by Anil Jaggia
Most of the containment is handled within this period as required by the Contingency Plan. But since the committee met late, clearly some damage was already done by this stage. There were no clear instructions from the top, and at the ground level, the Aerodrome Committee fumbled as it waited for instructions from Civil Aviation Secretary Ravindra Gupta. The scenario could have taken an entirely different turn had the Aerodrome Committee at Amritsar gone ahead and acted in accordance with the Contingency Plan. The crisis management guidelines require that all the airports in the country be on alert. A standard drill was required to be observed, even as minute-by-minute developments were monitored by the CMG, which was to be kept updated by the DGCA control room at the Indira Gandhi International Airport.
* * *
On board IC 814
“Victor, Victor, Alpha.” The crackle burst through the speakers in the cockpit. It was the standard call from the pilot of a VVIP aircraft in the airspace around Lucknow. The hijacker appeared annoyed at this. An expression of disgust clouded his face. “Ha, Victor, Victor, Alpha,” he spat. I was puzzled at his anger. It was obvious that he was familiar with the call sign. It was an ominous warning— this man was a professional, and he meant business!
Victor, Victor, Alpha (the Prime Ministers aircraft) was calling Lucknow on the same frequency, therefore we could hear him on our VHF receiver.
Tension was now palpable in the cockpit. Not only was the hijacker armed—he seemed both determined and knowledgeable. By now, we had had enough time to orient ourselves with the changed circumstances and our thoughts went out to our families. Surely they would be panicking about our safety? The wives, husbands and children of the crew members would have to be informed that, so far, we were all safe. In fact, Sharan’s wife and children were already at Hyderabad in preparation for the following evening’s flight from Hyderabad to Sharjah where they would be accompanying him.
At the controls, Sharan had reduced the speed of the Airbus to give time to the authorities on the ground to take action.
The radio on our westward bound flight crackled to life and Delhi came on the air. “Lahore refused to accept the flight. Confirm, Lahore refused to accept the flight.”
“Affirm.”
The hijacker insisted that we should go to Lahore and nowhere else. The Pakistani response in no way unsettled him. He roared: “You just head for Lahore, we will get you permission there.”
It was a chilling thought. How could these people be so sure of getting the green signal from the authorities across the border? Was there a nexus? Had it all been arranged beforehand? IC 814 radioed back: “They are insisting. They are saying that aircraft will go there only, nowhere else.”
But was Lahore really to be our final destination? The hijacker was continuing to demand five hours of flying time to the west. We had changed course, but Sharan was insisting that there was not enough fuel to keep flying endlessly. Red Cap then asked us about the aircraft’s endurance. We had only limited endurance, I told him.
On the radio, IC 849—the Delhi-Pune flight that was due southwest—had heard our distress call and now got in touch with us. The pilot of the aircraft was R.N. Singh (General Manager Operations, Northern Region). “RN here,” he identified himself. “What is the problem?”
“We have been hijacked, Sir, and they have everything-—grenades, revolver, AK-47—everything.”
“Be cool,” RN advised us, “and just follow what they say and confirm they boarded at Kathmandu.”
“Affirm, Sir.”
“They want to go where? Lahore?”
“Affirm, Sir.”
“Just be cool and do what they say and everything should be all right.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
We now had fuel for an hour and a half. Delhi had not come back with Lahore’s latest response. The hijacker asked to know if he could opt for another destination, such as Peshawar. But just as quickly he reverted to his earlier stance : the destination was to be Lahore only. We radioed: “As per them (the hijackers), kissi tarike se unko manaiye, Lahore-walon ko. (Get the authorities in Lahore to agree.) Because they want to go to Lahore only.” Delhi was also told: “Hamare pas fuel nahin hain, aur unki manzil kuchh aur hi hain. (We have insufficient fuel and they seem to be headed elsewhere.)”
Delhi asked to know more.
