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Wings of Brotherhood
A Journey Between
Two Air Forces
Badrul Hassan Khan, Wg Cdr (Retd), Pakistan Air Force
Daastan Publishers
First Published in Pakistan by Daastan (2025)
House # A-41, Madni Street, Lala Rukh, Wah Cantt, Punjab 47040
www.daastan.com
www.meraqissa.com
Text copyrights © Badrul Hassan Khan Wg Cdr (Retd)
Edited by: Syed Ommer Amer
Cover by: Anum Ameer
The moral rights of the writer and illustrator have been asserted.
All rights reserved
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-969-696-985-3
Disclaimer
This book is a personal memoir, written as per the recollections, experiences, and perspectives of the author. The events, dialogues, and descriptions presented are based on the author's memory and interpretations, and while every effort has been made to ensure accuracy, some details may be subject to individual perception or natural lapses in recollection over time.
The views, opinions, and statements expressed in this book belong solely to the author and do not reflect the views of the publisher, editors, or any affiliated parties. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for the factual accuracy, legal standing, or potential consequences arising from the contents of this book.
Any resemblance to real people, living or deceased, outside of those specifically mentioned by the author, is purely coincidental. This book is not intended to cause harm, defamation, or offense to any individual, group, or institution. If any errors or discrepancies are found, they are unintentional, and neither the publisher nor the author assumes liability for any interpretations, misinterpretations, or responses to the content herein.
Preface
From the noisy open-air controls of the Tiger Moth to the advanced hum of the F-16, my journey through the Pakistan Air Force has been long and varied, spanning decades of change, challenge, and discovery.
This book is not just a recounting of my life — it is a legacy. A bridge between the past and the future. A way to pass forward lessons written not just in history, but in heart.
What began as bedtime stories for my son, told and retold over the years, eventually became the foundation for this memoir. His passion for aviation breathed new life into these old memories, and it was through his persistent encouragement—and years of collaboration—that these stories found their way to the page.
For those familiar with the Air Force, this book offers more than tales of battles and victories. It glimpses the day-to-day life of a pilot: the camaraderie, the risks taken in peacetime, and the deep personal losses long before any shooting war began. From the thrill of flying the T-6 Harvard and F-86 Sabre to the tragedy of losing friends to training accidents, every experience left its mark, teaching humility and resilience.
Some of these pages reflect on less celebrated decisions made by leadership—decisions not unique to Pakistan, but mirrored in military histories worldwide. They are included here not out of bitterness, but to provide a full and honest portrait of service.
My most unique chapter unfolded in Bahrain, where I was seconded to help establish the Bahrain Defence Force Air Wing. It was a rare opportunity to apply decades of experience to building something entirely new, while working alongside militaries from around the world.
Throughout my career, I had the honor of serving under exceptional leaders like Air Marshal Noor Khan, whose courage, initiative, and openness to junior officers left an indelible mark on my understanding of leadership.
I started writing this book when I was 89, and surprisingly, memory served me well. Reflecting on this journey made me realize how deeply the Air Force became part of who I am—not just as a professional, but as a human being.
To my wife—your strength gave my wings their reach. You navigated the storms at home so I could soar without worry. You are my true copilot, and every victory I claimed began with your quiet courage.
To my sons—you are my proudest legacy. I see in you the same fire and the same hunger to contribute. Don’t chase my footsteps. Make your own. Build better. Go further. And when in doubt, look up. I’ll always be with you—in every sunrise, every challenge, and every act of service you perform.
This book is for my children, my comrades, and the young men and women who will one day wear the uniform after us. It is a tribute to the spirit of the Pakistan Air Force, a testament to those who shared the sky with me, and a quiet offering to those who believe in service, in honor, and in the enduring power of legacy.
When my time here is done, may these words continue to live on as my final salute.
Table of Contents
SECTION 1: JOINT SERVICES PRE-CADET TRAINING SCHOOL
The Beginning 2
The Honor System & Discipline 6
Integrity to the Core 14
SECTION 2: MY LIFE AT PAF COLLEGE RISALPUR
Physical Training & Discipline 20
Memories from the Classroom 22
The Sleeping Beauty Incident 37
A Forced Landing Gone Wrong 39
Last Term of 23 GDP Course 56
Struggles with Formation Flying and Night Training 57
Brazen Act of Nepotism 61
SECTION 3: STORIES OF JETS & WAR HEROES (1957)
Flying Solo – T33 Milestone 68
My First Operational Squadron 72
Close Calls & Costly Mistakes 79
Shooting Down an Indian Bomber Plane 85
Unsung Heroes of Gilgit-Baltistian 91
SECTION 4: AN OPERATIONAL PILOT IN NO.5 SQUADRON (1959)
Becoming a Flying Officer 107
Early Flight Memories in No. 5 Squadron 110
Living Through Bad Judgment 114
Learning about the ‘Good Old Days’ from a WWII Veteran 117
Exercise Janus: The Largest Air Exercise in PAF History 121
The Perils of Fighter Flying 123
Financial Realities in PAF 126
My First PAF Overseas Adventure (1960) 128
SECTION 5: SHIFTING GEARS: THE NEXT CHAPTER FROM NO.5 TO NO. 20 (1960-1963)
Lessons I Couldn’t Teach: A Fighter Pilot’s Setback 139
