Stuka Pilot

11. BACK TO THE DNIEPER

Here also at Charkow there have been all sorts of changes in the few months since we left. On our side full strength divisions have been withdrawn, and the Soviets have gone over to the offensive. We have not been here more than a day or two when Soviet shells begin falling in the city. Our airfield has no large stores of petrol or bombs for us to use, and so another transfer to a more favorable airfield does not come as a surprise. It lies 100 miles to the south, close to the village of Dimitriewka. As it is a considerable distance from here to the present front we use two take-off airfields, one at Barwenkowo for the front on the Donetz at Isjum, the other at Stalino for missions on the Mius front. Each of these airfields has a small detachment to service us during the day. We take our first shift and armorer personnel up with us every morning. Both at Isjum on the Donetz and at Mius a stable defensive line has been established, and is under heavy attack by strong Soviet forces. Often our operations officer assigns us the same old target: the same wood, the same ravine. We can soon dispense with map readings and all the rest of it. As Steen used to say: “We are big boys now.”

On one of our first sorties in the Isyum sector somebody calls over the R/T: “Hannelore!”—that is my call-sign—“Aren’t you the bloke who used to crack nuts?” I do not reply, and now he keeps on repeating his question over and over again. Suddenly I recognize the voice as that of an Int. Ops. Officer with whom we have often co-operated and with whose division we always got on splendidly. It is of course a breach of security regulations, but I cannot resist answering that I did indeed use to crack nuts and that he was a keen footballer. He admits it delightedly and all the air crews who have been listening to the conversation, amused by the episode, give the cold shoulder to the furiously barking flak. This Flg./Off. of the Air Intelligence service, Epp by name, is one of the best Vienna centre forwards. Since he is with a unit in the thick of the battle I shall have frequent occasions to meet him.

Flg./Off. Anton who took over the command of the 9th Flight after Homer’s death is killed on the Mius. His whole aircraft blows up as he is coming in to dive, in the same inexplicable way as has happened several times before. Again another of our old-timers gone, a Knight of the Iron Cross. Among our air crews there is a constant come and go, never any settling down—the remorseless rhythm of war.

Autumn is already in the air when we receive orders to include the Dnieper front in our operations. So further westward. For days we go out on missions from the airfield N.W. of Krasnoarmaiskoje. Here the Soviets are pushing into the Donetz industrial area from the east and the northeast. Apparently this is a large scale operation; they are everywhere. Besides, they raid our airfield uninterruptedly with Boston bombers: a nuisance, because maintenance work is held up and so we are late in getting into action. During these raids we squat in slit trenches behind our aircraft and wait there till Ivan has had his bit of fun. Luckily our losses in aircraft and material are small.

No one tells us that the army units which pass our airfield are almost the last, and that Ivan is on their heels. It will not be long before we find it out for our selves. We have taken off from the western airfield and are flying over the town and gaining height. Our mission is to attack enemy forces about 25 miles N.E. On the other edge of the town I see obliquely and at some distance six to eight tanks; they are camouflaged and otherwise very similar to ours. Their shape, however, strikes me as rather odd. Henschel interrupts my reflections: “Let’s take a look at those German tanks on the way back.”

We fly on towards our objective. Considerably further west I meet a strong enemy force; there is no longer any sign of German troops.

Now we fly back and take a closer look at the tanks. They are all T 34s—Russians. Their crews are standing beside them studying a map: a briefing. Startled by our approach they scatter and crawl back into their tanks. But at the moment we can do nothing because we have first to land and remunition. In the meantime the Soviets drive into the town. Our airfield lies on the other side of it. In ten minutes I am ready to take off again and search for them among the houses. When they are being attacked the tanks dodge round the buildings, and in this way are quickly out of our sights.

I hit four of them. Where can the rest have got to? They may appear on our airfield at any minute. We cannot evacuate it because some of our personnel are in the town and we have to wait till they get back. Now, too, I remember that I have sent a car with one of our Q.M. staff to the Army Q.M. stores in the eastern section of the town. Unless he has extraordinary luck he is for it. Later it transpires that a T 34 came round the corner of the Q.M. stores just as our car drove up. With an open throttle and his knees knocking together he got clear away.