“Now, woh kah rahain hain ki agar koi bhi hamare sath garbar hui to sara jahaz hum urra denge. Unke pas sab kuchh hain. (They’re saying if we try and double-cross them, they’ll blow up the aircraft. They have everything.)”
Delhi came on the air and warned Sharan that Pakistan had adopted a hostile posture and would not welcome the aircraft. Pakistani airspace was closed.
“We are in contact with Lahore. Lahore is not accepting us. Runway is blocked for us in Lahore. Request intention now.”
As if we had a choice! “They are insisting we try to land on the blocked runway. That is their final decision.”
“Roger.”
“We are 97 miles (156 km) from Lahore,” we radioed Delhi. On another frequency, Lahore had confirmed what Delhi was telling us. “They say if we are not going to land in Lahore, they are going to kill one passenger on board now.”
“Roger.”
“We are 81 miles (130 km) now, and they are telling us to go anywhere but land only in Lahore. Otherwise they will kill everybody one by one.”
“Roger, Sir, we are coordinating with Lahore again.”
“We have fuel for one hour only.”
Delhi then informed us that Amritsar was the next best alternative for us: “Hold east of Amritsar, Sir.” It added that Lahore had closed its runway and was not permitting any other aircraft there, including its own Pakistan International Airways flights. The hijacker replied he wasn’t willing to land the aircraft in Amritsar. Delhi’s other choice was Halwara. This, again, was rejected by the hijacker.
Delhi said that both stations were on standby. Flight IC 814, however, continued on its path towards Lahore. Short of entering Pakistani airspace, the radio crackled to life again. This time it was Lahore. The airfield had been blocked, and we were not given permission to land. A terse warning followed: “You cannot enter Pakistan airspace, you will be shot down.”
Captain Sharan told the hijackers that the Airbus would be brought down by Pakistani missiles. The hijacker didn’t seem to care. He insisted on flying to Lahore. Meanwhile, the aircraft had been encircling Amritsar, and unless they could make up their minds fast, the depleting fuel would have its own consequences.
I cautioned the hijacker that we would soon have to land somewhere.
He admonished us: “Aap aircraft ko gird de pur aap Lahore chalo. (I don’t care if the plane is brought down, but you proceed to Lahore.)”
It was a difficult choice. The hijacker had removed the pin from the grenade he was holding and there was no guessing what he might do next.
Then he said: “Look, you are delaying us. I’ve got a live grenade in my hand and if my hand gets tired, your aircraft will be blown up.”
I asked him: “What’s the point in flying to Lahore if they are trying to shoot us down?”
To this the hijacker replied: “In that case, we’ll destroy the aircraft. But you listen to me—your job is to fly it to Lahore.”
We had been in touch with Amritsar for a while—the only other viable option for us, despite what the hijacker was saying, and perhaps our saving grace.
“We have only one hour’s fuel and Lahore is not letting us enter their airspace,” we informed Amritsar ATC. After a few aborted calls, Amritsar came back online: “Request your intentions.”
“They want us to go to Lahore as we have been hijacked.”
“Remain overhead and standby. Request your total fuel.” “We have only 40 minutes’ fuel. Lahore is not letting us land as their runway is blocked. We cannot land there. The hijackers say we have to land even if the runway is blocked. They are not allowing us to land on Indian soil.”
Amrit
sar said it was ready to extend all facilities and wanted to know our situation.
“Situation is serious on board. Request authorities to get landing permission for Lahore.”
“Lahore runway is blocked and all their flights are diverting to some other station. Request your further intentions.”
“Intentions are very strong as they have to land in Lahore only. Otherwise they are ready to crash anywhere. They do not want India.”
Despite being aware of Lahore’s outright dismissal of the hijacked flight, the hijacker gave us no space in which to manoeuvre a compromise. “Tell them I will start shooting the passengers now,” he screamed. “If we are not allowed to go to Lahore, the hijackers will start shooting passengers,” we radioed Amritsar. “They have already segregated ten.” By now we had only half an hour’s fuel on board: “Please get us permission to land at Lahore. They are very silly, they will kill us one by one.”
