Risalpur Diaries

The first day of 1974 saw 39 of us from 60th GD (P) Course arriving at PAF Academy, Risalpur.  This was the dream place we all had longed for, as many a PAF legend had passed through its hallowed halls, classrooms and flight lines.  We still had three more months to go in the second term before we could fit into the scheme of things at the Academy.  For some reason, our tenure at the Initial Training Wing at Lower Topa had been cut short, and we were to complete the remaining term as the junior-most cadets at Risalpur.  This was quite a let-down, for we had been enjoying full authority and complete freedom in the most salubrious environs of Murree Hills, just a few days earlier.  The only consolation was that the state of affairs at Risalpur was said to be more ‘mature,’ whatever that meant.

We were accommodated in one of the three U-Blocks in the Cadets’ Mess.  Each room had a bunk bed for two, along with a study table and a chair.  The Mess was bifurcated by a road, with the cadets’ accommodation on one side, and the dining hall, ante-rooms and the Under Officers’ Block for the senior appointment holders, on the other.  The road in between was, unbelievably, a thoroughfare with airmen and civilians loitering around merrily at all times of the day and night.  The Mess premises had no boundary wall around it, as security was never felt to be an issue in the cantonment area. The cadets could wander off to the nearby ‘casino,’ a ramshackle canteen for army soldiers that served jalebis, rusks and tea.  The Cadets’ Mess tea bar, run by the strict and authoritarian bartender Abdul Rauf, popularly known as ‘Maulana,’ was out of bounds for any cadet who was not dressed up properly, so the casino was a convenient hangout for some of the slothful types.

As the junior-most term at the Academy, we were subjected to the usual shouting and cursing, withdrawal of petty privileges, and periodic punishments for no rhyme or reason. Interestingly, the same treatment was being meted out to our immediate seniors from 59th GD (P) Course, who still had over a year to climb to the top rung.  For us, the irony of it all was to watch our previous tormentors receive their payback, one frog jump at a time!

Not long after settling down, we found ourselves on the parade square, when not at the Directorate of Studies.  The graduation parade of 57th GD (P) Course was not too far, and practice started in earnest rather early.  Perhaps we had been called in from Lower Topa prematurely to pack the parade square to capacity, as the President of Pakistan was to review the parade.

The Directorate of Studies was headed by a seasoned educationist, Wg Cdr Muhammad Shamim.   Some of the new subjects that we got introduced to included aerodynamics, aero-engines, armament, electronics, meteorology and navigation.  Since these subjects had a direct bearing on our future careers as pilots, all of us evinced keen interest, much to the satisfaction of our worthy education instructors. A Bachelor’s degree in Aero-sciences to go along with the coveted flying badge remained everyone’s ultimate goal.

A welcome activity at the Directorate of Studies was the tea break at 11 o’clock, when a horse-drawn tonga would arrive at the edge of the parade square with a huge samovar filled with tea, along with a container of crockery.  Tea would be served on a table laid out by a Cadets’ Mess waiter.  Some of the smokers would drift off and draw some quick puffs in the company of seniors, hoping to endear themselves to someone who could make their lives easier.

The strident drone of the T-6G, and the high-pitched whine of the T-37 soon started to sound like music to our ears and we would look skywards, hoping to fly these birds someday.  Anwar Amil, originally a course senior but relegated to ours, was a great air enthusiast.  He was always ready to fire us up with stories of air wars, complete with sound effects of roaring jets and staccato cannon fire.  During tea breaks, we used to be all ears listening to his instructor-like comments about the accuracy, or otherwise, of aircraft flying in the circuit pattern.  A fine artist, he would spend the study periods drawing fighter aircraft, always portraying himself in full pilot’s gear next to the aircraft, or in the cockpit.  His interest in aviation stemmed from his past job as a flight despatcher in Alitalia, while he was in England earlier.

One day in February, an excited Amil broke the news to us that he had talked a senior of 58th GD (P) Course into arranging a guided tour of the Primary Flying Training (PFT) Wing.  The senior was a suspended cadet by the name of Rafique (fondly known as paahh, or ‘brother’ in Punjabi), and was Under Disposal (UD) pending adjustment in another branch of the PAF.  What kind of coordination Rafique had done was not known to us, but on his go-ahead, Amil marched our course from the Directorate of Studies to the Flying Wing.  Nearing the flight lines, we spotted rows of yellow T-6G Harvards on the tarmac, and we imagined flying them in the not too distant future.  As we reached the Wing building, we spotted a few flying instructors sitting on the steps, with their zippers open at the neck mocking the prescribed limits; some were smoking, blowing puffs in our faces from a distance.  Amil brought the flight to attention and saluted the instructors.  “What brings you here?” asked one of them.  Before Amil could answer, one of the burly instructors shouted, “Start running around the block if you guys have nothing better to do.”  It seemed quite a disappointment, and we wondered what had gone wrong. After half an hour of running – with some frog-jumping to break the tedium – one of the angry-looking instructors emerged from the crew room and gave us a shouting. “You guys can’t even tell the front side of an aircraft from its back side.  How dare you disgrace the Flying Wing?  Get lost. We don’t want to see your faces till you are in the fourth term.” After the dressing down, a sheepish Amil led us back to the Directorate, where he was taunted by all of us.  Amil’s intense enthusiasm for flying was cut short, unfortunately, when he could not pass his end-term examinations, and had to be withdrawn from the Academy.

