by Mike Edwards
The Indians’ baptism of fire was in full force, with flying operations every day, and crews exposed to ground fire on every mission. There was the ever-present threat of being caught by Japanese fighters. A camouflaged soldier, lying still, can have an enemy almost step on him, because it is movement that the human eye detects. The Lysanders may have been slow, but move they did, and with more aircraft taking part in the raids, they were dramatically increasing their chances of being caught. Pilots reported Japanese ‘Zero’ (although the Nakajima ‘Oscar’ fighter was the main fighter in Burma) fighters flying directly over them as both pairs of eyes, in each cockpit, remained glued to the swarming white or green-coloured shapes in the sky, expecting them to peel off and come thundering down; bringing death with them. However, time and time again, the enemy just continued on their way. The Japanese had superiority in the Burmese sky, but not complete control, thanks to the endless courage of the American Flying Tigers, and the Commonwealth pilots in their outdated fighters. Their presence distracted the Japanese, who would have been scanning for the allied fighters trying to sneak up on their tails, and therefore not looking for lumbering Lysanders snapping the top-most branches of the jungle canopy. The strain on the IAF pilots and gunners was immense, but most strapped in day after day to get the job done. However, on the 16th February, the first crack appeared. Jumbo, the steadying figurehead, had been away every day for the previous three days, taking various numbers of aircraft on bombing raids, but this morning, one pilot was left behind to carry out a solo mission in the Northern sector. It is true, as a lone aircraft you have a better chance of remaining unseen by fighters, but the pressure on the individual grows exponentially. You have no one in the formation scanning the horizon for fighters, no one to confirm your navigation, no mutual support when attacked, and, the fear that lurked in every crew member’s brain, no one to report where you came down if the engine stopped. The final splash of petrol on the burning embers of tension was the rumours of increased activity of the Zero fighters that day. The lone pilot strapped in without a word and took off at about 10 am in the usual way, but returned after half an hour. He landed and switched off the engine. He reported excessive magneto drop (a fault in one of the 2 ignition systems) and promptly left for the Mess. The engine fitter clambered up the side of the Lysander and swung himself into the pilot’s seat. He fired up the engine, running it at different power settings, turning off each ignition system alternately, expecting one of them to result in a big loss of power, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Harjinder was told of the situation, so within minutes, he was in that cockpit carrying out the checks for his own benefit: nothing unusual! He drove up to the Mess, found the young pilot and reported that the engine was now serviceable and that he may proceed with his mission. The reply was rather casual; ‘I couldn’t care less for this damned war’, he said.
Harjinder tried to give him a way out by suggesting a late night, and that flying fatigue was setting in, but he refuted this and said, defiantly; ‘I have had seven hours sleep, and am perfectly fit.’
Harjinder knew this was not the time to push this person any further, but firmly insisted the pilot accompany him to the airstrip.
The pilot wearily took to the steps on the side of the aircraft and back into the cockpit to run up the engine with Harjinder watching. The pilot gave Harjinder a lethargic thumbs-up signal, so the chocks were pulled away, and Harjinder watched as the aircraft rumbled into the air. The Lysander had hardly disappeared over the trees before it was back, touching down on the strip and taxiing back in. Harjinder signalled for him to keep the engine running but that was ignored and the propeller came to a stop. The pilot just climbed down, refused to wait for Harjinder to try the engine, and quietly slipped away to the Mess again. Of course the engine was once again faultless so back Harjinder went to the Mess. Once again, Harjinder asked him if he was feeling fit and he replied: ‘Absolutely fit.’
There are very few people who have no fear, as it lurks in most of us; different people cope in different ways. The fear had got hold of this young man but it wasn’t hysterics, it wasn’t tears, it wasn’t shouting and bawling. He was very matter of fact about not flying that day. Harjinder knew the pressure they were all under, and knew the effect on this individual, and possibly others, if this went unchecked. Harjinder faced him quietly, but firmly, spoke to him, taking time with the speed and clarity of his voice to ensure each word was understood; ‘Sir, I give you one more chance to takeoff and carry out your sortie. If you do this, I promise to say nothing to anybody about this incident. But if you refuse I will report the matter to the Squadron Commander, and I shall recommend that you be put under arrest and summarily tried for being a coward.’
