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Major General Arjun Mehta stood by his command post, surveying the horizon through his binoculars.

The sky was clear, but the rumble of distant artillery fire was unmistakable.

This was it Pakistan's offensive had begun.

"General, they've started their push," Colonel Rao said, approaching him with the latest intelligence. "They're coming in heavy, sir. Artillery, infantry they're throwing everything they have at us."

Mehta's jaw tightened. "How are our lines holding?"

"We're holding steady for now, but they've breached two outposts near Srinagar. We've already sent reinforcements, but the fighting is intense."

Mehta nodded. "Signal the front lines. We're going on the offensive. Prepare the men to push back hard. We'll break their momentum before they can dig in."

The order was given, and within minutes, the Indian troops were on the move.

The ground shook as tanks rolled out, supported by waves of infantry.

Indian artillery units began returning fire, their shells lighting up the night sky.

At the front, Private Ramesh Kumar braced himself as the explosions grew louder.

His platoon had been waiting in the trenches for hours, watching the enemy movements through the fog.

Now, the order had come.

It was time to fight.

"Here they come!" someone shouted from the front.

Moments later, a barrage of machine-gun fire tore through the air, and the soldiers rose to meet the oncoming wave of Pakistani troops.

Ramesh's heart pounded as he fired his rifle, the recoil jarring him back with each shot.

The enemy was close, too close but he held his ground, watching as his fellow soldiers did the same.

They'd been prepared for this, and they weren't going to let the enemy break through.

Up on the ridge, Mehta watched the battle unfold. "How's the northern sector looking?" he asked, turning to Rao, who was monitoring the radio communications.

"Better than expected, sir. They tried to flank us, but we managed to repel them. Our artillery is making a big difference."

"Good," Mehta said, his voice calm despite the chaos. "Tell our boys to keep pushing. Don't give them a chance to regroup."

In the trenches below, the fighting raged on. The Pakistani forces were relentless, but the Indian troops were determined.

With every passing minute, the tide of battle seemed to turn in India's favor.

Ramesh and his comrades, covered in mud and smoke, fought with a sense of purpose that only grew stronger as they held their ground.

Suddenly, a Pakistani shell exploded nearby, sending dirt and debris flying through the air.

Ramesh ducked just in time, feeling the heat of the blast as it ripped through the trench.

He looked up to see his sergeant, Desai, already shouting orders.

"Get those mortars ready!" Desai yelled, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "We're going to blast them back across the border!"

Ramesh quickly joined the others in preparing the mortars, his hands shaking as he worked.

The noise was deafening now artillery fire, gunshots, and the screams of wounded men all blending together into a cacophony of war.

But amid the chaos, Ramesh felt a sense of clarity.

They were going to win this.

They had to.

The counteroffensive began soon.

Indian tanks rumbled across the battlefield, smashing through enemy lines while infantry advanced under cover of artillery fire.

The Pakistanis, caught off guard by the ferocity of the attack, began to falter.

"General, our men have retaken the outposts near Srinagar!" Rao called out from the command post. "They're pushing the enemy back!"

Mehta allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. "Good. Now let's make sure they don't come back. Order the northern units to press the attack. We've got them on the run."

The Indian Army's momentum was unstoppable now.

Pakistani forces, disorganized and outgunned, began to retreat.

But the retreat wasn't enough for Mehta.

He knew this was their moment to take control of the situation.

"Rao, relay the order, advance on all fronts. I want us to push them out of Kashmir entirely."

The order went out, and Indian forces surged forward.

Tanks, infantry, and artillery moved as one, driving the enemy back with overwhelming force.

Within hours, the Pakistani lines had collapsed, and Indian troops were in full pursuit.

Ramesh, still covered in dirt and blood, watched as the enemy fled across the battlefield.

His body ached from the hours of fighting, but he felt a surge of pride.

They had done it.

They had won.

"Don't stop now!" Desai yelled. "We're not done yet!"

As the battle wound down, Mehta received the message he had been waiting for.

A direct order from Prime Minister Rohan Varma himself.

"General Mehta," Rao said, handing him the communiqué, "the Prime Minister has authorized us to begin the next phase."

Mehta read the message quickly, his eyes widening slightly. "He wants us to advance into Gilgit-Baltistan."

"Are we ready for that, sir?" Rao asked, his voice cautious.

"We're more than ready," Mehta replied. "We've been preparing for this for weeks. The Pakistanis won't know what hit them."

That night, as the soldiers rested and tended to their wounded, Mehta gathered his officers for a final briefing.

The plan was simple but ambitious: while Pakistan's forces were in disarray, India would push deep into Gilgit-Baltistan, securing the region before winter set in.

"The Prime Minister's made it clear," Mehta said, his voice steady. "This isn't just about defending Kashmir. We're going on the offensive now. We take Gilgit-Baltistan, and we hold it. This is our chance to secure the northern frontier once and for all."

The officers nodded, understanding the mission.

The next few days would be crucial.

Success would mean not only securing Kashmir but also dealing a decisive blow to Pakistan's ambitions in the region.

"Get the men ready," Mehta ordered. "We move out at first light."

As the officers dispersed to prepare their troops, Mehta took a moment to himself, standing alone in the cold night air.

He looked out at the battlefield, now quiet

But he wasn't worried.

His men were ready, and with the Prime Minister's bold strategy, he knew they would succeed.

In New Delhi, Rohan Varma stood in his office, staring out at the city lights.

The battle in Kashmir had been a victory, but he knew the war was far from over. Gilgit-Baltistan was the key to securing India's northern borders, and it was a prize that Pakistan would not give up easily.

Rohan turned to Neeraj, who was standing by his desk. "It's time, Neeraj. Send the final order. We're taking Gilgit-Baltistan. Activate the other 2 front of war now."

Neeraj nodded, picking up the phone to relay the command. "Yes, Prime Minister."