Mirages at War

"Enemy pilots should see it, but never catch up with it.” [MARCEL DASSAULT]

At the outbreak of the 1971 Indo-Pak War, <Mirage IIIEs> were the newest and most advanced combat aircraft in the PAF inventory. Besides performing a wide variety of missions, they could generate a higher daily sortie rate compared to the aging F-86s, F-104s and B-57s. They could navigate accurately to relatively deeper targets, and after the attack, egress at high speed. They could carry out straight line, hit-and-run intercepts against raiders as adeptly as the F-104s, though the radar performance of both fighters was suspect against low-flying targets in ground clutter. Coupled with marginal performance of the five-odd low level AR-1 air defence radars which were interspersed with yawning gaps, the Mirages' intercept capability was of consequence during day only; at night-time, it was a chance in a million, as it were. Surface attack weaponry of the Mirage was not yet commensurate with the more capable platform that it was. PAF relied on the old vintage Mk-117 (750-lbs) high explosive bombs delivered from critical dive angles. Specialist anti-runway weapons had not been not been marketed by the French as yet. Air-to-air weapons included first generation AIM-9B Sidewinder heat-seeking missiles, whose two-degree wide field of view allowed only dead line astern attacks against backgrounds free of extraneous heat sources. Employment of the semi-active radar-guided Matra R-530 missile was found to be impractical in combat situations due to its stringent launch parameters and very short range, particularly at low level, where most of the interceptions were expected. It never saw operational use other than, what amounted to virtual jettisoning in one combat situation. High expectations from these modern Mirages were also tempered by the stark reality of having just one squadron to fulfil the myriad tasks. 23 Mirages – one aircraft had been lost earlier in a flying accident – were a meagre 8% of the 276 combat aircraft available at the outbreak of war. How the PAF would dovetail its much vaunted front-line element into the military’s overall strategic reckoning had to be carefully articulated in its concept of air operations.

Strategic Compulsion

Cognizant of the improbability of successfully holding its eastern wing against a determined Indian onslaught and a vigorous insurgency, Pakistani military planners came to be grounded in the conviction that ‘defence of the East lies in the West’. In practical terms, this aphorism meant that Pakistan would launch a major offensive into India from the western wing at the outset of any conflict. By threatening vital Indian assets in Kashmir and the Punjab, the Pakistan Army planners hoped to draw Indian forces away from the east, and gain enough time for outside powers to restrain an unmistakably rampant India. Additionally, any territory seized in the west could be offered as a sop to the countrymen for losses in East Pakistan. PAF’s concept of operations gave over-riding priority to supporting the Army’s proposed offensive. Air cover was sought to be established over the Army’s deep thrust till such time that it had dug in and established its own defences. It was also felt necessary to attack 4-5 Indian airfields that directly threatened the offensive once it was underway. To prevent timely arrival of logistic reinforcements, PAF was to interdict supplies directly serving the Indian forces; this meant attacking rail yards and other supply nodes soon after start of the offensive. Until the army’s offensive was launched, limited close air support during holding operations was to be provided. Tactical recce was to be conducted regularly to determine the changing disposition of enemy formations. Finally, PAF was to maintain pressure on the IAF with sustained disruptive strikes against some of its forward and rear bases, to accrue a measure of psychological ascendancy in the conduct of air operations. From PAF’s standpoint, it was easy to see that the modern Mirages were the weapon of choice for operations during the critical land battle planned for the western theatre. Yet, far from singling out these vital assets for the critical stage of the war only, it was boldly decided to employ them to the hilt in all phases. The bulk of No 5 Squadron was deployed at its parent Base, Sargodha, under command of Wg Cdr Hakimullah, formerly an old hand on the F-104s. A detachment of six aircraft, led by Sqn Ldr Farooq F Khan, was moved to the deeper located satellite Base of Mianwali to provide redundancy in the night intercept role, and also as a back-up strike element for the all-important land offensive. Mirages were thus poised to be at the forefront of PAF’s ‘coup de main’.

Softening Up

Contrary to the general perception, PAF’s dusk strikes of 3 December against some of the forward Indian airfields were not pre-emptory at all, as the Indian invasion of East Pakistan had already taken place in earnest, on 21 November. While these strikes were, of course, aimed at cratering runways and destroying radars, they also had an intrinsic ‘provocative’ element which the PAF planned to cleverly exploit through its well-prepared air defences, when IAF retaliated the following morning. Mirages got a small share of 8 airfield strike sorties in the opening round of the counter-air operations campaign that also included 24 airfield strikes by F-86s and 4 radar strikes by F-104s. Wg Cdr Hakimullah led a flight of 4 Mirages to Amritsar, while his flight commander, Sqn Ldr Aftab Alam, led another flight of 4 Mirages to Pathankot. Heading east into fast-fading light, Wg Cdr Hakimullah was able to take a cue from Amritsar runway lights, which were inexplicably glimmering when it should have been a complete black-out. His formation pulled up for a dive attack to deliver two 750-lb bombs each. Except for No 4, whose bombs did not release due to some malfunction, the rest were able to put in the attacks in the beginning of the runway. Sqn Ldr Aftab Alam’s formation did not have the good fortune of catching Pathankot with its lights on, and could not execute a proper attack in the evening haze and low light. The bombs fell in the general vicinity of the airfield. Given the very short distance from the border, IAF was unable to scramble interceptors from the ground, so standing patrols should have been a sensible option. With no interceptors, all raiding aircraft came back unscathed. The disruptive raids were continued into the night by the B-57s. The missed strike at Pathankot was repeated by Sqn Ldr Aftab Alam’s formation the next afternoon. This time, all the bombs found their mark on the runway and taxi track. As they were exiting after delivering the attack, Nos 3 and 4 found a Gnat closing in behind them, with guns blazing. Thanks to their swift Mirages, they were easily able to get out of harm’s way. Mirages continued with the airfield strikes, flying for five more days. A mission each was flown on 5, 6, 8, 9 and 10 December. Awantipura airfield was added to the usual list of Amritsar and Pathankot. Wg Cdr Hakimullah, alongwith attached senior squadron pilots, Sqn Ldr Rao Akhtar and Sqn Ldr Arif Manzoor alternated as mission leaders for these subsequent strikes. With the threat of enemy interceptors increasing, it was decided to add a pair of escorts during the airfield strikes. Altogether, 38 strike sorties (including 8 escorts) were flown by Mirages against three forward airfields. This was almost one-fourth of the total daytime counter-air effort of 158 sorties flown by the PAF. As stated earlier, these airfield strikes were largely disruptive in nature and served the purpose of softening up, before the actual neutralisation that was to come later with the army’s offensive. Seen in that context, they do not seem measly in quantum, though where they fell short was in the ‘punch’. There is no reason to doubt the IAF assessment of the effects as “negligible/slight damage.” The runways were never out of operation for more than a few hours. The damage could have been longer lasting if special runway penetrating ordnance had been used, as the Israeli Air Force had done in 1967. Non-availability of such weapons led the PAF to resort to conventional iron bombs which would bounce off the runway and explode above the surface, causing more blast and less breach. Also, delivery from shallow dive angles to avoid exposure to Anti Aircraft Artillery (AAA) made the bombs skip off the surface even farther. The disruptive raids seem well worth the effort, however, considering that operational and maintenance activity on IAF forward bases was hampered, and no PAF aircraft was lost while conducting these very dangerous missions. On a few occasions when enemy interceptors managed to get behind an odd Mirage, the latter was able to outpace them, much like Dassault had imagined in his desert vision of a mirage whereby, “enemy pilots should see it but never catch up with it!”

