fieldmarshal
New Member
Air comd (r) Mohd Alam Khan
Mohammad Alam's wartime exploits gained him international acclaim, but his military career was marked by controversy.
When jets replaced propeller-driven aircraft, many of the pundits of military aviation predicted that the days of the old-fashioned dogfight were over. The Korean War and subsequent conflicts proved them wrong. Jet fighter pilots still engaged in dogfights, and they could often be as individualistic and eccentric as their prop-era predecessors.
The great ideological conflicts of the Cold War produced its share of outstanding pilots, but so did some other, lesser-known conflicts. In fact, one of the fastest aces of all time was a participant in a short-lived border war between India and Pakistan in 1965. Few fighter pilots of any nation could claim nine victories in three combats. Fewer still could claim seven in two days. And it is doubtful that anyone besides Mohammad Alam of the Pakistan Air Force (PAF) can lay claim to shooting down four enemy planes in less then one minute. That fighting record should have assured an airman of Alam's proficiency a brilliant military career, but Alam would give it all up as the consequence of a spiritual rebirth that set him on a collision course with many of his senior officers.
Mohammad Mahmood Alam was born in Behar, western Bengal, on July 6, 1935. He was in his early teens when he saw India achieve independence in 1946 only to be split as a result of violent religious and political differences between Muslims and Hindus. The result was the creation in August 1947 of the Islamic State of Pakistan, whose divided territories existed both to the northeast and northwest of India. Alam's own hometown fell within Indian territory, and his family was compelled to move.
Neither India nor Pakistan was satisfied with their borders, and intermittent conflict continued between the two countries, resulting in the development of indigenous armies, navies, and air arms by both. Given the long-term colonial presence of Great Britain, both the PAF and the Indian Air Force (IAF) were profoundly influenced by the Royal Air Force (RAF) in regard to training, uniforms and military behavior. Pilots of both countries were often sent to Britain to polish their flying skills and keep up with the latest aviation developments.
In case of the Pakistanis, there was an additional social legacy left behind by the British. As their proficiency and confidence grew, PAF personnel came to affect the cocky demeanor of their British mentors, to the extent that they regarded themselves as members of a social elite, not bound by the same rules as the average citizen. The most visible manifestation of that attitude was drinking in PAF units. Ignoring the Quran's commandment against the consumption of alcohol beverages, PAF personnel enthusiastically emulated the RAF practice of having a bar in the officers' at each air base.
Upon qualifying as a PAF pilot, Alam became caught up in the social practices of his brother officers and later admitted to getting drunk on numerous occasions. Another RAF custom adapted by the PAF was the use of nicknames for various pilots, and Alam's short stature earned him the sobriquet "Peanut".
Alam embraced the RAF tradition of professionalism with equal enthusiasm. His own gunnery scores - an average of 70 percent - were the highest in PAF, and by September 1965 he had accumulated 1,400 hours in the North American F-86F Sabre alone. To this he added experience in other aircraft, both at home and abroad, among them the Hawker Hunter, a type that became the mainstay of the IAF.
The first unit to which Alam was assigned, No. 11 Squadron, had the distinction of being the first PAF unit to use jet fighters, being equipped with the Supermarine Attackers in 1951. It was also the PAF only jet fighter squadron until 1955, when United States began selling F-86F to Pakistan. In 1956 No. 11 was re-equipped with the new Sabres, and by 1965 it was part of No. 33 Wing, based at Sargodha, in West Pakistan. In February 1964, Alam took command of No. 11 Squadron, while his predecessor, Wing Commander Muhammad Anwar Shamim, was promoted to command of No. 33 Wing.
Meanwhile, war clouds were gathering over Kashmir. Far to the south, in the Rann of Kutch on the coast of the Arabian Sea, intermittent armed clashes broke out between Indian and Pakistani forces in January 1965. In the months that followed Pakistan began recrutting and arming a "Free Kashmir" guerilla army, called the Mujahiddin. Indian troops responded by occupying the strategically important region of Kargil, on the Pakistani side of the cease-fire line, on August 15. Tensions escalated until finally, on September 6, open warfare broke out between India and Pakistan.
The armies of the two countries were about equal in numbers, but India enjoyed an overwhelming advantage in the air, having 476 fighters and 60 bombers at the start of the war, against 104 fighters and 26 bombers of the PAF. From the outset, the Pakistani pilots knew that only their intensive training would enable them to successfully defend their airspace. At the time hostilities commenced, No. 33 Wing at Sargodha could field a total of 30 Sabres, of which 22 supplemented their six .50-caliber machine guns with wing-mounted AIM-9 Sidewinder heat-seeking air-to-air missiles. For Squadron Leader Alam, the war began in earnest at 5:30 a.m. on September 2, when he led seven Sabres against Indian troop concentrations reported to be at Jaurian. The Pakistanis saw nothing at first, then Ala, noticed Indian troops hidden in an orchard. He and his pilots strafed the enemy with gunfire and rockets, hitting five tanks and damaging a personnel carrier. Two days later, Alam was flying a low-level reconnaissance mission near the Indian airfield at Jammu when he came under groundfire and his cockpit canopy was shattered. Temporarily blinded by debris, Alam nevertheless maintained control of his F-86 and completed his mission. Spotting Indian artillery positions, he carried out two firing passes before his overheated guns jammed.
Alam led a section of three Sabres in a low-level raid on the Indian airbase at Adampur at dusk on September 6. As they neared their target, a quartet of Hawker Hunters suddnely crossed their Sabres' path at the slightly higher altitude of 500feet. Alam later described the encounter: "I remember thinking what very pretty aircraft werebrand-new Hunters were as I ordered my section to punch tanks. The Hunters also jettisoned their drop tanks, and we turned into each other for combat. The fight didn't last long. I got my sights on the No. 4 Hunter, and after a brief burst, he flicked and went into the ground in a great ball of flame, although I am not certain whether I hit him or not. We were now evenly matched, numerically, although I never fought at such low altitudes again, nor often at such low speeds."
