Author: Ms Bhawna Budhwar, Research Associate, Centre for Aerospace Power and Strategic Studies

Keywords:Prototype Fast Breeder Reactor, Fast Breeder Test Reactor, Three-Stage Nuclear Power Programme, Nuclear Power Plant

The post India’s Prototype Fast Breeder Reactor in the Three-stage Nuclear Power Programme appeared first on CAPSS India.

About this Paper

This Policy Paper presents new thinking and concrete recommendations on the strategic, doctrinal, and force-structure challenges confronting the Indian Air Force in the wake of Operation Sindoor (May 2025). It is written for policymakers, parliamentarians and their staff, defence industry leaders, the strategic-studies community, journalists, and the informed Indian public.

The paper makes three core arguments. First, the classical model of airpower — gain superiority, suppress defences, dictate terms — no longer holds against any capable and near peer adversary, including in the Indo-Pacific. What has replaced it is the Zone of Ambiguity: a contested space in which neither side can win the sky outright, but both can deny it, and in which political and informational uncertainty are as decisive as kinetic outcomes. Second, despite this, airpower remains the single most effective instrument of statecraft and power projection available to a nation — a point Operation Sindoor itself reaffirmed. The question is not whether airpower matters, but how to wield it in a denial-dominant environment. Third, given India’s structural and persistent shortfall in manned squadron strength, the only credible path to operational mass over the next decade runs through unmanned systems at scale — Collaborative Combat Aircraft, UCAVs, swarms, one way attack (OWA) drones and loitering munitions, and Manned–Unmanned Teaming–based effects. This wave is breaking globally right now. India must catch it in time, not after.

Executive Summary

For decades, airpower has been the reset button of modern statecraft. Bekaa Valley 1982. Desert Storm 1991. Kosovo 1999. The recent Israel-US campaign over Iran. A clean method — gain air superiority, suppress defences, dictate terms. That button no longer works as it once did — and yet airpower remains the single most effective tool of national power available to any modern state, including India. Operation Sindoor proved both propositions in the space of eighty-eight hours.

Three campaigns in five years — Nagorno-Karabakh, Ukraine, and India’s own Operation Sindoor in May 2025 — have demonstrated that classical air superiority is no longer achievable against any capable adversary. What replaces it is the Zone of Ambiguity: a contested space in which neither side owns the sky, but both can deny it to the other, and in which political and informational uncertainty are as decisive as kinetic outcomes.

The Zone has three faces. Politically, adversaries cultivate strategic uncertainty — China through salami-slicing along the LAC, Pakistan through hybrid war and proxy terrorism — to constrain India’s response options. Operationally, dense BVR envelopes, layered air-defence networks, and networked kill webs make manned penetration costly and uncertain. Informationally, global narratives of conflict outcomes are now contested in the first 72 hours, shaping strategic perception independently of battlefield reality.

Yet Op Sindoor — 88 hours, Indian strikes eliminating terror infrastructure, Pakistan’s anti-air counter attack, an Indian S-400 reaching out 300 kilometres to kill a PAF AEW&C platform, BrahMos missiles cratering five Pakistani airbases, destruction of PAF C4I centres and aircraft on ground, Pakistan requesting ceasefire on the morning of 10 May — reaffirms that airpower remains uniquely capable of delivering strategic effects rapidly, precisely, and reversibly. No other instrument of national power could have produced that outcome in that timeframe with that level of escalation control. The Zone of Ambiguity changes how airpower works. It does not change the fact that airpower works.

But the next conflict will be harder. The IAF is at 29–31 squadrons against an authorised 42. Tejas Mk1A is dribbling out of HAL. AMCA will not enter service before the mid-2030s. The PLAAF is heading toward a thousand J-20s by 2030. Pakistan has ordered Chinese J-35As. India cannot solve this gap with manned platforms alone on any realistic procurement timeline.

The only credible answer is mass through autonomy — Collaborative Combat Aircraft, attritable UCAVs, drone swarms, loitering munitions, and Manned–Unmanned Teaming, ingested at industrial scale and woven into doctrine. This wave is breaking globally right now: the USAF’s CCA Increment 1 has selected airframes flying in 2025–26; the UK-Italy-Japan GCAP programme has CCA wingmen baked into its architecture; the PLAAF has the GJ-11 Sharp Sword operational and J-20 manned-unmanned teaming in active development. This is the moment for India to enter the wave, not the moment to study it.

E I G H T   F I N D I N G S

This paper makes ten specific recommendations spanning doctrine, force structure, industrial policy, and strategic communications (Section VIII). Taken together, they describe a transition from an IAF organised around platforms to an IAF organised around ecosystems — networked, distributed, partially autonomous, and built to fight from mutual denial rather than assumed superiority.

Airpower remains the most effective instrument of statecraft a modern nation possesses. The Zone of Ambiguity does not contradict this — it makes the case for getting airpower right in a more urgent manner.

1.  The Long Shot

Somewhere over central Pakistan, in the early hours of 9 May 2025, a Pakistan Air Force Erieye airborne early warning platform was orbiting in what its crew believed was sanctuary. They were operating deep inside their own airspace, well behind their air-defence umbrella at over two hundred and fifty kilometres from the International Boundary (IB), doing what AEW&C aircraft do — looking east, painting the picture, feeding the kill chain that had given the PAF the tactical edge in the early hours of 7 May 2025, now degraded post the Indian Air Force Harop / Harpy SEAD strikes on 8 May 2025.

What the crew did not know was that an Indian S-400 battery had moved into ambush position near the western border. Silent. Patient. Waiting.

The engagement, when it came, was at roughly three hundred kilometres. By the IAF’s own subsequent acknowledgement, it was the longest recorded surface-to-air kill in combat history. That single shot did more than destroy an airframe. It redrew the entire Pakistani air picture. Within hours, surviving PAF radars across the western theatre were switching off voluntarily, expecting the next wave of Indian SEAD campaign. With the AEW&C eyes blinded and the ground-based eyes blinking out, the PAF lost the ability to repeat the coordinated, network-cued operations that had given it tactical success on the opening night, or for that matter mount any manner of effective Defensive Counter Air (DCA) in the air. This was the defining event of the war, beyond which the PAF was confined strictly to the bunker; the road now open for India’s 10 May strike package — BrahMos, SCALP-EG, Crystal Maze, Rampage — to roll across Sargodha, Nur Khan, Jacobabad, and Bholari, where another BrahMos would find an Erieye in its hangar.

One shot. Three hundred kilometres. And the air war turned.

But here is what matters: that shot was the easy part. It was kinetic. It was decisive. It was clean.

The hard part — the part this paper is about — was everything that happened in the seventy-two hours before that shot, and everything that has been happening for five years before this campaign. It is the murky, ambiguous, politically-constrained, information-contested space in which the Indian Air Force now operates. It is the space in which a kinetic victory in the second 48 hours can be drowned out by an information bias in the first 24. It is the space in which the next conflict will be fought.

This is the Zone of Ambiguity. It is not a place on a map. It is the operational, political, and informational space where nothing is clear, nothing is settled, and nothing is decisive — and where India must now fly, fight, and signal intent without breaking the world.

And yet — and this is the part that matters most — airpower delivered the strategic outcome at Sindoor. It was the IAF’s stand-off precision strikes, its long-range air defences, and its credible escalation control that forced Islamabad to request a ceasefire on the morning of 10 May. No other instrument of Indian state power could have produced that result in that timeframe, with that level of calibration. The Zone of Ambiguity does not diminish airpower. It raises the cost of getting airpower wrong.

This paper proceeds in three movements. First, it defines the Zone of Ambiguity rigorously across its three faces. Second, it draws the operational lessons of Sindoor and the broader pattern visible across Nagorno-Karabakh and Ukraine, mapping these onto India’s specific two-front problem. Third, it lays out a ten-point programme of doctrinal, force-structure, industrial, and informational reforms — with particular emphasis on unmanned systems at scale as the functional answer to India’s structural squadron gap.

2.  Defining the Zone of Ambiguity

The phrase has been used loosely. Let me be precise. The Zone of Ambiguity has three faces, and you cannot understand one without the other two

Face One — The Political Zone: Indecision as Strategy

The first face is political. It is the deliberate cultivation of strategic uncertainty by an adversary who knows India’s response options are constrained by the nuclear threshold above, the political cycle below, and an international audience all around.

China practises this through salami-slicing. A Chinese patrol pushes ten kilometres south of where it was yesterday. A road is built that wasn’t there last year. A tent appears, then a structure, then a permanent post. No single act crosses a threshold. The cumulative act redraws the map. Eastern Ladakh in 2020 was occupied by ambiguity.

Pakistan practises it through hybrid war. A terror attack in Pahalgam kills twenty-six civilians. Is it state action? Non-state action? State-tolerated non-state action? The label changes the response. The ambiguity is the strategy.

In this face of the Zone, the adversary wins by making you choose badly. React too hard, and you escalate to a war you didn’t want. React too softly, and you cede sovereignty, signal weakness, and invite the next slice. The Zone is where reasonable people inside your own government disagree about what just happened — and by the time they agree, the news cycle has moved on.

Balakot 2019 was India’s first serious answer to this dilemma. Op Sindoor 2025 was the second. Neither was a war. Both were not peace. Both demonstrated that airpower — specifically, calibrated stand-off air strikes — is the instrument best suited to operating in this face of the Zone, because it can deliver effects rapidly, precisely, at scale, and with reversibility built in.

Face Two — The Operational Zone: Contested Airspace Without Air Superiority

The second face is what airmen mean when they say “Zone of Ambiguity.” It is the physical airspace where neither side can establish air superiority — but both can deny it to the other.

For most of the post-Cold-War period, airpower theorists drew a clean diagram: phase one was counter-air, phase two was air interdiction, phase three was close air support. Each phase assumed the one before. The Bekaa Valley in 1982 fit this. Desert Storm in 1991 fit this. Even Kosovo in 1999 fit this, and the Israel-US air campaign over Iran eventually.

Nagorno-Karabakh 2020 did not fit. Ukraine 2022–present does not fit. Op Sindoor 2025 did not fit.

In the contested operational Zone, BVR missile envelopes overlap from both sides of the line. Long-range SAMs reach across borders. Sensors are everywhere — satellites, AEW&C, ground-based radars on the Tibetan plateau looking 500 kilometres into India. Networks fuse them. The result is an airspace in which manned penetration is possible only at the price of attrition you cannot easily replace.

Russia’s VKS has, for three years, been largely confined to lobbing glide-bombs from inside its own airspace because Ukrainian denial is too thick to penetrate. Russia has not lost air superiority — it never had it. Neither does Ukraine. Both deny it to the other. This is the future. Sindoor confirmed India is already in it.

Face Three — The Informational Zone: The First 72 Hours

The third face is newer and, in some ways, the most dangerous. It is the informational ambiguity that surrounds every modern operation.

Within hours of the opening engagements of Sindoor on 7 May 2025, Pakistani official channels were claiming multiple IAF aircraft shot down. Recycled images from older, unrelated incidents were circulating globally, labelled as Op Sindoor losses. International press went ballistic in repeating the claims without verification. The Indian government, working from a doctrine of operational silence, did not respond at speed. By the time the IAF demonstrated air superiority on 9/10 May — the 300-kilometre S-400 kill, the Bholari hangar strike, the cratering of Sargodha, the rollback of Pakistani air defences — the global narrative had already calcified around Pakistan’s opening-night version of events.

The kinetic war was won by India. The first 72 hours of the information war were lost.

 Why the Three Faces Are Coupled

The analytical bite of this framework is that the three faces are not independent. They are coupled — and the coupling is what makes the Zone of Ambiguity uniquely difficult.

An adversary exploits political ambiguity to create the operational space for a strike. It exploits operational ambiguity by deploying systems whose published catalogue specifications understate their actual capabilities. And it exploits informational ambiguity by saturating the global news cycle with contested claims before kinetic facts are established.

India’s response must therefore also be three-faced. A purely kinetic response wins the operational face but loses the political and informational faces. A purely communicative response wins the informational face but cedes the operational and political. The strategic skill is orchestrating across all three simultaneously — which is institutionally hard, because the three faces sit in three different parts of the Government of India: the CCS, the IAF and integrated commands, and a Strategic Communications function that does not yet exist in mature form.

