Operation ‘Fox-Hunt’
Read Operation ‘Fox-Hunt’ Online
Authors: Siddhartha Thorat
S
RISHTI
P
UBLISHERS
& D
ISTRIBUTORS
N-16, C. R. Park
New Delhi 110 019
First published by
Srishti Publishers & Distributors in 2014
Copyright © Siddhartha Thorat, 2014
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.
Typeset by Eshu Graphic
Dedicated to my loving parents
Mrs. Meghmaladevi and Col Dilip
Thorat (retd.), and to my dearest sister
Rajkuvar for their unconditional love
.
Acknowledgements
A
s a newbie I have many people to thank. No one can be more deserving of my gratitude than my publisher and the team at Srishti Publishers, who gave time, effort and input at every stage to transform a manuscript by a newbie into an entertaining piece of fiction.
Anjana Balakrishnan, my editor, for converting a raw manuscript into a book. Her efforts to smoothen out the rough edges in the prose give the book the smoothness readers will surely appreciate.
The credit for the cover goes to Sagar and his team at Quotientcomm. Their professionalism and creativity helped convert an idea into an image reflecting the soul of this work.
A young writer requires friends who encourage and support him through times, good and not so good. I am forever indebted to my dearest friends Nupur, Amit dada, Kinghshuk, Rachna, Pritesh, Shreshtha, Supreet and Tanmoy for their friendship, encouragement and support.
It’s also a moment to thank the team at Boardroom Chefs for its marketing inputs in ensuring that this book reaches you.
Most importantly, I thank you, the reader and my patron, who by buying and reading this book encourage new authors like me to make that extra effort to deliver an entertaining read.
1 ISI Headquarters, Aabpara Junction, Islamabad Present day: 0900 hours PST
2 Cherat, Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, Pakistan
3 Kupwara: J&K: One month later: 0400 hours IST
4 National Investigation Agency (NIA) HQ, New Delhi, India 17th November: 1000 hours
5 Research & Analysis Wing (RAW) HQ, CGO, Lodhi Road, New Delhi
6 Office of Military Intelligence (MI), Army Headquarters: New Delhi
7 RAW HQ Lodhi Road, New Delhi: 0900 hours
8 Mumbai: Thakur Village, Kandivali, 27 November
9 Khulna, Bangladesh, 5 December
10 GHQ Rawalpindi, 30 November: 1100 hours
11 Aviation Research Centre (ARC), Delhi: 0900 hours
12 RAW HQ, Lodhi Road, New Delhi 13 December: 1000 hours
13 INS Hamla: Naval base, Malad, 15 December: 1100 hours
15 Crisis Management Centre (CMC), South Block, New Delhi: 0230 hours
16 Indo-Bangladesh border zone: 0330 hours
17 New Delhi-Dhaka-Islamabad, 16 and 17 December: 1400 hours
Prologue
A
fghanistan–Pakistan Border: Six Months Back.
The convoy of Toyota pickups reached the town of Spin Buldak in Kandahar, Afghanistan at dinner time. The three trucks were escorted by an Afghan intelligence Toyota Land Cruiser. The vehicles stopped outside the town near a discreet house. Like most houses in the area, it had a large walled-off courtyard. A group of five guards armed with the ubiquitous AK-47s looked at the vehicles suspiciously. The AK-47s were aimed at the vehicles as one of the guards went over to the driver’s side. The Tajik in the leading Land Cruiser climbed out and waved his identification. The guard examined it, smiled and waved his arms at the others. The guards relaxed. The gate opened slowly and the vehicles drove into the courtyard.
The men got off and started to unload their equipment. Most carried AK-47 or Pakistani G-3 rifles. The luggage consisted of ammunition boxes, radio sets and the feared RPG rocket launchers. The Heckler & Koch G-3s had been captured in a firefight from the Pakistani Frontier Corps last month. A tall man with a military bearing walked over and joined the Tajik officer. They conversed in a low voice and the tall man waved to his men and gestured with his hands and spoke out aloud,
“Dinner is ready, boys, eat quickly and then recheck all your equipment.”
