Operation Deep Strike Read online

  But there was a very low probability of that happening. All around them, the brownish yellow ground was barren with no trees or sand; only rough rocky ground everywhere. It was a bleak place. He grinned, Dasht-e-Margow, the Desert of Death; the name fit very well with the desolate surroundings.

  Shafiq relished the cold biting breeze of the early dawn. It stung in his face, and rippled through his body. An average person would freeze in this weather, but he admired the power of his body to resist the cold. He took a stroll through the perimeter of where they were camped. The guards were smoking weed; they were to be relieved at first light. He walked up to them as their conversation with Malik finished.

  “How did the night go? Did you guys fall asleep?”

  “Shafiq brother, you know we always stay alert. Even a rat won’t slip past us.”

  “Good to hear that. Did anything unusual happen during the night?”

  “No. It was a quiet one.”

  Shafiq nodded. “All right. Just don’t snore in the middle of the training today.”

  The guards chuckled as Shafiq moved forward watching the dirt road that curved along the mountain. He preferred interacting with the men to get a feel of things on the ground rather than hearing it from someone else. He didn’t expect anyone to know where they were, but he had learned to expect the unexpected. They were part of the Lashkar-e-Jhangvi group and they conducted most of their operations along the Af-Pak border.

  Dasht-e-Margow was their backup location, where they could regroup and plan out their forthcoming missions. They would take long arduous runs through the rocky desert. It had become a set routine. Four hours of runs every morning, were followed by lunch and a short nap; and finally capped by weapons training.

  They didn’t know what their next mission was, but everyone was talking about it already. It again became a subject as they sat in small groups during breakfast.

  “We’ve been training here for two months already.” Shafiq overhead the comment. “When are we going to see some action?” The speaker asked.

  Shafiq looked up. Zia had asked the question to their leader Malik. Shafiq shook his head. Meddlesome Zia. Always complaining and butting his big head into everything. He simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “The training is very important. We need to be ready.” Malik replied.

  Shafiq listened with curiosity. Rumours were rife that the upcoming mission was going to be huge based on the extended training routine they went through every day. He wanted to know when the mission was going to be launched.

  “I’ve been hearing that from day one, but so far, all we are doing everyday is endless running and shooting. My hands are itching for revenge against the infidels. So when are we starting to move out? I’m tired of doing the same old crap day after day.” Zia raised his voice.

  Shafiq wondered if Malik would get angry at Zia’s outburst. Shafiq considered Zia to be a deranged psycho. His father and brothers were butchered during the incessant wars that had sprung up ever since the Soviet army had turned up in Afghanistan during the eighties. His father had died fighting the Soviets, and brothers had died in the rebel wars. Since then Zia considered the entire world his enemy. There was no saying what he would do next. Shafiq couldn’t understand why Malik didn’t rein him in; or simply get rid of him.

  Malik spoke in an even tone, “I don’t know when our mission starts. We will be informed by our senior leaders. Till then, we have been told to keep training.”

  “I won’t do the training. I am only interested in the mission.” Zia declared in a petulant tone.

  Malik said nothing. Instead he reached inside his robe and pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Zia’s head. “You have the brains of a camel. Now I give you two choices: you will be dead before the mission, or you will stay alive and do the training as well as the mission.”

  Zia looked around for support; but everyone’s eyes were hostile. “Zia, listen to our leader and stop this nonsense,” one of the men said.

  Zia seemed to evaluate his options and realize he didn’t have any. “I’ll do the training.” He finally spoke.

  “Good.” Malik put away his gun. “Does anyone else have any doubts about what our superiors are planning?”

  There were none.

  “Excellent. Brothers, I am not sure what is being planned, nor when the mission will be executed, but we should come to know soon –”

  “Someone is approaching,” one of the guards shouted.

  Everyone’s eyes turned to the path along the mountain that provided the sole access to their hideout. It was an open jeep with a solitary driver.

