Operation ‘Fox-Hunt’ Read online

  SRISHTI PUBLISHERS & DISTRIBUTORS

  N-16, C. R. Park

  New Delhi 110 019

  [email protected]

  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

  As 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.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  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

  14 Mumbai, India: 2100 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

  Glossary

  Prologue

  Afghanistan–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.

  The mission was to knock out an ISI (Inter-Services Intelligence) safe house. This particular abode was being used as a secret jail to hold Baloch nationalists and civilians who opposed their harsh rule. These secret jails existed all over the occupied land. Colonel Buguti gave his men a pep talk.

  “When do we attack, Colonel Saab?”

  “In an hour, Samsher, if we reach there,” the leader quipped as the truck bounced off the potholed road. They had not been stopped at any checkpoint yet.

  Samsher was the guest’s alias. He was a RAW agent based out of the Indian consulate in Kandahar. This particular group of rebels received more than half a million dollars annually from RAW, and Samsher’s job here was to validate that it was put to good effect by the Balochis.

  Besides the Balochis whom they were here to free, Samsher’s interest was in the Pakistani Colonel and his stash of information at the safe house. Evidently he headed all Pakistani intelligence activities in the area as the Chief of Field Intelligence Unit 52 and was known to have links with the group that had attacked the Indian Embassy recently. Samsher wanted to try and capture him alive. RAW wanted to send a strong message to ISI that the attacks on Indian assets in Afghanistan would be avenged and the death or capture of the Colonel would do the trick.

  They drove on for an hour until they reached their target for the night. A kilometre from the target, they disembarked. Waiting at the spot were five of the Colonel’s scouts. They had been stalking the target since night fell. The Colonel debriefed his men with Samsher. Four men from the team and the original occupants of the truck stayed back with a radio while the rest of the men headed towards the compound in a combat formation.

  Using the cover of trees and wild bushes that surrounded the parameter wall, they slowly crept upon the target – a well-guarded compound. In it was a single-storied structure that looked like the main house. There were two outhouses too, presumably for the staff. The entire compound was built around a small square. Reports indicated that the jail was in the basement of the main structure and officers lived in the larger of the two outhouses. A boom barrier manned by two guards was the only entrance to the compound while two sentries patrolled the outer parameter in a pair. Parameter lights lit up the path which the sentries patrolled. Except a small part at the north side, the entire parameter was well lit.

  Samsher opened his backpack and set up a specialised jammer. The jamming unit was as big as an old transistor radio and required an antenna to be put up at a height. This would block all radio signals in a hundred-metre area until the battery lasted, usually around an hour. Samsher could turn it on with a remote. Another rebel cut off the telephone connections running from the compound. The rebels divided up into two teams, one crept as close to the main boom barrier as possible and waited, while the other team, carrying a radio, followed the wall and took position in a dark spot to ambush the patrolling sentries. Buguti used his radio to signal the truck to approach the compound. With the last radio communication completed from their side, Samsher switched on the jammer using the remote.

  As the unsuspecting sentries, bored with the routine, passed through the unlit part of the parameter, four rebels set upon them with Pesh-Kabz knives and neutralised them. The action was as stealthy as it was deadly.

  As the team waited with bated breath, the truck rolled down the road and stopped at the boom barrier.

  A soldier walked out of the guardhouse and walked over to the cab. The FC livery and the uniforms didn’t arouse any suspicions.

  “What have we got here?” the guard asked the sergeant riding shotgun.

  “More guests for your hotel,” he quipped as he handed over his identity papers.

  “I need to check the back, okay?”

  “Sure,” the sergeant answered as he opened the door and jumped out. “Look right in, I need to stretch my legs and get a light.” He said as he walked towards the guardhouse, simultaneously bringing a cigarette to his lips. The guard nodded and went towards the back.

  The guard went around and banged at the tailgate and a head poked out from under the canvas.

  “Open the tailgate and roll up the canvas.”

