Memories of fighter pilots about WWII. Memoirs of fighter pilots. When we moved to Rostov, how was the food there?

Vitaly Klimenko in a school class in front of a stand with an M-11 engine

Nearby, 100–125 km from Siauliai, was the border with Germany. We felt her closeness on our own skin. Firstly, military exercises of the Baltic Military District were ongoing continuously, and secondly, an air squadron or, in extreme cases, a flight of fighters was on duty at the airfield in full combat readiness. We also met with German intelligence officers, but we did not have an order to shoot them down, and we only accompanied them to the border. It’s not clear why they lifted us into the air to say hello then?! I remember how during the elections to the Supreme Councils of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania we patrolled at a low altitude above the city of Siauliai.

At the airfield near the village of Kochetovka, cadets of the Chuguevsky school Ivan Shumaev and Vitaly Klimenko (right) study the theory of flight

It is not clear why this was necessary - either for a holiday, or for intimidation. Of course, in addition to combat work and study, there was also a personal life. We made friends and went with them to the House of Culture of the Siauliai military garrison, where we sang, watched movies or danced. They were young - 20 years old! I knew a beautiful girl, hairdresser, Lithuanian Valeria Bunita. On Saturday, June 21, 1941, I met with her and agreed to go for a walk to Lake Rikevoz on Sunday. At that time we lived in a summer camp - in tents near the airfield. The PribVO exercises were just underway. I woke up at five o'clock, I think I need to get up early to have breakfast, then go to Valeria and go to this lake. I hear planes buzzing. The third squadron was on duty at the airfield, flying I-15s, nicknamed “coffins” because they constantly had accidents. Here, I think, there was a raid from Panevezys, and these guys probably missed it. I open the floor of the tent, look, above us “crosses” are lashing at the tents from machine guns. I shout: “Guys, it’s war!” - “Yes, fuck you, what a war!” - “Look for yourself - there’s a raid!” Everyone jumped out, and already in the neighboring tents there were dead and wounded. I pulled on my overalls, put on my tablet, and ran to the hangar. I tell the technician: “Come on, roll out the plane.” And the duty planes that were lined up are already on fire. He started the engine, boarded the plane, and took off. I walk around the airfield - I don’t know where to go, what to do! Suddenly another I-16 fighter approaches me. He shook his wings: “Attention! Behind me!" I recognized Sashka Bokach, the commander of a neighboring unit. And we went to the border. The border has been breached, we see columns coming, villages are burning. Sashka dives, I see that his route has taken off, he is storming them. I'm behind him. We made two passes. It was impossible to miss there - the columns were so dense. For some reason they are silent, the anti-aircraft guns do not fire. I'm afraid to break away from the leader - I'll get lost! We arrived at the airfield and taxied into the caponier. A car arrived from the command post: “Did you take off?” - “We took off.” - “Let’s go to the command post.” We arrive at the command post. The regiment commander says: “Arrest. Put him in the guardhouse. Suspended from flying. Who gave you permission to storm? Do you know what this is? I do not know either. It could be some kind of provocation, and you shoot. Or maybe these are our troops? I think: “Fuck! They'll lose two dice and they'll demote them to hell! I just went home on vacation! Lieutenant! The girls were all mine! And now to the privates! How will I show myself home?!” When Molotov spoke at 12 o'clock, we went from being arrested to being heroes. And they were terribly worried! The losses were heavy, many planes burned down, hangars burned down. From the regiment, only the two of us gave at least some resistance, without waiting for orders.

Vitaly Klimenko on a Yak-1 plane takes off from the Sukromlya airfield to reconnaissance the Olenino station. 1st GvIAP, summer 1942

In May 1942, the regiment flew to Saratov, where it received Yak-1 fighters. We quickly retrained and went back to the front.

Pilots of the 1st GvIAP after a successful flight to cover our troops in the area of ​​the city of Rzhev. From right to left: I. Tikhonov, V. Klimenko, I. Zabegailo, adjutant of the 1st squadron Nikitin, Dakhno and squadron technicians

The third time I was shot down was in the summer battles near Rzhev. There I opened an account of my downed planes. We flew from the Sukromlya airfield near Torzhok. The squadron commander led four pairs to cover the front edge. My wingman and I provided a “cap” of approximately 4500–5000. What is a "hat"? A strike group located above the main fighter force. This term comes from stormtroopers. They shouted to us on the radio: “Hats, cover them!”

