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!

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[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.

Cheapest Kill

The morning of 7th of December was quite hazy, particularly at lower altitudes where the dust of Punjab plains mingled with the moist, cold air, giving the sky a murky appearance. It was just four days since the 1971 Indo-Pak War had broken out. While the PAF was conserving its air effort in the early stages of war, IAF’s intensity of air operations was building up at a fast pace.

Flg Off Man Mohan Singh was ferrying a Gnat from Halwara, to beef up a detachment of No 2 Squadron at Amritsar where these aircraft were deployed to perform air defence duties. As Mohan was nearing home, the controller at Amritsar Radar asked him to delay his landing while a pair of Su-7s took off. After holding off for a few minutes, Mohan resumed a northerly heading for the Base.

Sqn Ldr Farooq Haider, a veteran of the ’65 War, was sitting as the duty controller in No 403 Radar Squadron which was located in the outskirts of Lahore. Watching the radar scope intently, he had picked up a blip as it approached Tarn Taran, south of Amritsar. With the adversary nearing its home Base, Farooq had to act fast. He commenced the interception with steady instructions on the radio.

“Your target now over Tarn Taran, heading 360; do not acknowledge.”

“Target 20 (degrees) right, five (miles), turn hard left 360, do not climb; do not acknowledge.”

“Target 12 o’clock, two (miles), go full bore; do not acknowledge.”

“Okay, target is one mile ahead …”

The IAF had been expecting PAF fighters to sneak in below radar cover. Thus, to be doubly sure about any undetected intruders, the IAF used a capability that it was well equipped for – eavesdropping into pilot-controller conversation. Listening in to what was going on, the IAF controller was completely dumbfounded at the development, for he had not yet picked up any blip on his scope. All of a sudden, he frantically shouted on the radio to announce the presence of interceptors in the Gnat’s rear quarters! It was no surprise that the controller's warning to Mohan sounded eerie, as if a spectre was being reported. With the interceptors’ distance rapidly reducing and shooting down of the Gnat almost a certainty, the controller followed up with a panic ‘break’ call. Mohan reacted as any fighter pilot would have done in that situation. He yanked back on the control stick and threw in a very tight turn to shake off his pursuers.

Farooq noticed that the blip had disappeared from the radar screen shortly after manoeuvring had commenced. Normally, he would have enquired about the fate of the target from the interceptor pilots within moments of the shooting. This time, however, he had to be discrete. “Maintain radio silence and recover at low altitude,” he called out. Meanwhile, Farooq and his fellow controllers wondered if the vanished blip meant that the aircraft had landed at its Base.

India’s Official History of Indo-Pak War, 1971, published thirty years later, covers the air operations with a diary of action which includes important events like air raids, aerial victories and losses on both sides. A keen reader would notice acknowledgement of the loss of a Gnat on 7th December 1971 in which, “the pilot tried to take evasive action when warned of Pak aircraft in the vicinity. He lost control and crashed[1].” The only inaccuracy with the account is that Pakistani aircraft were nowhere near!

Standing CAPs were a rare commodity due to excessive demands on PAF’s limited assets. Farooq had, therefore, reacted to the emergent situation in a most ingenuous way. He impulsively decided to fake an interception in the knowledge that his calls would be monitored. The thrill of playing a prank was better than getting frustrated at the sight of an enemy blip pacing away unscathed. In the event, Farooq’s trick resulted in a bargain of great value, which can be gleaned from the amazing fact that not a gallon of fuel was expended, nor was a single bullet fired. Arguably, it stands as the cheapest kill of air warfare.

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[1] Chapter X – ‘The IAF in the West,’ page 427.

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 Sword for Hussein

Part-I

Commitments under the newly signed pact with Egypt, as well as the prevailing atmosphere of anti-Israeli rage in the Arab world forced King Hussein bin Talal’s hand at the outbreak of the Six Day War of 1967. Any doubts that he may have had about Jordan entering the war were overcome by a misleading telephone call he received from the Egyptian President at mid-day on 5th June. In a bizarre ‘all is well’ report, Nasser assured Hussein that scores of Israeli aircraft had been downed, and that Egyptian armoured columns were pushing across the Negev Desert for a link-up with Jordanian forces in the Hebron Hills. As a matter of fact, the Egyptian Air Force lay in smoking ruins after the Israeli Air Force had delivered a knockout blow! Oblivious of the factual position, King Hussein ordered his armed forces to attack immediately after Nasser’s call.