Back in the Saddle with 20 Squadron 142
From Baked Bricks to Blazing Skies 151
Seconds from Catastrophe: A Takeoff Gone Wrong 153
Catching the Kitchen Crooks and More: Air Force Flies on Its Stomach 155
How I Mistakenly Flew Into India 159
Skies, Schemes, and Squadron Politics 161
Wings of Friendship: The Comrades of Sargodha 167
SECTION 6: TRANSITION TO HELICOPTERS (1964)
A Ticket to Turkey and a Career Twist 171
Rotor Conversion in Reno, NV 177
Speed, Steel, and Survival 180
Settling into Rescue Squadron, Chaklala 187
The Toast That Turned Into a Test 190
SECTION 7: SINO-INDIA WAR, AND PAK-INDIA WAR, MY REFLECTIONS (1962-1965)
Flattery, Alliances, and Lost Chances 193
Flying into the Fire of 1965 195
Biggest Mistake of Pakistan’s Military 201
SECTION 8: HIGH-ALTITUDE HELICOPTER OPERATIONS (1966-1967)
Battling the Elements at 15,500 Feet 206
Life Behind The Iron Curtain 211
PAF’s Intelligence Failures 231
SECTION 9: BACK IN THE AIR AND FAREWELL KARACHI (1968-1970)
New Beginnings in Peshawar 237
Storms, Shadows, and Tragedy 243
SECTION 10: SHARPENING STRATEGIC SKILLS (1970-1971)
Staff College Stories 251
Official Visit to China 256
SECTION 11: MY EXPERIENCE OF RUNNING A BASE (1971-1972)
Leadership Beyond the Rulebook 266
Corruption, Construction, and Command 268
When Rank Overrides Safety 271
The War We Lost Before It Began 278
SECTION 12: SAGA OF THE PAF IN EAST PAKISTAN (1971)
From Joint Warfare to Battlefield Command 286
Parties in the West, Bloodshed in the East 296
The Last Days of PAF in East Pakistan 299
Three Men Who Broke Pakistan 310
SECTION 13: PESHAWAR II AFTER STAFF COLLEGE (1972-1974)
AWOL: Absent Without Leave 319
Nakhra Airways: Serving Egos Since Forever 323
Case of the Missing Mustache 326
The Warbook’s Silent Watch 336
SECTION 13: G1 IN THE ISI (1974-1977)
An Unexpected Posting to ISI 339
An Unexpected House Upgrade 346
A Spy’s Journey Through Persia 348
The Capital’s Dirty Secrets 352
The Coup and Martial Law of 1977 360
The Fall of Air Commodore Kamal 361
Libya Assignment 364
SECTION 14: BACK IN PESHAWAR (1977-1978)
Badaber: The Air-Conditioned Oasis 368
Libyan Honor, Pakistani Bureaucracy 371
When Saying No Was the Right Move 376
SECTION 15: THE BAHRAIN CHRONICALS (1978-1994)
My BO-105 Experience in Bahrain 390
Military Traditions and Cultural Contrasts 394
The Hawar Islands Standoff 402
Pakistani Social Life in Bahrain 404
First Family Visit to Europe 407
House Construction in Quetta 415
Contract Extensions in BDF 419
Bahrain Amidst Regional Conflicts 421
Bidding Farewell to Bahrain 426
My Ties with Pakistani Envoys 431
SECTION 16: PAF LEADERSHIP
The Best - Air Marshal Noor Khan 435
The Worst - Air Marshal Shamim 439
PAF Reunions & Reminiscences 442
Joint Services Pre-Cadet Training School (JSPTS)
The Beginning
I joined the Royal Pakistan Air Force (RPAF) in 1953, a time when the young nation was still shaping its military institutions. The selection process was rigorous, but I was fortunate—Wing Commander Eric Gordon Hall, who led the RPAF Selection Board, took an interest in me, perhaps due to my colored eyes. However, favoritism had no place in the military, and I still had to qualify through the Inter-Services Selection Board (ISSB).
My first flight was in a de Havilland DH.82 Tiger Moth on November 23, 1953. This 1930s British biplane was simple yet demanding—no brakes, no canopy, and an engine that required manual propeller swinging to start. The experience was exhilarating. Under the instruction of Flight Lt. Banach and Flying Officer Azhar, I spent 20 hours mastering the aircraft. On March 23, 1954, I took my first solo flight, marking the moment I truly became an aviator.
Tiger Moth (PAF Museum)
JSPCTS Quetta
After completing my basic flying training, I was sent to Joint Services Pre-Cadet Training School (JSPCTS) in Quetta, where all officer candidates trained before proceeding to their service academies. There were five cadets in my group out of which only named Chughtai was terminated early because he failed to qualify for the ISSB.
At JSPCTS, we were joined by cadets from other university squadrons, as well as naval and army cadets. The army cadets made up the majority, about 120 in total.
Anticipating the rigorous physical training, I had started jogging while still at the University Air Squadron, but it wasn’t enough. All cadets were accommodated in long dormitories. The buildings had once been part of the Combined Military Hospital (CMH) during British rule—well-constructed and earthquake-proof since Quetta was prone to earthquakes.
The dormitories were centrally heated by a large coal-fired boiler located in the physical training ground. Both sides had large glass-paneled windows, allowing plenty of sunlight. Each dormitory had two long rows of beds. My section was referred to as Gomal House, and next to us was Bolan House.
Between the rows were community toilets and showers, with running hot water 24/7—a luxury complex by 1950s standards and a first-time experience for many cadets. Box rooms were assigned to store suitcases, while clothing and personal items had to be kept in cupboards in a prescribed order, checked almost every morning by the staff. Any deviation led to disciplinary action.
Each cadet was issued military boots, which had to be polished to a mirror shine. Since the boots were new, everyone spent hours achieving the required standard. Any shortcomings meant some form of disciplinary action.
The training was designed to break the weak and forge the strong. Physical endurance was paramount. Mornings began with a six-lap mile run around the training compound, expected to be completed under six minutes. My first attempt took 6 minutes and 40 seconds, earning me extra laps. The instructors were unyielding—even when I developed a fever after typhoid and tetanus vaccinations, I was expected to run, train, and push through the pain.
