by Mike Edwards
Looking down at the small sector of ground below them, Harjinder could see what Jumbo was following. There, in this pathetically small gap, was a railway track stretching out as if to remind them that life could exist in this seemingly desolate place. Then, to prove the point, life came into view in the form of a labouring train, puffing through the flying grit, adding smoke to the swirling dust. The black locomotive engine merged with the background but the painted red bar behind the front buffers and the little orange water tender behind the engine, provided a splash of colour. The cream-coloured carriages behind did, indeed, contain life which, however irrelevant, seemed to add hope to their mission. The movement of the rattling train was what probably attracted Jumbo’s eye in the first place. Harjinder watched a hand appear from the cockpit and move rapidly up and down, finger pointing to the ground. They were going lower, so that Jumbo wouldn’t lose sight of the train. Knowing what was coming Harjinder tightened his grip on to the gun-mounting ring as Jumbo put the Wapiti into what felt like an almost vertical dive. The inter-plane wires and struts screamed in protest, and the fabric on the wings looked as though it would part company from the ribs. Harjinder’s stomach nearly heaved up into his mouth. The G force squashed Harjinder down into the rear cockpit as Jumbo heaved back the stick, the Wapiti’s nose protesting as it came back towards level flight at around 500 feet, pointing along the railway line. Harjinder wondered what he was up to, because the railway line could lead them almost anywhere. As the dust seemed to close in on them, he told himself that Jumbo must know what he was doing. Jumbo must have sensed the concern oozing from behind him, so, after looking at the map, he made a pencil mark and passed it back behind his seat to the rear cockpit. Harjinder returned it, nodding. It was however, a mechanical nod, meaning; your guess is as good as mine, or God only knows where we are.
After flying for another fifteen minutes, hanging on to the sight of the railway line in the red haze, they finally saw the shapes of houses, huts and fences emerge from the blur. It was a big town, that is, big for that part of the world. As they circled the town, their eyes were drawn to a large field on the southernmost boundary. Two small sheds sat on the edge of the field but it was the peculiar markings that grabbed their attention, markings that would only be visible from the air. Had the local farmer finally succumbed to the harsh conditions of his surroundings and gone completely mad? Any ploughing of land traditionally, throughout the world, was carried out in straight lines but this field seemed to be ploughed in circles. There were hundreds of these circles overlapping with each other. Then at last, at the furthest boundary they saw an aircraft, lying with its nose down in a nullah, or ditch, with its tail sticking up vertically like an elaborate telegraph pole. They zoomed low over the field and saw crowds of people waving at them. Was this good or bad news? The circular plough marks were an indication of strange happenings, and clearly, Jumbo didn’t fancy landing there. There seemed very few options for landing sites, but Jumbo seemed to be concentrating on a nearby ploughed field. They flew low over the area to have a better look, but both knowing, without the need for conversation, that they would be taking a huge risk if they used this field to land. Jumbo brought the aircraft down parallel to the furrows. He gently placed each wheel in the straightest groves he could find and eased the nose up as the speed bled away. As soon as the wheels made contact with the first-hint of soil the aircraft bucked and bounced but the tail dug into the earth to bring things to a rapid stop; they were still in one piece. The people came running up gabbling about an aircraft that had crashed the day before. All they heard was the two most important words – pilot and safe They calmed one young man enough to be told that the pilot in question had been housed with the Militia guards. Half an hour later their eyes encountered the sight they’d been hoping to see all night. Mukerjee, looking distinctly worse for wear, was still a sight for sore eyes. They congratulated him on his narrow escape before giving him a moment to relate his misadventure.
After he had taken off from Miranshah the storm had overtaken him. He had carried on flying blindly in the sand storm for over three hours, his life reliant in the accuracy of his instruments and his instrument flying skills. He was desperately lost, looking for landmarks in the gloom. Soon it was nearing 8pm, and almost too dark to see when, all of a sudden, he came across a town glowing through the dust haze, and immediately he started circling. Luckily for him, and the IAF, a Jamadar of the Militia heard the drone of the Wapiti, saw his plight and had the sense to jump into action. He raced to the little airstrip and started firing flares one after another in the direction of the open runway.