  “Relax everyone,” Malik said as some of them grabbed their weapons, “He is our messenger.” Malik walked over to the approaching jeep. The jeep stopped next to him.

  Shafiq watched the messenger and the commander speak, wondering what they were talking about. Maybe their mission would start shortly and this was the message the messenger had bought.

  Shafiq finished his breakfast quickly knowing that the commander’s conversation would be brief. He wanted to be ready for whatever the commander had to say. The others also finished their breakfast and started talking amongst themselves.

  “What do you think they are discussing?” One of the men asked.

  “I think we’ll get new orders. And possibly a date to move out,” Pasha, a veteran of their group replied.

  “You could be right, Pasha. You are, most of the time.”

  “I know. Okay the messenger is leaving. We will know in a minute.” Pasha said, as Malik saw off the messenger. As the dust trailed off from the departing vehicle, Shafiq realized that the messenger had unloaded half a dozen large crates from the jeep. The guards were bringing them to the camp under Malik’s instructions. Shafiq had no doubt it contained their arms and ammunitions.

  Weapons were their group’s bread and butter. Without weapons, they would be unable to wage their holy war. Most of their well-wishers had dwindled in the decade since 9/11, but some of their ardent supporters still existed who funded them generously with weapons. Warlords in central and east African countries, rebels in Syria and Yemen were their current sponsors. These people took the opium raised in the poppy fields of Afghanistan and in return provided them with money and guns.

  Malik had a thin smile as he walked across to the group, followed by the guards. “Brothers rejoice. All our training will now stand in good stead. The messenger has sent word from our superiors. We are to move out tomorrow.”

  A chorus of excited shouts answered him. Malik continued.

  “We’ve been waiting for long. Only a few hours more. Nothing is more valiant than a sacrifice doing Allah’s deeds. If we are martyred in our mission, we will be granted Paradise.”

  The cheering grew louder.

  Malik raised his hand to indicate silence. “Now men, there will be a change in our training regime. Today, we will be going to the top of the mountain.”

  “The top of the mountain?” Pasha asked.

  “Yes,” Malik said. “We are going to do some shooting practice there. Using this.” He flipped open one of the crates. Inside were a dozen RPG-7s.

  Shafiq found the request odd. They rarely did shooting practice with Rocket-Propelled Grenades. Their supply of RPGs was scarce and used only in combat. Plus the idea of trekking up the mountain and then shooting at targets didn’t make sense. He wondered what to make of it as some of the men went to the ammunition crate, and the others queued in a line in front of their leader ready to march up the hill.

  Shafiq shrugged it off as he clutched his gun and joined the others. He had orders to follow.

  Chapter 8

  “But why?”

  The words involuntarily escaped from Roshan’s lips. One of the Balochis jabbed a gun in his back. Their weapons had been taken from them. They were defenceless.

  “Why you ask?” Fazal Darzada looked at Roshan. “Let me tell you why? You guys only give us lip service. You use us because it suits
your own convenience. You use the word ‘Balochistan’ only to irritate the Pakistani government, nothing more. You couldn’t care less about us.”

  “That’s not true, Fazal.” Armaan said. “We help you because your government doesn’t listen to you.”

  The Balochi leader turned his gaze at Armaan. “Do you really have our best interests at heart? No, you use us because you hate the Pakistan government, just like us. Beyond that, we have nothing in common.”

  “We are not enemies, Fazal.”

  “And neither are we friends.” The Balochi replied. “In fact, it’s because of you guys that we face the most problems. You create problems and the government holds us responsible.” Fazal thumped his fist on his chest to emphasise his point. “Us.”

  Roshan looked around. The highway was deserted; they could make a dash back to the beach, but with the weapons pointed right at them, they wouldn’t survive for more than a few feet before being gunned down. He looked at the Balochi leader. “So what happens now?”

  “You will answer my questions, and then I am going to hand you over to the police.”