Parked on the flight lines at Mafraq Air Base were Hunters of No 1 Squadron, the only fighter outfit of the Royal Jordanian Air Force (RJAF). Strapped in the cockpits since morning, the pilots were eagerly awaiting a go-ahead for strikes against Israeli airfields at Kfar Saba, Kfar Sirkin and Netanya. The past few days had been occupied with preparation of maps and low-level flight profiles. The excitement and tension had reached a pitch, and all pilots were ready to get into action.

Flt Lt Saif-ul-Azam of the Pakistan Air Force, who had been on secondment with the RJAF since November 1966, was to lead one of the strike missions. At about 0900 hrs, he was told to hand over the lead to a Jordanian pilot and rush to a Hunter that had been readied for an air defence mission. Saif hurriedly strapped into the other aircraft, and along with his wingman Lt Ihsan Shurdom[1], stood on standby eagerly waiting for the hooter to sound the ‘scramble.’

A few days earlier, Saif and his other PAF colleague, Flt Lt Sarwar Shad had been called by the RJAF Commander to ascertain their position in case of war. Both promptly offered their services, while suggesting that the opinion of the Government of Pakistan be obtained for further details. It was tentatively decided that they would fly as ‘volunteers’ in Jordanian uniforms. Official Pakistani clearance to fly only air defence missions was received just in time, which had required Saif to hurriedly switch roles on the tarmac.

After half an hour of impatient waiting in the cockpit, Saif belatedly learnt that the Israeli Air Force had struck Egyptian airfields. Sitting helplessly on the ground waiting for orders was nerve racking, and all pilots squirmed in their cockpits to seek revenge. Mafraq was sure to be attacked, as everyone guessed, so it was some relief when two formations finally took off at 1150 hrs and headed west. A short while later, in a show of solidarity, a formation of six Iraqi Hunters overflew Mafraq on their way to Lydda airfield in Israel. The heightened air activity reached a crescendo when orders were relayed for all aircraft to scramble as fast as they could. Saif and his wingman Ihsan were the first to get airborne in the fervent melee, followed by four more Hunters. Air Traffic Control announced the bad news that one of the Hunters flown by Major Firas Ajlouni had been strafed and had caught fire. The unfortunate pilot could not get out of the burning aircraft.

After take-off, Saif contacted the radar for further instructions. The radar controller announced a vector and the interceptors headed in the required direction. Soon, another vector was announced and the pair changed heading. It was not long before the controller declared that there were too many aircraft, and it was difficult to make out who was who. Saif was, therefore, asked to be on his own. Noting the controller’s dilemma, Saif called out to his wingman to stay close. Visibility in the hot, dusty desert was barely a mile, and there were no signs of enemy aircraft. Saif rechecked with the controller if there were any aircraft approaching Mafraq. His fears were confirmed when he received a reply in the affirmative.

Turning around, Saif headed for the Base. About four miles short, he spotted four aircraft flying in battle formation at low level. The camouflage of the aircraft seen through haze seemed similar to that of the Iraqi formation that had passed overhead some time ago, so Saif was led to believe that they must have been returning after the raid. Following them for a while, he watched with amazement as they changed into echelon formation, getting ready for an attack! Realising his mistake in recognising the Israeli Mystères, which looked similar to Hunters from a distance, Saif promptly manoeuvred behind the trailing aircraft of the formation. As the aircraft was turning for the attack, Saif closed in and let off a smugly-aimed fusillade from the Hunter’s four immensely powerful 30mm cannon. The Mystère[2] caught fire and its pieces started to fly off; Saif had to pull up to avoid hitting the debris. Moments later, the aircraft crashed near the perimeter fence of the Base, with the pilot Lt Hananya Buleh still inside the stricken aircraft.