As the twisting dogfight continued, Alam downed another Hunter. At that point, however, the Sabres were low on fuel, and Alam ordered them to disengage. He later learned that, unknown to him at the time, the PAF command had aborted the Adampur strike. As their wingmen made their way back to base, Alam ran into two more Hunters.
"I turned into them and took a shot at the last man at long range," said Alam. "He turned into me, then took off his bank. I think I registered hits - I only saw smoke coming out, but no flames. As a wise man, I thought I should not turn back after him as I was low on fuel. So I crossed the border and climbed up to contact our CGI [ground control intercept] and check my position. I was not sure what had happened to the rest of my flight, and I was relieved to hear that they were all in the vicinity of Sargodha, where I came back and landed. This was the first time we had encountered the Hunters, and any misgivings we had in our minds were resolved that day. In maneuverability, the Sabre was undoubtedly better then the Hunter."
Squadron Leader Alauddin "Butch" Ahmed and Flt. Lt. Syed Saad Akhtar Hatmi, who had accompanied Alam, claimed a Hunter as damaged. Postwar examinations of IAF records mention that Squadron Leader Ajit Kumar Rawley of No. 7 Squadron was killed when his Hunter flew into ground, but the record is vague as to whether or not that was during combat. Other Indian aircraft might have been damaged, but there are no specific records. Discrepancies between claims made in good faith and actual enemy losses date to World War I and apply to all war air combatants. The high-speed encounters of the jet age certainly put more strain on human perception, increasing the likelihood of such discrepancies.
The following day, Alam and some his comrades were of No. 11 sat strapped in the cockpits of their Sabres, waiting to scramble, when seven French-built Dassault Mystere IV-A fighter-bombers of No.1 Squadron, IAF, suddenly came towards them out of the rising sun at tree-top level. As the Pakistani airmen looked up in disbelief, the Mysteres pulled up to about 1,000feet and sprayed the tarmac with rockets - but they only hit the empty areas. They then fired at the same areas with their twin 30mm cannons and disappeared to the southwest, after one of their Mysteres, flown by Squadron Leader A. B. Devayya, was hit by 20mm cannon fire from a Lockheed F-104A Starfighter of No. 9 Squadron, PAF. Devayya was killed, but the victorious Pakistani pilot, Flt. Lt. Amjad Hussein Khan was forced to eject when his F-104 was struck by the debris from his victim's exploding aircraft. The attack had left the vulnerable airfield unharmed.
After the Mysteres departed, Alam and his wingman, Flying Officer Mohammed Masood Akhtar, took off. Within five minutes, they were directed by ground control to intercept another incoming Indian raid. They had only flown eastwards for 10 to 15 miles when they were ordered to return, as still more Indian fighters had appeared over Sargodha.
"As we vectored back towards Sargodha," Alam recounted in a postwar interview, "Akhtar called, 'contact - four Hunters,' and I saw the IAF aircraft diving to attack our airfield. So I jettisoned my [drop tanks] to dive through our own ack-ack after them. In the meantime, I saw two more Hunters about 1,000feet to my rear, so I forgot the four in front and pulled up to go after the pair behind. The Hunters broke off their attempted attack on Sargodha, and the pair turned on me. I was flying much faster then they were at this stage - I must have been doing about 500 knots - so I pulled up to avoid overshooting them and then reversed to close in as they flew back towards India."
"I took the last man and dived behind him," Alam's report continued, "getting very low in the process. The Hunter can outrun the Sabre - it's only about 50 knots faster, but has much better acceleration, so it can pull away very rapidly. Since I was diving, I was going still faster, and as he was out of gun range, I fired the first of my two Sidewinder air-to-air missiles at him. In this case we were too low and I saw the missile hit the ground short of its target. This area east of Sargodha, however, has lots of high tension wires, some of them as high as 100-150 feet, and when I saw the two Hunters pull up to avoid one of these cables, I fired the second Sidewinder. The missile streaked in front of me, but I didn't see it strike. The next thing I remember was that I was overshooting one of the Hunters and when I looked behind, the cockpit canopy was missing and there was no pilot in the aircraft. He had obviously pulled up and ejected and then I saw him coming down by parachute."
Alam's alleged victim, Squadron Leader Onkar Nath Kacker, was the commander of No. 27 Squadron, IAF, based at Halwara. After being returned to India, he claimed that he had flown 150 kilometers east of Sargodha when his engine stopped due to a boaster pump failure. It is possible that anything from mechanical failure to fragment's from Alam's exploding Sidewinder might have been responsible for the loss of Kacker's plane, but certainly Alam's perception of his going down near Sargodha was erroneous.
At that point, Alam lost sight of the remaining five Hunters, but he had plenty of fuel left and was prepared to fly as far as 60 miles in an attempt to catch up with them. Alam and his wingman had just flown over the Chenab river when Akhtar called out, "Contact - Hunters 1 o'clock." Alam immediately spotted them - ans as he described it: "five Hunters in absolutely immaculate battle formation. They were flying at about 100-200 feet, at around 480 knots and when I was in gunfire range, they saw me. They all broke in one direction, climbing and turning steeply to the left, which put them in loose line astern. This of course was their big mistake…."
What happened next occurred very quickly. "We were all turning very tightly - in access of 5g or just about on the limits of the Sabre's very accurate A-4 radar ranging gunsight," Alam reported " And I think before we had completed more than about 270 degrees of the turn, at about 12 degrees per second, all four Hunters had been shot down. In each case, I got the piper of my sight around the canopy of the Hunter for virtually a full deflection shot. Almost all of our shooting throughout the war was at very high angles off - seldom less then 30 degrees. Unlike some of the Korean combat films I had seen, nobody in our war was shot down flying straight or level."