The man’s face went pale. He got up slowly, paused, and said; ‘I am extremely sorry that I have given you this impression. I am not a coward. I will prove to you that I would rather die in the air than on the ground.’
Harjinder, still with very slow deliberate words, replied: ‘The proof of the pudding is in the eating. You have to prove what you have just said.’
‘I will’, he said, picked up his flying helmet and led the way to Harjinder’s car. They drove at breakneck speed to the airfield. No one said a word as they drove back to the aircraft. Who can know what went through the pilot’s mind as he struggled with his demons.
He climbed into his cockpit, strapped in, and quickly went about his checks to bring the engine to life. The tail gunner must have known what was going on, and understood the importance of the next few minutes. Did he say anything, did he offer words of encouragement, did he want to get out and leave the pilot to prove himself alone? The pilot smiled at Harjinder as he waved the wheels’ chocks away once again. The pilot’s signals seemed far more positive so Harjinder smiled back and, on the spur of the moment, rushed up the steps in the side of the fuselage to lean into his cockpit. Above the rumble of the idling engine, and the propeller wash tugging at him, Harjinder shouted into his ear: ‘I am very sorry, Sir, for what I said just now. You are indeed a brave man. I wish you good luck.’ He watched him takeoff and carry out a climbing turn to set course for his mission. There seemed a purpose in the way he flew off and, when 30 minutes had gone with no sign of a returning aircraft, Harjinder knew that what passed for normality in this crazy world of combat had been restored.
When the Lysander finally returned, it was the rear gunner who first bounded down, relating the pilot’s daredevil low attacks over the enemy. The fuselage bore scars from the vicious anti-aircraft gunfire they had run into that morning. The pilot had ignored the thick flak, zoomed over the target, and strafed the Japanese defences to press home his attack. Later, when Harjinder went to the Mess he congratulated the pilot on his excellent work for the day. The pilot was in the finest mood anyone had ever seen him in and a little later, he caught Harjinder alone, saying; ‘Thank you. If you had not done what you did this morning, I could not have done my bit. You called me a coward. I wanted to prove that I am not.’
Harjinder wrote in his diary; ‘I apologised again and returned pondering over the peculiarities of human nature, which is a composite of bravery and cowardice in all of us, with a thin razor-edge dividing the two.’
On the 15th February, Churchill gave one of his legendary speeches, but there was no good news. ‘Tonight I speak to you at home; I speak to you in Australia and New Zealand, for whose safety we will strain every nerve; to our loyal friends in India and Burma: to our gallant Allies, the Dutch and Chinese; and our kith and kin in the USA. I speak to you all under the shadow of a heavy and far-reaching military defeat. It is a British and Imperial defeat. Singapore has fallen. All the Malay Peninsula has been overrun.’
The Japanese were now expected to step up their war against Burma and it was later discovered that the 150 Japanese aircraft in Burma had jumped to 400 almost immediately, with Singapore out of the equation. Morale in the RAF and the Army slumped – after all, if Fortress Singapore could not stop the Japanese,
was India also lost? However, in the IAF Squadron, morale remained high under Jumbo’s influence. He still saw everything as an opportunity, and, if the Japanese were coming in increasing numbers, they would be ready to face them. He talked to Harjinder about getting the Squadron ready for guerrilla warfare. They would keep on fighting in the air as long as they had supplies and then they would fight their way back to India over land, fighting the Japanese all along the way. Under Jumbo’s leadership, the IAF had no intention to turn and run.
Harjinder spoke to all the Airmen in the afternoon. You would have expected trepidation and fear, but they all took the news with enthusiasm. If they could find a strip of land to operate from, then they were happy to continue the fight against the Japanese; the Airmen would follow Harjinder anywhere. Harjinder showed it was not to be an idle threat, or a thrown-together, tin-pot idea. He made out a training programme for every evening, to prepare them for long route-marches, carrying their own dry rations, arms and bedding. Jumbo was serious and, so, therefore, was Harjinder.
