A New India
Chapter 213 - 213: Total War - I

The pre-dawn light over Cairo West Airbase was very faint, casting small shadows over the MiG-15s and MiG-17s neatly lined up in their hangars.

The silence was shattered moments later by the thunderous roar of RAF Canberra bombers, their engines cutting through the sky like harbingers of destruction.

Onboard the lead aircraft, Flight Lieutenant James Cartwright tightened his grip on the controls, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Visual on target," Cartwright reported over the radio.

His gaze locked on the airfield below, its runways and hangars vulnerable under the wide desert sky.

"Steady… steady…" came the calm voice of his squadron leader. "Payload release in three… two… one… mark!"

Cartwright flipped the release switch, and a cascade of bombs tumbled out, their descent swift and precise.

Below, the first explosion ripped through the main runway, a plume of smoke and fire erupting into the sky.

The second wave of bombs followed, tearing into the hangars, where the MiGs sat helpless, some fueled but unable to launch.

On the ground, Captain Ahmed, an experienced Egyptian air force officer, burst out of the command bunker.

The shockwaves from the first blasts reverberated through the ground as he shouted orders to his men. "Get those planes airborne! I don't care how, just get them off the ground!"

"Sir, the radar's been hit!" yelled a young technician, his face pale with panic as he sprinted toward Hassan. "We can't coordinate launches!"

Hassan turned sharply, gripping the man by his shoulders. "Forget the radar! Launch manually if you have to. If those planes stay grounded, they're nothing but sitting ducks."

At the perimeter, Lieutenant Omar Rashid crouched behind the anti-aircraft battery he commanded.

His voice was firm as he relayed orders through his radio. "Battery One, align with my coordinates. Target high at two o'clock! They're making another pass!"

The anti-aircraft guns roared to life, filling the sky with bursts of flak.

One bomber shook violently as shrapnel tore through its fuselage, and moments later, it veered sharply to the left, spiraling downward before crashing in a fiery explosion.

The soldiers around Rashid cheered, but their celebration was short-lived as another wave of bombers appeared on the horizon.

"Keep firing!" Rashid shouted. "Don't let up!"

In the cockpit of another bomber, Cartwright adjusted his altitude to evade the anti-aircraft fire. "Squadron Leader, we've got heavy resistance down there. Should we adjust the formation?"

"Negative," came the reply. "We're almost clear of the main targets. Maintain focus."

The second wave of bombs hit the airfield with brutal precision, tearing through the remaining hangars and setting off secondary explosions.

One blast was so powerful that Ahmed was thrown to the ground, dust and debris raining down around him.

A voice crackled through Ahmed handheld radio. "Captain, we've managed to launch five MiGs! They're engaging the bombers now."

Ahmed clambered to his feet, coughing as he waved at his men to regroup. "Good. Tell them to target their formation leaders. We need to disrupt their coordination."

In the sky, the Egyptian MiGs climbed sharply, engaging the bombers with bursts of cannon fire.

One MiG scored a direct hit on the tail of a Canberra, sending it spinning toward the desert floor.

But the Egyptian pilots were outnumbered and under-equipped, and for every bomber they damaged, another two dropped their payloads without interruption.

"Captain," called Lieutenant Rashid, running toward Ahmed. "We've lost the radar completely. The anti-aircraft guns are down to their last rounds, and the airstrip is no longer operational."

Ahmed surveyed the destruction around him craters where the runway had been.

His voice was quiet but resolute. "Order the evacuation of all wounded personnel. We'll regroup at Ismailia. This airbase is finished."

----

Out at sea, the HMS Albion, a massive British aircraft carrier, was alive with activity.

On its deck, Sea Hawk jets lined up for their next mission as deckhands moved efficiently to refuel and rearm them.

Captain Edward Sinclair, standing on the bridge, peered through his binoculars at the distant Egyptian coastline.

"Status report," Sinclair said, turning to his operations officer.

"Cairo West is effectively neutralized, sir," the officer replied. "No reports of remaining air resistance. Coastal artillery near Port Said and Suez City has not yet engaged, but intelligence suggests they're repositioning for defense."

Sinclair nodded. "Keep the Sea Hawks on alert. If that artillery so much as twitches, I want it taken out before it can do any damage. This blockade needs to hold."

Moments later, the first squadron of Sea Hawks launched from the carrier, their engines roaring as they ascended into the sky.

Their orders were to suppress any coastal defenses that could threaten the incoming paratroopers.

Flying low over the Mediterranean, the jets cut an dangerous path toward the Egyptian shore.

On the coast, Lieutenant Samir Mahmoud, commanding a coastal artillery unit near Port Said, scanned the horizon with his binoculars. "Incoming jets!" he shouted to his crew. "Hold fire until I give the order."

The jets approached rapidly, their silhouettes growing larger with each passing second.

The first missiles struck moments later, exploding with pinpoint accuracy and throwing sand and debris into the air.

Mahmoud was thrown to the ground, but he quickly scrambled back to his feet, yelling at his men. "Counter-fire! Now!"

One of the surviving guns managed to fire, sending a shell hurtling toward the lead jet.

It missed by inches, but the shockwave caused the jet to swerve sharply.

The pilot regained control just in time to unleash another missile, obliterating the artillery position.

Mahmoud coughed as he emerged from the rubble, his uniform torn and his ears ringing. "Fallback positions!" he shouted, waving his remaining men toward the trucks waiting nearby. "We can't hold here!"

---

At a makeshift camp near Ismailia, Major Arun Prakash of the Rajputana Rifles watched the distant flashes of explosions.

He lowered his binoculars and turned to Captain Suraj Mehra, his second-in-command.

"The British are softening up the defenses for their paratroopers," Prakash said grimly. "They'll hit Port Said and Suez City first, but it won't be long before they push south toward Cairo. If they come through here, we'll be in their path."

Mehra nodded. "Our men are ready, sir. The Gurkhas are reinforcing the eastern perimeter. If the British make the mistake of engaging us, they'll regret it."

Prakash's face remained stoic. "Good. But remind them of their orders, we do not fire unless fired upon. We are here to defend, not provoke."

In the camp, the soldiers of the Rajputana Rifles prepared for what they knew was coming.

The Gurkhas, famed for their ferocity in battle, sat quietly sharpening their khukuris.

Riflemen inspected their weapons with meticulous care, checking and rechecking their ammunition.

A young rifleman approached Mehra, his voice hesitant. "Sir, do you think they'll come this way?"

Mehra placed a reassuring hand on the soldier's shoulder. "If they do, we'll be ready. Stick to your training, and trust your comrades."

Nearby, Prakash gathered his senior officers for a briefing. He pointed to a map spread out on a crate. "Our forward positions are here," he said, indicating a line just south of the canal. "If the British paratroopers land near Ismailia, they'll likely push toward these supply routes. We can't let them reach Cairo unchallenged."

"What about the Gurkhas?" one officer asked.

"They'll hold the flanks," Prakash replied. "If the British try to outmaneuver us, the Gurkhas will cut them off."