Chapter Twenty-Two: The Flame Spreads

The night sky over Srinagar burned with fire from artillery strikes and the bright flares of military jets slicing through the dark, each thunderous explosion signaling the start of a new conflict—a full-scale war was now on the verge of breaking out. Yet, amid the chaos, there was a calm undercurrent that only Michael Ogunlade could feel. The operation was in motion, and he had orchestrated it well.

The world's response came swiftly. United Nations emergency meetings were called. The United States, China, and Russia—all the players with vested interests in South Asia—issued statements of concern, with half-hearted calls for de-escalation. But as the headlines blared, "India-Pakistan Conflict Escalates—International Community Calls for Ceasefire," Michael knew none of it would matter.

The narrative had already been set.

On the ground, as Indian forces advanced towards Muzaffarabad, Pakistan's military had been forced into a corner. Their responses were wild, desperate attempts to justify the shelling, to blame India for the breach, but the world had already seen the coordinated leaks and evidence planted to suggest Pakistani aggression. India now had the moral high ground.

And Michael? He was long gone.

He stood at the back of a room in New Delhi, his face masked by the shadows cast by dim lamps, watching as Indian generals, intelligence officers, and bureaucrats huddled together, discussing military logistics and strategic moves. India had already launched Operation Victory's Edge—a multi-pronged assault aimed at reclaiming lost territory and striking critical infrastructure across Pakistan-administered Kashmir. But Michael knew the game wouldn't end with just military victories. This was about control of the narrative, and in that, India was winning.

The Pakistanis, though, weren't sitting idly by. As soon as Michael's intel hit, Pakistan's hidden proxy cells across the globe started to stir. The Haqqani Network, already weakened by Michael's previous operations, was now being fed vital weapons and ammunition. In the shadows of the war, a new force was rising—one that was quickly becoming a second front.

In Islamabad, the Pakistani Prime Minister watched helplessly as the international media painted his country as the aggressor. The ISI was scrambling to contain the narrative, but it was too late. The leaks were out. The false flag operations were exposed, and the evidence pointed squarely at Pakistan's military leadership. The world was watching them closely—too closely.

"We're losing this war before it even begins," the Prime Minister muttered, slamming his fist down on the desk.

At the ISI headquarters, his words were almost prophetic. The agency's chief, an old hand at playing the shadows, paced the command center, eyes scanning the reports from Kashmir. "The only thing we can do now is escalate," he said, voice steady despite the tension. "We can't afford to lose face—not with the region on the brink. We strike first."

But Michael had anticipated this. His carefully calculated strategy was built on the inevitability of retaliation. The ISI would push back, launch its own offensive, but their moves would be too predictable, too desperate. The Indian army, backed by the intelligence Michael had fed them, was ready to counter.

Across the globe, diplomatic channels were flooded with calls for a ceasefire, but Michael's influence was working in the background, subtly steering those talks toward deeper economic and military alliances with India. Nigerian oil shipments were now reaching India at an accelerated pace, just as they were also strengthening ties with Russia and China, who, for their own reasons, chose to remain on the sidelines—satisfied that Pakistan was facing its own collapse.

As Pakistan scrambled to maintain its position in the global conversation, India's military command had shifted into full-blown mobilization. The Indian Navy was dispatching submarines and aircraft carriers to block any maritime efforts to resupply Pakistan's forces. Overland routes were shut down by airstrikes on Pakistani-controlled roads, effectively strangling their military's logistics.

The walls were closing in on Pakistan, and Michael's carefully laid groundwork was taking hold.

In the Islamabad Situation Room, it was chaos. Pakistani generals argued with ISI officials over the next move, their voices filled with urgency, the atmosphere thick with the smell of defeat. "We can't afford to look weak. We have to show strength—make a move that shows our resolve," one general shouted.

Another responded, "We've been caught in a trap. If we retaliate, it only solidifies the accusations against us. We have no leverage left."

The tension was palpable, but Michael wasn't there to witness the fallout. His role was over. He had fed the fire, and now it was burning on its own, consuming everything in its path.

Meanwhile, back in New Delhi, the results were becoming evident. The Pakistanis were losing ground, and the international pressure was mounting. The United Nations was pushing for an emergency ceasefire, but Michael knew that India would hold firm now. Pakistan's position was untenable, and the Indian military, though still engaged, was playing its cards well.

Michael smiled as the phone buzzed. The encrypted line crackled with a voice he hadn't heard in a while.

"Michael," the voice said. "The President wants to know what your next move is."

He leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of the coming days settle on his shoulders. He was no longer a mere strategist—he was an architect of global power. And as the world watched the fallout from the LOC conflict, Michael's shadow stretched even further.

"Continue the pressure," he said calmly. "Make sure India doesn't lose its edge. And let Pakistan's desperation fuel its own collapse. We're in the final stages."

The line went silent, but Michael knew the dance was far from over. The real war, the one for influence, for power, for the future—was just beginning.

Back in the Middle East, across the deserts of Afghanistan, the remnants of the Haqqani Network had begun to regroup. And Michael, ever the puppeteer, was already watching their next move, anticipating it before anyone could blink.

The world had been set on fire. And Michael Ogunlade, as always, was the one holding the match.