Obstacle courses tested our agility and fearlessness. A 12-foot wooden log spanned a ditch we had to cross, but the real challenge was the 20-foot rope climb. Lacking technique, I tried relying solely on my arms, only to slip and burn my hands. It took sheer willpower, but I conquered it before the final test.
The Rescue Mission
One of the most grueling exercises at JSPCTS was a simulated rescue mission. The scenario: a girl named Zarina had been "kidnapped" by dacoits, and we were tasked with retrieving her. The mission was designed to test stamina, teamwork, and survival instincts.
We marched from morning until evening, navigating rugged terrain. Along the way, we encountered a nomadic caravan, where a frightened camel had thrown off its young rider. The boy, barely five years old, suffered a head wound, but our military doctor stitched him up without anesthesia. To our amazement, he didn’t shed a tear—a display of quiet resilience that left a lasting impression on me.
By nightfall, we were exhausted. Then, suddenly, a commotion erupted—someone claimed to have spotted Zarina nearby. Half-asleep, we scrambled in pursuit, running blindly in the dark. The chase led nowhere, but it was a test of our instinct to act under pressure, no matter the fatigue.
The next day, we embarked on the Chase March, carrying only a military water bottle, with strict orders not to drink from natural streams, the "enemy" had supposedly contaminated them. Soon, our bottles ran dry, and the afternoon sun bore down mercilessly. When we finally reached the extraction point, our Commandant, Brigadier Qayuum, stood among us, having marched the entire distance himself—without drinking water. That, to me, was true leadership.
The Honor System & Discipline
JSPCTS emphasized integrity. The tuck shop operated on an honor system—cadets could take items and write down their purchases on a slip of paper. There were no checks or balances. One week, the tuck shop’s accounts were short. Major Rafique, our Chief Instructor, gathered all cadets and issued a stern reminder about honesty. Two weeks later, the shop reported a surplus—some cadets had overpaid out of guilt. Major Rafique responded: "We ask for honesty, not charity." It was a lesson in accountability, one that I carried throughout my career.
Naval Cadet Sohail Ahmed (R) and Self (L) JSPCTS Quetta 1954 JSPCTS Quetta 1954 | PAF Newspaper Recruiting from 1957, a few years after I joined
The Price of Dishonesty
Our monthly stipend was Rs. 35, barely enough for basic necessities, let alone entertainment. Quetta had only two well-known restaurants—Affili’s, famous for its tea, cake, and samosas, and Stanley’s, known for its ice cream. The city’s fruit market was well-stocked and impeccably clean, and I made it a point to visit whenever I could, savoring freshly cut cantaloupe.
Some cadets received financial assistance from home through money orders. One such cadet from Gomal House received Rs. 200, a substantial amount at the time. He carefully stored it in his locked suitcase inside the box room, planning to treat himself over the weekend with a trip to the city.
When the weekend arrived, he eagerly unlocked his suitcase, only to find the money missing. Alarmed, he lodged a complaint, and suspicion fell on the four assigned batmen—attendants responsible for maintaining our dormitories. They were called in and interrogated, but no evidence pointed to them.
That same evening, I was speaking casually with a cadet from Bolan House, someone I knew well. He enthusiastically described his day out in Quetta, indulging in expensive meals and treats. I knew for a fact that he had not received any money from home, and our modest stipend could never have covered such luxuries. It was obvious—he was the culprit.
Unfortunately, without proof, nothing could be done, and the innocent batmen bore the brunt of suspicion.
Fate, however, has a way of settling scores. This same cadet later joined PAF College Risalpur, but in his second term, he failed basic flight training. He never made it past the solo stage on the Harvard T-6G aircraft and was ultimately suspended.
Such are the twists of fortune and the circle of life—justice, in one way or another, always finds its course.
JSPCTS Some members of Gomal House, I am the right most cadet
Gomal House, JSCPTS 1954 Quetta
Hiking Gone Wrong
Cadets were expected to stay occupied, even on weekends, by engaging in hobbies such as photography, hiking, and hill climbing. I chose photography, preferring to stay indoors, while some of my more adventurous colleagues opted for hiking and mountain climbing.
One weekend, my friend Cadet Younus (nicknamed Juni) and two others set out to climb Murdar Mountain, a 5,000-foot peak near Quetta. By the time they reached the summit, darkness had fallen, and they lost their way on the descent. With no means of communication, their absence went unnoticed until later that night, when instructors, realizing they had not returned, launched a search operation.
Experienced local shepherds, familiar with the rugged terrain, were called upon to assist. They located the cadets within a few hours, but due to the late hour and cold temperatures, the descent was postponed until dawn. The cadets spent the night on the mountaintop, enduring the chilling winds, before making their way back at daybreak. Their safe return was a moment of relief for everyone. While I had little contact with Juni—he was in Khyber House—I always admired his adventurous spirit.
Discipline and Camaraderie
Each of the four Houses at JSPCTS operated under a strict training and mentorship structure. A House Master (a captain) and an Assistant House Master (a captain or lieutenant) oversaw academics, discipline, and physical training, ensuring cadets developed officer-like qualities such as honesty and leadership. Every four weeks, the House Master interviewed cadets with deficiencies, offering guidance on improvement.
One of the more demanding supervisors was Captain Feroze Shah, the Assistant House Master of Gomal House. An Afghan from Nowshera, he was tough but soft-spoken. During one of our conversations, he advised me on how to improve my physical strength, particularly for the rope climb, a challenge I had struggled with earlier.
Discipline was enforced by a strict Drill Master, a Havildar from the Army. If a cadet made a mistake during drill practice, he would bark: “Sahib, chimney ka chakkar—go!”
This meant the cadet had to run around the towering chimney connected to the coal-fired boiler that provided hot water for the school and military hospital. The chimney stood 300 yards from the drill location, making it a dreaded form of punishment.
