Awakening of India - 1947

(Flashback)

Yan'an, Communist Headquarters, China – Late April 1948

The limestone caves of Yan'an had echoed with confident voices for months now. Maps spread across wooden tables showed red arrows sweeping across northern China, marking the Red Army's relentless advance.

The Kuomintang was crumbling, just as Mao had predicted. And why wouldn't it? It was corrupt and divided after all, regardless of how much of a strong front they put up for the public.

It was only destined for the dustbin of the history.

But, then came the reports that changed everything.

The first anomaly arrived with a mud-caked messenger from the Fourth Field Army.

A supply depot, buried deep in the mountains and known only to a handful of trusted comrades, had been hit with precision. Not ransacked, but targeted.

KMT forces had somehow managed to know the exact location of the ammunition stores, the radio equipment, the medical supplies. They'd taken whatever that was of some value and destroyed the rest and vanished before reinforcements could arrive.

General Lin Biao's usually confident reports now carried undertones of bewilderment. "The enemy struck at dawn," he explained to the assembled leadership. "We highly suspect that they knew our patrol schedules and our guard rotations.

Or else, they would have been exposed before they could have struck. This wasn't luck, Comrade Chairman. This was, without a doubt, an intelligence. Whether it was from outside, or from within, we do not know."

More reports followed. A planned river crossing, essential for the spring offensive, had been disrupted by KMT forces who seemed to know exactly when and where the Red Army would attempt the maneuver.

A propaganda meeting in a remote village had been raided just as the local party secretary began his address. Each incident was small, tactical rather than strategic, but they were slowly adding up to something large, the first real setbacks in probably months.

Mao Zedong sat in his simple wooden chair, cigarette smoke curling around his weathered face. The confidence that had marked his recent speeches was nowhere to be seen.

"The Kuomintang is a dying dog," he muttered, stubbing out his cigarette with more force than necessary. "They are a bunch of incompetent fools who thinks they have the Mandate. How do they suddenly know our supply lines? About our movements with such... such isolated accuracy?"

Zhou Enlai, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward. "Comrade Chairman, our intelligence confirms no direct American intervention on this scale. Their aid remains conditional, tied to Nanking's reform pledges, which Chiang has failed to meet.

As for a mole, the possibility is slim to none. We always select the candidates that shares the similar thoughts as ours, not to mention, only handful of high level generals are aware of such sensitive information. So, it's impossible for any possibility of internal intel leak.

But seeing the pattern of attacks, and these scattered, precise counter-strikes... it suggests an external source of information. A very discreet one."

A young intelligence officer, his hands trembling slightly as he approached the leadership table, presented a coded intercept. The message was fragments, pieces of a larger puzzle, something about "...insights from an Asian ally..." and "...our brothers understand the terrain..." .

The words were ambiguous enough to be dismissed as desperate KMT morale-boosting, yet they lingered in the smoky air of the cave.

Mao's eyes narrowed as he studied the document. "India." The word hung in the air like an accusation.

"Mehra. Their Prime Minister. He spoke of 'Asian solidarity' at the UN. He is ruthless, ambitious. He broke Pakistan in months." His voice carried suspicion, not certainty. "Is he now interfering in our revolution? Is this his so-called 'non-alignment'?"

The question was met with uncomfortable silence. Zhou Enlai finally spoke. "His nation appears focused internally, Chairman. Their recent reforms and re-structuring of the government is indeed very ambitious domestic agenda.

And if this intelligence assistance is indeed from Delhi, then it's a subtle form of intervention, without involving any direct arms support. It's more likely an attempt to destabilize us and to prolong this war, all while Mehra maintains India's non-alignment.

But this is still just a theory. After all, we haven't done anything to offend Mehra, for him to turn against us. And just like other nations of the west, many people still think that KMT has the upper hand, thanks to Americans."

The Communist high command was left grasping at shadows, frustrated by an invisible hand that seemed to be disrupting their otherwise inexorable march to victory. They had suspicions but no concrete evidence.

The source remained tantalizingly elusive, a mystery that gnawed at their confidence.

Moscow – The Kremlin – Late April 1948

The reports from China crossed Stalin's desk with his morning tea, each telegram adding another piece to a puzzle that was becoming increasingly frustrating to solve.

Molotov stood at attention, his face betraying nothing of the concerns that were mounting within the Kremlin's inner circles.