“Roger.”
“Kindly inform Lahore and request Lahore to let us land there in Lahore because their intentions are bad. They have already selected ten people to kill.”
“We are negotiating through Delhi with Lahore,” Amritsar radioed back. “Unfortunately, Lahore runway is blocked. That is why they are not in a position to accept any aircraft. They have advised us to permit you to land at Amritsar.”
IC 814 was now at the very edge of Indian territory. It was a desperate moment for the crew. Even for a civilian crew and civilian aircraft, entering Pakistan without permission was a task that was fraught with immense danger.
“We have only 25 minutes’ fuel left. Make sure we land in Lahore. They do not want to land anywhere in India.”
“Standby for further instructions.”
“We are holding overhead. Any progress in talks because we have less fuel now?”
Amritsar came on the air and said that Halwara was being kept ready for us.
The hijacker and we continued to argue about the landing. Finally, Sharan told him that flying around aimlessly had no relevance if they had to get to a destination. And flying to a destination—any destination— would require fuel. And to get fuel, they had to land at some station that would provide it to them.
He seemed to see some reason in that argument, especially when Captain Sharan promised him that he would refuel in as little time as possible. “Aap Amritsar chale to sahin. Ya Halwara chalen. (Let us give Amritsar a try. Or Halwara, if you wish.)”
We got the Halwara frequency and contacted its ATC.
“We are in an emergency. How many miles is Halwara?”
“Standby.”
“Please, please fast. We have been hijacked.”
“Halwara is approximately 150 km (94 miles).”
The chief hijacker called Burger into the cockpit and consulted his subordinate. After a brief discussion they decided that they would not go to Halwara but Amritsar would do. His only proviso was that the crew assure him that they would definitely arrange for fuel in Amritsar. The Captain promised to get him fuel within minutes of landing.
The moment the hijacker gave the go-ahead for Amritsar, Sharan put the aircraft into descent mode and informed Amritsar that IC 814 was coming in for refuelling. “They want a fuel tanker from you. We are going to park on the runway itself and you have to position us a fuel tanker.”
“Roger.”
“They have everything—revolvers, AK-47s, grenades, everything in hand and everything open. They want refuelling immediately.”
“Roger.”
“On landing, they want the refuelling oil.”
“Refuelling arranged.”
“As per them, if there are any suspicious movements, first of all they will kill one of us of the cockpit crew, and they will kill the passengers whom they have already selected.”
“Roger. Fuel tank will be there within three minutes on the runway . . . everything will be arranged.”
“Aircraft is Airbus 300.”
“Roger.”
The atmosphere in the cockpit crackled with tension. As the huge plane thundered on to the runway and sped ahead with the momentum, the hijacker ordered Captain Sharan to apply the brakes. “Stop Stop it right now,” he shouted. I tried to tell him that it was impossible to stop the Airbus at that speed, and that it had to slow down sufficiently before Sharan could apply the brakes. But the hijacker was unwilling to listen to reason. Raising his gun to Sharan’s head, he said, “I want you to stop it at once.” The loaded aircraft was hurtling ahead at a speed of 134 knots. If Sharan had jammed the brakes then, the aircraft would have cartwheeled in the air.
Sharan tried to apply the brakes sharply and the plane began to slow down. Either the hijacker had no clue at all about how an aircraft is stopped, or he was attempting to scare us. Either way, he had left us shaky.
* * *
2
December 24, 1999
BLOOD IN
THE AISLES
The hijacker started counting down, his finger on the trigger and the muzzle on Captain Sharan’s head: “30... 29... 28... 26... 18...”
I couldn’t see my Captain and friend being shot in front of my eyes. I fell at Red Cap’s feet and said: “Please stop, don’t do this.”