Dining-in nights were held weekly, presided over by the House Master or Assistant House Master. After dinner, cadets gathered in the ante-room for informal entertainment. One cadet was usually volunteered to sing, much to everyone’s amusement.
One evening, Cadet Zafar was asked to perform. Nicknamed ‘The Black Crow,’ he was known for his enthusiastic but unpolished singing. Years later, I discovered that my wife, Qudsia, knew him through her uncle, Colonel Razzaq, under whom he served in the Army. Another regular performer was Cadet Waheed-ud-Din, known as Bhapka—a nickname derived from the tall black chimneys of brick kilns, an amusing reference to his imposing stature.
One of the more unusual activities we indulged in was a game involving newspaper bundles. Two blindfolded cadets would be armed with rolled-up newspapers and asked to locate and strike each other using only sound and instinct. It was pure chaos and great fun, bringing laughter to even the most serious of cadets.
Boxing was a key part of cadet training, with House-level competitions held during the course. My opponent was Army Cadet Nayyar Zaman Mohmand, a fair-skinned, handsome cadet of Afghan descent. Our bout began evenly, but by the second round, he gained the upper hand, landing a solid blow that disoriented me. While I managed to defend against his strikes, I couldn't effectively counterattack, earning me a "Good Determination" remark on my final course report.
A humorous moment occurred during the match when a cadet in the audience jokingly remarked, "Two ladies fighting!"—a comment that soon had everyone laughing.
Another memorable fight involved Cadet Hakimullah Khan Durrani from Tehsil Pubbi, near Peshawar. He was pitted against a much stronger opponent, but instead of standing his ground, he kept running around the ring, dodging punches rather than fighting back. The sight of him evading rather than engaging had the spectators in hysterics.
Gomal House had a lively mix of cadets, each with their quirks. One such cadet was Haq, from East Bengal, nicknamed "Haq the Gunner" for his habit of passing gas loudly in his sleep. His nocturnal disturbances frustrated those sleeping nearby, leading two cadets—one of them a friend of mine—to plot a harmless prank.
One night, while Haq was fast asleep, they gently lowered his pajama trousers and slipped a pencil inside. Oblivious, he continued sleeping peacefully. The next morning, as he got up and dressed, he discovered the pencil lodged inside his clothes.
Instead of getting angry or complaining, Haq took it sportingly, laughing along with the rest of us. Despite this incident, he was well-liked, and I often enjoyed evening strolls and conversations with him.
Integrity to the Core
Monthly academic tests were a routine part of training at the School. After one such test, all cadets were ordered to assemble immediately—a rare occurrence that signaled something serious. A cadet had been caught glancing at another’s desk, an act that implied an attempt to cheat.
Once again, we were all reminded of the importance of honesty and warned against such behavior. The cadet was severely reprimanded and placed under observation for a month—a clear message that even the slightest breach of integrity would not be tolerated.
As the course came to an end, excitement began to set in, and some of us became careless. On the final morning, a few cadets, including myself, arrived at assembly three minutes late. Discipline at JSPCTS was absolute—there were no exceptions. At noon, we were ordered to report to the training ground in military boots for a final test of endurance.
We stood in formation as the officer in charge stepped forward and addressed us.
“This punishment is for your lack of punctuality. You will run around the parade ground. Those who complete four laps (one mile) in under six minutes will be dismissed. Those who fail will run an additional two laps.”
The run began immediately. Some cadets completed the mile within the six-minute mark, but many—including myself—fell short. We continued for two more laps, running one and a half miles in full military boots at noon.
Surprisingly, I felt no exhaustion. Over time, the rigorous training had transformed my stamina and endurance, preparing me for far greater challenges ahead.
Whenever I reflect on my time at JSPCTS, I feel immense admiration for the institution and its staff—from the Commandant, Chief Instructor Major Rafique, and my House Master, Commander Tariq Bin Rehman, to Captain Feroz, the schoolteachers, PT instructors, mess staff, and dormitory attendants. They did more than train us physically and academically—they instilled in us fluency in English, proficiency in Mathematics, confidence in public speaking, and above all, an unshakable foundation of integrity, character, and leadership.
Every officer and staff member led by example, embodying the very values they preached. There was zero tolerance for dishonesty or even petty theft. Likewise, punctuality was non-negotiable.
Discipline at JSPCTS was not just a rule—it was a way of life, one that shaped us into future officers and leaders.
My Life at
PAF College, Risalpur
The Early Months
After a short two-week break following my return from Quetta and the JSPCTS course, it was time to leave Lahore for my next destination—PAF College Risalpur.
At Lahore railway station, I spotted several other cadets, all bound for the same journey. Onboard the train, I met a history teacher, recently commissioned as a Flying Officer, who was also heading to Risalpur. Upon arriving at Nowshera station, we hired a tonga to cover the five-mile distance to the college.
The Cadet Mess consisted of two U-shaped, single-story concrete barracks, each equipped with community bathrooms and showers. Two cadets shared each room, while final-term cadets were housed in a separate barrack near the Dining Hall. The Dining Hall itself was an imposing structure, with two rows of polished tables and a raised platform for final-term cadets and presiding officers during Dining-in Nights.
The Ante Rooms, furnished with high-quality sofas and a large fireplace, served as a social space for cadets. In the evenings, wood and coal fires provided relief from the bitter winter cold. The Billiard Room was equally impressive, featuring two billiard tables, table tennis setups, carrom boards, and card-playing tables. Having never seen such facilities before, I was amazed by the grand scale of it all.
The Tradition of Ragging
I had heard rumors about ragging, but what we encountered exceeded expectations. As we dismounted from the tonga, we were guided to our rooms before being summoned in front of the barracks by two senior cadets — Sabir (nicknamed Sabir Pia) and Arshad. Both were later suspended from flying—Arshad was reassigned to the engineering branch, while Sabir eventually moved to London.
