Mission

“They look beautiful, don’t they?” I mumble under my breath.

Polzin, the navigator, front gunner, and bombardier, looks up at me from his seat in the front of the plane.

I pretend not to notice, as my head almost bumps against the glass cockpit window.

Half the flight is there, tapered back from our port wing. Three DB-3Fs and two SB-2s lumber in formation on that side, while on the starboard side another five bombers keep in a rough V formation. We’re making our way toward Osovets, just under sixty kilometers from our heavily damaged airfield.

How many of us will make it back today? Will we have enough fuel left for a second mission?

The eleven of us, all that remains of twenty bombers and the same number of fighters from our recently attacked base, are carrying out one-fourth of the mission we were assigned. Clearly, as if presented on a movie theatre screen of my cornea, I can see the orders as they were typed, just as I did when I read them the first time more than a half hour ago:

Bomb German positions in Osovets, Visna, Belsk, and Kleshchelye.

How can they expect us to bomb four cities with eleven lumbering bombers and no functional fighters?

“Keep a sharp eye out for Nazis!” I yell over the radio.

A sharp eye won’t stop them from tearing us apart, but we may take one or two down with us as we go.

Polzin turns away from his gun to talk toward me. “I saw we have a new gunner aboard.”

“Yes, he’ll be useful to cover the ventral hatch.” I reply, hoping to end the conversation there.

“Can never have too many gunners, I say!” Polzin offers with a yell so loud Gorostayev, our turret gunner, and the new kid can hear.

Smiling, I turn so I may see Goro in his turret. He’s not there.

He must be working with the kid to show him how to use the machine gun in the ventral hatch.

“Finish the lesson and get your eyes out!” I yell back to them in as friendly, yet commanding, tone as I can muster with an unseen smile on my face.

The kid did not have to volunteer to come with us.

Goro calls back “Yes, Comrade!” I look back toward his turret, where he’s taking up his position; he's smiling.

“We’re nearing Osovets,” Polzin blurts out over the comms.

YES, we’re actually making it to our target. Where are the Germans?

“We should be two minutes from the town,” Polzin declares.

We’ll have to pick out a target to bomb. Maybe we can find a German convoy or storage depot.

“Pol, any sign of a target?” I ask, hoping for a quick answer that will allow me to rapidly target, thereby reducing the chance the Germans will catch us before we’re able to do some damage.

“Line of vehicles 30 degrees starboard” he says, almost as I finish asking.

“Planes 4 o’clock!” Goro yells out.

Damn, let us at least get a few bombs off first!

Rapidly banking the bomber, I change our heading so we’re in line with the vehicles. The other pilots should follow me in on their own.

Machine gun fire erupts from behind me.

At least one kill, that’s all I ask!

Focusing on the vehicles, I yell, “Try to hit the lead!” hoping that Polzin heard me.

AAAACCCCCKKKK, AAAACCCCKKKKK, AAAAACCCCKKKK thunders behind me.

Suddenly the plane feels lighter, more responsive to my controls.

“Bombs away!” Polzin yells.

I bank up and to the left, hoping to give the kid a chance to fire at a German. As I do so, a Messerschmidt streaks across my line of sight, the gray and white cross of the Luftwaffe behind a black silhouette clearly visible on his green-bean-colored wings.

“There are hundreds of them!” the kid yells.

I hope you get to kill one before we’re done!

Craning my head to look back at the convoy, I can see a flame rising from where our bombs must have hit. Other flames, probably from the bombs of the other planes, begin to rise like spires of fiery duty above the small wood buildings making up Osovets.

ZZSSCCHHWWWIITTTTZZZZ

Metal begins ripping away from our starboard engine; small chunks of debris flying off in every direction as shell after shell begin finding their way into our right wing.

Here it is.

I swivel my head so that I can see across the horizon and above me.

There are only three others left.

We may not conduct another mission.

“I got one!” the kid yells. “Urrra!”

“Bragging ain’t gonna win the war, kid” Goro replies, probably figuring he pumped at least as many rounds into that Nazi as the kid did.

I’ll keep us up here for as long as I can, maybe distracting a few Germans from following what remains of our flight back to the base.

“Keep bagging’ em!” Polzin yells while manning his front mounted machine gun.

The starboard engine is flaming.

How much longer can I keep her airborne?

YYYAAAAAZZZZPPPHHHHHKKKKK

Blood explodes across the front of the plane, inundating my lower body.

Shells slam against the now shattering glass of the cockpit.

“KEEP FIRING! KEEP FIRING!” I scream.

Round after round careen across the cockpit as machine gun bursts echo from the rear of the plane.

Keep firing, Goro. Keep firing, Kid!