Defending the Skies

Despite a biggish nose which housed a sizeable antenna promising long range pick-up at higher altitudes, the Cyrano II radar of the Mirage lacked the ability to distinguish low flying targets against ground clutter. This drawback rendered the Mirage completely dependent on ground-controlled interception at low level, much like its spares-stricken counterpart, the F-104. PAF’s five low level ground radars could cover just 7% of the eastern border of West Pakistan and were, therefore, deployed at the main bases and a few vulnerable approaches only. Air defence was, thus, largely a function of Combat Air Patrols (CAPs) being able to respond to chance pick-up of low flying targets by ground radars. Once vectored on to its target by ground control, the Mirage could accelerate fast enough to chase an intruder for whom there was little hope of escape. The test of the Mirage’s capabilities as an interceptor came on the night of 4 December, when Flt Lt Naeem Atta was scrambled from Mianwali. The ground controller, Flt Lt Khalid Kashmiri, vectored Atta on to an intruder heading west, towards Mianwali. The controller was able to position the Mirage three miles astern of the low flying target, but even with a nearly full moon, there was no prospect of visual contact at that distance. As the Salt Range loomed ahead, the target started climbing to avoid the hilly terrain. Fortuitously for Atta, this meant that the target was also easing out of ground clutter and there was a good probability that it would be ‘painted’ by the Cyrano radar. Unknown to Atta, his radar had been in standby mode, as he had not been careful in selecting his switches in a hurry. On the radar controller's reminder, Atta rechecked the selection to transmit mode, and was soon able to report a blip on his radar scope at an optimum IR-missile shooting distance of one-and-a-half mile, dead tail-on. Following radar lock-on, the missile’s seeker head swung to the heat source, and a growl in Atta’s earphones confirmed a launch-ready condition; the intruder’s fate was sealed. Moments after launching the AIM-9B Sidewinder, Atta saw a huge fireball silhouetting an aircraft in the night sky. Next morning, the wreckage of a Canberra (IF 916) was confirmed at the village of Nara located at the western edge of the Salt Range, not too far from Khushab town. The aircrew, including the pilot Flt Lt Lloyd Sasoon and navigator Flt Lt Ram Advani, belonging to the Agra-based Jet Bomber Conversion Unit, were killed on impact. [1]

Not far from Mianwali is Sakesar, a small PAF Base perched on the picturesque Salt Range at an elevation of 5,000 feet. The Base housed a high-powered FPS-20 radar as well as the vital Sector Operations Centre – North. At mid-day on 5 December, the IAF had made an attempt at attacking the radar, which cost it dearly, as two Hunters were shot down by a patrolling pair of F-6s. Later that afternoon, a lone intrepid Hunter was able to sneak in for a successful rocketing attack. After the attack a clean getaway for a singleton, right under the noses of patrolling interceptors, was an improbable prospect. As expected, the Hunter was intercepted by two Mirages scrambled from Mianwali. The pair was led by Flt Lt Safdar Mahmood, with Flg Off Sohail Hameed as his wingman. Diving down from the hills, the Hunter had built up speed, but not enough to elude the far swifter Mirages. With the help of instructions from the ground controller Flt Lt Shaukat Jamil, Safdar was able to catch up and settle behind the Hunter, to start his shooting drill. A couple of well-placed bursts of the 30-mm cannon got the Hunter smoking. As Safdar held off while watching his quarry in its last throes, Sohail picked up the smouldering aircraft and let off a Sidewinder missile to finish it off. Just before the aircraft impacted the ground, the pilot ejected but it was too late. Sqn Ldr Jal Mistry of No 20 Squadron was found fatally injured. The wreckage of the Hunter (A 1014) was strewn near the small town of Kattha Saghral.

Chamb was one of the few sectors where Pak Army had made significant advances and the Indian XV Corps desperately sought destruction of heavy guns that had been reported in the area. On 6 December, a pair of Su-7s from Adampur-based No 101 Sqn was tasked to locate and destroy the guns. The Su-7s sought out what appeared like hutments concealing the artillery pieces and were rocketing the place. Flt Lt Salimuddin Awan and his wingman Flt Lt Riazuddin Shaikh, who were patrolling in their Mirages over Gujranwala-Sheikhupura area, were vectored by ground radar onto the two Su-7s. Salimuddin, who was carrying a R-530 radar-guided missile alongwith two Sidewinders, decided to get rid of the bulky weapon by just blindly firing it off, so as to lighten up for the chase. Spotting the Mirages, the Su-7s jettisoned their drop tanks and rocket pods, and started exiting east. With the Su-7s doing full speed, a long chase ensued till Riazuddin found himself close enough to fire a missile, but it went straight into the ground. Salimuddin then moved in, and on hearing the lock-on growl, pressed the missile launch button, not once but twice, to be sure. Two Sidewinder missiles shot off from the rails, and moments later, Riazuddin called out that one of the Su-7s had been hit. Salimuddin instantly switched to the other Su-7 and fired his 30-mm cannon. Just then, Salimuddin noted the outlines of Madhopur Headworks near Pathankot, which was not surprising, as they had been chasing the Su-7s for several minutes inside enemy territory, along the Jammu-Kathua Road. Recollecting themselves, the Mirages turned back and recovered at Sargodha with precariously low fuel. Monitoring of VHF radio confirmed a message transmitted to Adampur that an Su-7 had been “fired at … the pilot ejected”. It was later learnt that the wingman, Flt Lt Vijay Wahi had succumbed to his ejection injuries. The leader, Sqn Ldr Ashok Shinde, was lucky to bring back his Su-7 which had been damaged by bullet hits. High-speed pursuit was a forte of the Mirage, a lesson learnt by the IAF the hard way, and one time too late.

Mirages flew a total of 317 air defence sorties (221 during day, 96 at night) which was 18% of the overall air defence effort. [2] With three IAF aircraft shot down, the Mirage kill rate, based on the total air defence sorties flown, came to be 0.95%. This compares quite favourably with kill rates of other PAF fighters which performed air defence missions:- F-86F: 1.2%, F-86E: 1.1% and F-6: 0.74%.

Scouting the Troops

PAF had three Mirage IIIRs, which were equipped with five OMERA Type 31 optical cameras mounted in the nose. With a Doppler navigation radar available, getting to a destination was fairly easy. Magnesium flares provided enough illumination at night to confer a round-the-clock tactical reconnaissance capability. The number of aircraft was, however, on the low side and did not sufficiently cater for unserviceabilities. A month prior to the outbreak of all-out war, the PAF had started to fly cross-border photo recce sorties, some of which were in the vital Chamb Sector, where the Pak Army’s 23 Division had planned a secondary ‘diversionary’ offensive. With the disposition of forces well-known, the attack resulted in significant advances that threatened India’s overland links to Kashmir, besides depriving Indian forces from establishing a launch pad for offensive operations towards the vital lines of communication passing through nearby Gujrat. Early in the war, another important breakthrough came in the Suleimanki-Fazilka Sector, where 105 Independent Infantry Brigade (IV Corps) was able to surprise the Indian ‘Foxtrot’ Force, and made a firm foothold in the area of Pak II Corps’ planned main offensive. While the Indian forces desperately carried out repeated counter attacks, PAF Mirages conducted regular photo recce missions in Ferozepur area to update the ground commanders about Indian reinforcement efforts aimed at vacating the incursion. In the event, a badly demoralised and confused Foxtrot Force could not make any headway and the Pakistani brigade was able to safeguard the vital Suleimanki Headworks, which was only a mile from the border. In preparation for the main offensive, PAF Mirages fervently conducted photo recce missions along Ferozepur-Kot Kapura, Ferozepur-Fazilka and Fazilka-Muktasar railway networks, as well as in general areas of Ferozepur and Sri Ganganagar, for the latest disposition of forces. An important mission involved recce of crossing points over Gang Canal for a careful scrutiny of obstacles across the waterway that could possibly impede the movement of II Corps. The main offensive could, however, not materialise as explained later, and most of the photo recce effort was rendered worthless. Two pilots who played a sterling role in the photo recce operations were the squadron’s ‘slide rule wizards’, Sqn Ldr Farooq Umar and Flt Lt Najib Akhtar. Of the 30 photo recce sorties (besides 15 escorts) flown by No 5 Squadron before and during the war, 22 were considered successful. [3] Although most of the singleton recce Mirages were escorted by another Mirage, yet some of the missions had to be aborted due to intense enemy air activity. In Shakargarh Sector, a few night recce missions were attempted with partial success. In one such mission on the night of 11 December, an IAF MiG-21 scrambled to intercept a Mirage flown by Sqn Ldr Farooq Umar, ended up shooting down one of its own MiG-21s flown by Flt Lt A B Dhavle, which was patrolling in the vicinity. Four-odd Bomb Damage Assessment missions were also flown following the initial strikes on runways. These helped in better planning of subsequent airfield strike missions.

Interdiction of Supplies

One of the hugely successful missions of the war was an attack on Mukerian Railway Station. On 15 December, Wg Cdr Hakimullah was tasked to lead a four-ship mission to attack Bhangala Railway Station on Jalandhar-Pathankot railway line. After pulling up for the attack, he was dismayed to discover that there was no rolling stock in sight, but he decided to try his luck further south along the railway line. Having flown a mere 30 seconds, he overflew Mukerian Railway Station which was bustling with trains. Peeling off into the attack pattern, the four Mirages set themselves for single-pass dive attacks with two 750-lb bombs each. According to Hakimullah’s estimate, there were at least 100 freight bogies latched to different trains berthed adjacent to each other. The Mirages released their bombs one by one, though No 4, who had hung ordnance, pulled off dry. The impact of the bombs on fuel and ammunition laden trains was so furious that the blasts shook the aircraft; No 2’s drop tanks sheared off with the shock wave but he was able to fly back without any further damage. The Mirages had so far been striking at shallow targets, but with the time for the main offensive running out, it was decided to use them more audaciously. It was ironic that one of the most significant interdiction missions was also the one and only flown by Mirages, before the curtain fell two days later.