This paper’s recommendations address all three.

3.  Airpower’s Enduring Primacy

It would be easy to read the previous section as a counsel of despair — if neither side can win the sky, perhaps the sky no longer matters. That reading would be wrong. Airpower remains the single most effective instrument of statecraft and power projection available to any modern nation, and the case is in some ways stronger today than it was in the era of clean air superiority. The Zone of Ambiguity changes how airpower works. It does not diminish what airpower uniquely does.

What Airpower Uniquely Does

Stripped to its essentials, airpower delivers five effects that no other military instrument can match — and all five were on display during Operation Sindoor.

(a)        S P E E D   O F   E F F E C T:     An airpower-led campaign delivers strategic effect in hours. Ground operations take days to weeks. Naval operations take days. Diplomatic and economic instruments take weeks to months, sometimes years. The decision to launch Op Sindoor was taken in the days after Pahalgam; the first strikes hit targets hundreds of kilometres in depth from launch points on the night of 7 May. No other instrument operates on that clock.

(b)       P R E C I S I O N   A N D   C A L I B R A T I O N:    Modern stand-off weapons — BrahMos, SCALP-EG, Crystal Maze 2, Rampage, Spice 2000, and a growing inventory of loitering munitions — allow targeting at metre-level accuracy from hundreds of kilometres away. This is what makes airpower the instrument of choice for operations in the political face of the Zone: the ability to put a precise effect on a precise target sends a precise message. A salvo against a terrorist training camp says one thing. A salvo against a military airbase says another. The choice of target is the message.

( c)       R E V E R S I B I L I T Y   A N D   E S C A L A T I O N   C O N T R O L:         An air strike can be halted at any moment. A ground assault, once committed, has its own momentum and cost-of-disengagement. Airpower is therefore uniquely suited to graduated coercion — the central requirement for operating in a nuclear-armed subcontinent. Op Sindoor’s 88-hour escalation curve, from terror-camp strikes on Day 1 to airbase strikes on Day 4, was choreographed almost entirely by air assets. Each rung gave Islamabad a decision point: escalate further, or de-escalate. The choreography is what made the ceasefire possible.

(d)        R E A C H   A C R O S S   T H E   C O N T I N E N T:         From bases inside India, the IAF holds at risk every target on the subcontinent and substantial portions of the Tibetan plateau. No other Indian instrument has that reach. Sindoor’s strikes hit Bahawalpur, Muridke, Muzaffarabad, Sargodha, Nur Khan, Jacobabad, Bholari and Rahim Yar Khan — a target set spanning the length of Pakistan. The same launch profiles, redirected northward, would hold at risk targets across the breadth of southern Tibet.

(e)       S T R A T E G I C   S I G N A L L I N G: Perhaps most importantly in the Zone of Ambiguity: the demonstrated capability to project airpower is itself a strategic instrument, independent of any actual use. The presence of S-400 squadrons, the existence of BrahMos inventory, the visibility of Rafale and Su-30MKI sorties, the publication of AMCA programme milestones — these shape adversary calculation continuously, not only during crises. Airpower deters and signals before it strikes.

The Implication: Get Airpower Right

If airpower remains the most effective instrument India possesses, then getting airpower right in the Zone of Ambiguity is not one priority among many. It is the priority. Every doctrinal, technological, industrial, and informational decision the IAF takes over the next decade will compound — either toward an air force capable of operating effectively under denial, or toward one that finds itself unable to deliver the strategic effects its political leaders will continue to demand.

The remaining sections of this paper describe what “getting it right” requires.

4.  The Geography of Denial

No country in the world faces a two-front strategic problem like India’s. To the north, a technologically advanced competitor with continental reach and a thousand-strong fifth-generation fleet projected by 2030. To the west, a nuclear-armed adversary increasingly integrated into Chinese kill chains. To the south, an Indian Ocean that is no longer an Indian preserve. Geography is destiny — but only if doctrine and force structure refuse to read the map.

The Northern Front: The Tibetan Air-Defence Belt

Along the LAC, the PLA has constructed an air-defence and offensive-strike complex that reaches 300–500 kilometres into Indian airspace from a series of upgraded airbases on the Tibetan plateau. Hotan, Ngari Gunsa, Shigatse, and Lhasa Gonggar host HQ-9B and HQ-22 long-range SAM batteries, with second-echelon S-3/400-class systems providing depth. J-10 & J-15/16 multirole fighters, J-20 stealth fighters, and KJ-500 airborne early warning aircraft operate from these bases under permanent IADS protection.

The PLAAF currently fields approximately 300 J-20s across at least thirteen regiments. RUSI projects the fleet at approximately 1,000 J-20s by 2030 — larger than the entire combined Western fifth-generation inventory. Two sixth-generation prototypes (J-36 and J-50) have flown. The GJ-11 Sharp Sword stealth UCAV is operational. The PL-15 family of long-range air-to-air missiles is mature, with the PL-16 enabling six-missile internal carriage on J-20 and the PL-17 (400-km class) designed explicitly to kill AEW&C and tankers from beyond escort range.

The Western Front: The Chinese-Pattern Threat Through a Pakistani Interface

What used to be a clean India-versus-Pakistan calculus is now something more complex. Pakistan is increasingly an extension of Chinese military power on India’s western flank — not in the sense of formal alliance, but in the sense of integrated weapons, doctrine, sensor architectures, and crisis behaviour. The visible inventory tells the story:

• • 30–40 J-35A stealth fighters ordered from China, with first deliveries expected from 2026–27 and PAF pilot training already under way at Hotan

  • J-10CE multirole fighter squadrons combat-proven during Sindoor

  • PL-15 / PL-15E long-range BVR missiles in active inventory, with reported performance exceeding publicly advertised export specifications

  • HQ-9BE long-range SAMs protecting Karachi, Lahore, and Islamabad

  • Saab 2000 Erieye AEW&C providing networked sensor coverage to Chinese assets (Link 17) — the platform type lost on the ground at Bholari and in the air to the 300-km S-400 engagement

  • Reported real-time Chinese ISR feeds during Sindoor (per public statements by the Indian Deputy Army Chief), effectively giving PAF access to PLA-grade space-based and OTH-radar coverage.

The geopolitical reality is unavoidable: India did not fight just Pakistan in May 2025. India fought a Chinese-pattern force, operated by a Pakistani crew, on Pakistani territory. The next encounter — whether with Pakistan again, or directly with the PLAAF along the LAC, or in a two-front contingency — will be against a more confident, more networked, more capable version of the same architecture.

The Maritime Flank

To the south, the Indian Ocean is no longer an Indian preserve. Chinese naval presence in the IOR has grown steadily through the 2020s. Pakistani acquisition of Type 054 frigates and Yuan-class submarines closes the loop. Chinese UCAV exports to Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and Egypt — and Turkish UCAV transfers to Pakistan — broaden the threat envelope across India’s western maritime approaches. The IAF’s responsibilities now include maritime strike at extended range, a mission set for which the BrahMos-equipped Su-30MKI and the future Tejas Mk2 are the only available platforms.

The two-front problem, in other words, has become a two-front-plus-maritime problem. The IAF cannot solve all of it simultaneously with manned platforms. This is the structural argument that drives the rest of this paper.

5.  The Kill Web

Two ambushes were attempted during Operation Sindoor. Looking at them together explains everything about how modern air combat actually works.

Ambush One — by the PAF, opening exchanges:    PAF formations executed an “air ambush” geometry from deep inside their own airspace: AEW&C orbiting in sanctuary providing sensor coverage, fighters operating radar-silent under that umbrella, long-range air-to-air missiles fired on offboard cueing and mid-coursed via tactical datalink, terminal acquisition only at the very end. The whole package was Chinese-pattern: Saab 2000 Erieye doing what a KJ-500 does for the PLAAF, J-10CE as the shooter, PL-15 as the missile, Pakistani Link 17 & Chinese XS-3 datalink as the connective tissue. No single Pakistani platform had to expose itself to risk. The kill chain was distributed across multiple nodes, any of which could have been substituted. The geometry gave the PAF opportunities to target IAF assets at over two hundred kilometres.

This is not Pakistan’s air force. This is a Chinese-pattern kill web with a Pakistani interface. Sindoor was the first time the world saw it employed in combat. It is just the beginning.

Ambush Two — by the IAF, forty-eight hours later: An S-400 battery was moved into ambush position close to the western border, deliberately silent. PAF AEW&C orbits at this point were still calibrated against the previously-known S-400 deployment locations and the publicly-cited engagement envelope. The new position changed the geometry. When a PAF AEW&C platform entered the redrawn envelope, the engagement was executed at roughly three hundred kilometres — beyond what Pakistani planners had assessed possible. The longest recorded surface-to-air kill in combat history.

What the Two Ambushes Have in Common

Notice the symmetry. Both ambushes worked the same way:

• • A sensor in sanctuary, well clear of the adversary’s retaliation envelope

  • A shooter that did not have to expose itself to detection until commit

  • A weapon with the legs to cross a large engagement volume

  • A datalink stitching the three together so they functioned as a single system

  • An adversary whose mental model of the engagement envelope was wrong — either because catalogue specifications had been under-classified, or because deployment geometry had been miscalculated, or both

Both sides were operating in the Zone of Ambiguity. Both demonstrated that the kill web has replaced the kill chain as the unit of analysis. And both ambushes shared a single deeper lesson:

Catalogue intelligence is dead. In the Zone of Ambiguity, the side whose intelligence picture is closest to the night’s actual capability holds the initiative. Everything else is a lagging indicator.

Five Operational Principles That Flow from This

If the kill web is the new unit of analysis, five operational principles follow. These are not nice-to-haves. They are how the IAF must fight in the next contingency.

6.  The Numbers Problem

The IAF is currently down to 29–31 active combat squadrons against an authorised strength of 42 — the lowest level since the early 1960s. The MiG-21 Bison fleet retired in September 2025, removing the last three squadrons. Even the most advanced multi-domain strategy fails if there isn’t enough mass to sustain a high-intensity, two-front conflict. And the structural problem is not that India lacks ambition. It is that India’s procurement and industrial timelines cannot close the gap with manned platforms alone — on any realistic schedule.

The Programme Timetable — and Why It Cannot Close the Gap

Here is the honest arithmetic of every major Indian fighter programme:

Add it all up. By 2035 — on optimistic assumptions for every programme above — the IAF reaches perhaps 36 squadrons of manned combat aircraft. Still six squadrons short of authorised. The shortfall is not a procurement crisis that can be fixed by signing one more contract. It is a fact of industrial physics.

The Only Available Answer: Unmanned at Scale

If manned aircraft cannot close the gap, what can? The answer is mass through autonomy — and the economic case is unambiguous.

India has the foundational programmes:

• • HAL CATS Warrior — a stealth UCAV designed to team with a two-seat Tejas as the “mothership,” intended as the first line of offence against heavily defended IADS networks

  • DRDO Ghatak — a delta-winged flying-wing stealth UCAV; SWiFT technology demonstrator has flown; full programme expected mid-decade

  • NewSpace Research Abhimanyu — iDEX-supported baseline CCA for the Indian Navy

  • A growing private-sector ecosystem — BEL, Tata Advanced Systems, L&T, Adani Defence, NewSpace, Raphe mPhibr, ideaForge, Sagar Defence, Bharat Forge subsidiaries — competing for CCA, UCAV, and loitering-munition contracts

The technology base exists. The industrial base is emerging. What is missing is the scale of order book required to make industry treat this as a serious line of business. The IAF has historically placed orders in tens. It needs to place orders in hundreds — even thousands.

This is not a leap of faith. It is what every peer air force is now doing.

7.  Catching the Wave

A single technology and doctrinal wave is breaking simultaneously across every serious air force in the world: the integration of Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA), attritable UCAVs, swarms, and Manned–Unmanned Teaming (MUM-T) as the central mechanism of combat mass generation. The wave will define airpower for the next two decades. India must enter it now — alongside the United States, the UK-Italy-Japan consortium, France-Germany-Spain, and China — not after.

Why “With the World” Matters

It is not enough that India develop its own CCA and UCAV capabilities. India must develop them on the same clock as the leading air forces — for three reasons.

Technology lock-in: Datalink standards, autonomy frameworks, sensor fusion APIs, and weapons integration interfaces are being defined now, programme by programme. Air forces that show up late inherit the standards set by those who arrived early. India should be at the table when the standards are written, not buying compliance later.