Alam knew that downing four enemy aircraft in less then one minute was a feat that took some explaining. "I developed a technique of firing very short bursts - around half a second or less," he said. "The first burst was almost a sighter, but with a fairly large bullet pattern from six machine guns, it almost invariably punctured the fuel tanks so that they streamed kerosene. During the battle of September 7, as we went around into a turn, I could just see, in light of the rising sun, the plumes of fuel gushing from the tanks after my hits. Another half-second burst was then sufficient to set fire to the fuel, and, as the Hunter became a ball of fire, I would quickly shift my aim forward to the next aircraft. The Sabre carried about 1,800 rounds of ammunition for its six 0.5 inch guns, which can therefore fire about 15 seconds. In air combat, this is lifetime. Every fourth or fifth round is an armor-piercing bullet, and the rest are HEI - high explosive incendiary.
"My fifth victim of this sortie started spewing smoke and then rolled on to his back at about 1,000 feet. I thought he was going to do a barrel role, which at low altitude is a very dangerous maneuver for the pursuer if the man in front knows what he is doing. I went almost on my back and then realized I might not be able to stay with him, so I took off bank and pushed the nose down. The next time I fired was at very close range - about 600 feet or so - and his aircraft virtually blew in front of me.
"Hunter pilots won't believe it," remarked Alam. "I have flown the Hunters myself in England, and they are very maneuverable aircraft , but I think the F-86 is better. Actually the Sabre has a fantastic turning performance. Although the normal stalling speed with flap is about 92 knots or less in a descending scissors maneuver, between 100 and 120 knots is quite normal speed range to rack the Sabre around in combat….
"In a turn the Hunter slows down more quickly then the F-86 for the same application of g. for one thing, it has a much higher aspect ratio - in other words, the lower the speed, the higher the induced drag. This means the Hunter losses speed faster then the Sabre in a turn because of its higher drag rise, which the extra thrust can not counter. So in the turn I steadily closed up on the Hunters, which quickly decelerated from about 450 knots to around 240 knots, and would have had to pull about 7g to get away from me. As it was they just slid back into my sight, one by one."
Later, the Pakistanis found the wreckage of two of Alam's victims a few miles from the Sangla Hill railroad station, along with the bodies of their pilots - identified as a Hindu and a Sikh but otherwise too badly burnt for individual identification. The IAF later reported the loss of Squadron Leader S. B. Bhagwat and Flying Officer J. S. Brar of No. 7 Squadron. Alam's two other claims were evidently more examples of overclaiming in the heat of combat. His remaining antagonists, Wing Commander Toric Zacharaiah (the commander of the No.7 Squadron) and Flt. Lts. Ajit S. Lamba and Manmoham S. Sinha, returned to their base safely. Lamba and Sinha later went on to become air marshals of the IAF.
Alam's third and last air-to-air clash with the IAF occurred on September 16, when he and Flying Officer Mohammed I. Shaukat entered enemy airspace and were detected by the Indians flying 10 miles from the airfields of Halwara and Adampur. Two Hunters scrambled to intercept them. Alam reported the situation to the GCI at Sakesar and was asked if he wanted to engage the Indians, since his wingman had no more than 80 hours flying time in the Sabre and 19 combat missions in his logbook. "Now we are here," Alam replied. "We've got to fight."
"They were flying very fast," Alam reported afterwards. "We were doing about Mach .8 but they must have been diving at around Mach .95 or more. They couldn't stay in our turn, so they zoomed up in a yo-yo maneuver. When I reversed back they both pulled through from there, and we dived behind them until at about 13-14,000 feet they separated in a vertical break."
Alam went after the climbing Hunter and engaged it at about 20,000 feet. His frst burst of gunfire missed, but second scored a hit. "At the third burst he became a ball of flame," Alam said, "so I turned back and looked for my wingman…. Then suddenly I lost all radio contact with him, although I could see him in the distance and I saw the Hunter break away from him."
"The Hunter saw me," Alam continued, "and although he was close to his base, he didn't accept combat. He turned away from me and accelerated rapidly in a dive, although I followed as closely as possible behind him. I knew we were approaching close to the airfield of Halwara and suspected a trap, but then he did a loose sort of a roll to clear his tail, so he had obviously lost me. I had a good 5-6,000 feet below him, at about Mach .94 - .95, and when I felt that he was slowing down, I fired a Sidewinder at him. There was something wrong with the missile, however, as it turned through 90 degrees soon after its release."
"I continued diving after him, however, and then released my second Sidewinder, which scored a hit on his right wing root. As it began to smoke, I saw that we were crossing the Halwara Canal and as I was well inside Indian territory and getting a bit short of fuel, I immediately half-rolled and dived down to tree top level. When I hit the River Ravi, which marks the border between India and Pakistan, I climbed up to conserve fuel, feeling very miserable at having lost my No.2."
Although Alam had not seen the second Hunter crash, the PAF credited him with both planes, for his eight and ninth victories of the war. As in the earlier cases, one of the Alam's victim survived to give his own description of the fight. When the PAF's F-86s were reported, Flying Officer Prakash S. Pingale and F. Dara Bunsha of No. 7 Squadron scrambled up from Halwara. Pingale reported that he got behind the first Sabre, which turned south, then spotted the second "at about 4 o'clock at a range of about 1,000 yardsand about to fire on us." He then told Bunsha to "go for Sabre No. 1," while he engaged the other.
"Sabre No.2 attempted to shake me off by pulling up into the sun," Pingale said. "He also jettisoned his external loads and pulled up steeply as a last ditch maneuver to make me overshoot him, perhaps by the use of leading edge slats…. I was able to open fire at about 350-400 yards. The aircraft literally exploded in front of me."
