by Anil Jaggia
IC814
HIJACKED!
Anil K. Jaggia, 58, operated hijacked flight IC 814 as its Flight Engineer. He is Chief of Flight Engineering with Indian Airlines, and has 20,000 flight hours’ experience as Flight Engineer. An Instructor and Examiner Flight Engineer on the Airbus A300 aircraft, he received his technical education at ATTI (Air Technical Training Institute), Calcutta, and is also a graduate of the 35th Air Transport Course at Oxford, UK.
Saurabh Shukla, 27, IS an investigative journalist with The Indian Express.· A Masters in International Studies from the School of International Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, he was a British Chevening Scholar at the Centre for Security Studies, University of Hull, UK. He completed his second Masters in Security Studies in 1999. While in UK he did a course on Terrorism and Irregular Warfare. He has been nominated as a fellow by 21st Century Trust, London.
IC814 HIJACKED! The Inside Story
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Lotus. Collection
© Anil K. ]aggia 2000
© Saurabh Shukla 2000
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the publisher.
This edition first published 2000
The Lotus Collection
An imprint of
Roli Books Pvt. Ltd
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ISBN: 81-7436-109-X
Text Editor: Kishore Singh
Cover Design: Inkspot
Back Cover: Courtesy AFP (Agency France Press)
Dedication
On December 24, 1999, the passengers and crew of Indian Airlines Flight le 814 were taken hostage by a group ofjive hijackers.As the nation watched the horror unfold, three passengers were stabbed. Two of them survived their injuries, but Rupin Katyal succumbed to this brutal act of terrorism.
This book is dedicated to the memory of his tragic death that robbed a father of an only son, and a bride of her twenty-day-old husband.
Acknowledgements
I would like to sincerely acknowledge the constant help and encouragement extended by my wife, Kusum and daughters Anupama and Aparna; my mother Shanti Jaggia for her blessings,and my nephew Manoj for his help. Special thanks are due to Madhu Dayal, S.S. Panesar, Y.K. Singh, O.P. Mahendroo, S.N Nigam, D. Sharan,R.N Tandon, Rajinder Kumar, Anil Sharma, M.P. Aggarwal and my dear friends and colleagues at Indian Airlines. My gratitude to Kishore Singh for his expert editing and my appreciation to Mr Pramod Kapoor and his entire team at Roli Books.
—Anil Jaggia
I would like to thank Ma and Papa for showing me the way, Chhaya and Devendra Narain for their constant encouragement, Prriti for bringing out the best in me, and Shweta and Anup for their support.
Thanks are also due to all those senior colleagues at The Indian Express and friends who gave their valuable insights, to Dr Amitabh Mattoo for his useiu! comments on the draft, to the entire team at Roli Books that burned the midnight oil with us) and especially to Pramod Kapoorfor ensuring that the book came out in record time. A special thanks to Kishore Singh for giving· the book itsfinal shape.
—Saurabh Shukla
Contents
1
HONEYMOON GONE SOUR
2
BLOOD IN THE AISLES
3
CHRISTMAS IN KANDAHAR
4
OPENING A CHANNEL TO THE TALIBAN
5
WAITING FOR RELIEF
6
MAKING LOVE TO THE ROGUES
7
BLIND DATE
8
WAR OF NERVES
9
THE FINAL DEAL
10
POSTSCRIPT
11
BLUNDERS GALORE
ANNEXURES
IC814: The Inside View
Red Cap and Burger were allocated executive class seats 2B and 3A.
Doctor, Bhola and Shankar were booked on seats BC, 19G and 23G. In the map, these are identified as spots A, B, C, D and E.
The original seating for Rupin and Rachna Katyal (F and G), and David Johnson (H) was soon changed. The stabbings occurred in the executive class cabin. Later, the executive class cabin was used to contain the passengers' hand baggage and as a dispensary.
In Kandahar, the flight crew was usually made to sit in rows 9 and 10 in the front of the economy cabin, identified as J and K.
Cockpit
seating
When Red Cap forced his entry into the cockpit, he stood behind the Captain’s seat. After take-off from Lahore, he sat in the Observer’s seat. After landing at Kandahar, he used the cockpit as his office, usually sitting in the Captain’s chair.