Looking around for other attackers that he had lost during the shooting, Saif noticed the smoke trail of two Mystères charging off towards the west at full power. As Saif turned hard for them, Ihsan, called a bogey on the right. Saif directed Ihsan, who had tenaciously stuck around during the tight manoeuvring, to break off and go after the singleton while he went for the pair on the left.

Saif managed to get behind the trailing Mystère, which had started thrashing about to spoil his aim. During the frantic turn reversals, Saif fired four times but his bullets stayed off the mark. Desperate for a kill, Saif was at wits end when he noticed his quarry loosening the turn and straightening out for home. Closing in to about 600 feet, Saif squeezed the trigger for a fifth time. The Mystère started to trail smoke from its right wing as the Hunter’s guns scored hits[3]. The aircraft ducked down, and before Saif could confirm if it had been terminally despatched, he saw the leader of the enemy pair turning to attack him[4]. Low on fuel and ammunition, Saif wisely decided to disengage and turn for Mafraq.

Reckoning that Mafraq runway had been rendered unfit for use, Saif called all aircraft to hold north of the airfield while he checked the feasibility of landing there. His call for joining instructions was surprisingly answered by a welcome clearance, and the controller followed it up by declaring the runway fit for landing. A sharp-eared Ihsan suspected something wrong, and instantly broke into Arabic to check the identity of the controller. He also wanted to know the name of Ihsan’s dog, which was some sort of a cross-check code. The Jordanian controller then came up on the radio, and warned them not to land at Mafraq. Ihsan’s presence of mind saved the pair from the trap of an Israeli spoofer, who had cleared them for a landing that was certain to be an unqualified wreck.

All the airborne aircraft diverted to Amman International Airport, which had not yet been visited by the Israelis. The pilots were lucky to have landed shortly before the Israeli Air Force struck the airport. Their aircraft, however, could not escape destruction as they were caught parked in the open. The pilots helplessly watched as the later-version Super Mystères delivered attacks with a new type of rocket-boosted ‘dibber’ bomb, which penetrated deep into the runway surface and cratered it badly. The attacks were delivered from shallow dive angles, which minimised exposure to Anti-Aircraft Artillery guns. Civilian facilities on the airport were strafed and badly damaged. Several transport aircraft and helicopters were also destroyed.

Flt Lt Saiful Azam and Lt Shurdom 

After an eventful morning, the pilots gathered at the Operations Headquarters in Amman to exchange notes about the encounters that had taken place. Ihsan had claimed a Mystère while his leader was busy chasing the exiting pair. One of the Hunter pilots, Capt Wasfi Ammari, had ejected near Amman after having been shot down by an Israeli Mirage[5]. RJAF’s sole fighter squadron had put up a spirited fight, though the pilots felt dejected over the losses suffered. The worst blow was the destruction of 13 Hunters on the ground at Mafraq and Amman International. Many of these were being serviced on the flight lines after their morning missions; invaluable expertise in the shape of many technicians was thus lost as well. Sadly, the small RJAF had been virtually wiped out.

An hour later, the pilots were surprised to have in their midst, King Hussein, who had come to cheer them up for their brave effort in Jordan’s first major air war. In the gloomy situation that was prevailing, King Hussein was a paragon of fortitude and courage. He was cognisant of his decision that had brought upon the Jordanians the tribulation that they now faced. He explained the circumstances in which he had decided to go to war. His message was that of faith and hope in the face of adversity. PAF’s Assistant Chief of Staff (Operations), Air Cdre A Rahim Khan, who was visiting Jordan at that time, was also there to express his solidarity with the RJAF personnel.

As if to unburden himself of the debt he owed to the pilots of No 1 Squadron, King Hussein again visited them in the evening. Turning to Saif, he told him to get into his car, a privilege that was extended only to the most honoured compatriots. They drove off to the main hospital to see PAF’s Flt Lt Shad who was convalescing after an appendicitis complication. Later, the King along with Saif drove off to Mafraq, about 40 miles from Amman. Saif recalls that during the drive, King Hussein kept reassuring him like a younger brother. He said that it was a minor setback in a battle and not a defeat in a war, words that were most encouraging and inspiring for Saif. The King was hopeful that more could be done as the war had not yet ended. With young men like Saif around, all was not lost and the fight could go on. After all Saif[6] had been, quite literally, a sword for Hussein. Thus armed, the King was unwilling to give up easily…

Part-II

During the drive from Amman to Mafraq Air Base, King Hussein had told Saif that he had talked to President Abd al-Rehman Arif and offered the services of his pilots to carry on the war from Iraq. President Arif had agreed to provide the aircraft, and soon orders were issued for a move to Iraq.