*****

Ilyushin DB-3F

http://mig3.sovietwarplanes.com/colors/1940-1941/1940-41.html

Tupolev SB-2

http://www.lasecondaguerramondiale.org/aerei/aviazione-sovietica/497-tupolev-sb-2.html

This may sound familiar, as it’s related to the previous story (Orders).

The crews of the slow Soviet Ilyushin and Tupolev bombers stoically and honorably flew from their bases without the expectation of returning alive. None of the planes made it back from this mission. Luftwaffe Field marshal Albert Kesselring was quoted later as saying that shooting down the Soviet planes was as easy as infanticide. Within twenty-four hours, the Soviets had lost more than 2,000 of their front-line aircraft, including all their bombers. Kopets, at this point without an air force to command, committed suicide rather than face Stalin. The Germans lost 35 planes.

Orders

Smoke fumes forth from across the airfield while the distant roar of German fighters dissipates as they return to their bases to refuel and rearm for another strafing attack. Our fighter fleet was destroyed on the ground, not having been allowed to take off.

Why can’t we get up there and fight them!

So far the Germans have not destroyed all of our bombers, probably figuring that they’ll get those next. Since our fighters cannot intercept their planes they can now destroy our air and ground forces at their leisure.

Running toward me from the radio shed, Listova shouts “Orders from Moscow, we’ve got a mission!” as he hands me a slip of paper.

Bomb German positions in Osovets, Visna, Belsk and Kleshchelye. 

YES! Finally we can get off our butts and take this fight to the Germans!

“Let’s get going!” I yell out as I see crews starting to gather.

We’ve still got eleven working bombers. We can do some damage, even without fighter escorts.

“We’re fighting back now!” I shout above the pitched discussions among the bomber and fighter crews.  

“Sir, what about fighter crews, we’ve got no planes.” One of the fighter pilots asks.

Our bombers are lumbering beasts, practically undefended without fighter escorts. 

“If you want to fight, find a bomber gun to man.  Otherwise, sit here and wait to die.” I retort.

Four targets, we’ll either have to split up, or carry out multiple missions. 

“We are soldiers of The Red Air Force. We will not shy away from the Germans, letting them take our country. Attack them. Destroy them. We’re attacking Osovets. I don’t want that town to exist when we’re done with it!” 

Ura, Ura, Ura! The crowd of men shouts in unison.

This will be their chance to feel like they can do something, as useless as that something is.

I wait for the cheers to die down before shouting, “We leave in 20 minutes. I expect every crew to be ready.  Let’s go!”

Men scurry across the base, preparing themselves for the mission.  Ground crews begin prepping the four Ilyushin DB-3Fs and seven Tupolev SB-2s.

I gather my gear before heading to my DB-3F.  My crew is fervently preparing the bomber, loading ammunition, topping off the fuel, and checking the engines. 

What a great crew I have. 

“We’ll be ready to go in seven minutes, Sir.” Patriolov shouts in my direction while leading a team of ground crew to load the ten FAB-100 bombs into the bomb bay.

 Acknowledging him with a nod, I look across the field to see the other bombers prepping as fast as they can as well.

We might just make it into the air before the next German attack wave arrives.

Walking around my plane, I look over its fine lines, precise welds, and x-ray inspected rivets.  

This is a beautiful aircraft.

My crews are beginning to man their planes. I turn to look back at mine one more time, not realizing that someone has approached me from behind.

“Sir, I’d like to join you on this mission.” A  youthful, almost childlike, member of the ground crew asks.

I don’t even know his name.

“Of course, you can man the machine gun in the ventral hatch.”

“Thank you, Sir!” he smiles from a mouth missing several teeth.

We head toward the plane together. 

I look over at his smiling face. My arm wraps around his shoulders. 

I cannot say goodbye to my son. Thank you for offering me this one.

Early in the morning of June 22, 1941 the German Air Force (Luftwaffe) began Operation Barbarossa, a massive invasion of the Soviet Union. The initial phase of the attack included the almost complete destruction of the Soviet Air Force (VVS) on the ground. Stalin would not approve Soviet planes to fly against the German attack for four hours, by which time most of the Soviet fighters, and many of its bombers, had been destroyed. Ordered that afternoon to bomb the enemy, Air Force Lieutenant General I.I. Kopets followed these orders, knowing full-well that he no longer had any fighters to escort his bombers. The crews of the slow Russian Ilyushin and Tupolev bombers stoically and honorably flew from their bases without the expectation of returning alive. Luftwaffe Field marshal Albert Kesselring was quoted later as saying that shooting down the Soviet planes was as easy as “infanticide.” Within twenty-four hours, the Soviets had lost all of their front-line bombers. Kopets, at this point without an air  force to command, committed suicide rather than face Stalin.