The Tajik intelligence officer spoke quietly to the attendants of the safe house. The young men were led by an attendant into what appeared to be a dining room. A traditional meal of rice and lamb had been placed along with glasses of water and plates. The men squatted on the ground and began their meal.
The attendants, like the Tajik, were from the Afghan intelligence service. They were a small team which maintained this transit point around the year. All the attendants were local Pashtuns, unlike the officer who came from the northern part of Afghanistan. This ensured their ability not to provoke open hostility from neighbours as well as blend in easily with the local population in this Pashtun territory.
Seeing his men were being cared for properly, the leader of the team, Colonel Buguti walked over to where the Tajik officer was waiting.
“Well, Major, we must leave in two hours. When is our guest joining us?” Tall and slim, with a scimitar-shaped nose, Buguti was the scion of a tribal clan that had ruled a part of Baluchistan for several generations. Only a few years ago, he had been a colonel in the Pakistani army; now that army was his greatest enemy. As an officer posted with the Frontier Corps (FC) in Baluchistan, he had seen first-hand the horrors meted out by the Pakistanis to his people. Nawab Buguti’s assassination by Pakistani troops under orders from the Pakistani dictator had decided his destiny. He left the army to lead his people to freedom.
Before the Tajik could answer, the roar of a heavy engine and squealing brakes filled the courtyard. The courtyard doors closed behind the Mitsubishi Pajero. Two well-built men with beards jumped out. Two others in mufti, but clean shaven, remained in the SUV. One stood back while the other strode over and shook hands with the Baloch and the Tajik.
“All set, Colonel?” the newcomer said to Buguti, and then turned to the Tajik.
“Thanks, Major, for your help. The army provided us an excellent escort all the way,” the new arrival said as the three walked away from the vehicle. The Tajik nodded and the three headed to another room for dinner.
At midnight, the vehicles filed out of the compound. The Pajero that had brought the last guest for the night, did not follow the others east. Instead, it turned towards Kandahar city and drove off.
The other vehicles headed out into the cool night towards the Durand Line, the colonial border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. The mission was to free a noted Baloch leader. Three kilometres down, they were joined by two armoured Afghan National Army trucks. The escorts were to provide them protection from the Taliban as well as NATO aircrafts and troops. Afghanistan was not a safe country for unidentified armed men moving around at night; the Taliban and the American drones were both equally dangerous. The vehicles took them within three kilometres of the Durand Line. Here the Tajik and the Afghan National Army (ANA) troops separated from the group.
“We will be waiting here Colonel, happy hunting,” the Tajik said as he shook hands with Buguti and the guest. The Baloch and their guest changed into uniforms of the Pakistani FC. Once properly togged out, they walked on towards the border.
A cool breeze blew across the land. In less than thirty minutes, the small group crossed the Durand Line. The Baloch knew their way around and confidently walked into their homeland. The guest kept up with the brisk pace. It was his third crossing across the border. He had driven for over seven hours from Kandahar. He fingered his FN P90 personal defence weapon, a trophy from his earlier foray into Baluchistan. It had been captured from
a Pakistani Special Service Group (SSG) man who had been repulsing a raid on a power unit in Gwadar during the attack.
On the other side after a kilometre or so, when they reached a rough motorable road, Colonel Buguti asked his men to lie low and take positions. He then pulled out a powerful transmitter and spoke into it. Few metres down the road, a pair of headlights switched on and then blinked in a sequence. Colonel Buguti nodded, “Okay boys, our ride is here,” and turned to his guest. The men were taking no chances and maintained a fighting formation as a truck in FC livery moved in their direction and stopped. An FC sergeant and a corporal jumped out and saluted the Colonel. “Well, meet your newest comrades; they have decided to join us as we kick out the occupier from our land.” The Colonel turned to his men. The mission was well and truly on. The turncoats were agents of the Colonel serving in FC, the Pakistani paramilitary force carrying out anti-insurgency operations in this part of Baluchistan. Their papers and vehicles would ensure an unchallenged ride to the target.
