Based on true events narrated by Admiral T.K. Khan and Captain Wain, this account recounts the remarkable story of Lieutenant Wain's survival in the 1971 War, saved by the selfless bravery of a Bengali doctor and nurse amidst the ravages of war.

In March 1971, I flew to East Pakistan to assume command of the destroyer Pakistan Navy Ship (PNS) Jahangir, which was anchored at Chittagong. Law and order had collapsed in the town, with riots erupting everywhere. PNS Jahangir was waiting for me at the anchorage, but before I could board her, the Naval Officer in Charge (NOIC), Chittagong, instructed me to investigate the situation aboard MV Swat. This Pakistan National Shipping Corporation (PNSC) vessel had arrived carrying an important cargo of ammunition for the Army, but its unloading had become a point of contention between East and West Pakistanis.
It was about sunset when I took a boat upriver and clambered aboard MV Swat. There was no crew on board, and the ship was being guarded by Colonel Shigri and some Bengali soldiers. They had not been able to unload because the soldiers didn’t know how to operate the ship’s cranes.
I got in touch with NOIC’s Chief Security Officer (CSO), Captain Zamir, and told him about the immediate requirement of arranging food for the soldiers guarding the ship, and have them replaced by West Pakistani troops. It took some time for the soldiers to arrive with the food, and by then, everyone was quite hungry. While the Bengali soldiers were tucking into their food, their weapons were taken away and the West Pakistanis took control of the ship. Next, I asked Captain Zamir to send some men to help unload the cargo. Since his men were already spread very thin, I suggested to get some technical personnel from PNS Jahangir to work the cranes.
They arrived the next morning, with Lieutenant A. H. Wain (rhymes with wine) and three or four Engine Room Artificers (ERAs are petty officers of the Engineering Branch) from PNS Jahangir. Between them and the soldiers, the unloading work started. The ship’s crane was used for lifting the boxes of ammunition (probably of 106 mm recoilless rifles) out of the hold and placing them on the jetty. 
As the unloading work was going on, I warned Lieutenant Wain in particular to watch out for the big gaping hole in the deck, the open hold from which the ammunition boxes were being lifted. However, as the work progressed, what I had feared happened; Wain walked backwards while giving hand signals to the crane operator and fell into the deep hold. He landed on his back and lay spread-eagled at the bottom of the hold, paralyzed.
Everything came to a halt, and all our attention focused on how to lift the immovable Wain out of that deep hold. It was not easy, as we could not find a Neil Robinson Stretcher on board. I instructed the two men in the hold to carefully place Wain on the platform that was being used to lift the ammunition boxes. This was how he was winched up from the hold. Wain was then carefully carried out of the ship and taken to the nearby Port Trust hospital in the dock area. There, a Bengali doctor on duty examined him. He said that X-rays were needed, but the machine was not working. The doctor informed us that Wain had a serious back injury, along with other fractures, and required immediate transfer to the hospital in town. 
It was a tricky situation. There was no point in taking Wain back to PNS Jahangir, nor was there any point in taking him to the Naval Base. In both cases, they would send him to the main hospital in town. Therefore, sending him directly to the hospital was the best solution. But how could we get him there? There were roadblocks all over town, and the Bengalis were tearing West Pakistanis limb from limb. And who would accompany him? 
Curiously, it was the Bengali doctor who suggested a way out. He said that the patient had the skin color of a Bengali; if he could be dressed up as a Bengali worker, then he, the doctor, would accompany him to the hospital and get him admitted there.

That night, soldiers from the East Bengal Regiment came to finish him off, brandishing knives and bayonets. But a young Bengali nurse stood in their way. She was like a tigress protecting her cub. “Bengali or no Bengali,” she shouted at the soldiers, “he is my patient, and you can get to him only over my dead body!”