Industrial capacity: The aerospace supply chain for autonomous combat aviation — composite airframes, propulsion at the 1,000–5,000 kgf class, mission systems, mesh-network radios, AI-enabled targeting payloads — is being built out globally right now. Indian industry that enters this supply chain early secures positions; industry that enters late competes against established incumbents on price alone.

Doctrinal alignment. If India fields its CCA fleet a decade after partners and adversaries, Indian doctrine will be a derivative of doctrines developed elsewhere. If India fields concurrent capability, Indian doctrine — shaped by Indian geography, Indian adversaries, and Indian operational experience including Op Sindoor — becomes a contribution to global airpower thinking, not a borrowing from it.

Manned-Unmanned Teaming as the New Combat Identity

MUM-T is not a feature added to manned aircraft. It is a redefinition of what the manned aircraft is for. In a mature MUM-T construct, the manned aircraft is a battle manager — orchestrating a formation of CCAs, UCAVs, and swarms that do the actual penetrating and engaging. The pilot’s hands are still on the controls of his own aircraft. But his mind is on the kill web.

This inverts the fighter-pilot identity that has dominated air forces since the 1950s. The next generation of IAF flight leads will be selected, trained, and equipped less as virtuoso individual operators than as network battle managers. The cockpit ergonomics of AMCA and Tejas Mk2 must be designed for this from day one. The selection pipeline must weight network and sensor management equally with weapons employment. EW literacy must be a baseline competency, not a specialist track.

None of this happens by accident. It happens because of decisions made by the IAF — in doctrine, procurement, training, and culture — over the next thirty-six months.

8.  Recommendations

Doctrine work is endless. Action items are finite. What follows is a short, fundable, executable list. Each item is concrete enough to be assigned to an office, given a budget, and tracked against milestones. None requires inventing new technology. All require political will and procurement courage.

A Note on Sequencing

The ten recommendations are not equally urgent. Recommendations 1, 2, 5, and 6 should be initiated in the next twelve months. Recommendations 3, 4, 7, and 9 should be funded and scoped in the same period, with execution over 24–36 months. Recommendations 8 and 10 are longer-cycle institutional reforms that should begin immediately but mature over five to ten years.

None of the ten requires inventing new technology. None requires foreign vendor approval beyond what India already has. All require political will at Cabinet Committee on Security level, and procurement will at Ministry of Defence level. The window in which these decisions can be made and still take operational effect before the next contingency is approximately 24 months. After that, the wave will have crested elsewhere, and India will be paying premium prices for partial capabilities while watching its adversaries field whole ones.

9.  Conclusion

Airpower remains the most effective instrument of statecraft a modern nation possesses. The Zone of Ambiguity makes that truth more urgent, not less.

What replaces the airpower implementation methodology of the past is a three-faced beast. Politically, the deliberate cultivation of uncertainty by adversaries who know India’s choices are constrained. Operationally, a contested airspace where neither side owns the sky but both can deny it. Informationally, a global narrative war that begins before the first missile is in the air and continues long after the last sortie has landed.

Operation Sindoor — 88 hours, a Chinese-pattern kill web employed against India through a Pakistani interface, an Indian S-400 reaching 300 kilometres to redraw the air picture, BrahMos missiles cratering Sargodha and finding an Erieye in its hangar at Bholari, Pakistan requesting ceasefire on the morning of 10 May — was the first encounter. There will be others. The next one will be against a more confident, more networked, more capable adversary with an unmanned backbone.

The IAF that flew on the night of 6 May 2025 was a Cold War air force adapting fast. The IAF that flew on the night of 10 May 2025 had already begun the adaptation. The IAF that flies in 2030 must be a different kind of force entirely — an ecosystem, not a collection of platforms. Networks, swarms, kill webs, dispersed bases, attritable mass, and stand-off precision. Manned aircraft as battle managers at the edge, unmanned systems at the tactical front, all conducted by an air force that thinks in minutes of dominance rather than air superiority.

Three Conclusions to Carry Forward

One — airpower still wins the strategic moment. Op Sindoor reaffirmed it. Nothing else in India’s national-power toolkit delivers strategic effect on the airpower clock with the airpower precision and the airpower reversibility. The Zone of Ambiguity raises the cost of getting airpower wrong. It does not displace airpower from the centre of Indian strategic options. Build the IAF accordingly.

Two — the structural squadron gap is real and will not close. Tejas Mk1A, Tejas Mk2, MRFA Rafale, Super Sukhoi, AMCA — none of them, individually or in combination, will bring the IAF to 42 squadrons on any realistic timeline. The arithmetic does not work. The only available answer is mass through autonomy — CCAs, UCAVs, swarms, loitering munitions, MUM-T — ingested at industrial scale over the next decade. This is not optional. It is the only option.

Three — the wave is breaking now. Every serious air force in the world is committing to the unmanned-wingman / CCA / MUM-T technology cycle this decade. The USAF, the UK-Italy-Japan consortium, France-Germany-Spain, Turkey and China are all at varying stages of the same wave. India must enter it alongside them — not five years late. The decisions that determine whether India catches the wave or watches it from the beach are being made right now, in this fiscal cycle, in this budget cycle, in this procurement cycle.

The sky has stopped being a canvas. It has become a contest. The side that masters ambiguity instead of trying to eliminate it — that buys its minutes, denies the adversary his, manages the information environment, and embraces unmanned mass at scale — will hold the initiative for the decade ahead.

The lesson of the May 2025 air war is not that India won. It is that India won the second half by playing a different game than the first half. The IAF that wins the next conflict will be the one that plays the second-half game from the first minute.

That is the New Normal.

*****

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(Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the Centre for Aerospace Power and Strategic Studies [CAPSS])

The post Indian Airpower in the Age of Denial Lessons from Operation Sindoor, the Unmanned Imperative and the Way Ahead appeared first on CAPSS India.

Keywords: Supply Chain Resilience, Mine-to-Magnet, Rare Earth Separation, Critical Minerals Security, REPM Scheme

Introduction

When the Quad foreign ministers convened in New Delhi on May 26, 2026, the Quad Critical Minerals Initiative (QCMI) was among the agenda items they cited as evidence that the Quad continues to deliver substantive cooperation despite the diplomatic strains of the past year. The four governments have reason to make this case, as since the QCMI’s launch in July 2025, the United States (US), Japan, India, and Australia have collectively committed over USD 3 billion in new public investment to critical minerals supply chain projects.[1] The US-Australia Critical Minerals Compact, the Tokyo Critical Minerals Framework, and India’s INR7,280 crore Rare Earth Permanent Magnet (REPM) scheme all bear the imprint of the QCMI logic. The QCMI’s framing of these commitments, however, points the four governments at the wrong part of the supply chain. The most consequential dependency that the grouping is trying to address is not at the mine but in the middle, in separation chemistry, metal-making, alloying, and magnet sintering. China holds approximately 70 per cent of global rare earth mining, approximately 85 to 90 per cent of refining capacity, and over 90 per cent of permanent magnet manufacturing.  The gap is widest, and the Western disadvantage most entrenched, precisely where the QCMI has invested the least focused attention.[2] [3]

The diversification effort underway across Quad members has been largely upstream. Australia’s Mt Weld operation and the Lynas processing operations in Malaysia and Western Australia, the only commercial-scale source of separated rare earth oxides outside China, supply neodymium-praseodymium oxide to JARE (Japan Australia Rare Earths), a Japan-government-backed procurement vehicle, under a long-term offtake agreement extended through 2038.[4] Australia’s October 2025 Critical Minerals Compact with the United States committed each government to mobilise at least USD 1 billion in critical-minerals financing by mid-2026, anchored by streamlined permitting and price-support mechanisms.[5] MP Materials at Mountain Pass returned the United States to second place in global mining output in 2024, producing approximately 45,000 tonnes of rare earth oxide concentrate.[6] India’s Khanij Bidesh India Ltd (KABIL) has secured lithium agreements in Argentina and is pursuing similar arrangements across Latin America, Central Asia, and Africa.[7]

These commitments are real and concentrated in the part of the value chain where the Quad members were never the binding constraint. The United States produced rare earths at an industrial scale through the late twentieth century; the technical capacity for mining was not what was affected. Australia also mines well, and India has the third-largest reserves globally (as per the USGS 2025 report), pursuing upstream cooperation[8] under the Australia-India Critical Minerals Investment Partnership since 2022.[9] What the four Quad members lost during the period of Chinese consolidation between 1995 and 2015 was the midstream stage of the value chain, which involves the chemical processing capacity to convert mixed rare-earth concentrate into the individual oxides that magnet manufacturers actually require.

The midstream loss was neither accidental nor entirely market-driven. In 1995, General Motors in the US sold its Magnequench subsidiary, which then supplied approximately 85 per cent of the world’s neodymium-iron-boron magnet output, to a consortium that included two Chinese state-owned enterprises, San Huan New Materials and the China National Nonferrous Metals Import and Export Corporation.[10] The American facilities in Anderson, Indiana and Valparaiso were progressively closed between 2003 and 2006, and the production lines and tooling were relocated to Tianjin. The United States lost not only the production capacity but also the operational know-how that the production engineers carried with them. Japan responded to its own midstream vulnerability after the 2010 Senkaku/Diaoyu Islands episode by reducing its Chinese rare-earth dependency from approximately 90 per cent to 58 per cent over 15 years through coordinated state-industry action, the most successful Western diversification effort of any major economy. By 2023, however, Japanese dependency had risen back to approximately 63 per cent.[11] Even Japan, with the strongest non-Chinese midstream capacity of any Quad member, has demonstrated that diversification requires continuous reinforcement rather than one-time correction. The reason, again, is the midstream capability, which is expensive and slow to rebuild. China’s April 2025 export-licensing measures on seven heavy and medium rare earth elements, samarium, gadolinium, terbium, dysprosium, lutetium, scandium, and yttrium, and the October 2025 extension to five additional elements with extraterritorial provisions, subsequently suspended until November 2026 under the Busan summit agreement, exposed the midstream gap with particular clarity. Chinese rare earth magnet exports to the United States plunged by over 90 per cent in the weeks following the April measures, though global exports partially recovered by mid-2025 following bilateral agreements. The disruption was disproportionately felt at the magnet-manufacturing stage of the supply chain, where Chinese dominance is greatest.[12]

The Quad members’ immediate response was to accelerate upstream commitments and to fund new processing facilities at the early stages of construction. Some midstream-level initiatives involved the allocation of USD 288 million in Department of Defense (DoD) funding to Lynas for a planned heavy rare earth separation facility in Seadrift, Texas, intended to produce 2,500–3,000 tonnes of heavy rare earth products annually. However, the facility’s future remains uncertain as Lynas flagged that construction may not proceed, citing insufficient funding and unresolved offtake negotiations with the DoD.[13] India’s REPM scheme, approved by the Union Cabinet in November 2025, is the most ambitious single response: a 6,000 metric-tonne integrated value chain covering oxides, metals, alloys, and finished sintered magnets.[14] Aclara Resources, processing Brazilian heavy-rare-earth feedstock, is constructing a separation facility in the United States.[15] These initiatives represent the first serious midstream commitments by Quad-aligned operators since the early 1990s. But they are individually small relative to the scale of the gap. Lynas’s total output of approximately 10,970 tonnes of rare earth oxides in fiscal 2025 represents less than 3 per cent of the estimated global supply.[16] India’s REPM scheme targets 6,000 tonnes per year of integrated magnet manufacturing capacity by approximately 2030, which is a big number, but a fraction of the 300,000-plus tonnes of NdFeB (Neodymium) magnet manufacturing capacity that China currently controls.[17]

What The QCMI Should Do Differently

Three implications follow for the Quad foreign ministers’ meeting and for the QCMI’s evolution over the next two years. First, the multilateral architecture should be re-weighted toward the midstream. Australia is well-placed upstream and Japan downstream, with India offering a large consumer market and the United States providing capital and defence demand.[18] What none of these four members possesses individually is integrated separation and magnet manufacturing capability at a globally competitive scale. The QCMI is the appropriate forum for coordinating midstream investment and jointly qualifying magnet specifications to meet the defence and clean-energy requirements across the four countries.

