[A/N: Mass release till here, from here onwards, I'll keep the update frequency of around 3 chapters per week
Added the Operation Bharat Shakti Details in Auxiliary]
The roar of Dakota engines was the first sound of India's counter-offensive to reach the besieged Kashmir valley. As the lumbering transport planes, flying perilously low through narrow mountain passes and under the sporadic harassment of Pakistani machine-gun fire from the surrounding hills, began their approach to Srinagar's precarious airfield, the men of the 1st Battalion, Sikh Regiment , peered through the small windows. Below them, plumes of smoke rose from the direction of Baramulla, a grim testament to the raiders' savage advance.
Lieutenant Colonel Dewan Ranjit Rai, the commanding officer of Sikh Regiment, was a man forged in the crucible of World War II. His face, etched with the strain of the rapid deployment, was a mask of grim determination. He knew the odds. His battalion, barely 330 strong in this first airlift, was all that stood between the tribal lashkars and the undefended capital of Kashmir. The fate of Srinagar, and perhaps the entire valley, rested on their weary shoulders.
"Alright lads," his voice boomed over the engine drone as they began their final descent, "you know the situation. Those devils are at the gates. We are the gatekeepers. No retreat. No surrender. For the honour of the Regiment, for the honour of India, we hold Srinagar. Bole So Nihal, Sat Sri Akal!"
A thunderous roar of "Sat Sri Akal!" answered him, the ancient Sikh war cry infusing the cramped fuselage with a surge of adrenaline and defiant courage.
The moment the Dakotas touched down, disgorging men and meagre supplies onto the dusty airstrip, the urgency was palpable. Refugees, terror-stricken and desperate, crowded the edges of the airfield, their faces pleading for salvation. The distant crackle of gunfire was a constant reminder of the encroaching enemy.
Colonel Rai wasted no time. A quick, terse briefing with the remnants of the Maharaja's state forces confirmed his worst fears: Baramulla had already fallen completely, its inhabitants subjected to horrific atrocities – murder, rape, and plunder on a sickening scale. The lashkars, intoxicated by easy victories and the promise of loot, were now pushing hard along the main road to Srinagar, less than thirty miles away.
"We don't have the numbers to hold a wide front," Rai told his officers, his voice sharp and decisive amidst the chaos. "We make our stand where it counts. We block the road from Baramulla. We buy time. Every hour we hold buys another plane, more men, more ammunition. Delay them until relief arrives."
Leaving a small detachment under the command of Major Somnath Sharma to secure the vital airfield – itself already coming under sporadic mortar fire – Rai led the bulk of Sikh Regiment in commandeered civilian buses and trucks, racing towards the outskirts of Baramulla. Their objective was simple, to establish a defensive line, however thin, to blunt the enemy's advance. They knew it was a desperate gamble, a near-suicidal delaying action.
They met the first wave of tribal fighters near Pattan, a small town strategically located on the road. The lashkars, a disorganized but ferocious mob armed with a mix of modern rifles supplied by Pakistan and antiquated firearms, came on in a howling wave, confident after their easy victories. They were met by the disciplined, rapid fire of Lee-Enfields and the stuttering fury of Bren guns from the hastily dug positions of Sikh Regiment.
The initial shock of meeting determined, professional resistance momentarily checked the raiders. But their sheer numbers were overwhelming. The fighting was brutal, often hand-to-hand. The Sikhs, outnumbered but unyielding, fought with the ferocity of cornered lions. Bayonets flashed, kirpans (ceremonial daggers, but deadly weapons in close combat) sung, and the battle cries of "Sat Sri Akal!" mingled with the wild shouts of the tribesmen.
Colonel Rai was everywhere, a figure of inspiration, personally directing fire, rallying his men, seemingly oblivious to the bullets whizzing past. He knew that their stand here, miles from Srinagar, was crucial. If they broke, the road to the capital would be wide open. But the pressure was relentless. Ammunition was running dangerously low. Casualties were mounting alarmingly. The thin Sikh line, stretched to its breaking point, began to buckle under the sheer weight of numbers. Rai, seeing a critical section about to be overrun, grabbed a rifle from a fallen soldier and charged forward, shouting encouragement, leading a desperate counter-attack himself to plug the gap.
A burst of machine-gun fire from a concealed enemy position cut him down.
"Colonel Sahib!" Subedar Nand Singh, a veteran NCO(Non-Commissioned Officer), cried out, frozen in horror as he watched Colonel Rai take his last breath.
The fall of their charismatic commander could have shattered the battalion. For a moment, a stunned silence fell over the nearest Sikhs. But then, a raw, vengeful fury erupted. The men of Sikh Regiment, seeing their leader sacrifice himself, found a new, terrible resolve. They would not let his death be in vain. Blood burning and eyes aflame, Subedar Nand Singh roared, "Avenge the Colonel Sahib!" The men held their ground, then exploded into a ferocious counter-surge.
For hours, under a fading October sun, the battle raged. The Sikhs gave ground slowly, stubbornly, exacting a bloody toll for every inch. They fought from behind stone walls, from ditches, from the ruins of shelled buildings. Each man knew that behind them lay Srinagar, and the hope of reinforcements.
Back at the Srinagar airfield, Major Somnath Sharma's company was fighting its own desperate battle. Under increasingly accurate mortar and machine-gun fire from tribesmen who had infiltrated the surrounding hills, they defended the airstrip with grim tenacity. Sharma, despite a fractured wrist from an earlier shell burst, moved from trench to trench, encouraging his men, directing their fire, and even helping load Bren gun magazines. He knew that if the airfield fell, the lifeline to Srinagar would be severed. His cool courage under fire was infectious.