1
December 24, 1999
HONEYMOON
GONE SOUR
Two men came running down t
he aisle. “They kept shouting ‘Heads down, heads down’,” Subhash Kumar remembers with a shudder. Most passengers did not have time to react in their consternation, and so the hijackers began slapping them across their faces. Within moments the cabin had been subdued.
On board IC 813 to khathmandu
“Captain, doors armed, passengers briefed and strapped,” the cabin reported to the cockpit. “May I have the flight time, Sir?”
Captain Devi Sharan, who was piloting flight IC 813 to Kathmandu, responded: “One hour and thirty minutes. Please expedite your safety announcements.”
Co-pilot Rajinder Kumar spoke into the radio telephone with Delhi Ground Control: “Indian Airlines 813 ready to push back and starting.”
Ground Control: “Clear to push back and start facing east.”
Captain Sharan: “Brakes off, commence push back facing east.”
Flight IC 813 taxied towards runway 28 at Palam, preparatory to take-off, two hours and forty minutes behind schedule.
Excitement tinged the air, for it was, after all, the last week of the millennium. People all around the world were preparing to party the entire week. The next day would be the last Christmas of the millennium. The difference was tangible: in the way that people walked and looked at you, and in the manner in which even the normally suspicious Customs officials were strangely amiable.
We were not to know then that a totally different kind of excitement lay ahead of us: one that would severely test our patience and show us just how fragile our lives were. In a few hours from now, we would be offered a choice between disaster and death.
The crisp morning, however, gave us no clue to what lay ahead.
The previous evening, before boarding the flight to Hyderabad, I had promised my two daughters that we would spend Christmas eve together at home. In fact, I had even asked the younger of the two to pick up a suit from Karan Sabri of Villa Appearances.
“You will never change your tailor, will you?” my daughter had laughed, and I’d replied: “Darling, he’s one of the few tailors who gives me a good fit.”
After the layover at Hyderabad, I’d flown back this morning and was listed for another flight. New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport was exceedingly crowded—diplomats, tourists, businessmen, executives and students were heading back to their countries, while returning Indians were arriving in droves with their Christmas shopping.
I reported for duty at flight operations at Palam, and was told that I would be flying with Captain Devi Sharan and co-pilot Rajinder Kumar, the same team that had operated IC 939 back from Hyderabad. Seven of the eight cabin crew were also the same with only one additional crew member joining us at New Delhi. We were to fly IC 813/814 from Delhi to Kathmandu and back. Unfortunately, departure was delayed because the designated aircraft had developed an engineering snag. I did not like the delay. As a stickler for punctuality, I’m always irritated when a flight is pushed behind schedule. Besides, delayed flights mean that I have less time to spend with my wife and daughters. On the days that I come home late, my mother starts to worry. If the returning flight was very late, my daughters would grumble that I had broken my promise to them.
I was glad I had remembered to tell my wife to make sure a surprise Santa Claus was to be installed next to the Christmas tree my elder daughter had been decorating. My wife had grumbled that I was flying when, like most others, I too should have been with the family at home. “Your Operations must realise that you too have a family, and we also look forward to family get-togethers,” she had said. Even the goodbye peck on her cheek did little to improve her mood: “I’d appreciate a day off more than this,” she said tartly. When I gave my old mother a hug, she said what she always told me before I left for a flight: “Please check your aircraft properly.” In decades, her advice had never varied.
On the way to the airport, I told the orderly to get my mother her supply of oxygen since the bottle for her evening therapy was empty.
As a flight engineer with Indian Airlines, I have spent almost 35 of my 58 years flying with the airline. It has had more than its share of rewards, but it has also had its downside. While you do get acquainted with the rich and the famous, you also have to suffer the agony of late hours, puffy eyes, dehydration and lonely hotel rooms. Life with the airline is an arduous one.
Such as now, for example. Here we were at the airport waiting for another aircraft to be made available. The new aircraft detailed was supposed to fly in from Calcutta. Since Calcutta was fog-bound that day, that aircraft too was delayed. We waited at the international departure lounge whiling away time. Finally, at 11.00 a.m. the Calcutta flight arrived and parked off the international departure bay at 1.10 p.m. It was a 248-seater Airbus A300.
Following the passenger security checks, the crew boarded Flight IC 813, and the flight was cleared for take-off.