Drop Scene

Pakistan Army’s plan in the west called for the beginning of offensive operations five or six days after an Indian attack in the east. These, however, were meant to be secondary operations, essentially distractions, designed to fix the enemy and to divert his attention away from the intended site of the main attack by II Corps. With one armoured and two infantry divisions, II Corps was to strike into India from the Bahawalnagar area approximately three days after the secondary attacks. II Corps was to drive east to cross the international border, before turning to the northeast to push for Bhatinda and wishfully, beyond. It was expected that most of India’s armoured reserves would have become embroiled in Pakistan’s defences in the Shakargarh salient during this three-day interval between the secondary attacks and the main effort. After much prodding by the Army’s field formation commanders as well as the PAF C-in-C, the vacillating GHQ reluctantly issued orders for II Corps to shift to its forward assembly areas on 14 December; elements of 1 Armoured Division began to move the following day. By this time, however, the other major component of II Corps ie, 33 Division, had already been detached to reinforce the beleaguered I Corps in the north and 18 Division in the south, where things were not going well for the Pakistan Army. As a consequence, II Corps was deprived of almost one third of its striking power before the offensive had even begun. On the evening of 16 December, however, new instructions arrived from GHQ, “freezing all movements” until further notice. Following capitulation of forces in the Eastern Wing, Pakistan accepted a cease fire on 17 December. Mirages – which were expected to reduce the IAF’s weight of attack by neutralising 4-5 IAF airfields once the main offensive was underway – could, thus, not be utilised for the critical task that had been meticulously planned for months.

Report Card

During the 14-day war, Mirages flew a total of 390 sorties which was 13% of PAF’s overall war effort of 2,955 sorties. [5] For a relatively new and modern weapon system, the Mirage achieved a modest aircraft Utilisation Rate of 1.6 sorties per aircraft per day during the war. [4] While it fell short of the planned 2.2 daily sorties, it reflected a cautious conduct of the war whereby the PAF was held back, so that everything could be thrown in during the army’s main offensive which, in the event, never came through. Wg Cdr Hakimullah, who very ably commanded the Mirage squadron during the war, and also led several dangerous missions in enemy territory, was awarded the Sitara-i-Jur’at (Star of Valour). That coveted award also went to Sqn Ldr Farooq Umar, the senior flight commander of the squadron, who had flown many useful photo recce missions in enemy areas infested with patrolling fighters. The three pilots who shot down IAF aircraft were content with having joined the elite club of fighter pilots with aerial kills. A month after the war, the PAF was able to line up 22 Mirages for all to see on the tarmac at Sargodha, while the 23rd Mirage was under maintenance in a hangar.[6] The impressive sight belied claims of any losses that had been incurred by the Mirage fleet during the war.

____________________

[1] The Canberra's 'Orange Putter' tail warning radar (an active device) was prone to picking up ground clutter, and was usually turned off by the pilots at lower altitudes. It is likely that Sasoon had also turned it off, to avoid false alarms that would have been triggered over the hilly terrain.

[2] Official PAF Records.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Utilisation Rate is based on an average aircraft serviceability of 75%. The Mirage-III wartime UR is calculated thus: UR = 395 sorties ÷ 17 aircraft ÷ 14 days = 1.6.

[6] A picture of the lined-up Mirages appeared in Air Enthusiast, May 1972 issue.

This article was published in Defence Journal, May 2009 issue, and Shaheen - Journal of the Pakistan Air Force, Vol 60.

Kargil Conflict and Pakistan Air Force

Pakistani writings on Kargil conflict have been few; those that did come out were largely irrelevant and in a few cases, were clearly sponsored. The role of the PAF has been discussed off and on, but mostly disparagingly, particularly in some uninformed quarters. Here is an airman’s perspective, focusing on the IAF’s air operations and the PAF’s position.

Operational Planning in the PAF

Since an important portion of this write-up pertains to the PAF’s appreciation of the situation and the decision-making loop during the Kargil conflict, we will start with a brief primer on PAF’s hierarchy and how operational matters are handled at the Air Headquarters.

The policy-making elements at Air Headquarters consist of four-tiers of staff officers. The top-most tier is made up of the Deputy Chiefs of Air Staff (DCAS) who are the Principal Staff Officers (PSOs) of their respective branches and are nominally headed by the Vice Chief of Air Staff (VCAS). They (along with Air Officers Commanding, the senior representatives from field formations) are members of the Air Board, PAF’s ‘corporate’ decision-making body which is chaired by the Chief of the Air Staff (CAS). The next tier is made up of Assistant Chiefs of Air Staff (ACAS) who head various sub-branches, and along with the third-tier Directors, assist the PSOs in policy-making; they are not on the Air Board, but can be called for hearings and presentations in the Board meetings, as required. A fourth tier of Deputy Directors does most of the sundry staff work in this policy-making hierarchy.

The Operations & Plans branch is the key player in any war, conflict or contingency and is responsible for threat assessment and formulation of a suitable response. During peace-time, war plans are drawn up by the Plans sub-branch and are then war-gamed in operational exercises run by the sister Operations sub-branch. Operational training is accordingly restructured and administered by the latter, based on the lessons of various exercises. This essentially is the gist of PAF’s operational preparedness methodology, the efficiency of which is amply reflected in its readiness and telling response in various wars and skirmishes in the past.

In early 1999, Air Chief Marshal Parvaiz Mehdi Qureshi was at the helm of the PAF. An officer with an imposing personality, he had won the Sword of Honour at the Academy. During the 1971 Indo-Pak War, as a young Flight Lieutenant, he was on a close support mission in erstwhile East Pakistan when his Sabre was shot down and he was taken POW. He determinedly resumed his fighter pilot’s career after repatriation and rose to command PAF’s premier Sargodha Base. He was later appointed as the AOC, Southern Air Command, an appointment that affords considerable interaction amongst the three services, especially in operational exercises. He also held the vitally important post of DCAS (Ops) as well as the VCAS before taking over as CAS.

The post of DCAS (Ops) was held by the late Air Marshal Zahid Anis. A well-qualified fighter pilot, he had a distinguished career in the PAF, having held some of the most sought-after appointments. These included command of No 38 Tactical Wing (F-16s), the elite Combat Commanders’ School and PAF Base, Sargodha. He was the AOC, Southern Air Command before his appointment as the head of the Operations branch at the Air Headquarters. He had done his Air War Course at the PAF’s Air War College, another War Course at the French War College as well as the prestigious Defence Studies course at the Royal College of Defence Studies in UK.

The ACAS (Ops) was Air Cdre Abid Rao, who had recently completed command of PAF Base, Mianwali. He had earlier done his War Course from the French War College.

The ACAS (Plans) was the late Air Cdre Saleem Nawaz, a brilliant officer who had made his mark at the Staff College at Bracknell, UK and during the War Course at the National Defence College, Islamabad.

There is no gainsaying the fact that PAF’s hierarchy was highly qualified, and that each one of the players in the Operations branch had the requisite command and staff experience. The two top men had also fought in the 1971 Indo-Pak War, albeit as junior officers.

First Rumblings

As Director of Operations (in the rank of Gp Capt), my first opportunity to interact with the Army’s Director of Military Operations (DMO) was over a phone call, some time in March 1999. Brig Nadeem Ahmed called with great courtesy and requested some information that he needed for a paper exercise, as he told me. He wanted to know when had the PAF last carried out a deployment at Skardu, how many aircraft were deployed, etc. Rather impressed with the Army’s interest in PAF matters, I passed on the requisite details. The next day, Brig Nadeem called again, but this time his questions were more probing and he wanted some classified information including fuel storage capacity at Skardu, fighter sortie-generation capacity, radar coverage, etc. He insisted that he was preparing a briefing and wanted to get his facts and figures right, in front of his bosses. We got on a secure telephone line and I passed on the required information. Although he made it sound like routine contingency planning, I sensed that something unusual was brewing. In the event, I thought it prudent to inform the DCAS (Ops). Just to be sure, he checked up with his counterpart, the Director General Military Operations (DGMO), Maj Gen Tauqir Zia, who said the same thing as his DMO, and assured that it was just part of routine contingency planning

Not withstanding the DGMO’s assurance, a cautious Air Marshal Zahid decided to check things for himself and despatched Gp Capt Tariq Ashraf, Officer Commanding of No 33 Wing at PAF Base, Kamra, to look matters over at Skardu and make a report. Within a few days, Gp Capt Tariq (who was also the designated war-time commander of Skardu Base) had completed his visit, which included his own periodic war-readiness inspection. While he made a detailed report to the DCAS (Ops), he let me in on the Army’s mobilisation and other preparations that he had seen in Skardu. His analysis was that ‘something big is imminent.’ Helicopter flying activity was feverishly high as Army Aviation’s Mi-17s were busy moving artillery guns and ammunition to the mountain tops. Troops in battle gear were to be seen all over the city. Interestingly, Messes were abuzz with war chatter amongst young officers. In retrospect, one wonders how Indian intelligence agencies failed to read any such signs, many weeks before the operation unfolded.