Character Building and Leadership (CBL) was a subject handled by officers from the Cadets’ Wing, and was more of a general discourse on their experiences in the PAF. Sqn Ldr Malik Iftikhar, a navigator, used to conduct CBL classes.  We found him somewhat enigmatic, for he had the knack of instilling fear in us, even though he could be smiling about something.  He had been a PAF boxer, and was well-known for his winning left hook in many a championship.  It was no wonder that he had earned the sobriquet of jabra torr (jaw breaker) amongst the cadets.  During one boring CBL class, I was dared by my course-mate, Zafar Iqbal, to digress and bring up the subject of boxing. Making use of a rather long pause in Sqn Ldr Iftikhar’s talk, which I took to be the end of the lecture, I asked him if he could tell us about his boxing experiences.  He smiled but said nothing. I continued by asking if he had been the PAF champion, to which he nodded in the affirmative. “You must have broken lot many jaws,” I promptly followed up. There was a hush in the class. My jaw dropped too.  Sqn Ldr Iftikhar was amused by my boldness, and he managed to put on his puzzling smile.  Raising his hand, with two fingers forming the victory sign, he continued to look at me. I could not figure out what exactly he meant, but I thought it was about his boxing wins.  Still smiling, he had second thoughts. “Make it five,” he said, stretching his outspread palm. “What sir?” I asked. “Restrictions, my friend.  I will see you on extra drill today in the afternoon!” I could do nothing but blame Zafar who had prompted me, while he had a good laugh at the incident.

After months of daily drill practice, the graduation parade of 57th GD (P) Course was finally held on 6 April, 1974.  The reviewing officer was the President of Pakistan, Mr Fazal Elahi Choudhry.  For us, it meant promotion to the third term, denoted by three thin stripes on the epaulettes. A more momentous promotion followed a few weeks later, when the Academy Commandant, Air Cdre Zulfiqar Ali Khan, was nominated as Chief of the Air Staff. The last we had inter-acted with Air Cdre Zulfiqar was on the dining-out for the graduating course, when he told us that he was about to retire shortly.  Instead, he rose to the next three ranks in the new appointment in quick succession, which we found very inspirational. Air Cdre Shuja’at-ullah Khan, a course-mate of the previous Commandant took charge as the new one.

A modest privilege that we earned in the third term was the facility of a bicycle to and from the Cadets’ Mess and the Directorate of Studies, instead of having to walk down all the way.  These bicycles were traditionally hand-me-down items purchased from, or gifted by the graduating courses.  Other than that, not much had changed, as we continued to be the junior-most course, though a new set of cadets from 58th GD (P) Course had moved into the final term.  As expected, they gradually started to wield absolute authority, albeit at our expense.

Our course got an early taste of heartless behaviour of the senior cadets when one of them, by the name of Ghazanfar, decided to test his uncertain confidence levels by conducting a punishment assembly, one Sunday morning. Citing absence from a previously ordered assembly as the reason, he ragged the course to insane limits.  A punishing fitness exercise involving a clap over the head followed by a rapid squat (locally termed as 5BX, or Five Basic Exercises of the Canadian Air Force Fitness Plan), was ordered to be performed one-thousand times.  Rest periods involved protracted squatting on the heels, which was no less painful. The ridiculous activity lasted for the better part of the day, and even went on into the night.  Pleased with his poise and authority, Ghazanfar finally let go of our course which, by then, had blessed him with a thousand curses between the lips.

Not long after the 5BX episode, a revolt of sorts took place when cadets of our course got fed up with the final term cadets of 58th GD (P) Course, whose constant harangue about our turnout and haircuts had become intolerable.  “I don’t want to see a single hair on your rotten heads by tomorrow afternoon,” shouted ‘Munoo,’ during a punishment assembly conducted by him.  ‘Munoo’ was one of those affable seniors who, once in a while, felt the need to stand tall in front of his juniors.  Our course, led by the activist Ayuk Elburz, immediately went into a huddle and came up with the idea of retorting with a head shave. An oath was drafted by another firebrand, Ashiq Hussain, during classes next day, and signatures were obtained pledging to remain true to the decision of a ‘zero cut’ for everyone.

Soon after pack-up time, there was a rush for the barber shop, and the head barber was instructed by Ayuk and his confederates to shear off the hair from the forty-odd heads, in as many minutes.  As the three barbers got to work, some of the course-mates started to get cold feet and slipped away with flimsy excuses, like ‘feeling hungry, will be back after a quick lunch.’ They were hoping that some informant would blow the whistle in the meantime, and the officers would promptly intervene.  Sure enough, officers of the Cadets’ Wing came rushing in no time, and put a stop to the unprecedented mass shearing at the barber shop. The head barber – who had the compulsive habit of clenching his tongue between the teeth while negotiating uneven contours of his subject’s scalp – turned ashen-faced.  The poor chap feared that his barber shop contract might be terminated for violating the cadets’ regulation hairstyle.

