18.06.04
DAD’s Air Force Yarns: The Plane that did not glide.
Bamrauli, the Air force station
at Allahabad was “home” to No.29 Wing commanded by an acerbic old Sikh Group
Captain – who stayed in the officer’s mess in bachelor quarters. His daughters,
wife and rest of the family absolutely refused to stay in this “back-water”.
Air force Station Bamrauli was in
fact, a Command Head Quarter of the Central Air Command. It had a full-fledged
Air marshal as Air Officer Commanding (AOC), with three Principal staff officers
of Air Commodore and Air-Vice Marshal rank.
Attached to No. 29 Wing was just
one squadron – or rather somewhat less than half of one squadron.. The “Camel
Squadron” No.48 flew in 1973, Canadian Fairchild Packet transports. These were
squat ugly twin boom piston engine planes with a cavernous cargo belly big enough
to hold an elephant. Which they often did! They were, in spite of the
shortcomings, the backbone of the Indian Air force’s logistics and vanguard of
the Strategic Transport capability.
The Defense ministry’s R&D
wing had ingeniously fitted an Orpheus Turbojet engine. There were plenty of
these around – they were used on a majority of the Gnats, Ajeets, Hunters and
even the Indian designed HF-24 Marut combat airplanes used the Orpheus Engine.
The engine was mounted on a pylon above the roof. This engine was added to give
additional power to climb over the Pir Panjal and mighty Himalayas. In the
uppermost corner of India’s map, these brave pilots and their planes serviced
the highest Airfields in the world – Leh, Chusul and Thoise. The last at 19,500
feet above sea level. And, Daulat Beg Oldi, just 10 kms from the Karakoram Pass
into China.
A multi engine plane is better
than a single and three is better than two. But what with the ageing condition
of the planes, what would one do if all three engines failed? Or worse still
got disabled in combat?
The old DC-3 Dakota could glide.
You could even do a “wheels –up Belly landing” and survive reasonably unless
there is fire.
Wg.Cdr. N.P. Singh, reading the
manufacturers’ manual was quite convinced that the only way to prove the manual
right was to give it a real physical test. Of course, the Wing and Command
brass could have none of it – especially in a squadron where only three out of
a total strength of a dozen aircraft could be found airworthy at any single
point of time.
N.P. Singh was the quintessential
pilot of the old Indian Air force in its halcyon days. Known to have got into
trouble with his superiors mainly due indiscretions in the bar, NP had been
spending the last few years oscillating between “Wg.Cdr.” and “Sq.Ldr.”
What always saved him was that he
was rated “Master Green A” as a pilot – the highest possible in the Indian Air
force. Since he would have to be checked by the Medical Officer before
take-off, NP always managed to sweat out the previous night’s drinking with a
vigorous game of squash at 4.30 a.m. It was standard procedure with most
pilots.
“Drink till midnight. Get fully
sloshed. But get up and play a round of squash at 4.30, an egg-nog with a
lime-soda and you’ll have a smooth take-off.” They said.
NPS took off as usual flying
straight into the rising sun, banking over the Ganga-Yamuna Sangam and circling
widely into a climb. The aircraft, C-Charlie had just been put together by
cannibalizing from other grounded planes. The plane wore a maritime color, but
one wing was un-symmetrically painted in desert camouflage bands. NP Singh as
“test Pilot” took up the plane alone. He climbed up to 15,000 feet right over
the Air Traffic Control Tower a small speck high in the sky. He reported his
position over the Radio Telephone.
“C-Charlie calling, Bamrauli ATC can you read? Come in. over”
“Reading You, C-Charlie, over”. Responded
Sq. Ldr. Ahuja, the ATC from the Control Tower.
“OK then listen. I’m going to run a test. I want you to record my
transmits. Acknowledge. Over”
“C-Charlie explain. What Test? Is
it sanctioned? Over.”
“Just listen. Old chap switch on the recorder. I’ll be on send only.
You can’t call me back over and out”.
Sq. Ldr. Ahuja, the Air Traffic
Controller was in a fix. He’d hoped for a quiet routine morning’s flying
activity – enough flying to entertain a surreptitious visitor but no disasters.
Now he had one. To see the morning flying activity, the spectacular sunrise
and the morning song birds from the panoramic view that could be had from the Air
Traffic Control Tower, had come my
Sister No.2. She had come wholly unauthorized and at Ahuja's personal
invitation. The night before he had sort of monopolized Sister No.2’s
attentions at the Mess Dinner. (Dining and Dance with band).
“Now there’s going to be a bloody
big flap,” he wailed.
First, the emergency signal would
have to hoist, the crash crews scrambled and in the meantime the whole top
brass of IAF Bamrauli would be trooping in. There would be a spectacular crash
– which would be interesting, but not the laborious Court Of Inquiry that would
follow.
All this was tedious but immediately Sq. Ldr.
Ahuja didn’t know what to do about Unauthorized Person in the form of my Sister
No.2 in this Restricted Area.
“I’ll run down and call Dad,” she
suggested helpfully and slipped away before Ahuja knew what happened. But she
ran and told my “gang” of delinquents- sons of the Indian Air Force Officers
living in the Air Force Camp at Bamrauli. The whole gang got together sort of
gate crashed into the Airfield.