After hearing Gp Capt Tariq’s report, Air Marshal Zahid again got in touch with Maj Gen Tauqir, and in a roundabout way, told him that if the Army’s ongoing ‘review of contingency plans’ required the PAF to be factored in, an Operations & Plans team would be available for discussion. Nothing was heard from the GHQ till 12 May, when Air Marshal Zahid was told to send a team for a briefing at HQ 10 Corps with regard to the ‘Kashmir Contingency’.

Air Cdre Abid Rao, Air Cdre Saleem Nawaz and myself were directed by the DCAS (Ops) to attend a briefing on the ‘latest situation in Kashmir’ at HQ 10 Corps. We were welcomed by the Chief of Staff (COS) of the Corps, who led us to the briefing room. Shortly thereafter, the Corps Commander, Lt Gen Mahmood Ahmed entered, cutting an impressive figure clad in a bush-coat and his trademark camouflage scarf. After exchanging pleasantries, the COS started with the map orientation briefing. Thereafter, Lt Gen Mahmood took over and broke the news that a limited operation had started two days earlier. It was nothing more than a ‘protective manoeuvre’, he explained, and was meant to foreclose any further mischief by the enemy, who had been a nuisance in the Neelum Valley, specially on the road on our side of the Line of Control (LOC). He then elaborated that a few vacant Indian posts had been occupied on peaks across the LOC, overlooking the Dras-Kargil Road. These would, in effect, serve the purpose of Airborne Observation Posts (AOP) meant for directing artillery fire with accuracy. Artillery firepower would be provided by a few field guns that had been heli-lifted to the heights, piecemeal, and re-assembled over the previous few months when the Indians had been off-guard during the winter extremes. The target was a vulnerable section of Dras-Kargil Road, whose blocking would virtually cut off the crucial life-line which carried the bulk of supplies needed for daily consumption as well as annual winter-stocking in Leh-Siachen Sector. He was very hopeful that this stratagem could choke off the Indians in the vital sector for up to a month, after which the monsoons would prevent vehicular movement (due to landslides), and also suspend all airlift by the IAF. “Come October, we shall walk in to Siachen – to mop up the dead bodies of hundreds of Indians left hungry, out in the cold,” he succinctly summed up what appeared to be a new dimension to the Siachen dispute. It also seemed to serve, at least for the time being, the secondary aim of alleviating Indian military pressure on Pakistani lines of communications in the Neelum Valley that the Corps Commander had alluded to in his opening remarks. (The oft-heard strategic aim of ‘providing a fillip to the insurgency in Kashmir’ was never mentioned.)

When Lt Gen Mahmood asked for questions at the end of the rather crisp and to-the-point briefing, Air Cdre Saleem Nawaz opened up by inquiring about the type of air support that might be needed for the operation. Lt Gen Mahmood assured us that air support was not envisaged and that his forces could take care of enemy aircraft, if they intervened. “I have Stingers on every peak,” he announced. Air Cdre Saleem tried to point out the limited envelope of these types of missiles, and said that nothing stopped the IAF from attacking the posts and artillery pieces from high altitude. To this, Lt Gen Mahmood’s reply was that his troops were well camouflaged and concealed, and that IAF pilots would not be able to pick out the posts from the air. As the discussion became more animated, I asked the Corps Commander if he was sure the Indians would not use their artillery to vacate our incursion, given the criticality of the situation from their standpoint. He replied that the Dras-Kargil stretch did not allow for positioning of the hundreds of guns that would be required, due to lack of depth; in any case, it would be suicidal for the Indians to denude artillery firepower from any other sector as defensive balance had to be maintained. He gave the example of the Kathua-Jammu Sector where the Indians had a compulsion to keep the bulk of their modern Bofors guns due to vulnerability of the vital road link to our offensive elements.

It seemed from the Corps Commander’s smug appreciation of the situation that the Indians had been tightly straitjacketed in Dras-Kargil Sector and had no option but to submit to our operational design. More significantly, an alternate action like a strategic riposte by the Indians in another sector had been rendered out of question, given the nuclear environment. Whether resort to an exterior manoeuvre (diplomatic offensive) by the beleaguered Indians had crossed the planners’ minds, it was not discernable in the Corps Commander’s elucidation.

Perhaps it was the incredulousness of the whole thing that led Air Cdre Abid Rao to famously quip, “After this operation, it’s going to be either a Court Martial or Martial Law!” as we walked out of the briefing room.

Back at the Air Headquarters, we briefed the DCAS(Ops) about what had transpired at the 10 Corps briefing. His surprise at the developments, as well as his concern about the possibility of events spiralling out of control, could not remain concealed behind his otherwise unflappable demeanour. We all were also piqued at being left out of the Army’s planning, though we were given to believe that it was a ‘limited tactical action’ in which the PAF would not be required – an issue that none of us agreed with. Presented with a fait accompli, we decided not to lose any more time, and while the DCAS (Ops) went to brief the CAS about the situation, we set about gearing up for a hectic routine. The operations room was quickly updated with the latest large-scale maps and air recce photos of the area; communications links with concerned agencies were also revamped in a short time. Deployment orders were issued, and within the next 48 hours, the bulk of combat elements were in-situ at their war locations.

IAF – By Fits & Starts

The IAF deployments in Kashmir, for what came to be known as ‘Operation Safedsagar’, commenced on 15 May with the bulk of operational assets positioned by 18 May. 150 combat aircraft were deployed as follows:

> Srinagar - 34 (MiG-21, MiG-23, MiG-27)

> Awantipur - 28 (MiG-21, MiG-29, Jaguar)

> Udhampur - 12 (MiG-21)

> Pathankot - 30 (MiG-21, MiG-23)

> Adampur - 46 (Mir-2000, MiG-29, Jaguar)

One-third of the aircraft were modern, ‘high-threat’ fighters equipped with Beyond Visual Range (BVR) air-to-air missiles. During the preparatory stage, air defence alert status (5 minutes to scramble from ground) was maintained while Mirage-2000s and Jaguars carried out photo-reconnaissance along the Line of Control (LOC) and aging Canberras carried out electronic intelligence (ELINT) to ferret out locations of PAF air defence sensors. Last minute honing of strafing and rocketing skills was carried out by pilots at an air-to-ground firing range near Leh.

Operations by IAF started in earnest on 26 May, 17 days after a major attack by Pakistani infiltrators on an ammunition dump in Kargil. The salient feature of this initial phase was strafing and rocketing of the intruders’ positions by MiG-21, MiG-23BN and MiG-27. All operations (except air defence) came to a sudden standstill on 28 May, after two IAF fighters and a helicopter were lost – a MiG-21 and a Mi-17 to Pak Army surface-to-air missiles (SAMs), while a MiG-27 went down due to engine trouble caused by gun gas ingestion during high altitude strafing. (Incidentally, the pilot of the MiG-27 Flt Lt Nachiketa, who ejected and was apprehended, had a tête-à-tête with this author during an interesting ‘interrogation’ session.)

The results achieved by the IAF in the first two days were dismal. Serious restraints seem to have been imposed on the freedom of action of IAF fighters in what was basically a search-and-destroy mission. Lt Gen Mahmood’s rant about a ‘Stinger on every peak’ seemed true. It was obvious that the IAF had under-estimated the SAM threat. The mood in Pak Army circles was that of undiluted elation, and the PAF was expected to sit it out while sharing the khakis’ glee.

The IAF immediately went into a reappraisal mode and came out with GPS-assisted high altitude bombing by MiG-21, MiG-23BN and MiG-27 as a makeshift solution. In the meantime, quick modification on the Mirage-2000 for day/night laser bombing kits (Litening pods) was initiated with the help of Israelis. Conventional bombing that started incessantly after a two-day operational hiatus, was aimed at harassment and denial of respite to the infiltrators, with consequent adverse effects on morale. The results of this part of the campaign were largely insignificant, mainly because the target coordinates were not known accurately; the nature of the terrain too, precluded precision. A few cases of fratricide by IAF led it to be even more cautious.

By 16 June, IAF was able to open up the laser-guided bombing campaign with the help of Jaguars and Mirage-2000. Daily photo-recce along the LOC by Jaguars escorted by Mirage-2000s, which had continued from the beginning of operations, proved crucial to both the aerial bombing campaign as well as the Indian artillery, helping the latter in accurately shelling Pakistani positions in the Dras-Kargil and Gultari Sectors. While the photo-recce missions typically did not involve deliberate border violations, there were a total of 37 ‘technical violations’ (which emanate as a consequence of kinks and bends in the geographical boundaries). Typically, these averaged to a depth of five nautical miles, except on one occasion when the IAF fighters apparently cocked-a-snoot at the PAF and came in 13 miles deep.