An inquiry was ordered and thirteen cadets who had gone under the barbers’ clippers were in the dock.  Termination of cadetship loomed, but the authorities had their own jobs to save, lest the Air Headquarters took a dim view of their command and control abilities.  A series of punitive actions were taken against the errant thirteen: the group, informally christened as ‘G’ Flight (G, as in Ganja), was to be on daily extra drill till further notice, had to keep running around the athletics track during the daily games period, had to forego all entertainment facilities like TV and billiards, and had to eat alongside the Mess staff in a shabby veranda behind the dining hall.  When the Annual All-Collegiate Declamation Contest started after a few days, ‘G’ Flight was ordered to stay completely out of sight of the visiting participants and guests.

During the relentless punishment sessions, cadets of ‘G’ Flight had built up good strength and stamina, as was evidenced by their outstanding performance during the Inter-Squadron Cross-Country Competition.  The authorities were, thus, forced to rethink about the open-ended penance.  Also, the whole episode had become too embarrassing, what with ‘G’ Flight becoming the laughing stock of passers-by on the roads, as well as cadets’ weekend visitors. ‘G’ Flight was thus disbanded, and all punishments were ceased, with a stern warning that any future incident of such nature would be treated as a mutiny, with serious consequences.

Conjecture leads one to believe that a course-mate of ours had figured for himself, that the upcoming Declamation Contest was a good opportunity to charm some of the female contestants.  Perhaps the Romeo had been grooming himself for the occasion for weeks, and did not want to put off the girls with the missing plumage on his crown.

In the month of June, the Inter-Base Swimming Championship was held, and some of the cadets got a chance to represent Risalpur. Though the championship went to PAF Base Korangi, Risalpur were the runners up, with me and Asif Rehman  bagging five trophies.  My second position in the gruelling one mile free-style race earned me a position in the PAF team for the Inter-Services Swimming Championship, held a few weeks later.  Needless to state, the Army participants were far more prepared, and there was a total rout at the Engineers Bridging Pit – which is what the Olympics-size pool was properly called.

        Shortly before the summer vacations in July 1974, we learnt that the top ten cadets from 61st GD (P) had been promoted to our course.  These lucky ten were fast-tracked into the third term by foregoing their summer break, and stretching their classes well into the evenings.  This was done with some urgency by the Air Headquarters when there was talk of substantial infusion of US military aid. The aid package was supposed to include F-5 fighters and A-7 attack aircraft, which would have entailed training of a large number of pilots.  In the event, there was no military aid, but our course ran into a healthy competition with the new-comers.

During summer vacations in July, we attended a week-long Physiological Indoctrination Course run by the Aero-Medical Institute, at PAF Base Masroor.  It was an important introduction to subjects like dysbarism, hypoxia, hyperventilation and spatial disorientation, which were some of the phenomena we could encounter in flying.  There was demonstration of some bodily functions that could go awry due to reduced atmospheric pressure, or lack of oxygen.  For instance, a few cadets – probably smokers – suddenly conked off when oxygen levels were reduced to the equivalent of 25,000 ft in the pressure chamber.  This was in contrast to the majority who had enough warning signs like onset of confusion, shortness of breath, or blueing of nails.  The subject of ‘evolved’ gases needed no demonstration, mercifully, but the warning about not taking gas-producing foods or beverages before flying was well registered. The hazard of preoccupation during flying was also well understood when we all (except Imran Shirazi) failed to correctly count the blinks of a dot in the corner of the film frame, which had a racy dance number in progress.

        By the time we were midway in the third term, we had acquired basic knowledge of principles of flight, and were eager to touch the skies, as it were.  It was time to get introduced to practical flying, and there was no better way than to start on gliders. The Academy had two tandem seat Slingsby T-31 Tutors, besides two T-45 Swallow single-seaters.   Scheduling was done in batches, and we were to take turns during the evening sports periods.  On the first day, our excited batch was on the runway waiting for the instructor.  Looking at the T-31 glider was in itself awe-inspiring, and we were keen to see the instructor who could master this engineless contraption.  Soon, a handsome young man wearing flying coveralls and aircrew glasses arrived on a Vespa scooter, and introduced himself as Kamal.  With his fair complexion and blue eyes, he seemed like the archetype aviator of American movies.  Without his flying badge and ranks, there was an air of mystery about him, but word went around that he was a Mirage pilot, and would be checking our flying aptitude as prospective fighter pilots.  Kamal gave us a short talk and told us that 3-4 dual sorties had been planned per cadet, but depending on the performance, solos might be possible.  We were briefed about the pre-flight checks (CHISTR[1], that was it), and there was a demonstration of glider towing by the tow truck.  Kamal took us up one by one, the whole activity lasting a few weeks.  The promised solos were not flown, and it was only then that we realised the commitment was just to keep our enthusiasm from sagging.  It was only towards the end of the gliding phase when we learnt that Kamal was a Sergeant, though a most inspiring one at that. We always remembered him as the Mirage glider pilot.