  As the tailgate fell, he could see two figures, seemingly tied up and two guards. One of the ‘guards’ helped him up into the truck while the other reached out to assist; he was the one who delivered a sharp blow to back of the guards neck.

  In the guardhouse, the FC sergeant asked for a light from the second guard. As the guard rummaged around for a match box, as if by magic, the driver appeared beside his sergeant. The guard felt sudden unease, but found a matchbox and lit a match as the sergeant puffed in his cigarette. The driver moved swiftly and overpowered the guard with a karate chop on the back of his neck. With both his hands busy with the matches, the young soldier didn’t have a chance.

  As he fell, the sergeant caught him and gently laid him besides his desk. The two trussed up the guard and took his rifle.

  Coming out of the guardhouse he threw his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. Colonel Buguti saw the signal and gestured to his men. The team now split into three strike teams, and using the cover of the truck, moved into the compound. The Colonel led one team and Samsher and the sergeant led the other two. The Colonel led his men towards the main house, while Samsher took one of the outhouses which had a radio antenna and communication dishes sticking out of the top.

  As they neared their targets, two soldiers walked out of one of the houses. The replacement sentries, Samsher realised. As if on cue, one of the soldiers spotted an idle truck at the boom barrier and gestured to his pal. The second sentry put a whistle to his lips and Buguti’s fighters opened fire. The sound of submachine guns and assault rifles crashed through the night. Realising that the surprise would be lost in moments, the team leaders hurried towards their targets. Samsher ran into a group of young troopers rushing out through an entry point of his target structure. He had picked the guard house billet as a target. As his FN coughed in anger, the two sides rushed into each other setting off a ferocious hand to hand, close quarter combat.

  The Pakistani troops were surprised but by rushing out en mass they had reduced the odds. Most had carried their AKs or side arms. Once the two sides clashed hand to hand, the odds were even. Samsher used the butt of his weapon to knock out his assailant. His men used their butts and knives. Samsher found himself facing the business end of a bayoneted AK 47. Using his FN to fend off the first thrust, he kicked the attacker in his left knee. As the attacker lost his balance and used his AK to regain balance, Samsher shot him in his guts. He entered the house, looked back and saw th
at he was alone. Knowing that there was little time, he rushed up the stairs to the two rooms the ISI Colonel occupied as his room and office. As he moved through the dark corridor, his senses became highly accentuated. The extreme concentration put him in a trance-like state where every movement appeared as if in slow motion, every sound became amplified and every ray of light, however weak, registered. His nose registered every smell and odour. Someone was burning paper in a room at the end of the corridor. He moved down the corridor, holding his FN P90 in the shooting position at his shoulder, a style he had picked up from Special Frontier Force (SFF) troopers. An armed soldier in a vest emerged at the end of the corridor. He fired deliberately and the head shot bought the opponent crashing down. His own movements were smooth and effortless. Samsher walked to the end of the corridor and swiftly moved into the room. A man in his pyjamas was pulling files out of a safe in the wall and burning them in a metal dustbin. A MP5 was propped up next to him against a desk.

  “Turn around, Colonel, and don’t reach for your weapon, I will shoot to kill.”

  The Colonel turned around, “I am not scared of death. Shoot me and be quick about it!”

  The Colonel had a room on the same floor as the communication equipment. As soon as the firing had started he had run to the office to destroy his intelligence files. In a swift movement, the man lunged at his MP5. Samsher had predicted the move and kicked the MP5 out of his reach. Simultaneously he hit the man in his temple with the butt and the man went down in a heap. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a pair of flexi cuffs and fastened them on his hands.

  “I want you and your information, Colonel. And the Afghan intelligence will make sure that the rest of your life will be spent begging for death every moment.”

  The Colonel passed out. Samsher kicked the metal bin over and pulled out some papers which were still eligible. He looked at the open safe; most of the documents were still there. The Colonel hadn’t had much time.