Over Fields of Fire: Flying the Sturmovik in Action on the Eastern Front 1942-45

7. I’m a pilot!

The first Sunday of June was ordinary. A day like any other: bright, warm, summery. At dawn quaint palaces of white clouds were still hanging on the horizon but by the time flying started they had dissipated and the sky had cleared. The weather was just right — aviation weather. Truth to tell, the breeze was playing up a bit but not too much. The aerodrome woke up early from habit, and when the disc of the sun rose up above the treetops our tall and thin instructor Miroevskiy was already inspecting the line of trainee pilots. It was as always, like many a time before that, but for some reason today he was looking us over very carefully as if we were soldiers on parade, and checking our flying gear. And no less cordially, with his pleasant, unexpectedly low voice he announced “Egorova will be the first to fly with me if there are no objections.”

The very idea! I took a step forward and my whole posture expressed full readiness.

“May I board?”

“You may…”

I deftly jumped up on a wing and then threw myself into the rear cockpit. That was how it should be. The front one was for the instructor.

“Taxi out!”

The obedient U-2, waddling from side to side like a duck, rolled towards the airstrip on the stiff grass. “Take the controls!” Miroevskiy ordered.

“Aye-aye, taking the controls…”

It was a routine dual training circle flight. As usual we took off, landed and taxied to the parking lot… Then the instructor’s seat was occupied by the flight commander and we took off and landed again. And at this moment I was surprised by the inopportune appearance of the club Flying Service commander. The flight commander was already unbuckling his seatbelts and threw his leg overboard. It was time for me to get out too. But the flight commander made a sign with his hand as if to say: ‘stay there’. There was a smile on Miroevskiy’s kind long face. It meant that everything was alright — he was pleased.

In the meantime the aeroclub’s Flying Service commander was already heading for the plane, doing up his helmet on the way and pulling on his leather gloves. Flying Service commander Lebedev was a simple, cordial and benevolent man. We, the trainee pilots, had never seen him blazing up, yelling at anyone, degrading anyone’s human dignity even under stress. He always listened attentively to us, his subordinates, made his remarks tactfully, gave useful recommendations. When lecturing he would instil in us that a man in the sky doesn’t learn just flying skills. He builds his character and his outlook on life in the skies. “For his success each pilot is obliged not so much to his natural disposition and abilities but rather to his diligence”, he used to say. “All your flying days are still ahead of you. So gather all the best you have inside: courage; self-control; love for your trade, and work! That’s the only way you will earn the gratitude of the people…”

And Lebedev was an excellent pilot too. They said that he had been awarded a Chinese medal for his excellent training of Chinese pilots in a combined aviation school in Urumchi. What skill must he have attained to train the Chinese pilots, illiterate, not knowing the Russian language, not having seen a plane in their lives?

All of us trainee pilots were eager to be examined by the flying unit commander himself and not by the head of the aeroclub. “Are they really going to let us fly on our own?” the presumptuous and thrilling thought flashed through my mind. However, I was ashamed of it straightaway: “How did that get into my head? No one has flown on his own yet…”

“Something’s up!” I thought and the Flying Service commander climbed into the front cockpit.

“Fly a circle. Altitude’s 300 metres, then land on the landing T on three points inside the boundary”, I hear his voice through the speaking device. I repeat the order and ask for permission to taxi out.

“Taxi out and take off!” — The commander ostentatiously put his hands on the sides of the cockpit, thus showing that now I would have to do everything myself and he was almost an bystander here and was not going to interfere with the controls.

Well, if I have to, I will. I have been flying the plane for a long time, and the presence of an instructor has been somewhat soothing. After all, you know that if something happens he’ll be sure to help. I gradually rev up and take off, doing everything the way we’ve been taught. Here is the last straight line of the ‘box’ — the most crucial one. I glide, set the levelling altitude, pull the lever to me with a barely perceptible movement — and the plane lands on three points near the T-point of the airstrip.

“Taxi in!” I hear the Flying Service commander’s order.

When the plane stopped Lebedev ordered me to stay in the cockpit and headed towards Miroevskiy. The latter said something to him and then the instructor called for a sandbag to be put in the front cockpit. I immediately remembered that this used to be done to keep the plane aligned when a trainee flyer was flying on his own. And so it turned out. The instructor said, looking into my cockpit, “You’ll be flying alone now. Do everything you just did with the Flying Service commander”.

