The double doors at the other end of the room swung open, and a military aide strode in, calling “Attention!” He was closely followed by Rear Admiral Desai Karananidhi, commander of India’s western naval forces, and by General Sanjeev Dhanaraj, First Corps commander.
Dhanaraj took his place at the head of the table. “First of all,” he said as the other men took their seats once more, “let me say to you, Admiral Ramesh, that I’m sure I speak for all here when I offer my sincere condolences for the death of your son. He was a credit to his uniform, and his nation.”
Ramesh inclined his head gratefully. The news of Joshi’s death still burned.
“To business, then,” Dhanaraj said. “You have all read the recommendations of the Prime Minister and the directive from the Ministry of Defense. Comments?”
General Chandra Bakaya spread his hands. “Comments? Yes, sir. Has our government taken leave of its collective senses? We sit here and serenely contemplate adding the United States of America to our list of enemies? Insanity!”
Admiral Karananidhi glanced at Dhanaraj. “The Americans have allied themselves with Pakistan time and time again. Can this time be any different?”
True enough, Ramesh thought. For years India had walked a diplomatic tightrope between East and West, with an avowed policy of nonalignment with any other world power. The Americans’ inability to grasp this crucial essence of Indian foreign policy was baffling. This time, it seemed, they were openly supporting the Pakistanis, had actually fired upon and sunk an Indian warship. Joshi . . . !
Several officers were trying to talk at once. General Dhanaraj pounded the table with the fiat of his hand, demanding order, and the noise subsided. “Admiral Ramesh has joined us today to elaborate on the plan he submitted to the Ministry yesterday,” he said. “It has been designated Operation Krait.” He paused. “Admiral Ramesh?”
The admiral stood. His knees felt weak, and he leaned forward, bracing himself on the tabletop with his hands.
62
“Thank you. General. Gentlemen, since Pakistan’s, ah, demonstration yesterday, it is obvious that we must win this war quickly. Cobra, once launched, must succeed within a few days of the initial assault, or we face disaster. American support for our enemy threatens that quick victory, threatens us.”
Drawing a deep breath, he crossed to the front of the room, where he pulled down a second map over the first, one with the Indian Military Exclusion Zone marked in red. Notations pinpointed American ships, and the spot where Kalvari had been sunk.
Fighting the rising lump in his throat, he reached out, his finger touching the main American battle group that had taken up positions at sea south of the India-Pakistan border. “Our target, gentlemen, for Operation Krait.”
CHAPTER 6
0950 hours EST (2020 hours India time), 24 March The Pentagon, Washington, D.C.
An Army lieutenant colonel stood in the doorway, resplendent in his Class-A dress uniform, complete with gold aiguillettes. ‘ ‘Admiral Magruder?”
Rear Admiral Thomas J. Magruder looked up from his desk, wary. “Yes?”
‘ ‘Lieutenant Colonel Haworth, sir,” the man said. He advanced three steps and handed Magruder an envelope.
Magruder’s eyebrows raised when he saw the seal on the envelope. His eyebrows crept even higher when he saw the letterhead on which the note was written.
“This says I’m to accompany you right now.”
“Yes, sir. I have a car and driver downstairs.”
Magruder wasn’t entirely sure that this was not some kind of elaborate joke, but he stood and retrieved his uniform jacket and hat from the coat rack by the door. “Very well, Colonel. I’m at your disposal.”
Magruder was glad for the chance to escape. He hated the Pentagon. Men and women who had worked there for years had a variety of names for the place. “Puzzle Palace,” “Fudge Factory,” and “Fort Fumble” were a few common ones. His favorite, though, was “the five-sided squirrel cage.” He’d been stationed in Washington before during his career, and always he had detested the politics, the back-stabbing scramble for larger cuts of the appropriations, the bumbling inefficiency.
He was ushered into a typically black Cadillac limousine waiting in a staff parking area underneath the Pentagon. It