There is something sad about the image of a tank disabled on the battlefield: what was a proud fighting machine with a vibrant crew, reduced to a pile of debris. Have you ever wondered what tale is hidden within its remains? Well, I can tell you the story of the Sherman appearing with this article and the bravery of its commander Captain Naquibullah Bangash Shaheed, so sit back and read a tale of resilience and raw courage.
It was a cold winter night of the 6th of December 1971. I was sitting in the shelter attached to regiment command dodge near Koil Post, sipping black coffee and waiting for Colonel Manto, my commanding officer (CO) to return from a visit to Charlie Squadron. The squadron was under command of an infantry brigade operating astride the track running from the Indian border post of Moel to the village of Chhamb. That morning, its vintage Second World War Sherman tanks had been mauled in an attack on 5th Sikh Battalion and tanks defending Point 994 on the Phagala Ridge. The CO returned well past midnight, looking tired and concerned. Charlie Squadron was to make a second attempt in a few hours to capture Point 994 but the squadron commander Major Asif Kamal had a high fever. I was performing the duties of an adjutant but since there was no other officer immediately available, within half an hour, I was in a jeep heading to take command of the squadron.
The inside of the commander's cupola of Capt Bangash's tank, showing the internal damage
On arriving at the squadron location, I bundled Major Asif off to recover at the regiment headquarters and was briefed by the second-in-command, Captain Hasnain. The squadron was down to only seven serviceable tanks. Lieutenant Maqbool had been injured and nothing was known about the fate of Captain Naqibullah Bangash who was commanding the leading troop in the previous attack. In the bright moonlight, we walked across to Uparli Banian to coordinate with the infantry battalion joining us for the attack and then returned to brief the tank commanders. For reasons unknown to me at that time, the battlefield was unusually quiet; just the occasional flashes of artillery followed by dull booms and some machine gun tracers streaking through the darkness.
Our attack at dawn was preceded by an intense artillery barrage, and we advanced down from a low ridgeline that overlooked a causeway over a nallah. On the other side of the causeway, the ground rose to where were located the Indian defenses. Having been under intense fire the previous day in this very area, my crew was jittery and let off a few rounds before I firmly told them that they would only fire on my orders. As my tank cleared the causeway and ascended the track towards Point 994, I found the route blocked by a Sherman with both its tracks blown by an antitank mine; the same that is shown in the photograph. My loader pointed at it and said “Yeh Bangash Sahib ki tank thi”. [This was the tank of Bangash Sahib]. A few metres away from the track were half a dozen antitank mines in a lose pile; the first fragment of an untold tale of bravery.
To avoid antitank mines, my driver steered along the path of a tank that had skirted around the derelict the previous day. Three hundred yards ahead and adding another fragment were the smoldering remains of two Recoilless Rifle (RR) Jeeps with the gruesome and blackened remains of their crew scattered around. Carefully bypassing the bodies we headed for the ridgeline 300 meters ahead and as I glanced back, I saw the CO behind me in his jeep. Colonel Manto was a brave and experienced officer who had commanded a squadron of the Guides at Gadgor during the 1965 War. I, on the other hand, had only two-and-a-half years of service and felt very reassured to have him close by. There was no fire from the Indian defenses and we kept advancing steadily but cautiously. A little further was another Sherman with its engine compartment a mass of twisted metal; it was also from Bangash’s troop and another fragment of the tale. My pulse quickened as I spotted the gun barrel of a T-55 about 400 meters to my left, but it was pointing up towards the sky and the tank was immobile. We later found that the Indian tank had been abandoned when it reversed into a bunker and the squadron claimed it as a war trophy.
Where the ridge leveled out near Point 994, we passed a third Sherman, its turret bleached by the heat of an internal fire and was the final link in the tale. It was standing in a textbook hull-down position within the banks of a pond and overlooking the plains of the River Tawi and the village of Chhamb just three kilometers away. With still no sign of any Indian troops, my squadron rolled on till we were told to stop two kilometers short of the Chhamb. The CO informed us that the Indians had withdrawn from the salient the previous night and that explained why the battlefield had been relatively silent and why there was no fire from 5th Sikhs’ defenses at Point 994 that morning. Since the Indian forces had pulled back across the River Tawi everything in the Chhamb Salient was now fair game for the Indian SU-7 ground attack aircrafts. However we tucked the tanks under the cover of large and plentiful mango trees where they were safe from observation. The CO was summoned by the GOC Major General Eftikhar Janjua and while eating a cold lunch and waiting for further orders. Hasnain and I pieced together the events of the previous day.