Our third term ended when 58th GD (P) Course graduated on 25 October 1974. The parade was reviewed by the Turkish Air Force Commander, General Emin Alpkaya. After the graduation parade, we were glad to wear four stripes and formally step into the semi-final term, while cadets from 61st GD (P) Course arrived from Lower Topa to take our place in the third term.  We had started ground school at the PFT Wing for the upcoming flying training on Harvards, a few weeks before the graduation parade.

With the issue of flying clothing and accessories, our swagger knew no bounds.  Flying coveralls, flying gloves, flying shoes, flying helmet, oxygen mask, aircrew sunglasses, survival knife, air navigation computer, and Douglas protractor made up our flying kit. Some of the costlier luxury items like the aircrew watch, suitcase and flying jacket were to be issued after graduation, when we had completed our flying training successfully.  The much cherished flying badge was one item that we had to earn based on hard work – besides some luck – and was to be ‘issued’ on our graduation parade, someday.  For the time being the greatest privilege was to wear the flying coveralls when ‘cockpit time’ (familiarisation with the aircraft cockpit) started in the first week of November. 

We were assigned flying instructors, and I fell to the lot of Flt Lt Nusrat-ullah Khan who had perhaps chosen me for being a fellow Abdalian. My progress was surprisingly satisfactory, considering that the instructor was not known to suffer fools gladly.  After nine sorties, when I had started to consistently make three-pointer landings on the notoriously difficult tail-wheeler, we learnt that half the Harvard fleet had been grounded due to discovery of structural defects. The problem was promptly solved by inducting five of the recently purchased Swedish MFI-17 piston engine trainers in our No 1 PFT Squadron, while No 2 PFT Squadron was to continue flying the remaining Harvards that were free of defects.  For us it was a great relief, as the MFI-17 had a milder 200 hp engine compared to the Harvard’s beastly 600 hp one, and was also much easier to land with its tricycle landing gear that was not prone to a swing on landing.  The side-by-side seating was also conducive to learning, provided the instructor did not lose patience on every little mistake.  My instructor lost it once, not for my sub-standard flying performance, but for a bizarre reason that I was to blame. My flying glove carried a comical message, which had remained unobserved while we had been flying in the tandem seat Harvard.  Seeing it now over his shoulder, the instructor was riled by my chutzpah, and grounded me for a few days with threats of suspension. The matter was resolved when I was handed over to another instructor, Flt Lt Kamran Qureshi, who looked at the matter lightly, and saw me through the solo stage, right up to the Final Handling Test.

My first solo was eventful, but only so after landing. Having stopped the aircraft on the runway in a fairly short distance, I decided to use a kutcha taxiway link to turn off, instead of going till the end of the runway, as per SOPs.  It had rained a day or two earlier, and the ground was quite soggy. This, I discovered when the aircraft was not moving forward at idle power, and I had to rev up quite a bit.  There came a stage when the more power I added, more the wheels dug in. The only solution was to go up to full power, hop a few feet, and throttle back. Finally, with several hops, skips, and jumps, I made it to the concrete taxiway and back to the tarmac.  My instructor, Flt Lt Kamran, was standing at the parking spot; I was full of excitement, waiting to be doused by him with the traditional bucketful of water. As I came out of the aircraft, an angry-looking Flt Lt Kamran ordered me to collect all the fire buckets lying next to the parked aircraft. “Do you have an idea what have you done? Look at your mud-splattered aircraft.  Now wash it sparkling clean before you come back to the squadron,” he said, as he walked away. When I looked back, I was aghast at the condition of the aircraft; the instructor wasn’t angry without reason.  How silly of me! After about fifteen minutes of washing, Flt Lt Kamran called for me in the squadron.   With a wide grin on his face, he hugged me, and there was no mention of the incident.  His anger was always like a tempest in a teacup.  We remained great friends till he passed away in 1996.  

Talking of senior cadets being unable to handle authority judiciously, we were once again confronted with an unsavoury incident, soon after we had begun to fly. 59th GD (P) Course which was in the final term, ordered the usual punishment assembly for no reason but to assert its supremacy.  ‘Vicky,’ an otherwise unassuming and amiable senior, had apparently been pumped up by his course-mates to test his hitherto unused shouting abilities.  Fed up with the endless assemblies, our course decided not to turn up. Intervention of Cadets’ Wing officers was sought by the seniors, and another assembly was ordered.  It was made clear that absence would be tantamount to disobedience of lawful orders. The order was reluctantly registered, and all but three cadets turned up. The missing three had locked themselves in their rooms in the Olpherts[2] Lines, a detached block of buildings within the Cadets’ Mess.  The search party from amongst the seniors had to break open locks and bolts, and a brawl of sorts ensued.  The serious matter was reported to the authorities, and an inquiry followed.  It transpired that the three absentees were on last warning for having been involved in the earlier haircut revolt. Swift action followed, and they were withdrawn from the Academy.  A clear message was driven home that in the military, orders were to be obeyed first and questioned later.