At that point, Pingale saw saw Bunsha engaging in scissors maneuver with Alam's F-86. He radioed a warning to Bunsha that the Sabre held the advantage in such a fight. But Bunsha was going down in flames by the time he intervened. "Seeing me coming towards him Sabre No.1 left my No. 2 and turned towards me," Pingale continued. "As we crossed head-on, he opened fire on me…. As I reversed to engage Sabre No. 1 in 1 vs. 1 combat, to my utter dismay I found that instead of fighting with me he had half-rolled and was speedily trying to get away in a vertical dive. I attempted to close in but lost contact with Sabre No. 1 because I blacked out due to excessive g (around 8-10 as recorded by my g-meter)." As he returned to Halwara, Pingale could not recall seeing his Pakistani opponent ever fire a missile at him, but he later admitted that his preceptions were somewhat impaired by the pain of a slight back injury he had sustained after being hit by ground fire and bailing out a few days earlier, aggravated by the effects of his high-g turn. Pingale was rewarded the Vir Chakra for his valor in September 16 dogfight and is currently the inspector general of the IAF.
Just before his Sabre exploded in flames, Shaukat ejected at 12,000 feet over the eastern Punjabi village of Taran Taran. He was shot by civilians, who mistook him for a paratrooper, before reaching the ground and being taken prisoner. He was then taken to a hospital, where an Indian surgeon removed a .303 caliber bullet and some shotgun pellets from his body.
After being released in a prisoner exchange in February 1966, Shaukat rejoined the No. 11 Squadron. Inspite of his misfortune on September 16, 1965, he recently stated: " I still consider…M.M. Alam as an example of professional leader and a great human being. It was through his untiring effort that I became an operational fighter pilot in the F-86F well ahead of my many course mates and took part in the 1965 war. We should appreciate that Alam took with him an inexperienced pilot like me with only 80 hours on the F-86F as his only wingman and flew deep into the Indian territory and invited the IAF to fight in their sky. He was a source of inspiration and encouragement for many professional pilots in the PAF."
Shaukat later served in the Turkish air force as part of the Exchange Posting Program between the air arms of the North Atlantic Treaty and its allies. He was a flight lieutenant and had accumulated 1,200 hours flight time in the F-86 by the time East Pakistan became the independent state of Bangladesh in December 1971. At that point, however, Shaukat who had been born and raised in the eastern Bengali district of Bogra, chose to become a citizen of the new nation and joined the Bangladesh Air Force as a flight commander in its only fighter squadron. He subsequently took the Junior Commander's Course in India and studied at the RAF Staff College in Britain. Mohammad Shaukat-ul Islam applied his leadership training as commander of a squadron of Mikoyan-Gruevich Mig-21s, a wing and an air base. He flew 13 different types of aircraft before retiring with the rank of group captain in 1982. After that he served nine years as managing director of Biman (Bangladesh Airlines) and as chairman of the Civil Aviation Authority of Bangladesh.
On September 23 a cease-fire brought the Kashmir War to an end. Alam received the Sitara-I-Jurat and bar - the Pakistani equivalent of the British Distinguished Flying Cross and bar - for gallantry during the short conflict.
Alam commanded the No. 11 Squadron until April 1966. In November 1967, he was promoted to wing commander, given command of the No. 5 Squadron and charged with overseeing the introduction of the newly imported Dassault Mirage IIIEP into that unit.
At about that time, however, Alam began to have problems as a result of professional jealousies and personal resentment among fellow PAF officers. For one thing, there were some accusations that while Alam was a virtuoso pilot, his leadership qualities at the senior officer level left something to be desired. As Pakistan's first ace, much was expected of him after the war, and his more limited administrative abilities may have suffered further under the pressure of such expectations.
Alam was also reappraising his lifestyle, reaching the conclusion that the abandonment of traditional Islamic values by the PAF constituted a betrayal of the people it served. The most obvious symbol of that compromise of values was the consumption of alcohol. Alam not only quit drinking but also began trying to persuade his colleagues to banish alcohol from the officers' mess. Inevitably, Alam's growing zeal rubbed many PAF officers - a good many of whom were his superiors - the wrong way.
In 1969, Alam attended the Staff College, but was removed from the course in 1970 under the absurd pretext that he could not read and write. In May, he was relieved of his command of No.5 Squadron - which was given to Wing Commander Hakimullah Khan - and played no active role in the Indo-Pakistan War of December 1971. Alam was given command of No. 26 Squadron in January 1972 but lost it just two months later. His final position was chief of flight safety, but he continued to meddle in PAF policy.
Also in 1971, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto came to power as the Prime Minister of Pakistan and commenced a series of social reforms. Among other things, Bhutto championed an end of elitism of the military and a return of consistent Islamic values. As one consequence of his efforts, by 1976 the PAF had gone officially "dry."
Alam took a leave of absence and slipped over the border into Afghanistan in 1979. It is believed that Alam advised the Mujahiddin guerrilas in their operations against the Soviet-backed Afghan government. After his return to Pakistan, he would say nothing about his activities, save that they had been inspired by his lone decision to aid the Afghans in a jihad (holy war) against the Soviet atheists.
When Alam retired on May 12, 1982, he had attained the rank of air commodore - the PAF equivalent of a brigadier general. When General Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq took power, promising a return of traditional values, Alam welcomed the change. But he soon became disillusioned with Zia's regime, as well.
After that, Alam took up a life of austerity, living in a sparsely furnished apartment in Karachi with little more then a pile of books. As for the once-dashing ace of 1965, while Alam did appear with his fellow war veterans on Pakistani television as late as 1994, his comments on his war time service were disappointingly sparse. That had been another, earlier Mohammad Alam, he said - the new Alam was a different man, more concerned with spiritual integrity than with reliving old dogfights.
At a time when most military heroes are the subject of unqualified adulation, Pakistanis are not entirely sure what to make of Mohammad Alam. Although still looked upon askance by most senior officials of his old service, he continues to command the admiration of most junior officers and men of the PAF. Even those who did not share his religious views respect his integrity, as an "Islamic man for all seasons." It may be noted, too, that in recent years most of his older critics have retired and his younger admirers have become the PAF senior officers of today.
As for the question of separating the man from the myth, even his former Indian adversaries have acknowledged that when their actual losses are separated from the more nebulous claims, Alam's aerial achievements hold up on their own merits. In the final analysis then - and contrary, perhaps, to his own wishes - Alam's record assures his place as one of the great aces of the jet age.
