain Masood, ensure that I have Hari Dixit on the hotline the second the first toss-bomb strike takes place.’

Baghla, Thar Desert, Pakistan

Local time: 0500 Monday 7 May 2007
GMT: 0000 Monday 7 May 2007

Colonel Chidambaram raised
himself through the turret of his T-90 and inhaled the night desert air deeply. The empty sky threw out enough light for him to see the ruins
of Baghla. He looked more closely through the infrared night-vision binoculars and saw no movement, no sign of human or animal life.