Vitaly Klimenko (sitting) and an engineer of the 1st GvIAP examine the damage received by the Yak-1 Klimenko fighter during an air battle in the Rzhev area

I see Yu-88 coming. I warned the group leader by radio that there were enemy bombers on the right, and went on a dive attack. Either the leader didn’t hear me, or something else, but the fact is that I attacked them as a pair, and even then my wingman got lost somewhere. On the first attack I shot down a Yu-88, but I was first attacked by one pair of Me-109 cover fighters - they missed. And then the second pair of Me-109s, one of whose aircraft hit the left side of my plane with a high-explosive fragmentation shell. The engine stopped. I, simulating a chaotic fall, tried to break away from them, but that was not the case. They are after me, they want to finish me off, but below 2000 they were met by two “donkeys” from the neighboring Klimovo airfield, who started a fight with them. I somehow straightened out the car and, near the town of Staritsa, I plopped down on my belly, in a wheat field. In the heat of battle, I didn’t even feel that I was wounded. Our infantrymen ran up and sent me to the medical battalion. After the dressing they say: “Soon there will be a car, you’ll go with it to the hospital in Staritsa,” but why the hell should I go there if they’re bombing there all the time?! I went out onto the road, voted and got to the airfield, which is near this Staritsa. There I was sent to the medical unit. Suddenly in the evening the pilots come and ask: “Where were you shot down?” - “Under the Staritsa.” - “And you know, we saved one “yak” today.” - “So you saved me.” - "ABOUT! Motherfucker, give me a bottle!” The nurse says: “Guys, you can’t.” Which one is not allowed there! We drank. A few days later a plane from the regiment flew for me. True, during this time our adjutant Nikitin managed to inform my relatives that I died the death of the brave. Again I spent a little time in the hospital - and went to the guys at the front. We must fight. But what about?! It's boring without the guys.

Reception of Vitaly Klimenko into the party in the cockpit of the U-2 before sending the wounded pilot to the hospital. Sukromlya airfield, August 1942

Vitaly Klimenko in the cockpit of the personalized Yak-7B “Trading Worker” aircraft, 1st GvIAP, 1942.

Our troops were constantly unloading at the Staritsa station near Rzhev. The Germans regularly went to bomb it, and we, accordingly, drove them out of there. Here we first met Mölders' squadron, the "Jolly Fellows" as we called them. One day the regiment navigator flew out, returned and said: “Guys, some other pilots have arrived. This is not front-line aviation, not Messers, but Focke-Wulfs.” It must be said that the Focke-Wulf has an air-cooled engine. He goes head-on - it’s easy! And to hell with me?! I got a bullet in the engine and I'm done. Well, I adapted: when I went head-on, I “gave my foot” and slid away from the straight line. The attack on the bomber was structured in exactly the same way - you can’t go straight, but the shooter is firing at you. Just like that, a little sideways, and you go on the attack. We had a good fight with the “Merry Guys”. Firstly, we made a “hat”. If an air battle broke out, then by agreement we had one couple leave the battle and climb up, from where they watched what was happening. As soon as they saw that a German was approaching ours, they immediately fell on top of them. You don’t even have to hit it, just show the route in front of his nose, and he’s already out of the attack. If you can shoot him down, then shoot him down, but the main thing is to knock him out of the attack position. Secondly, we always had each other's back. The Germans had weak pilots, but mostly they were very experienced fighters, however, they relied only on themselves. Of course, it was very difficult to shoot him down, but one didn’t succeed - the other would help... We later met with the “Jolly Guys” at Operation Iskra, but there they were more careful. In general, after Rzhev, the Germans and I were already on equal terms, the pilots felt confident. I personally didn’t feel any fear when I took off. At the beginning of the war they beat us up pretty well, but they taught us how to fight. I repeat once again: morally and physically we were stronger. As for the pre-war training that I went through, it was enough to fight on equal terms, but our reinforcement was very weak and required a long introduction into a combat situation.