The verbal onslaught began immediately, followed by a forced run over a considerable distance. We were then ordered into the “murga” position (a stress-inducing squat with arms threaded between the legs), followed by body rolls on the walkway. This continued for over an hour.
Next, we were taken to the barber shop, where we received quick crew cuts, a hallmark of new cadets. By dusk, we were finally allowed to settle into our rooms.
All cadets were divided into two squadrons—No. 1 and No. 2. I was assigned to No. 1 Squadron. Before dinner, we were instructed to report to the Ante Room, where the 21st and 22nd GDP courses (ours was 23rd GDP) were waiting to continue the ragging.
One of their rituals involved demonstrating an aircraft landing—an amusing task that involved removing our clothes and performing "landings" around the room, face down at the end of each lap. The stated reason? To eliminate inhibitions and shyness—to toughen us up.
Eventually, the ragging session ended, and we proceeded to the Dining Hall, where a surprisingly good dinner awaited us.
The next morning, we lined up at the Supply Squadron to receive our military boots and other supplies. Training commenced on Monday, marking the beginning of a six-month first term focused primarily on ground training.
Winter had set in, and as the days passed, temperatures plummeted. The mornings were especially harsh. We woke at 5 a.m., often shaving while wrapped in blankets to ward off the cold.
Each group of four cadets was assigned a batman (orderly) responsible for keeping the room tidy, handling laundry, and maintaining uniforms. The most demanding duty of the batmen was their early morning routine—arriving at 4:30 a.m. to serve tea and bring hot water for shaving.
These batmen lived in Nowshera, nearly five miles away, and cycled through the cold and rain to ensure their duties were performed without fail. They exemplified punctuality, resilience, and discipline, and we deeply admired them. I do not recall a single instance of lateness, and if one batman couldn't make it, another would cover in his place.
Physical Training & Discipline
Our morning PT, referred to as "morning jerks", began at 6 a.m.. The PT ground was located in front of a hangar, about a 10–15-minute run from the living quarters.
Our PT kit consisted of a vest, shorts, training shoes, and a full-sleeve wool sweater. Despite the layers, the bitter cold remained unbearable.
After PT, we sprinted back to the barracks, changed into our cadet uniforms, and rushed to the Dining Hall for breakfast, which included two-egg omelet or fried eggs, toast or paratha, porridge, butter, and jam.
For me, this was a luxury compared to what I was accustomed to—nutritious and fulfilling.
Following breakfast, we headed to the tarmac for a drill parade—initially without rifles, later with them. Handling a cold rifle in winter was tough, but that was military life, and we had no choice but to endure.
After a 40-minute drill, we marched to the academic section for classes in Aerodynamics, Airmanship, Navigation, Mathematics, Aero-engines & Meteorology.
A Taste of Luxury
One of the first purchases encouraged at the College was a wristwatch, a luxury few cadets could afford before joining. These were made available on installment plans, allowing us to pay over the duration of the course.
I bought a Favre-Leuba for Rs. 150, which meant deducting Rs. 20 monthly from my salary. It was a Swiss-made watch from Zug, Switzerland, which I later gifted to my brother, Qamar Khan.
At the end of the first term, cadets were also issued bicycles—a much-needed addition that offered both mobility and a sense of freedom.
The closest town was Nowshera Cantt, five miles away, and on weekends, I often biked there to shop or explore. On one occasion, three fellow cadets and I cycled all the way to Peshawar, 20 miles away, where we stayed overnight at the Green Hotel.
Memories from the Classroom
I had no trouble keeping up with the academic curriculum and secured good marks.
Our Urdu teacher, Mr. Qamqam Hussein Jaffrey, provided an unexpected source of humor. One day, while explaining masculine and feminine nouns, he stated that Urdu words ending in "e" were feminine.
A mischievous cadet, Aftab Wahid, stood up and asked, “Sir, does that mean Jaffrey is feminine?”
The poor teacher was speechless, while the rest of us struggled to contain our laughter.
One of the most memorable lectures was in Aerodynamics, taught by Flight Lt. Sheikh. He had a sarcastic style of teaching and often ridiculed cadets who gave incorrect answers.
If a cadet failed to answer a question, his standard punishment was to run around the classroom block. One unfortunate cadet bumped his head into an overhead water pipe—a scene we never forgot.
Another instance which I can never forget is when explaining relative velocity, he used an analogy that was both amusing and effective:
"Imagine you are expelled from the Academy and head to the railway station to return home. At the same time, I start driving back to the Academy. The sum of your train's speed and my car’s speed is the definition of relative velocity."
While his explanations were often humorous, his sarcasm was legendary. He frequently lamented the difference in pay between pilots and instructors, remarking that despite his academic qualifications, he earned less than pilots, who received a flying allowance of Rs. 75. This was a complaint we heard often, adding to the unique character of his lectures.
A Lesson Taught
One weekend, Flight Lieutenant Haq, an instructor pilot, was flying to Lahore in a Harvard aircraft. Flight Lieutenant Sheikh, known for his frequent complaints about GDP (General Duty Pilot) officers receiving a flying allowance, decided to hitch a ride to visit his family.
Aware of Sheikh’s disdain for pilots, Haq saw an opportunity to teach him a lesson. Midway through the flight, he pulled the throttle to idle, causing the aircraft to glide downward. With a calm voice, he turned to Sheikh and announced:
"The engine has failed. We’re going down. Prepare for an emergency landing."
Panic immediately set in. Sheikh turned pale, his voice trembling as he shouted,
“For God’s sake, do something! I have a wife and children—what will happen to them if I die?”