Around midnight, an expedition consisting of RJAF pilots and support personnel moved in a road convoy, on their way to the cryptically named H-3 Air Base[7] located about 40 miles inside Iraq’s western border. The night in the desert was cold and the ride was rough. The past 24 hours had been turbulent, and the physical and mental strain was showing. Partly dozing, partly awake, everyone seemed anxious to get to his destination and become part of the war effort again.

The seemingly endless drive continued as it dawned on the morning of 6th June. The quiet of the desert was broken only by the noise of vehicles and an occasional Iraqi military convoy heading west. Tired and hungry, the party prepared for a roadside breakfast halt. A large number of military transports were dispersed on both sides of the road, and Iraqi troops were resting before their onward journey to the Israeli border. All of a sudden, a formation of four Vautour[8] light bombers, escorted by a pair of Mirage-IIICJ fighters roared overhead, flying east along the road towards H-3. The RJAF convoy promptly halted and everyone dispersed in the desert, just in case the returning raiders decided on a shot of opportunity at the gathering.

As expected, about fifteen minutes later the egressing Israeli aircraft pulled up and started strafing the Iraqi vehicles. After a single pass, they continued onwards with their exit[9]. Two vehicles caught fire and several soldiers were injured. It took some time for everyone to gather again. There were outbursts of rage, and some questioned the wisdom of travelling during daytime. One senior commander suggested a 24-hour halt in the desert, but the young pilots did not like the idea at all. There was much grumbling and disagreement.

Saif, being the lone foreigner, kept out of the discussion, but two young pilots approached him and wanted to know his intentions. Saif said that since he was from the PAF, he was obliged to obey orders to reach H-3 at the earliest, and if the party decided otherwise, he would take a ride on Iraqi transports plying up and down. He was in a bit of a quandary too, as he could not interfere with the contingent commander’s decision. While discussions were going on, a group of youngsters suddenly appeared and asked Saif to take over command of the contingent! Embarrassed about the situation he found himself in, he argued that a coup d’etat in the middle of the desert – that too during war – was the last thing he could contemplate. He was, however, firmly told that since they had decided to arrest, and even shoot the commander, it was logical for the next senior to take charge. It took some persuasion on Saif’s part to cool things down.

Saif met the commander separately and tried to explain that the youngsters were raring for a return bout with the Israeli’s, and their emotional state had to be understood. He also explained that under the circumstances, a certain amount of risk had to be taken. The commander was quick to grasp Saif’s argument and ordered everyone to board the transports. A serious situation was thus averted.

The RJAF contingent reached H-3 safe and sound. The Iraqi Air Force personnel were effusive in welcoming them. Before they could move off to their billets, however, the Base Commander revealed a change in plans. It was decided that in view of the vulnerability of H-3, as demonstrated in two previous raids, operations would be undertaken from Habbaniyah Air Base, about 50 miles west of Baghdad. H-3 was to be used as a staging base.

Habbaniyah Air Base, with the meandering Euphrates on one side and the picturesque Lake Habbaniyah on the other, had been host to three Hunter squadrons, including a conversion Unit. A nearby satellite airfield, commonly known as ‘Plateau,’ housed a Tu-16 bomber squadron. Both Bases were under the command of Col Hamid Sha'ban[10].

After setting course in the afternoon, the contingent reached Habbaniyah at 2100 hrs. For about two hours, nobody seemed to know what to do with the new arrivals. Finally, arrangements were made to house them and some time later, food was served. As it happened, the Base had learnt of their arrival only a short while ago, and messing arrangements for a large contingent took some time. True to Arab tradition, the food was sumptuous, and the Iraqi hosts were most friendly and hospitable. After a hearty fill, the exhausted and drowsy visitors retired, somewhat hesitant of what lay in store for the next day.