Commissioner of the 1st Squadron of the 1st GvIAP Fyodor Kuznetsov (far left): congratulates the pilots on a successful combat mission. From left to right: future Hero of the Soviet Union Ivan Zabegailo, Vitaly Klimenko, Ivan Tikhonov. The photo was taken at the Sukromlya airfield near the Yak-1, which belonged to Zabegailo

Shvarev Alexander Efimovich

Hero of the Russian Federation Alexander Shvarev (left) at his La-5FN aircraft, 40th GvIAP

At the beginning of 1943, or rather, on January 8, the commander of our fighter corps, General Eremenko, flew to us. They called me to the regimental headquarters. I come and see the general. Although I was already a navigator of the regiment, I had never dealt with such ranks. I was a little embarrassed. The corps commander tells me: “Don’t be shy, tell the commander what kind of Yak plane this is.” I told him about speed, maneuverability and everything else. The weather was unflyable: the cloud height was 50 or 70 meters, no more. Eremenko asks me: “Can you fly here for reconnaissance,” he points to the map, “to see if there is any movement of troops or not?” They were all afraid that the Germans would strike from the south and break through to the group encircled at Stalingrad. I say I can. I flew alone and looked. I come back and report: “Individual cars are moving, that’s all. There is no accumulation of troops." He said, “Thank you,” and flew away.

Pilots of the 124th IAP rest after flights under the wing of the MiG-3

In the evening they brought a report in which it was said that, according to reports from the partisans, there was a large concentration of German transport aircraft at the Salsk airfield. On the morning of January 9, we were given the task: to fly out and reconnoiter the airfield. We took off together with Davydov in the dark, I just asked for a fire to be lit at the end of the runway in order to maintain the direction. They approached Salsk at dawn. The airfield was black with planes. I counted 92 aircraft. My wingman claimed that there were more than a hundred of them. In any case, a lot. They arrived and reported. Immediately the command raised two regiments of “silts” from the 114th division of our corps. I described to them the location of the enemy aircraft parking areas. I was assigned to go as the leader of the group. They decided that I would leave the airfield on the left, rush to the west, and from there, turning around, the attack aircraft would strike the airfield. And now I’m flying at an altitude of 800 meters. Behind me at an altitude of 400 or 600 is a huge column of attack aircraft. From time to time I gain altitude - steppe, white snow all around, no landmarks. At first I followed the compass, but when I saw Salsk, it was already easier. I took a little to the right to enter the airfield with a left turn. He brought them out. They threw bombs and rocket launchers. We made a second approach and fired machine guns. Well, that’s all - I took the “silt” to the airfield. As the partisans later reported, we crushed something more than 60 German planes and set fire to a warehouse with fuel and ammunition. In short, the flight was classic.

Pilots of the 27th IAP at the MiG-3, winter 1941/42.

Technicians inspect the MiG-9 engine (modification of the MiG-3 with the M-82 engine)

We arrived, sat down, and got ready to have breakfast, otherwise we made two flights on an empty stomach. Then the chief of staff of the regiment, Pronin, runs up and says that six “silts” are flying to the Zimovniki station to bomb a train with fuel, they need to be escorted. I say: “I have neither pilots nor planes.” Four aircraft and pilots were collected from the entire regiment. They gave me some kind of plane. Took off. I feel like the plane is good, but the radio chip pops out of the connector every time I turn my head. The leader of the stormtroopers led the group head-on. I knew that Zimovniki was well covered by anti-aircraft guns, but I couldn’t tell him - there was no connection. We were greeted with dense fire. Davydov was shot down, but the attack aircraft broke through to the station, but the train was no longer there. They bombed the tracks and buildings. Let's go back. And suddenly I looked back, and behind us there were planes - four four Messers were pressing - apparently, we had stirred them up with our raid on the airfield. The Germans had actually become cowardly by that time, but when they are in the majority, they are warriors, bless you. We turn around, we are already being attacked. And the carousel started here. In short, four Messers attacked the attack aircraft, another attacked a couple of our fighters, and one attacked me. And with this six I’m having a hard time. But the Yak is such a plane, I’m in love with it! I could shoot at one enemy plane while another was attacking me, I would turn 180 degrees and easily end up on the tail of the plane that had just attacked me. I shot down two. I turn with the remaining two 109s. I look and the gas remaining indicators are at zero. I'm being attacked from behind. I'm about to make a combat turn - that's when the engine stopped. I'm about to land. I see one fascist coming from behind. I slide away, and now there’s a line coming towards me. It passed on the right, then another line passed by too. I sat down on my stomach, everything was fine, there was flat terrain, and there was snow. I see planes coming from above to finish off. Where to go? I'm under the engine. He came in alone and shot. Gone. The second one comes in and shoots. It was such an annoyance: motherfucker! At least there were a few liters of gasoline, otherwise they would kill me, a pilot, on the ground! No matter how hard I hid behind the engine, one armor-piercing shell pierced the engine, hit my leg and got stuck there. The pain is incredible. Apparently, having shot the ammunition, the Germans flew away. I stood up and saw a carriage drawn by a pair of horses, and four people sitting in it. My pistol was a TT. I think the last cartridge is mine. I'm approaching. I hear swearing - ours, but they could have been policemen. They're arriving. They say: “They saw how they fired at you. It’s good that he remained alive.” I tell them: “I need to see a doctor.” - “There’s a hospital nearby.” Go. There was a long detour along the road, so they went straight ahead. And here we are rushing across the arable land, everything is shaking, there is no shock absorption, the pain is incredible. They took me to the hospital. The sisters bandaged it, but did not remove the projectile; they said: “We are not surgeons.”