Back in the PFT Wing, flying continued on a mixed note.  Those who got their solos would be doused with bucketfuls of water in the Cadets’ Mess lawns, a good-humoured tradition followed the world over.  Sadly, seven cadets who were found lacking in flying aptitude in the primary stage were suspended, and found themselves in the disappointing UD category. One exceptional case that had a short leg reach to the rudder pedals on the Harvard, and three others who were marginal cases in flying, were lucky to get a chance to fly the MFI-17, after relegation to the junior course.

        Inam-ullah Khan was the first in our course to have been cleared to go solo.  On the fateful day, Inam lined up, opened full power, and started rolling for take-off. After covering a few hundred feet, when he raised the tail of his Harvard to get the tail-wheel off the ground, the aircraft swung viciously through 180 degrees and started heading towards the mobile control.  Several officers including the air traffic controller, and the instructors, rushed out of the mobile and ran for their lives. Seeing the impending disaster, Inam immediately switched off the engine and hastily evacuated the aircraft. There was only minor damage to the aircraft, and Inam’s instructor, Flt Lt Naseem Gul, gave him another chance to complete his solo flight.  The familiar PAF maxim that anyone who had mastered the Harvard could handle any aircraft was rendered true, as Inam went on to have a very successful flying career in PAF.

        On one occasion, while practising touch-and-go landings with his instructor Flt Lt Ejaz Wyne, Rauf swung the Harvard, and went on to the kutcha. The instructor, suspecting that the propeller or the wings may have grazed the uneven ground, unwisely asked Rauf to unstrap and go around the aircraft to look for damage, while he held brakes from the rear cockpit.  Oblivious of the danger, Rauf went so close to the spinning propeller that he was about to be chopped up. No amount of shouting by the instructor could attract Rauf’s attention.  In desperation, Flt Lt Ejaz opened power, causing a startled Rauf to jump away to safety. After the incident, Rauf was relegated to the junior course, where he successfully completed his flying training on the MFI-17.

        Mistakes made by cadets were sometimes dealt with whimsically, as in the case of Khalid Ismail who, while on a consolidation mission after his first solo, asked permission on radio for a ‘closed circuit pattern.’  The tight pattern was prohibited for student pilots, but Flt Lt Ejaz Wyne, mobile officer of the day, absent-mindedly cleared him.  When Khalid went around after a touch-and-go landing, Flt Lt Ejaz realised what had happened.  Ejaz promptly called Khalid to land full-stop out of the next approach, and switch off the aircraft after clearing at the end of the runway.  Arriving on scene in a jeep, Ejaz gave Khalid a dressing down, and in a fit of anger, ordered the slightly-built Khalid to haul the 15-kg parachute on his head, and run 3-km back to the squadron. That was a rather harsh punishment for a slip-up that the mobile officer was equally culpable for!

After the solo stage, the next hurdle to be cleared was the Final Navigation Test (FNT).  During my FNT, the mission had gone well, and I had made good the first three destinations smack on time.  The picturesque Potohar Plateau, where primary flying students flew the navigation phase, was quite familiar as most of the landmarks had been keenly observed during flying.  Suddenly, I heard the instructor call out, “Okay, divert to Tret. Do you know where is it?”

“Yes sir, we used to pass by Tret while proceeding to Lower Topa,” I replied to the check instructor (also the Flight Commander of the squadron) who was taking my FNT on the MFI-17. 

The tricky part of the test was a ‘practice diversion’ to another destination, as might be required in case of bad weather.  The instructor would suddenly announce a new destination, and the heading, time and fuel consumed had to be calculated while flying the aircraft accurately.  Now Tret was well outside our flying training area, and had never been observed from the air, so I was rather apprehensive about the diversion.  It was more so because Tret was in the Murree Hills, and prominent landmarks were few and far between. I was hoping that the instructor would soon ask me to resume the originally planned route if he found the calculations satisfactory, and the diversion progressing nicely; this was not an uncommon practice to save time, if the destination was far away.  There was no indication that the diversion would be cut short, despite the mission having gone very well so far.  I was going to be grilled to the limits, it seemed.

Soon after crossing Rewat, the ground started to rise, and I wondered if the instructor might take over the controls.  Otherwise a staid officer, he was in a jolly mood that day, tapping his fingers on the dashboard as if in accompaniment to a song in his heart.  Just to be doubly sure that the instructor was not lost in some thoughts while the aircraft flew lower and lower, I hesitatingly asked him if I was to carry on flying.  “I shall let you know when I want to take over the controls. You are doing fine. Continue.”

While it was comforting to know that an instructor had confidence in a student who had never flown low and that too in the hills, I was quite confused about what was going on. “Give me your map and chinagraph pencil,” the instructor ordered.  He took my map and scribbled something, which I thought were some kind of remarks about my mission.

“Do you see that shining silver tin roof, next to the green ones? Go straight for that house.” “Yes sir,” I excitedly replied.  Getting closer, I figured out a large house nestled in a thickly forested area.  “Okay Kaiser, good mission. I have the controls.”