Second, India’s REPM scheme deserves Quad-level attention as the most integrated midstream initiative among members.[19] India’s June 2025 suspension of its 13-year rare earth export agreement with Japan has been seen as friction within the Quad framework, but it could be more usefully understood as a signal that India is prioritising the development of domestic midstream capacity over the export of unprocessed material, a direction that the QCMI should be reinforcing.[20] The challenge for the Quad foreign ministers’ meeting should have been to develop a framework in which India’s midstream ambition complements rather than competes with Japanese refining capacity. The Lynas-JARE supply agreement, with its guaranteed volumes and floor pricing through 2038, demonstrates one workable model.

Third, the QCMI’s geographic scope is too narrow for the midstream challenge. Of the four members, there is only one significant non-Chinese rare earth producer (Australia) and one country with substantial midstream capacity (Japan, with Australian and Malaysian operational anchors). Brazil holds 21 million tonnes of reserves, second globally after China, and its Serra Verde mine became the first operation outside Asia to produce all four critical magnet rare earth elements at scale in 2024.[21] Prime Minister Narendra Modi and President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva’s Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) on critical minerals, signed in February 2026, establishes a framework for India-Brazil cooperation that the QCMI should formally integrate. Extending the QCMI’s working architecture to include credible Global South suppliers, without expanding formal membership, is the practical step that this Quad meeting could also endorse.

It is very evident that QCMI was launched at a moment of unusual political alignment among its four members. That alignment has frayed under pressures such as the US tariff measures of April 2025, the AUKUS (Australia, United Kingdom, United States) review, and broader uncertainty about the Trump administration’s commitment to the grouping. The harder question is whether the QCMI can be sustained as an operational framework, with measurable midstream commitments and verifiable progress against benchmarks, in a political environment that no longer guarantees the policy continuity that midstream investment requires. China’s contemporary supply chain position is the result of forty years of sustained state-led industrial investment. Rebuilding even a fraction of an alternative midstream requires comparable continuity from the Quad members. The QCMI’s value, if it is to have one beyond its declarative function, will be measured not by the volume of upstream agreements signed but by whether the four governments can coordinate the patient, institutional, sometimes unglamorous work of building the chemical-processing infrastructure that their economies allowed to wither during the decades when the cooperation was needed, but the political vocabulary did not yet exist to authorise it.

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Notes:-

[1]  United States Department of State, United States of America, “Joint Statement from the Quad Foreign Ministers’ Meeting in Washington,” July 2025, https://www.state.gov/releases/office-of-the-spokesperson/2025/07/joint-statement-from-the-quad-foreign-ministers-meeting-in-washington/. Accessed on May 10, 2026.

[2]  Gracelin Baskaran and Meredith Schwartz, “The Consequences of China’s New Rare Earths Export Restrictions,” Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), April 14, 2025, https://www.csis.org/analysis/consequences-chinas-new-rare-earths-export-restrictions. Accessed June 13, 2026.

[3]  United States Geological Survey, Mineral Commodity Summaries 2026, USGS, Reston, VA, 2026. https://pubs.usgs.gov/periodicals/mcs2026/mcs2026.pdf. Accessed June 13, 2026.

[4]Blair McBride, “Lynas-Japan Deal Offers ‘Insulation’ from China Rare Earth Pricing,” Mining.com, March 11, 2026, https://www.mining.com/lynas-japan-deal-offers-insulation-from-china-rare-earth-pricing/. Accessed on May 12, 2026.

[5] The White House, United States of America “United States-Australia Framework for Securing of Supply in the Mining and Processing of Critical Minerals and Rare Earths,” October 20, 2025, https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/2025/10/united-states-australia-framework-for-securing-of-supply-in-the-mining-and-processing-of-critical-minerals-and-rare-earths/. Accessed on May 13, 2026.

[6]  “MP Materials Restores U.S. Rare Earth Magnet Production,” MP Materials, January 22, 2025, https://investors.mpmaterials.com/investor-news/news-details/2025/MP-Materials-Restores-U.S.-Rare-Earth-Magnet-Production/default.aspx. Accessed on May 13, 2026.

[7]  Press Information Bureau, Ministry of Mines, Government of India, “India Signs Agreement for Lithium Exploration & Mining Project in Argentina,” January 15, 2025.  https://www.pib.gov.in/PressReleaseIframePage.aspx?PRID=1996380&reg=48&lang=2. Accessed on May 13, 2026.

[8]  U.S. Geological Survey, United States of America, “Mineral Commodity Summaries 2025: Rare Earths,” January 2025, https://pubs.usgs.gov/periodicals/mcs2025/mcs2025-rare-earths.pdf. Accessed on May 14, 2026.

[9]  “Australia eyes deeper India ties through critical minerals cooperation,” The Economic Times, December 05, 2025, https://energy.economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/coal/vedanta-says-biomass-facility-of-talwandi-sabo-power-helps-in-reducing-stubble-burning-in-punjab/125781767. Accessed on May 15, 2026.

[10] John Tkacik, “Magnequench: CFIUS and China’s Thirst for U.S. Defense Technology,” The Heritage Foundation, May 02, 2008, https://www.heritage.org/asia/report/magnequench-cfius-and-chinas-thirst-us-defense-technology. Accessed on May 15, 2026.

[11] Eyal Ariel, “Japan’s Critical Minerals Resilience Didn’t Start in 2010 – or 2026,” The Diplomat, February 07, 2026, https://thediplomat.com/2026/02/japans-critical-minerals-resilience-didnt-start-in-2010-or-2026/. Accessed on May 15, 2026.

[12] Gracelin Baskaran and Meredith Schwartz, “Rare Earth Export Restrictions One Year Later,” Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), April 27, 2026, https://www.csis.org/analysis/rare-earth-export-restrictions-one-year-later. Accessed on May 16, 2026.

[13] Daniel, “Lynas Texas Project in Limbo Amid U.S. ‘America First’ Shift,” Rare Earth Exchanges, November 27, 2025, https://rareearthexchanges.com/news/lynas-texas-project-in-limbo-amid-u-s-america-first-shift/. Accessed on May 16, 2026.

[14] Prime Minister’s Office, Government of India, “Cabinet Approves Rs. 7,280 Crore Scheme to Promote Manufacturing of Sintered Rare Earth Permanent Magnets (REPM),” November 26, 2025, https://www.pmindia.gov.in/en/news_updates/cabinet-approves-rs-7280-crore-scheme-to-promote-manufacturing-of-sintered-rare-earth-permanent-magnets-repm/. Accessed on May 24, 2026.

[15]  Daniel, “Aclara to Build First U.S. Heavy Rare Earths Separation Plant-Feed Secured by Mid-2028,” Rare Earth Exchanges, October 25, 2025, https://rareearthexchanges.com/news/aclara-to-build-first-u-s-heavy-rare-earths-separation-plant-feed-secured-by-mid-2028/. Accessed on May 24, 2026.

[16]  “Lynas Rare Earth Output Rises in 3Q,” Argus Media, October 30, 2025, https://www.argusmedia.com/en/news-and-insights/latest-market-news/2748095-lynas-rare-earth-output-rises-in-3q. Accessed on May 24, 2026.

[17]  “MP Materials Produces Rare Earth Metal in Texas,” Mining.com, January 22, 2025, https://www.mining.com/mp-materials-produces-rare-earth-metal-in-texas/. Accessed on May 25, 2026.

[18] Sayantan Haldar, “Why the Quad Must Overcome its Diplomatic Nadir,” Observer Research Foundation, May 22 2026, https://www.orfonline.org/expert-speak/why-the-quad-must-overcome-its-diplomatic-nadir. Accessed on May 24, 2026.

[19]  Ibid.

[20]  Neha Arora and Aditi Shah, “India Moves to Conserve its Rare Earths, Seeks Halt to Japan Exports,” Reuters, June 16, 2025, https://www.reuters.com/world/india/india-moves-conserve-its-rare-earths-seeks-halt-japan-exports-sources-say-2025-06-13/. Accessed on May 28, 2026.

[21] Elizabeth Roche, “India-Brazil Bond Deepens with Critical Minerals Pact,” The Diplomat, February 24, 2026, https://thediplomat.com/2026/02/india-brazil-bond-deepens-with-critical-minerals-pact/. Accessed on May 28, 2026.

The post The Missing Midstream: The Quad’s Critical Minerals Blind Spot appeared first on CAPSS India.

The post Nuclear Security Vol 20, No 16 appeared first on CAPSS India.

Author: Dr Niraj Kumar Das, Research Associate, Centre for Aerospace Power and Strategic Studies & Ms Bhawna Budhwar, Research Associate, Centre for Aerospace Power and Strategic Studies

Keywords: Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, Nuclear Weapon States, Non-Nuclear Weapon States, NPT Review Conference, Disarmament.

The post Future of the NPT: Challenges and Debates at the Review Conference 2026 appeared first on CAPSS India.

Author: Mr Manish Kumar, Former Research Intern at Manohar Parrikar Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses (MP-IDSA)

Keywords: Joint Special Forces Operations, Integration of Indian Armed Forces, Special Operations Command

The post Jointness in India’s Special Forces: Assessing Structural and Doctrinal Readiness appeared first on CAPSS India.

Keywords: IRST, Passive Sensors, EO/IR

Introduction

On the night of 19-20 March 2026, the Iranian Air Defence system, using an infrared search-and-track (IRST) based system, was able to track and engage a United States (US). F-35A Lightning stealth jet in a combat mission over Iran. The jet was damaged but managed to recover at a regional US airbase. This was the first time a fifth-generation F-35 fighter aircraft had ever been damaged in combat by an Iranian Air Defence System, and it is proof that stealth jets can be detected by electro-optical and infrared (EO/IR) sensor systems.[1]

What Happened?

An F‑35A, hit by Iranian air‑defence fire, made an emergency landing on a US-controlled airfield in the Middle East, with the pilot reported as being safe though the report mentioned some shrapnel wounds and that he was in stable condition.[2] Iranian and affiliated Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) media published the thermal imaging video of the F‑35 within the range of an infrared sensor, and then a missile closing in on the plane and exploding.[3]

Iran deployed passive infrared‑guided or electro‑optical/IR air‑defence systems, such as upgraded short‑range point‑defence or anti‑drone missiles like “Product 358” or other 358/359‑series systems, which operate on heat signatures rather than radar, allowing them to track the F‑35 despite its low radar signature.[4]

 Techniques and Tactics

The footage also suggests the range was less, maybe a few kilometres, meaning either the F‑35 was low flying, or temporarily in the “infrared kill envelope” of ground-based IR (Infra-Red) guided systems. The IRST-style approach is important because stealth fighters are intended to outsmart radar, but they still emit detectable IR signatures from engine heat skin friction. Iran’s claimed success would represent a move towards multi‑sensor (particularly IR and electro‑optical) threat environments for Western stealth platforms.

The US Central Command spokesman, Navy Captain Tim Hawkins said the incident is being investigated. The F‑35 suffered damage and made an emergency landing during the period of March 19 to 20, but hasn’t made a public statement about the type of weapon that damaged it or if it was solely the IRST’s fault.[5] Independent analysts remind that the evidence is still incomplete and Iran’s claim of a “world first” strike on an F-35 is considered “credible, at least partially successful.[6]

Key Iranian infrared and electro-optical detection and short-range heat-seeking systems are the Misagh-2, Majid, and Herz-9. The Majid air defence system, officially designated AD-08, is an Iranian short-range, low-altitude surface-to-air missile system for point defence against low-flying aircraft, cruise missiles, helicopters and unmanned systems. The missile is 156 millimetres in diameter, 2,670 millimetres in length, weighs about 75 kilograms. It features a passive imaging infrared homing seeker and a proximity fuse, meaning it does not emit radar waves that would warn the targeted aircraft. Detection is performed by electro-optical and infrared sensors out to 15 kilometres, and can be integrated with external radar, such as the Kashef-99 phased-array system, to extend the tracking range to 12 to 30 kilometres and enable simultaneous tracking of multiple targets.[7]

Nevertheless, this marks the first time that Iran’s military has hit one of the USD100 million aircraft since the US. and Israel launched their attack on Iran on February 28, 2026.[8]

IRST Systems

Ground-based IRST systems are special types of electro-optical sensors that are used to detect and track the thermal signature of an aerial target – like an aircraft, helicopter, or cruise missile – without emitting electromagnetic radiation. Ground-based IRST systems are passive and provide high-resolution air defence and situational awareness capabilities without transmitting active radio-frequency pulses, which can be detected or jammed by adversaries.

