Free Coup D'Etat by Ben Coes Page B

This is a live engagement. Pakistan threw the first stone. From Udhampur, I have my orders: you’re going back in.”
    The young pilot’s heart leapt as he heard the words. He steered the MiG-29 on a western path toward Kargil. In his headset he heard the words.
    “Shelby One, this is Shelby Two. We’ll be with you momentarily.”
    “Roger Shelby Two,” said the pilot.
    “This is Shelby Three. I have the lead. Follow me in.”
    In less than a minute, the two Indian pilots behind Shelby One ripped past him and he pressed to catch up. Within a few seconds, the three MiG-29s were flying in a triangle formation to the north, past the right side of Mount Rungo and over Suru Valley. Past the valley, they arced right and climbed toward the clouds.
    “You’re to empty everything you have on the NLI base at Skardu,” ordered Colonel Durvan. “Avoid the city, eliminate the base. Then get back here.”
    Each MiG-29 was armed with six AA-10 Alamo missiles, which the pilots prepared to fire at Skardu Base.
    The jets flew across the Line of Control and into Pakistan airspace, skimming mountain peaks covered in snow. The lead MiG-29 broke toward the ground, followed at each wing by the two other MiGs, now pushing Mach 2.25, moving at nearly 1,400 miles per hour toward the Northern Light Infantry Regiment base at Skardu. The ridge line before Skardu was soon upon them. At their present ferocious speed, they would be at Skardu in less than a minute.
    Puffs of smoke arose in the hazy sightline above Skardu as the Pakistanis launched SAMs in the direction of the approaching attack jets.
    “Let ’em rip,” barked the lead pilot.
    The air surrounding the jets erupted in gray smoke as the pilots launched their Alamo missiles. In a matter of seconds, all eighteen surface-to-ground missiles had been fired at the base. The pilots, upon firing, swerved in three separate, well-rehearsed directions, aiming into the clouds, then dispersing, quickly foiling the efforts of the Pakistani SAMs to remove them from the sky.
    *   *   *
    At Skardu, a loud siren pierced the early morning air as soldiers ran for cover. In the sky to the south, the sight of the eighteen approaching missiles looked like an approaching flock of geese; a gathering storm, a swarm of fiery, smoke-trailed death. In a matter of seconds the Alamos descended toward their targets. The sound was high-pitched, loud, indescribable; a medley of sonic thrust with the sputtering engines of the turbofan engines.
    One by one the missiles struck Skardu Base, its buildings, the ground, the airstrip. Each missile had the power to create a crater a hundred feet wide. The main command center was incinerated as an explosion hit the ground in front of it. A series of missile strikes across the small base destroyed five other buildings, the long airstrip, and the access road connecting the base to the small city of Skardu a mile up the road.
    Skardu, Pakistan’s northernmost military facility, watch point for the Line of Control, in a brief, violent minute, was gone.

8
    PRESIDENTIAL RESIDENCE
    AIWAN-E-SADR
    ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN
    As the first light of dawn approached, as if by instinct, Omar El-Khayab sat up. It could not have been the light, for El-Khayab had been blind since the age of three. It was something else that stirred El-Khayab each morning, just as the light was beginning to peek through. Since the time he was a boy, he would awaken with the dawn, the first person in the house to get up.
    Now, at the age of sixty-four, on this day, as on every other day, the ritual continued. El-Khayab sat up on top of the simple ash strand mat he brought with him from Paris to Aiwan-e-Sadr when he was elected president of Pakistan a little more than a year ago. He sat up and took a deep breath. Out loud, he said a prayer. Then, a minute later, El-Khayab picked up a small bell and rang it. After a few moments, the door to the small bedroom opened up.
    “Good morning, Omar,” said the voice