In The Line Of Fire-By Musharraf

[Dark Saint Alaick]

It was in the PMA that I actually started studying seriously. Fortunately, I learned that if I applied myself, I could excel. We were taught all kinds of subjects—science, mathematics, geography, military tactics, map reading, and of course, weapons training and drill. We were also taught how to command men and get the best out of them. We learned how to absorb psychological pressure and develop physical endurance. Above all, we learned about making decisions in a crunch, and no ordinary crunch: the kind that could mean the difference between life and death—yours and others'. If the men under you don't trust your decisions, they will not have the confidence to go into battle under your command. A military academy is a great place to learn how to be a man who can deal with a crisis, provided it is a good military academy. The PMA is the best in the world.
I did well in the PMA and was one of the top cadets in my course, one of the ten sword carriers. If not for my nonchalant attitude and my tendency to react badly to irrational authority, I would have done even better. Frankly, I was quite an ill-disciplined young man—quarrelsome and irresponsible. I was one of four candidates short-listed to go to Sandhurst, England, to complete my training, but another cadet, Ali Kuli Khan Khattak, was selected. He retired as a lieutenant general and chief of general staff when I became army chief, but I suspect that his retirement, which was optional, had more to do with disappointment at not becoming chief himself, which is perfectly understandable.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

I was sometimes careless. Once during an outdoor exercise my platoon commander asked me to look at the other cadets and tell him what was missing from my uniform. I looked, but could not figure out what they had that I lacked. He asked me to touch my "damn head." It was bare, without a helmet. I was marched in the next day, for punishment. "Quick march, right turn, right turn, halt, salute," screamed the drill sergeant. The platoon commander was so impressed by my drill that without imposing any punishment he ordered the sergeant, "Good drill; march him off"

In fact, my physical bearing and drill were so good that I passed my "saluting test" on the first try with a special commendation from the adjutant. "Which cadet college do you come from?" he asked. When I told him I was from Forman Christian College and not from a cadet college, he was quite surprised. Later, during a parade rehearsal, he singled me out for a drill demonstration to the whole battalion of senior cadets. This got me into immense trouble with my seniors for "having the audacity to show them proper drill." It became the cause of many punishments at their hands whenever they saw me.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

On another occasion, however, I was nearly thrown out of the PMA. In our final term, just before we were to graduate, there was a drill competition of the first-term cadets in which the senior cadets, as spectators, were expected to wear black socks. Some of the seniors wore the wrong color. Th e battalion commander called me and ordered me to note down all their names and serial numbers—"and put your name at the top," he thundered. Ou r punishment was to run nine miles. When we came to a loop in the road some of us cleverly decided to take a shortcut and save about 200 yards (180 meters). Unknown to us, we were being closely watched through binoculars. About fifteen of us were caught. Inquiries started, and the whole thing became quite serious. Academy officials were determined that we should be thrown out for taking the shortcut—even though six of us who had done so were sword carriers who were to lead the graduation parade! Luckily, good sense prevailed and we were spared expulsion. Instead, our course grade was lowered. I was the battalion junior under-officer, and my position in the class would have been very high on merit, but as punishment we were pushed down six positions. So even though I ranked fourth in my course, I was placed tenth. Other junior under-officers got moved up six positions and thus graduated above us.
The experience at PMA was akin to an overhaul—being taken apart and put back together differently. Gaining acceptance into the school was like being chosen as the right clay. The PMA wet us—the clay— and placed us on the potter's wheel, ready for fashioning by the potter's hand. Once fashioned, we were all set to be baked and hardened in the kiln. I was now ready for the army, guided by the maker's hand.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

CHAPTER 7

INTO THE FIRE


In graduation from the academy, I was a second lieutenant. Without giving it much thought, I opted for the Thirty-sixth Light Antiaircraft Regiment, because its training, firing, and courses were all in Karachi. Why my fixation on Karachi? The reason was not my family—it was that my Bengali girlfriend was there. I suppose the army can change many things, but it cannot change primeval instinct. No matter where I was stationed, I reckoned, I would still have to go to Karachi twice a year for a course or for practice in firing.

My plans came to naught when that year it was decided that after graduation no one could go directly into antiaircraft without first going into artillery. So after six months I was posted to the Sixteenth Self- Propelled Artillery Regiment. Worse, my romance came to an abrupt end when the girl's family returned to East Pakistan.

I never did go into air defense. I stayed in artillery. From then on my entire career would be dedicated to the army and the defense of my country.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

I was still more of an officer than a gentleman. It didn't take long for me to get into trouble. In mid-1965, with clouds of war with India gather ing, my unit was moved into the Changa Manga forest near Lahore, a train ride of about twenty-four hours from Karachi. The rest of the young officers belonged mostly to the Punjab, and it took them only a few hours to get home to see their families. I applied for six days' leave to go to Karachi, and with a Sunday at both ends it would be effectively an eight-day leave. My commanding officer would have none of it—it was too long, he said. I thought he was being irrational and insensitive. I defied his decision, bought a train ticket, boarded the Karachi Express, and went home for the eight days. One of the officers slightly senior to me, Javed Ashraf Qazi, who retired as a lieutenant general and later became my minister for railways and then for education, phoned me and told me to return immediately. Otherwise, I would be in a lot of trouble on disciplinary grounds for being absent without leave. I refused, and took the full eight days off that I had "granted" myself On my return, my commanding officer went ballistic and initiated court- martial proceedings against me.