As the aircraft descended to 500 feet, Haq smoothly pushed the throttle forward, bringing the engine back to life and climbing safely to cruising altitude. Once at a safe height, he turned to Sheikh and remarked:
"Pilots face situations like this all the time. Some survive, some don’t. And that, my friend, is why we get a Rs. 75 flying allowance."
The Weekdays Grind
The first few weeks of our six-month term were physically and mentally exhausting. Ragging by the senior cadets was frequent—sometimes under the guise of trivial infractions. On weekends or at random, they would single out cadets for fictitious offenses, such as walking sloppily or dressing improperly, and order them to run laps around the living quarters, followed by front rolls.
The training regimen left no room for idleness. After academic classes ended at 1:30 PM, we marched back to the Mess for lunch. After a full morning of physical exertion and no meals since breakfast, we were famished, making lunch an absolute delight.
Afternoons were slightly more relaxed. Cadets could spend time in the Ante Room, play indoor games, or listen to music on the radiogram. The billiard tables were a particular attraction—I had never even seen one before arriving at the College, so I took a keen interest in playing.
After some leisure, we returned to our rooms, changed into our Games Kit, and proceeded to classrooms for private study, with an academic staff member supervising. Once study time ended, we dashed to the sports grounds for a variety of activities. I tried my hand at hockey and softball before running back to the barracks, showering, and unwinding briefly.
Evenings meant dressing up for Dining-in Night, an event marked by strict military decorum. The presiding officer would initiate a formal toast to the Queen—at the time, Pakistan was part of the Commonwealth, and Queen Elizabeth II was the Head of State.
The ritual was precise: the President at the head table would rise and declare, "To the Queen," raising his glass and taking a sip of water. The entire hall echoed his words, "The Queen," before everyone drank. This was followed by a toast to Pakistan.
After dinner, cadets could either spend time in the Ante Room or return to their rooms to study. By 10:30 PM, lights had to be switched off, and violations resulted in punishment. If any unfinished assignments required extra time, I would sit in the bathroom to complete them—I wasn’t alone in this, as others did the same.
The Weekends Routine
Weekends were a welcome escape from the grueling routine. I don’t recall whether we had one or two days off, but either way, it was a blessing.
I allowed myself the luxury of waking up at 8 AM and enjoying breakfast at a leisurely pace, often indulging in a double serving—a second two-egg omelet and an extra paratha. After breakfast, I would sit outside, soaking up the winter sun, then return to my room for a short nap.
Afternoons were spent in the Ante Room or the indoor sports area, playing billiards, table tennis, carrom, or cards while listening to music. The routine was simple and relaxing—a much-needed contrast to the rigid weekday structure.
However, not everyone could endure the training load. One cadet lasted only a few days before breaking down emotionally and requesting release from the Academy. Another cadet, Meezan-ur-Rehman from East Pakistan, had an unmatched sense of humor. When seniors ordered him to “pull up his socks” to improve his drill performance, he would literally bend down and adjust his socks.
If the drill instructor, Flight Sergeant Bardar Khan or Corporal Hanif, shouted, "Tinkay ke mafiq naheen hilo" (Don’t move like a blade of grass!), Meezan would playfully shift his head or arms slightly before standing completely still.
Unpleasant Encounter
As the term came to an end, we took our final exams and were granted a three-week break. In June, I returned home to Lahore.
One of my East Pakistani batchmates, Ali, couldn’t travel back home and spent his break in Lahore, likely with an officer from his region. Like many of us, he was proud of his Air Force uniform and wore it when strolling along Mall Road or visiting restaurants.
One day, the College Adjutant happened to be in Lahore and spotted Ali wearing his uniform at Regal Chowk bus stop. Instead of offering encouragement, the Adjutant berated him, saying:
“You look like a cobbler. Wearing this uniform won’t change that.”
We were deeply disappointed by this disrespect.
This Adjutant, Flight Lt. JJ[1], belonged to the Saddozai clan, a lineage of Shahzada rulers from Afghanistan. The family had been patronized by the British before Partition and continued to hold high-ranking government and military positions after independence. His uncle, Major Gen. Sher Jan, served as the Judge Advocate General (JAG) of the Pakistan Army.
As part of his privileged background, Flight Lt. JJ had been fast-tracked into the PAF’s Administrative Branch, promoted to Flight Lieutenant within months of induction. Though he was often present during drill training, he kept his distance and rarely interfered with instructors. This made his demeaning remarks to Ali even more bewildering.
A Trip to Karachi
Since my uncle, Anwar Khan, lived in Karachi, I decided to visit him for a week.At the time, No. 6 Squadron was based in Lahore and operated the Bristol Freighter, a bulky, two-engine transport aircraft. This aircraft, though ugly in design, was a workhorse for freight and personnel transport, flying weekly to Karachi.
I secured a seat on one of these flights. Wearing my cadet uniform—mandatory for the journey, I took a minibus to the Lahore Officers' Mess, then proceeded to the tarmac, where I boarded the aircrew bus to reach the aircraft.
The flight departed at dusk, but as we took off, a severe thunderstorm engulfed Lahore. The route to Karachi remained covered in thick clouds, heavy rain, and constant lightning.
Flying at 7,000 feet under Instrument Flight Rules (IFR), the Bristol Freighter endured turbulence the entire way. Even after all these years, I still admire the aircrew for navigating through such extreme weather with minimal navigation aids.
We landed at midnight at PAF Shahrah-e-Faisal (then known as PAF Drigh Road). With rain still pouring heavily, I took the aircrew bus to the Officers’ Mess. It was too late to head to my uncle’s house, so the mess staff arranged a bed for me in one of the guest rooms—which, years later, was converted into the Mess Secretary's Office.
The moment I lay down, mosquitoes descended in full force. Exhausted from the six-hour turbulent flight, I pulled a bedsheet over my entire body and quickly drifted into sleep.