The use of IRST systems in military systems has grown in recent times, as they are used to counter low-observable (stealth) aircraft and to provide a redundant tracking layer in electronic warfare environments. These systems employ state-of-the-art infrared focal plane arrays to survey the horizon or specific sectors and calculate target coordinates using complex image processing and atmospheric modelling. Although airborne platforms have traditionally been the focus of IRST development, integration into ground-based air defence (GBAD) networks is now a priority for countries seeking to augment their look-up capabilities in response to incoming threats.

The IRST technology has been adopted by multiple countries, with some countries developing their own solutions and others integrating the technology into national security.

France: The Safran Electronics & Defence portfolio, including the Vampire series (e.g. Vampire NG and EONS-NG), is tailored for naval and ground-based surveillance applications, offering long-range detection of both aerial and surface targets.

Netherlands: Thales Nederland manufactures the Sirius IRST system, which is a passive, 360-degree situational awareness system that integrates into land-based defence architectures.

The United States (US): The US military has a number of electro-optical/infrared (EO/IR) systems for ground-based defence in use, such as the AN/AAQ-32 IFTS and specialised versions of the Mark 46/20 Mod 1. Most of these systems are part of point defence installations to augment radar-based missile defence installations.

Many modern air defence batteries are based on distributed aperture principles—a number of infrared sensors are interconnected to provide comprehensive spherical coverage. This approach is comparable to the technology utilised in the AN/AAQ-37 system used on the F-35, but is applied in a stationary or mobile ground installation.

Indian IRST Environment

The IRST technology is primarily being developed on airborne platforms of the Indian Air Force. There is a gap in the Indian air defence architecture in terms of dedicated ground-based IRST units to meet the changing requirements of air defence. The strategic potential of IRST systems may be exploited in their ability to detect targets that are hard to track with radar, including stealth aircraft and those using electronic countermeasures. IRST can improve situational awareness and complement the existing robust air defence layer.

The introduction of IRST could bolster India’s air defence capabilities, complementing existing sensors of multi-layered systems such as the S-400, Akash, SPYDER, and Barak 8, to achieve critical air defence objectives, especially in detecting stealth threats and low-signature targets. Currently, target acquisition and fire control on these platforms are based mainly on active and passive radar arrays, like the Rajendra 3D radar or the EL/M-2084 MMR.[9]

Hindustan Aeronautics Limited (HAL) and Bharat Electronics Limited (BEL), under the ‘Make in India’ programme, inked a contract to co-develop and co-produce a long-range dual-band IRST for Su-30 MKI under the MAKE-II procedure of Defence Acquisition Procedure (DAP) 2020.[10]

The Rafale is equipped with the ‘Optronique Secteur Frontal’ (OSF), also known as ‘Front Sector Optronics’. It is integrated into the airframe’s nose to give the plane a high-resolution, passive, long-range capability to detect. According to well-known aviation literature, the OSF is meant to be a “stealthy” sensor that allows the pilot to detect, track, and identify aerial objects without emitting radiation.[11] The Su-30 MKI employs the ‘Optical Locator System’ (OLS) -30 (or similar variations within the Flanker family), a spherical, ball-mounted IRST sensor situated away from the cockpit centerline.[12]

Implications

IRST systems follow the physics of infrared propagation through the atmosphere. Ground-based systems are sometimes integrated with meteorological sensors. This helps in adaptation of the detection thresholds based on the moisture, dust and cloud content. Passive ground-based sensors are one of the few methods for tracking stealth and/or low radar cross-section (RCS) flying platforms.

The aircraft was not completely destroyed, and the pilot was not injured, but the incident has sparked a worldwide discussion about the survivability of stealth platforms against passive infrared guidance systems, and that the low radar cross-section of the F-35 does not mean it is immune to heat-seeking missiles at close ranges.

The targeting of F-35 would trigger the military equipment designers and developers, and air defence observers to work to balance the technical asymmetry between stealth and air defence, as the threat seems to never end. Secondly, short-range systems designed for point defence can still make a difference in operational events in contested airspace.

Conclusion

Stealth does not mean being invisible but reducing the aircraft’s signature across multiple spectrums – RCS, visual, acoustic and IR/ thermal. In all the spectrums, as passive IR/EO sensors can detect heat without alerting radar-based warnings, which allows “silent” detection and short-range engagements. The survivability of modern air warfare is not just about aircraft technology; it’s also about the density, mobility and integration of opposing air defence networks. Strike Survivability remains under threat; emerging technologies need to address this limitation.

*****

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 (Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the Centre for Aerospace Power and Strategic Studies [CAPSS])

Notes:-

[1] Alcott Weiin and Seong Hyeon Choi, “Iran detected and damaged a US F-35 stealth jet in combat. Chinese experts map out how,” South China Morning Post, March 20, 2026, https://www.scmp.com/news/china/military/article/3347383/iran-detected-and-damaged-us-f-35-stealth-jet-combat-chinese-experts-map-out-how?utm. Accessed on April 03, 2026.

[2] “US F-35 Stealth Jet Hit: How Iran’s Infrared Systems May have struck the ‘Ghost of the Skies,” Times of India, March 20, 2026,  https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/defence/international/us-f-35-stealth-jet-shot-how-irans-infrared-systems-may-have-struck-the-ghost-of-the-skies/articleshow/129697195.cms. Accessed on April 12, 2026.

[3] Liang Rui and Liu Xuanzun, “Iran says it hit an F-35; Chinese expert analyzes how Iran could have struck it using infrared detection, breaking US stealth myth,” Global Times, March 22, 2026, https://www.globaltimes .cn/page/202603/1357330.shtml. Accessed on April 03, 2026.

[4] “Which Iranian Air Defense System Targeted F-35 and Why russia Was Clearly Involved,” Defense Express, March 20, 2026, https://en.defence-ua.com/news/which_iranian_air_defense_system_targeted_f_35_and_why_ russia_was_ clearly_involved-17891.html. Accessed on April 03, 2026.

[5] Chris Gordon and Stephen Losey, “USAF F-35 Lands After Taking Fire Over Iran; Pilot Stable,” March 19, 2026, https://www.airandspaceforces.com/f-35a-lands-after-taking-fire-over-iran-pilot-stable/. Accessed on April 02, 2026.

[6] Priyanka Shankar, “Has Iran brought down an ‘unkillable’ US F-35 jet?” Al Jazeera, March 23, 2026,  https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2026/3/23/has-iran-brought-down-an-unkillable-us-f-35-jet. Accessed on April 07, 2026.

[7] “Iran’s Majid Missile Damages U.S. F-35 in Combat — Heat-Seeking SAM Raises Global Alarm Over Stealth Fighter Vulnerability in Middle East War,” Defence Security Asia, March 21, 2026, https://defencesecurityasia.com/en/iran-majid-missile-f35-hit-stealth-fighter-us-iran-air-defense-2026/. Accessed on April 09, 2026.

[8] “US F-35 hit by suspected Iranian fire, forced to make emergency landing,” South China Morning Post, March 20, 2026, https://www.scmp.com/news/world/middle-east/article/3347217/us-f-35-hit-suspected-iranian-fire-forced-make-emergency-landing?module=inline&pgtype=article. Accessed on April 03, 2026.

[9] Sheershoo Deb, “Full List of India’s Air Defence Systems,” Defence XP, August 23, 2020, https://www.defencexp.com/full-list-of-indian-air-defence-systems/. Accessed on April 03, 2026.

[10] “HAL and BEL to co-develop IRST system for Su-30 MKI,” The Business Standard, April 26, 2022, https://www.business-standard.com/article/news-cm/hal-and-bel-to-co-develop-irst-system-for-su-30-mki-122042600747_1.html. Accessed on April 09, 2026.

[11] Ian Parker, “Resourceful Rafale,” Aviation Tech Today, September 01, 2000,  https://www.aviationtoday.com/ 2000/09/01/resourceful-rafale/. Accessed on April 03, 2026.

[12] “Sukhoi (Su) – 30 MKI of Indian Air Force,” Indra Stra, August 31, 2015, https://www.indrastra.com/2015/ 08/ANALYSIS-Sukhoi-Su-30-MKI-of-IAF.html. Accessed on April 03, 2026.

The post First F-35 Hit by Iran Due to Passive Detection appeared first on CAPSS India.

The post Nuclear Security Vol 20, No 15 appeared first on CAPSS India.

Keywords: AI in warfare, Algorithmic Battle Management, Indian Defence Modernisation, Military Leadership, AI-Governance

Introduction

John Boyd’s Observe, Orient, Decide, Act (OODA) loop theory posited adaptive decision-making as the pivotal variable in war.[1] The military value of satellite-enabled information sharing during the 1991 Gulf War inspired Arthur Cebrowski’s Network Centric Warfare (NCW) thesis.[2] The United States (US) integrated Artificial Intelligence (AI) and unmanned systems into the NCW to develop Decision Centric Warfare (DCW).[3] Project Maven, launched in April 2017, operationalised deep-learning computer vision to detect and classify objects in full-motion Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance (ISR) video at machine speed.[4] From the mid-2010s, the US, China, Russia, and Israel fast-tracked autonomous swarming drones and AI-enabled command-and-control.[5] The US Third Offset Strategy (2014), China’s Intelligentised Warfare doctrine (2019), and Russia’s President Vladimir Putin’s 2017 declaration that the first nation to achieve true AI would ‘rule the world’ collectively signalled the great-power AI competition.[6]

Russia–Ukraine War

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine constitutes the first military conflict in which both belligerents systematically employed AI for military purposes.[7] Ukraine for battlefield facial recognition, AI-assisted signals analysis, and AI-enhanced cyber defences against Russian cyberattacks.[8] Russia fielded AI-enabled loitering munitions, automated targeting, electronic warfare systems, and generative AI for disinformation campaigns at an industrial scale.[9] The war demonstrated that neither side had resolved the governance questions of accountability.

Operations Epic Fury and Roaring Lion

AI was central to targeting, campaign planning, and multi-domain orchestration in Operations Epic Fury and Roaring Lion.[10] AI-supported Air Force mission planning and navigation.[11] Fusing intelligence from multiple sources into a common operating picture, Palantir’s Maven enabled strike coordination across domains—operationally impossible through human-only analysis. Maven reduced target-identification time to under one minute.[12] Using real-time data at Al Udeid, AI autonomously flagged threats and issued engagement authorisations.[13] On the Israeli side, the ‘Tashan’ system identified Iranian ballistic-missile launch points in real time to enable counter-battery strikes before launchers could relocate.[14] ‘Rom’ maintained continuous hostile-drone alerts, while the ‘Bina’ Unit generated situational assessments—including civilian-casualty risk estimates.[15] The “National Message” platform predicted interception-fragment trajectories to enable geographically precise public warnings.[16]

AI-Induced Challenges

Operational success has left a trail of unresolved legal, ethical, and institutional challenges. At 41 missiles per hour in the opening 24 hours, real-time target verification was functionally challenging.[17] A US missile strike on a girls’ school in Minab, Iran—killing more than 175 civilians, predominantly children—was attributed to outdated mapping data. Researchers characterised the Maven Smart System, generating 3,000 targeting options daily, rendering meaningful human review nearly impractical due to “automation bias”: the human in the approval chain becomes just a procedural formality.[18]

AI targeting recommendations, unlike conventional intelligence assessments, are embedded in billions of opaque parameters. Anthropic’s chief executive acknowledged he could not guarantee the reliability of his systems and thus was designated a “supply chain risk” by the Pentagon for this unpredictability and black-box behaviour—a candid admission that even developers cannot fully explain particular outputs.[19]

The Anthropic–Pentagon dispute exposed the governance void. The Pentagon demanded Claude for “all lawful purposes,” including fully autonomous lethal weapons; Anthropic refused to remove two ethical guardrails and was blacklisted. Claude nonetheless continued to operate within Maven on classified military networks. No legal or institutional framework existed to determine accountability for this outcome.[20]

Finally, AI misalignment—divergence between AI behaviour and human intent arising from biased training data or distributional shift—poses risks. Technologies perfected by one nation can be adapted and weaponised against it.[21] The central challenge is structural: AI has outpaced every governance mechanism designed to keep humans in meaningful control.