That’s when my mouth went dry and my palms got sweaty! I wanted to thank the instructor for having me taught to fly, for letting me fly the first in my group, wanted to find many kind and good words but not saying anything, just sniffling I began to pull my goggles on. I did it too soon, paying no attention to the plane mechanic setting a sandbag on the seat. How many months I’d been waiting for those little words “fly alone”, that sign of the highest faith in a young flyer. I’d been dreaming of them, saying them in different ways and thinking under what circumstances I would hear them. And now I heard them… Miroevskiy began to help the technician tie up the sand bag inside the front cockpit and was saying “This is for Egorova so that she doesn’t get bored! It’ll replace me! Well, don’t hang back, flyer… Everything will be alright… Be calm.”

“Contact!”

“Clear the prop!”

The propeller began to make its revolutions and the plane shuddered again. All my attention was concentrated on the instruments. Grasping the wing cantilever the instructor Miroevskiy walked alongside up till the start point, and confidence was passing from his strong skilful hands to me through the whole body of the plane as if by invisible impulses. Here were the control column, throttle lever, magneto lever… I had touched them hundreds of times, turned them, made the machine go through complicated manoeuvres. But that had all been done with an older comrade watching — and now I was responsible for each movement of mine and of the plane. Myself! Strange thing — whereas only several seconds ago the responsibility was pressing me down, now, at the starting line, there was nothing of the sort.

I turned the U-2 around during the take off. My heart was beating evenly, I was breathing easily, my mind was working sharply, my memory was prompting me to perform the well-programmed actions. The utmost concentration and determination! No, my dual training flights had not been in vain. The machine was gaining speed — one more second and the undercarriage left the ground. I am flying! Everything went well. The main thing now was to carry out all elements of the flight neatly and correctly…

Do many people know what a flight means? You will say: millions. Look how many of them dash from one city to another, from continent to continent. But how can you compare the open cockpit of a training plane with the hermetically sealed salon of a passenger liner? Everything in it is like in a bus: the walls, the windows, the ceiling. You can walk in it, move around paying no attention to any kind of atmospheric conditions. It’s comfortable… But this is only the illusion of a flight: you do not fly, but you “travel by air”. Being in a training plane is completely different, even if it’s a U-2! Everything is open to the air: your head, shoulders, hands. Sink your palms into the rigid air waves and you will feel the strong chilling current. Turn around and you’ll see — there is no one else in the whole world. There is only the sky, you and your plane obedient to your human will. It lifts you higher and higher: up to the stars, up to the sun. If you want to turn it sideward it’ll do it, if you want to take it lower it’ll do it. You’re its master.

I was inundated by happiness. I wanted to sing, to yell into space. To shout that I was a pilot, that I could tell the plane what to do! I, a simple Russian girl, a girl from the Moscow Metrostroy! But the miracle that seemed to me an eternity lasted only a few minutes: just enough to manage to make a circle over the aerodrome. And now the U-2 was running on the grass again. Miroevskiy stood near the T-point. He raised his thumb and made some sign with a white signal flag. Initially I didn’t understand what it was about but then guessed: permission had been given for a second flight. It meant I had done everything alright. And there was no limit to my joy during the second flight. I sang, then yelled something, finally, taking my feet off the pedals I tried to cut some capers, and I didn’t notice I was approaching the fourth turn.

I am trying, trying very hard to land the plane as accurately as possible and I manage to do it: the U-2 touches down on three points at the T-point. Our starshina30 Khatountsev meets the plane. He has grasped a wing with one hand and is holding the other one raised with the thumb stuck up. In revenge for him making me wash the plane’s tail I stick out my tongue and rev up. The plane speeds up and Vanya runs with all his might accompanying me. And I am so cheerful, my soul rejoices so much, that it seems there is no person in the world happier than me! Having taxied to the parking lot I turn off the engine. Mobbing the plane, the guys ask me some questions, congratulate me, but I rush to report the mission accomplished to the club management. “Well done, Egorova. Keep flying like that”, the flying unit commander said and shook my hand firmly.

That day three from our group flew on their own: Khatountsev, Petukhov and I. After the flight we went to work under the technician’s command and again starshina Khatountsev ‘entrusted’ me with washing the tail unit. I was not angry at him — on the contrary, I took a rag, soap and a bucket of water with pleasure… In the evening during debriefing the instructor declared his gratitude to us but Tougoushy gave us a scolding, “Why do you look only at the instrument board during the flight? Where’s your field of attention? You can’t fly like that! You will smash yourselves up and kill me. Just as I want to hand the controls over to you at landing I look in the mirror and see you looking not at the ground but at the instruments. We are not doing blind flights after all! And you have to act more freely in the air too, you mustn’t tense up and get scared. The plane is reliable!” And he added, laughing, “History knows a case when a U-2 took off and landed with no pilot.”

