Fenix (20 page)

Verma looked up from the comms console and to the
EW
operator who had called out the warning. He then pressed the transmit button on his intercom: “designation and source?”

“Bandit on bearing three-one-five is inbound southeast. Possible source is Peshawar. Bandit on bearing two-five-two is inbound easterly. Possible source is Multan. Tagging as bandits vortex-one and vortex-two. Beginning track.” Verma saw the
EW
operator use the control mouse on his console to tag the contacts. The screen panel to the side immediately populated with the two active sources:
VORTEX-ONE
and
VORTEX-TWO
.

The Phalcon was detecting these two inbound sources based on their long-wavelength radar signatures over the horizon long before the aircraft emitting these signals was detected. Much like how a man holding a torch in the dark is seen long before he sees what he is looking for, the
EW
operators on the Phalcon were seeing the light of the torch emitted by these two Pakistani airborne-radar aircraft.

But
who
were they? Verma mulled that over. Peshawar made sense for the Pakistani air-force. It was far enough behind the border to safely place their precious airborne control assets. But Multan was
far
closer to border. Pakistani aircraft based there were effectively forward-deployed. It was a risky place to base critical airborne-control aircraft.

They must know where we are the same way we know about them. At least we must run with that assumption…
Verma thought.

The
EW
operator came back on comms: “vortex-two has boosted signal strength to full power!”

They are looking for a fight…
Verma concluded and changed comms to the flight controllers: “mongol-two-five and –two-six, be advised that we have inbound enemy airborne-control aircraft to the south and west. Contacts designated vortex-one and –two. They
will
have strong protection centered around the control aircraft. Vortex-two is the higher priority. I
want
that bird taken
down
before we are forced to split resources in two directions. Divert flights as necessary. Out.”

Verma watched as his crew went to work relaying his orders to combat flight commanders whose aircraft were filling up the skies all around him. He felt the sudden sensation of sweat and absently looked at his hands, which had become sweaty. Perhaps a part of him knew what he was committing his fighter pilots to. The Pakistanis liked to overrate their equipment and tactics beyond reality, but they were
still
deadly. He knew he was going to lose pilots and airframes tonight. But
that
was war. As commander, his job was to ensure that the losses incurred amounted to
something
, instead of nothing. Was this a fight he
wanted
to commit to?

That was a question as old as war itself. Which battles should a commander commit to? Which others to retreat from? Good commanders were those that knew the difference. Bad commanders committed to
every
fight. The idea was to win. If it required him to withdraw his forces from one front and commit them to the other, then that was what he would do.

This
was
a fight he wanted to commit to. The Pakistanis only had a handful of airborne-control aircraft. Taking them out quick and dirty would nullify the
PAF
’s ability to wage war in the skies, leaving the Indians in control. The side that lost its airspace, lost control of the war.

Verma awoke from his reverie and found himself staring at his palms. He wiped them on the side of his flight-suit and took a deep breath as the Phalcon controllers handed the fight over to the fighter flights. He reminded himself that there was, after all, yet another rule to war:
once committed, there were no if’s and buts allowed.
Finish the fight. Fight to win.

G
rewal copied the message from the Phalcon and took a deep breath. He transitioned mentally to what needed to be done now. He gripped the control stick tighter and could feel his senses moving into hyper-drive.
Everything
registered in his mind. The smell of the leather straps holding him to his seat. The fabric of the flight-suit. The rumble of the engine powering his aircraft. The individual stars in the night sky above. The bluish-white color of the clouds below.

He switched comms to his flight: “gents, here we go. Over the border and taking the fight to the enemy. We have
twelve
enemy F-16s and six Mirage birds surging east in front of their airborne radar. Mongol-two has committed us to the fight alongside the Flankers. We are keeping a low profile. Dive for the soup below. Mongol-two will be leading us. We are going
under
the fight between the Flankers and the enemy birds. Our goal is the enemy airborne radar. Keep a tight formation and follow my lead. Give me an affirm chime!”

“Affirm, dagger-leader”

“Dagger-three copies all.”

“Wilco from dagger-four.”

All right, here we go…
Grewal thought. To his north, he saw the sixteen friendly Su-30 “Flankers” of No. 8 squadron in four
finger-four
flights spreading into a line-abreast formation. They were going parallel to him. This force of heavy fighters was aptly named “warhammer”. A similar group of eight Su-30s to the north, call-sign “scabbard”, was already a veteran of the war when they had led the fighter sweeps during the strikes in Kashmir.

These powerful Flankers would draw fire and mix it with the Pakistani F-16s and Mirage-IIIs. They would
not
worry about the enemy Erieye airborne-radar aircraft behind. Warhammer and scabbard were the blunt tools of this fight.

I guess that makes us the scalpel!
Grewal lowered his helmet-mounted night-optics. The black-blue-white environment around him gave way to the green-white-black hell-scape he had gotten used to. In many ways the analogy of a scalpel was true. The Su-30 drivers had come out of the China war with a sense of pride, their chests swollen. They had been the knife that had been used to slit the Chinese air-force’s wrist over Tibet. And despite losses, they
had
established dominance both within air-force circles as well as in the hearts of their enemies. Now their pilots exuded confidence.

As if to dramatize that dominance, Grewal saw them pull ahead into a long, line-abreast formation along the north-south axis. He could see the glowing exhausts of their twin-engines. No tactical formations, no flanking maneuvers here. They were
letting
the Pakistani pilots know who the big dogs were. Wars are often won in the minds even before the first shots are fired. Would the Pakistani pilots see their impending doom and back off?

Perhaps not
…Grewal thought as the Flankers punched afterburners in unison and thundered across the border…

“Dagger-leader this is mongol-two. Warhammer and scabbard are committed. Come to bearing two-zero-zero.”

