Over Fields of Fire

flown, and the group leader Berdashkevich, reported after returning form the mission that the commissar, not having reached the target, had turned away, and none had seen him since…

A plane was dispatched to search for them, but Shvidkiy and Nazarkina were not found. The next night they came back to the regiment — worn out but unharmed. It turned out that when they were approaching the target the Sturmovik’s engine began to play up. Shvidkiy managed to turn the machine around and glide down to our territory. He landed the machine on a marsh near a lake. They barely got out of there… “Anna Alexandrovna!” Dousya appealed to me. “I only want to fly with you. Don’t give me away to anyone anymore!”

“Alright, Dousya, alright”, I calmed her. “Just don’t be angry at the Major. It could have happened to any pilot!”

But after the unsuccessful flight with the zampolit Dousya was clearly upset: “The regiment has people capable of flying combat missions. Let him deal with his ground stuff!”

I did not agree with her: from my point of view when a political officer flew himself, he could better understand a pilot’s soul and all the hardships of his work. There had been cases: a Sturmovik pilot returned from a mission, and not yet chilled out after combat, having suffered badly himself, losing a comrade, might commit some breach of discipline on the ground, make a simple blunder — and he would be slated! And how vexing it was for a pilot when the political officers couldn’t understand him and on top of that would give him instructions on flying techniques, knowing nothing about it! No, Dousya was wrong: our ground attack regiment was really lucky that our zampolit was a combat airman.

On 20 August 1944 we had no combat missions in the morning. By tradition we were going to celebrate our aviation holiday, Air Force Day, and Aerodrome Services Battalion Commander Belousov suggested we utilise Count Zheltowsky’s estate for this purpose. Just recently a conference of the pilots of our division and fighter pilots had taken place on this estate. They had discussed co-operation — providing cover to the Sturmoviks, mutual aid, tactical skills.

Adjusting his tunic with its two Orders of Lenin, our Division Commander Colonel V. A. Timofeev was first to take the floor: “We have analysed the combat operations of the regiments. It looks like we’ve lost more planes from the enemy’s anti-aircraft artillery fire than from their fighters. It happens this way because our crews make themselves ready to encounter with the enemy fighter planes, they know all their silhouettes, and the escort fighters help us properly during sorties. And yet we give in to the flak guns: the Sturmoviks are not always ready for their salvos. I reckon”, the comdiv160 continued, “it is essential the pilots study before each sortie the enemy’s anti-aircraft defences around the targets. To do this Headquarters and the Operations Department must prepare intelligence data for the future target areas.”

Major P.T. Karev, acting as Regimental Commander after the death of M. N. Kozin, said that the escort fighters were always alert for the foe, beat off their attacks on Sturmoviks, and gave no quarter to the Messers or Focke-Wulfs. But there were times when they failed to guess the enemy’s intentions, engaged a diversionary group, and in the meantime another would pounce on the Sturmoviks with impunity…

I was given the floor as well, and as an example I told about the combat sortie of a sixer I had led to smash enemy materiel and manpower in the area of Puzawy. Whilst we were operating over the target making one pass after another, the escort fighters had been carried away in a dogfight against a group of Messerschmitts somewhere off to the side. We had already finished up and pulled away from the target when a pack of stalking Focke-Wulfs attacked us. We would have been in trouble if two La-5 fighters had not appeared. They struck at the Fokkers from above and attacked them with such determination that soon they shot down two of them, and two others trailed smoke and retired to their lines.

“As a woman”, I pointed out, “I feel uncomfortable asking men not to abandon me. And it’s even more annoying when they desert me!”

“You shouldn’t pretend to be poorer than you are”, Misha Berdashkevich whispered to me, when I’d taken my seat. “Do you remember how our fighters protected you over Taman? There was even an order distributed throughout the Army about ‘chit-chat in the air’, and the example they brought was: “Anechka!161 Don’t go too far…”

Indeed, there was such a case. Back then I was leading a group towards the Choushka Spit and decided to converge on a target from the rear. The fighters’ leader Volodya Istrashkin thought I had got lost, and somewhat courteously, in the old style, started a conversation with me by radio…

Our conference on the Count’s estate lasted for five hours, and then there was a concert of real artists. After much effort they’d been ‘acquired’ from our Army by the Head of the Division’s Political Department.

Fear is typical of all people, but not all are capable of suppressing it. I had never seen dismay amongst my regimental comrades during combat, nor had I seen the traces of ordinary human weakness on the faces of pilots or gunners. They knew how to protect themselves from it with a smile, a joke, a song… So, the pilots had prepared an amateur concert for our holiday. Each squadron had worked out solo pieces. A song written in the 7th Guards Ground Attack Aviation Regiment back at Taman was particularly beloved in the regiment. The regimental navigator, Hero of the Soviet Union V. Emelyanenko, formerly a conservatorium student, had written music for it. He was a marvellous man, a superb pilot and a great commander.162 The refrain of the song was as follows:

Hey, Ilyusha, friend of mine
Let’s attack them one more time!

But the Sturmoviks’ feast at the Count’s manor came to nothing. Already at mid- day the airmen of the division were beating off violent German attacks at the Magnuszew bridgehead on the other side of the Vistula south of Warsaw, where Chuikov’s Guards were containing the enemy’s onslaught. The support of Sturmoviks at the bridgehead was needed like air. Our 805th Regiment was assigned a mission to fly in echelons, in two groups. The order was to load our planes with anti-tank bombs.

There were three of us at the CP: the Regimental Commander P. T. Karev, the zampolit L. P. Shvidkiy and I — the Regimental Navigator. “I will lead the first group of 15 Sturmoviks”, said the Regimental Commander. “Egorova will lead the second one after a 10-minute interval. All crews of the regiment will join. Which group will you fly with, Dmitriy Polikarpovich, mine or Egorova’s?”

Shvidkiy stood silent for quite some time, and then forced himself to speak: “I won’t be flying!”

We were stunned by his response, but the flight time was pressing, and the regiment commander just said angrily: “What kind of a commissar are you if you abandon your comrades in a hard moment, at a dangerous sortie?”

We quickly left the dugout and saw a green flare already in the air — it signalled the take-off of the leading group. Karev rushed to his plane, and Shvidkiy quietly disappeared somewhere. Uneasily pensive, I sat on a stump, and to drive away ‘spiteful’ thoughts began to hum a song: Mishka, Mishka, where’s that smile of yours?

I awaited my take-off with anxiety. It was to be my 68th or 70th combat sortie, taking into account only sorties in Sturmoviks. Oh, those minutes of waiting! They dragged on for hours. I always wanted to take-off straightaway after receiving a combat mission. It’s true what they say — waiting and chasing are worst of all.

I walked towards my plane’s parking bay from the CP and from afar I noticed my gunner Nazarkina. I had not seen her smiling so happily for a long time: her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining. Well, thought I, my gunner is gradually recovering from the shock she’s been through!

The plane mechanic Gorobets reported the plane ready, and then made a covert nod to the side and whispered: “Comrade Senior Lieutenant, Sergeant Nazarkina has secretly stowed two anti-tank bombs with detonators in the rear cockpit…”

“She’s gone mad, has she?” I burst out. “Clear the cockpit immediately!”

I looked at my watch: there were three minutes left till the take-off. “She won’t let me come near her”,