Role of Military Leadership                       

The basics of military leadership in the AI era are governance. Speed divorced from scrutiny is institutionalised recklessness. Leadership must treat oversight architecture as a prerequisite to capability expansion. No AI-generated targeting recommendation should proceed to engagement without structured, two-step human authorisation. Approval interfaces should not be ceremonial. This should be a binding standard.[22]

Leadership has to focus on doctrine. Rules of engagement must specify where AI may autonomously generate targets, where human deliberation is mandatory, and what categories of targets are categorically excluded from AI-only recommendations. Operational tempo must not be permitted to override oversight architecture.[23] The US DoD’s January 2026 AI Acceleration Strategy—mandating a ‘wartime approach’ to transform the force into an ‘AI-first’ organisation—illustrates both ambition and risk: private-sector integration at scale amplifies capability but multiplies the dependencies and failure modes that adversaries can exploit.[24]

Doctrine, in turn, must drive Professional Military Education (PME). The Iran campaign exposed a structural gap between AI integration and human preparedness: cognitive demands and speed of decision-making tested operator training.[25] AI excels at pattern-matching. It is limited in contextual, ethically weighted reasoning, which can affect independent judgment. PME must therefore cultivate the habit of questioning AI outputs. The practice of demanding multiple analytical perspectives before a decision is taken must be ingrained. Future leaders must be trained to synthesise technology with judgement, but at a far greater speed and under far greater escalatory pressure.

Finally, AI-related vulnerabilities—infrastructure dependencies, adversarial manipulation, and single points of failure—transcend service boundaries and demand an all-of-government response. Leadership must ensure that capability development does not outpace the legal frameworks and ethical guardrails.

India’s AI-Warfare Readiness

India’s strategic environment demands an urgent yet rigorous integration of AI into warfare. The People’s Liberation Army (PLA) has structured its entire modernisation trajectory around AI integration. Baidu, Alibaba, and Tencent are systematically co-opted for military AI development.[26] Pakistan’s Centre of Artificial Intelligence and Computing (CENTAIC) is transferring AI capabilities to Pakistan’s military.[27] During Operation Sindoor, Pakistan appeared to receive real-time satellite intelligence and AI-backed targeting support through this channel.[28] India thus confronts a two-front AI challenge.

India’s AI-warfare programme has achieved tangible operational credibility. Operation Sindoor marked India’s first officially acknowledged operational deployment of AI for targeting.[29] Institutionally, the Defence AI Council (DAIC), the Defence AI Project Agency (DAIPA), and the Innovations for Defence Excellence (iDEX) ecosystem have been operational since 2019.[30] The 2022 Artificial Intelligence in Defence (AIDef) symposium launched 75 AI-enabled defence products, and the ETAI (Evaluating Trustworthy Artificial Intelligence) trustworthy AI framework was released in October 2024.[31]

Three structural gaps, however, critically constrain India’s AI-warfare readiness. First, technology sovereignty: i.e. India’s AI workloads run on foreign cloud infrastructure with critical chips manufactured in Taiwan and China.[32] Second, inter-service fragmentation: the services develop AI capabilities in parallel silos with limited doctrine integration.[33] Third, procurement cycle mismatch: the standard capital acquisition lifecycle runs five to seven years, while AI and drone technologies evolve much faster—meaning a system procured to counter the 2024 PLA threat will arrive in 2030.[34]

To bridge these gaps, technology sovereignty must be treated as a national security imperative. The India AI Mission, the sovereign cloud initiative, and the Defence Research and Development Organisation’s (DRDO) semiconductor and edge-computing programmes should be prioritised as strategic initiatives.[35] A joint AI operations architecture with a permanent tri-service AI fusion cell, unified data standards, a common doctrine on autonomous targeting, and a formal AI accountability framework is required.[36] PME must be redesigned for the AI era. India can field AI-enabled systems; the unresolved question is whether its commanders are trained to govern them under the compressed timelines and escalatory pressures posed by nuclear-armed adversaries.

Conclusion

The 2026 Iran-Israel-US conflict has confirmed that AI is the organising principle of future military campaigns. The tempo of AI-assisted operations achieved in Operation Epic Fury was unprecedented, as was the governance failure of the Anthropic–Pentagon dispute. The accountability vacuum created by legal frameworks, procurement standards, and ethical doctrine that do not keep pace with technology is a major concern.

For India, the challenge is strategic, institutional, and educational. The PLA’s intelligentised warfare doctrine and Pakistan’s CENTAIC’s AI capabilities constitute a two-front AI threat. Institutional architecture must be tied to a clear doctrine specifying the scope of AI use. Technology sovereignty must be treated as a national security imperative; inter-service silos must be dissolved; and PME must be restructured for an AI-era conflict. Ultimately, it is military leadership—through doctrine, education, and institutional example—that will determine whether AI remains a force multiplier under human command or becomes an opaque accelerant of escalation in India’s next crisis.

*****

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Notes:-

[1] Stephen Robinson, “The Korean War and the OODA Loop: What Happened to the Kill Ratio?” Ballons to Drones, April 03, 2025, https://balloonstodrones.com/2025/04/03/the-korean-war-and-the-ooda-loop-what-happened-to-the-kill-ratio/. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[2] Arthur K. Cebrowski and John H. Garstka, “Network-Centric Warfare: Its Origin and Future,” Proceedings of the US Naval Institute vol. 124, no. 1, January 1998, pp. 28–35. https://www.usni.org/magazines/proceedings/1998/january/network-centric-warfare-its-origin-and-future. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[3]Bryan Clark, Dan Patt, and Timothy A. Walton, “Advancing Decision-Centric Warfare,” Hudson Institute, June 29, 2021, https://www.hudson.org/national-security-defense/advancing-decision-centric-warfare-gaining-advantage-through-force-design-and-mission-integration. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[4] Cheryl Pellerin, “Project Maven to Deploy Computer Algorithms to War Zone by Year’s End,” U.S. Department of Defense, July 21, 2017, https://www.war.gov/News/News-Stories/Article/Article/1254719/project-maven-to-deploy-computer-algorithms-to-war-zone-by-years-end/. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[5] Alistair MacDonald, “AI-Powered Drone Swarms Have Now Entered the Battlefield,” The Wall Street Journal, September 02, 2025. https://www.wsj.com/world/ai-powered-drone-swarms-have-now-entered-the-battlefield-2cab0f05. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[6]Koichiro Takagi, “Artificial Intelligence and Future Warfare,” Hudson Institute, November 23, 2022, https://www.hudson.org/defense-strategy/artificial-intelligence-future-warfare. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[7] Vitaliy Goncharuk, “Russia’s War in Ukraine: Artificial Intelligence in Defence of Ukraine,” International Centre for Defence and Security, September 27, 2024, https://icds.ee/en/russias-war-in-ukraine-artificial-intelligence-in-defence-of-ukraine/. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[8]Sam Bendett, “Roles and Implications of AI in the Russian-Ukrainian Conflict,” Russia Matters, July 20, 2023, https://www.russiamatters.org/analysis/roles-and-implications-ai-russian-ukrainian-conflict. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[9]“Russia Using Generative AI to Ramp Up Disinformation, Says Ukraine Minister” Reuters, October 16, 2024, https://www.reuters.com/technology/artificial-intelligence/russia-using-generative-ai-ramp-up-disinformation-says-ukraine-minister-2024-10-16/. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[10] Yehoshua Kalisky and Ido Karp, “AI Use in Operation Roaring Lion,” Institute for National Security Studies, March 11, 2026, https://www.inss.org.il/social_media/ai-use-in-operation-roaring-lion/. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[11] Omer Kabir, “From Drones to Warnings: IDF Expands Use of AI in Active Combat against Iran,” Calcalist Tech, March 30, 2026, https://www.calcalistech.com/ctechnews/article/hyguzhoo11l. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[12] Artur Markus, “Palantir’s Maven Smart System Running on Anthropic’s Claude Powers 11,000+ US Strikes in Iran,” Artur Markus, April 23, 2026, https://www.arturmarkus.com/palantirs-maven-smart-system-running-on-anthropics-claude-powers-11000-us-strikes-in-iran-dod-designates-it-official-programme-of-record-with-25000-military-accounts-deployed/. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[13] Israel Wullman, “Shaping the New Battlefield: How the IDF Uses AI to Sync Hundreds of Strikes in Iran and Lebanon,” Ynet News, March 31, 2026, https://www.ynetnews.com/tech-and-digital/article/bk3000ltobe. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[14] Ibid.

[15] Ibid.

[16] Ibid.

[17]Anna Hehir, “AI Warfare Is Outpacing Our Ability to Control It,” Tech Policy Press, April 03, 2026, https://www.techpolicy.press/ai-warfare-is-outpacing-our-ability-to-control-it/. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[18] Zaza Tsotniashvili, “Algorithmic Warfare in the Iran Conflict: AI-Driven Decision Compression, the Erosion of Human Oversight, and Accountability Gaps in Contemporary Military Operations,” Zenodo, March 04, 2026, https://zenodo.org/records/18859998. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[19] Denise Garcia, “AI in Military Decision-Making: The Global Governance Challenge,” Global Catastrophic Risks 2026, Global Challenges Foundation, 2026, pp. 38–43, chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://globalchallenges.org/app/uploads/2025/12/Global-Catastrophic-Risks-2026.pdf#:~:text=Risk%204%20%E2%80%93%20AI%20in,Northeastern%20University%20and%20Commissioner%20at. Accessed on May 18, 2026.

[20] Tal Pinkasovich, “The Paradox Machine: How the AI That Was Banned Won the War,” The Jerusalem Post, March 22, 2026, https://www.jpost.com/defense-and-tech/article-890738. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[21]Craig Albert, “Operation Epic Fury: The Promises and Perils of AI Warfare,” The Hill, March 20, 2026, https://thehill.com/opinion/technology/5790157-ai-military-revolution-warfare/. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[22] Michael Klare, “AI Plays Major Role in the War on Iran,” Arms Control Today, May 2026, https://www.armscontrol.org/act/2026-05/news/ai-plays-major-role-war-iran. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[23] Hadas Lorber, “‘AI-First’ Warfare: America’s Algorithmic Edge in Operation Epic Fury,” The Jerusalem Post, March 3, 2026, https://www.jpost.com/defense-and-tech/article-888633. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[24]  Daniel Mercer, “Department of War Integrates OpenAI ChatGPT Into GenAI.mil Platform For 3 million Personnel,” The Defense Watch, February 9, 2026, https://thedefensewatch.com/cyber-space-defense/pentagon-genai-mil-adds-chatgpt. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[25] Amanda Collazzo, “Warfare at the Speed of Thought: Balancing AI and Critical Thinking for the Military Leaders of Tomorrow,” Modern War Institute at West Point, February 21, 2025, https://mwi.westpoint.edu/warfare-at-the-speed-of-thought-balancing-ai-and-critical-thinking-for-the-military-leaders-of-tomorrow/. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[26] Harsh V. Pant and Angad Singh, “AI in Modern Warfare: India’s Strategic Challenges and Opportunities,” Observer Research Foundation, February 27, 2026, https://www.orfonline.org/expert-speak/ai-in-modern-warfare-india-s-strategic-challenges-and-opportunities. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[27] Diana George, “China’s Invisible Hand? CENTAIC Emerges as Nerve Centre of Pakistan’s AI-Driven Air Force,” Times Now World, August 07, 2025, https://www.timesnownews.com/world/asia/china-invisible-hand-centaic-emerges-as-nerve-centre-of-pakistan-ai-driven-air-force-article-152425022. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[28]Satyen K. Bordoloi, “The Major Threat to India’s AI War Capability: Lack of Indigenous AI,” Sify, August 12, 2025, https://www.sify.com/ai-analytics/the-major-threat-to-indias-ai-war-capability-lack-of-indigenous-ai/. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[29]Rajiv Kumar Sahni, “AI Gives India 94% Precision Edge in Operation Sindoor,” The Defense Post, October 07, 2025, https://www.google.com/search?q=%22AI+Gives+India+94%25+Precision+Edge+in+Operation+Sindoor%2C%22&oq=%22AI+Gives+India+94%25+Precision+Edge+in+Operation+Sindoor%2C%22&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyBggAEEUYOTIHCAEQIRigATIHCAIQIRigATIHCAMQIRigATIHCAQQIRigATIHCAUQIRiPAjIHCAYQIRiPAtIBCDE1MDdqMGo3qAIAsAIA&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8. Accessed on May 20, 2026.

