Dragon Fire

Baghla, Thar Desert, Pakistan

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.

‘Ninety minutes from now, at first light, we move into Baghla. Then we will proceed towards Rahimyar Khan,’ he told Gurjit Singh on the radio.

‘How long will you take to secure Baghla?’ he asked.

‘It will be done immediately. There is nothing left. What news from the other brigades?’

‘They are moving into Walhar at first light and expect one hell of a fight. Silk sector have reached the Uanur River and will hold there. There was only token resistance at Madaghar. Cotton had to take Sandhi after armoured resistance. That is now secure and Cotton is ten kilometres from the rail track. Calfskin took Bahuwalatoba with light resistance, but six hundred prisoners. They are outside Bagh-o-Bahar. You drew rotten luck, Colonel.’

‘Thank you, sir. And in the north?’

‘I understand we are doing well and that Sialkot will fall within the day. Our luck hasn’t been so good in the Batalik sector of the LoC. But a comprehensive ceasefire should solve that.’

Colonel Chidambaram felt better for the briefing, knowing that he wasn’t alone in the Thar Desert and that other officers had had problems as well. Many of the tank crews were outside their vehicles, washing, shaving, praying, preparing for the battle to come. Chidambaram was about to jump down and walk around, talking to them, when he heard Singh back on the radio again, an edge in his voice: ‘Toss-bomb attack. Toss-bomb attack. All men inside vehicles. NBC suits where available.’

The Pakistani Mirage 111s and F-16s streaked towards the Indian armoured positions, flying at 3,000 feet. Each pilot was trained for nuclear weapons delivery and the toss-bomb loop which would ensure his safety from the explosion. Each had a target specified from the Chinese satellite imagery. Two thousand feet higher the FC-1s were patrolling to head off any attack by Indian fighters.

But not all the aircraft carried a nuclear bomb. Two were nuclear-armed, one Mirage 111 — which Indian intelligence was not certain had been made nuclear-capable — and one F-16. Each aircraft carried one one-kiloton neutron bomb, an explosive device no bigger than a grapefruit. Each bomb had a destructive range of 700 metres, throwing out an 8,000-rad dose of radiation, more than ten times the 600-rad dose needed to kill in a normal environment, but enough to force the high-energy neutrons through the armour protection of the Indian tanks. A few of the tanks might have had depleted uranium shields built into the armour, which could offset the radiation. But that was untested and too expensive to be used throughout the Indian army.

The whole Pakistani squadron of sixteen aircraft came in at high altitude. As they dived they came under withering Indian anti-aircraft fire, which was attacked by the defending FC-1s. An F-16 was hit on its descent and exploded in the air. A Mirage 111 went too low and crashed into the ground. The other fourteen aircraft released bombs as they dived, and continued heading down: because of the airspeed the bombs shot upwards against the force of gravity. Once clear, the pilots pulled the nose up and went into a steep climb, avoiding the impact of any immediate nuclear explosion.

The aircraft were at the height of their climb when the bombs went off. Six were conventional; six were 500 kilogram fuel-air explosive warheads; two were tactical nuclear weapons. They exploded within fifteen seconds of each other, sending out devastating bursts of radiation. Contrary to the common perception of the neutron bomb, the attack did not just kill soldiers and leave buildings and vehicles intact. Anything within the 700-metre range was damaged beyond repair. Those vehicles outside the range were left intact, as were several of the tank crews who had managed to get inside NBC suits and seal up their vehicles.

But after that, many died, from dehydration and heat, abandoned by both sides as contaminated and beyond saving. The alloy steel used in the armour became radioactive itself. When rescue teams finally went in, both General Gurjit Singh and Colonel Chidambaram were found dead in their vehicles.

The area of the southern-Indian armoured advance was declared unsafe for at least forty-eight hours — and by then the world was on a nuclear precipice.