Kicking off at first light from the line of Uparli Bannia, the squadron had led the brigade advance along with by an infantry battalion and a RR platoon of 19 Baloch. While the engines were being warmed up, the squadron was shaken by intense shelling. The blasts smashed periscopes and damaged the wireless antennas which degraded communication. Hasnain’s troop was leading and once over the causeway, he and Bangash’s troop were to fan out and secure the ridge. Short of the causeway, Hasnain’s novice driver rolled his tank into a storm drain and while the Sherman was being towed out, with a cheerful thumbs-up sign, Bangash took the lead.
It would be the last Hasnain saw of this brave officer. Moments later he heard a loud blast and saw Bangash’s Sherman, which had just crossed the causeway, enveloped in a cloud of dust and black smoke.
An antitank mine is packed with ten kilograms of RDX and the force of the blast which was strong enough to break both the tracks of a Sherman. Now this would have unnerved any tank commander but not Bangash. He rallied his crew and removed more mines that had been scattered around and placed them in a pile that I noticed when passing by in the morning. In spite of enemy fire, they worked fast and within fifteen minutes or so, they had cleared the route. Bangash took his next tank forward, followed a little later by his third and the RR Jeeps of 19 Baloch. Sometime later he radioed back that he had arrived at the top of the ridge and was engaging the enemy. There was then a call from him to his tank following to quickly join him. It was the last transmission heard from him.
Hasnain and I were still discussing the previous day’s attack when I got a call from the CO telling me that Major Asif was returning to the squadron and that I should head back to the RHQ. On my way back, I stopped to have a look at the tank in the pond. Fifteen empty 76 mm cases lay around it, testifying an intense engagement. A High Explosive Antitank round had drilled a hole through the weak armour plating on the side of the turret and the view inside was not pleasant – it was black and charred. It was evident that no one in the fighting compartment had survived. I was later told that the driver and co-driver sitting below had managed to bail out with second-degree burns. I was also told that Bangash’s revolver had been found in the debris on the turret floor.
Forty years later when I was compiling the history of 26 Cavalry’s operations in Chhamb, I traced the deployment of Indian armour facing Charlie Squadron that day. 5th Sikh Battalion had been reinforced by two troops of tanks of Deccan Horse on the first day of the war. Early in the morning of the 6th of December, when a squadron from the Indian 72 Armoured Regiment was thrown into the fray, two troops were sent south towards Jhanda, and the squadron headquarter and two troops headed towards Point 994. In all likelihood the influx of these eight Indian tanks coincided with the arrival of Bangash on the ridge. In the exchange of fire, Bangash had the advantage of a dominating and well protected position. But he was alone and his Sherman’s 76 mm gun was no match for the 100 mm guns of the Indian T-54/55s. As his ‘Bravo’ tank exited the causeway and moved up to support the troop leader, it was also destroyed along with the RR Jeeps of 19 Baloch.
From the causeway till Point 994 was a trail of bravery and destruction; a Sherman, two RR Jeeps, another Sherman and then the last one near Point 994 in which Naquibullah played his final hand. I cannot help but admire the officer’s determination to get to the objective at any price, even at the peril of his life. He had the pride of a Bangash and on his motorcycle was the inscription: “Death or Honour”. He was granted both. So ends the tale of the derelict tank and of its brave commander who was subsequently awarded a posthumous Sitara-e-Jurat.
The last part of his citation reads:
“Captain Bangash displayed extraordinary bravery, courage and devotion to duty in the face of heavy enemy fire and opposition. He retrieved a critical situation during the course of the attack and willingly laid down his life in the process before knocking out one enemy (T-55) tank and Recoilless Rifles with his old Sherman tank.
For this act of conspicuous personal bravery, devotion to duty and supreme sacrifice in the face of enemy opposition I recommend the officer for an immediate award of Sitara-i-Jurat posthumously.”