With the help of the Jamadar, Mukerjee made a perfect landing. However, perhaps out of sheer relief, he made a massive error. He taxied the aircraft up to the shed on the landing strip as the storm threatened to pound even this ox of a biplane to pieces. All knew that the Jupiter engine was a complete pig to start when hot, and knowing he could not push the aircraft into the shed, he decided to leave the engine running. With the engine at idle, he swung his legs over the side of his cockpit and dropped the considerable distance to the ground to look into the shed. As he made his way over, head bent into the wind, the throttle slowly vibrated itself open. When Mukerjee next looked back he saw the silver plane starting to pick up speed across the field. If it had been a screening of the latest comedy film back in Karachi’s cinema, the IAF personnel in the crowd would have roared their disapproval at the impossible scenario, but here it was. Squadron Leader Mukerjee, the boss of the IAF ran across the airfield after the rogue aircraft managing only to get one hand gripped to a wing tip. Mukerjee was not one to give up easily and finally managed, whilst running at full speed, to work his hands along to catch hold of the outer strut between the top and bottom wings. The open space of the airfield was fast running out, with the perimeter ditch fast approaching. Digging his heels in he swung the Wapiti around on the wing tip to keep it from leaping into that ditch. Now held firm, but only on one side, the aircraft kept circling round and round, with him at the centre of the circle. His feet could not dig in sufficiently to the hard surface, so he found himself being dragged around the airfield. Unable to see much in the dark, and unable to work his way closer to the cockpit, he had no option but to continue this absurd waltz; man and Wapiti spinning across their dance floor. The marks seen by Jumbo and Harjinder covering a large area of the airfield showed how long he must have been in this situation. Blinded by the dust of the storm, and the wind from the propeller, disoriented by the twirling of man and machine he didn’t see the ditch that finally stopped the show. The aircraft pirouetted its way to one side of the airfield and the wheels crept over the edge of a deep ditch. Down the Wapiti crashed to the bottom. The sorry episode was at an end.
Harjinder made his way into the town of Tonk and phoned Miranshah, passing on the welcome news that Mukerjee was alive. Flight Lieutenant Narendra was dispatched in another aircraft to fly down to them as the dust cleared. Harjinder managed to collect a few willing Pathans to assist and a few lengths of rope were located. They all gathered around the sad looking Wapiti, and under Harjinder’s guidance, they physically lifted it off the ground and out of the ditch. They then manhandled it back to the lowly shed, re-designated as a hangar. Now came the problem of how to despatch the shattered aircraft from Tonk back to Fort Sandeman. Harjinder’s white lie to main base at Karachi was true here. The metre gauge railway would not be able to cope with it.
When Jumbo looked at Harjinder, he could almost hear the cogs whirling around in his head. Harjinder had an idea what was coming; ‘Harjinder, why not repair it here?’
‘Sir, do you realise where you are? There is not even a screw-driver or a hammer here. The ground equipment and spares required will take a full ten days to get here. There will have to be a new propeller, aileron and undercarriage required. It is quite impracticable, if I may say so.’
Harjinder had formed a reputation for being Mr Fix-It and with this reputation, miracles were now e
xpected! Jumbo left to discuss the matter with Mukerjee and Narendra before approaching Harjinder again. ‘You yourself say the pilot deserves commendation. He has been brave and daring. He is our first Squadron Leader, first Squadron Commander, on his first base inspection. Through no fault of his (although his judgement must be questioned), he has had his first and only crash. We must move heaven and earth, and we will repair the aircraft here. Please try out your magic wand once more.’
Harjinder thought about it hard. He believed the accident was his fault, reasoning that the fitters who worked for him, rightly or wrongly were at fault for not having adjusted the throttle so that it would not open by itself. He believed the pilot indeed, had, displayed great strength of character in staying alive in the storm and fighting with the aircraft on the ground for over half an hour trying to salvage the situation. Harjinder’s brain kicked into overdrive as he tried to think of ways in which he could carry out the repairs. After half an hour of sitting in the corner of the shed, looking at the damaged beast, deep in thought, he approached Jumbo Majumdar. Jumbo knew Harjinder’s answer before he knew it himself; he knew Harjinder would not be able resist a challenge.