Mohammad Alam's wartime exploits gained him international acclaim, but his military career was marked by controversy.
When jets replaced propeller-driven aircraft, many of the pundits of military aviation predicted that the days of the old-fashioned dogfight were over. The Korean War and subsequent conflicts proved them wrong. Jet fighter pilots still engaged in dogfights, and they could often be as individualistic and eccentric as their prop-era predecessors.
The great ideological conflicts of the Cold War produced its share of outstanding pilots, but so did some other, lesser-known conflicts. In fact, one of the fastest aces of all time was a participant in a short-lived border war between India and Pakistan in 1965. Few fighter pilots of any nation could claim nine victories in three combats. Fewer still could claim seven in two days. And it is doubtful that anyone besides Mohammad Alam of the Pakistan Air Force (PAF) can lay claim to shooting down four enemy planes in less then one minute. That fighting record should have assured an airman of Alam's proficiency a brilliant military career, but Alam would give it all up as the consequence of a spiritual rebirth that set him on a collision course with many of his senior officers.
Mohammad Mahmood Alam was born in Behar, western Bengal, on July 6, 1935. He was in his early teens when he saw India achieve independence in 1946 only to be split as a result of violent religious and political differences between Muslims and Hindus. The result was the creation in August 1947 of the Islamic State of Pakistan, whose divided territories existed both to the northeast and northwest of India. Alam's own hometown fell within Indian territory, and his family was compelled to move.
Neither India nor Pakistan was satisfied with their borders, and intermittent conflict continued between the two countries, resulting in the development of indigenous armies, navies, and air arms by both. Given the long-term colonial presence of Great Britain, both the PAF and the Indian Air Force (IAF) were profoundly influenced by the Royal Air Force (RAF) in regard to training, uniforms and military behavior. Pilots of both countries were often sent to Britain to polish their flying skills and keep up with the latest aviation developments.
In case of the Pakistanis, there was an additional social legacy left behind by the British. As their proficiency and confidence grew, PAF personnel came to affect the cocky demeanor of their British mentors, to the extent that they regarded themselves as members of a social elite, not bound by the same rules as the average citizen. The most visible manifestation of that attitude was drinking in PAF units. Ignoring the Quran's commandment against the consumption of alcohol beverages, PAF personnel enthusiastically emulated the RAF practice of having a bar in the officers' at each air base.
Upon qualifying as a PAF pilot, Alam became caught up in the social practices of his brother officers and later admitted to getting drunk on numerous occasions. Another RAF custom adapted by the PAF was the use of nicknames for various pilots, and Alam's short stature earned him the sobriquet "Peanut".
Alam embraced the RAF tradition of professionalism with equal enthusiasm. His own gunnery scores - an average of 70 percent - were the highest in PAF, and by September 1965 he had accumulated 1,400 hours in the North American F-86F Sabre alone. To this he added experience in other aircraft, both at home and abroad, among them the Hawker Hunter, a type that became the mainstay of the IAF.
The first unit to which Alam was assigned, No. 11 Squadron, had the distinction of being the first PAF unit to use jet fighters, being equipped with the Supermarine Attackers in 1951. It was also the PAF only jet fighter squadron until 1955, when United States began selling F-86F to Pakistan. In 1956 No. 11 was re-equipped with the new Sabres, and by 1965 it was part of No. 33 Wing, based at Sargodha, in West Pakistan. In February 1964, Alam took command of No. 11 Squadron, while his predecessor, Wing Commander Muhammad Anwar Shamim, was promoted to command of No. 33 Wing.
Meanwhile, war clouds were gathering over Kashmir. Far to the south, in the Rann of Kutch on the coast of the Arabian Sea, intermittent armed clashes broke out between Indian and Pakistani forces in January 1965. In the months that followed Pakistan began recrutting and arming a "Free Kashmir" guerilla army, called the Mujahiddin. Indian troops responded by occupying the strategically important region of Kargil, on the Pakistani side of the cease-fire line, on August 15. Tensions escalated until finally, on September 6, open warfare broke out between India and Pakistan.
The armies of the two countries were about equal in numbers, but India enjoyed an overwhelming advantage in the air, having 476 fighters and 60 bombers at the start of the war, against 104 fighters and 26 bombers of the PAF. From the outset, the Pakistani pilots knew that only their intensive training would enable them to successfully defend their airspace. At the time hostilities commenced, No. 33 Wing at Sargodha could field a total of 30 Sabres, of which 22 supplemented their six .50-caliber machine guns with wing-mounted AIM-9 Sidewinder heat-seeking air-to-air missiles. For Squadron Leader Alam, the war began in earnest at 5:30 a.m. on September 2, when he led seven Sabres against Indian troop concentrations reported to be at Jaurian. The Pakistanis saw nothing at first, then Ala, noticed Indian troops hidden in an orchard. He and his pilots strafed the enemy with gunfire and rockets, hitting five tanks and damaging a personnel carrier. Two days later, Alam was flying a low-level reconnaissance mission near the Indian airfield at Jammu when he came under groundfire and his cockpit canopy was shattered. Temporarily blinded by debris, Alam nevertheless maintained control of his F-86 and completed his mission. Spotting Indian artillery positions, he carried out two firing passes before his overheated guns jammed.
Alam led a section of three Sabres in a low-level raid on the Indian airbase at Adampur at dusk on September 6. As they neared their target, a quartet of Hawker Hunters suddnely crossed their Sabres' path at the slightly higher altitude of 500feet. Alam later described the encounter: "I remember thinking what very pretty aircraft werebrand-new Hunters were as I ordered my section to punch tanks. The Hunters also jettisoned their drop tanks, and we turned into each other for combat. The fight didn't last long. I got my sights on the No. 4 Hunter, and after a brief burst, he flicked and went into the ground in a great ball of flame, although I am not certain whether I hit him or not. We were now evenly matched, numerically, although I never fought at such low altitudes again, nor often at such low speeds."
