Chapter 4: Theft of Aircraft
The dust from the explosion at Camp 72-V hadn't even settled before the geopolitical landscape of South Asia began to shift. The destruction wasn't just a military loss; it was a psychological decapitation.
1. The Press Conference: A War of Words
In Islamabad, the air inside the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was thick with tension and the frantic clicking of camera shutters. The Pakistani Foreign Minister stood behind a mahogany lectern, his face a mask of controlled fury. He slammed a folder onto the desk, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
Exterior Minister:"What occurred at Camp 72-V was not a mere accident or a local insurgency. It was a cold, calculated act of state-sponsored terrorism. Our preliminary intelligence points to a singular source: the Research and Analysis Wing (R&AW) of India. We have evidence of sophisticated explosives that do not exist in this region. If New Delhi thinks they can incinerate our soldiers in their sleep and remain unanswered, they are gravely mistaken. We are moving our heavy divisions to the Line of Control as we speak. This is an act of war."
Hours later, the response from New Delhi came—not from a panicked ministry, but from the office of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. The statement was brief, icy, and delivered with the "Iron Lady's" signature lack of tremor.
Indian Spokesperson:"The accusations from Islamabad are as baseless as they are desperate. It is convenient to blame a neighbour for the catastrophic failure of one's own internal security. If Pakistan's military infrastructure is so fragile that it collapses under its own weight, that is a matter for their GHQ, not our government. However, let it be clear: any movement of Pakistani divisions toward our borders will be met with a response that will make the events at Camp 72-V look like a minor oversight."
2. The Pulse of the People
While the leaders traded threats, the streets of Pakistan burned with a different kind of fire. In Lahore and Rawalpindi, the atmosphere was funereal yet volatile.
In the marketplaces, the usual haggling over silk and spices was replaced by huddled groups around transistor radios. When the casualty count—over three hundred—was read aloud, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the Anarkali Bazaar. It was followed by a roar of grief.
Black flags were hoisted on rooftops. In Peshawar, students marched through the streets, chanting slogans of "Inteqam" (Revenge). To the common citizen, the "Mountain Ghost" wasn't just a spy; it was a demonic force that had bypassed their "impenetrable" defences. The sense of security that had existed since the 1965 ceasefire had evaporated overnight. Fear began to take root—a suspicion that if a single entity could do this to a fortified camp, nowhere was safe.
3.The Architect's Indifference
But the architect of that chaos—Karan—watched it all with quiet indifference. From a simple room in a village near Sargodha, he observed the political theatre play out through radio newscasts and market gossip. He knew Pakistan wouldn't dare open war. Not yet. Their bravado was a mask for the sheer confusion paralysing their high command.
4.The New Identity: The "Grumpy Veteran"
That room, once belonging to Rashid Khan, a reclusive ex-army driver, was now Karan's temporary domain. The real Rashid Khan had been quietly eliminated.
> [Body Sold: +10 G.P]>
Karan had taken the identity with calm precision. The face, the speech, the accent—all perfect. Labels sewn into shirts, hidden ration cards, even the dog-eared photo album in the trunk—it all reinforced the illusion.
5.The Tea Stall Conversation
Karan ventured out to a small, soot-stained tea stall near the Jhal Chakian Canal. He sat in the corner, his back to a damp brick wall, nursing a cup of bitter, over-boiled tea.
A young mechanic in greasy overalls sat at the bench nearby, wiping his hands on a rag and venting to a colleague. "The Sergeant is breathing down our necks about the Starfighters again. Says the hydraulics are leaking. How are we supposed to fly a war if the planes are bleeding oil on the tarmac?"
Karan let out a dry, rasping chuckle, pitched perfectly for his new persona. He didn't look up from his tea.
Karan (as Rashid): "Hydraulics? In my day, we worried if the brakes on the Bedford trucks worked. You boys are lucky if those 'Eagles' even catch the wind. They look like expensive paperweights to me."
Karan's Internal Monologue:Paperweights is an understatement. The F-104 is a missile with tiny wings slapped onto a J79 engine. In my time, we called them 'Widowmakers' for a reason—they have the glide ratio of a falling brick. But go ahead, kid. Tell me how 'high-tech' your leaking 1950s relic is.
