A New India
Chapter 215 - 215: Total War - III

The desert night had always been quiet, but this silence was different.

Captain Malik sat in the passenger seat of the lead truck, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon.

The convoy moved steadily through the dusty tracks near Ismailia, their headlights dimmed to avoid detection.

The trucks carried vital supplies ammunition, food, and medical aid for the Rajputana Rifles stationed farther inland.

Just few minutes before they have recieved the report that United Kingdom has engaged with them in battlefield.

Malik couldn't shake the unease that this news brought to him, and neither could the driver, Subedar Ram Singh.

"Sir, doesn't feel right, this silence," Singh muttered, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"It never does," Malik replied. He leaned out of the window, scanning the dunes under the faint moonlight. "Keep the convoy tight. We're too exposed here."

The radio crackled faintly, and Major Arun Prakash's voice came through. "Malik, status?"

"No movement, sir," Malik responded. "But I've got a bad feeling about this stretch. Feels like we're being watched."

"Stay sharp," Prakash warned. "We just ended our battle with British units in the area. They're still probing our lines, and they don't know who they're shooting at. Stick to your route, but keep your defenses ready."

"Understood," Malik said, but his unease only deepened.

He glanced at the young soldier riding in the back of his truck, gripping his rifle nervously. "Tell the men to keep their eyes open. No mistakes tonight."

The convoy pressed on, its rumble muffled by the dunes.

Overhead, the faint noise of jet engines went unnoticed at first.

It was Subedar Singh who stiffened, glancing upward. "Sir, you hear that?"

Malik froze, tilting his head.

The noise grew louder, unmistakable now. He grabbed his binoculars, scanning the dark sky.

Then he saw them: three fast-moving Hawker Hunter jets closing in rapidly.

"Aircraft incoming!" Malik barked into the radio. "Get off the road! Scatter the convoy now!"

The trucks veered sharply, trying to disperse into the open desert, but it was too late.

The lead jet roared overhead, releasing its payload with brutal precision.

The first bomb landed squarely on a truck carrying ammunition, the explosion tearing it apart in a fiery blast that lit up the night.

The shockwave knocked Malik forward, slamming him into the dashboard as he shouted, "Get down!"

The second bomb hit a supply truck farther back, the fireball sending shards of metal and burning crates flying into the sky.

Soldiers scrambled from the vehicles, dragging the wounded away from the flames.

Smoke billowed upward, obscuring the stars.

"Medic!" Malik shouted, staggering out of the truck.

His ears rang, but he kept moving, pulling one of his men out from under the wreckage. "Move! Get to cover!"

Overhead, the jets banked for another pass, their engines screaming.

A young gunner frantically set up a MANPADS, his hands shaking as he tried to lock onto the lead aircraft.

Malik crouched beside him. "Steady! Wait for them to get closer!"

The jets came in low, their silhouettes outlined by the fires below.

The gunner fired, the missile streaking upward, but it missed by a fraction, exploding harmlessly in the air.

The jets unleashed another wave of bombs, and Malik could only watch as another truck was obliterated.

"Major Prakash, come in!" Malik shouted into his radio. "The convoy's been hit! We're taking heavy losses ammunition and medical supplies are gone. Casualties mounting!"

Prakash's voice was urgent. "Hold your position. Reinforcements are on the way. Engage only if absolutely necessary."

The jets finally disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of wreckage and screams.

Malik stood among the devastation, his fists clenched as he surveyed the scene.

The desert was littered with burning debris, and the lifeless bodies of his men.

Back aboard the lead jet, Squadron Leader James Howard glanced back at the devastation below. "Target neutralized," he reported over the radio. "Looks like a major logistics point."

His wingman replied, "No movement left down there. Heading back to base."

Howard adjusted his altitude, his feeling was warning him despite the apparent success of the mission.

As the jets flew back over the Mediterranean, a faint transmission crackled through his headset. "Squadron Leader, intel update. Potential neutral forces reported near Ismailia. Repeat, possible neutral forces in the area. Stand by for confirmation."

The color drained from Howard's face. Neutral forces?

His mind raced, replaying the bombing run in his head.

The trucks had no markings, no obvious signs of allegiance but what if?

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, gripping the controls. "Call it in. Now."

-----

The British command post erupted into chaos when the report reached them.

General Charles Keightley, overseeing the Suez operations, slammed his fist onto the table as the intelligence officer stammered through the details.

"You're telling me we not only engaged in a firefight with Indian troops but also hit an Indian convoy?"

Keightley demanded, his voice cold with fury.

"It's possible, sir," the officer admitted, his face pale. "The area was marked as hostile, but we've received reports of neutral forces operating nearby. The visibility at night—"

"Don't give me excuses!" Keightley snapped. "Do you have confirmation or not?"

The room fell silent.

Selwyn Lloyd, the Foreign Secretary, turned to Keightley, his expression serious. "If this gets out, it's not just a military blunder, it's a diplomatic disaster. Our intel expected some Indian troops in Egypt and we thought them to be neutral throughout the war but this is directly forcing them to enter war and India's Prime Minister won't let this slide. You know how volatile Rohan is."

Keightley gritted his teeth. "We'll handle it internally. Tighten communications. No one speaks a word of this until we have confirmation."

----

In New Delhi, the news of both attack reached Prime Minister Rohan within hours.

He was in his private office when General Singh entered, his face grave. Rohan looked up sharply. "What's happened?"

Singh handed him a report. "British jets bombed one of our supply convoys near Ismailia last night. Multiple casualties, including at least twelve dead. Ammunition and medical supplies destroyed."

For the time ever since he planned this Rohan felt guilty.

Now he has in his hand blood of 12 soilders who died on foreign land before the war even started

Rohan's hand tightened around the report as he read the details. "This wasn't a mistake," he said quietly, his voice trembling with restrained anger. "This is now personal, this cannot be ignored. F**k my plans, f**k everything I want revenge."

General Negi, seated nearby, nodded. "Sir, we believe they didn't realize the convoy was Indian and though nobody will want to say but we should have expected casualties like this when we planned everything or maybe we did but no one wanted to speak it out loud".

Rohan stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. "Enough is enough. This isn't just about Egypt anymore. You are right maybe we were so blinded in our quest of power that we push knowingly our soldiers into abyss. But now it's time for redemption".