As the twisting dogfight continued, Alam downed another Hunter. At that point, however, the Sabres were low on fuel, and Alam ordered them to disengage. He later learned that, unknown to him at the time, the PAF command had aborted the Adampur strike. As their wingmen made their way back to base, Alam ran into two more Hunters.
"I turned into them and took a shot at the last man at long range," said Alam. "He turned into me, then took off his bank. I think I registered hits - I only saw smoke coming out, but no flames. As a wise man, I thought I should not turn back after him as I was low on fuel. So I crossed the border and climbed up to contact our CGI [ground control intercept] and check my position. I was not sure what had happened to the rest of my flight, and I was relieved to hear that they were all in the vicinity of Sargodha, where I came back and landed. This was the first time we had encountered the Hunters, and any misgivings we had in our minds were resolved that day. In maneuverability, the Sabre was undoubtedly better then the Hunter."
Squadron Leader Alauddin "Butch" Ahmed and Flt. Lt. Syed Saad Akhtar Hatmi, who had accompanied Alam, claimed a Hunter as damaged. Postwar examinations of IAF records mention that Squadron Leader Ajit Kumar Rawley of No. 7 Squadron was killed when his Hunter flew into ground, but the record is vague as to whether or not that was during combat. Other Indian aircraft might have been damaged, but there are no specific records. Discrepancies between claims made in good faith and actual enemy losses date to World War I and apply to all war air combatants. The high-speed encounters of the jet age certainly put more strain on human perception, increasing the likelihood of such discrepancies.
The following day, Alam and some his comrades were of No. 11 sat strapped in the cockpits of their Sabres, waiting to scramble, when seven French-built Dassault Mystere IV-A fighter-bombers of No.1 Squadron, IAF, suddenly came towards them out of the rising sun at tree-top level. As the Pakistani airmen looked up in disbelief, the Mysteres pulled up to about 1,000feet and sprayed the tarmac with rockets - but they only hit the empty areas. They then fired at the same areas with their twin 30mm cannons and disappeared to the southwest, after one of their Mysteres, flown by Squadron Leader A. B. Devayya, was hit by 20mm cannon fire from a Lockheed F-104A Starfighter of No. 9 Squadron, PAF. Devayya was killed, but the victorious Pakistani pilot, Flt. Lt. Amjad Hussein Khan was forced to eject when his F-104 was struck by the debris from his victim's exploding aircraft. The attack had left the vulnerable airfield unharmed.
After the Mysteres departed, Alam and his wingman, Flying Officer Mohammed Masood Akhtar, took off. Within five minutes, they were directed by ground control to intercept another incoming Indian raid. They had only flown eastwards for 10 to 15 miles when they were ordered to return, as still more Indian fighters had appeared over Sargodha.
"As we vectored back towards Sargodha," Alam recounted in a postwar interview, "Akhtar called, 'contact - four Hunters,' and I saw the IAF aircraft diving to attack our airfield. So I jettisoned my [drop tanks] to dive through our own ack-ack after them. In the meantime, I saw two more Hunters about 1,000feet to my rear, so I forgot the four in front and pulled up to go after the pair behind. The Hunters broke off their attempted attack on Sargodha, and the pair turned on me. I was flying much faster then they were at this stage - I must have been doing about 500 knots - so I pulled up to avoid overshooting them and then reversed to close in as they flew back towards India."
"I took the last man and dived behind him," Alam's report continued, "getting very low in the process. The Hunter can outrun the Sabre - it's only about 50 knots faster, but has much better acceleration, so it can pull away very rapidly. Since I was diving, I was going still faster, and as he was out of gun range, I fired the first of my two Sidewinder air-to-air missiles at him. In this case we were too low and I saw the missile hit the ground short of its target. This area east of Sargodha, however, has lots of high tension wires, some of them as high as 100-150 feet, and when I saw the two Hunters pull up to avoid one of these cables, I fired the second Sidewinder. The missile streaked in front of me, but I didn't see it strike. The next thing I remember was that I was overshooting one of the Hunters and when I looked behind, the cockpit canopy was missing and there was no pilot in the aircraft. He had obviously pulled up and ejected and then I saw him coming down by parachute."
Alam's alleged victim, Squadron Leader Onkar Nath Kacker, was the commander of No. 27 Squadron, IAF, based at Halwara. After being returned to India, he claimed that he had flown 150 kilometers east of Sargodha when his engine stopped due to a boaster pump failure. It is possible that anything from mechanical failure to fragment's from Alam's exploding Sidewinder might have been responsible for the loss of Kacker's plane, but certainly Alam's perception of his going down near Sargodha was erroneous.
At that point, Alam lost sight of the remaining five Hunters, but he had plenty of fuel left and was prepared to fly as far as 60 miles in an attempt to catch up with them. Alam and his wingman had just flown over the Chenab river when Akhtar called out, "Contact - Hunters 1 o'clock." Alam immediately spotted them - ans as he described it: "five Hunters in absolutely immaculate battle formation. They were flying at about 100-200 feet, at around 480 knots and when I was in gunfire range, they saw me. They all broke in one direction, climbing and turning steeply to the left, which put them in loose line astern. This of course was their big mistake…."
What happened next occurred very quickly. "We were all turning very tightly - in access of 5g or just about on the limits of the Sabre's very accurate A-4 radar ranging gunsight," Alam reported " And I think before we had completed more than about 270 degrees of the turn, at about 12 degrees per second, all four Hunters had been shot down. In each case, I got the piper of my sight around the canopy of the Hunter for virtually a full deflection shot. Almost all of our shooting throughout the war was at very high angles off - seldom less then 30 degrees. Unlike some of the Korean combat films I had seen, nobody in our war was shot down flying straight or level."