The Mirage-2000s scored at least five successful laser-guided bomb hits on forward dumping sites and posts. During the last days of operations which ended on 12 July, it was clear that delivery accuracy had improved considerably. Even though night bombing accuracy was suspect, round-the-clock attacks had made retention of posts untenable for Pakistani infiltrators. Photo-recce of Pakistani artillery gun positions also made them vulnerable to Indian artillery.

The IAF flew a total of 550 strike missions against infiltrator positions including bunkers and supply depots. The coordinates of these locations were mostly picked up from about 150 reconnaissance and communications intelligence missions. In addition, 500 missions were flown for air defence and for escorting strike and recce missions.

While the Indians had been surprised by the infiltration in Kargil, the IAF mobilised and reacted rapidly as the Indian Army took time to position itself. Later, when the Indian Army had entrenched itself, the IAF supplemented and filled in where the artillery could not be positioned in force. Clearly, Army-Air joint operations had a synergistic effect in evicting the intruders.

PAF in a Bind

From the very beginning of Kargil operations, PAF was entrapped by a circumstantial absurdity: it was faced with the ludicrous predicament of having to provide air support to infiltrators already disowned by the Pakistan Army leadership! In any case, it took some effort to impress on the latter that crossing the LOC by fighters laden with bombs was not, by any stretch of imagination, akin to lobbing a few artillery shells to settle scores. There was no doubt in the minds of PAF Air Staff that the first cross-border attack (whether across LOC or the international border) would invite an immediate response from the IAF, possibly in the shape of a retaliatory strike against the home base of the intruding fighters, thus starting the first round. PAF’s intervention meant all-out war: this unmistakable conclusion was conveyed to the Prime Minister, Mr Nawaz Sharif, by the Air Chief in no equivocal terms.

Short of starting an all-out war, PAF looked at some saner options that could put some wind in the sails after doldrums had been hit. Air Marshal Najib Akhtar, the Air Officer Commanding of Air Defence Command was co-opted by the Air Staff to sift the possibilities. Audacious and innovative in equal parts, Air Marshal Najib had an excellent knowledge about our own and the enemy’s Air Defence Ground Environment (ADGE). He had conceived and overseen the unprecedented heli-lift of a low-looking radar to a 12,000-ft mountain top on the forbidding, snow-clad Deosai Plateau. The highly risky operation became possible with the help of some courageous flying by Army Aviation pilots. With good low level radar cover now available up to the LOC, Air Marshal Najib along with the Air Staff focused on fighter sweep (a mission flown to destroy patrolling enemy fighters) as a possible option.

To prevent the mission from being seen as an escalatory step in the already charged atmosphere, PAF had to lure Indian fighters into its own territory, ie Azad Kashmir or the Northern Areas. That done, a number of issues had to be tackled. What if the enemy aircraft were hit in our territory but fell across, providing a pretext to India as a doubly aggrieved party? What if one of our own aircraft fell, no matter if the exchange was one-to-one (or better)? Finally, even if we were able to pull off a surprise, would it not be a one-off incident, with the IAF becoming wiser in quick time? The over-arching consideration was the BVR missile capability of IAF fighters which impinged unfavourably on the mission success probability. The conclusion was that a replication of the famous four-Vampire rout of 1st September 1965 by two Sabres might not be possible. The idea of a fighter sweep thus fizzled out as quickly as it came up for discussion.

While the PAF looked at some offensive options, it had a more pressing defensive issue at hand. The IAF’s minor border violations during recce missions were not of grave consequence in so far as no bombing had taken place in our territory; however, the fact that these missions helped the enemy refine its air and artillery targeting, was, to say the least, disconcerting. There were constant reports of our troops on the LOC disturbed to see, or hear, IAF fighters operating with apparent impunity. The GHQ took the matter up with the AHQ and it was resolved that Combat Air Patrols (CAPs) would be flown by the F-16s operating out of Minhas (Kamra) and Sargodha. This arrangement resulted in less on-station time but was safer than operating out of vulnerable Skardu, which had inadequate early warning in the mountainous terrain; its status as a turn-around facility was, however, considered acceptable for its location. A flight of F-7s was, nonetheless, deployed primarily for point defence of the important garrison town of Skardu as well as the air base.

F-16 CAPs could not have been flown all day long as spares support was limited under the prevailing US sanctions. Random CAPs were resorted to, with a noticeable drop in border violations only as long as the F-16s were on station. There were a few cases of F-16s and Mirage-2000s locking their adversaries with the on-board radars, but caution usually prevailed and no close encounters took place. After one week of CAPs, the F-16 maintenance personnel indicated that war reserve spares were being eaten into and that the activity had to be ‘rationalised’, a euphemism for discontinuing it altogether. That an impending war occupied the Air Staff’s minds was evident in the decision by the DCAS (Ops) for F-16 CAPs to be discontinued, unless IAF activity became unbearably provocative or threatening.

Those not aware of the gravity of the F-16 operability problem under sanctions have complained of the PAF’s lack of cooperation. Suffice it to say that if the PAF had been included in the initial planning, this anomaly (along with many others) would have emerged as a mitigating factor against the Kargil adventure. It is another matter that the Army high command did not envisage operations ever coming to such a pass. Now, it was almost as if the PAF was to blame for the Kargil venture spiralling out of control.

It must also be noted  that other than F-16s, the PAF did not have a capable enough fighter for patrolling, as the minimum requirement in this scenario was an on-board airborne intercept radar, exceptional agility and sufficient staying power. F-7s had reasonably good manoeuvrability but lacked an intercept radar as well as endurance, while the ground attack Mirage-III/5s and A-5s were sitting ducks for the air combat mission.

In sum, the PAF found it expedient not to worry too much about minor border violations and instead, conserve resources for the larger conflagration that was looming. All the same, it gave the enemy no pretext for retaliation in the face of any provocation, though this latter stance irked some quarters in the Army that were desperate to ‘equal the match’. Might it strike to some that PAF’s restraint in warding off a major conflagration may have been its paramount contribution to the Kargil conflict?

Aftermath

It has emerged that there were four principal protagonists of the Kargil adventure viz, General Pervez Musharraf: Chief of Army Staff (COAS), Lt Gen Aziz Khan: Chief of General Staff (CGS), Lt Gen Mahmood Ahmed: Commander 10 Corps, and Maj Gen Javed Hasan: Commander Force Command Northern Areas (FCNA). The clique, in previous ranks and appointments, had been associated with planning during paper exercises on how to wrest control of lost territory in Siachen. The DGMO, Maj Gen Tauqir Zia was less than enthusiastic about the plan, but went along anyway.

The plan had once earlier been out up to the previous Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, but she had not found it acceptable due to possible international repercussions. She was well-versed in geopolitics, and all too intelligent to be taken in by the chicanery. It fell to the wisdom of her successor, Mr Nawaz Sharif, to approve the Army clique's self-serving briefing.

In an effort to keep the plan secret, which was thought to be the key to its successful initiation, the Army trio took no one into confidence, neither its own operational commanders nor the heads of the other services. This, regrettably, resulted in a closed-loop thought process which engendered a string of oversights and failures:

• Failure to grasp the wider military and diplomatic ramifications of a limited tactical operation that had the potential of creating major strategic effects.

• Failure to correctly visualise the response of a powerful enemy to what was, in effect, a major blow in a disputed sector.

• Failure to spell out the specific aim to field commanders, who acted on their own to needlessly capture territory and expand the scope of the operation to unmanageable levels.

• Failure to appreciate the inability of the Army officers to evaluate the capabilities and limitations of an Air Force.

• Failure to coordinate contingency plans at the tri-services level.

The flaws in the Kargil Plan that led to these failures were almost palpable, and could not have escaped even a layman’s attention during a cursory examination. The question arises as to why all the planners got blinded to the obvious? Could it be that some of the sub-ordinates had the sight but not the nerve in the face of a powerful superior? In hierarchical organisations, there is precious little room for dissent, but in autocratic ones like the military, it takes more than a spine to disagree, for there are very few commanders who are large enough to allow such liberties. It is out of fear of annoying the superior – which also carries with it manifold penalties and loss of promotion and perks – that the majority decide to go along with the wind.

In a country where democratic traditions have never been deep-rooted, it is no big exposé to point out that the military is steeped in an authoritarian, rather than a consensual approach. To my mind, there is an urgent need to inculcate a more liberal culture that accommodates different points of view – a more lateral approach, so to speak. Disagreement during planning should be systemically tolerated, and not taken as a personal affront. Unfortunately, many in higher ranks seem to think that rank alone confers wisdom, and anyone displaying signs of intelligence at an earlier stage is, somehow, an alien in their ‘star-spangled’ universe.