We all laugh and again Miroevskiy patiently tells us about flying a circle, shows the route on a mock-up, draws it on the blackboard and then asks Tougoushy to repeat everything. The trainee pilot repeats everything sensibly — after all, he’s got degree in engineering — but during the next flight he watches the instruments again. The instructor makes him train on the ground, in the plane cockpit, and then finally the penny drops. Soon after that Tougoushy would catch up with us.

By the end of July when we had all begun flying on our own they suggested we take leave from work and go to camp, to an aerodrome. They made no obstacles for me at the shaft. On the contrary, our Comsomol leader Zhenya kept holding me up as an example at all the meetings, “These are dreadful, bleak times. The clouds of war are coming from the West. Imperialism, riding on a strengthened Fascism, is preparing an attack on our Soviet country!” he would say wrathfully and urging the guys to join the OSOAVIAHIM and pick up military skills. Many of the girls and guys answered the call. Alesha Ryazanov, a metalworker from our shaft’s mechanical workshop, was among them. Running a bit ahead I’ll say that Alesha would graduate from an aeroclub, then the Borisoglebsk military school for fighter pilots, and open his combat account of shot-down Fascist planes on the first day of the war. Ryazanov would defend the skies of Moscow, Stalingrad, Kuban’31, the Pribaltika32. Our fellow Metrostroy worker would become Twice Hero of the Soviet Union…33

I quickly booked my vacation and, having received my holiday pay, sent almost everything to the village, for my mother, having written in my letter that I would be going to camp. I didn’t explain what kind of camp it was.

They set up an army-like daily routine for us in the camps. It would be reveille, physical exercises, cleaning up the tents, breakfast if flights were planned for the second shift. If they were to be in the first shift, reveille would be before dawn and commencement of flying, at dawn. Soon we had all worked on our circle flying and started on the most interesting thing, aerobatics. Again we studied the ‘Flight Operations Manual’ which says the aim of learning aerial stunts is to teach the pilot to use the flying characteristics of a plane fully. This helps to master perfectly the art of manoeuvring the plane, necessary for a pilot in combat. But we were still doing our ‘aerobatics’ on the ground. The instructor Miroevskiy would hold a model plane in his hands and analyse with us all the elements of flying: where to look, what to see, how to operate the rudders and elevators, not just which way, but how fast and how far to move them. “Egorova”, he asks me, “what kind of manouvre is a ‘dead loop’?”

“A ‘loop’”, I reply, “is a closed circle in the vertical plane.”

“Good girl. Sit down”, Miroevskiy encourages me and then jokingly addresses Petoukhov: “And what the hell is a ‘spin’?”

Ivan gets up with dignity, tucks in his overalls behind the back, stands to attention, his grey eyes light up, and he begins, “A ‘spin’ is a quick rotation of the plane along a steep descending spiral. It occurs during loss of speed by a plane. The ‘spin’ as an aerial stunt has no independent significance but is mandatory for all flying personnel during training.”

“Tougoushy! What do you know about the ‘barrel-roll’?” Miroevskiy asks.

“It’s a double flip over a wing in the horizontal plane. Exit is in the direction of entry”, the student-pilot raps out in one breath, “but it’s impossible to do a ‘barrel-roll’ on our U-2 — its speed is too low.”

Tougoushy has changed since he’d learned how to fly. When his flying wasn’t going well he walked gloomily, without a smile, and even his dark eyes seemed mud-coloured. But now Tougoushy shines, comes to the aerodrome in a white shirt and tie. His grey cloth OSOAVIAHIM suit is thoroughly ironed, the shoes are polished and not even the aerodrome dust settles on them. His face is clean-shaven, his eyes sparkling! We have begun to call him “Prince of Georgia” among ourselves.

“And how is the ‘Immelman’ carried out, Koutov?” The instructor questions solicitously.

Victor Koutov, a brown-eyed chap with a face as tender a girl’s, demonstrates the order of implementation of this complicated manouevre. Victor works at a Metrostroy marble factory and studies at college in the evening. He is fond of reading, writes poetry and collects books. He usually buys them in two copies: one for himself and one for me. But I have no room to store books and I hand them over to the shaft library. Sometimes I come across hand-written verses in a book presented to me: they are written by Victor. I take the sheet of verses out of the book with care, and when there is no one around I read and re-read them and put into my hand-bag. Then, in the dormitory I hide them deep in my secret casket…

And that was theory, independent circle flying and ground drilling done. We have already been allowed into the ‘zone’, to practise aerobatics. Sharp turns, loops and spins, from fascinating terms in our textbooks, are becoming real indicators of our skills. And we fiercely strive further — strive to master aircraft navigation as well as possible. At this time Victor Koutov and Tougoushy became my permanent companions and tried to sit at the same table with me even in the dry mess. I liked Victor but didn’t like Tougoushy although he was doing his best to win me over. He even tried flattering me: “Anya, it’s as if you were born in a plane, I’m even jealous. First time you flew on your own, and you got no critical remarks. How could there be? — the plane in your hands is like a trained horse. But it doesn’t obey me at all!” I said nothing, and what could I say? Now if Victor had told me that… We all were in good spirits and an elevated mood: every day we were discovering something new for ourselves. One would constantly hear, “You know, I nearly broke into a spin doing a loop!”

