Calling Sehmat Page 15

  From the Bay of Bengal, INS Rajput relayed coded messages of huge LOGREQs (logistics requirements) befitting the size of an aircraft carrier. Messages demanding supplies of 5000 kilos of potatoes, 10,000 kilos of vegetables, 1,00,000 eggs and huge quantities of poultry and meat convinced the Pakistani think tank that it was INS Vikrant sailing in the Bay of Bengal. They were sure that no other ship would need such huge quantities of food supplies.

  The entire operation was kept a closely guarded secret, so much so that when the Naval Officer in Madras received immediate demands for unprecedented ration supplies, purportedly from INS Vikrant, he went into a spin and pressed the panic button. Mustering all the men and suppliers under his command, he directed the procurement of all available supply from the market. It was not long before the entire market was abuzz with rumours of the possible arrival of Vikrant at Madras port.

  If the Indian Navy’s intention was to make the Pakistani spies in Madras believe that INS Vikrant was in the Bay of Bengal, it had hit the bullseye. Months later, documents recovered from the sunken Ghazi carried signals sent by Pakistani headquarters confirming Vikrant’s location off the coast of Madras, and directing her to take suitable position on the east coast.

  Lieutenant Commander Sunderjeet Singh was a sincere, dedicated officer who, through sheer display of bravery and hard work, had become the Commanding Officer of INS Rajput. During war-room meetings at the Eastern Naval Command Headquarters, he had proposed a daredevil plan to counter the prevailing Ghazi threat.

  ‘Let me take my ship with a limited crew to patrol at the mouth of the harbour. If I sight Ghazi, I shall ram my ship into the submarine when it surfaces to take the final bearing,’ he roared. The plan appeared amateurish to most present, but it nevertheless outlined the young Commander’s courage to face the jaws of death. Impressed by his raw courage, he was cleared to take his ship out and drop depth charges at different designated spots. These were capable of carpet-bombing underwater and cracking the hull of a submarine by creating substantial water pressure, taking advantage of the fact that most conventional submarines cannot withstand the water pressure at the depth of 200 metres. Such was the desperation to destroy Ghazi.

  The next morning, Lieutenant Commander Sunderjeet Singh woke up early. Without disturbing his wife and son, he left the room, showered and changed into his uniform. After fixing the naval crown on his turban, he looked at himself in the mirror. His face was filled with joy and pride. Shortly before leaving home, he entered the prayer room. He closed the door behind him, knelt down and bowed before the holy Granth Sahib. Breaking the silence of the quiet, peaceful morning, Sunderjeet addressed the holy book. ‘I am thankful to you for bestowing me with everything. I have one more request to make. Having been assigned this task, please ensure that I either fulfil my duty or do not come back. I will prefer a dignified death than failure.’

  Ending his short prayer, Sunderjeet bowed again and stood up to find his wife standing behind him. Her eyes were moist but her face was glowing. His son also peeked naughtily from behind his mother. He didn’t understand much but was aware that his father was going for an important mission. His wife offered him prasad. ‘May Wahe Guru fulfil your wishes and may you be successful in your mission. I will wait for you . . .’ she said as tears streamed down her face.

  Sunderjeet thanked his brave wife and hugged her, and then he lifted his son in his arms and kissed him. They stood before the lord one last time and said their prayers.

  Sitting in the jeep, he drove off without looking back. Somewhere deep within, not only was he sure of a successful rendezvous with Ghazi, but also of sailing back with his ship’s company to tell the tale.

  Stepping on board, the cheerful Commanding Officer ordered priming of depth charges to 15 metres depth. The sailors saw a unique look of confidence on his face. They were part of his core team and had volunteered for the mission. By the time INS Rajput left port, the ammunition was primed and ready to be launched. The warship made repeat sorties into the sea, scanning and dropping depth charges in the ocean wherever they saw water bubbles.

  While leaving the Vishakhapatnam channel, he noticed heavy churning of the sea at the outer channel. It was an indication of a possible submarine diving into the ocean in a hurry. Directing his ship to that spot, he dropped depth charges and reported to the eastern command before heading into the open sea. Ghazi exploded a few hours later on the night of 4 December 1971 with all hands on board. The shattering explosion could be heard across the harbour. The Pakistani submarine was later identified from its wreckage and flotsam.