Kargil, I suspect, like the ‘65 and ‘71 Wars, was a case of not having enough dissenters (‘devil’s advocates’, if you will) during planning, because everyone wanted to agree with the boss. That single reason, I think, was the root cause of most of the failures that were apparent right from the beginning. If this point is understood well, remedial measures towards tolerance and liberalism can follow as a matter of course. Such an organisational milieu, based on honest appraisal and fearless appeal, would be conducive to sound and sensible planning. It would also go a long way in precluding Kargil-like disasters.

Tailpiece

Come change-over time of the Chief of Air Staff in 2001, President Musharraf struck at PAF’s top leadership in what can only be described as implacable action: he passed over all five Air Marshals and appointed the sixth-in-line who was practically an Air Vice Marshal till a few weeks before. While disregarding of seniority in the appointment of service chiefs has historically been endemic in the country, the practice has been seen as breeding nepotism and partiality, besides leaving a trail of conjecture and gossip in the ranks. Given Air Chief Marshal Mehdi’s rather straight-faced and forthright dealings with General Musharraf, particularly during Kargil conflict, there is good reason to believe that the latter decided to appoint a not-very-senior Air Chief whom he could order around like one of his Corps Commanders. (As it turned out, Air Chief Marshal Mus’haf was as solid as his predecessor and gave no quarter when it came to PAF’s interests.) Whatever the reason of bypassing seniority, it was unfortunate that PAF’s precious corporate experience was thrown out so crassly and several careers destroyed. Lives and honour lost in Kargil is another matter.

© M KAISER TUFAIL

This article was published in Air Forces Monthly (UK) - June 2009 issue, under the title 'Himalayan Showdown'. The article was also published in Defence Journal (Pak), May 2009 issue.

Shahbaz Over Golan

Post-haste summons for volunteers found an eager band of sixteen PAF fighter pilots on their way to the Middle East, in the midst of the 1973 Ramadan war. After a grueling Peshawar-Karachi-Baghdad flight on a PAF C-130, they were whisked off to Damascus by road. Upon arrival, half the batch was told to stay back in Syria while the rest were earmarked for Egypt. By the time the PAF batch reached Cairo, Egypt had agreed to a cease-fire; it was therefore decided that they would continue as instructors. But in Syria, it was another story.

The batch in Syria was made up of pilots who were already serving there on deputation (except one), but had been repatriated before the war. Now they were back in familiar surroundings as well as familiar aircraft, the venerable MiG-21. They were posted to No 67 Squadron, Alpha Detachment (all PAF). Hasty checkouts were immediately followed by serious business of Air Defence Alert scrambles and Combat Air Patrols from the air base at Dumayr near Damascus.

Syria had not agreed to a cease-fire, since Israeli operations in Golan were continuing at a threatening pace. Israeli Air Force missions included interdiction under top cover, well supported by intense radio jamming as the PAF pilots discovered. The PAF formation, using the call sign ‘Shahbaz,’ was formidable in size – all of eight aircraft. Shahbaz soon came to stand out as one that couldn't be messed with, in part because its tactics were innovative and bold. Survival, however, in a jammed-radio environment was concern number one. As a precaution, the Pakistanis decided to switch to Urdu for fear of being monitored in English. Suspicions were confirmed during one patrol, when healthy Punjabi invectives hurled on radio got them wondering if Mossad had recruited a few ‘Khalsas[1]’ for the job!

After several months of sporadic activity, it seemed that hostilities were petering out. While the Shahbaz patrols over Lebanon and Syria had diminished in frequency, routine training sorties started to register a rise. Under these conditions it was a surprise when on the afternoon of 26th April 1974, the siren blasted from the airshafts of the underground bunker. Backgammon boards were pushed aside and the coffee session was interrupted as all eight pilots rushed to their MiGs; they were airborne within minutes. From Dumayr to Beirut, then along the Mediterranean coast till Sidon, and a final leg eastwards, skirting Damascus and back to Base – this was the usual patrol, flown at an altitude of 20,000 ft. The limited fuel of their early model MiG-21F permitted just a 30-minute sortie; this was almost over when ground radar blurted out on the radio that two bogeys were approaching from the southerly direction ie, Israel. At this stage fuel was low and an engagement was the least preferred option. Presented with a fait accompli, the leader of the formation called a defensive turn into the bogeys. Just then heavy radio jamming started, sounding somewhat similar to the ‘takka tak[2]’ at our meat joints, only more shrill. While the formation was gathering itself after the turn, two Israeli F-4E Phantoms sped past almost head-on, seemingly unwilling to engage. Was it a bait?

Flt Lt Sattar Alvi, now the rear-most in the formation, was still adjusting after the hard turn when he caught sight of two Mirage-IIICJ zooming into them from far below. With no way of warning the formation of the impending disaster, he instinctively decided to handle them alone. Peeling away from his formation, he turned hard into the Mirages so that one of them overshot. Against the other, he did a steep reversal dropping his speed literally to zero. (It takes some guts to let eight tons of metal hang up in unfriendly air!) The result was that within moments, the second Mirage filled his gunsight. While Sattar worried about having to concentrate for precious seconds in aiming and shooting, the lead Mirage started to turn around to get Sattar. Thinking that help was at hand, the target Mirage decided to accelerate away. A quick-witted Sattar reckoned that a missile shot would be just right for the range his target had opened up to. A pip of a button later, a K-13 heat-seeker sped off towards the tail of the escaping Mirage. Sattar recollects that it wasn’t as much an Israeli aircraft as a myth that seemed to explode in front of him. (The letter ‘J’ in Mirage-IIICJ stood for ‘Jewish,’ it may be noted.) He was tempted to watch the flaming metal rain down, but with the other Mirage lurking around and fuel down to a few hundred litres, he decided to exit. Diving down with careless abandon, he allowed a couple of sonic bangs over Damascus. (Word has it that the Presidential Palace wasn't amused!) His fuel tanks bone dry, Sattar made it to Dumayr on the vapours that remained.

As the other formation members started to trickle in, the leader, Sqn Ldr Arif Manzoor anxiously called out for Sattar to check if he was safe. All had thought that Sattar, a bit of a maverick that he was, had landed himself in trouble. Shouts of joy went up on the radio, however, when they learnt that he had been busy shooting down a Mirage. The Syrians were overwhelmed when they learnt that the impunity and daring of the Pakistani pilots had paid off. Sattar was declared a blood brother, for he had shared in shedding the blood of a common enemy, the Syrians explained!

Sattar's victim Captain M Lutz[3] of No 5 Air Wing based at Hatzor, ejected out of his disintegrating aircraft. It has been learnt that the Mirages were on a reconnaissance mission, escorted by Phantoms of No 1 Air Wing operating out of Ramat David Air Base. The Phantoms were to trap any interceptors while the Mirages carried out the recce. Timely warning by the radar controller (Flt Lt Saleem Metla, also from the PAF) had turned the tables on the escorts, allowing Sattar to sort out the Mirages.

The success of Shahbaz over Golan is testimony to the skills of all PAF pilots, insists Sattar, as he thinks any one could have got the kill had he been ‘Shahbaz-8’ on that fateful day. The Syrian Government awarded the Wisam al-Shuja'a to all the formation members. Additionally, Sattar and Arif were admitted as ‘knights’ (al-faris) in the coveted Wisam al-Istehqaq al-Suriya, one of the country’s highest awards for 'honourable service and devotion'. The Government of Pakistan awarded Sattar and Arif with a Sitara-i-Jur’at as well. Sattar, an epitome of a fighter pilot, befittingly went on to command PAF’s elite Combat Commanders’ School and the premier PAF Base, Rafiqui. Many a fighter pilot trained by Sattar would swear by his audaciousness in the air. Even today, crew room lore persists that fighter pilots don’t come any bolder!

_________________________

[1] Sikhs call themselves ‘khalsas’ or pure.
[2] The noise made by cleavers as the meat is chopped while being cooked in large metal pans. ‘Takka tak’ is also the widespread name of the meat delicacy.
[3] The identity of the pilot and his Unit has been obtained from US sources that prefer to remain unidentified; absolute confirmation of this detail is, therefore, not claimed.

