Remembering Sqn Ldr Alauddin Ahmed

Charming, determined and disciplined he was the epitome of a young Sqd Cmdr

A brave pilot, Squadron Leader Alauddin Ahmed, often called Butch, was commanding the Number 18 Squadron during the 1965 Indo-Pak War. Being the Squadron Commander, he led his Squadron in twenty combat missions against Indian ground and air forces, achieving precise results each time. Butch flew operational missions day in and day out and led his Squadron from the front. His professionalism and dedication remained a great source of motivation for the young fighter pilots of the Squadron.

On the evening of September 6, Squadron Leader Alam led an offensive fighter sweep of three Sabres with Squadron Ldr Alauddin and Flight Lieutenant Syed Saad Akhtar Hatmi. They were nearing Taran Taaran, a town in Amritsar district when Alauddin called out on the radio and informed the leader about the presence of four Hunters in close vicinity. Alam glanced in the direction pointed out by Butch. His eyes grew larger as he saw Hunters in attack formation, glistening in their war paints, crossing two or three thousand feet ahead. Soon Alam commanded the formation to jettison tanks and check guns. In the meanwhile, the Hunter formation located the Sabres and turned violently to avoid attack.

Butch was thrilled to get some action. This was the moment of trial and he had been waiting for this day. Jettisoning his tanks and checking his guns at ‘hot’ position, he followed his gallant leader. He manoeuvred his aircraft vehemently and soon set behind a Hunter. As the silhouette of the Hunter leader grew larger and filled his gun-sight, he fired a short burst. The ill-fated Hunter was severely damaged and reeled away emitting thick black smoke. Alam damaged one aircraft and Hatmi destroyed one. All the Hunters had been hunted and vanquished, leaving behind only three victorious Sabres in the hostile skies. Full of pride, the victorious Butch returned home, opening his account in a dashing manner.

Description of Shahadat

On the morning of September, 13 1965, Squadron Leader Alauddin was flying his second operational mission of the day. Earlier in the morning, with the break of dawn, he had led an army-support mission of four Sabres in Chawinda-Narowal sector where the historic tank battle was still raging with all its blasting fury. Undaunted by heavy artillery fire, his four-ship formation flew at treetop level and blasted the enemy armour and guns with rockets sending huge spirals of smoke and fire all around. They made a number of strafing runs on the enemy until their whole ammunition was exhausted and they headed back home.

After breakfast and a little rest the pilots started getting ready for the next mission: this time an armed reconnaissance patrol over Gurdaspur area to locate and destroy any worthy enemy target of opportunity, threatening own troops in the area. It was almost noon and the heat of summer sun had started swelling when the Sabres once again roared out of their base into the blue haze of September sky. With Alauddin in the lead, the four fighters, Flight Lieutenant Saleem, Flight Lieutenant Amanullah and Flight Lieutenant Arif, flew in battle formation and soon they were spearing through the enemy territory. With eight eyes scanning the skies all around and below for any speck or dot which could be enemy interceptors, they pressed on Eastward.

Nothing was in sight. The steady roar of the engines and the general air of tension combined to bring the nerves to a razor’s edge. They checked their guns and gun-sight. Suddenly, the inquisitive voice of Flight Lieutenant Amanullah appeared on the radio, “a train below at five o’clock. Let us go for it.” The four fanned out and went into a steep dive towards the train. As they drew near, they could see the terrified looks on the faces of passengers craning their necks out of the windows of the red- coloured train in an effort to identify the on-rushing aircraft. “Oh, no it is a passenger train. Don’t hit it,” came the word of command from the leader, Butch.

The Sabres pulled up from the sharp dive and levelled off. Rubbernecking, they again searched the sky, but found  no enemy aircraft. The Indian skies seemed to be conspicuously free from their guardians. With eyes peeled, they roared on when suddenly the radio became alive again. This time Saleem had seen the runway of the Indian Air Force (IAF) base at Pathankot gleaming in the distant haze. They had come to the end of the area assigned to them for reconnaissance. Butch ordered the formation to return and with flick of hands on the control columns, four were turning sharply to the left.

Now they decided to set course for the city of Gurdaspur. They were flying low, searching for any enemy build-up in the surroundings. They had reached the outskirts of Gurdaspur when they beheld the silhouette of another train in the marshalling yard of the railway station. Suddenly his aircraft peeled off to the right screaming down towards the railway station. It was a train. It could be carrying military stores, he thought. The wagons grew bigger and bigger grimly as he approached them; suddenly, he realised that it was an ammo train, carrying loads of ammunition to battle area. It had to be destroyed, he decided and in seconds his finger slowly but deliberately pressed the trigger. A stream of bullets slammed into the target. A terrific explosion followed and a huge column of black smoke and debris went up. He pulled up for the second attack and delivered few more rockets and bursts of Armour Piercing Incendiary (AIP) bullets and a number of other wagons went up in smoke and fire. Nothing was visible now as the whole place was engulfed in a black pall of smoke. Large pieces of twisted steel and burning wood were flying in all directions.

Butch had a narrow escape. Some splinters of broken metal hit his aircraft when he was pulling up. The Sabre lurched for a while. He checked the instruments and all seemed to be well. Now he circled overhead and saw the fireworks from above. His formation was delivering lethal blow to the remaining wagons. A few buildings near the marshalling yard had also caught fire. “I can’t see anything down below due to smoke. There might be some more wagons left,” said the leader on the radio and again streaked down into the thick pall of smoke. He was engulfed in the dark billowing clouds of black smoke rising more than a hundred feet above.

Butch strained his eyes to see if any part of the train was left. However, he could not make out anything. He dove further. Again, he went roaring down until he was flying dangerously low, a few feet above the burning train. All of a sudden, he picked up the wagons he was looking for and pulled up steeply for yet another attack. His salvo of rockets scored direct hit and there was a gigantic explosion of the munitions in the wagons, which sent up pressure waves that shook the other Sabres flying high up, like flying leaves in an autumn breeze.

The debris leapt hundreds of feet into the air engulfing the whole area into darkness. Butch had pulled up but to no avail. His Sabre was hit by flying debris and soon his cockpit was filled with pungent cordite smoke. He headed his aircraft toward Pakistan, a bare 12 miles away-a minute and a half of flying time! ‘My cockpit is full of smoke,’ he called out to inform his formation.

However, a few moments later he said, ‘it seems to be all right now.” His comrades heard from him these last words. The formation, at this time, was not in visual contact with one another, and when the deputy leader called again to confirm his safety, there was no response. Realising that Butch must have bailed out, they carried out a vigorous search to locate their beloved leader, but in vain. As the formation was low on fuel, they returned and soon the search was taken over by an Army Aviation aircraft.

The pilot enthusiastically joined in and in spite of his vulnerability to ground fire and interception by enemy aircraft, he combed the area for five hours, to no avail. A great fighter pilot and a man of unsurpassable courage and a caring father had gone. He sacrificed his life in the line of duty with boots on, thus achieving a great honour for himself and for Pakistan Air Force.