03:02 (37 page)

In front of us were two jeeps filled with black-clad fighters and a Humvee. One of the men heard us and turned and shouted a challenge in Arabic. It was too late to do anything else, so I opened up with my AK-47 on full automatic, spraying the men and vehicles. Mahadev did likewise and then we ducked behind the wall of the petrol pump as the men returned fire. We had no idea if we hit anyone or not, but even if we had, there were still way too many men for us to handle. All of them seemed to have opened fire on us, such was the loud cacophony of AK-47 fire mixed with the duller rumble of the fifty calibre mounted on the Humvee.

I lit one of the bombs and tossed it over the wall. As it exploded, someone shouted and I had the satisfaction of hurting at least one of them. I peeked around the edge of the wall and saw that the fighters had retreated behind the jeeps and Humvee and were firing from behind cover. I fired off a burst and then retreated behind the wall as the fifty calibre shredded a portion of it. Mahadev tossed one of his bombs and then sat down beside me.

‘Do you think they’ll run out of bullets first or this wall will give way? Knowing how much sand contractors mix in all this shit, I’d bet on the wall crumbling.’

I looked at Mahadev, sitting there, grinning.

‘You are a mad fucker, do you know that?’

‘I must be, to follow a mad, suicidal man like you around.’

We both laughed and there was a brief lull in the firing as if our attackers were wondering what we found so funny about our impending death.

‘Any bright ideas, sir?’

‘None at all, Mahadev. Let’s just try and take a few of them to hell with us.’

‘No, sir. No hell for me. I’m going to heaven. A heaven where I’ll drive a Mercedes, not an auto-rickshaw, and I’ll own a restaurant. That’s what I always wanted to do. What about you?’

I thought about that. What I’d always wanted was to join the Army and fight those who threatened our people. Wasn’t that what I was doing? I began to laugh again.

‘Sir, do you really find death so funny?’

‘No, Mahadev, it is life that is funny. Come on, let’s make them waste a bit more ammo and then we go out. Ready?’

I clasped his shoulder and hugged him. A man who in our old world I would never have socialized with, but now someone who would give his life for me, and I for him. We were about to emerge out of cover and fire when we were suddenly blinded by bright lights. There were two large vehicles that had come up behind us, without our even realizing it in all noise of the gunfire. We were sitting ducks. Both of us turned to face this new threat and as we saw multiple rifles emerge from the windows of one of the buses, we knew our time was up.

All of the rifles seemed to fire at once and I flinched, wondering if I would feel any pain before it was all over. Bulletproof vest or not, so many rifles firing at you from point blank range meant only one possible conclusion—death. It took me a second to realize that they were not firing at us but at the terrorist fighters, who now stood illuminated by the headlights of at least two buses. They had been as disoriented as us by the sudden arrival of the vehicles and the blinding headlights and I saw several of them spin and fall as they were hit by multiple rounds. Whoever was directing the shooting was doing a good job as a disproportionate amount of gunfire seemed to be directed at the biggest threat—the fifty calibre on the Humvee. The fighter manning the machine gun managed to get off one burst before he was hit by several rounds and slumped forward. The other terrorists were now behind the jeeps, and while one or two were returning fire, the others were either hit or unable to react.

‘I wish I had another bomb!’

Mahadev reacted to my muttered comment by producing a bomb from his pocket. ‘Your wish is my command! I got an extra one from Nasir.’

I lit the fuse and threw the bomb overhand, aiming for the jeeps. The bomb bounced once and skittered under one of the jeeps, and then exploded on the other side, showering the men taking cover behind the jeeps with shrapnel. I looked at Mahadev.

‘Let’s go!’

Later we would laugh uproariously about it, and even at that time I found it hilarious that Mahadev vaulted over the wall, screaming a war cry that went, ‘Har har Mahadev!’

Not having any original war cry of my own to contribute, I joined him and we ran towards the enemy fighters, shouting as loudly as we could. The rear door of the Humvee opened and two men ran out. Mahadev slammed the butt of his rifle into one man’s head and, as he staggered back, shot him in the legs. The man went down and Mahadev finished him with a shot to the head. My man was trying to run away and I sprinted after him and then jumped and kicked him in the back of his knee. He fell hard, his leg broken as I rolled to a stop next to him and stabbed him in the neck. Men were now running all around us from the buses towards the jeeps, and as wounded fighters screamed for mercy, they were silenced one by one. When the killing stopped, we counted eleven enemy bodies and I turned to thank our rescuers.