  The sinking of Ghazi sent panic waves across the Pakistani forces. In addition to a loss of face, it also had a demoralizing effect on the Commander of the forces in eastern Pakistan. Further, its 1,50,000-strong Pakistani troops were cut off from main Pakistan on all sides, including the open sea route. It was not long before the Pakistani intelligentsia realized its folly of falling into the superbly planned Indian trap. But by then irrevocable damage had been done. The Ghazi was an advanced submarine capable of sustained operations for long durations. Its explosion added to the reputation of India’s strategic brilliance and lifted the morale of the entire force.

  Lieutenant Commander Sunderjeet Singh had indeed achieved what he had set out to do.

  20

  Successful operations in the Bay of Bengal and the Arabian Sea were filling the Indian Navy’s chest with trophies of pride and honour. Meanwhile, another drama was unfolding on the west coast of India. Hangor, the Pakistani submarine, had patiently been waiting for the right target to strike. Having arrived close to the Bombay coast much before the start of the war, it sat on the ocean bed, waiting for the right moment. Hangor had many opportunities to strike at Indian warships leaving Bombay harbour prior to 3 December, but it did not do so for fear of engaging the enemy before the actual commencement of the war. Besides, it also had to ensure its own safe passage from any counter-attack. It thus waited patiently, well aware that Indian ships leaving and entering the harbour were bound to provide it with an opportunity to attack.

  Meanwhile, Hangor’s movement off the Saurashtra coast in the Arabian Sea was also reported by local fishermen. The Flag Officer Commanding in Chief, Western Naval Command (FOCINC West), had two ships in harbour at that time. INS Kirpan and Khukri were both mid-sized frigates capable of carrying out hunter-killer operations. But Khukri was greatly constrained in hunting operations due to sonar problems and was heavily dependent on its sister ship, the Kirpan, for supply of data on underwater targets. Non-availability of anti-submarine air support further hindered their operation and put the two ships at grave risk of a sub attack.

  The Hangor also had the benefit of operating in waters that offered little support to anti-submarine operations. The Arabian Sea is known for its varied temperature gradients. A normal sonar transmission is designed to travel through underwater waves and return after hitting a target, thus indicating the position of the submarine. However, in the Arabian Sea, instead of travelling straight, the variation in the temperature gradient at different levels bends the radio waves downwards, making submarine detection difficult.

  The two ships, therefore, faced an uphill task. Their only hope was to physically sight the sub when it surfaced for charging batteries or was in snorkelling mode to send a transmission. Before launching the torpedoes, a submarine needs to lock on to the target in order to set the final bearing in the guidance system of the torpedo. The two ships hoped to catch the transmission before taking evasive actions and engaging counter-attack measures.

  But Hangor was already positioned and sitting underwater in passive mode, conserving power and listening with its antennae up. It was a battle loaded in favour of the Pakistani sub from the word go.

  Captain Jitendra Kumar, the Commanding Officer of Khukri, was the Squadron Commander of the operation. He knew his limitations, risks and challenges when he received his sailing orders on 8 December 1971. His orders were to set sail in the wee ho
urs along with the sister ship. The two frigates, ships used to protect other ships, Khukri and Kirpan, had about 600 brave officers and sailors. Unlike the Pakistani Navy that had recalled all its ships to the safety of Karachi harbour after the daring attack by Indian missile boats, the two Commanding Officers were keen to take up the challenge even under such adverse conditions.

  On the night of 7 December, Captain Kumar stepped out of his house in full battle rig. His wife waited outside while he locked the door. Before sitting in the car, he handed over the house keys to her. ‘Take care and wish me luck,’ he said softly. There was mystery in his voice. ‘And tell the children that I love them.’ Taken by surprise at her husband’s unusual behaviour, his wife looked closely at his otherwise cheerful face.

  ‘But this is your key. I have mine. And where are we going at this time of the night?’

  ‘Oh, we are dining together at the Taj.’