This article is an excerpted chapter from Air Cdre Kaiser Tufail's book, Great Air Battles of Pakistan Air Force, published by Ferozsons (Pvt) Ltd, 2005. It was also published in: Shaheen - Journal of the PAF, Summer 1999 issue; Defence Journal, April 1999; The News International daily newspaper, 26 April 1999; Ausaf daily newspaper, 26 April 1999 (Urdu translation); Family Magazine weekly magazine, 5-11 Sep 1998 (Urdu translation); Akhbaar-e-Jahan weekly magazine, 31 Aug-6 Sep 1998 (Urdu translation)

It is the Man Behind the Gun

Pakistani military planners had conceived the West to be the main theatre of 1971 War but the gains in Chamb, Hussainiwala and Fazilka turned out to be a measly sop for the loss of East Pakistan. Fierce resistance by Pakistani armour in Northern Punjab had stemmed a looming breach that threatened Shakargarh and Zafarwal, albeit at the cost of substantial territorial losses. In the Desert Sector, the Indian Army’s Southern Command had occupied vast tracts spread over 4,000 square miles. The stunned military junta was, therefore, desperate for a cease-fire, as the Pakistan Army valiantly tried to stave off Indian attempts at driving towards deeper strategic objectives. At this stage of the conflict, the PAF was still in the ring and on its feet. Close Air Support and Combat Air Patrols (CAP) over the battle area were being provided to the Army without any let up, till the curtain finally fell on 17th December.

On the last day of the war, two Sabres[1] led by Flt Lt Maqsood Amir of PAF’s No 18 Squadron took off from Sargodha, for a routine patrol over the battle area. The winter haze had not quite cleared up even by mid-day, so Maqsood asked the radar controller for a loiter height of 5,000 ft instead of the usual 1,000 ft, for better visibility. With his wingman Flt Lt Taloot Mirza in tow, Maqsood set up orbit around Pasrur, which was on the western edge of the battle area.

No 45 Squadron, equipped with MiG-21FL was based at Chandigarh. Just prior to the war, it had been split up into several detachments, one of which was deployed at Amritsar. A radar Surveillance Unit was also co-located at Amritsar and, given the proximity to the border, the Base was well poised for an instant response.

As expected, the reaction was swift when two MiG-21s scrambled to intercept the Sabre CAP. Sneaking in at low level, the MiGs were out of PAF’s radar cover but their VHF[2] radios were under surveillance. The IAF pilot-controller conversation was a good enough clue for the PAF controller, Sqn Ldr Rab Nawaz, to assess exactly what was going on. Carefully monitoring the radio calls of the ‘rats’ (code-word for MiG-21), he instructed Maqsood to fly at combat speed and keep a good lookout. The moment the MiG leader, Sqn Ldr Shankar, called ‘contact’ with the bogies, Nawaz instantly warned the Sabre pair that the threat was in the vicinity and they had better clear their tails.

As Maqsood threw in a left hand turn to look around, he was astonished to see two MiG-21s diving down at the Sabres from 8 o’clock, high position[3]. He recalls being struck by the aircrafts’ small delta wings and sleek, long fuselages; he also did not miss their desert camouflage, an oddity in the lush Punjab plains. The apparent toy model features of the MiGs, however, made a lethal transformation in front of Maqsood’s eyes when he saw a fiery streak shoot off from one of the aircraft!

Inducted in the IAF as an antidote to the PAF’s remarkable Starfighter, the MiG-21 was a far more manoeuvrable aircraft, with few aerodynamic vices. Compared to a Sabre, its small, heavily loaded wings were not suited for tight turning in the horizontal plane, but it had sufficient excess thrust to lift the fight into the vertical. Additionally, the MiG’s acceleration was impressive and, it could catch an adversary as fast as it could move out of its clutches. All things considered, the MiG-21 could fight on its own terms. The Sabre, on the other hand, had few options against a bi-sonic fighter. Happily, slow speed combat was the Sabre’s forte, thanks to a fine slatted wing[4]. Being able to force an overshoot was, thus, the name of the game.

With an adversary firing from the rear, the drill is to ‘break’ into it with maximum rate of turn, thus compounding the gun-tracking problem. Incredibly, Maqsood hesitated! Noticing that the MiG’s profile appeared somewhat frontal, he reckoned that enough lead was not being allowed. A good gun tracking solution would require the attacker to point ahead; this would consequently show more of the belly and lower wing surface to a defender. Concluding that he was out of harm’s way for the moment, Maqsood coolly settled for an energy-conserving hard turn. This would eventually make the MiGs hit a square corner as they ran out of turning room, he imagined.

What Maqsood did not know was that a K-13 missile had been launched and the flash that he had seen was not of cannon fire, really[5]. A missile launch would have required him to go for a maddening ‘break,’ leaving little energy for a fight back. Fortuitously, the hard turn had sufficed all the same; it not only defeated the early generation missile but also cramped the attackers for space.

Sensing an overshoot, Shankar eased up for a ‘yo-yo’ to give himself enough separation, before he swooped down again. A defender endowed with better acceleration could have escaped at this juncture, but knowing his Sabre’s limitations, Maqsood had to stay on and fight. Under the circumstances, a smart tactic was needed that could throw off the attackers. Maqsood picked the barrel roll from his repertoire. The comical-sounding manoeuvre was somewhat of a misnomer in the deadly world of air combat. While an essential of any aerobatics display, the barrel roll had turned the tables on an attacker in many a dogfight.

Basically, the roll involves a corkscrew flight path on the inside of an imaginary barrel. Since the aircraft flies in three dimensions during the process, the resultant forward motion is distributed or ‘vectored’ in the three planes. An unwary pursuer is thus not able to arrest his rapidly increasing rate of closure. This is exactly what happened to the two MiGs that zipped past, as Maqsood went through the complex motions of rolling, pitching and yawing, while ‘doing the barrel.’

Recovering to level flight again, Maqsood was in a bit of a quandary whether to fire his six 0.5” Browning guns or the Sidewinder missiles. For the latter he had to wait some seconds, till the MiGs had opened up to an optimum range of several thousand feet. Suddenly, the trailing MiG turned hard to the left, apparently having noticed the Sabre behind. Maqsood did not let go of the opportunity; he placed his gunsight over the target, and started firing. The bullets seemed to land square behind the canopy and after just four seconds of firing, the aircraft started to trail thick black smoke. Maqsood noticed something fly out of the aircraft before it rolled over and dived into the ground in a big ball of fire. Perhaps it was the ejection seat that had shot out of the burning aircraft, but Maqsood was more concerned about his No 2 who was not visible in the rear quarters.

Having stuck around through the arduous manoeuvring as wingman, Taloot found it too tempting to let go of the other MiG in front and started chasing it. As expected, the chase was futile but in the process he split up with Maqsood. Luckily, the two re-joined with the assistance of the radar controller, who was interrupting his instructions with a relay of the disconsolate MiG leader’s calls. “Shortie has ejected,” Nawaz heard Shankar tell Amritsar, as he kept his ear to the VHF monitor.

Flt Lt Tejwant Singh had ironically gone down to the Sabre, an aircraft that he had himself trained on during the Combat Crew Training Course done in USA in 1964. His friendship with some of the PAF pilots[6] during the course may also have been instructive in some ways, for to ‘know thy enemy’ is a familiar dictum of warfare. The superior performance of the MiG-21, versus the Sabre, was another factor of consequence in the dogfight. In the final analysis, however, it is the man behind the gun that makes the difference, as Maqsood demonstrated in this classic air battle. His skills were duly acknowledged with the award of a Tamgha-i-Jur’at.

Some years later, Maqsood decided to go back to the classroom, while a Wing Commander. Majoring in aerospace engineering as the only officer in a class full of cadets, he was the top graduate and won the University’s[7] prestigious gold medal. Having demonstrated his expertise with both ‘the sword and the pen,’ Maqsood is well qualified to judge what it takes to be a successful fighter pilot. Air combat is a mind-game,” asserts Maqsood, profoundly. “An analytical mind, together with sharp reflexes can carry the day – a superior machine not withstanding.”

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[1] The version flown by No 18 Squadron was the Canadair Sabre Mk-6 (known as F-86E in PAF).
[2] The IAF used Very High Frequency (VHF) while the PAF used Ultra High Frequency (UHF) for radio communications.
[3] The MiGs had ‘blown through’ the Sabre formation head-on, without having been observed. Subsequently, the MiGs got behind the Sabres through a low-to-high conversion.
[4] The ‘slats’ on the leading edge of the Sabre’s wings drooped down at slow speeds and allowed air to rush through the narrow slot that was consequently created; this fast moving air passed over the wings and re-energised the turbulent airflow, thus delaying the onset of stall.
[5] The IAF MiG-21s were usually configured with two K-13 missiles and a centre-line drop tank each, the latter replacing the optional 23mm belly gun pack.
[6] 2nd Lts M Arshad Choudhry and Salim Baig Mirza were Tejwant’s course-mates at Nellis AFB, USA. In a twist of fate, Baig was there to cheer up Tejwant when the latter was in custody as a POW in Rawalpindi. Maqsood Amir also briefly met his victim during the latter’s transit to the POW camp.
[7] PAF’s College of Aeronautical Engineering was then affiliated to the NED University of Science and Technology, Karachi.