The next morning I was sent to Saratov. There in the hospital, the surgeon looked at the shell in my thigh and invited the head of the hospital. An elderly man came, looked, and said: “Get on the operating table immediately!” They put it down. “Well,” he says, “be patient, now it will hurt.” And when this projectile jerked, sparks came out of my eyes. Then I was treated for a month. When the wound began to heal, I made inquiries about where my regiment was and flew from Engels to Zimovniki. The regiment from there had already flown to Shakhty; only the technical staff remained to repair faulty aircraft. Josef supervised the work; I knew him since 1941 - we traveled from Alytus to Kaunas together. I told him: “Josef, let’s shoot everyone and make one plane. You do it, and I’ll fly away!”

They made the plane, I flew it around in the evening and made some comments. The next day I was supposed to fly out. I went to look for a map. I couldn’t find a map, but the guys from the air defense regiment told me where to roughly look for the airfield. Found.

After being wounded, I was appointed to the position of navigator of the division, they say, heal, and then we’ll see. And already before the Battle of Kursk I was appointed commander of the 111th Guards Regiment.

Eremin Boris Nikolaevich

The commander of the 31st GvIAP, Major Boris Eremin, in the cockpit of a Yak-1 aircraft, donated by collective farmer Ferapont Golovat. Solodovka airfield, December 20, 1942

I will remember the day of March 9, 1942 for the rest of my life. At the beginning of March forty-two, the regiment was based south of Kharkov. We covered our troops, which were bombed by groups of Yu-88 and Yu-87 bombers under the cover of Me-109f. The morning was clear. It was slightly freezing. The pilots of the 1st squadron were already in the air, and we had to relieve them in the Shebelinka area.

At the appointed time we took off, quickly got ready and set off on course. We went in formations of three planes - this was already an atypical formation; usually we went in pairs. Before the war and at the very beginning, we flew in a flight of three aircraft. They said that it was more convenient to fly this way, but this is not so. More successfully, as it turned out later, in a pair: two pairs make up a link. What about three? You start a left turn - the right wingman lags behind, and the left wingman buries himself under you...

There were seven fighters in our group. I am the presenter. To my right is Captain Zapryagaev, the regiment's navigator, who asked to join us on this flight. On the left is Lieutenant Skotnoy. Height - 1700 meters. At an increased interval above, on the right - Lieutenant Sedov with Lieutenant Solomatin. On the left, 300 meters below, is Lieutenant Martynov with his wingman, Senior Sergeant Korol. Each fighter carries six eres under the wings, and the ammunition for cannons and machine guns is standard.

Assembly of the English Hurricane fighter delivered under Lend-Lease

Approaching the front line, on the right, almost at the same altitude as us, I saw a group of six Me-109s and then, just below, a group of Yu-88 and Yu-87 bombers. Behind, at the same altitude as the bombers, were twelve more Me-109s. A total of twenty-five enemy aircraft. The Germans often used Me-109E fighters as attack aircraft. Bombs were hung from them under the planes, and when they were freed from the bombs, they began to act like ordinary fighters. I saw that these 12 Me-109Es, which were flying behind the bombers in a dense group, were acting as attack aircraft. Consequently, the cover was provided only by those six Me-109Fs that I noticed a little earlier. Although these six Messerschmitts were slightly higher than the entire group, all together the enemy aircraft stayed very compact and did not make any formation changes. I realized that they didn’t see us yet.

Hero of the Soviet Union Captain Pyotr Sgibnev, commander of the 2nd GvIAP Air Force of the Northern Fleet, against the backdrop of the Hurricane

The commander of the 78th IAP of the Northern Fleet Air Force, Major Boris Safonov, and the British pilots of the 151st RAF Wing (Royal Air Force), who fought in the skies of the Soviet Arctic. In the background is a Hurricane fighter, Vaenga airfield, autumn 1941.