Within a few minutes there was a
crowd – the C.O.s of the Wing and the Rescue Unit, and the whole command HQ
brass. And, of course, my gang of cheeky boys ranging in ages from the 8th.
Class to Post Graduate College.
By now Ahuja had come down to the
tarmac where the crowd had assembled with a hand telephone – (probably the
grandfather of mobiles). The conversation went something like this with NP
Singh’s voice crackling in a deadpan emotionless commentary…
NPS: ….. so to test out this statement in the manual that these Packets can
glide, I am going to do this test and shall be continuing to give you my
observations as long as possible even if the test fails..
SASO (Air Cdr. Joshi): Ahuja,
can’t you call the blighter down?
Ahuja: He’s switched the receiver
RT off, Sir.
SASO: Fire a Verey Flare.
Ahuja: We used the last Very
Flare, Sir, when that Gnat from Gorakhpur wanted to make an emergency landing.
NPS: “… I shall be conducting the test by switching off each of the three
engines one by one. They are now at full Power. Altitude 16,200 and steady…”
SMSO (Dad): Bugger’s blown his
rocker. If this Packet goes, the squadron might as well disband. I’ll be down
to just one serviceable aircraft in 48 Squadron.
CO: No.26 RSU (Rescue &
Salvage Unit): Well the fire crew at least will hope for a crash. I’ve got them
all rushed into a panic thrice this month and nothing happened.
SASO: (to Ahuja): But I just
thought you got a whole crate just some time ago. What happened to a crate of
Verey Flares?
Ahuja: Sir, that was before
Divali, Independence Day, Air force Day, Squadron Day you know how it is.
Present PMC (President Mess
Committee): And all the Farewells, Promotion Parties and Ladies Nights too,
Sir. You know, our Officers Mess gives the best fireworks at evening parties.
Ahuja: And the Green and Red
Verey Flares are much better than the best Divali Fireworks.
Since most of my “gang” of friends
from the colony were there we added on to the general confusion.
IInd.B.Com: Hey guys, there’s
going to be a crash. Is there going to be a Crash Dad?
26 RSU (His Dad): Let’s hope so
for the best, son.
Inter Fail: (Younger brother)
Kuch nahi hone walla hai. Nothing is going to happen. No such luck. Last week
too we came out hoping to see the Gnat crash, but it didn’t.
Under Graduate Student: Hope it
crashes in the fields. We can run up and pick up souvenir bits.
Post Graduate Student: And bits
of NP Singh Uncle.
8th. Class: Do you
think Uncle will become “Kebab”?
10th.Class: (Deep
pessimism)No chance. Just watch. He’s a great pilot. NPS uncle will land
safely, like that Gnat from Gorakhpur … when all of us came running … hoping to
see the crash!
Most readers can understand
Military Officers having a casual, if not morbid, attitude towards life and
death. But they may find it strange that sons of military officers develop even
more morbidity accompanied by a black sense of humor.
NPS … am carrying only half fuel tanks, there is no crew and only ballast
load. So if the plane begins to glide without power, I shall record the rate of
descent…
Dad: He’ll fall like a stone.
SASO: Hope he does. Bloody well serves
him right.
NPS:“…Switching Port throttle down. Flying steady hundred knots above
stalling speed…”
Ahuja: (to the SASO) Sir, AOC.
SASO: (Saluting): It’s NPS, Sir.
Going to prang the plane, he is. Can’t talk him down too.
AOC: Well, let’s see what
happens.
NPS: … Port
Engine fully off. Loosing speed. Slight pull to one side. Now loosing more
speed ... loosing height too …. Turning round over you … 15,500 feet. …
AOC: Bet he gets through, Joshi.
How much.
SASO: You’ll loose, Sir. If it
gets into a spin-fall you can’t pull out. Besides, how is he going to get the
engines restarted in the air? The Cartridges work only half the time.
NPS… now lowering starboard engine. Loosing height …loosing height much
faster…14,300 …. 14,200…. Engine switched off… switching Turbojet off…. Loosing
height…. Now falling in a straight line…. No evidence of any lift on the
wings…. No gliding….. now going into a spin…..13,000 and going down fast
….12,700…
Ahuja: there he is, Sir, I think
he is going to fall right on our heads.
AOC:… won’t do much good with
hard hats either.
NPS:… now falling below 10,000 … there is now response on the control
surfaces…now falling to 9,200 … I shall continue to fall upto 5,000 before I
try to restart the engines….
SASO: Better get the blood wagons
ready.
CO,26 RSU: they’re in place Sir.
At 5,000 feet NPS finally decided
to get out of his adventure. The engines roared to life but the Plane barely
settled into level flight at just 500 feet above the ground and circled around
the Airfield.
The Packet landed safely, but was
furiously chased by three Fire Tender trucks and an Ambulance. It trundled up
to the parking bay and the engines shut down. The hatch opened and the pilot
got down. The firemen who had their hoses poised like bazookas ready to project
strong beams of water and fire fighting foam warily moved their aim at the
Pilot in their total dumbfounded confusion.
The Pilot got down and marched up
to the AOC and Dad, saluted smartly.
“It doesn’t glide, Sir” said
Wg.Cdr. N.P. Singh. “the manual is all wrong. I need to send a report directly
to the manufacturers.”
“What you need,” said the AOC
affectionately, “is a good drink. And so do I.”
“And so do we, Sir”, chorused
everybody around.
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