NANDKUMAR M. KAMAT
This article is based on technical information available till May 8. In an age where silence is often more strategic than sound, the night of May 7, 2025, may go down as a defining moment in the transformation of modern warfare. Not for its scale, not for its spectacle, but for its orchestration—tight, invisible, and complete within a window of just 23 minutes.
This was Operation Sindoor. A mission whispered into motion under the cover of darkness, its rhythm more digital than mechanical, its choreography more algorithmic than kinetic. In those 23 minutes, nine precise locations across Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Kashmir were hit—not by boots on the ground, nor waves of jets, but by the silent ballet of satellites, precision-guided munitions, loitering drones, and machines that could think, see, and strike with surgical clarity. It was not a campaign. It was code executed at scale.
In the stillness of the night on May 7, 2025, Operation Sindoor unfolded with clinical precision. This was a quiet, orchestrated operation—surgical, technologically dense, and unlike anything the region had seen before. At the heart of this mission was the cold efficiency of precision-guided munitions, loitering drones, real-time satellite intelligence, and live video feeds from the very strike sites as the
operation progressed.
For most civilians, even those familiar with modern warfare headlines, the idea that nine distant locations could be hit within a single time block of 23 minutes, with footage recorded and confirmed in real time, feels like something out of a thriller novel. But the reality is far more grounded in the steady evolution of technology, logistics, and software-defined warfare.
The operation likely began around midnight, with Rafale fighter jets cruising well within Indian airspace. Their payload included SCALP cruise missiles—air-launched, terrain-hugging, and stealthy. Designed for deep strikes, these missiles can travel more than 500 kilometres with pinpoint accuracy. In the first five minutes of the mission, the Rafales fired the SCALPs toward fixed, high-value targets—suspected terrorist headquarters, fortified depots, and command nodes located in urban shadows like Bahawalpur and Muridke. These were no dumb projectiles; each missile had onboard terrain maps, infrared seekers, and a 450-kilogram warhead designed to pierce concrete and detonate inside. As they tore across the border, hugging the terrain to avoid detection, their onboard imaging systems began capturing terminal-phase visuals of the strike. These video feeds, although not always truly real-time, were transmitted back through encrypted datalinks or stored on-board for rapid relay. What the world saw later—footage of a missile’s final seconds as it neared impact—may have come from these very moments, milliseconds
before detonation.
Back in the skies, the Rafales had more work to do. In the next 10-minute segment, they released HAMMER bombs—modular, mid-range precision-guided munitions optimised for tactical targets. These could be vehicle convoys, smaller training camps, or logistics hubs. The HAMMERs are not as long ranged as SCALPs, but their flexibility lies in their adaptability: GPS, laser, or infrared seekers could guide them to moving or semi-hardened targets. By this time, a fleet of unmanned aerial vehicles—likely Heron TP or Searcher Mk II drones—were orbiting at high altitude, feeding in live intelligence from multiple axes.
Down below, in more forward zones, smaller loitering munitions had been launched—systems like ALS-50, Nagastra-1, or the imported SkyStriker. These drones had been silently circling target zones well before the strikes began. With electric motors and low acoustic signatures, they remained nearly invisible to both the ear and radar. Each carried high-definition day/night electro-optical and infrared cameras and a small but lethal explosive payload. Once confirmed visuals came in—an armed group assembling a vehicle exiting a suspected compound—the operator in a secure control centre or mobile tablet authorised the drone to dive. These weren’t automated suicide missions but calculated, human-in-the-loop decisions. The dive, often streamed live, ended with a small plume and confirmation of success.
As this middle phase concluded—between minutes 10 to 15—the operation shifted to adaptive targeting. By now, at least six or seven of the nine planned sites had been struck. But what if something moved? What if a vehicle left the blast radius just in time? The remaining loitering munitions were re-tasked mid-air using live feeds and AI-assisted targeting algorithms. Additional targets were engaged dynamically, not based on pre-programmed coordinates but real-time battlefield behaviour. All of this was made possible by India’s growing integration of network-centric warfare principles. Satellites like RISAT-2BR1, using synthetic aperture radar, were watching from above, piercing clouds and darkness to validate strike effects. Ground control centres received feeds from UAVs, loitering munitions, and satellite downlinks through secure battlefield networks. Encrypted tactical datalinks—likely indigenous versions akin to NATO’s Link-16—kept every node in sync: from the Rafales in the sky to the drone operator tucked away in a hardened command vehicle.
The final eight minutes, between minutes 16 and 23, were about confirmation and completion. Surveillance drones swept over the sites again, providing post-strike visuals: flattened buildings, burnt-out vehicles, and in some cases, the eerie stillness of a successful silent engagement. Heron drones with gyro-stabilised optical systems, capable of long-range zoom, confirmed that the destruction had been surgical. There was no evidence of adjacent civilian damage. These feeds were saved, compiled, and time-stamped. In cases where the strikes were especially sensitive, the footage was reviewed by legal advisors and intelligence officers before being approved for public release. And that is how video footage from nine locations—purportedly recorded live—could emerge so quickly and with such clarity. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was built into the operation. Each drone, missile, or aircraft acted not just as a weapon or a sensor, but as a node in a digital kill-web. They were part of a command-and-control architecture that blended surveillance, strike, feedback, and documentation. These were not standalone attacks. They were part of an information-rich, latency-minimised cycle of action and validation.
In the final minutes, strike aircraft turned back home, loitering munitions either expended or recalled, and data logs were uploaded to secure military servers. Within hours, analysts had video proof, radar signatures, and geospatial overlays. Selected clips were released to the public—perhaps to serve as deterrent, perhaps as documentation. But in essence, they validated the precision.
Operation Sindoor wasn’t about making noise. It was about showcasing capability. Not through escalation, but through execution. Not through the number of targets, but through the quality of engagement. And not through overwhelming firepower, but through disciplined technological ballet. Operation Sindoor demonstrated the Indian Armed Forces’ capability to integrate precision strike assets with multi-layered ISR (Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance) networks and real-time battlefield coordination.
The enemy has issued threats of retaliation, but as demonstrated by the precision and decisiveness of Operation Sindoor, there should be no doubt that India’s defense apparatus possesses the capability—and the resolve—to deliver an immediate and proportionate response. This is not a moment for complacency; it is a call for national awareness and preparedness. Understanding the operational readiness, strategic doctrine, and technological depth of our armed forces is imperative. Every citizen must grasp that we are equipped not just to deter aggression, but to decisively neutralise any threat, including under worst-case scenarios.
