278: Side Story ● The Desperate Situation of the Three Kingdoms 5

Southern front, the border between Pakistan and India.

The terrain here is relatively flat, with an open view.

At this moment, on the Pakistan side of the border, there is an atmosphere of grim determination.

Three Mechanized Infantry Brigades under Brigadier General Hassan, consisting of over three thousand vehicles of various types, are arranged in a massive offensive formation.

The main force consists of hundreds of Type III "Fierce Tiger" wheeled armored assault vehicles, whose 105mm low-pressure rifled guns are capable of destroying most fortifications and light armored targets.

Alongside them are an equal number of "Fierce Tiger" infantry fighting vehicles, as well as a large number of trucks, fuel tankers, and self-propelled artillery.

The soldiers have already boarded their vehicles, engines rumbling deeply, with turret-mounted weapons aimed at the seemingly peaceful Indian border outposts and fortifications opposite them.

India's garrison in the south, the 23rd Infantry Division, is indeed, as intelligence indicated, mostly equipped with outdated T-55 tanks and towed artillery.

Both in quantity and quality, they are far inferior to the Pakistani mechanized force before them.

Brigadier General Hassan stands in front of his command vehicle, raises his binoculars, and takes one last look at the Indian outpost opposite.

That saffron, white, and green flag flutters weakly in the morning breeze.

He lowers his binoculars, takes a deep breath, and issues the long-awaited order over the vehicle radio.

"Operation 'Hurricane', begin! All units, fire!"

In an instant, it is as if a thunderclap struck on flat ground!

Hundreds of armored vehicle guns and the reinforced "Fierce Lion" self-propelled artillery in the rear roar in unison!

Shells tear through the dawn sky, carrying a shrill whistle, raining down like hail on India's border outposts, barbed wire, minefields, and forward positions.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom—!"

The continuous explosions are deafening.

The Indian border outpost is reduced to ruins in the first volley.

The soldiers inside are submerged in a sea of fire and collapsing building materials before they can even sound any alarm.

The pre-set minefields are detonated by the artillery fire, the barbed wire is torn to shreds, and the rudimentary fortifications are completely razed.

The artillery preparation lasts for fifteen minutes.

As the artillery fire gradually thins, Brigadier General Hassan issues the second order without hesitation.

"Armored cluster, charge! Crush them!"

"For Pakistan!"

"Charge!"

The earth-shaking shouts mix with the roar of engines.

The steel torrent composed of three thousand armored vehicles, like a breached tide, surges across the border, crushing the obstacles destroyed by artillery, and sweeps into Indian territory.

Wheels and tracks kick up clouds of dust that blot out the sky.

The soldiers of India's 23rd Infantry Division, having just recovered from the intense bombardment, see a scene that terrifies them to their souls.

On the horizon, endless enemy armored vehicles charge over with unstoppable momentum.

"The Pakistanis are attacking! There are too many! We can't stop them!"

Panic spreads like a plague among the Indian defenders.

Sporadic counterattacks, such as a few outdated anti-tank rockets hitting the composite armor of the "Fierce Tiger" armored vehicles, only leave slight scorch marks and immediately invite even more intense retaliatory fire.

The rout begins.

Indian soldiers discard their weapons and take off their heavy military boots just to run a little faster.

"Report, Brigadier General! Our army has completely broken through the border defense line! Enemy 23rd Division is routing across the board, with almost no effective resistance organized!"

"Our vanguard has occupied all important strongholds on the outskirts of Amritsar, and the garrison in the city seems to have signs of abandoning the city!"

The excited voice of the frontline commander comes over the radio.

Brigadier General Hassan shows a victor's smile on his face and slaps his thigh forcefully.

"Good! Well done! Order the troops, do not stop, do not give the enemy any chance to catch their breath! Bypass small towns with sporadic resistance, and the main force will advance at full speed along the highway! Our target—"

He pauses, his voice resolute.

"Is Chandigarh! Take it, and the gates to New Delhi will be wide open for us!"

India's capital, New Delhi.

The atmosphere inside the Prime Minister's residence is in stark contrast to the unstoppable offensive on the southern front.

It is filled with oppression, panic, and an unease like the coming of the end of the world.

Prime Minister Narendra Patel paces anxiously in his luxurious office with expensive carpets, like a trapped beast.

His face is ashen, his eye sockets sunken, clearly having not rested well for a long time.

In front of him, the Minister of Defense, Minister of Home Affairs, Minister of External Affairs, and several senior military advisors stand with their hands at their sides, all pale and dejected, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Trash! You are all a bunch of complete trash!"

Patel stops abruptly, grabs the emergency war report from the Ministry of Defense on the table, and slams it onto the floor, scattering papers everywhere.

He roars, his voice somewhat distorted by extreme anger and fear.

"Tell me! How many days has it been? In just a few days! Kashmir is lost!"

"Now even the eastern border has been pierced through like paper! Chandigarh is in imminent danger!"

"I allocate hundreds of billions of rupees in military spending to you every year, did you take it all to feed the sacred cows in the Ganges?!"

"Why is our massive army so vulnerable like tofu in front of the Pakistanis?!"

Minister of Defense Rajnath Singh wipes the cold sweat constantly seeping from his forehead, his lips trembling, and speaks with difficulty.

"Mr. Prime Minister... we... we underestimated the degree of modernization of the Pakistani army."

"They... they possess a massive amount of drones with performance far superior to our army, and their tanks and armored vehicles have formed an absolute advantage in both quantity and quality."

"Their artillery reaction speed and accuracy... and, their soldiers' morale is very high..."

"I don't want to hear these excuses!"

Patel rudely interrupts him, pointing at his nose and scolding him.

"What I want is a solution! A solution! Do you want to wait for Pakistani tanks to drive up to the door of the Prime Minister's office?!"

"Prime Minister," the voice of Chief of General Staff General Verma is dry and hoarse.

"We no longer have enough strategic reserves. The Kashmir front has tied down our most elite troops, and the south itself is empty of forces."

"It takes time to mobilize troops from the east, and... Pakistan's air force and drones have completely mastered air superiority, and large-scale troop movements will become sitting ducks."

This sentence is like the last straw that breaks Patel's reason.

He slumps back into his chair, his eyes hollow for a moment, then immediately replaced by deeper fear.

"What about external aid?!"

He looks towards the Minister of External Affairs Swaraj as if grabbing a life-saving straw.

"What about the USA? Haven't they always promised to support us in containing... containing regional instability? And the EU, Russia!"

"Are they just going to sit by and watch Pakistan 'invade' so unscrupulously?!"