This article is an excerpted chapter from Air Cdre Kaiser Tufail's book, Great Air Battles of Pakistan Air Force, published by Ferozsons (Pvt) Ltd, 2005.

A Hard Nut to Crack

The much-awaited II Corps offensive on the Western Front got overtaken by events as the 1971 Indo-Pak War headed for a mortifying finale for Pakistan. PAF had been conserving its assets for the all-important battle, which was not to be. Enough pressure was, however, maintained to tie down IAF effort for air defence, as also to demonstrate an offensive resolve. Continual attacks on the forward airfields of Amritsar, Pathankot and Srinagar, were thus part of a carefully considered strategy. In the event, an Indian Army two-pronged offensive in Shakargarh sector had rendered neutralisation of these airfields most crucial.

No 26 Squadron, based at Peshawar, had been assigned to take care of Srinagar airfield. Daily attacks by Sabres had been causing some damage, but the runway repair gangs were ensuring that the airfield was not out of permanent service[1]. The morning of 14th December saw yet another bombing raid led by the Squadron Commander, Wg Cdr Sharbat Ali Changazi. Accompanying him were Flt Lts H K Dotani, Amjad Andrabi and Maroof Mir, whose Sabres were armed with two 500 lbs bombs each. Escorting the 4-ship package were Flt Lts Salim Baig Mirza and Rahim Yusufzai. Altogether it was a formidable force and, given the familiarity with Srinagar, it seemed like it would be another milk run.

After a 25-minute flight through the picturesque hills and vales of western Kashmir, Changazi’s commanding voice broke the radio silence, “Leader pulling up, contact with the target.” The time was 0730 hrs (PST). Dotani, Andrabi and Mir followed at short intervals, none missing the easily visible airfield complex. Popping up to 5,000 ft above ground, they dived one by one to release their bombs on the runway. Baig and Yusufzai loosened into an orbit overhead the airfield, looking out for any interceptors through the relentless Anti-Aircraft Artillery barrage.

Flg Off Nirmal Jit Singh Sekhon of No 18 Squadron was rolling for take-off as No 2 in a two-Gnat formation, just as the first bombs were falling on the runway. Said to have been delayed due to dust kicked up by the preceding Gnat, Sekhon lost no time in singling out the first Sabre pair, which was re-forming after the bombing run. Changazi was, however, quick to detect the attacker behind his wingman. “Gnat behind, all punch tanks,” yelled Changazi. No 3 (Andrabi), who was just pulling out of the attack, was horrified to see the Gnat no more than 1,000 ft and firing at Dotani. “Break left,” called Andrabi, as he himself manoeuvred to get behind the Gnat. Dotani, who had been turning frantically, found his low-powered Sabre tottering at the verge of stall[2]. Unable to hang around any longer with such a precarious energy state, he decided to make a getaway. No 4 (Mir) in the meantime had completed his bombing run and, having no visual contact with the rest, decided to head home as well. The Gnat Leader, Flt Lt Ghuman, had also lost visual with his wingman just after take-off. Said to have failed in re-establishing contact, Ghuman remained out of the fight leaving Sekhon to handle the muddle all by himself.

The fight had turned into a classic tail chase, with a Sabre followed by a Gnat, which in turn was followed by another Sabre. “I am getting behind one but the other is getting an edge on me,” is how Sekhon had described the situation to his controllers. With two more free fighters watching over, the lone Gnat was practically up against four Sabres. Andrabi had, by now, closed in behind the Gnat’s rear quarters and was firing steadily. He was sure that he would get the Gnat, he excitedly forecast on the radio. His Sabre was incessantly spewing out a stream of 0.5” bullets but, despite good aim and textbook range, remained off the mark. What should have been a quick kill dragged on clumsily, testing everyone’s patience and nerves.

The Sabre had enough firepower to riddle a whole formation with bullets, so everyone was dumb-founded when Andrabi’s voice crackled on the radio, “Three is Winchester!” It meant that he had exhausted 1,800 rounds and his guns had stopped firing. The Gnat was still turning circles and it seemed that unless help came fast, Andrabi would soon be at the receiving end.

Changazi was carefully monitoring the dogfight while looking out for the elusive Gnat Leader, whose fleeting glimpse he had caught a while ago[3]. On hearing that Andrabi was spent, Changazi called him to join up as his wingman. Dislodging himself from the Gnat’s tail, Andrabi dutifully moved towards his leader. As the two were forming up, Sekhon took advantage of the slack, straightened out and jettisoned the drop tanks. In the flurry of activity, Sekhon had overlooked a vitally important step and, it was just as well that he shed dead weight for the next round. Nimbler than before, the Gnat could be seen to turn ever more tight as it started to catch up onto Changazi and Andrabi’s pair. Perched on top, the escorts watched in astonishment as the Gnat snatched degrees at a dizzying rate. The situation was getting stickier by the minute and in a couple of turns the Gnat was in a menacing position.

Silver-tongued and gravel-voiced, Andrabi was a class unto himself when he took to the radio. A smattering of expletives ensured that his calls were never disregarded even in the toughest of air combat manoeuvres. Thus, when Andrabi shouted for help against the attacker whose lineage he had declared suspect, everyone took notice! The escorts instantly dived down to grapple with Sekhon, who had turned out to be a hard nut to crack. While Yusufzai covered up as wingman, Baig easily manoeuvred to get behind the Gnat, much to everyone’s relief.

Baig had the privilege of opening his Squadron’s account by shooting down a Hunter near Peshawar, ten days earlier[4]. Since then, he had been in the thick of action in almost every sortie that he went up for. This experience, coupled with his unflappable personality, came in handy as Baig calmly positioned his pipper on the canopy of the Gnat and opened fire. Less than three seconds later the Gnat started to spew thick black smoke. Baig knew it was all over so he stopped firing and watched for the next move.

Meanwhile, the Base Commander and some senior pilots who were in the Air Traffic Control tower to monitor the dogfight, heard Sekhon’s frantic call to his leader, “I think I have been hit. Ghuman, come and get them.” With the mission leader still nowhere to be seen, the baffled ground supervisors tried to help Sekhon with the emergency but to no avail. Baig, who was following behind, saw the Gnat level its wings and head for the airfield, as if to indicate that for him the fight was over. Suddenly, the Gnat went inverted as it dove down uncontrollably from very low height. In all likelihood, the aircraft’s flight control system had failed. Sekhon attempted a last minute ejection as his canopy was seen to fly off, but the height was too low for the ejection system to function fully. The wreckage of the Gnat was found in a gorge, a few miles from the Base.

As the Sabres were reforming for recovery, Andrabi was surprised to notice that his left drop tank was still there, while the right one was gone. The aircraft was skidding to one side, something that he had not felt during the heat of the battle. He now reckoned a bit late why the bullets had not found their mark. Much to everyone’s relief though, Baig had saved the day and the formation made it back to Peshawar, unscathed[5]. Baig’s kill, however, did not get duly noticed, as the mission was seen to be a close call by the Air Staff at the PAF Headquarters. His citation for gallant action thus only made it to the ‘Mentioned in Despatches’ category. An award not withstanding, Baig is highly regarded in the PAF for belonging to the elite club of fighter pilots with multiple kills.

Sekhon, on the other hand, was posthumously awarded the Param Vir Chakra, India’s highest award for wartime gallantry and the only one received by an airman. His was a commendable effort indeed, as he had kept the field single-handedly to the very end.

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[1] An interesting aside to the attack-and-repair game were warnings delivered to the Garrison Engineer (GE) , Srinagar, through leaflet drops by Sabres. The GE was warned not to repair the runway, else his house would be bombed! The leaflets were inserted in the speed brakes and were released through a momentary pip, just after the actual bomb release – a dicey prank indeed.
[2] PAF was flying two versions of the Sabre in the 1971 War - the North American F-86F and the Canadair Sabre Mk-6 (ex-Luftwaffe). The F-86F model that equipped No 26 Squadron had a markedly low-powered engine, which did little to help sustain speed and turn rates in combat.
[3] The Gnat Leader was briefly observed by Changazi at a higher altitude than the rest and, flying reciprocal to the direction of the engaged fighters. He was not seen again by any one.
[4] Flg Off Kotliezath P Muralidharan of No 20 Squadron was shot down on 4th Dec 1971, following a raid on Peshawar airfield.
[5] Contrary to IAF’s citation for Sekhon’s award, none of the Sabres was hit during the dogfight.

This article is an excerpted chapter from Air Cdre Kaiser Tufail's book, Great Air Battles of Pakistan Air Force, published by Ferozsons (Pvt) Ltd, 2005.