The next morning, I had a relaxed breakfast, picked up my baggage, and requested a taxi to Malir, where my uncle and aunt lived. My uncle was in charge of security at the Government Security Printing Office, which printed Pakistan’s currency notes.
I spent six wonderful days with them before returning to Lahore on another Bristol Freighter. Back home, I reunited with my brothers, Qamar and Shahid, who were both university students in Lahore.
My mid-term break ended quickly, and soon, I was on my way back to PAF College Risalpur, ready to begin my second term—this time, with flying training.
Conquering the Harvard
Completing the first term successfully was a huge relief, but the real excitement was about to begin—the flying phase. I was assigned to No. 1 Squadron, and on May 28, 1955, I had my first flight at the Academy with Squadron Leader Mittey Masud. The sortie lasted only 25 minutes, shorter than usual, likely due to mechanical or weather-related issues.
S/L Masud was an exceptional pilot, highly regarded for his flying proficiency. He personally chose me as his student, and I flew three to four sorties under his instruction. He was calm and composed, never resorting to shouting—unlike many flying instructors of that era. Even the use of mild slang, common at the time, would have been enough to unnerve me, but I never heard such words from him.
Shortly after, S/L Masud was posted to a fighter squadron, and my new instructor was Flying Officer Khandekar, an East Pakistani officer. Like Masud, he was a patient and methodical teacher, never raising his voice or intimidating his students.
We trained on two variants of the Harvard aircraft—the T-6G Texan (US-made) and the B & C models (UK-made). The B & C models were known for their tendency to swing during taxiing, making them challenging for students, while the T-6G was more stable and preferred for training. At some point, every student experienced an aircraft swing on the ground, especially in the B & C models.
The most difficult phase of training was landing the aircraft. The Harvard’s long nose obstructed forward visibility, making it hard to judge the flare close to the ground for a perfect three-point landing. Initially, I struggled with this, but after 15 hours of instruction, I finally went solo by the end of June and was cleared to proceed to the next phase.
Second Term Cadet Uniform and Flight Suit to Fly the T-6 Harvard
Morning sortie ready for a training in Risalpur
Harvard’s on the flightline and student taxiing out with his instructor
My beloved Harvard 55 years later with my grandchildren with me at the PAF Museum in Karachi
The Spin Recovery
While F/O Khandekar was away for a few days, I flew with other instructors. One flight was with Flight Lieutenant Anwar, who asked me to demonstrate a spin and recovery maneuver.
I initiated the spin at 10,000 feet and recovered after two rotations. Flt Lt Anwar laughed sarcastically and said,
“Are you scared of spinning? Recover only when I tell you to.”
To prove my confidence, I immediately entered another spin and waited for his command to recover.
We descended to 4,000 feet, but I still had not received an order. As I glanced at my radio cable, I realized it had become disconnected. I quickly reconnected it and immediately heard Flt Lt Anwar shouting,
"Recover, recover!"
I promptly initiated spin recovery and stabilized the aircraft at 3,000 feet—the minimum safe altitude for bailout.
That was my first and last sortie with Flt Lt Anwar. Unfortunately for him, he later suffered a fractured jaw from a horse kick while riding at the Academy. I couldn't help but feel that fate had delivered a bit of poetic justice.
One instructor, F/O Cullen, made me nervous. On one mission, I struggled with the maneuvers and returned unsuccessful. Anticipating that I might be scheduled with him again, I went on sick report to avoid a poor instructor report.
That afternoon, F/O Cullen had an incident—while landing with another student, the aircraft flipped nose-over due to incorrect braking. Fortunately, no one was injured, but Cullen was temporarily removed from flying duties. That spared me from another flight with him.
Shortly after, F/O Khandekar returned, and I resumed training under him. After 15 hours of flying, I successfully qualified for my solo flight and moved on to advanced training.
The Sleeping Beauty Incident
Not all cadets progressed. Some were suspended from flying and sent home, including: Khalid Butt, Khursheed Akbar, Abid and Zahid (who were inseparable and always referred to as a pair).
One of the more notorious incidents involved Khursheed Akbar, who forgot to lower his landing gear after a mission.
Standard operating procedure (SOP) required cadets to lower the landing gear on the second crosswind leg, confirm three green lights, and announce "Gear down and locked."
Not only did Khursheed ignore the green lights, but he also missed the warning alarm. His instructor eventually lowered the gear manually, but Khursheed accidentally retracted it again just before landing.
Realizing the danger, the instructor took control, lowered the gear again, and safely landed the aircraft.
As punishment, Khursheed was forced to walk back to the crew room from Finger Point—a kilometer-long march carrying his parachute. Additionally, he had to wear a placard that read, “I am the sleeping beauty” for two days whenever he was outside his room.
Despite this humiliating lesson, he continued making mistakes and was eventually sent home.
A Narrow Escape
One of our instructors, Flying Officer Sadruddin, was a strikingly handsome man from Mardan, belonging to an educated and well-connected family. His uncle, Mian Ziauddin, was a prominent diplomat who held several ambassadorial positions.
Before being transferred to Risalpur, F/O Sadruddin had served in a fighter squadron and was expected to have combat experience. One day, during a training flight, he and another instructor pilot engaged in a mock dogfight.
Flying too low during the maneuver, Sadruddin’s engine stalled, forcing him to make an emergency landing in an open field. By sheer luck, he escaped unscathed, and the aircraft did not catch fire.
Despite this near miss, his career flourished. He went on to command an F-86 squadron, later leading Pakistan’s only F-104 squadron, and eventually became the Commander of the Sargodha Fighter Wing. Rising to the rank of Air Vice Marshal, he retired during Gen. Zia-ul-Haq’s tenure. He passed away a few years ago, leaving behind a legacy in the PAF.