  ‘Wow! What’s the occasion?’

  ‘Every soldier waits his whole life for an opportunity to take on the enemy head-on. That’s what we are trained for all our lives. Yet, only a select few get chosen. And by the grace of God, I have been presented with such an opportunity. Thus the celebration.’

  His wife was now worried but maintained her composure. She was aware of the ongoing war but also knew her husband too well to protest. They dined in silence, with Captain Kumar making occasional comments on the high morale of his crew. After the meal, he requested to be driven to the outer breakwater where Khukri was berthed. The drive from the hotel to Lion’s Gate, the first security checkpoint to the berthing area of the Indian Navy’s warships, barely took five minutes.

  The Commander-at-Arms was present at the checkpoint since the navy was on the highest state of alert. He peeped into the car and instantly recognized Captain Kumar. Moving a step back and standing to attention, he saluted smartly before bending his head again to face the Commanding Officer.

  ‘I am afraid, Sir, your good lady cannot accompany you to the ship. We are in “Piranha State One” at the moment [immediate state of danger or a war alert].’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Captain Kumar replied. ‘I have a special pass for her.’

  The Commander looked at the coloured slip that had been issued by the Admiral’s office. Stepping back again, he gave a thumbs up signal to the guard at the far end. A long whistle followed as the barricade began going up, clearing the way for the white vehicle to pass through.

  The car drove past the heavily guarded naval dockyard to the outer breakwater where INS Khukri was berthed behind its sister ship, the Kirpan. The Quartermaster standing watch on the forecastle, the front part of the ship, was quick to spot his Commanding Officer’s car. He pushed the side pipe in his mouth and blew two short beeps, alerting the Duty Officer and the Coxswain. As the vehicle stopped, the sentry smartly pulled open the rear door and stood aside. Before getting out of the car, Captain Kumar held his wife’s hand and looked at her with a smile on his face.

  ‘Don’t look back as you leave. It’ll make me weak. It is a privilege to serve this great country.’

  But she was far from convinced. Khukri was not fully equipped for an anti-submarine operation. She knew this as she had witnessed her husband spending most of his time repeatedly reviewing the status of repair of his ship, even on his short visit home. Pulling herself together and mustering up the courage, she asked, ‘But your ship is not fully fit. Are you not rushing it up a bit?’

  Captain Kumar was about to step out of the car. Stopping midway, he slid back into the rear seat and shut the door. ‘Cursing a flat tyre does not fix it, dear. Things will go wrong. They always do. This is a chance to make the best of what you have. Whether we fail or succeed is not important. It doesn’t take great men to do great things, just those who are dedicated to doing them.’

  His wife murmured prayers as the car raced up to the quarterdeck of Khukri and turned around to stop abreast of the ship’s brow. The sentry ran behind the car and stepped forward to open the door. Captain Kumar emerged from the car and acknowledged salutes of the guards surrounding the ship. Without looking back to even bid goodbye to his wife, he began climbing the gangway. Kumar stood at the end of the gangway till the Quartermasters lowered the side pipes. Bringing his hand down from the saluting position, he hurriedly turned right to look at the tail lights of the departing vehicle that carried his wife. Somewhere deep in his mind, he wondered if he would ever see his wife and children again.

  21

  Captain Kumar headed straight to the bridge to talk to his Executive Officer (XO).

  ‘XO, are we ready?’

  ‘Yes, Captain. All men on board, ready for sea.’

  ‘Very Good. Remove gangway. Single up all ropes.’

  ‘Aye aye, Captain, single up!’ The XO rushed to the starboard wing, lifted both his hands sideways and raised his index finger to the Forecastle and Quarterdeck Officers. Like a well-oiled machine, the many hands on the deck and jetty uncoiled the rope from the bollards, while a small crane on the jetty lifted the gangway and placed it on the tarmac.

  ‘All ropes singled up, gangway removed, Sir,’ reported the XO in a crisp and firm tone.

  ‘Very good,’ acknowledged the Captain without lifting his eyes from the signal pad which was brought to him by the signal’s Yeoman. In the navy, it is mandatory for every order to be repeated by its receiver before implementing the same. It was a practice started by the British Navy centuries ago to avoid miscommunication.

