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Chapter 257: Bombing the Hotel (2)
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 08:38:43 +0000 UTCThe Special Forces had already placed powerful explosives underground, cutting off Raju and Bheem's escape route.
Seeing this, both of them were stunned.
In that brief moment of hesitation, the hidden snipers fired again.
This time, the shots came from different angles than before, avoiding Bheem completely.
Now, with Bheem in front of him, Raju had no room to dodge—unless he used Bheem as a shield.
But even though he realized this, he refused to do it.
Bang! Bang!
Two bullets hit him—one in the left leg, the other in the right side of his waist.
Yet, the snipers remained unseen.
After all, their training had taught them one thing; if a gun can solve the problem, there’s no need for close combat.
Especially when they were armed with vibranium-alloy equipment.
A relentless hail of gunfire tore through the two men, turning them into lifeless, bullet-riddled husks. Only after their demise was confirmed did the four shadow warriors, identical in appearance to the decoy agent, finally emerge from the darkness and surround the two blood-soaked bodies.
...
Outside the hotel, while Raju and Bheem were carrying out their infiltration mission, the reinforcements called for by Nehru had arrived.
However, the first wave consisted only of the New Delhi police force and the security personnel from the Prime Minister's Office—this was the capital, after all, and these were the only armed forces readily available.
The military, stationed in remote areas, couldn't possibly respond as quickly.
Yet, despite the growing crisis, even Nehru himself wasn’t sure why he had summoned the army. Firepower alone wouldn’t solve the problem.
A British investigator was dead. Inside the hotel, representatives of the Soviet Union and the United States remained trapped, along with countless foreign dignitaries and elites.
Ordering the army to storm the hotel with heavy artillery?
Wait… bombing the hotel?
As soon as the thought took root, it spread through Nehru’s mind like wildfire.
Under normal circumstances, issuing such an order would have been sheer madness.
But this was no longer a normal situation.
The representatives of three powerful nations held damning evidence that could bring about his downfall. With Richard, the British delegate, already dead, Nehru was facing an inevitable setback.
Whether or not he managed to eliminate the assailants inside and rescue the hostages—including Josh, the lead U.S. representative, and the Soviet delegation—his fate was sealed.
So what difference did a few more deaths make?
Josh’s relentless pressure had already driven Nehru to the brink.
His last shred of rationality barely kept the madness at bay.
And then, the final straw was laid.
The hotel’s main doors suddenly swung open, and two bodies were unceremoniously tossed out.
"Go check that out!" Nehru yelled at the New Delhi police commissioner standing beside him.
Judging by their clothing, the bodies appeared to belong to ordinary Indian citizens. Yet an unshakable sense of dread gripped Nehru's chest.
The commissioner wasted no time in sending officers to retrieve the bodies.
Strangely, the enemy did not fire at them. The bodies were carried back without resistance.
And when Nehru finally saw their faces, he almost fainted.
Raju and Bheem.
His two most trusted warriors.
For years they had been instrumental in his rise to power, their unmatched abilities making them national symbols of strength—much like Captain America.
In private, Nehru had often boasted that if the two had been given the chance to fight on the European front, Captain America would have been nothing.
But now, the very heroes he had once prided himself on lay lifeless before him, slain within the walls of that cursed hotel.
"When is Kaul arriving?" Nehru’s voice was ice-cold as he addressed his secretary.
"According to his last report, General Kaul will arrive in thirty minutes," the secretary promptly responded.
Brij Mohan Kaul—Chief of Staff at Army Headquarters and Commander of the Fourth Delhi Guards—Nehru’s close confidant.
"Tell him that if he’s not here in fifteen minutes, he can start looking for a new career… perhaps in a fishery," Nehru growled through gritted teeth.
"Understood!"
Never before had the secretary seen such unrestrained fury on Nehru’s face. Without another word, he stormed off to make the call.
Even in peacetime, the Indian military was known for its sluggish bureaucracy. But in the face of Nehru's threat, they dared not delay.
Ten minutes later, Kaul and his troops arrived and quickly surrounded the hotel.
Yet upon hearing Nehru’s next command, General Kaul was dumbfounded.
"Flatten the entire hotel!" Nehru roared, pointing to the building.
"Prime Minister, please reconsider! We cannot do this!" Kaul protested.
He wasn’t just a mindless soldier—blindly obeying orders was not in his nature.
He came from a middle-class Brahmin background, belonging to the same lineage as Nehru. In terms of social standing, he was even a notch above Nehru.
His rise to power was largely due to his early investment in Nehru—long before the latter had made a name for himself.
With a clear mind, he fully understood who resided in that hotel and whose prestigious family owned it.
This wasn’t a place that could simply be bombed on a whim.
If he gave that order, his own career would be finished as well.
So he couldn't understand what kind of madness had possessed Nehru.
No matter who these attackers were, they must have had a purpose. Wouldn't it be easier just to give in to their demands?
As one of India’s elite, he knew that as long as no one died, any problem could be negotiated away.
But Nehru was well aware of all this too.
The issue was that he couldn’t fulfill the attackers' demands—because they had never made any in the first place.
Every negotiator he had sent was gunned down at the hotel entrance without a word.
This made it clear that the assailants weren’t looking to negotiate. Their sole objective was to eliminate the American and Soviet representatives inside.
And if they succeeded, Nehru would still have to face the wrath of all three nations.
No matter what, he was doomed.
So why not take matters into his own hands and have the hotel reduced to rubble?
At least that way, he might take out a few of the attackers and buy himself some leverage.
But no matter how he ordered it, General Kaul stood firm in his refusal.
Frustrated, Nehru had no choice but to turn to another officer—Major General Sam Manekshaw, who had just been promoted as Director of Military Operations.
Unlike the opportunistic Kaul, Manekshaw was a pure soldier—a man who would one day become a legendary military figure in India’s history.
Without hesitation, Manekshaw accepted Nehru’s command and ordered the artillery strike on the hotel.
And with that single shot, the entire world was left in utter shock.
“…Has Nehru lost his mind?”
Inside a civilian house just dozens of meters from the hotel, Claire Voyant and Josh—both of whom should have been inside the hotel—stood at the window, watching the rising smoke with wide eyes.
