Unverified but persistent reports emanating from Indian media and social media platforms are stirring serious geopolitical unease across South Asia. According to these sources, India may have conducted a precision strike—possibly involving cruise missiles—on the heavily fortified Kirana Hills region in Pakistan’s Sargodha district, a zone long suspected of housing critical elements of Islamabad’s nuclear weapons program.
Codenamed “Operation Sindoor,” the alleged Indian offensive is said to have targeted subterranean facilities used for nuclear research or storage. Some sources claim the attack caused a severe radioactive leak, a charge that—if true—could amount to one of the most daring military gambits in recent Indo-Pakistani history. However, in the absence of official confirmation from either India or Pakistan, and no statements yet from the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), the truth remains shrouded in silence, and potentially, in secrecy.
The Kirana Hills have always been a mystery cloaked in strategic importance. Situated in Pakistan’s Punjab province, roughly 20 kilometers from the Mushaf Airbase in Sargodha, the area is isolated, topographically rugged, and historically sealed off from public view. This geographic seclusion made it the perfect site for Pakistan’s earliest “cold tests”—non-explosive nuclear device experiments—under the supervision of the late Dr. Abdul Qadeer Khan in the 1980s and 1990s.
These subcritical tests were key milestones in Pakistan’s path to nuclear capability. Though they produced no nuclear yield, they validated the architecture and implosion mechanisms of early bomb designs, providing Pakistan with a functional deterrent long before the dramatic 1998 Chagai-I nuclear detonations.
Analysts and intelligence experts have long suspected that Kirana’s underground bunkers may still serve critical roles in Pakistan’s Strategic Plans Division (SPD) infrastructure—whether as storage sites, testing facilities, or command nodes.
The existence of “Operation Sindoor” remains unverified. According to several Indian outlets and defense analysts close to government circles, the strike was authorized following a recent escalation of cross-border tensions in Kashmir, allegedly triggered by Pakistan-backed infiltrations. Some suggest the operation was a calculated “non-nuclear decapitation strike,” aimed not at provoking a war but at undermining Pakistan’s strategic deterrence posture.
The details are fuzzy. Claims range from the use of BrahMos cruise missiles to more exotic technologies like low-yield penetrator warheads. One widely circulated theory holds that Indian forces struck just one underground facility suspected of housing enriched fissile material or a command and control unit—a move potentially designed to test Islamabad’s threshold for nuclear retaliation.
Pakistan’s silence, so far, is deafening. There has been no acknowledgement from the Inter-Services Public Relations (ISPR), the military’s media wing, nor from civilian leadership. The absence of fiery rhetoric—typical in previous Indo-Pak flareups—has only deepened suspicion that something highly classified may have occurred.
Perhaps the most compelling circumstantial evidence of a nuclear-related incident came not from South Asia, but from the skies.
Shortly after the alleged strike, open-source flight trackers spotted a U.S. Department of Energy aircraft, a Beechcraft B350 “Aerial Measuring System” (AMS), traversing Pakistani airspace. Tail-numbered N111SZ, the aircraft is no ordinary government plane. It is equipped with advanced gamma radiation sensors, isotopic signature mappers, and real-time telemetry systems. Its primary function? To detect, track, and map radiation releases—whether from nuclear accidents, bomb detonations, or covert facility leaks.
The AMS has historically been deployed in the aftermath of major nuclear events such as the Fukushima disaster and during U.S. homeland drills. Its appearance over Pakistan, unannounced and unexplained, suggests U.S. agencies may have been quietly monitoring radiation levels in the region—an act almost impossible to justify unless there was a reason to believe something radioactive had occurred.
In a parallel development, another suspicious aircraft was detected by global aviation watchdogs. An Egyptian Air Force Ilyushin IL-76 cargo plane, operating under callsign EGY1916, was tracked making an unusual route: from China to Murree, a remote hill town in Pakistan, and then to the United Arab Emirates.
While official channels offered no explanation, open-source intelligence (OSINT) analysts floated a provocative hypothesis—the IL-76 may have been involved in an emergency containment mission. Speculation suggests it was ferrying boron-based compounds, such as boric acid or boron carbide, substances essential in nuclear radiation suppression efforts.
Boron, particularly its isotope Boron-10, is a neutron absorber commonly used in nuclear reactors and accident mitigation. It was famously deployed during the Chernobyl and Fukushima crises to suppress chain reactions and limit contamination. The sudden presence of an IL-76 near potential nuclear infrastructure—combined with rumors of a radioactive leak—fuels suspicion of a covert clean-up.
The geopolitical silence following these incidents is both eerie and telling. Usually, even small skirmishes along the Line of Control (LoC) provoke rapid-fire accusations, press briefings, and diplomatic posturing. In this case, neither India nor Pakistan has broken the silence. Washington and Beijing are also conspicuously tight-lipped, while the IAEA has not commented on any monitoring anomalies in Pakistan.
Veteran nuclear policy analyst Dr. Laila Rahman of the South Asia Institute in London suggests this may reflect “a behind-the-scenes crisis management effort among major powers.”
“If radiation was indeed released and detected internationally,” she says, “we may be witnessing one of the rare moments when global actors are quietly coordinating to avoid a diplomatic or strategic collapse.”
If Operation Sindoor did occur and targeted a nuclear facility—even one inactive or lightly manned—it raises serious questions about the evolving nature of deterrence in South Asia. The idea of a “non-nuclear strike on nuclear targets” is dangerously destabilizing. It suggests a new doctrine may be emerging in New Delhi: one that doesn’t see Pakistan’s nuclear infrastructure as off-limits.
Retired Indian General Prakash Menon, speaking at a closed-door seminar in New Delhi, reportedly remarked that “nuclear sanctuaries can no longer be considered untouchable if they’re being used to shield adventurism.”
Conversely, Islamabad’s lack of retaliation—or even acknowledgement—may signal an implicit recognition of vulnerability, or a strategic decision to contain the fallout politically rather than militarily.
The Strategic Plans Division (SPD) is the nerve center of Pakistan’s nuclear command, tasked with the security, development, and deployment of its atomic arsenal. Its headquarters, located at the Noor Khan Airbase near Islamabad, ensures real-time communications with nuclear delivery platforms—including air, sea, and land-based systems.
Nearby Mushaf Airbase, home to Pakistan’s elite F-16 squadrons, is believed to be one of the operational hubs for nuclear-capable aircraft. A successful strike anywhere within the radius of these facilities would mark a serious intelligence breach and a blow to Pakistan’s second-strike credibility.
Strangely, both Pakistani and Indian mainstream media outlets have largely tiptoed around the story. Coverage has been limited to editorials and vague online debates. Pakistani television channels, known for their combative talk shows, have avoided the topic entirely. The digital vacuum has given rise to wild speculation on platforms like Reddit, X (formerly Twitter), and Telegram—where amateur analysts and former military officers trade unverified maps, infrared overlays, and intercepted chatter.
This media restraint could be due to direct censorship, or because even seasoned journalists are unsure of what actually transpired.
Whether or not a missile actually struck Kirana Hills, and whether radiation truly escaped into the environment, the rumors alone have opened a Pandora’s box. South Asia’s nuclear peace has always been precarious, held together by opaque doctrines, ambiguous red lines, and unspoken understandings. If the events of the past weeks are even partially true, that unspoken contract may have just been torn.
And yet, without official confirmation, the world is left to parse shadows: the path of a radiation-tracking plane, the flight log of an Egyptian cargo jet, and the sudden, eerie silence from two of the world’s most adversarial neighbors.
Until someone speaks—and someone will—the Kirana Hills episode will remain what it is now: a ghost story with radioactive consequences.