  “The police. Why?”

  Fazal jabbed the butt of his AK-47 gun into Roshan’s shoulder. “I said I will ask the questions.”

  “Don’t you hurt him.” Armaan said in a quiet, yet intense voice. “Or else, you will pay the price.”

  Roshan was surprised to see Armaan stand up for him. Since the time they had met at Hindon, Armaan had acted curt with him. He wondered if under the brusque exterior, Armaan really cared about his safety. Then another thought struck him. Maybe he was more concerned about the integrity of the mission than about him.

  “Hmph. Look at me. I am scared.” Fazal scoffed. “From where I see, you are at gunpoint. So, don’t make any stupid moves or think of doing stupid things. You have to pay for what happened at Gwadar.”

  “Gwadar?”

  “Yes. Gwadar. You guys attacked Gwadar port and the Army arrested and killed my people. We are innocent, but no one believed us. You will be our evidence.”

  “I don’t know what happened at Gwadar, but none of us are involved in it.”

  “Lies.” The Balochi leader roared. “You Indians are keenly interested in seeing Gwadar burn. Now tell me how did you plan the attack?”

  Armaan said, “Fazal, you have to trust me. We had nothing to do with it.”

  “Really? What makes you think I will believe you?”

  “There are many groups who are against the Gwadar port. We may be the first that will come to your mind, but surely, do you really think we are the only ones? Gwadar has become a competition to other ports nearby, like Chabahar and Dubai ports.”

  “So? What’s your point?”

  Armaan pressed on. “What if a billionaire businessman in Dubai seeing a loss in his trade paid a few mercenaries to sabotage the Gwadar port? A single bombing and trade stalls due to fear.”

  Fazal mumbled. “Be that as it may, but I still don’t believe you.”

  Armaan said, “Fazal, you’ve known me for some time. You know this is not my modus operandi.”

  Roshan looked at Fazal, he seemed to have been softened by Armaan’s logic, but Fazal asked, “What’s stopping me from calling the police and having you arrested? I’ll be able to prove my men innocent and have you indicted. It will be front page news. ‘Balochi leader catches Indian spy.’ Our rapport with the government will increase and they will give us reward money.”

  Armaan shook his head, “Sorry to burst your bubble, but will they believe your story? A suspect Balochi leader catching an Indian spy? I think the front page news would be more like ‘Balochi leader and Indian spy caught by Counter Terrorist police.’”

  “They won’t trust you.” Fazal retorted. “It will be your word against mine. A Pakistani’s versus an Indian’s.”

  But Armaan was unruffled by the threat. “You said what’s stopping you from having me arrested? I’ll also ask: what’s stopping me from giving you away as an accomplice? I will simply state that we’ve known each other for a long time. You only betrayed me because you were not happy and wanted more money from me. I will hold you equally responsible for the anti-national activities going around here.”

  Fazal growled, “You remorseless swine.”

  Armaan shrugged, “It’s the only way to survive.” He patted Fazal on the shoulder. “Let’s be reasonable about this. Two thieves cannot play cop. The Pakistani government is not your friend. It won’t help to make enemies out of us too. You need help and support. We are giving you that. So let us go our way, and you can go your way. What do you say?”

  Fazal’s colleagues spoke with him in the Balochi language. He talked with them for a minute and then turned to Armaan.

  “All right. We will let you go. You can take your weapons and get lost.”

  Armaan smiled. “Thanks brother. You wouldn’t regret it.”

  Fazal handed the guns to Armaan. “I’m already regretting it.”

  One of the Balochi men retrieved a case from the van and handed it over to Fazal. Fazal opened it in front of Armaan.

  “Here’s your stuff. Four mobiles with local sims and four National Identity cards. You can put your photos on the Identity cards and pass off as a local. But it wouldn’t stand scrutiny, so don’t show it unless someone asks for it.”

  “What about our transport?”