The Dakotas continued their desperate shuttle run, each landing a gamble, each take-off a prayer. They brought in more troops – the 1st Kumaon Regiment, hardened soldiers from the Himalayan foothills, and then the first precious pieces of mountain artillery. Brigadier L.P. "Bogey" Sen had arrived to take overall command of the Kashmir operations, his presence a sign of India's growing commitment. He immediately understood the critical nature of Sikh Regiment's sacrifice at Pattan and Sharma's defense of the airfield.
"They are buying us precious time, gentlemen," Sen told his hastily assembled staff, his eyes scanning the map where the red arrows of the enemy seemed to creep ever closer. "Every man, every gun we get in now is because of their blood. We must reinforce them, relieve them, but above all, we must hold this airfield. It is our only artery."
As night fell over the battlefield near Pattan, the fighting died down, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the cries of the wounded and the distant celebratory gunfire of the frustrated raiders. The remnants of Sikh Regiment, exhausted, bloodied, and having lost their commanding officer, had been forced to withdraw slightly, but they had not broken. They had mauled the vanguard of the tribal invasion, shattered its momentum, and, most importantly, bought crucial hours. Srinagar was still Indian, for now.
Delhi – The War Room, South Block
The news of Colonel Rai's death and the desperate fighting around Pattan and Srinagar airfield reached Arjun Mehra in the sterile, map-lined confines of the War Room. He listened to the reports relayed by General Cariappa, his face impassive, though a muscle twitched in his jaw. Patel, seated beside him, let out a heavy sigh.
"Brave officers lost," Patel murmured. "The price is already high."
"The first price, Sardar-ji," Arjun corrected, his voice devoid of emotion. "There will be more. But their sacrifice, and the valor of his men, has served its purpose. They have blunted the initial spear thrust. They have bought us the critical window." He turned to Cariappa. "What is the status of PVC Brigade deployments for the Northern Front?"
"The first three PVC brigades, Prime Minister, are moving towards their forward assembly areas near Pathankot as we speak," Cariappa reported. "Rough, yes, but their morale is sky-high. They are scheduled to reinforce our Kashmir positions, allowing our regular units there to pivot to offensive operations towards Gilgit and Baltistan and then to Khyber Pakhtunkhwa once Srinagar and Gilgit Baltistan is fully secure and the raider threat is neutralized."
Arjun nodded. "Excellent. The initial shock Pakistan intended to deliver in Kashmir has been absorbed. Now, they will experience a series of shocks they did not anticipate." He strode to the grand map of the subcontinent, his finger decisively tapping points far from Kashmir.
"General Thimayya's Eastern Command," Arjun declared, his voice resonating with authority, "is to commence offensive operations into East Pakistan as per Phase One of Operation Bharat Shakti – target date would around December 15th, 1947. His objective: Occupy the Dhaka-Khulna-Jessore arc. Cripple their administration. Incite local disillusionment. We provide the military muscle; internal Bengali resentment will do the rest. East Pakistan must collapse."
His finger moved west. "The amphibious elements for the Karachi-Balochistan coastal strike – Western Front Phase I – are to be at final readiness by January 5th. Vice Admiral Katari," he referred to the officiating Chief of the Royal Indian Navy, "has confirmed his task force is prepared to support the landings at Gwadar, Pasni, and Ormara, and then neutralize Karachi port. We seize their coastline, we control their access to the sea. Pakistan becomes a landlocked entity, dependent on our goodwill."
Then, his finger landed on the Punjab border. "And General Rajendrasinhji's Western Command – Phase II. The Lahore push and the establishment of the West Punjab buffer. Three PVC brigades will support his two regular army divisions. Start date January 10th. Cross border from Ferozepur and Amritsar. Lahore must be occupied. We secure a 30-50 km deep buffer. This will be the killing blow to their morale and their industrial heartland."
Patel watched, a mixture of awe and trepidation on his face. "The timelines are aggressive, Arjun. The PVC units will still be relatively green for such major offensive roles, especially in the Punjab."
"They will learn under fire, Sardar-ji," Arjun stated coolly. "Their motivation is unmatched. Refugees, WWII veterans, ex-INA soldiers – they carry the fire of vengeance and the dream of a united India. They will be the spearhead in many instances, their sheer élan compensating for any lack of polish. Besides," a grim smile touched his lips, "Pakistan's forces will be stretched thin, reacting to our multi-pronged assaults. They expect a fight in Kashmir, perhaps a skirmish on the Punjab border. They do not expect a war of annihilation on all fronts."
He turned back to Cariappa. "Ensure the disinformation channels through our…'guest'… in the Red Fort continue to feed Rawalpindi with reports of our focus solely on Kashmir, perhaps a minor reinforcement in Punjab. Let them believe we are predictable. Let them walk deeper into the trap."
"It will be done, Prime Minister," Cariappa affirmed, a new steel in his own voice, catching some of Arjun's unwavering conviction.
Arjun looked at the map again, a silent predator observing his prey. "The bloody sacrifice of Sikh Regiment has bought us the crucial twenty-four hours to fully spring this trap. Pakistan wanted Kashmir. They will lose much, much more. Operation Bharat Shakti is now fully engaged. Inform all commands. The dice are cast."
The hum of activity in the War Room intensified. Teleprinters clattered, staff officers hurried with fresh dispatches, and the weight of a subcontinent-altering conflict settled upon the shoulders of the men present. In the bloodied snows of Kashmir, a desperate defense continued. But in the quiet, calculating mind of Arjun Mehra, the pieces were moving across a much larger board, towards a victory he had foreseen and was now ruthlessly engineering. The initial defense was morphing into a premeditated, multi-front counter-stroke designed to shatter a nation.