"Comrade General Secretary," Molotov began, his voice measured, "Mao's forces are experiencing unexpected tactical difficulties.

The Kuomintang, despite its inherent weaknesses, appears to be receiving highly accurate, actionable intelligence for specific operations. The source remains... unconfirmed."

Stalin's grunt was noncommittal, but his fingers drummed against his desk—a tell that Molotov had learned to recognize over the years. "Unconfirmed? Or merely undocumented by our comrades in Beijing?"

He lit his pipe, the flame illuminating his weathered features. "What of India? This Mehra—he plays all sides, no?"

"His Ambassador Gromyko spoke highly of his industrial proposals, Comrade General Secretary. Very substantial terms. Access to raw materials, steel output. A typical pragmatic partnership." Molotov's response was careful.

Stalin smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "He promises us steel while potentially selling intelligence to our enemies, eh. He offers the Americans a bulwark against communism while maintaining his 'neutrality.'

A truly non-aligned position, it seems, is one that serves only his own interests." The suspicion was there, growing stronger with each report, but Stalin was too experienced to voice certainty without proof.

"His influence is bound to expand in South Asia, Comrade General Secretary. Especially after, India is now the de-facto regional power in the Indian subcontinent." Molotov paused, choosing his words carefully, "there are predictions that he may be subtly extending his reach into China, without firing a single shot."

Stalin puffed on his pipe, the smoke creating patterns in the air. "Let him do that, Molotov. Let him believe he is shaping destiny. The world is a complex game, and the more pieces on the board, the more opportunities will arise.

And this Mehra...is a new piece. We will observe him and let him exhaust himself in his schemes. For now, his disruption of the Western order remains useful."

The Soviet leader's eyes grew distant, calculating. "But his potential support for the Kuomintang... that bears watching. We may need to subtly remind our Chinese comrades of the true source of their strength, should this continue."

Washington D.C. – The State Department – Late April 1948

The morning briefing in the State Department carried an unusual undercurrent of confusion. Reports from China painted a picture that didn't align with American intelligence assessments of the KMT's capabilities.

The Kuomintang was supposed to be on its last legs, yet they were achieving tactical successes that seemed to defy logic.

Secretary of State George Marshall spread the latest intelligence reports across the conference table. "Gentlemen, we have a puzzle. The KMT hasn't pulled off coordinated operations like this in months. They're running on fumes, their morale is shot, and their leftover supply lines are stretched to breaking point.

Yet somehow, they're achieving these pinpoint strikes."

Ambassador Warren Austin shook his head. "Our intelligence confirms no American or British military involvement, General. This appears to be purely from their own side. Though there is also a possibility that KMT was given support from someone else."

"Given by whom?" The question came from President Truman, who had joined the briefing unexpectedly. His presence immediately elevated the tension in the room.

"That's what we're trying to determine, Mr. President," Austin admitted, his discomfort evident. "The source of this intelligence remains... elusive. There's some speculation, but nothing concrete."

Marshall leaned back in his chair. "Well, Prime Minister Mehra did speak of China as an area of 'mutual concern' during our meeting in New York. He also demonstrated the India's present capabilities during the Pakistan conflict.

And it most definitely involved their intelligence agency, what was it called again? Ah yes, Intelligence Bureau.

It's... possible... that he's lending assistance, without our explicit knowledge or coordination."

Truman's expression was a mixture of frustration and slight admiration.

"So, if it is Mehra, he delivers on his promise without actually having to openly align himself. He uses his intelligence to prolong the Chinese Civil War, tying up the Communist resources, and for us, distracting Moscow.'"

"It would be a clean operation, if it's him," Marshall agreed. "But for now, it's just speculation. A very convenient theory that we have no means of proving without risking his cooperation on other vital fronts."

The room fell silent as the implications sank in.

"But if it's indeed him, then how come he even got such information," Truman muttered.

"India is fresh out of British colonial rule. It makes little sense for them to possess such intelligence."

Marshall too frowned as he though about this. "Well...one way to find out I guess. We need to discuss about this with our British counterparts. If anyone knows about India's internal workings, it's them."

Others in the room agreed as well.

Unknown to them that this supposed ability of India was just a tiny spark, a spark that Mehra would turn into a full blown fiery hell, in less than a decade.

(Flashback Ends)