A gentle nudge and a whispering voice woke up Saif early at dawn on the morning of 7th June. Looking around, he found the same Iraqi Lieutenant who had met him the night before. The young officer conveyed the Base Commander’s message, “He needs four pilots to volunteer for the first mission to take-off shortly, and you are requested to lead!” Saif had heard of such detailing of volunteers as party jokes in the PAF, but this was the first time it was being played on him.

Once at the Base Headquarters, the RJAF pilots were hurriedly introduced to the senior commanders and other officers. There was no time to be wasted. Intelligence information had indicated that a large formation of Israeli planes was expected to repeat a strike on H-3. Saif was, therefore, to lead a four-ship formation to intercept the raiders.

Saif immediately got down to briefing the pilots. His formation consisted of Lt Ihsan Shurdom, his trusted wingman of RJAF, along with Lt Samir Yousaf Zainal and 2nd Lt Ghalib Abdul Hameed al-Qaysee of Iraqi Air Force. It was a truly international group, meeting for the first time over a cup of tea. Not knowing much about each other’s experience and operational training standards, they were committed to be comrades-in-arms. They were ready to engage the enemy, a desire sustained by their common Faith.

While they were having late breakfast, they received a message[11] to take-off immediately. Within minutes, the four-ship Hunter formation was on its way to H-3. Climbing to 25,000 ft, the formation members maintained radio silence till the controller announced, “Expecting enemy attacks on H-3.” Moments later, he called out confidently, “Leader, there is a big formation pulling up over H-3, descend and engage it.”

The Israeli formation consisted of six aircraft. A section of four Vautours of No 110 Squadron was led by the Deputy Squadron Commander Capt Shlomo Keren in a two-seater, with Capt Alexander Inbar-Meltzer as his navigator. The other members were Col Yezekiel Somech (Base Commander of Ramat David Air Base), Capt Yitzhak Glantz-Golan and Lt Avshalom Friedman in single seaters[12]. Two Mirages of No 117 Squadron doubled up as armed escorts, each carrying two bombs; Capt Ezra Dotan led the escort formation, with Capt Gideon Dror, as his wingman.

The Hunters were five miles short of H-3 when Saif started diving down towards the airfield and called out for arming the guns. Soon, he spotted two Vautours approaching from the west. “Right boys, follow me and let us descend faster.” Ihsan chipped in, “Sir, how about punching the drop tanks?” Saif realised his mistake and ordered all to jettison their 230-gallon tanks. Engrossed in spotting the aircraft, Saif had overlooked a vital check but was relieved to know that his formation members were alert.

As Saif manoeuvred to get behind the Vautours, Samir called out, “Two Mirages behind you.” Looking back, Saif saw the pair about 4,000 feet behind, turning for them. In an instant, Saif decided to split his formation, with himself and Ihsan (No 2) going for the Mirages while Samir and Ghalib (Nos 3 & 4) went for the Vautours. Turning hard to the right, Saif cramped the Mirages for manoeuvring space, forcing them to pull up for a ‘yo yo.’ Reversing his turn, Saif noticed one of the Mirages still turning right, apparently having lost sight of the Hunters. Saif managed to turn inside the Mirage, and started to catch up fast. At the extreme limits of range, the Mirage could not light up its fuel-guzzling afterburner, or else it could have easily out-run the subsonic Hunter. In the event, the Mirage had to face the Hunter’s lethal cannon. Uttering ‘Bismillah[13],’ Saif pressed the trigger for about two seconds. The bullets landed squarely on the wings, as sparks flew off the metal skin. Suddenly, the Mirage was engulfed in a big ball of fire; the pilot, Capt Dror, ejected in full view of the Base personnel watching from the ground.

“Leader, you have finally won the bet, it’s a Mirage,” called Ihsan on the radio. “You bet it is, but stop being funny and look out for more,” responded Saif. Several months ago, Saif had a dream in which he saw that he had shot down an Israeli Mirage. When he narrated his dream in the squadron, the pilots seemed so impressed that instead of laughing it off as a joke, they got into an animated discussion on the basics of air combat. Ihsan had then bet that if Saif ever shot down a Mirage in real life, a precious gift and a grand party would follow. Now, in the middle of air combat, Ihsan had not lost his wit and humour one bit!

