the pilot was asked by controller to defend against a pakistani aircrafts, when he was in air
As I levelled off at an altitude of ten thousand metres, the interceptor controller came over the radio. "Alter course to one six zero degrees (1600), target heading for Pop Corn". So that was it then. Will he be descending below clouds to do the damage or will he let go from above, I wondered. If the former was the objective I had very little chance to encounter him. And if it was the latter, which I thought was more likely, the bombs would fall astray resulting in many civilian casualties in the dense population of 'Pop Corn'. And there, among those sleeping innocent lot, were a few who were very dear to me - my wife and two children!
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Target now altered course to two nine zero degrees (2900), alter your course to two four zero degrees (24CP), range twenty four kilometres". I made a violent turn onto my new course. They are still there as true as life. I can't let them get away. I glanced at. the air speed indicator, 1000 kms/hr. I switched on the radar to locate-the target and turned the cabin temperature to "Warm".
It must have been a minute, a miserably long minute, when there appeared a small green blip on my radar screen, twenty Vms ahead of me sure enough and at the same height. I have got the Johnny, I thought. Instinctively, I pushed the throttle upto the re-heat position. There was a kick from the back and the MiG-21 leaped forward. The plane turned supersonic and was flying at one and a half times the speed of'sound. The target blip on the radar screen was clearer now; range closing in, fifteen, fourteen, twelve, ten. I flicked on the missile lock-on switch and turned on the audio signal indicator. A few seconds and there was the "beep", "beep" note over the radio. My missile had locked onto the target alright. Range six kilometres - I was closing in like a 'ding-bat'. All I needed to do now was to gently squeeze the trigger.
Target in contact, weapon locked on, request clearance to launch". I was being good mannerly - the routine pilot-to-controller conversation, the training background, I suppose! Really unnecessary under actual operational conditions. No answer!
I repeated the same words a second time, then again a third time. Still no answer, I flicked off the trigger guard and checked the firing conditions. A little too close may be, but ideally placed in all other respects.
'Hold fire, Mission One Zero One., hold fire- The Controller's voice was so loud and sudden I almost pressed the trigger. "No damage done at Pop Corn. Target doubtful, request identify target if possible". The Controller rattled on - all in one breath.
Good Heavens! Identify at this time of the night and when I have only a radar contact! What if those boys made an evasive turn now. After all, they were monitoring our conversation on the same frequency. I had heard them a while ago! Am I going to miss him after all?
It was a painful deliberation on my part to take my eyes off the radar screen and look out. When I did, I was once again looking at what now seemed a mocking face of the same full moon. And right in the middle of that large pale, yellow mass was a red light blinking, on-off, on-off. I knew then he was no enemy. Suddenly, before I could even focus my eyes, a large silhouette of an aircraft loomed before me. I had by now switched off the re-heat, put the throttle right back to minimum power and extended the speed brakes. But in spite of it all, my overtaking speed was too high. A violent yank on the control stick and I overshot him on his right hardly a few feet away.
A Boeing 707! The anti-collision lights were all blinking, the cabin lights filtered through the oval shaped windows. Against the moonlight, the large letters of the Airline written on the fuselage were clearly legible.
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The flight call sign "Sugar Foxtrot, with 108 passengers on board had taken off from Bangkok, destination Teheran. Evidently the Commander of the flight was not aware of the war that had broken out between Pakistan and India few hours ago. Nor was he informed of the NOTAM, number G.057, issued by the civil aviation authority, prohibiting flights over Indian territory by foreign aircraft. He must have found it rather strange that there were so few landmarks visible over the country and to make it worse for him all the navigational radio aids at various check points en route over India were off. No wonder then that he was 110 kilometres outside flight corridor groping about his way in darkness. I could understand his predidament. However, I was not too convinced by his explanation.
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