The respect of his men, and of the pilots, especially Jumbo, was not universal for Harjinder throughout the Squadron, though. Harjinder was aware that one or two of the younger, newer pilots, resented the excessive authority he seemed to wield in this Squadron, and probably a little envy because of his close rapport with the Squadron Commander. It was true that in general, Harjinder did only take orders from Jumbo, as they were on the same track, the same mind-set, but naturally, some of the junior officers took offense at this, and Flight Lieutenant Rup Chand warned him as such, from the chatter he’d picked up. This issue came up on that evening’s practice Route March with the men, led by a junior officer.
All the available men were in formation, including Harjinder. The junior officer ordered ‘Warrant Officer, fall in!’ even though he was already there, part of the team ready to march. It seemed as if all knew that it was a dig at him, an attempt to stamp authority. As they marched the whistles and cat calls started from the Airmen. It only increased after the officer stopped the men and threatened them with court martial if it didn’t cease. Harjinder knew that both sides were testing each other, and took a dim view of it all considering that the Japanese were so close, and far more important things were afoot. He knew that indiscipline could be infectious, so he, in very few but pointed words, told the men to shut up. He caught up with the officer who heard the order to ‘shut up’, and asked him to halt the men which he did. Harjinder’s booming voice was enough to strike fear in the hearts of these men; even the jungle responded with an unearthly silence as he told his men to stop behaving like a crowd of refugees; ‘There is no chance of our surviving a forced march to India if you continue in this manner.’
He then asked if the officer wished to take over again. The young man could see that he had risked making a fool of himself, and asked Harjinder to continue. On the way back, Harjinder had the Parsees of the group lead the column with music on their mouth organs, and the whistles and cat calls stopped. It would be madness to say that they looked forward to the prospect of a route march, but they would do whatever this war, and Harjinder, required of them.
And so, route march practice in the evenings would continue, but there was the small issue of their primary day job. The next day, a very battered Lysander arrived from another bombing mission. There is no mention from Harjinder of the pilot and air gunner’s thoughts as they brought their aircraft back, wings riddled with bullet holes from ground fire. Was it all getting so routine with them? His diary only mentions the need to replace the aircraft’s wings, although the underwear of the two men may have required replacing too, if the battle damage was severe enough to warrant new wings! Harjinder had the benefit of parts from the ‘extra’ aircraft they had brought with them by train. Replacement underwear was an issue for another pilot in Burma, but we have yet to get to his laundry story.
Flight Sergeant Bhaskaran was in overall charge of the job, with Corporal Balakrishna organising the finer points of the work. There were no jacks to hold these heavy wings up, but Harjinder’s mind drifted back to the Wapiti days, and the rescue mission for Subroto Mukerjee. Once again, they brought in a group of local labourers, coolies, to act as human jacks and take the weight of the wing. As the last bolt was knocked away, and the weight fully transferred to the shoulders of the men, the air raid siren chose that moment to burst into life. The siren was almost superfluous, because it was only seconds before the growl of aircraft engines gave a far greater warning of the bombs about to rain down. Some of the coolies started to edge themselves from under the wing and make a run for it. In another flash back to that Wapiti incident, Flight Sergeant Bhaskaran ran up to add his shoulder to the team effort whilst shouting at the remaining coolies to ‘stand fast’. The Flight Sergeant and Corporal now had to share in shouldering the weight, which was colossal, with the small number of men at their disposal. Bhaskaran kept up the shouting, threatening and swearing at the coolies above the noise of explosions, stuttering gun fire and screaming propellers. He was constantly ‘encouraging’ them not to leave, or else…
For twenty minutes, the bombs exploded around them, bullets thudded off rocks, pinged through the aircraft sides, while friendly guns returned fire. It was just another day at the office in Lashio; except that they would not normally be standing next to a big target, with a wing on their bruising shoulders. If one or two more labourers had left, then the wing would have fallen and the remainder would have been crushed to death. It was only after the ‘All Clear’ had sounded, that some of the Airmen from another dispersal point broke cover and ran over to relieve the sweating bodies of the Sergeant, Corporal and loyal coolies.