From five hundred feet above ground that we were at, the instructor dived down to the tree tops and threw the aircraft in a tight left-hand turn, kicking off the menacing stall warning horn. As my G-stressed vision started to clear up, I saw something that was absolutely surreal, and right out of a movie. A blonde, fair-looking girl clad in red, came running out of the house and started waving at the aircraft.  The instructor told me to open the little photography window on my side of the canopy.  Next, he handed me the folded map and asked me to toss it out exactly when ordered. After two-odd orbits in which he sized up the release conditions, the instructor asked me to be ready. “Okay, drop it NOW. Keep looking outside and tell me if it has been picked up.”

The ‘toss bombing’ resulted in a near-direct hit, falling within a circle of radius 10 feet from the intended target. Quite like an airborne range safety officer, I announced the score to a beaming instructor. Much to my relief, the instructor announced, “You can relax now.  I shall fly us back to Risalpur.”

Back in the squadron my course-mates were keen to find out how had the mission gone, especially the diversion, so they could prepare for their upcoming tests accordingly.  When I told them about the jaunt to Tret, they did not believe me. No amount of requests to stop fibbing could sway me, with the result that some of them got annoyed.  Word went around that I was not divulging the actual diversion destination, lest others might learn some tricks and get better scores in their test missions. As if flying low in Murree Hills with a 50-hour total experience did not sound preposterous enough, dropping messages to the instructor’s sweetheart during a navigation test mission was simply unbelievable.

Weeks went by, and we completed the primary flying training course in end April 1975. A traditional end-course tea party was hosted by the instructors and their wives in the Cadets’ Mess. As the cadets swarmed around their instructors, I spotted the Flight Commander, with a newly-wed blonde wife standing beside him. I knew it was the same lady who had picked up the map dropped from the aircraft, and decided to prove my story to my course-mates. Gathering a few of them, I nonchalantly walked up to the couple and we all paid our respects, eagerly waiting for the ice to be broken.  The Flight Commander immediately turned to his wife, and introduced me by saying, “He was the one.  Now you better return his map.  He will need it for his T-37 training.” My story had been ‘officially’ confirmed within earshot of my course-mates, and needless to say, I was quite happy at the outcome.

A few missions after the FNT, we had to go through the Final Handling Tests (FHT) that would conclude our Primary Flying Training.  In one such FHT, Shaharyar Shaukat was taken up by the Officer Commanding (OC) of the PFT Wing, Wg Cdr Mujtaba Qureshi, in a Harvard.  One of the important exercises was a Simulated Flame-Out in which the instructor would power back to idle, and induce a bit of drag by lowering the flaps to simulate engine failure.  The student was to quickly convert any extra speed in to height, start gliding, and look for some plain ground for an emergency landing.  The exercise would terminate after a successful pattern had been flown and a landing was assured.  Shaharyar looked around and luckily found a khaki patch of ground that seemed like a perfect landing strip.  Gliding smugly, Shaharyar set himself for the pattern, but as he came lower, he was horrified to see the strip transform into what was actually a vast graveyard.  “What was the big rush to get here?” asked the OC, in a rare display of wry humour.  Shaharyar had unwittingly put fear of God in the OC, who passed him without any fuss.

Soon after the FHTs were over, we moved across the tarmac to the Basic Flying Training (BFT) Wing, to start a more comprehensive phase of training on the T-37 jet trainer.  Ground school on the T-37 included classroom instruction, as well as time on the simulator, which kept us busy during the month of May.  Parade rehearsals had also started for the upcoming graduation of 59th GD (P) Course.  The searing heat on the parade ground had to be endured.  Replacement of tea with iced Rooh Afza during the 11 o’clock break could do nothing to prevent cases of cadets crashing down on the sizzling tarmac, during the parade rehearsals.

The graduation parade of 59th GD (P) Course was finally held on 31 May 1975. The parade was aptly reviewed by Chief of the Air Staff, Air Marshal Zulfiqar Ali Khan, who had been the Commandant of the Academy a year earlier.  For us, the biggest pleasure was entering the final term; we were the senior-most after all, and had a thick stripe on our epaulettes that could not be missed from afar.

The three senior-most appointments from our course went to Inamullah Ahsan (Wing Under Officer), Shahid Dad (Under Officer, No 1 Sqn) and Azamuddin Khan (Under Officer, No 2 Sqn).  The three were privileged to reside in the Under Officers’ Block, while the rest of the course moved into the Olpherts Lines, where some of the course-mates had already been staying since the fourth term.  Single rooms, two cadets to a toilet, and a little backyard with each duplex were the special features of this colonial relic that existed since the very founding of Risalpur Cantonment.

        At the BFT Wing, we were once again assigned instructors, and I was lucky to have been earmarked as the student of Flt Lt Peter Glover, an RAF exchange pilot.  For me it would be an especially rewarding experience, as Flt Lt Glover was an ‘A’ Category instructor from RAF’s renowned Central Flying School.  His superb instructional technique was evident when I and Shafiq Akbar (Flt Lt Glover’s other student), were the first ones to go solo on the T-37 after a little over seven hours of flying.  Consolidation and basic aerobatics followed before we proceeded for the summer vacations.  Unfortunately, five cadets were suspended in the early stages of BFT, bringing the total to twelve, including the previous PFT cases. 27% attrition on grounds of slow progress out of a total of 44 was high, but not surprising for those times, as flying aptitude tests had not yet been included in the selection process.