By the time the Airbus lifted off the runway for Kathmandu, the winter sky over Delhi had cleared, and the sun shone through bright and clear. It was a perfect take-off, and for the pilots, it was ideal weather for flying. The engines purred, and radio contact with the Air Traffic Control guided us smoothly to our destination. Nothing, it seemed, could go wrong on such a beautiful day.
Barely an hour had passed at the controls before the aircraft, flying north, crossed into Nepalese airspace. The Himalayas spread in the north, their sheer expanse of snow looking like a giant white sheet draped over the peaks. I could well imagine the excitement this was causing in the cabin as passengers gathered around the windows. No matter how many times I have flown by these peaks, they always send a ripple of excitement through me. From the vantage of the cockpit, the sight of the Greater Himalayas unfolding before us was, as always, almost a religious experience.
Eight miles (13 km) short of the runway, we could see Kathmandu from the air. Captain Sharan flew the big bird gracefully, and at 3.25 p.m. the Airbus touched down at Tribhuvan International Airport.
Kathmandu’s airport is chaotic at the best of times. At the check-in counters, the scene can resemble a madhouse. Because of the large number of holiday passengers that day, people were pressed together like sardines, and pandemonium reigned. I was glad we weren’t stopping over at Kathmandu. Even though overnight halts come with the job, an airport that resembles a market is the sort of stopover one wants to avoid. I had recently spent four wonderful days in Kathmandu with my family on a holiday and I thought briefly of the fun we’d had. I was pleased I was going to be with them on Christmas eve in Delhi.
After the passengers had deplaned, the aircraft was cleaned, refuelled and readied for the flight back home. We had disembarked from the aircraft behind the passengers. Co-pilot Rajinder Kumar went to file clearance for the return flight with Air Traffic Control. Captain Sharan and I decided to take some extra fuel on the returning flight as a precaution due to Delhi’s foggy skies. I advised Commercial accordingly. By the time we returned to the aircraft, it had been cleaned in preparation for the return flight. As the passengers began to board, I began my pre-flight inspections.
On board IC 814 to New Delhi
By 4.00 p.m. the passengers—178 according to the trimsheet—had been seated, and the eight cabin crew on board were going through the departure rituals: checking that safety belts were in place, overhead lockers closed, seats upright, and that no one was in the toilets. At this time of the year, there were bound to be honeymooners returning from Nepal, with not an inkling about the dramatic turn their lives were soon to take. For, unknown to all of us, and spread through the cabin, five unwelcome passengers were settling into their seats: two in the executive and three in the economy class.
Inside the cockpit, we were readying for take-off . . .
“Clear to start number two.”
“Starting engine number two.”
“Clear number one.”
“Starting one.”
“Both engines stabilised. Push back completed and tractor disconnected. Good day.”
“814
ready to taxi.”
“814 clear to taxi to runway 20.”
“814 ready for departure.”
“814 surface wind is light and variable; clear for take-off.”
“814 clear for take-off.”
“Power set.”
“Check 100 knots.”
“Checked.”
“V one rotate.”
At 4.00 p.m. IC 814 was given permission by Kathmandu ATC to taxi to the southbound runway number 20. At 4.05 p.m. the Airbus rose into the sky. The aircraft was on its way home.
The radio crackled again.
“Maintain positive rate of climb.”
“Setting course for Bravo 345 now”
“814 is checking Bravo Hotel Whisky (Bhairava), continuing climb to 260.”
“814 is level 260.”
By 4.25 p.m. we were over Bhairava town, bodering India and Nepal. In a few minutes we would be crossing into Indian airspace. Twenty-five minutes later we expected to be flying over the city of Lucknow in Uttar Pradesh.”
At 4.38 p.m. flight purser Anil Sharma buzzed Captain Sharan on the intercom to say he was bringing coffee and tea for the flight crew. When Sharma knocked on the cockpit door, I got up from my seat and opened the door for him to bring in the refreshments.
By 4.39 p.m. the aircraft had entered Indian airspace. In the cockpit, Sharma served Captain Sharan and Rajinder tea, while I had my usual coffee without sugar. “It’s been made by Rajani, not me,” he said by way of conversation, “because Mr Jaggia had said the coffee should be as nice as she is.”