Harjinder asked for two aircraft to be put at his disposal and for them to begin a shuttle service between Tonk and Fort Sandeman carrying spares.
Naturally, Jumbo agreed, and then laughing, added Mukerjee had already agreed to face Harjinder’s ‘Subaltern’s Court Martial’ if he repaired the aircraft on site. It was Harjinder’s turn to laugh. He thought Mukerjee deserved a medal, not a fine of beers. Once again, the reputation of the fledgling IAF was on the forefront of everyone’s mind, and again, they decided that this accident should be reported as a precautionary landing, and not as a crash. A Court Martial would be flying around if their subterfuge was discovered. Time for the Harjinder’s magic, and the extensive consumption of tea.
Mukerjee was flown back to Fort Sandeman by Jumbo, and two hours later, two aeroplanes appeared in formation as they closed in rapidly to the new ‘Harjinder Singh’s Tonk Aircraft Repair Station’. Flying Officers Surjit Singh Majithia and Mehr ‘Baba’ Singh brought repair tools, as well as two of Harjinder’s best men, Aircraftsman Mohd Siddique and Aircraftsman Daulat Ram Bhatia. They meant business.
They had commandeered twenty locals and an interpreter from the Militia Commandant, with whose assistance, they started stripping the damaged Wapiti back to a basic structure. The undercarriage was shattered so most of the hired help was placed under the wings, their backs ready to take the load. As soon as the cross-bracings of the undercarriage were loosened the aircraft started to quiver with all the weight suddenly coming down on the Pathans. They were so scared many wailed, threatening to abandon the load and flee. Harjinder admitted later, that at one time he thought casualties were inevitable. Mohd Siddique had been detailed to keep the hired help in place. He took no chances and, brandishing a wooden stick, he whacked at the leg of any man who tried to move out of his position. The shouts and curses from Siddique left each man in no doubts of their fate if Siddique caught the individual alone after deserting his post. With fear of the IAF airman more than the fear of being crushed to death, the conscripted help held. Harjinder demonstrated his faith in the men when he dived under the fuselage and began rigging up the new undercarriage.
The Wapitis continued the shuttle runs back and forth, in what was still appalling weather. One pilot Harjinder singled out for praise was Flying Officer Majithia. This daring pilot never took a break from his duties, shuttling between Tonk and Fort Sandeman throughout the stormy weather. He brought all the necessary spare parts, some of them lashed under the fuselage, and some tied on the top of the rear of the fuselage. Majithia’s father, Sir Surinder Singh Majithia, came from a ruling family of the Punjab and was one of the richest men in the area, yet his son was in the Air Force as a Flying Officer. Despite his wealthy and privileged background he was the most disciplined and popular officer Harjinder had ever come across.
In just two days, the aircraft that had looked like a telegraph pole, was ready to go. The engine was tested and this time Harjinder knew the routine for the test flight, not being fooled by the initial fast taxi test run. The report on the first flight? It flew beautifully. Then there was the small matter of ferrying the phoenix aircraft to Fort Sandeman. The tussle between Squadron Leader Mukerjee and Flight Lieutenant Jumbo Majumdar was interesting. Jumbo wanted to prove that the repairs done by his men were fool proof, and he wanted to show his confidence in them by flying the aircraft. Squadron Leader Mukerjee felt responsible for the whole sorry affair and would not allow it. Being of higher rank, naturally he had his way. Harjinder volunteered to go in the back of the newly restored plane in a joint show of faith. It seemed as though Mother Nature was not pleased to have missed Mukerjee the first time, and as the two aircraft took off, another dust storm sprung up. Within minutes, it was not possible to climb over the hills that lay across their course. Mukerjee kept the newly repaired Wapiti low, making detours to find the valleys clear of the ever present dust. The walls of brown rock and boulders zoomed past the wing tips, and the dust blowing above them. Harjinder though what a great experience the last two days had been. He just had to survive the breath taking return flight!