Before we could proceed on our summer vacations in July ‘75, we learnt that we had to undergo a one-week General Survival Course at PAF’s Ski and Survival School in Naltar, near Gilgit. This was one of several aircrew survival courses, including jungle, sea, desert and snow that we went on to attend in the first few years after graduation.  The idea was for aircrew to experience survival conditions in different environments, in case of ejection from an aircraft.

        We flew to Gilgit by C-130, but got a rude shock after disembarking when we were ordered to trek all the way to Nomal, 25 km away.  A night stay at a spartan rest house was followed, next morning, by a gruelling hike to Naltar 20 km away at an elevation of 10,000 ft.  The picturesque surroundings could be little appreciated as we huffed and puffed while traversing 4,000 ft up from Nomal to Naltar.

        After arrival in Naltar, we were briefed about a camp-out for two days and nights.  We had to sleep in improvised shelters made out of parachutes, and had to live off the land during this period.  The first day was spent hiking to the first of three azure and green Naltar Lakes, about 12 km way.  The freezing water of the lake was the just the right challenge for our survival instructor, Flt Lt Zafar Yusufzai, a tough commando, to take a dip. We goaded him, and he did not disappoint us amidst cheers.  We noted that goats and sheep were grazing on their own in the area, which gave us instant ideas about how to live off the land.

        As night fell, we got to work on improvising our shelters, while a hunting party set forth to find food.  Lo and behold, after a few hours, the hunters emerged with a goat slung around Ashiq’s shoulders. The goat was secretly slaughtered, skinned and chopped up for a barbecue by Shafiq who, we discovered, was not just a 'caterer,' but a master butcher too. A hurried barbecue followed, and the entrails and all traces of the animal were dumped in the nearby river.

        The next day was a rest and recreation break, and small groups loitered in the area.  The course was finally over after six days, and we returned to Gilgit, awaiting the C-130 to pick us up. Due to weather delays, we had to rough it out at the Army’s Casualty Clearance Section for two more days. Finally, when the C-130 came, we had to share space with casualties from an Army troop bus that had met a road accident near Gilgit.  Reaching Rawalpindi, we dispersed to our homes for vacations.

After return from the summer break, we resumed flying which included consolidation of circuit and landings, and aerobatics.  Instrument flying, never a favourite phase of aspiring fighter pilots, was made interesting by Flt Lt Glover as he, being a transport pilot, was well-versed in blind flying on instruments.  His instructional technique was excellent, and I obtained top marks in the Instrument Rating Test.  The next phase was formation flying, which was not quite Glover’s forte, and I had to fly with several instructors.  Amongst them, Flt Lt Iqbal Haider, a member of the ‘Sherdils’ aerobatics team, taught me precise formation flying, and his anticipation techniques – chippak jao, hilnay na do – still ring in my ears. The last few phases including navigation, advanced aerobatics, and night flying were handled by yet another instructor, Flt Lt Liaquat Hayat, for Glover’s tenure as an exchange pilot was over.  I had to adjust to these new instructors every once in a while, but luckily, I did not face any issues as we got along well in the cockpit.  At the end of October ’75, I went up for my FHT with the soft-spoken OC of BFT Wing, Wg Cdr Javed Afzaal.  A man of few words, he barely murmured, “Good, you are a qualified pilot now.”  I was over the moon!

For me, November was a fairly free month, and I spent a lot of spare time in the well-stocked library.  Half-hearted preparations for the final exams also started, but the focus remained on the graduation parade.  We ordered new ceremonial uniforms with the tailor.  Towards the end of the month, we were out on the parade square rehearsing the rifle drill movements, including saluting on the march, and presentation of arms, etc.  The parade consisted of two squadrons, each composed of three flights.  The squadrons were led by the Flight Cadet Under Officers and the flights by Flight Cadet Sergeants, all wielding ceremonial swords, scabbards, and gold-embroidered belts.  The rest of the cadets carried the G-3 rifles. The parade was initially supervised by the General Service Training Officer (GSTO), Sqn Ldr Bardar Khan, a gruff old man, who had always been rather stern on the parade square.  Luckily, a new GSTO, Sqn Ldr G I Khan took charge, and the drill movements came up to the desired standard in no time; this was largely due to his congenial manner of dealing with parade-weary cadets.  The full brass band, led by the veteran band master Warrant Officer Allah Ditta, used to play the very inspiring marching tune, Aye mard-e-mujahid jaag zara, ab waqt-e-shahadat hai aya.  It would sometimes get hilarious when somebody on parade would faint and crash on the tarmac, while the band played the stirring tune!  After parade, Ditta’s band would entertain us with music from popular songs.

Flying log book records were finalised and signed by the respective Squadron Commanders.   I had flown a total of 154:45 hours, during my flying training.  One day, we received certificates signed by the Commandant of the Academy (newly posted Air Cdre Sultan M Dutta), stating that we were ‘qualified to wear the Pakistan Air Force Flying Badge with effect from 20th Dec 1975.’  These certificates were duly pasted in the flying log books, but we still had to wait for the big day to actually flaunt the ‘wings’ on our uniforms.

