Cont'd from previous...
RAIN STOPPED PLAY
We lost the next day-and-a-half to heavy rain, in a manner somewhat reminiscent of a test match. This gave us the opportunity to visit the Khyber Pass, and have tea and cucumber sandwiches (with the crusts cut off, I'm not joking) in the Khyber Rifles Officers Mess. An armed escort was provided to prevent the locals from taking us hostage. It was a memorable day out, if only for the cucumber sandwiches and the opportunity to sign the guest book signed by the Queen, President Kennedy and other world famous names.
Although the weather ruled out flying, we made a couple of important decisions. Firstly, we had flown the aircraft to Peshawar with the Extra Long Range fit, two 230 gallon tanks inboard and two 100 gallon outboard. On arrival, the 100's had been removed and we flew with the 230's. We obviously needed to consider performance ability, and as most sorties were of a fairly short duration the 230's were a bit of an overkill and imposed a performance penalty. Off they came, to be replaced by the 100's inboard. We thought this would help.
The second decision revolved around the whisky. A visit to the local Chinese restaurant (yes, they have them in Peshawar, too) had brought the not entirely unexpected enquiry from the head man: "Psst - got any whisky for sale?" "Yes. What are you prepared to pay?" Negotiations continued for some while and we eventually agreed on £10 bottle. Bear in mind that this was 1971 and the stuff only cost 10 shillings (50p) a bottle in the NAAFI.
At this stage, we had revealed how much we had to sell and the restaurant owner was taken aback, to say the least, when we suggested we could let him have 12 crates! "It'll take me 24 hours to raise the money," he said. "Only hard currency, sterling or dollars, not rupees," we reminded him. I do not know how you raise £1,440 in Peshawar in 24 hours notice, but he did it. The cash injection to the squadron fund ensured we had an excellent disbandment party in when 208 folded in August 1971.
The rain stopped and we were raring to go, but the runway was flooded. Wg. Cdr. Middlecoat asked Air Traffic Control how long it would take to clear the runway, and on being told that the sweeper vehicles were having no effect, he detailed 60 PAF airmen to grab brooms, and double to the runway and sweep it dry! (I told you the British Raj was alive and well!). Mind you, the look on the faces of our ground-crew was worth a fortune when we jokingly told them they were on next!
BRING ON THE MIGS
Things still remained very much in the favour of the PAF as we came to the last day. We still did not have anything resembling a kill and only two opportunities left too redeem ourselves. The high power section, the 'Boss' and 'Buck' Ryan, set forth to do battle with a pair of Chinese-built MiG-19 Farmers - the Shenyang F-6 - which operated out of Sargodha, some 130 nautical miles south south east of Peshawar. They came back with their tails between their legs.
I was down to lead the last pair, again with young Stanley as my No. 2. This had to go well and, regretfully, I told Dave I was taking a much more experienced pilot with me - Roger Wholey, one of the best combat pilots I have ever known. Dave was disappointed, but fully understood my reasoning. Roger and I blasted off absolutely determined either to get these two MiGs or not bother coming back.
We were at 40,00ft on the north-bound leg of a north-south race track about 40 miles north of Sarghoda when we saw them, in contrails coming in from 3 o'clock. We split vertically, Rog going low for speed and turning into them fairly hard, and me going high and turning gently.
It worked - they both followed Rog, but could not turn with him. After less than one turn, I was in a position to drop on the back man and Rog was working into a good position on the leader. It obviously seemed to the No.2 MiG that this was going to be a good 'sandwich', with him getting Rog before Rog got the MiG leader.
He was wrong. I came down right into his '6' and closed to about 360m before the MiG pilot saw me and broke hard right. Too late, I was in and staying - that'll teach him to clear his '6 o'clock' before committing! Rog latched on to the leader and stayed behind him for the rest of the fight. We were now two independent one-to-one combats, being split beyond visual range and doing very much our own thing, while still keeping track of events in the other fight by radio. All seemed to be going very well.