Breaking off to the right after downing the Mirage, Saif spotted a Vautour coming head-on, about 2,000 feet below. Without batting an eyelid, Saif inverted his aircraft and pulled through for a ‘split-S.’ The manoeuvre can go awry if there is insufficient clearance from the ground, but Saif pulled back on the control stick to the point of almost blacking out. When he levelled off, he found himself behind the Vautour, charging in with a very high rate of closure despite the speed brakes opened and throttle pulled back to idle. The distance was now only 200 feet, too close for the safety of his own aircraft were the much larger Vautour to explode like his previous victim. Deciding not to miss the chance, Saif opened fire and after three bursts of his cannon, saw parts of the aircraft fly off. His own aircraft juddered as if hit by something; Saif had to look around to be sure he was not being shot at.

Capt Dror (L) and Capt Golan (R). [Ahmad Sidki Collection]

Capt Golan lost control and ejected from his disintegrating Vautour. Saif called up the ATC tower to spot two white parachutes, which he thought to be those from a two-seat Vautour. Actually, the chutes were those of Dror, who had ejected from the Mirage at a higher altitude a little earlier, and Golan who escaped low from the Vautour. Both now found themselves parachuting in formation, ironically, Dror still escorting Golan!

Low on fuel, Saif was planning to exit when he heard Samir call out excitedly, “Leader, I have shot him, I have shot a Vautour, I have shot a Vautour.” Saif had to quieten him down, lest he block vital communication on the radio. In the melee, Ihsan also called that he had shot a Vautour.

As Saif started to gather the formation, he saw a Mirage (flown by Capt Dotan) chasing a Hunter right over the airfield. It was Ghalib's Hunter, and it was trailing smoke. Turn by turn everyone called him on the radio to eject but he did not respond. The aircraft went into a shallow dive and hit the abandoned oil tanks near the airfield. The sad incident overshadowed the otherwise successful mission.

Everyone’s fuel was marginal after such heavy demands on the engines. Samir’s fuel state was most critical so he decided to land at H-3, despite some damage to the runway. Saif and Ihsan made it to Habbaniyah, but only after a cruise at high altitude. Spotting the airfield in unfamiliar area was, luckily, not a problem as the road to Habbaniyah was conspicuous in the desert. Allowing Ihsan to break-off and land first, Saif followed through a straight-in approach.

A large crowd had gathered at the flight lines. As Saif switched off and came out of the aircraft, he was lifted up and paraded all over the place. Everyone was shouting, “Death to Zionism, death to Israel.” Saif had tears of joy in his eyes. He recalls thanking Allah for the success and also prayed for young Ghalib, whom he had met barely for half an hour before the fateful mission.

Some airmen had also gathered around Saif’s Hunter, and were expressing their amazement at the nerve of the intrepid pilot who had rammed into the Israeli aircraft when he ran out of ammunition! They could not have been blamed for their mistake because the Vautour’s flying debris had damaged the Hunter’s wingtips, and some metal pieces were embedded in its fuselage after the close-range shooting.

When Saif reached the squadron, he was told that two Israeli aircrew had been captured at H-3, and were under despatch to Baghdad. He was more interested in his wingman Ihsan who was nowhere to be seen, despite the fact that he was supposed to have landed earlier. No one seemed to give him a satisfactory reply, except that Ihsan would be there shortly. Saif’s concern was short-lived, as Ihsan arrived after about fifteen minutes with a grin on his face. Saif discovered the truth when Ihsan confessed that he had landed at the nearby ‘Plateau’ airfield, mistaking it for Habbaniyah.

The epilogue to the raid on H-3 was a report received from Saudi Arabia confirming the crash of a two-seat Vautour-IIN on its northern border with Iraq. Both the pilots had been found dead. Capt Keren and Capt Meltzer[14] had tried to nurse the stricken aircraft back through a safer route after being hit over H-3, but their luck ran out. If one were to go by Lt Samir’s radio calls alone, his claim of a Vautour could easily prevail but, in all earnestness, it could also have been Ihsan’s kill.