The guys got excited, Martynov and Skotnaya, using established signals (we didn’t have a radio, only visual signals - swaying, gestures) were already drawing my attention to the enemy planes. At that moment I was occupied with only one thought: not to let the enemy discover us. I think if I start the fight now, I will suffer big losses. And I decided to turn away from the route towards these bombers.

Pilots of the 17th GvShAP

So I signaled to the guys: “I see! Everyone - attention! Follow me! The decision was taken. It was necessary to make a small turn with the whole group to the left, go southwest with a climb and attack the enemy from the west. This provided us with a surprise attack and, therefore, an advantage.

The commander of the 65th ShAP, which became the 17th GvShAP, takes an oath, accepting the guards banner. The regiment at this time was armed with Hurricane aircraft, and many of the pilots in the ranks were soon transferred to the 767th IAP, armed with these fighters

After gaining altitude, I gave the command “all of a sudden” to turn to the right, and with a slight decrease, with the throttle, we went straight for the attack. The enemy bombers and fighters began some kind of restructuring, but they were just getting started!

Each of us in this mass chose his own goal. The outcome of the battle now depended on the first attack. We attacked both fighters and bombers: we destroyed four planes at once, two of them bombers. Then everything got mixed up - we ended up in a common group. The main thing here is not to collide. There are trails on the left, right, and above. I remember a wing with a cross flashed past me. Someone ruined it, that means. The volume in which everything happened was small; the battle began to be chaotic: highways were moving, planes were flashing by, you could even hit your own... It was time to get out of this mess. The Germans began to leave, and while catching up, I shot down one Me-109. Since the battle took place at maximum engine speed, there was almost no fuel. I realized that I needed to gather the group - I gave the signal for gathering. He identified himself with deep swaying motions, and the others began to join in. Salomatin approaches from the left, I see that his plane’s configuration is somehow unusual - the canopy was hit by a shell. He himself, fleeing from the oncoming stream of air, bent down so that he could not be seen. On the right, I see Skotnoy approaching, followed by a white trail, apparently the radiator was hit by shrapnel. Then, past me - one, second, third... all ours! Can you imagine, after such a fight - and everyone is settling in! Everything is fine! I felt the joy of victory, an unusual satisfaction that I had never experienced! In the first days, we were more often in the role of the vanquished.

We're going to the airfield. We passed over him with a “clamper”, the formation fanned out, we sat down one by one - Solomatin sat down earlier, it’s difficult to pilot without a flashlight.

Everyone is running towards me, shouting, making noise... Everything is very unusual: “Boris! Victory! Victory!" The regiment commander, the chief of staff - everyone ran up. Questions: how?.. what?.. And we ourselves don’t really know how many planes were shot down - seven? Then everything was confirmed.

After the war, I learned from Yakovlev that on the eve of this battle Stalin called the aircraft designers: “Why are our La and Yaks burning? What varnishes do you coat them with? - expressed displeasure that the new equipment does not justify itself. And then - such a fight! Yakovlev says that Stalin then called him and said: “See! Your planes have proven themselves."

By order of Headquarters, the commander of the Air Force of the Southwestern Front, Falaleev, arrived in our regiment. He carefully studied all the vicissitudes of our battle, looking for something that could be instructive for other aviators. They gathered us and thanked us. I was awarded the first Order of the Red Banner. Very solid.

Hero of the Soviet Union Vladimir Ilyich Salomatin on the wing of his Hurricane fighter, 17th GvShAP

We were visited by cameramen, photojournalists, journalists... Kozhedub said: “I was then an instructor at the Chuguev school, we were very interested in your fighting, we studied it. In 1942 this was an exceptional event for us.”

Frankly speaking, before my eyes, if we count from the beginning of the war, this is the first such effective victorious battle. A battle conducted according to all the rules of tactics, with knowledge of one’s strength and with the fullest use of the capabilities of new domestic fighters. Finally, this is my first battle in which the enemy was completely defeated, in which a large group of enemy aircraft melted away without reaching the target. The main thing is that we realized that we can beat the fascists. This was so important for us in the spring of '42! Before this, we conducted combat operations on I-16s - small planes with weak weapons. What was there? ShKASik... If you press it, everything flies out, and there is nothing to hit with. Besides, there is no speed. Although on this plane you can make a turn “around a pillar”. He showed himself well at Khalkhin Gol, but we are talking about the beginning of a war. And suddenly, on December 1, 1941, we receive the Yak-1 from the Saratov Combine Harvester Plant, which began producing aircraft! The planes were little white - under the snow, on skis, although they pressed against each other, they were heavy. It was a qualitatively new vehicle with solid weapons: a cannon, two machine guns, 6 rockets.