Over the next five minutes or so, both fights worked their way down from 40,000ft to deck level with little change. The MiG could roll very rapidly, well in excess of the Hunter roll rate, though this is no great advantage with someone camped right behind you. Despite having a theoretical speed advantage, this was not all that apparent.
It probably would have been if the fight had stayed at high level for any time where the MiG-19's supersonic capability would have told, but most of the time we were below 20,000ft and the aircraft seemed fairly evenly matched on speed between there and low level. Despite everything my man threw at me - hard breaks, attempted forced fly-throughs into the previously-described barrel roll, slowing down into a 'scissors' (very low speed cross-overs trying to make the opponent fly ahead) - he could not shake me.
Rog was having the same result with his fight. It was very clear that at medium and low level the Hunter had the match on the MiG-19 for turning ability, was much superior at high speed handling, and that the maximum speed difference was nil.
This could not be allowed to go on for much longer. At low level and full power, fuel was disappearing at 200lb a minute, and the MiG-19, with two engines and reheat, was probably worse off. After a couple of minutes at very low level, my man started running flat out at the deck on a southerly heading. They were obviously heading home, and we followed.
Fuel was getting a bit tight, but we were going to follow them back to Sargodha, even if it meant landing there because of fuel shortage. I saw the airfield when we had about three miles to run and at about the same time, the other MiG - with Roger glued firmly to his tail - appeared line abreast of us. There we were, a big box of two MiG-19s and two Hunters doing the best part of 600 knots, on the deck, heading right for Sargodha.
As the MiGs broke downwind over Sargodha, Rog and I both got the 'bingo' lights - 1,300lb of fuel remaining and something like 130 nautical miles to go in the opposite direction. The 600 knots was converted into a rapid climb via the first 60% or so of a loop and a half roll, and within a very short time we were back at 40,00ft and at range speed for the return to Peshawar, where we landed with about 400 pounds of fuel remaining in each aircraft - a good sortie that had lasted all of 45 minutes.
HONOUR RESTORED
Honour was restored. We had given the final pair of MiGs a right pasting because they allowed us to play our game and they let the fight get quickly down to a height where they had no advantage. It was the same lesson as our fights with the Sabres - play the fight to your advantage, not your opponent's.
It was only after landing that I noticed the 'g' meter in my aircraft was covered in black bodge tape - why? Roger's was the same. What was going on? The line Chief gave us an explanation: "We didn't want you to worry about over-stressing - you just had to get them and we would have straightened out the aircraft afterwards." As it happened, neither of us had over-stressed.
The aircraft were handed back to be made ready for departure the following day, and we went downtown for some shopping before the farewell party with the remainder of the whisky. Now what was it that She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed had said she wanted? A brass inlaid sandalwood coffee table, very good quality and very cheap.
How I ended up with an ancient mountain flintlock gun over 6ft long instead, how we shipped/smuggled it back to Bahrain in a Hunter pitot head box (the pitot was subsequently recovered by the air attaché), an the ear bashing I got for this back home are all incidents best glossed over. Suffice to say that 'Er Indoors is still here and that the gun is a right swine to balance you coffee on!
We left Peshawar on Friday, March 5, with a good beat-up and night-stopped Karachi Masroor with the Sabre squadron based there. The journey into Karachi for a Chinese meal (how come everybody likes Chinese food?) in three cars driven by PAF fighter pilots and the three minor shunts we had on the way there and back and back (including one which involved two of our cars), should be consigned to history. After a relaxed start on Saturday, we departed for home. The final leg had its moments, but only Roger and I talk about that.
Until I read Andrew Thomas's letter, I was unaware that Wg. Cdr. Middlecoat had died [Missing in Action] in the Pakistan/Indian conflict that followed a few months after our visit. A great shame - he was certainly a gentleman and an excellent fighter pilot, but how, as a Pakistani, did he end up with the name Mervyn L. Middlecoat?
Courtesy Via - Fly Past, July 2000
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