The plethora of accomplishments by the Israeli Air Force did not prevent a scathing indictment of the conduct of operations over H-3, in the post-war debrief. Col Eleizer Cohen, in his book Israel’s Best Defense alludes to it by stating, “The damage to H-3 was peripheral, and the losses – a killed pilot and navigator, two pilots captured and three aircraft downed – were heavier than at any other base[15].” Maj Gen Mordechai Hod, the Commander of the Israeli Air Force is said to have remarked that the critique of H-3 fiasco made him feel almost as if he had lost the war. Whatever factors may have been discussed during the debrief, there is little doubt that the Israelis were aware of the H-3 rout being the handiwork of a determined team, under the able leadership of a first class PAF pilot. That Mossad was ignorant of this fact would be under-rating the capabilities of a notoriously efficient intelligence outfit.

Saif-ul-Azam’s exploits in the 1967 Arab-Israeli War were a display of true grit in an otherwise dismal showing, which made him a hero in several countries. The Government of Jordan admitted him to the prestigious Wisam al-Istaqlal, while the Iraqi Government conferred the Nawt al-Shuja’a. The Pakistani Government rewarded him with a Sitara-i-Basalat[16]. Earlier, in the 1965 Indo-Pak War, he had shot down an Indian Gnat[17] for which he was awarded the Sitara-i-Jur’at. He has the unique achievement of downing four different types of aircraft while flying with three different Air Forces. He eventually donned the uniform of yet another Air Force when he moved to his new homeland, Bangladesh, in 1972.

_________________________

[1] Shurdom later rose to be the Commander of RJAF.
[2] The raiding aircraft were the Mystère-IVA of No 116 Squadron, though some writings have erroneously mentioned them as Super Mystères.
[3] The Mystère pilot Capt Z Porat, who managed to land back with a damaged aircraft, attributed it to AAA fire.
[4] Captain Mario Shaked, the IAF pair leader, incorrectly claimed downing Saif’s Hunter.
[5] Wasfi was shot down near Amman by a Mirage-IIIC flown by Capt Oded Sagee after a long chase, following RJAF’s raid on Kfar Sirkin airfield.
[6] Saif means ‘sword’ in Arabic.
[7] A chain of pumping stations for an oil pipeline from Kirkuk in Iraq, to Haifa in what is now Israel, was denoted by H-series during the time of British Mandate, hence the nearby Air Base named thus. It was also known as Al-Walid Air Base.
[8] Vautour means ‘vulture’ in French.
[9] This minor incident narrated by Flt Lt Saif-ul-Azam is also described from an aerial vantage point by Maj Herzle Bodinger, the leader of the Vautour formation, in Israel’s Best Defense by Col Eliezer Cohen (page 235). Bodinger later rose to be the Commander of Israeli Air Force.
[10] Shaban later rose to be the Commander of Iraqi Air Force.
[11] Israeli’s contend that the Syrians notified the Iraqi’s about the impending raid after the strike package unwittingly overflew a Syrian radar site near Dar’a, on its way to H-3.
[12] Of the 20 Vautours available to the Israeli Air Force in 1967, a few were two-seat models; every four-ship formation included a two-seat Vautour-IIN in the lead along with three single-seat Vautour-IIAs.
[13] ‘[I commence] In the name of Allah.’
[14] Meltzer is said to have attempted a late ejection, which proved fatal. The bodies of Keren and Meltzer were returned to Israel two months after the war.
[15] Page 252.
[16] The Sitara-i-Basalat (Star of Courage), conferred for ‘valour, courage and devotion to duty during operations not involving the enemy,’ was found to be an expedient solution at that time, as the Pakistani Government did not want to cast its armed forces in a mercenary role when participating in combat operations abroad. This pretence was later set aside and PAF pilots were conferred with proper gallantry awards.
[17] Saif-ul-Azam shot down an IAF Gnat flown by Flg Off Vijay Mayadev on 19th Sep, 1965 near Sialkot.

This article is based on two excerpted chapters 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 Defence Journal, June 2003 issue.