True to his word, Jumbo arranged a Subaltern’s Court Martial and Harjinder once again presided over it. He sentenced Squadron Leader Mukerjee to a fine of two hundred and fifty rupees which went to the Flight Entertainment Fund. He paid up willingly and remarked that he was surprised that labour was so cheap in their Flight! The IAF was up to full aircraft strength, and the RAF had not found out about the incident. That is, they didn’t find out until a strange decision taken by Mukerjee.
This recovery of an aircraft in a remote corner was a remarkable feat for the newly nationalised Flight, and clearly, Squadron Leader Mukerjee felt he should spread the news, clearly forgetting the minor fact that it was a secret. After his return to Ambala he assembled all British Senior NCOs that were attached to the IAF at Ambala and gave them an account of the wonderful performance of the Indian technicians! Later, a British Airman revealed that the chat amongst the British after their talk with Mukerjee was to “fix” Harjinder at the first opportunity because, at the rate at which he was going, he would very soon be promoted as a Warrant Officer and therefore put a British Warrant Officer out of a job! With that in their mind, it seems incredible that not one passed the information up the chain of command about the crash that never was. Perhaps, with Mukerjee’s complete openness on the subject, they all assumed that it was carried out with Headquarters’ blessings. Maybe they were relying on one of their officers to do the needful.
Those British Airmen would have done well to discuss Harjinder with a few of those Warrant Officers they thought they were protecting. One such Warrant Officer was Simms, the Station Engineering Officer at Peshawar, with whom Harjinder had a good relationship. Simm’s status was further raised after a visit by Wing Commander Carpenter DFC, the India Command Engineer. Harjinder rang up Simms to warn him of the VIP’s imminent visit. His response was very casual and matter of fact. ‘Bring him along to the workshops’, was all he said as he put the phone down.
Harjinder accompanied the Command Engineering Officer throughout his tour of their facilities. On reaching Simms’s office, he rushed ahead to announce the visitor. To his horror the Warrant Officer made no attempt move but just said; ‘Okay. Bring him in.’
Harjinder stopped in his tracks and looked around the workshop. He noticed that there was only a stool beside the chair on which Simms was sitting and the place hadn’t even been tidied up. Harjinder quickly suggested that he rush out and tell the chaprasi to fetch another chair, but Simms told him not to fuss. The Warrant Officer on seeing Wing Commander Carpenter enter said; ‘Come in, Sir, and sit down,’ pointing to the stool. Harjinder shrank back in the shadows and left the office.
As soon as the Command Engineering Officer left the Station, Harjinder hurried back to speak t
o Simms. He made no bones about his very casual behaviour towards a senior officer. With a mischievous look in his eye Simms beckoned Harjinder to sit down and listen. ‘Wing Commander Carpenter was an air gunner in my Squadron’, he said. ‘In fact, it was I who recommended him for a commission after I turned down the offer myself. Besides, I am an MBE. Don’t you know that an MBE outranks a DFC?’
Harjinder took Simms’s comments at face value, and thought a Member of the order of the British Empire, the MBE, was like a passport to heaven. In the future he would change his mind twice about that.
The World War II was rattling around them now with the ebb and flow of the Italian and German troops in North Africa being the main focus of attention. Understandably, little attention outside India was turned on the North-West Frontier Province, and the exploits of ‘C’ Flight IAF. However, for the first time, a completely Indian unit had completed a year-long operational tour of duty, leaving with the same aircraft they arrived with, although several aircraft had many shiny, new parts included in them! When the time came for Harjinder’s Flight to take their leave from Fort Sandeman, the IAF ‘B’ Flight, under Flight Lieutenant Narendra, came from Ambala to take over. As Harjinder gratefully returned to his loving wife, and the long awaited family life, he knew a new chapter in IAF history had been written. Every man who had been stationed there took immense pride in their achievement, as they left the rugged outpost behind them. Their performance was the forerunner of things to come, and the perfect rehearsal for a full-fledged Air Force about to enter the wider arena of war on a global scale.