What saved me was the war of 1965, when India attacked Pakistan on all fronts and strafed a passenger train, killing many civilians. The Indian attack came on September 6. The war lasted seventeen days and ended in a cease-fire sponsored by the UN Security Council, but Pakistan gave India a fright and a bloody nose to go with it. There was no strate gic gain on either side. Still, Pakistan certainly achieved a tactical victory in the sense that we conquered more territory, inflicted more casualties, took more prisoners, and almost blew the Indian Air Force out of the air. My performance in the war earned me recognition and an award for gallantry. The commanding officer had little choice but to change his opinion about the "fiery young officer all out of control." In fact, it is precisely because I was a fiery young officer that I did well in the war.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

My artillery regiment was a part of the only elite armored division of the Pakistan Army equipped with American-made Patton tanks. We were launched into an offensive in the Kasur-Khem Karan sector on September 7, 1965. We established a bridgehead across the Roohi Nullah (a water drain) and quickly seized enemy territory up to fifteen miles deep, capturing the sizable town of Khem Karan. My artillery battery was deployed just ahead of the town. During a lull in the firing, I took a quick tour of the deserted streets of Khem Karan, and felt very proud. Only dogs were barking: there was no sign of human life. I wrote my first letter during the war to my mother, proudly saying that I was writing from India.

After three days of battle my division was ordered to move to the critical Lahore sector, which was under enemy threat. We stabilized our position there after two days of intense fighting. This was the only time in my entire military career that I have seen a gun barrel go red-hot from firing.

Having stabilized the Lahore front, we were ordered to move again to the Sialkot front. This was the front where the famous tank battles of Chawinda were fought. At the end of the war this sector was to become a graveyard of Indian tanks.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

My next confrontation with death came on the night of September 16, 1965. I was detailed as an artillery observer attached to an infantry company that had been ordered to attack and capture a village called Jas- soran, situated on a mound. The company commander was my best friend, Lieutenant Bilal. We were to attack at midnight. After prepara tory movement in the dark, we went into a "forming-up place" 800 yards (about 730 meters) from our objective, where the company lined up in a formation for the final assault. Bilal and I impulsively embraced each other. This could be our last embrace, we thought.
I brought the whole weight of our division's artillery fire on the village. Under cover of this fire we advanced, and finally charged the village crying Allah o' Akbar ("God is the greatest"). Th e artillery fire was very accurate and effective, keeping the enemy's head down. We braved the enemy's counterfire and forced them to beat a hasty retreat. We had accomplished our task. I felt great.
Another significant action took place on the night of September 22. Our guns were positioned in a graveyard. An enemy shell hit one of our self-propelled artillery guns and set its rear compartment on fire. The flames leaped up toward the sky in the darkness of the night. The ready-to-fire shells on the gun were in danger of catching fire and bursting, setting off a chain reaction with all the other guns. It was a very dangerous situation. "Hell!" I thought. "My gun battery could be blown to pieces, taking all of us along." I had to act immediately; there was no time to lose.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

While everybody took cover, a lesson that I had learned on the streets of Nazimabad came into play. I stood my ground, dashed to the blazing gun, and climbed into it. One brave soldier followed me. We saw three men of the crew lying in a pool of blood. Instinctively, I ignored them, in order to save the shells first. We took off our shirts and wound them around our hands for protection from the hot shells. One by one we took the shells off the gun and threw them to safety on the ground, hoping that they would not burst on impact. God saved us from that disaster. In the meantime, seeing me facing all this danger, all my men who had run for cover returned. Together we first put the fire out and then, sorrowfully, pulled out the three crewmen. I noticed that one of them was still alive. I took his head in my arms, but while I was trying to put a field bandage on his wound, he died. I will never forget it. Such are the brutalities of war; they leave a permanent imprint on the mind. I received an award for gallantry for saving lives and equipment. The brave soldier who helped me was also decorated for gallantry. I can never forget that night.

These two actions changed the commanding officer's opinion about me. I should have been decorated with two awards for gallantry, but instead I received one award and the dismissal of the court-martial proceedings. The war ended on September 23, 1965, and I was promoted to the rank of captain soon after.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

In 1966 I opted for and was assigned to the Special Services Group (SSG), our elite commando outfit, the world's best. Commando training demands tremendous physical and mental stamina, so it was exactly the right kind of environment for me. Commandos have to undergo survival training in jungles, mountains, and deserts, and learn to make it on their own. Eating delicacies like snakes, frogs' legs, and the local lizards (which are like iguanas) is not infrequent. I learned that one can eat anything except plants with white sap. Ever since then I have not been finicky about food—I can eat anything, though I do appreciate good food. You learn to really appreciate food and water when you are hungry or thirsty for a long time. The n you thank God for anything that He provides.

The training was physically exacting. There was very tough physical exercise for an hour every day, starting with a warm-up run of two miles (about three kilometers). We ran four miles (nearly 6.5 kilometers) with a weapon in forty minutes once a week; twelve miles (nine• teen kilometers) with a weapon in two hours; and thirty-six miles (58 kilometers) with a thirty-pound pack and weapon in ten hours. In addition, there were several tactical exercises involving hundreds of miles of route marches. Then there was watermanship in lakes and fast- flowing canals, as well as parachute training in which one had to qualify in six jumps. I was considered very good at these tests. I ended the course among the top three, getting the highest grade. Th e course gave me confidence in my physical and mental abilities. It taught me that enduring extreme hardship has more to do with mental resilience than physical stamina.