“You don’t do sharp turns, you do ‘pancakes’”.

“What a dive Vitya34 made today!”

Once we were coming back from the runway, marching as usual and singing our favourite at the tops of our voices:

Suddenly one of the guys broke in, “Look, fellas, what’s that showing red in the girls’ tent?”

The song stopped. Everyone began to scrutinise from afar our tent with its sides raised, and coming up closer saw that my army bed was covered by a luxurious quilt. And there was a woman sitting on a stool next to it — my mother.

“Fellas, now that’s devotion! All burst out laughing as one.

The starshina allowed me to leave the formation, and I hastily greeted my mother and blurted out, “What did you bring the blanket for? To make me a laughing stock?”

“My little girl, aren’t you cold under army issue? My heart told me so!”

“I am not a bit cold, any more than all the others! And take it back, please or they’ll laugh me to scorn…”

But at this moment my instructor approached, introduced himself to my mother, admired the blanket and advised that I was a good flyer and soon would do parachute jumping.

“What do you mean, a flyer?” My mother exclaimed and stood up from the stool, letting her arms drop limply.

Miroevskiy was surprised too. “Why didn’t you write your mother that you were learning to fly?”

I stood silent, and my instructor began to explain to mother as simply as possible what a U-2 plane was.

“Don’t worry about your daughter! Our plane is absolutely safe, just like a cart. But a cart is drawn by a horse and the plane is driven by an engine of several horse-power. And it’s good that you’ve brought the blanket. Everyone is cold at night: the forest is nearby, a river…”

My mum calmed down and trustingly addressed the instructor. “Please keep an eye on her, sonny. She’s kind of impulsive: first went to work underground, then climbed into the sky…”

“Alright, alright, mamma. Everything will be fine. Don’t worry about your daughter.”

The same day mum left for Moscow. The blanket stayed with me but, to be honest, it began to disappear quite often. Once when it was raining I decided to seek it out and located it in the blokes’ tent: Louka Muravitskiy, having wrapped himself in it as in a sleeping-bag, was sleeping soundly…

…Time went by fast. The guys and I worked for the Metrostroy, flew in the aeroclub — we did aerobatics in the landing zones near the aerodrome, did routine flights. When the weather stopped us flying we studied parachutes and parachuting — how to pack one and the rules for jumping. We would have to learn it later and, possibly, it would stand us in good stead… As expounded by the parachute trainer Vladimir Antonenko it was all very easy to do. But when the time came to jump I had barely managed to fall asleep the night before. In the morning the weather was fine — that meant we would be jumping. I remember putting on the parachute, primed it — in other words, pulled on the tight rubber bands and fastened them with strong hooks to the snap locks. The instructor checked the ‘priming’ and the nurse Ira Kashpirova my pulse, and at that moment something began to shake and ache in my chest! I walked to the plane like a bear, for the parachute hampered my movements. Clumsily climbing on a wing, I got into the front cockpit: the flyer Nikolay Lazarev was in the rear. We took off and gained about 800 metres altitude.

“Get ready!” I heard the pilot’s voice.

“Aye-aye”, I replied, scrambling onto a wing and looked down, grasping a console. Oh, God, how frightening! I wanted to get back in the cockpit and, probably, I would have done but the pilot slowed down and yelled “Go!” And gave me a slight shove forward!

“Aye-aye!” I yelled and jumped into the ‘abyss’.

