E-Paper
View from the cockpit: Memories of flying a MiG-21
You never forget the first time you strap into the MiG-21 cockpit. The raft of dials, switches, circuit-breakers and controls overloads the senses.
December 1980. There were seven of us, newly commissioned Pilot Officers (a rank which no longer exists in the Indian Air Force). It was close to the end of our applied course on Iskra TS-11 jet trainers and we had been summoned to the Chief Instructor’s (CI) office. The Fighter Training Wing, located at the Hakimpet Air Force Station in Secunderabad, had been our home for the previous 12 months. None of us knew where and when we had messed up to deserve the call up to the CI’s office, a feared location best avoided.
When we came out, half an hour later, none of us could stop smiling. We had been selected to go directly to MiG-21 squadrons instead of the usual route via Hunter aircraft at Operational Conversion Unit, Kalaikunda. The Air Force had decided to experiment with this a year earlier when an initial bunch of pilots had been sent to MiG-21 squadrons. It was a big jump from a slow-moving jet trainer to the high performance supersonic MiG-21. Apparently, we would validate the experiment of bypassing flying in the high subsonic intermediate Hunters allowing the IAF to set up the MiG Operational Flight Training Unit.
Our anticipated annual leave was cut from four weeks to two, because we were to stay back and do some additional flying to prepare us for the MiG-21. We were young and cocky. And we were soon cut to size by the MiG-21 instructors with whom we flew the extra flights as they gave us no quarter or leeway while flying tail-chase and tactical exercises.
January 1981. After a short leave in Delhi, I was bound for the northeast, travelling by train to the Tezpur Air Force Station. Picked up by an old truck from the station and unceremoniously dropped off at the Officers’ Mess where I had been allotted a leaky old “Basha” (a hut) to be shared with my course mate Harp, later Air Marshal Harpal Singh with a lot of suffixes.
There were three MiG-21 squadrons in Tezpur – Numbers 8, 28 and 30 Squadron. Harp and I found ourselves in 28 Squadron “The First Supersonics” – a squadron that had the honour to bring supersonic flight to the IAF with the first Mig 21s, hence the moniker. There had been many legendary pilots on its rolls and we were awed and humbled. The Commanding Officer, Wing Commander Jagbir Singh welcomed us, the flight commander allotted us all the menial secondary duties – the privilege given to the junior-most newcomers to the squadron. I was appointed in-charge of the Tea Club and the navigation inventory (an array of instruments that include maps, compasses, clocks, watches and computers) that had half its equipment missing.
The next few weeks were spent memorising checklists, procedures and the Ops Manuals. We were kitted out in our flying overalls, G-Suits (Anti-G suits, rather) and flying boots. We had the mandatory “call on” at the CO’s residence, where we were overwhelmed by the hospitality and grace shown by him, his wife and precocious daughter. A party was thrown for us at the Officers’ Mess to welcome us and teach us the protocols of Air Force drinking. We were encouraged to call on each of our seniors and soon got to know them out of their uniforms. Belonging to a squadron was a completely different experience after the training schools we had been to.
But we weren’t allowed to touch and get into the cockpits of the sleek, glistening row of parked MiG-21s. Only after we satisfied the Flight Commander with our knowledge, passed all the written and oral exams were we escorted to the aircraft and shown how to do the walk-around external checks and enter the cockpit safely.
You never forget the first time you strap into the MiG-21 cockpit. The raft of dials, switches, circuit-breakers and controls overloads the senses. Everything we had learned in our ground classes evaporated. The MiG-21 is basically a powerful jet engine enclosed in aluminium, two tiny delta-shaped appendages masquerading as wings attached to either side, and as an afterthought, a hole excavated from the top to accommodate a pilot – the cockpit.
February 25, 1981. I flew my first dual check in the MiG-21 trainer with my flight commander, Squadron Leader Vishy Mehta. It lasted just 35 minutes. I was so far behind the aircraft that I was even messing up the radio/telephony calls to the Air Traffic Controller. It started with the take-off roll. Nothing prepares you for that first kick you get as the afterburner lights behind you, hurtling you down the runway like a bat out of hell. Soon – very soon – you’re airborne, accelerating away from the blur which is the ground below, and you hear a voice yelling at you to level out as the aircraft is already 2km past the cleared altitude. It was a reality check. This was an aircraft that demanded much more than basic flying skills. One needed sortie prep of a superlative level, if you didn’t want to get left behind. Squadron Leader Alok Kumar, the deputy Flight Commander, flew me and trained me over the next eight flights to do just that.
March 12, 1981. I flew with the CO for my solo check. I was terrified. He was encouraging and calm. His demeanour eased my nerves as we taxied out. The check went well and soon after landing he helped me strap up in the cockpit of the MiG-21 fighter, pointing out the differences, the most significant being that there would be no one to talk me out of trouble or help me control the aircraft. No reassuring words on the intercom. No intercom. Once I was cleared to line up and take off, I had the biggest smile under my mask as I moved the throttle to reheat, got an even stronger kick as the more powerful afterburner lit up and sent me off on my first solo flight on a MiG-21. This time, I leveled out at the cleared altitude and, 35 minutes later, landed after the most challenging approach in any aircraft, before or after.
The speed at the runway threshold of a MiG-21 is 350kmph, nearly 200 knots, and the flare-out has to be just right. Too high and you balloon and crash. Too low and you break the undercarriage. As I taxied back to the squadron apron and parked, I saw all the other senior pilots standing, cheering and probably relieved at my return. I was 20 years and 10 months old.
Squadron Leader Aneesh Chawla (Retd) was commissioned in the IAF fighter stream from June 1980-October 1994. He retired prematurely after suffering injuries from an ejection that left him unfit to fly fighter jets.