[30] Press Information Bureau, Government of India, “Task Force for Implementation of AI,” March 28, 2022, chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.mod.gov.in/sites/default/files/PRESS%20RELEASE%20%20rajy%20sabha.pdf. Accessed on May 20, 2026.

[31]  Press Information Bureau, Government of India, “Raksha Mantri launches 75 Artificial Intelligence products/technologies during first-ever ‘AI in Defence’ symposium & exhibition in New Delhi; Terms AI as a revolutionary step in the development of humanity,” July 11, 2022, https://www.pib.gov.in/PressReleasePage.aspx?PRID=1840740&reg=3&lang=2. Accessed on May 19, 2026.

[32] Anjul Sahu, “Top 5 Sovereign AI Cloud Providers in India: Leading the AI Factory Revolution,” Cloud Raft, March 05, 2026, https://www.cloudraft.io/blog/top-5-sovereign-ai-cloud-in-india . Accessed on May 20, 2026.

[33]Soumya Awasthi, “Artificial Intelligence and India’s National Security,” Observer Research Foundation, March 29, 2026, https://www.orfonline.org/expert-speak/artificial-intelligence-and-india-s-national-security. Accessed on May 20, 2026.

[34] Rahul Verma, “PLA Drone Threat and India’s High-Altitude Procurement Reforms,” Indian Aerospace and Defence Bulletin, May 12, 2026, https://www.iadb.in/2026/05/12/pla-drone-threat-indias-high-altitude-procurement-reforms/. Accessed on May 20, 2026.

[35] Nisha Holla, “Operationalising India’s Sovereign AI Stack: From Intent to Capability,” Observer Research Foundation, February 19, 2026, https://www.orfonline.org/expert-speak/operationalising-india-s-sovereign-ai-stack-from-intent-to-capability. Accessed on May 20, 2026.

[36]DS Hooda, “Implementing Artificial Intelligence in the Indian Military,” Delhi Policy Group, February 16, 2023, https://www.delhipolicygroup.org/publication/policy-briefs/implementing-artificial-intelligence-in-the-indian-military.html. Accessed on May 20, 2026.

The post Artificial Intelligence in Warfare: Evolution, Challenges, and Military Leadership appeared first on CAPSS India.

Keywords: HF-24 Marut, 1971 Indo-Pak War, No.10 Squadron ‘Winged Daggers’, No.220 Squadron ‘Desert Tigers’, Uttarlai Air Force Base

The 1971 war is considered the Indian Air Force’s (IAF) golden hour, as it saw the utilisation of air power to its fullest. The conflict served as a trial by fire for India’s first homegrown fighter, the HAL HF-24 Marut. The article aims to provide a day-by-day breakdown of operations conducted during the 1971 war, offering an in-depth understanding of the IAF’s role and contributions to the war-fighting efforts.

Marut’s Pre-War Service

The Hindustan Aeronautics Limited (HAL) HF-24 Marut, India’s first indigenous jet fighter-bomber, was inducted into the IAF in 1967. By the time the war broke out, the Marut aircraft equipped two squadrons of the IAF, namely, the No.10 Squadron ‘Winged Daggers’ and the No.220 Squadron ‘Desert Tigers’, both based out of Jodhpur. The two squadrons were under the command of Wing Commander Keshev Chandra Aggarwal and Wing Commander Ranjit Dhawan, respectively.^{[1] [2]}

No.10 and No.220 had been equipped with Maruts in the years leading up to the 1971 war, No.10 in April 1967 and No.220 in April 1969. Both squadrons were co-based at Pune until they were relocated to Jodhpur in December 1970.^{[3] [4]} Although Jodhpur has been an active airbase of the IAF since the 1950s, it was only on January 1, 1971, that it was upgraded to the status of 32 Wing.^{[5] [6]} Both squadrons operated regular detachments from Uttarlai.^[7]

Armament aboard the HF-24

The Marut was capable of carrying a mix of guns, bombs and unguided rockets. Its primary internal weapons were 4 x 30 mm British ADEN cannons, each with 120 rounds. Apart from the guns, the Marut also had the interesting feature of a retractable rocket pack that fired 50 x 2.68 in (68mm) French Matra rockets in a single salvo. This pack was located behind the cockpit. The Marut could also carry up to 4,000 lb. of external stores across four hardpoints. These included 100 gal. drop tanks, up to two Napalm canisters or two SNEB Type-23 rocket pods (36 rockets total), or up to four 500 lb. or 1,000 lb. unguided bombs.^[8]

About two weeks before the war started, limitations were imposed on the firing of forward guns after an accident occurred in Jamnagar, during which Squadron Leader Arun Keshav Sapre was killed.^[9] The mishap resulted from critical design deficiencies, inducing severe structural resonance when all four cannons were fired concurrently.^{[10] [11]}

The War Begins

While the primary objective of the 1971 war was the eventual liberation of the state of Bangladesh in the shortest possible time, on the Western Front, the war was maintaining a ‘defensive-offensive’ posture. Owing to this, the Indian Army adopted a strategy to react to West Pakistan’s escalation, starting the evening of December 3, 1971. In this Western context, the IAF’s operations were directed towards three main objectives: To ensure continuous and strong air defence of the area along the Western Front and to prevent the PAF in the west from interfering with Indian land and air operations.^[12]

No. 10 and No. 220 squadrons primarily focused on Close Air Support (CAS), interdiction, and Tactical Reconnaissance (TAC/R) in the Naya Chor sector, executing 140 ground support sorties. Key operations included striking heavily defended positions like Gazi Camp and Parbat Ali in direct support of the 11 Division’s push, while systematically targeting logistics hubs, railway lines (notably Mirpur Khas), and enemy armour concentrations.^[13]

December 4, 1971

Uttarlai airbase was attacked in four separate bombing raids by Pakistani Air Force (PAF) B-57 bombers operating from Mianwali and Masroor.^{[14] [15]} At the time, both the Marut squadrons were operating detachments from Uttarlai in anticipation of war. The raids caused significant damage to the runway, with six bombs rendering it temporarily unserviceable. Operations resumed only from the parallel taxi track from dawn on December 4.^[16]

The Marut flew its first combat missions on December 4, against the PAF airfields at Hyderabad (Sindh) and Nawabshah. The strikes were carried out by four-aircraft formations led by the COs of Nos. 10 and 220 Squadrons respectively. ^{[17] [18]} However, only six of the eight designated aircraft took off due to technical issues. Flying at low level, the Maruts found both airfields largely deserted and, owing to range limitations, carried only their internal guns. Despite poor visibility and the absence of enemy aircraft, the attacks damaged infrastructure, including the flying control and administrative buildings.^[19].

Later that day, both squadrons flew further strike and battlefield interdiction missions in the Naya Chor sector and against Gazi Camp in support of the Indian Army’s offensive. During one such mission near Dhoronaro railway station, the Marut suffered its first combat loss. Flight Lieutenant P. V. Apte of No. 220 Squadron was hit by anti-aircraft fire and ejected safely, but was killed by Pakistani troops while attempting to evade capture. He was posthumously awarded the Vir Chakra.^{[20] [21]}

Back in Jodhpur, pilots who were not on the Uttarlai detachment cursed vehemently at missing the first day of action and were further frustrated by being ordered to fly defensive Combat Air Patrol (CAP) over the base.^[22] Both squadrons flew a total of eight missions on December 4^th.

December 5, 1971

On the morning of December 5, No. 10 Squadron launched another four-aircraft strike mission against Hyderabad airfield. Finding no worthwhile targets, the Maruts strafed nearby buildings instead. During take-off, Flight Lieutenant J. S. “Jug Jug” Kapoor suffered a tyre burst, forcing him to jettison his drop tanks and divert to Jodhpur. Around the same time, Marut pilots also carried out glide-bombing attacks on Naya Chor, a strategically important area housing Pakistani signals and navigational facilities that remained a recurring target throughout the war.^[23]

Later that morning, No. 220 Squadron suffered its second combat loss to enemy Anti-Aircraft fire. Sqn Ldr Krishen Kumar Bakshi and Flt Lt Jawaharlal Bhargava were attacking ground targets near Naya Chor when Bhargava’s aircraft was hit during a dive attack.^{[24] [25]} Although he briefly regained control and attempted to return towards India, the aircraft became uncontrollable near the international border. Bhargava ejected safely but was captured by Pakistani forces.^[26]

That evening, No. 220 Squadron flew armed reconnaissance missions near Longewala to locate Pakistani armour formations. None were found, confirming the withdrawal of enemy armour following earlier IAF Hunter strikes.^[27] During these missions, the Maruts also attacked railway and transport targets around Dhoronaro, damaging rolling stock and destroying a jeep near the canal junction west of Chor.^[28]

December 6, 1971

On December 6, the Maruts continued operations in the Naya Chor sector, with tactics shifting from unguided rockets to heavier ordnance such as 1,000 lb High-Explosive bombs and napalm canisters. Several missions were flown against suspected Pakistani armour concentrations around Khipro and Dhoronaro.

During one such sortie, Squadron Leader Krishen Kumar Bakshi and Flight Lieutenant Sreekanth of No. 220 Squadron carried out a napalm strike near Dhoronaro when they encountered four PAF F-86 Sabres. Bakshi attempted to engage one of the fighters, but the Sabres quickly disengaged before a decisive combat could develop. Although Sreekanth later reported seeing smoke trailing from one of the enemy aircraft, Pakistani records do not acknowledge any loss in that sector.^{[29] [30]} Bakshi was subsequently awarded the Vir Chakra for his actions.^[31]

The same day, No. 220 Squadron also mounted repeated strikes against Nawabshah airfield despite persistent technical problems that forced two mission aborts.^[32]  One two-aircraft formation, flown by Wg Cdr Dhawan and Flt Lt Kasbekar, succeeded in damaging a hangar before further planned strikes had to be cancelled due to aircraft unserviceability.^[33] That day, Maruts destroyed a total of six Type 59 Main Battle Tanks (MBT) of 10 Guides Cavalry (attached to 33 Infantry Division).^[34]

December 7, 1971

On December 7, the Maruts flew eight close air support sorties, particularly around the village of Sufi Faqir, west of Naya Chor.^[35] During one tactical reconnaissance mission, a pair of Maruts piloted by Wg Cdr K. C. “Boss” Aggarwal and “Pinky” sighted a formation of PAF F-86 Sabres strafing Indian Army positions near Parcheji Veri. Outnumbered and at a tactical disadvantage, the Marut pilots chose not to engage.^[36] Marut’s strike that day also accounted for the destruction of three Pakistani Type 59 tanks belonging to 10 Guides Cavalry.^[37] Later that evening, Uttarlai was subjected to another Pakistani B-57 bombing raid. Although bombs struck a taxi-track connecting the runway to the parallel taxiway, the airbase suffered no significant operational disruption.^[38]

December 8, 1971

On December 7, the Maruts flew eight close air support sorties, particularly around the village of Sufi Faqir, west of Naya Chor.^[39] During one tactical reconnaissance mission, a pair of Maruts piloted by Wg Cdr K. C. “Boss” Aggarwal and “Pinky” sighted a formation of PAF F-86 Sabres strafing Indian Army positions near Parcheji Veri. Outnumbered and at a tactical disadvantage, the Marut pilots chose not to engage.^[40] Marut’s strike that day also accounted for the destruction of three Pakistani Type 59 tanks belonging to 10 Guides Cavalry.^[41] Later that evening, Uttarlai was subjected to another Pakistani B-57 bombing raid. Although bombs struck a taxi-track connecting the runway to the parallel taxiway, the airbase suffered no significant operational disruption.^[42]

December 9, 1971

No. 220 maintained a high tempo with four missions. Wg Cdr Dhawan and Sqn Ldr D S Jatar executed a Counter Air Offensive over Nawabshah, destroying two hangarettes, though Sqn Ldr D S Jatar had to land with very low fuel due to a fuel transfer issue. Sqn Ldr Bakshi and Flt Lt Kasbekar flew a TAC/R (Tactical Reconnaissance) strike in Umarkot and Dhoronaro, destroying 5 vehicles and 1 tank.^{[43] [44]} Flt Lt Batra flew as part of a No. 10 Squadron formation; they were chased by four Sabres but returned safely. A final Counter Air Offensive over Nawabshah by Wg Cdr Dhawan and Flt Lt Kasbekar saw Wg Cdr Dhawan experience a total hydraulic failure, though he managed a safe return.