Alam knew that downing four enemy aircraft in less then one minute was a feat that took some explaining. "I developed a technique of firing very short bursts - around half a second or less," he said. "The first burst was almost a sighter, but with a fairly large bullet pattern from six machine guns, it almost invariably punctured the fuel tanks so that they streamed kerosene. During the battle of September 7, as we went around into a turn, I could just see, in light of the rising sun, the plumes of fuel gushing from the tanks after my hits. Another half-second burst was then sufficient to set fire to the fuel, and, as the Hunter became a ball of fire, I would quickly shift my aim forward to the next aircraft. The Sabre carried about 1,800 rounds of ammunition for its six 0.5 inch guns, which can therefore fire about 15 seconds. In air combat, this is lifetime. Every fourth or fifth round is an armor-piercing bullet, and the rest are HEI - high explosive incendiary.
"My fifth victim of this sortie started spewing smoke and then rolled on to his back at about 1,000 feet. I thought he was going to do a barrel role, which at low altitude is a very dangerous maneuver for the pursuer if the man in front knows what he is doing. I went almost on my back and then realized I might not be able to stay with him, so I took off bank and pushed the nose down. The next time I fired was at very close range - about 600 feet or so - and his aircraft virtually blew in front of me.
"Hunter pilots won't believe it," remarked Alam. "I have flown the Hunters myself in England, and they are very maneuverable aircraft , but I think the F-86 is better. Actually the Sabre has a fantastic turning performance. Although the normal stalling speed with flap is about 92 knots or less in a descending scissors maneuver, between 100 and 120 knots is quite normal speed range to rack the Sabre around in combat….
"In a turn the Hunter slows down more quickly then the F-86 for the same application of g. for one thing, it has a much higher aspect ratio - in other words, the lower the speed, the higher the induced drag. This means the Hunter losses speed faster then the Sabre in a turn because of its higher drag rise, which the extra thrust can not counter. So in the turn I steadily closed up on the Hunters, which quickly decelerated from about 450 knots to around 240 knots, and would have had to pull about 7g to get away from me. As it was they just slid back into my sight, one by one."
Later, the Pakistanis found the wreckage of two of Alam's victims a few miles from the Sangla Hill railroad station, along with the bodies of their pilots - identified as a Hindu and a Sikh but otherwise too badly burnt for individual identification. The IAF later reported the loss of Squadron Leader S. B. Bhagwat and Flying Officer J. S. Brar of No. 7 Squadron. Alam's two other claims were evidently more examples of overclaiming in the heat of combat. His remaining antagonists, Wing Commander Toric Zacharaiah (the commander of the No.7 Squadron) and Flt. Lts. Ajit S. Lamba and Manmoham S. Sinha, returned to their base safely. Lamba and Sinha later went on to become air marshals of the IAF.
Alam's third and last air-to-air clash with the IAF occurred on September 16, when he and Flying Officer Mohammed I. Shaukat entered enemy airspace and were detected by the Indians flying 10 miles from the airfields of Halwara and Adampur. Two Hunters scrambled to intercept them. Alam reported the situation to the GCI at Sakesar and was asked if he wanted to engage the Indians, since his wingman had no more than 80 hours flying time in the Sabre and 19 combat missions in his logbook. "Now we are here," Alam replied. "We've got to fight."
"They were flying very fast," Alam reported afterwards. "We were doing about Mach .8 but they must have been diving at around Mach .95 or more. They couldn't stay in our turn, so they zoomed up in a yo-yo maneuver. When I reversed back they both pulled through from there, and we dived behind them until at about 13-14,000 feet they separated in a vertical break."
Alam went after the climbing Hunter and engaged it at about 20,000 feet. His frst burst of gunfire missed, but second scored a hit. "At the third burst he became a ball of flame," Alam said, "so I turned back and looked for my wingman…. Then suddenly I lost all radio contact with him, although I could see him in the distance and I saw the Hunter break away from him."
"The Hunter saw me," Alam continued, "and although he was close to his base, he didn't accept combat. He turned away from me and accelerated rapidly in a dive, although I followed as closely as possible behind him. I knew we were approaching close to the airfield of Halwara and suspected a trap, but then he did a loose sort of a roll to clear his tail, so he had obviously lost me. I had a good 5-6,000 feet below him, at about Mach .94 - .95, and when I felt that he was slowing down, I fired a Sidewinder at him. There was something wrong with the missile, however, as it turned through 90 degrees soon after its release."
"I continued diving after him, however, and then released my second Sidewinder, which scored a hit on his right wing root. As it began to smoke, I saw that we were crossing the Halwara Canal and as I was well inside Indian territory and getting a bit short of fuel, I immediately half-rolled and dived down to tree top level. When I hit the River Ravi, which marks the border between India and Pakistan, I climbed up to conserve fuel, feeling very miserable at having lost my No.2."
Although Alam had not seen the second Hunter crash, the PAF credited him with both planes, for his eight and ninth victories of the war. As in the earlier cases, one of the Alam's victim survived to give his own description of the fight. When the PAF's F-86s were reported, Flying Officer Prakash S. Pingale and F. Dara Bunsha of No. 7 Squadron scrambled up from Halwara. Pingale reported that he got behind the first Sabre, which turned south, then spotted the second "at about 4 o'clock at a range of about 1,000 yardsand about to fire on us." He then told Bunsha to "go for Sabre No. 1," while he engaged the other.
"Sabre No.2 attempted to shake me off by pulling up into the sun," Pingale said. "He also jettisoned his external loads and pulled up steeply as a last ditch maneuver to make me overshoot him, perhaps by the use of leading edge slats…. I was able to open fire at about 350-400 yards. The aircraft literally exploded in front of me."