The ground subjects final examinations took a few days, and a big burden was off our heads.  The results did not take long to be announced, and all those who sat for the exams qualified for the University degree.  It was a particularly gratifying achievement for those who had been dropped from flying earlier.

The graduation parade was scheduled for 20th December, 1975, and was to be reviewed by the Chief of Army Staff, General Tikka Khan, HJ.  The Chief of Air Staff, Air Marshal Zulfiqar Ali Khan was also to be in attendance. Parade had been rehearsed to perfection scores of times, as excitement for the grand event built up to a crescendo.  Invitations had gone out to parents and other guests, including officials of the diplomatic corps.

On the eve of the graduation, a dining-out night in mess kits was held in our honour, with speeches lauding our success at the end of our training.  Commendation certificates in various sports and extra-curricular activities were also awarded on the occasion by the Academy Commandant.
       On the big day, the parade formed up under command of the Wing Under Officer Inamullah Ahsan. The Under Officers and Sergeants led their respective Squadrons and Flights.  The parents and dignitaries were seated, and the chief guest arrived on the dot. After presentation of arms, inspection of the parade, and march past, a speech by the chief guest followed.  The long-awaited time for award of wings had finally come.  33 flight cadets of our course – including one from UAE, and three from Libya – fell out of their positions on parade, formed up into a small flight and marched closer to the dais.  The rest of the parade shuffled up to re-form in an orderly fashion, and went into ‘at ease’ position for the high point of the ceremony. The parents and relatives of graduating cadets waited in anticipation.

The chief guest, walked up to Wing Under Officer Inamullah Ahsan at one end of the flight, shook hands with him, and pinned the wings on his chest.  Next he did the same to me, and then moved on to the next one, Inamullah Khan.  General Tikka extended his hand, but Inam broke into a smile and reminded the General that his right hand was holding a rifle, and he could not shake hands. It so happened that Inamullah Ahsan and myself were wielding the appointment holders’ ceremonial swords, which were in their scabbards, and both hands were free.  The chief guest was thus able to shake our hands, but Inam Khan – and the rest – who were equipped with rifles, had to decline this impromptu courtesy. With the flying badges pinned on our uniforms, it was time for announcement of the much-awaited awards.

The coveted Sword of Honour went to Shahid Dad, who also won the Ground Subjects Trophy. Shahid, a heads-down cadet had excelled in many fields, and was also an accomplished speaker. The Best Pilot Trophy went to the soft-spoken Muzaffar Ali, who was considered a matchless pilot, besides being well-informed on a variety of subjects.

As the parade marched off, Flt Lt Hameed-ullah Khan, who was doing the commentary in his clipped British accent, called attention of the audience for a thrilling air show by ‘Sherdils,’ the academy aerobatics team.  Streaming coloured smoke, four T-37s approaching in line astern pulled up in front of the on-lookers, and slid into a perfect diamond formation.  Then followed a series of barrel rolls, loops, steep turns and wing overs, and the final ‘bomb burst’ in which the T-37s broke off like ‘splinters’ in all directions.  The audience was immensely awed by the performance.  The team was made up of flying instructors, and was led by Flt Lt Rizwan Qayyum, with other members being Flt Lts Iqbal Haider, Imtiaz Khan and Riffat Munir.  The aerobatics performance was a suitable finale to the graduation parade, and reflected the high standards at PAF Academy Risalpur.

After the parade, we took off our final term epaulettes, and replaced them with the Pilot Officers’ ranks that we had kept ready in our pockets.  Hugs and cheers followed, as our parents and relatives were delighted to see us, twenty-year old officers, strutting around proudly. Without much ado, we hurried to the Commandant’s residence where we had a group photograph with the chief guest, General Tikka Khan, along with the Chief of Air Staff and the Commandant. The photograph remains the most cherished memento of our course. 

Immediately after the group photograph, we were ushered into the auditorium where the convocation ceremony was held for the award of the Bachelor’s degrees from Peshawar University, with which the Academy was affiliated. That function marked the conclusion of an endeavour that had started nearly three years earlier.

EPILOGUE:  At Risalpur, we had been ragged to the bones; we were made to obey orders unflinchingly; we learnt that punctuality meant presence five minutes before time; we learnt table manners fit for royal banquets. Athletics, cross-country running, horse riding, rifle shooting, rowing, and swimming had transformed us into physically fit young men raring to go.  Incessant drills on the parade square had instilled in us pride in uniform, and a sense of ever-lasting camaraderie that exists in all fighting men.  It was at Risalpur that we had vowed to rise .… and then eventually, we touched the skies.

Note: The earlier period of training is covered in <Lower Topa Diaries>.

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[1] CHISTR - Controls, Harness, Instruments, Spoilers, Trimmer, Release hook.

[2] Named after British General Sir William Olpherts, who was awarded the Victoria Cross for putting down the mutiny in Lucknow in 1857.

© KAISER TUFAIL