December 11, 1971

On the morning of December 11, two Maruts of No. 10 Squadron were preparing for take-off from Uttarlai when the airbase came under a sudden low-level attack by PAF F-104 Starfighters. The attacking aircraft strafed the taxi track just short of the runway, as the Maruts were about to line up for take-off. One Marut, piloted by Sqn Ldr M.S. “Micky” Jatar (D-1204), was destroyed after its fuel tank was hit and the aircraft caught fire. Struggling with a jammed canopy, Jatar managed to force it open and escape through the burning fuel, sustaining first-degree burns in the process.^[45] Another Marut, flown by Flt Lt J.S. Sidhu, was also hit, though the pilot escaped safely. Ground crew personnel subsequently towed the damaged aircraft to safety despite the continuing threat of attack.^[46]

Pakistani accounts claim two Maruts destroyed during the strike, though Indian sources credit the loss of only one aircraft.^{[47] [48]}  The attacking formation was led by Wg Cdr Arif Iqbal of No. 9 Squadron PAF, with Sqn Ldr Amanullah as his wingman.^[49]

Later that night, an unidentified enemy aircraft approached Uttarlai and dropped illumination or pyrotechnic devices over a decoy camp established by Indian forces. A second aircraft appeared roughly half an hour later but did not attack, suggesting a possible photo-reconnaissance mission over the area.^[50]

December 12-17, 1971

From December 12 onwards, the Maruts continued to fly CAS and strike missions in the Naya Chor sector. During one mission on that day, a two-aircraft formation of No. 220 Squadron (flown by Sqn Ldr Brian DeMagrey and Flt Lt KP Srikant) was intercepted by a pair of PAF F-86 Sabres. In the brief engagement that followed, Srikant attempted to drive off a Sabre pursuing his leader, only to be chased in turn by the second fighter. Both Maruts disengaged safely.

On the dawn of December 13, the Indian Army launched an assault on the Parbat Ali feature, which was captured after fierce fighting and repeated Pakistani counter-attacks supported by armour and Sabre jets. Maruts flew 12 CAS sorties during the battle. That evening, No. 29 Squadron’s MiG-21FLs replaced the Gnats of No. 21 Squadron in the escort role for Marut strike formations.^{[51] [52]}

By the final day of the war, the Maruts were flying an average of eight sorties daily. Even on December 16, as news arrived of the surrender of Pakistani forces in Dacca, both squadrons continued offensive operations. Missions flown that day targeted gun positions, transport vehicles, railway assets and concealed Pakistani army positions around Chor, Dhoronaro, Pithoro and Sufi Faqir under forward air controller guidance.

No.220 Squadron conducted three missions on that day. Wg Cdr Dhawan and Flt Lt Kasbekar flew a TAC/R Strike over Dhoronaro-Pithoro-Sufi-Faqir-Mirpurkhas, destroying a wagon at Pithoro railway station and two vehicles. Sqn Ldr DeMagry and Flt Lt Sreekanth hit and damaged a camouflaged army position west of Naya Chor under FAC’s direction. The final mission, a TAC/R Strike over Sufi-Faqir and Pithoro by Squadron Leader D S Jatar and Flt Lt Batra, successfully destroyed several vehicles.

Maintenance and Readiness

Prior to the outbreak of the conflict, the average serviceability of the HF-24 Marut for the year 1971 was as follows:

Source: Form 1500 (Operational Record Book) of No.10 Squadron and No.220 Squadron.

Table 1: Serviceability rate of Nos. 10 and 220 Squadrons for the annual year 1970-71.

The average serviceability of the Maruts was maintained through constant ferries to Jodhpur and back. Whenever an aircraft needed any major rectifications or repairs, or for servicing that was beyond the scope of Uttarlai, they were ferried to Jodhpur, where said repairs were conducted and ferried back to Uttarlai. These ferries were conducted by a group of young pilots. Sometimes, several sorties were flown in a single day to ensure an average of 12-15 Maruts were available through the 14 days. This idea was devised by the Chief Technical Officer of Uttarlai, Wing Commander (later Air Marshal) Shashikumar Samuel Ramdas.^[53] No.10 saw exceptional maintenance with 100 per cent serviceability at Uttarlai, and not one mission had to wait for aircraft to be made ready.

Conclusion

Over the 14 days of the Indo-Pak War, the HF-24 Marut proved a lynchpin of the IAF’s operations in the Naya Chor sector. Operating from Uttarlai Air Base between December 14 and 16, Marut squadrons executed sustained Close Air Support, interdiction, Tactical Reconnaissance (TAC-R), Recce & Strike and Offensive Counter Air missions, striking targets such as Hyderabad and Nawabshah airfields, the Naya Chor–Dhoronaro–Umarkot axis, and the Mirpur Khas railway yard where rolling stock was systematically destroyed.

These operations were carried out successfully despite several challenges, ranging from serviceability to partially inoperable runways due to several PAF air raids and heavy AAA fire. The campaign came at a high human cost, with Flt Lt Apte killed in action and Flt Lt Bhargava captured. Forward Air Controllers (FAC) played a crucial part in aiding successful missions, as they effectively were the eyes and ears of the prowling Maruts, by guiding them accurately towards their targets.

Equally critical was the exceptional effort of the ground crew: through an innovative system of ferrying aircraft to Jodhpur for major repairs, No. 10 Squadron maintained a high degree of serviceability. Despite initial issues caused by equipment failures, both squadrons managed to deliver a good performance. Both squadrons managed to fly a total of 140 sorties (No.10 and No.220 Squadron flying 72 and 68 sorties respectively). Three aircraft were lost, all due to combat, with two being destroyed due to AAA and one due to PAF OCA on December 11, 1971; two losses were of No.220 Sqn. The average attrition rate was 0.021 for the entire Marut fleet, with individual attrition rates of 1.39 and 2.94 for No.10 and 220 squadrons, respectively. ^{[54] [55]}

The Marut’s performance during these fourteen days was marked by operational persistence, pilot courage, and remarkable maintenance ingenuity and stands as a defining chapter in the aircraft’s combat legacy and the IAF’s conduct in the 1971 war.

ANNEXURE 1: List of Marut pilots deployed at Uttarlai during the 1971 India-Pakistan War

No.10 Squadron

• • Wing Commander K.C. Aggarwal (“Boss”)

  • Squadron Leader P.E. Gaynor (“Pete”)

  • Squadron Leader A.V. Kamat (“Kamy”)

  • Squadron Leader M.S. Jatar (“Micky/Mickey”)

  • Flight Lieutenant Y. Chauhan (“Chou”)

  • Flight Lieutenant G.S. Sarao (“Sarao”)

  • Flight Lieutenant J.S. Kapoor (“Jug Jug”)

  • Flight Lieutenant J.S. Sisodia (“Sis)

  • Flight Lieutenant J.S Sidhu (“Panchi”)

  • Flying Officer D.N.G.P. Rao (“Pinky”)

No. 220 Squadron

• • Wing Commander R. Dhawan (“Jit”)

  • Squadron Leader D.S. Jatar (“Dinky Jatar”)

  • Squadron Leader K.K. Bakshi (“Joe”)

  • Squadron Leader B.S. DeMagry

  • Flight Lieutenant P.V. Apte

  • Flight Lieutenant J.L. Bhargava (“Brother”)

  • Flight Lieutenant M.Y. Kasbekar (“Bobby”)

  • Flight Lieutenant K.P. Sreekanth

  • Flight Lieutenant S.C. Batra (“Bats Batra”)

Forward Air Controllers (FACs)

• • Flight Lieutenant W.R.S. Rao (“Robs”)

  • Flying Officer H.N.D. Mullaferoze (“Mulla” / “Feroze”)

*****

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Notes:

^[1]“IAF Database Record 4434,” Bharat-Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/4434. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[2]“IAF Database Record 4572,” Bharat-Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/4572. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[3] HushKit, “I Flew the HAL HF-24 Marut Fighter,” Hush-Kit, https://hushkit.substack.com/p/i-flew-the-hal-hf-24-marut-fighter. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[4]Indian Air Force, n. 2.

^[5] “The Indian Air Force in the 1965 War,” Web Archives, https://web.archive.org/web/20111117222535/http://bharat-rakshak.com/IAF/History/1965War/Chapter8.html. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[6] “32 Wing,” Bharat-Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/units/32+Wing. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[7] “Runway Nomads: The Story of IAF’s Mobile Echelons,” Indian Air Force History, https://iafhistory.in/2025/07/17/runway-nomads-the-story-of-iafs-mobile-echelons/. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[8] Satyajit Lall, 1971 Strategy, Campaign, Valour (India: Sabre & Quill Publishers, 2024), p. 97.

^[9] “Service Record of Squadron Leader Arun Keshav Sapre,” Bharat Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/4981. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[10] Pushpindar Singh, Spirits of the Wind: The HAL HF-24 Marut (New Delhi: Society for Aerospace Studies, 2011), pp.56-57.

^[11] Vikram Singh (Retd. Air Marshal), in discussion with Arjun Prakash Iyer, Bengaluru, February 19, 2026.

^[12] Air Marshal Vikram Singh (Retd.), Personal interview by Arjun Prakash Iyer, Bengaluru, February 19, 2026, transcript (in-person), Accessed on February 22, 2026.

^[13]  Vikram Singh, Because of This: A History of the Indo-Pak Air War of December 1971 (New Delhi: Manohar Publishers & Distributors, 2025), pp. 168–191.

^[14] Vikram Singh, Because of This: A History of Indo-Pak Air War of December 1971 (New Delhi: Manohar Publishers and USI of India, 2025), pp. 168–191.

^[15]Yawar Mazhar and Usman Shabbir, Eagles of Destiny: Volume 2—Growth and Wars of the Pakistani Air Force 1956–1971 (Solihull: Helion & Company, 2023), p. 67.

^[16]  Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[17]Indian Air Force, ORB, No. 10 Squadron, quarter ending December 31, 1971.

^[18] Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[19] Indian Air Force, ORB, No. 220 Squadron, quarter ending December 31, 1971.

^[20] “IAF Database Record 10456,” Bharat-Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/10456. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[21] Kaiser Tufail, “Air War in the Thar,” Kaiser-Aeronaut Blog, October 2009, https://kaiser-aeronaut.blogspot.com/2009/10/air-war-in-thar.html. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[22]Indian Air Force, n.17.

^[23]Indian Air Force, n. 17.

^[24]  Indian Air Force, n. 19.

^[25]   Singh, n.14, pp. 168–191.

^[26] “IAF Database Record 7209,” Bharat-Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/7209. Accessed on March 5, 2026.

^[27]   Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[28]   Indian Air Force, n. 19.

^[29] Vikram Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[30]  Lall, n. 11, p. 612.

^[31]“IAF Database Record 5012,” Bharat-Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/5012, Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[32]  Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[33] Ibid., pp. 168–191.

^[34]  Lall, n. 11, p. 585

^[35] Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[36] Indian Air Force, n.17.

^[37]Lall, n. 11, p. 585.

^[38]  Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[39] Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[40] Indian Air Force, n.17.

^[41]Lall, n. 11, p. 585.

^[42]  Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[43] Indian Air Force, n. 19.

^[44] Lall, n. 11, p. 585.

^[45] “HAL HF-24 Marut D-1204,” Bharat-Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/aircraft/D-1204. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[46] Indian Air Force, n. 19.

^[47] Lall, n. 11, p.628.

^[48]  Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[49]Mazhar and Shabbir, n. 15, p. 68.

^[50]   Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

^[51]  Ibid., pp. 168–191.

^[52]  Indian Air Force, n. 19.

^[53] “IAF Database Record 4930,” Bharat-Rakshak, https://www.bharat-rakshak.com/indianairforce/database/4930. Accessed on March 05, 2026.

^[54]Lall, n. 11, p. 604.

^[55] Singh, n. 14, pp. 168–191.

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