We were not allowed to fly around them properly. They said: “Save resources.” We flew in a circle. Landing on skis was very difficult - these are not wheels, there is nothing to slow down! You let you down, you sit down, and the evil spirit carries you to the parapet of the airfield... Well, you skid, you slow down...

If we had been in a MiG-1 or LaGG-3 in this battle, the result would hardly have been the same. “Mig”, when it first takes off, it itself must be blocked, at medium altitudes it is sluggish, you cannot accelerate it, only at altitude does it give the pilot the opportunity to feel normal.

LaGG-3, frankly speaking, we did not really respect - it burned strongly, since it was made of delta wood, and it was also a heavy machine. We gave preference to “yaks” - Yak-1, Yak-7 - maneuverable. They go for gas. The Yak-9 was a little heavy, but the weapons were good. The best is the Yak-3, it is an ideal machine for combat. Just a fairy tale! Only he had a small supply of fuel - enough for a 40-minute flight.

Krivosheev Grigory Vasilievich

The pilots of the 17th GvShAP receive a mission. In the background are Hurricane fighters, which the regiment was armed with before receiving the Il-2.

We arrived at the regiment. I came to Eremin, introduced myself, and Eremin is such a figure for me! In the reserve regiment, I grew a mustache to look respectable. He says to me: “What kind of mustache is this?” - “For respectability.” - “What kind of solidity? Show your solidity in battle.” I went behind the tent, took out the blade I used to fix pencils, and shaved off my mustache. I was assigned to the first squadron of Alexei Reshetov. I approached the tent in which the pilots were: one comes out of the tent wearing medals, the second comes out as a Hero. I think: “Oh my! Where did you end up!” But then one guy, as it turned out later, Vydrigan Kolya, pushed me into this tent, I introduced myself, everything is fine. And the bearded man who came into our tent at ZAP said: “When you come to the regiment, show that you are a pilot. They’ll give you aerobatics, so you pilot it so that the jets come from the planes.” When we arrived at the regiment on brand new “yaks” that we received in Saratov, they were taken away from us boys and handed over to experienced ones. I was told to fly out for a pilot test. I arrive and the mechanic reports that the plane is ready. Keeping this instruction in mind, I piloted with a high G-force, so that the jets would flow. I've piloted it and am about to land. Sat down. The commander comes up: “Well, you gave it to them, well done.” It turns out that when I, a fool, was piloting, two Messerschmitts tried to attack me, and I was spinning, I didn’t see them, but I was piloting with such an overload that they couldn’t catch me in their sights. They probably thought some fool was hanging around, and flew away. “I didn’t even see them.” - “This is why I respect you, someone else would have taken it for himself, but you answered honestly.”

A mechanic comes up to me: “Well done, the plane flew around!” I say: “How can this be?! Why didn’t you tell me anything?” - “Everything is fine, sign the form.” I didn’t know that the plane was assembled: the landing gear was from one, the fuselage from another, and even not flown after repair! The mechanic himself is dirty, the plane is dirty. I had just arrived at the front, and they were working at night, rebuilding engines, who cares about silk scarves. As I remembered this Turzhansky, who was laying rugs in the dining room, the next day I hemmed the white collar. I say to the mechanic: “Here is a can of gasoline, take it, wash it, so that you are an eagle!” I got on the plane, and the mechanic said to me: “Commander, you are my seventh.” - "And last. If you cook my plane poorly, I’ll shoot you right here, but if you cook it well, I’ll stay alive. Is it coming? - "Deal". I arrive, taxied in, the mechanic comes out, the overalls are washed, and a cigarette for me. I say: “Ivan, I’m sorry.” Order is order.

Heroes of the Soviet Union Konstantin Fomchenkov, Pavel Kutakhov and Ivan Bochkov against the backdrop of early series R-39 Airacobra fighters with a 20-mm Hispano-Suiza cannon, 19th GvIAP, winter - spring 1943.

Before flying out on a combat mission, we were prepared. The regiment's party organizer, Kozlov, brought all arriving pilots up to date. This was not an exam, not a lecture - a conversation. He talked about how to reach a target, how to conduct reconnaissance, introduced us to the history of the regiment, how and which pilots fought, studied the area of ​​​​operation, the material part. New arrivals were required to take a test in equipment and navigational training. We were required to study the flight area. First they gave me a map, and then they asked me to draw it from memory. We were sitting, drawing, there were probably six of us, and then the army commander, Khryukin, arrived. He came up to us, walked behind us, and looked. At some point, pointing at me, he said to the regiment commander: “Make him a scout.” I drew well, and my father was an artist. So out of the 227 combat missions I flew, 128 were reconnaissance missions.

