The Hazardous Lives Of Fighter Pilots
“Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew –
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high unsurpassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.”
Pilot Office John Gillespie Magee
The Sun slipped behind tall eucalyptus trees. Across the runway, pale shadows lengthened. ‘Bakshi Ka Talab’ looked more desolate than ever. Dry smoke from distant village homes rose to touch the evening sky. Nearby in the thorny undergrowth, a peacock’s alarm call broke tranquility to tell of a predator at large.
A solitary ‘shaktiman’ crawled on the runway; ‘goose necks’ were being laid in hurry. Minutes before, the ‘fighters’ landed, taxied towards the ‘blast pens’ one after another. Ground runs were done for the day. To most of us it meant ‘respite’ after another grueling day.
But the Air Traffic Controller was still very busy. Wearing headset, face froth with anxiety, he continued talking into the mouth piece. The last ‘fighter’ by now much overdue, was yet to be brought down safely.
Wrinkles cluttered on Flight Commander’s forehead, anger and desperation writ large on his face. His wingman had drifted from the flock. He knew that ‘Fate’ ruled the darkening sky. We prayed silently, looking up to the sky for the ‘Message of Mercy’. Minutes passed painfully slow. Meanwhile darkness, peered out of tree leaves to team up with the approaching mist.
Suddenly the controller’s voice rose a few decibels in excitement. Bells tinkled as the fire tenders rushed to the runway. A grasshopper’s silhouette appeared above the darkening horizon far away. It was the last fighter ‘turning finals’ for the runway. Flying through darkening mist with a damaged brow, the fighter approached the runway fearfully low. Hearts stopped as it missed the perimeter fence; sigh of relief as it touched down on the runway.
The pilot, a handsome young man, looked barely out of teens. He was lucky to see the light of another day. I had come to like his demeanor. Friendly, soft spoken, he always greeted with a grin.
Unfortunately my friend’s luck did not hold for long. A year later he went down with his aircraft in a fateful afternoon, his story ending with a sorrowful funeral.
I was very much distressed by his demise. In sorrowful defiance to the ‘Lord of Death’, I muttered, ‘The last enemy to be defeated is death’- a quote from the Holy ‘Bible’. I even bore a sense of guilt, chivalry was my forte then; wished I could take his place. I could not be pleased about the attitude of his mates, who hardly talked about him, after his demise. I took some time to get accustomed to this attitude. I was in the company of those who could not afford to dwell in the past. Perhaps I also could not be bothered any more.
His death reminded me of the story of Richard Hillary, an Oxford educated ‘Battle of Britain’ Fighter Pilot, who wrote the book ‘The Last Enemy’, considered a classic of war. Richard Hillary was born in 1919 and brought up in England. When World War II came he joined RAF and became an ace in the ‘Battle of Britain’. He was a writer foremost and also a fighter pilot. His life altered when he was shot down in September 1940, when his ‘Spitfire’ was hit during a ‘dog fight’ over Britain. He managed to escape from the burning aircraft and eventually was rescued from the sea, badly wounded and disfigured. After recovery, he rejoined his duties and was killed on January 8, 1943 when his ‘night fighter’ crashed on a training mission. He was just 3 months short of his twenty third birthday. He had by then become a legend.
John Gillespie Magee another world War Two – fighter pilot and a poet wrote the beautiful poem ‘ High Flight’. Magee was killed in a flying accident just three months after he wrote the poem at the age of nineteen just three days after the U.S. entered the war. One day during 1971 war with Pakistan, Flying Officer Nirmaljit Sekhon, took off with his ‘Ajeet’ aircraft while his airfield was under attack by four enemy aircraft & engaged the enemy in an unequal combat and was killed. The Citation of award of Param Vir Chakra awarded to him posthumously read ‘The sublime heroism, supreme gallantry, flying skill and determination above and beyond the call of duty displayed by Flying Officer Sekhon in the face of certain death have set new heights in Air Force traditions’ My friend was one of those exuberant young men, who flew fighter aircraft. Aware that life, critically balanced, on precipice, did not abandon or pause to ponder. There were many like him; joy of life denied to quite a few amongst them. It was perceptible that they were lured into the profession by the love and thrill of fighter flying. The outlook of a young fighter pilot is best described in the following lines of a poem by W B Yeats
“ I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death”
I was constantly awed by the day to day ‘equilibrium’ of living and dying in the life of a young fighter pilot. I was aware that, fighter flying was not my ‘cup of tea’. As the years wore on, I got adapted to hear news of death; some close or some from far; my admiration for the young fighter pilot, in his late teens or early twenties never diminished.
‘We died so many times over and over again
in many cities, markets, waterways,
amidst blood, fire, blurred decadence,
in the darkness of inauspicious moment.
Even then, we pined for light, courage, and life.
We cherished these in our heart
and be history-bound.’
Poet Jibanananda Das
- ‘Bakshi Ka Talab’ is a defence airfield near Lucknow, UP
– Wing Commander S K Barua ( Retd)
(The author is a veteran of Indian Air Force. He is an Aeronautical Engineer by Profession.)