The next day, 18th February, the repaired Lysander was back in action, but Jumbo wasn’t. A meeting took place that could have had serious implications for Jumbo, Harjinder and the entire IAF. Marshal Chiang Kai-shek arrived at Lashio from China on a visit to boost morale, and Squadron Leader Jumbo Majumdar was granted an audience with him; after all, Jumbo had become famous after just weeks of fighting. The Generalissimo congratulated him on his excellent leadership and they sat down to discuss the war, and the IAF in particular. Jumbo returned from his interview with the Chinese General inspired with new ideas.
Jumbo summoned Harjinder into his room that evening to discuss the seeds of a long harboured plan that was now being nurtured from across the Chinese border. He had always been obsessed with the necessity, and urgency, to expand the IAF into ten squadrons, and he was forever cursing the British for dragging their feet in this respect. After his discussion with the Chinese Head of State, he wanted No. 1 Squadron, IAF, to head Eastward when forced out of Burma by the Japanese offensive; into China instead of India. Under Chiang Kai-shek’s aegis, he proposed that an expanded IAF could be quickly raised in China, with Indian pilots and Airmen airlifted from India. America would provide the aircraft and other necessary equipment. He was hoping that once the Chinese President gave the go ahead, Churchill would have to fall in line with the scheme. His idea was for the Squadron to disobey the RAF orders to retreat into India, and instead, make their way into China with the guerrilla tactics they had been preparing. Jumbo was highly inspired by the American Volunteer Group; even here, in the jungle he wished to establish something similar to the Flying Tigers. Would Churchill just ‘fall into line’? Many senior RAF officers still regarded them as inferior, as an abomination that took away what should rightfully be theirs. They would surely consider Jumbo’s actions-taking personal possession of the King’s equipment, stealing across the border into a foreign country, and offering his services there – as mutiny, theft, and the actions of a mercenary.
Jumbo even proffered the idea that once they had raised and trained ten Squadrons, then fought the War from bases in China, they could return to India as a ready-made IAF, which would otherwise take twenty years to build up. This was not just an off-the-cuff scheme that he, and now Harjinder, romanticised in their minds. Jumbo was dead serious. He even began to work
out a number of details: compositions of the squadrons, rank structures, pay scales, etc., so that he would have a concrete proposal ready before their arrival in China. After some pressure, he did agree to modify his plan. He submitted to the idea of a small part of the squadron returning to India so that a new No. 1 Squadron IAF could be re-raised in India from that nucleus. Harjinder drew up a list, headed by Pilot Officer Malse, together with 12 Airmen to be a part of that unit.
Jumbo’s plan was to be kept secret, or was it…?
Jumbo had hardly departed into the night, when there was a knock at Harjinder’s door. Flight Lieutenant Rup Chand was standing there in his dressing gown, having heard everything, blaming the paper thin walls. The cat was out the bag, and Harjinder found himself already having to justify the boss’s plan; ‘This is our golden chance, Sir, the only chance we shall get to expand and train our Air Force.’
Rup Chand had a practical understanding of the global situation; he was the calming influence to the exuberance of the romantic idea. He grimaced, then let loose: ‘It’s a mad plan. The Squadron Commander is too young and romantic. Does he ignore the fact that India needs every pilot and aircraft for its defence today? The Japanese war machine will head for India after conquering Burma. What is the use of planning to train in China where there are no facilities? Furthermore, to strike a practical note, how can we suddenly ask Indian youths to go and live in war-torn China? Listen to me. I am older than both of you. Why don’t you ask Jumbo to think over these matters a little longer? I know that if he listens to anyone, it is you. Harjinder, you can make him see sense. If you don’t, none of us will ever return to India alive.’
Harjinder left it at that for the moment. He thought there was something in what Rup Chand said, but he was still for Jumbo’s scheme. Was the strength of a future IAF more important than defending the threatened homeland?
