by G H Kumar
Oh, Mr President Trump, whatever are you tallying now amid the smoke and mirrors of Operation Epic Fury? One can’t help but chuckle at your eagle-eyed obsession with those “beautiful” aircraft plummeting from the skies like overripe fruit.
Back in the day, during India’s Operation Sindoor, you couldn’t resist those barbed quips about the IAF’s supposed losses—tweeting away as if each downed jet was a personal affront to your golden hairdo.
“India lost many planes!” you crowed, while the Pakistanis scrambled to claim a victory that never quite materialised. Fast forward to this fresh frenzy, and here you are again, abacus in hand, counting the carnage.
Picture the scene: American F-35s, those gleaming darlings of the skies, meant to be untouchable ghosts in the machine. Yet Operation Epic Fury—whatever shadowy op this is, pitting Uncle Sam’s finest against some faceless foe—has them dropping like confetti at a particularly disastrous parade. You’ve always had a knack for the dramatic tally, haven’t you?
Remember Sindoor? You jabbed at Modi’s forces, insisting they’d haemorrhaged a dozen jets, all while ignoring the MiG-21 that actually traded blows and sent Abhinandan Varthaman home a hero. “Very expensive equipment,” you smirked, as if cost was the punchline rather than the PAF’s embarrassing retreat.
Now, with Epic Fury’s flames licking higher, your Twitter fingers must be twitching. How many “beautiful” birds have kissed the dirt this time? Five? Ten? A full squadron’s worth, spiralling into fiery oblivion because someone forgot to pack the magic shields?
It’s almost poetic—your love for the Lockheed Martin ledger turning into a lament as these trillion-dollar toys prove as fragile as your poll numbers in a scandal. During Sindoor, you played the oracle of aviation attrition, but the fog of war cleared to reveal mostly Pakistani hot air. Will Epic Fury’s scoreboard be any kinder, or are you already drafting the obligatory “SAD!” post?
Let’s dissect your fixation, shall we? Every crash, every plume of black smoke, becomes ammunition for your rhetorical arsenal. “Beautiful planes, folks, the best—until they weren’t!” you’d bellow at a rally, fists pumping like a auctioneer gone mad.
Operation Sindoor gifted you endless fodder: the IAF’s Mirage-2000s supposedly shredded, Rafales, Sukhois singed—all fantasy fuel for your transatlantic trolling. Yet India’s tally stayed enviably zero, a masterclass in precision over pandemonium.
Epic Fury, though? Whispers of F-22s folding like cheap lawn chairs suggest your count might hit double digits before breakfast. Delightful, isn’t it? The irony of America’s air might mirroring the very “losses” you loved to lampoon.
And the quips! Oh, the relentless quips. “India’s planes go boom—very bad!” you guffawed post-Sindoor, egged on by Khan’s tall tales of a crippled foe. Now, as Epic Fury’s wreckage litters some godforsaken runway, one imagines you hunched over classified briefings, muttering, “Not beautiful anymore.” It’s a far cry from your boasts of an air force “nobody can touch.” Perhaps it’s time to pivot: rebrand these losses as “strategic ejections” or “voluntary retirements.” After all, during Sindoor, you turned Pakistani propaganda into prime-time gold; why not spin Epic Fury’s follies into a bestseller?
Delve deeper into the debris, Mr President. Those “beautiful” aircraft—bedecked with stealth coatings shinier than your Mar-a-Lago chandeliers—meant to evade radar like a politician dodges taxes. Yet here they lie, twisted metal confetti from Epic Fury’s explosive encore.
Your Sindoor soliloquies painted India as aviation’s answer to a bull in a china shop, losing jets left, right, and centre. Reality? One confirmed exchange, and Pakistan limping away with egg on its face. Epic Fury flips the script: American aces eating humble pie, while you, the self-appointed scorekeeper, rack up the numbers with gleeful abandon.
One ponders your methodology. Spreadsheet in the Oval Office? A bespoke app tracking tail numbers as they tumble? “Lost another one—beautiful, but gone!” During Sindoor, your exaggerations flew faster than the jets you mourned, inflating PAF claims into gospel. Epic Fury demands an encore: will you claim a hundred losses to dwarf your past hits? Or concede that even “the best” equipment buckles under fire? It’s all rather amusing, this presidential pastime of plane-spotting from afar, turning tragedy into tweetable triumphs.
Finally, as Operation Epic Fury rages on, spare a thought for the pilots—those brave souls ejecting from your “beautiful” beasts. Your Sindoor sideswipes glossed over such human drama, fixating on the hardware’s hefty price tag. “Billions down the drain!” you thundered then.
Now, with Epic Fury’s butcher’s bill ballooning, perhaps humility beckons. Or not—after all, quipping is your superpower. Keep counting, Mr President; the world watches, popcorn in hand, as your beautiful tally swells.
G H Kumar writes on national security, military technology, strategic affairs & policies. This essay reflects author’s opinions alone