  Captain Kumar then turned towards the Engineer Officer (EO) who was standing with the status report of the ship’s engines.

  ‘Ready for sea in all respects, Sir.’

  ‘Very good, Chief. I would be needing quick responses from the engine room.’

  ‘Aye aye, Sir,’ said the EO before vanishing below the deck.

  Captain Kumar glanced at both sides of the wings before sliding into his chair. A coir handle, shackled on the bulkhead, hung loosely in line with his right arm. Captain Kumar slid his fingers around the handle and gripped it firmly to push himself up to take a quick view of the ship in front. Singled up and without the gangway in place, Kirpan was leaving a trail of thin grey smoke from its funnel, in anticipation of casting off at short notice.

  ‘Signal permission to leave harbour.’

  ‘Aye aye, Sir.’ The Signal Communication Officer (SCO) looked at his Chief Yeoman. As if on cue, the Yeoman gave a thumbs up signal to the man standing on the bridge top with the semaphore. Minutes later, the two semaphore flags in the man’s hands went up and down in rapid succession, sending a visual transmission to the fleet office located at the entrance of the breakwater. Soon after, the SCO came back to Captain Kumar and read a small text from the Fleet Commander.

  ‘From: FOCINC

  To: Khukri

  Permission granted. Take Kirpan under your command and proceed as previously directed.’

  ‘Very good,’ acknowledged the Captain.

  ‘Hold on to the head spring. Let go of all the ropes. Kirpan to cast off and take position in front. Ship’s company to remain on “action stations’’ until further orders.’

  ‘Aye aye, Sir,’ acknowledged the XO and pressed the ‘action stations’ hooter. Relaying the same message to Kirpan in front, he simultaneously took out a whistle from his front pocket and blew a long hoot. The tug master, standing by to pull the ship away from the jetty, moved astern to give room for the ships to manoeuvre. Minutes later, he was again standing in front of the Captain.

  ‘State one executed, Sir. All lines removed, forward spring on. Kirpan told to act as guide ship. Lookouts placed. Depth charges in position.’

  ‘Very good, No. 1,’ acknowledged the Captain. Raising his head, he looked at the Officer of the Watch (OOW) and spoke in a polite but crisp tone. ‘Slow ahead port.’

  It was now the Chief Coxswain’s turn to get into action. Holding the wheel firmly with both his hands, he bent towards the voice pipe and repeated the order. The OOW simultaneou
sly pulled back the right lever on the engine room repeater.

  The engine-room team sprang into action, acknowledged the order through the voice pipe and set the right propeller into motion. The ship moved ahead initially but stopped because of the forward spring. As a result, it swung left and the rear of the ship (quarterdeck) moved away from the jetty. The ship’s nose was now almost touching the jetty. Maintaining his composure and keeping his eyes on Kirpan that had also begun to move astern, the Captain waved his hand. ‘Let go forward spring.’

  ‘Let go forward spring,’ repeated the XO. Anticipating the order, the XO had already raised his hands in the air. Flapping them once, he recalled the only line that was keeping the ship attached to the jetty. Without waiting for the Forecastle Officer to confirm compliance, the XO turned towards the Captain yet again.

  ‘All lines on board, Captain. Ship’s under way.’

  ‘Very good. Stop port. Slow astern both engines. Starboard fifteen.’

  Both the OOW and the Coxswain repeated their part of the order as the ship picked up speed, moving astern.

  ‘Both engines going slow astern, fifteen of starboard wheel on, Sir,’ said the Quartermaster.

  ‘Very good. Midships.’

  ‘Midships,’ came the reply as the big wheel swung back to its centre position.

  ‘Both engines going slow astern, wheel at midship, Sir.’

  From the port wing, the Navigating Officer (NO) visually checked the distance from the Middle Ground Coastal Battery. He looked at Captain Kumar and then at the closing distance between the ship and the middle ground where the ship was slowly heading. There were no traces of worry on his face, though. Having sailed with Kumar many times before, he knew the capabilities of his Commanding Officer only too well.