A tall man in uniform walked towards me and saluted me.

‘Major Shwetabh Mehta, 1st Cavalry, the Skinner’s Horse, reporting for duty to the Azad Hind Fauj as directed, sir.’

The others also saluted me, and I found it a bit awkward that men in uniform were saluting me, a civilian; but then I reminded myself that my life as a civilian was over.

‘Major, you guys certainly have a dramatic sense of timing.’

He smiled as he replied. ‘Just call me Shwetabh. Bloody buses kept breaking down, and then we got lost. Thankfully you had the flag lit up nice and bright so we knew where home was.’

We got into the buses and rode home, radioing ahead that we were coming in with friends. Looking at it one way, that night was a resounding success. Only four mortar shells landed in our community and not a single person was hurt by them; everyone was overjoyed by the arrival of the reinforcements from Goa; and finally, we had dished out another bloody nose to the enemy. However, the celebrations were tempered by the fact that of our six teams that had gone out into the night, only three made it back. One of those missing was Akif.

I had come home and fallen asleep, with Shaikh assuring me that he and the new arrivals had security covered till morning. I was awakened at the crack of dawn by Megha. ‘Aadi, wake up! You’re needed at the lake checkpoint.’

Not knowing what to expect, I rushed out, meeting an equally tired and sleepy Mahadev downstairs, and as we drove down to the checkpoint, I called Ronald on the radio. ‘What’s going on? Are they attacking again?’

‘Just get over here, Aadi.’

His tone told me all I needed to know. Something was very wrong. When I reached the checkpoint, I saw both our Humvees there, pointing towards the flyover with more than a dozen men with assault rifles from our community and over a dozen of the newcomers from the previous night, armed with what I saw was a motley mix of .303s, sten guns and INSAS assault rifles. I also saw white naval uniforms mixed with flight suits and the khakis of policemen, reflecting the mixed nature of the group that had rolled in from Goa. I had still not had the opportunity to fully debrief with Shwetabh and thus was unaware who had come with him and what their journey to Mumbai had entailed. However, for now, we had more immediate concerns. Sitting on the flyover were two enemy Humvees ringed by masked men in black. I looked through a pair of binoculars and saw a masked man looking back at us through binoculars.

Ronald tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Fuckers have just been standing there for a few minutes.’

If they intended to attack, they would have done so by now. I had no idea what they wanted till the man with the binoculars put them aside and held up a large sack. He was tall, well over six feet, judging by how he towered over the other enemy fighters, and his fitting black clothes showed off a physique which would have done a professional boxer or wrestler proud. I saw him point towards us and then toss the sack towards us. The sack rolled along the ground down the flyover, bouncing off the side a couple of times before coming to a rest at the bottom. Before we could react, the men piled into the Humvees and drove off at high speed.

‘Do you think it’s a bomb?’

I looked at the sack through the binoculars. ‘Only one way to find out.’

Ronald and I got into one of the Humvees and we drove up to the flyover. Ronald opened the bag and out rolled six severed heads. The heads of our missing comrades from the night’s raids.

I looked at them, recognizing Akif there. I closed my eyes as I felt a mixture of intense grief and rage course through me. A couple of the boys with us threw up and I screamed out my rage as I felt hot tears flow down my cheeks.

Our enemies had just shown us what kind of a war they were ready to wage.

And we would oblige them.

All the euphoria of the previous night had disappeared, but if our enemies had hoped that they would terrify us or make us lose our spirit with their savage act, they were very wrong. What was born in many hearts that morning was an intense rage. Five families had to say goodbye to sons, husbands and brothers—ordinary men who had sacrificed their lives so that the rest of us could be safe. And then there was Akif, killed far from home, fighting for a people and country that were not his, having given so selflessly of himself to keep us secure. Many of us wanted to lash out at the enemy and several youngsters came and volunteered for that night’s mission. I asked them all to wait till we took stock of what we could do next.