  “It should have been here by now. Though honestly, I wanted to pack you off to the authorities in it.” Fazal chuckled and then turned serious. “It seemed like a good idea at that time.”

  A beam of light lit up the dark road for the second time. “There’s your ride.” Fazal said.

  Roshan looked at the vehicle that had just turned into view far off in the distance. A moment later another vehicle’s headlights followed the first.

  “Who’s the other one?” Roshan asked.

  Fazal replied. “It’s not one of ours. This looks fishy. You guys get out of sight. I will let you know when the coast is clear.”

  Roshan and the others took cover in the deserted garage. He watched through the cracks of the wooden walls of the garage as the two vehicles came in. The first vehicle was driven by a bearded person wearing a shawl, not unlike the other Balochis. But it was the second vehicle that closely followed the first that took his breath away.

  It was an Army jeep. Four Pakistani army men with weapons in their hands scanned the area as they drove in. Both vehicles stopped right behind Fazal’s van. The Army men came out and accosted the Balochis, guns trained on them.

  “What are you guys doing here in the middle of the night?”

  Fazal sneered at them. “It’s none of your business.”

  “That answer will only earn a bullet in the head for you. I ask again; what are you doing here?”

  “We are going to the shore to earn our daily bread. We are fishermen.”

  One of the Army men pulled the driver of the second vehicle by his collar and brought him in front of Fazal. “This guy said a different story. He said he was to wait back there and wait for you to signal him to come in. Not something the average fisherman would do.”

  Fazal didn’t answer.

  The Army man pointed his gun at Fazal’s head. “Talk or die.”

  Roshan sitting in the shadows of the garage whispered to Armaan. “What do we do?”

  “I have a two-step plan.” Armaan had an intense look in his eye.

  “What’s that?” Roshan asked.

  “The first step is that we kill them…”

  “I like the plan already.” Baldev interrupted.

  “And?” Roshan enquired when Armaan hadn’t elaborated on the second part.

  “The second step depends on the success of the first. Baldev you take the one on the left, Hitesh you take the extreme right. I will take the second one, and Roshan you take the third from left. I want a clean headshot. No mistakes, no second chances. Are we clear?”

  The other three nodded.

  “On my mark. Aim
. Fire.”

  Their silenced weapons emitted four spits, and all four Army men tumbled to the ground, hit straight through their heads. Roshan and the others emerged from their hiding place and joined the Balochis.

  Fazal nodded at Armaan. “You guys do have your uses, I would admit.” He looked at the bodies. “But as always, I am reminded of the mess you leave behind. So, I am starting to regret the day I ever met you.”

  Armaan scrutinized the bodies. They had all been shot in the head; death had been instantaneous with minimum of blood spilled. As he expected, the uniforms were clean.

  He beckoned the others. “Now for Step Two of my plan. Dump the bodies and take their uniforms. We can take their jeep and pass off as Army men.”

  Hitesh asked, “What if someone questions us?”

  Fazal replied, “This is Pakistan; no one questions the Army.” He made a thumbs-up sign to Armaan. “It’s a brilliant idea; better than the van that I brought.”

  Armaan allowed himself a slight smile, “Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”

  “I guess we are done here. Don’t come calling again. You are a real nuisance.” Fazal walked away to join his colleagues.

  “You have a good day too.” Armaan said.

  The Balochis departed in the two vehicles. Roshan and the team busied themselves with the task of getting rid of the bodies before dawn emerged.

  “Move it everyone,” Shafiq heard Zia shout in the front of the group.

  It had been an hour since they started their trek to the top of the mountain. They were halfway up the mountain winding through a narrow goat-trail, the pebbles crunched under their boots. The mountain they were climbing was part of a long range and from this height they could see the entire valley below. It was a cloudless day and sweat poured through Shafiq’s hairline. The air was still and he tried focusing on the narrow path. They were going along a steep cliff and a false step here could lead to a fatal fall down the mountain.