The question now was: could I trust the Bengali doctor? I had to decide quickly. From the little I had seen of him, I decided to put my faith in the doctor. Wain was an officer of a ship I was about to take command of, so I felt responsible for him. The doctor had given him a shot of morphine for the pain, leaving him semi-conscious. I bent down and, speaking very slowly, I explained to Wain what we planned to do, that it was the only option, and that we had to trust the Bengali doctor. He nodded and said, "Whatever you think is best."
We carefully removed Wain’s uniform and dressed him in a vest and lungi (a traditional garment worn around the waist). Then, we arranged for a small open civilian van and laid Wain in it; the doctor climbed up and sat beside him. As I backed the van out of the dock area and into the hostile city, I wondered whether I had made the right decision and whether I would ever see Wain again. Then, we returned to the task of unloading the ship. Later that day, the NOIC recalled me to the naval base for some other work he had in mind for me.
For the next few weeks, I had my hands full. I took command of PNS Jahangir, carried out the bombardment of the rebellious East Pakistan Rifles Headquarters, and more. After that, when Chittagong had been brought back under the control of the Army, PNS Jahangir entered the harbor for the first time, and the Bengali members of the ship’s company were removed from the ship. 
There were dead bodies everywhere in the harbor, and the sight of them made me very worried about Wain’s fate. I went to the Naval Base to inquire about him and  was greatly relieved to learn that not only had he been recovered, but he had also been evacuated to Karachi. I breathed a sigh of relief; my trust in the Bengali doctor had not been misplaced after all.
Wain’s personal effects were still onboard PNS Jahangir. About three months later, after PNS Jahangir had been relieved by PNS Badr at Chittagong and we had arrived back in Karachi, I took Wain’s suitcase and went to see him in the Naval Hospital. He was recovering now and told me about the two weeks of living hell that he had endured in Chittagong before he was flown to Karachi.
After he and the Bengali doctor had left us in the van, the latter had been true to his word; he had talked his way through all the road blocks, and finally made it to the hospital. There also, the doctor had done all the talking and got Wain admitted as a Bengali dock laborer.
For many days, Wain just lay there in the large general ward on the top floor of the hospital, surrounded by Bengalis. He couldn’t dare speak to anyone. He had fused lumbar vertebrae, a fractured right arm, and a fractured right leg; he couldn’t move at all. A bundle of shooting pains, he kept passing in and out of consciousness. No surgeon came to treat him, and the nurses continued giving him painkilling tablets for a while, until they ran out of those as well.
While he was still there, three Sabre aircraft of the Pakistan Air Force (PAF) came and carried out strikes on the radio station nearby (that was probably the time I was carrying out my bombardment from PNS Jahangir). He could see the aircraft through the windows of the big ward he was in. The Bengalis all around him were very upset and outraged by the strike. It wasn’t long before they found out that they had a Punjabi in their midst.
That night, soldiers from the East Bengal Regiment came to finish him off, brandishing knives and bayonets. But a young Bengali nurse stood in their way. She was like a tigress protecting her cub. “Bengali or no Bengali,” she shouted at the soldiers, “he is my patient, and you can get to him only over my dead body!” They came for Wain three times, and fortunately for him, on all three occasions, that nurse was on duty. Wain owes his life to that brave Bengali nurse; she had become his guardian angel.
First, that Bengali doctor; and then this nurse. It just goes to show that when the majority lose their heads, there are still some who keep theirs. Such incidents had also occurred during the carnage of Partition, on both sides. 
As the sounds of battle in the town drew closer, the doctors and then all the patients around Wain began leaving the hospital one by one. When the Pakistan Army finally entered the hospital and took control, Wain was the only patient remaining in that large general ward. They carried him to one of their safe houses in Chittagong, where he stayed for a few days. He made contact with the Naval Base, and an ambulance came to transfer him there. On April 9, he was flown to Dacca and finally to Karachi and PNS Shifa.
As recounted by Admiral (Retired) T.K. Khan, former Chief of Naval Staff (CNS), and Captain (Retired) A . H. Wain, the Navy had to place Wain in a low medical category. He walked with a limp but continued serving in the Navy ashore for another twenty-one years, eventually retiring as a Captain in 1992.

 The writer is a retired Rear Admiral of the Pakistan Navy. He received his basic training at the Naval College in Dartmouth, UK, and spent a significant portion of his service in submarines, both at home and abroad. He has held various command and staff appointments and also served as the Defense Attaché in Paris. His final appointment, as a Rear Admiral, was Chief Executive of the National Tanker Company. A graduate of the National Defense College, he contributes regularly to defense journals. This article is taken from his book More Bubbles of Water.

Note: The article originally appeared in Bugle & Trumpet, the magazine of the Army Institute of Military History, Pakistan.