That afternoon saw us meeting with Shwetabh and his officers. He had brought a hundred and twenty-five people with him, of them twenty were the children of the soldiers and policemen who had accompanied them.

As we heard his story, we realized just what an impact the news of our resistance was having. The convoy had started from Dabolim with the forty airmen, sailors and their families there. Along the way, they had picked up eight policemen who had been holed up in their station and, having heard of the ongoing battle in Mumbai, volunteered to come along. Then there had been four NDA cadets who had been holidaying in Goa and had similarly volunteered to join the fight, and then there was Shwetabh, who had been there on honeymoon with his wife. As the senior officer present, he had assumed command of what some of the men were jokingly calling ‘Joint Task Force Feni’ after the many bottles of feni they had brought along with them. They had, of course, also brought with them all the weapons they could get their hands on, but weapons aside, the sheer presence of more than fifty people trained in the police or military significantly boosted our capabilities.

Now that they had arrived, it was time to reveal to the broader leadership of our community just what the stakes were. I could see looks of disbelief and concern cross their faces as I told them what we had learned, about the delays in getting additional troops by rail and also the intelligence about the Caliph being at the airport.

‘He’s here?’

‘Why doesn’t the government just launch some missiles or air strikes and finish him?’

That was a question we had asked as well and we relayed the answer that there was no guarantee an air strike would take him out. There needed to be a ground operation in addition to air strikes. Everyone in the room looked around at each other as they digested what that meant. We would have to stop waiting for an army to come and do what was needed.

We were that army.

Especially after the events of the morning, and the way in which the enemy had desecrated our fallen comrades, nobody was in a mood to back off, and when I asked if they were up to risking our people and resources in this mission, everybody nodded.

Shwetabh thanked everyone in the room. ‘I realize that, just a few weeks ago, if our country was under attack we’d call upon the armed forces to deal with the enemy. What all of you have done is an inspiration to every Indian, and also an inspiration to all of us in uniform. Thank you. Now, we need to get ready for tonight, as I’m sure the enemy will strike again and we need to get in touch with Delhi to see what their plans are.’

As everyone got on with their chores, Shwetabh, Ronald, Shaikh and I sat aside to plan out our forces. Shwetabh turned to me and asked a question that caught me off balance. ‘What are your orders on how best to distribute the new men and weapons?’

‘Major, you’re the military officer. You’re better placed to decide that.’

He chuckled. ‘I can command T-72 tanks into combat, but I know next to nothing about house-to-house fighting in the by-lanes of Mumbai. On that, sir, you are our resident expert. Also, the best officers I’ve served under always said that leadership in combat is earned by action, not badges or stripes. You’ve more than earned that.’

As we chatted about our plans for the coming night, Ronald suddenly remembered something. ‘Major, you’re in the Armoured Corps. Do you know how to operate a TOW missile system? I asked on the radio, and they tried to explain, but it’s not exactly something you can teach on a choppy radio line.’

‘Well, I’ve trained on various anti-tank systems,’ Shwetabh began, ‘and we’ve used the TOW in exercises. Why do you ask?’

Then his eyes lit up.

‘I see. I passed that bloody Humvee and it never struck me to ask if we captured it with live rounds or not. Aadi, we do have some more surprises in store for our bearded friends.’

That day, there was no laughter, no joking, and no banter. We had lost people before but this was different. The sheer barbarity of our enemies had struck home and everyone was going about their tasks with grim determination.

First and foremost was ensuring our defences were as strong as they could be. Mohit’s idea of turning out the lights and using the spotlights to illuminate the approach roads had worked in that one of our spotters had seen two jeeps coming and one of the IEDs had been triggered. However, without more precise co-ordinates, and without the person triggering the bomb having any visual sighting on the target, it was a lot of guesswork on the spotter’s part on when to explode the IED. In our case, the bomb had made the jeeps turn back as they realized they were headed into an ambush, but they suffered no damages or casualties. That was one area where our newcomers helped. Several of the naval airmen had got together and devised a map of our area, divided into grids. They took on the roles of spotters and triggermen so that when a particular grid location was called, the person exploding the bomb would know exactly where the target was.