What is intelligence? An AFA-I camera (aircraft fighter camera) was installed in the fuselage of the fighter, which was controlled from the cockpit. Before taking off, I laid out the map and looked at the mission. For example, you need to film a road on such and such a scale so that a car or tank is the size of a pinhead or the size of a penny. Depending on this, I need to select the altitude and calculate the flight speed at the moment the camera is turned on. If I exceed the speed, the pictures will be torn, and if I reduce them, they will overlap. In addition, I must clearly follow the course. If I deviate from the course, the photo tablet will not work. I made all these calculations, then marked out landmarks on the map where I should start shooting and where I should finish. Then I have to go to the target, find the intended landmark, see where these cars, or tanks, or whatever else I have to photograph there, make sure that I have exactly reached it. I went out and maintained the height, because if I go up or down, I won’t get the required scale: on one frame there will be one scale, and on the other there will be another. And so I come in, and then they imprison me with everything they can. I have no right to deviate - I will not complete the task. And I didn’t give a damn about all these gaps on the right and left. Of course, I shoot at the fastest possible speed. Why? Because the anti-aircraft gunners see the Yak plane and set their sights at 520 kilometers per hour, but I’m not going at 520, but at 600 - all the gaps are behind me. I'm arriving. The photo lab technician takes the film to the darkroom, prints it onto photographic paper, mounts the whole thing into a tablet, and the result is a photograph of the desired object. I sign on the tablet, my regiment commander and chief of staff also sign there, and this tablet is taken to the person in whose interests I carried out this task. Not only did I have to scout out where they had an airfield, guns, artillery, concentration, I had to make an assumption as to what it meant, what they were transporting along the roads, and why along this road and not another, what aircraft at airfields and what missions they can perform. Therefore, brain work and good tactical preparation were required. And I successfully completed these flights.

Kanishchev Vasily Alekseevich

Refueling the P-39 Airacobra fighter from the 129th GvIAP, spring 1945, Germany

On the ninth flight, on September 7, I was shot down. How did it happen? By that time I was already flying well. And here our squadron commander Zaitsev (if my memory serves me correctly, that was his last name) reads the assignment. I look and his hands are shaking. What kind of squadron commander is this who has jitters? But here, apparently, the point was that he had recently been shot down. True, he was not captured over his own territory, but this is how it affected him.

They gave us the task of flying on a free hunt. Before that, I always flew as a wingman, and then the squadron commander said to me: “Comrade Kanishchev, you will go as a leader.” Okay, leading so leading. We flew a Yak-9T with a powerful 37 mm cannon. At that time, the receiver and transmitter were only on the leader's aircraft, and the wingmen only had receivers. Therefore, I had to transfer from my plane to the squadron commander’s plane number “72”.

They sent us to the area of ​​Dukhovshchina - “Smertovshchina”, as we called it. The Nazis stood there for a long time and managed to fortify themselves well. There were also many anti-aircraft batteries there. We crossed the front line, everything is fine. I saw a train coming from Smolensk to Yartsevo towards the front - carriages, platforms with anti-aircraft guns. I tell my wingman that we will storm this train. We made two passes. I can smell the burning smell of shell explosions in the cabin as they make fun of us. On the third run, suddenly there was a blow. The shell hit the engine. And that's it - the engine died. But the propeller is spinning and is not jammed. I shout to my wingman: “Go to the base, I’m hit.” And he spins around. I told him again: “Go away!”

Pilots of the 129th GvIAP Semyon Bukchin (left) and Ivan Gurov at the R-39 Airacobra

I think what to do, where to sit. I knew that the closest front line was in the north. I decided: I will go perpendicular to the front line so that I can pull it over and sit on my territory. In general, if I had been smarter, more tactically literate, and if I had known that I couldn’t pull it off, I would have had to fly along the forest and sit on my belly. Burn the plane and run away to the partisans. But it turned out differently. I saw an anti-aircraft battery ahead and they were hitting me from there. These red blobs are flying, and it seems like they’re heading straight for me. I think they’ll kill me, but I’m going straight at them. I handed over the handle and fired the last shells at them. And we used this 37-mm cannon during landing as a brake; if the brakes failed, you start shooting and the plane stops. So as soon as I fired, I lost speed. But I only had one or two kilometers left to reach my territory. Maybe I would have made it, or maybe these anti-aircraft guns would have killed me... In general, I plopped down on the caponier of the anti-aircraft gun, and the car jacked up. And what happened then, I don’t know.

