The Day I Saw the Sabre Slayers — A Childhood Memory from Adampur Air Base, 1965

A young boy’s close encounter with the Keelor brothers and the tiny fighter that changed the air war.

I was a school-going boy in 1965 — too young to understand the geopolitical storms of the time, yet old enough to sense that something unusual and urgent was unfolding around me. My father, serving in the Indian Air Force, had been posted to Adampur Air Force Station, one of the IAF’s most important frontline fighter bases in the western sector.

For a child, Adampur felt like a living, breathing universe. The thunder of take-offs, the sharp scent of aviation fuel, the shimmer of aircraft under the sun, and the sight of pilots in olive-green flight suits moving with crisp, confident purpose — all of it left a mark that has stayed with me for a lifetime.

Among those pilots were two men whose names I would understand the significance of much later: Sqn Ldr Trevor Keelor and Sqn Ldr Denzil Keelor, two brothers & the men who would become the IAF’s famous Sabre Slayers.

The Gnat — Small, Strange, and Impossible to Ignore

If there was one aircraft at Adampur that fascinated me endlessly, it was the Folland Gnat.

It didn’t look anything like the large, muscular fighters you saw in magazines or posters. The Gnat was tiny — surprisingly tiny — so compact and slim that it almost looked like a high-speed toy. Its pointed nose, narrow wings, and compact airframe made it stand out even among the Hunters and other fighters parked on the tarmac.

I remember walking near the dispersal area and staring at the Gnat in disbelief. How could something so small fly so fast? How could it fight? How could it possibly stand up to the powerful, globally admired F-86 Sabre of the Pakistan Air Force?

But the pilots loved the Gnat. They trusted it with their lives.

Only later did I learn what they already knew:

The Gnat was a pocket-sized predator — extremely light, incredibly agile, and brutally effective at close range. It could turn tighter, accelerate faster for short bursts, and present a smaller target than almost any contemporary fighter. In the right hands, the Gnat was downright lethal.

The Afternoon I Met the Keelor Brothers

One warm afternoon, I found myself near the fighter dispersal tarmac, where Gnats sat ready for quick scrambles. Their silver frames gleamed under the Punjab sun, as ground crew bustled around them in practised, efficient motion.

That’s when I saw two tall, composed officers walking across the dispersal area with the easy assurance of men who spent more time in the air than on the ground.

I didn’t know their names then. To me, they were simply fighter pilots — larger than life.

What I do remember vividly is their warmth. They smiled easily, acknowledged even the presence of a small, curious boy, and carried themselves with a quiet confidence I would only understand years later.

Someone — perhaps my father, maybe another officer — mentioned casually: “These are the Keelor brothers.”

The names meant nothing to me then. But in the days that followed, they would echo across the base and the nation.

The Missions That Made the Gnat a Legend

Shortly after I saw them at Adampur, the war intensified. News began to spread:

Sqn Ldr Trevor Keelor had intercepted PAF Sabres near Pathankot and shot one down —the first Sabre kill of the 1965 war. Soon after, his younger brother Sqn Ldr Denzil Keelor scored another victory.

The Gnat suddenly became the talk of the nation. This small, almost comically compact fighter had defeated the mighty Sabre that everyone believed to be superior.

The little aircraft that I had stared at with childish disbelief became a national hero, earning a nickname that has endured for decades:

“Sabre Slayer.”

Children like me — who once looked at the Gnat with a mix of confusion and amusement — now gazed at it with pride and awe. We realised only later that we had been in the presence of something historic.

Understanding the Gnat — Years Later

As I grew older and began to read more about the 1965 war, the memories of Adampur started to fall into place.

I learned that the Gnat, despite its size, was one of the deadliest air combat machines in the subcontinent. I learned that the Keelor brothers weren’t just skilled — they were among the finest fighter pilots the IAF had ever produced. And I understood that the calmness I had seen in their eyes was not casual confidence, but the quiet intensity of men trained to defend the nation with their lives.

The Gnat’s victories in 1965 weren’t just lucky shots. They were the result of brilliant flying, razor-sharp reflexes, and a machine perfectly suited for the close-in dogfighting that defined the early air battles of that war.

A Memory That Still Shines Silver

Even today, when I think back to 1965, I see the Gnat first —small, shining, arrow-like, and poised like a sprinter waiting for the gunshot.

I see the shimmering heat on the dispersal tarmac. I hear the hum of engines being run up.I recall the two brothers walking calmly toward their aircraft . And I feel the quiet awe of seeing a moment that became part of history, long before I knew its significance.

It wasn’t just history. For me, it was personal history.

A fleeting memory that turned out to be a window into courage, discipline, and the extraordinary spirit of the Indian Air Force.

Sometimes history brushes past us softly, long before we recognise its weight.