A Forced Landing Gone Wrong
Cadet Qureshi, a senior by six months, was on a solo mission when his engine failed mid-flight. Following standard procedure, he attempted a forced landing in a farm field. While he successfully landed the aircraft, he suffered severe head and facial injuries—likely because he had not secured his seatbelt and harness properly.
The aircraft was badly damaged but miraculously did not catch fire. He was rescued, taken back to the base hospital, and treated for several weeks before being discharged.
Ultimately, Qureshi chose to withdraw from the Academy, realizing that a career in aviation was not for him.
A Soldier’s Fate
Another remarkable cadet was Flight Cadet Tariq from the 21st course, two terms ahead of me.
Qureshi’s accident had shaken him, and his family began pressuring him to reconsider flying. Eventually, he decided to resign from the PAF but still wanted to serve his country. He joined the Army, graduated from Pakistan Military Academy (PMA), Kakul, and became an infantry officer.
Years later, after my return from the U.S., I tracked him down in Rawalpindi. Now married, he invited me to his home. His wife observed purdah, so she did not appear before me.
During our conversation, one line stuck with me:
"Yaar, sab kharch ho jata hai, kuch bachta nahi hai."
("All my income gets spent; I save nothing from my salary.")
When the 1965 war broke out, his unit was deployed on the front lines. In battle, he was martyred.
Ironically, he had left the Air Force fearing the dangers of flying, only to meet his end on the battlefield. Fate had its own plans.
Issa’s Airsickness
Among my senior cadets was a man we all called Issa Bhai, from the 22nd course.
He struggled with air sickness, which was common among new cadets. However, for most of us, it subsided after the first few weeks—for Issa Bhai, it persisted.
On one training flight, his instructor inverted the Harvard and, pointing toward the bright sky, asked,
"What is that?"
Completely disoriented and panicked from being upside down, Issa blurted out, "The moon."
His nerves got the better of him, and it became clear he wasn’t suited for flying. He was transferred to the Navigation Branch, where he went on to become a Group Captain.
Later, he was sent on deputation to Qatar, a year after I was posted to Bahrain. He eventually left the PAF and continued serving in Qatar, where he passed away in 2022.
Tragedy on the Tarmac
The most gruesome incident I witnessed happened on the tarmac, during the daily aircraft changeover. Each aircraft and every instructor pilot was required to fly two sorties per day. For the second sortie, students were driven to the tarmac in an aircrew van and dropped near the ATC building. Depending on the weather, students either waited inside or stood outside.
Once the first sortie landed, the returning student would disembark and walk toward the waiting area, while the next student walked toward the aircraft to take over for the second sortie — all while the aircraft’s engine remained running.
That morning, a cadet returned from his sortie and began walking toward the ATC waiting area. At the same time, another aircraft-initiated taxiing for takeoff. The student and instructor inside the moving aircraft did not see the cadet walking directly in front of them.
The aircraft’s propeller struck him instantly, mutilating his body beyond recognition. Everyone who witnessed it was horrified. Life was lost in an instant—so sudden, so unnecessary.
His remains were collected and placed in a coffin. That evening, we performed Namaz-e-Janaza with full military honors, and his body was flown to Lahore, his hometown, for a burial.
Final Flight Evaluation
As the second term ended and the first phase of flight training was completed, we were tested on both academic and flying subjects. I felt confident in most subjects, except for Aerodynamics—which involved complex calculations and diagrams, making it my biggest challenge. Despite my anxiety, I managed to pass all subjects.
On January 28, 1957, my final flight evaluation was conducted by Squadron Leader O’Brien, the Squadron Commander himself. The test covered
pre-flight checks, takeoff and landing procedures, loops and barrel rolls, medium and steep turns, spin and stall recovery.
While a cadet might perform well on most days, there was always the risk of an off-day, which could be disastrous if it happened during a flight test. Fortunately, I remained composed and executed the maneuvers well enough to earn a B+ grade, successfully passing the evaluation.
My weakest maneuver was the barrel roll, which had to be performed without losing altitude. Though it wasn’t perfect, I managed to satisfy the examiner. After the post-flight debrief, I finally breathed a sigh of relief—one of the most nerve-wracking milestones was behind me.
On February 19, 1957, I completed my final Harvard flight, accumulating: 165 hours with an instructor, 63 solo hours and 9 hours of night flying.
After nine months of intense training, my primary flight training was officially complete, setting the stage for the next phase of my journey in the PAF.
Saifullah Lodhi
Evening sports were compulsory for cadets, and in my final term, I was playing hockey against my junior in 25 GDP, Cadet Saifullah Khan Lodhi, a skilled player from the college eleven team. As we competed for possession, our hockey sticks hooked, and in the struggle, his stick struck my right eyebrow, causing a deep, inch-and-a-half gash that bled profusely.
I rushed to the MI Room, where, by chance, Squadron Leader Hasan, the Senior Medical Officer, was on duty. He stitched the wound immediately—without anesthesia—and admitted me to the detention room for observation. While this unexpected break gave me temporary relief from the rigorous routine, I had a bigger concern—if I stayed too long, I might fall behind on my flying training and risk being relegated to the next course, 24 GDP. Fortunately, I was declared fit to fly within the week and completed my training on time alongside my course mates.
During my stay in the medical detention room, Cadet Hakimullah, a fellow 23 GDP cadet, arrived semi-conscious, seeking urgent medical attention. He had suffered a horse-riding accident—his horse, galloping at full speed, had gone out of control, throwing him off and kicking him in the groin, causing severe injury and pain.
Despite this setback, Hakimullah made a full recovery and went on to have an illustrious career. He later commanded two elite squadrons—one flying F-104 Starfighters and another, PAF’s first Mirage squadron, both based at Sargodha. He eventually rose to the rank of Air Marshal and became Chief of Air Staff.
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