“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.