“Wilco.”

Grewal flipped his
LCA
to the port and dived into the cloud floor. Within seconds the muck hit the windscreen and washed all over his aircraft. He pulled out under the clouds and was greeted with a nightmarish view of the border. White tracers were flying across both sides of the border and artillery explosions were ripping up the border posts on both sides. The flashes were enhanced on all their optics. He saw tracers climbing up towards him and his pilots…

“Dagger! Triple-A fire coming up!
Break! Break! Break!
”

Grewal flipped his aircraft violently whilst still diving. The tracer rounds snaked past his cockpit and flashes erupted on all sides, rocking his small fighter around. He managed to trace the fire all the way to the source on the ground below. It was then that the horror of the situation struck him: “mongol-two, this is dagger! We are taking
friendly
triple-A fire from forward-deployed ground units! I…” the thunderclap from a nearby string of detonations jerked his aircraft aside.

“Say your last, dagger! Mongol-two reading you one-by-five!”

No shit!
He growled and snapped to low level to evade the consistent barrage being put up in a box around him. The amount of fire from the army guns below was considerable. Grewal thanked his stars that these were not radar directed, else he and his pilots might have been ripped to shreds…

“Mongol-two! Get those friendly triple-A bastards to
stop
shooting at their
own
air-force!” Grewal thundered.

“Roger, dagger. Stand by…” the voice trailed off.

Grewal had his hands full. He was still violently evading the ground fire when the explosions stopped just as abruptly as they had started. The last of the tracers flew off into the cloud cover above them.

“Dagger, confirm that the triple-A has stopped. Over.”

              “Roger, mongol-two. Ground fire has ceased. Many thanks!” Grewal said without hiding the relief. The last thing he wanted was fratricide. But his
LCA
did
look like a Pakistani Mirage in its silhouette. Especially against a light background and even more so when he was flashing above Indian ground forces. He realized that the army gunners below were probably on hair-trigger mode.

              Not an auspicious start…
He saw the other three
LCA
s pulling up on either side of him. All three of them shared black-scars and grime from the explosions. He wondered what his own aircraft looked like.

              The cloud-cover above them flickered with light. Their onboard radar-warning-receivers were screeching in his ears as they detected all sorts of enemy threats. Grewal’s heart missed a beat when the radio suddenly squawked: “mongol-two here. Warhammer and scabbard have engaged the enemy. Your target is at fifty kilometers west, twenty-thousand feet. Dagger has the ball.
Go get them!
”

              “Wilco, Mongol-two.”
All right.

Grewal powered up the throttle and pushed it into afterburner. The engine rumbled to life and the sudden acceleration of the afterburning fuel punched the aircraft forward. They were eating up fuel rapidly now. But they also knew that the Pakistani Erieye radar crew would pick them up against the ground clutter at any moment considering their close proximity. Grewal could not allow them to escape.

A Pakistani Mirage-III flashed through the clouds as it dived towards the west. Grewal and his pilots saw in amazement as the Pakistani aircraft thundered high above their heads, oblivious to the four small Indian fighters climbing from below. Grewal almost switched to guns to engage before two Su-30s punched through the cloud cover, chasing the lone Pakistani pilot across the sky. The lead Su-30 fired a R-73 heat-seeking missile that flew into the flares and chaff punched out by the desperate Pakistani pilot. But the Flanker drivers were not giving up that easy. The leader and his wingman lined up behind the wildly evading Mirage-III pilot. Tracers filled the sky before some of them found their mark. The Pakistani aircraft turned into a shower of sparks and smoke before it struck the ground in a fireball. The two Su-30s punched afterburners and climbed into the cloud cover, disappearing out of view.

God! These guys aren’t taking any prisoners today!
Grewal thought as he climbed into the clouds and continued west. They broke through the clouds and the starry night re-emerged. He saw the wild melee of F-16s, Flankers and Mirage-IIIs behind them to the east. And to the west, the radar blips showed the Erieye and its two F-16 escorts. The Pakistani pilots and crew on board the Erieye were already evading and diving away, having detected the incoming Indian threat. The two F-16s went active on their radars as they attempted to destroy the threat to their airborne-control aircraft.

Grewal had already selected his Astra
BVR
missile on the inner pylons of his aircraft. The two F-16s became visible on his
HUD
as dotted diamonds. The audio tone in his helmet changed as he managed a lock. The weapon release was near instantaneous after he depressed the launch button on his control stick. The
LCA
became lighter and climbed a bit as the Astra missile fell away and lit its rocket engine, propelling it past the launch aircraft. Three other missiles from Dagger flight did the same. Unlike the R-77, the Astra left a nearly invisible exhaust. Perhaps the night-optics on board the two F-16s would enhance it enough to make it visible. But it would
still
be difficult for the two Pakistani pilots to escape all four missiles…

The Pakistani pilots weren’t far behind, however. Grewal heard the desperate audio tone of his radar-warning-receiver telling him that the two enemy missiles were in the air. Time to evade like hell!

Grewal punched cloud after cloud of chaff and the four
LCA
s broke pattern and dived in different directions. The Pakistani pilots did the same. At such close ranges and high closure rates, the response time was in seconds. And as Grewal spotted the incoming
AMRAAM
missile headed straight for him, he dived in front of it and left a cloud of chaff in his wake on a parabolic arc. The radar clutter line was nearly continuous and just enough for the
AMRAAM
missile to explode in a ball of fire at the very top of the arc, two dozen meters behind the
LCA
. Explosion fragments ripped through the skies and tore into the skin of Grewal’s aircraft. He felt the jerk and a crash through the cockpit seconds before he saw slight smoke coming near his feet.