Amritsar
For Amritsar District Magistrate Narinderjit Singh, it wasn’t an emergency he was used to handling. Singh was at his residence when a message flashed from Delhi about the IC 814 hijack. A red alert was sounded as he was told that AAR (call sign for Amritsar) could be the airport where the hijacked Airbus was headed. Singh convened a meeting of the Aerodrome Committee (AC) and rushed to the Raja Sansi airport along with Intelligence officials. He headed straight for the office of the Airport Director, Vijay Mulekar. Mulekar had been in touch with the ATC to keep track of the movements of the hijacked aircraft. He briefed Singh on the latest development. At 6.04 p.m. Amritsar ATC had been radioed by IC 814 that it was 14 miles (22 km) short of the city’s airport where it might land, having been denied permission by Lahore.
At 6.35 p.m. the hijacked aircraft began hovering over Amritsar airport. At 7.01 p.m. Amritsar ATC informed the Control Room in New Delhi that the hijacked plane was landing at Amritsar. The plane touched down on runway 34 of Raja Sansi airport, away from the main apron area. By then, Mulekar and the Senior Aerodrome Officer Tarlok Singh were already in the control tower. They were joined there by the Inspector General of Police (Border Range) J.P. Birdi.
In Delhi, there was a flurry of activity and a fresh round of brainstorming at the CMG. At this point, Brajesh Mishra took charge. He spoke to Amritsar, instructing them to delay the refuelling. Earlier, in Chandigarh, Punjab Director General Police Sarabjit Singh had already activated his channels and asked J.P. Birdi to report at the airport with the DIG (Border Range), Jasminder Singh and SSP of Amritsar, P.P.S. Sandhu. A cordon of security was thrown around the airport and a unit of Punjab Police commandos was put on standby. The Aerodrome Committee positioned itself inside the ATC tower as the plane landed. Singh was in constant touch with the CMG in Delhi and was told to ensure a delay in refuelling. “We need about an hour and a half to mount a commando operation,” CMG informed him. Singh promised to delay the refuelling.
While Mulekar stayed in touch with the pilot, Birdi was asked to buy time before the aircraft was refuelled. To immobilise the aircraft seemed tricky, so the Aerodrome Committee advised ATC Amritsar that their brief was simple: use all tactics possible to delay the refuelling. Accordingly, Amritsar ATC informed Captain Sharan that the Indian Oil facility was shut, and fuel was not readily available, but that they had already asked for a fuel bowser which was expected soon.
By now, Ground Control knew how many hijackers there were in the aircraft. While relaying the hijackers’ messages to ATC, Captain Sharan had managed to send a coded message. “Hotel, India, Juliet (HIJ) five,” it had said. IC 814 had five hijackers on board.
* * *
On board IC 814
When the plane came to a stop, ATC asked Captain Shara
n to clear the runway and proceed to the end of the runway and park on Dumble 16. Red Cap objected to this and ordered the aircraft to remain on the runway.
We told him we had to clear the runway for any other aircraft that may want to land.
“No, no other aircraft will land here now that we are here,” he said.
“We will be parking here itself,” we informed ATC.
“Can you put any of the hijackers on the radio telephone?”
“Aan-haan.” What was ATC expecting?
“Can you move further so that we may facilitate the bowser in refuelling?”
There was no question of that. The hijacker asked us not to switch off the engines, and to keep the aircraft moving all the time. He kept asking Captain Sharan to move, then stop, move, then stop again and take a 180-degree turn, then turn again. “Keep on moving up and down,” he ordered.
At this point, Burger entered the cockpit and asked the pilots to get up. He opened the side windows and looked down the length of the aircraft, first on one side and then on the other.
In fact, he kept repeating this exercise and accidently brushed against the flight engineers electrical control panel, putting off a switch by mistake. The passenger cabins were plunged into darkness. Not realising that the mistake was his, he accused me of playing dirty and switching off-the power supply for the cabin lighting. Pointing his revolver at me, he threatened to shoot if I did not restore the power supply immediately. I denied having done anything. On checking the electrical panel, I found the problem and showed him that what he had done. He moved the revolver to a safe distance and I breathed easy again.