From then on I acted the way I was taught. I pull the ring but for some reason I feel that the cord hasn’t come out and there will be no clap, and that means the parachute will not open! Suddenly I am jolted hard and the snow-white canopy opens up above me, and I am sitting on the straps as if in an armchair. I am surrounded by an amazing silence but an unrestrained joy grips me and I either sing something or shout. But the ground is already close. I tuck my legs a bit under myself and fall on my right side — everything according to the rules. Then I quickly get up, unfasten the parachute, furl the canopy and begin to pack it. At this moment the guys rush up, give me a hand and we unanimously agree to keep on and on jumping. It’s a really great pleasure! After the jump the earth feels a bit special and so do I. A kind of confidence has appeared in me — “I can do anything!”…

In autumn, when the U-2 training program had been completed, a State Commission from the People’s Commissar of Defence came to visit us. At first they examined us in all theoretical subjects and then began to test our flying technique. All of us performed aerobatics in the landing zone with excellent marks and the Commission was satisfied. It was time to say goodbye to the camp, to the aerodrome, to the instructors and to our comrades. We were happy and a little bit sad. We were happy that we had found our wings but sad because it’s always sad to part…

I was working at the shaft and after work opening the library located in the shaft’s dry mess. Instead of bookshelves there were sideboards and I sat next to them like a barmaid issuing ‘brain food’ — the books. The aeroclub graduation party would be in a month… We gathered together in the Malaya Bronnaya Theatre. All were dressed up — the guys even put ties on. The report was made by Guebner, the head of the aeroclub. He said most of the guys who had graduated from the club would be assigned to fighter pilot military schools. Mouravitskiy, Ryabov, Kharitonenko, Petoukhov, Vil’chiko, Khatountsev were among them. And suddenly, somewhat ceremoniously, raising his voice (or maybe, it just seemed to me?) Guebner announced, “And there is one “ladies’” ticket — to the Ulyanovsk OSOAVIAHIM pilot school. We’ve decided to give it to… Anna Egorova.

My breath caught from the unexpectedness and joy. Could it be the dream I’d been nurturing would come true? Everyone was congratulating me during break but I still didn’t believe it, was afraid to believe it was going to happen. I believed it only when I had received a referral to the school and travel papers to Ulyanovsk. A beautiful girl with a red beret and red scarf, one end of which was jauntily thrown over one shoulder onto her back and the other fluttering on her chest, stood out of those who had come to see me off. She was dressed in a black overcoat and on her feet she had shoes with French heels. She was Anya Poleva — Louka’s girlfriend — who along with me had undergone pilot training in our Metrostroy aeroclub. In an amicable way, Anya envied me leaving for pilots’ school, and said she would go on with flying in the training detachment of the aeroclub and would secure for herself a referral to the Ulyanovsk school.

“And what about Louka?”

“What about him? He’s gone to a flying school. I will keep studying too and when we get on in the world we will definitely get married… You know”, Anya said, “I can’t live without the skies now, without the aerodrome and its smell of petrol.” And she added with a laugh “I am mad about flying and Loukashka35!”

She and I parted tenderly and I didn’t know back then that within a year Anya would be no more. She fell to her death making a parachute jump from a plane. Her parachute didn’t open…

We all knew that Anya and Louka were in love — they were not making a secret of it. Louka, a native of a small village lost in the Belorussian forests, having come to Moscow to live with his uncle, joined an FZU and soon he started working as a sinker in a Metrostroy shaft and studying in the aeroclub. Upon completion of our aeroclub’s course he was assigned with Koutov and other guys to the Borisoglebsk Military Flying School. After graduation Junior Lieutenant Louka Zakharovich Mouravitskiy served in the Far East but the War found him in the Moscow Military District. He took part in aerial battles in his yastrebok36 at the far approaches to Moscow, later near Leningrad. The flight commander Mouravitskiy distinguished himself not only by his sober-mindedness in calculations and his gallantry but also by his readiness to do anything to defeat the enemy. At the same time it seemed strange to everyone that Louka would write with white paint ‘For Anya’ on each one of his planes. The commanders kept ordering the flight commander Mouravitskiy to erase the inscription immediately, but before a combat flight the inscription ‘For Anya’ would appear again. Nobody knew who this Anya was, whom Louka remembered even going into battle… Once just before a combat sortie his regiment commander ordered Mouravitskiy to erase the inscription and said “Don’t let it happen again!” And it was then that Louka told the commander about his lost bride: “Even though she didn’t die in combat”, Louka went on, “she was going to become an aerial fighter to defend our motherland”. The regimental commander backed down…

In this very sortie Louka rammed a Heinkel He 111 bomber that was breaking through to a railway station defended by his lone plane. The enemy plane hit vacant ground beyond the railway and Louka barely managed to land his badly-damaged fighter near the station. After receiving medical treatment he returned to his regiment — and new battles several times a day followed… On 22 October 1941, four months after the War had broken out, Louka Zakharovich Mouravitskiy was awarded the Gold Star of a Hero of the Soviet Union for fortitude and valour during combat operations. And on the 30th of November 1941 Louka Mouravitskiy died a hero, defending the city of Leningrad.