The mechanic looked over, visibly annoyed by the old man's dismissiveness. "Careful, old man. Those 'paperweights' are the only thing keeping the Indians awake at night. One F-104 is worth a thousand of your old supply trucks. It's supersonic—faster than sound itself."
Karan (as Rashid): (Taking a loud, wet sip of tea) "Faster than sound, eh? Can't outrun a bad seal or a lazy mechanic, can it? I've seen better engineering on a rusted bicycle in the Multan bazaar."
Karan's Internal Monologue:Supersonic? Sure, in a straight line. But your radar cross-section is massive, your turn radius is abysmal, and you're currently being maintained by a guy who thinks 'hydraulics' is a magic word. You're so confident, yet you haven't realised that the 'Ghost' who took out Camp 72-V is sitting right next to you, judging your tea choice.
The mechanic scoffed, turning back to his friend. "Ignore him. These old-timers think the world stopped turning in '47. They don't understand the power of a modern Air Force."
Karan (as Rashid):"Maybe. But a bird with no wings is just a chicken, yaar. Enjoy your shiny toys while they're still in the nest. Once they're gone, all you've got left is the dirt."
Karan's Internal Monologue:That's right. Dismiss me. I'm just a grumpy old man. I'm the 'insignificant' variable you've forgotten to account for. Tomorrow morning, you're going to walk into Hangar 1 and find it as empty as your Colonel's promises.
6. Infiltration: The Near-Miss
Midnight. Karan moved through the irrigation ditches toward the perimeter of PAF Base Sargodha. His Stealth Level 4 made him a phantom. He reached the rusted utility gate. Click. The lock yielded in seconds. He slipped inside, pressing his back against a corrugated metal shed as a patrol jeep idled nearby.
Suddenly, a guard stepped away from the jeep, walking toward Karan's hiding spot to light a cigarette. The man was barely two feet away. Karan didn't move. He activated the peak of his Stealth ability, matching his body temperature to the cold metal behind him and slowing his heart rate to a near-stop.
The guard exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, his eyes scanning the "empty" shadow where Karan stood. The soldier's subconscious screamed that something was there, but his eyes saw nothing but darkness. He grunted, tossed the match, and walked away.
7. The Ghost Hangars: The Re-Evaluation
Karan slipped into Hangar 1. Twelve F-86 Sabres and twelve F-104 Starfighters stood in perfect rows.
"System," Karan whispered. "Price check: F-104 Starfighter."
> [Item: Lockheed F-104 Starfighter]
> [Sell Value: 600 G.P]>
Karan froze. "Six hundred? System, this is a supersonic interceptor! Why is it worth less than a high-end sniper rifle?"
> "Host, the System evaluates objects based on molecular utility, not prestige. The F-104 is nicknamed the 'Widowmaker.' The System does not pay premiums for defective suicide machines.">
"It's not just metallurgy!" Karan hissed. "Think about the causality. I am deleting the primary air defence of a sovereign nation months before a major war. Doesn't 'Historical Deviation' have a market value?"
The System went silent for a microsecond.
> [Analyzing Strategic Impact...]
> [Causality Shift Detected: 8.4% Variance in 1971 Conflict Outcome]
> "Host, your logic is... statistically sound. The removal of these assets creates a 'Timeline Vacuum.' Recalculating."
>
> [Base Sell Value Doubled due to Strategic Significance]
> [New Sell Value: 1,200 G.P per F-104]
>
The massive metal bodies disappeared in a silent, blue-white shimmer.
F-86 Sabres (12):12 \times 1,400 = 16,800 G.P
F-104 Starfighters (12): 12 \times 1,200 = 14,400 G.P
F-6 (6):6 \times 400 = 2,400 G.P
Mirage III (4): 4 \times 800 = 3,200 G.P
> [Total Transaction: 36,800 G.P]
> [New Balance: 38,900 G.P]>
8. Escape
Karan retraced his steps, moving past the same dogs and the same tired guards. At the breach in the fence, he paused, looking back at the darkened, empty hangars.
"Now that's a fair day's work," he grumbled.
By dawn, Karan was back in the vegetable lanes of Sargodha, a plain man in a dusky shawl. No one knew that just hours ago, he had crippled an air force and negotiated with a god-like system. Karan smiled, his mind already moving toward the next objective. The 1971 war hadn't started yet, but for Pakistan, the sky had just fallen.