The brigadier commanding this sector in the hills is a Kannadiga who cuts a dashing figure. Six feet in his boots, swagger stick in hand, he prefers a hat to the beret just so that it can be sported at a rakish angle. An hour away by helicopter, Maj. Gen. Sudhir Sharma is the media-savvy commanding officer of the 10 Infantry Division with an ugly black 9mm Browning pistol in his holster. He begins his briefing inside an underground command post operations room near Palanwala by first narrating the latest news: a blast outside the American consulate in Karachi, Captain Lakshmi Sehgal is the Left's presidential candidate; South Korea makes it to the second round and, along with Japan, keeps the Asian flag fluttering at the World Cup. Minutes later, he is sombre, as he recalls the attack on Kaluchak . 'There has been so much firing since then,' someone asks him, 'do you think, the soldiers were taking out their anger on the Pakistan army?' 'I don't believe in knee-jerk action. I don't think that even two Kaluchaks can make us desperate. I believe in cold fury,' the major general says. It is a quote that will be flashed in the world's media, is meant to be flashed in the world's media. Back in Mendhar, inside a fortified observation post atop a hill, you take in the view as the handsome brigadier supervises and warms to his theme. Ahead of us, the ground rushes down to a valley of poplar and pine. Through it runs the Line of Control. There has been so much written about this line in recent times that you have begun to think of it as a real stretch arbitrarily etched through the hills and valleys by someone with an extraordinarily large pencil. It is nothing of the sort but exists on maps. So this is what the Americans have called 'the most dangerous frontier in the world'! The brigadier summons the major of the Jat battalion that has been here for two years and asks him to point out posts - positions said to be held by the 815 Mujahid battalion of the Pakistan army's 3 PoK Brigade: Cheel Tekri and FDL, 85A and Rear Lanjot - names that carry little meaning to the world outside but mean the world for the soldiers here. The brigadier is telling the story of Operation Kamyab - 'success'. In October, the army's spokesman in Jammu issued a statement that described military moves taken in the Mendhar sub-sector as 'ruthless punitive action'. (Official statements rarely use such language; 90 times out of 100 they write 'retaliatory fire assault'.) We are at the scene where Indian artillery and infantry let loose volley after volley, smashing more Pakistani posts in 48 hours than had been done in several years. Since then, the Pakistanis have been wary of firing at Indian positions in Mendhar. The terrain favours the Indian Army, which holds the heights. At the garrison headquarters down in Mendhar 'bowl', photographs of the 'punitive action' showing the accuracy of the gunners are exhibited. The event is a has-been but is narrated to deny the hectic diplomacy of the past fortnight and claims that the military standoff is a dying story. The army keeps the story alive - for the first time since the standoff began, it has flown in a media contingent from Delhi to visit forward posts on 'the most dangerous frontier' where a false step can lead to a minefield and a whistle signals the start of shelling. The Pakistan army is doing this almost every week - taking journalists on trips to their side of the LoC so that the world gets to know of the damage inflicted by the Indian Army. This is a trip that was planned only for correspondents of foreign media. Later, it was expanded to include the Indians, as well. 'Let me assure you, that we welcome the media to our area,' Lt Gen. J.B.S. Yadava told the team at his XVI Corps headquarters in Nagrota where the trip began. 'We hope you will return with a sense of what we go through.' You sense the tension first from the air. Flying into Mendhar, the hills with their terraced farms were below us, the mostly-dry rivers, their sandy beds weaving through the valleys as if plaited by nature. But suddenly the Russian-made Mi-17 helicopter loses height and flies so close to a ridge to the left that even the naked eye discerns old, now-abandoned defences built by the army. The LoC is immediately to the west, probably just beyond the ridge that vanishes over a cliff. The chopper is flying not over but among the hills to keep out of sight of Pakistani eyes. 'You never know when the firing will start,' says Maj. Gen. Randhir Singh who commands the 25th Infantry Division. 'Even as we speak, there is firing going on at our flanks. In the north, towards Poonch and to the south, near Bhimbhar Gully.' Even the shelling on the LoC, surely, is a non-story by now but nonetheless real for that. Last week, a barrage of mortar was aimed at a bunker complex just below the fortified observation post. One shell landed next to the quarters of the commanding officer. He wasn't there. The damage to the bunkers around is still visible. So, too, is the damage to the villages and the villagers, some of whom have been escorted to the army camp so that they can speak of their troubles to the press. Drona village's Ashwar Bee had a non-story too: her arm is plastered and she hasx lost a sister.