I go out once more. The squadron cannot fly with me, otherwise we shall not have enough petrol for the now inevitable move to Pawlowka. I can only hope that by the time I return all my men will be back at the airfield. After a long search I spot two tanks in the western part of the town and knock them out. Apparently they were headed for us, to smoke out the hornets’ nest of Stukas. But it is already high time to pull out, and after first setting fire to all unserviceable aircraft which have to be left behind we take off. While we are making a circuit of the airfield preparatory to taking up squadron formation I see tank shells burst on the perimeter. So they have got there, but we are there no longer.

The compass points W.N.W. After a while we fly off at low level over a road. Intense flak comes up at us from a long motorized column traveling through be low us with an escort of tanks. We break our close formation and circle round the vehicles Soviet tanks and lorries, mostly of American origin, therefore Russian. I admit I am puzzled as to how these beggars have suddenly turned up here so far west, but they must be Russians. We gather height and I give the order to engage the flak, which must be neutralized first so that we can come in for a low level attack undistracted.

After we have for the most part silenced the flak we split up into sections over the length of the column and shoot it up. The daylight is slowly fading; the whole road looks like a fiery serpent; a jam of burning motor vehicles and tanks which have not had time to drive off the road to right or left. We spare hardly one, and the material loss to the Soviets is again considerable.

But what is this?

I fly ahead above the first three or four vehicles, they all carry our flags on their radiators. These lorries are of German manufacture. For two hundred yards further on white Verys are being fired from the ditches at the side of the road. That is the signal of our own troops. It is a long time since I have had such a sickening feeling in my stomach. I would willingly crash my aircraft somewhere here on the spot. Can it have been a German column after all? Everything is ablaze. But why then were we subjected to such a heavy fire from the lorries?… How come that they are American-made trucks?…

Besides, I actually saw men running in brown uniforms! Sweat breaks out at every pore and a stupefying sense of panic overcomes me.

It is already fairly dark when we land at Pawlowgrad. None of us utters a word. Every one is preoccupied with the same thought. Was it a German column? The uncertainty chokes us. I cannot find out by telephone from any Luftwaffe or Army unit what column it could have been. Towards midnight some soldiers arrive. My operational officer wakes me out of an exceptionally restless sleep, he tells me it is some thing important. Our comrades of the army wish to thank us for helping them to make their escape today. They tell us that their lorries were overtaken by a Russian column. They just managed to put on a spurt of a few hundred yards in order to find cover from the Russian fire in the ditches at the side of the road. It was at this moment that we appeared on the scene and shot up Ivan. Our chaps took immediate advantage of the situation and sprinted on for another two hundred yards. This is a load off my mind, and I share the elation of my brothers in arms.

A short time after this incident we are at Dnjepropetrowsk. Our station is the airfield on the east bank of the Dnieper, it is a long way to our billets in the centre of the town. For a Russian city the place makes a good impression, like Charkow. Soviet bombers or ground attack aircraft make almost daily raids on the bridge over the Dnieper in the middle of the city. The Reds hope by destroying it to cut off the line of retreat for the German troops and material, and to make it impossible to bring up supplies and reserves to this army group. Up to now we have not seen them have any success in their attacks on the bridge. Perhaps it is not big enough. The civilians are exultant. As soon as the Soviet raiders have gone they rush down to the Dnieper with buckets because they have noticed after a raid quantities of dead fish floating on the surface of the river. Certainly so much fish has not been eaten, in the town for many a long day. We fly alternatively N.E. and S. as the Soviets are driving forward from the Don in order to prevent us from establishing a line on the Dnieper and consolidating our positions there. At the same time as we move our base from Dnjepropetrowsk to Bolschaja Costromka, 80 miles further W., I lose Becker. He is transferred to the Wing staff. I fight his transfer for a long time as he belongs to our “family circle,” but it is useless and after a good deal of palaver the decision is final.