At that point, Pingale saw saw Bunsha engaging in scissors maneuver with Alam's F-86. He radioed a warning to Bunsha that the Sabre held the advantage in such a fight. But Bunsha was going down in flames by the time he intervened. "Seeing me coming towards him Sabre No.1 left my No. 2 and turned towards me," Pingale continued. "As we crossed head-on, he opened fire on me…. As I reversed to engage Sabre No. 1 in 1 vs. 1 combat, to my utter dismay I found that instead of fighting with me he had half-rolled and was speedily trying to get away in a vertical dive. I attempted to close in but lost contact with Sabre No. 1 because I blacked out due to excessive g (around 8-10 as recorded by my g-meter)." As he returned to Halwara, Pingale could not recall seeing his Pakistani opponent ever fire a missile at him, but he later admitted that his preceptions were somewhat impaired by the pain of a slight back injury he had sustained after being hit by ground fire and bailing out a few days earlier, aggravated by the effects of his high-g turn. Pingale was rewarded the Vir Chakra for his valor in September 16 dogfight and is currently the inspector general of the IAF.
Just before his Sabre exploded in flames, Shaukat ejected at 12,000 feet over the eastern Punjabi village of Taran Taran. He was shot by civilians, who mistook him for a paratrooper, before reaching the ground and being taken prisoner. He was then taken to a hospital, where an Indian surgeon removed a .303 caliber bullet and some shotgun pellets from his body.
After being released in a prisoner exchange in February 1966, Shaukat rejoined the No. 11 Squadron. Inspite of his misfortune on September 16, 1965, he recently stated: " I still consider…M.M. Alam as an example of professional leader and a great human being. It was through his untiring effort that I became an operational fighter pilot in the F-86F well ahead of my many course mates and took part in the 1965 war. We should appreciate that Alam took with him an inexperienced pilot like me with only 80 hours on the F-86F as his only wingman and flew deep into the Indian territory and invited the IAF to fight in their sky. He was a source of inspiration and encouragement for many professional pilots in the PAF."
Shaukat later served in the Turkish air force as part of the Exchange Posting Program between the air arms of the North Atlantic Treaty and its allies. He was a flight lieutenant and had accumulated 1,200 hours flight time in the F-86 by the time East Pakistan became the independent state of Bangladesh in December 1971. At that point, however, Shaukat who had been born and raised in the eastern Bengali district of Bogra, chose to become a citizen of the new nation and joined the Bangladesh Air Force as a flight commander in its only fighter squadron. He subsequently took the Junior Commander's Course in India and studied at the RAF Staff College in Britain. Mohammad Shaukat-ul Islam applied his leadership training as commander of a squadron of Mikoyan-Gruevich Mig-21s, a wing and an air base. He flew 13 different types of aircraft before retiring with the rank of group captain in 1982. After that he served nine years as managing director of Biman (Bangladesh Airlines) and as chairman of the Civil Aviation Authority of Bangladesh.
On September 23 a cease-fire brought the Kashmir War to an end. Alam received the Sitara-I-Jurat and bar - the Pakistani equivalent of the British Distinguished Flying Cross and bar - for gallantry during the short conflict.
Alam commanded the No. 11 Squadron until April 1966. In November 1967, he was promoted to wing commander, given command of the No. 5 Squadron and charged with overseeing the introduction of the newly imported Dassault Mirage IIIEP into that unit.
At about that time, however, Alam began to have problems as a result of professional jealousies and personal resentment among fellow PAF officers. For one thing, there were some accusations that while Alam was a virtuoso pilot, his leadership qualities at the senior officer level left something to be desired. As Pakistan's first ace, much was expected of him after the war, and his more limited administrative abilities may have suffered further under the pressure of such expectations.
Alam was also reappraising his lifestyle, reaching the conclusion that the abandonment of traditional Islamic values by the PAF constituted a betrayal of the people it served. The most obvious symbol of that compromise of values was the consumption of alcohol. Alam not only quit drinking but also began trying to persuade his colleagues to banish alcohol from the officers' mess. Inevitably, Alam's growing zeal rubbed many PAF officers - a good many of whom were his superiors - the wrong way.
In 1969, Alam attended the Staff College, but was removed from the course in 1970 under the absurd pretext that he could not read and write. In May, he was relieved of his command of No.5 Squadron - which was given to Wing Commander Hakimullah Khan - and played no active role in the Indo-Pakistan War of December 1971. Alam was given command of No. 26 Squadron in January 1972 but lost it just two months later. His final position was chief of flight safety, but he continued to meddle in PAF policy.
Also in 1971, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto came to power as the Prime Minister of Pakistan and commenced a series of social reforms. Among other things, Bhutto championed an end of elitism of the military and a return of consistent Islamic values. As one consequence of his efforts, by 1976 the PAF had gone officially "dry."
Alam took a leave of absence and slipped over the border into Afghanistan in 1979. It is believed that Alam advised the Mujahiddin guerrilas in their operations against the Soviet-backed Afghan government. After his return to Pakistan, he would say nothing about his activities, save that they had been inspired by his lone decision to aid the Afghans in a jihad (holy war) against the Soviet atheists.
When Alam retired on May 12, 1982, he had attained the rank of air commodore - the PAF equivalent of a brigadier general. When General Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq took power, promising a return of traditional values, Alam welcomed the change. But he soon became disillusioned with Zia's regime, as well.
After that, Alam took up a life of austerity, living in a sparsely furnished apartment in Karachi with little more then a pile of books. As for the once-dashing ace of 1965, while Alam did appear with his fellow war veterans on Pakistani television as late as 1994, his comments on his war time service were disappointingly sparse. That had been another, earlier Mohammad Alam, he said - the new Alam was a different man, more concerned with spiritual integrity than with reliving old dogfights.
At a time when most military heroes are the subject of unqualified adulation, Pakistanis are not entirely sure what to make of Mohammad Alam. Although still looked upon askance by most senior officials of his old service, he continues to command the admiration of most junior officers and men of the PAF. Even those who did not share his religious views respect his integrity, as an "Islamic man for all seasons." It may be noted, too, that in recent years most of his older critics have retired and his younger admirers have become the PAF senior officers of today.
As for the question of separating the man from the myth, even his former Indian adversaries have acknowledged that when their actual losses are separated from the more nebulous claims, Alam's aerial achievements hold up on their own merits. In the final analysis then - and contrary, perhaps, to his own wishes - Alam's record assures his place as one of the great aces of the jet age.
