The Strangest WW2 Killer with an Even Stranger Weakness
3,432The attack comes without warning. At 18,000 feet above the English Channel, Mohinder Singh Pujji peers into the summer skies of 1941, searching for his attacker. A Messerschmitt emerges from the clouds, guns blazing. In the deafening roar of his Hurricane's engine, Pujji doesn't even notice the damage at first - until he glances down to find his dashboard completely shattered, a bullet hole torn through his flight jacket.
Black smoke and engine oil pour into the cockpit as his Hurricane loses altitude. The pilot reaches up instinctively, feeling not the familiar pressure of an RAF helmet, but the warm silk of his turban - the centuries-old crown of his Sikh heritage, now soaked with sweat and engine oil.
As the aircraft glides past 7,000 feet, a voice crackles through his radio, urging him to bail out over the Channel where rescue boats wait below. But as Pujji stares down at the churning waters, he faces an impossible choice. He had never learned to swim.
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