Pilot of the 86th GvIAP Vasily Kanishchev in the cockpit of his Yak-3

I woke up on a Russian stove - my whole body hurt, I couldn’t move. I remember how it happened, I think what it was - I was flying at 10–11 in the morning, and it was already dark, night. Next to me lay another pilot, who turned out to be from the 900th regiment of our 240th division. I ask him: “Where are we?” He replies: “Hush. The Germans have it. There’s a security guard sitting there.”

In the morning they took us away by car. And they brought me to Smolensk, to a hospital for Russian prisoners of war. The staff and doctors in the hospital were ours, Russians. But the attitude of the Germans towards the prisoners was quite loyal. There were no atrocities or bullying in my presence. After two days I began to walk slowly. The doctors sewed a “beard” on me - when I fell, a piece of skin came off and was hanging from my chin. There were about 12 of us in the room. Clean room, clean sheets. Then it turned out that on the same floor with me there were three more from my 86th regiment: Vasily Eleferevsky, Aleinikov and Fisenko.

On September 20, 1943, a day before the liberation of Smolensk, we were lined up in the courtyard of the hospital - everyone who could walk. They were lined up to be sent to a camp in Orsha. Of the four of us, only Eleferevsky and I could walk. In general, I was lucky that I was shot down by anti-aircraft guns. These three of my fellow soldiers are fighters. They jumped out of burning planes and were all burned. They lay on beds covered with gauze curtains to prevent flies from landing. They were fed through tubes, pouring in liquid food. So Aleinikov and Fisenko were unable to walk, and they were left in the hospital. As they later said, they managed to climb into some sewer pipe and sit in it until our troops arrived. After that, they were sent to a hospital near Moscow, and from there, after treatment, back to the regiment to fight.

Hero of the Soviet Union Ivan Bochkov with the R-39 Airacobra. 19th GvIAP, spring 1943

It turned out more difficult for me. We arrived in Orsha on September 21. How was the concentration camp set up? Germans are Germans. They had everything laid out on the shelves. Officers and pilot sergeants, like officers, were kept in a barrack separate from the soldiers and were not sent to work: “The officer does not work for us. Nix arbeiten.” But the officers were people devoted to the Motherland. Our minds were constantly spinning: “How is it possible that I’m a prisoner?!” How can I escape? How will you escape?! There are four rows of wire, sentinels. The Germans drove the rank and file to work. The prisoners unloaded sugar and bread and dug trenches. It was, of course, easier to escape from work. We need to get a job. And Eleferevsky and I, with whom we stayed together (later in the barracks with the privates, the infantryman Makarkin Sashka joined us, he was also an officer, a junior lieutenant, spoke German a little better than us), we decided to first escape from the officer barracks in general.

In the evenings there was a market in the camp. Everything changed. I have sugar - you have bread. Who has what? Both Russian money and stamps were in circulation. And I received my pay before departure. All the big money was raked out of me, leaving only tens and rubles. With this money we bought some food (we were fed sparingly, some kind of gruel). It was in this crowd of “traders” that we got lost. Of course, we were afraid that they would catch us - we would have put us against the wall without talking. What do they think: just think about shooting two people.

R-39 “Airacobra” from the 212th GvIAP, spring 1945.

In the evening, after verification, it turned out that there were two people missing in the officer’s barracks. The Nazis lined up the entire camp, all the privates. Apparently, they understood that we could not escape outside the camp. They lined up the prisoners in 6-8 rows... Eleferevsky and I stood separately. Maybe they will recognize one, but not the other. Can you imagine, there is such a long column, and four Germans are walking along it, peering into their faces, and with them a doctor from the Smolensk hospital and two dogs. The Nazis inspected the first row, they are starting to look out for the second. I was just standing in it. My veins began to shake. I think they will find out. I was in the Smolensk hospital from the 7th to the 20th and went to this doctor for a dressing change! And sure enough, I see he recognized me! But... he turned away and didn’t give it away. Nevermind, the Nazis didn’t find us!

Before being sent to Orsha, they were given overcoats. Mine turned out to be too big for me. I began to speak, and the soldier standing next to me said: “Shut up, fool, you’re lucky: you’ll sleep on it and take cover with it.”

After departure, a mechanic removes spent 37-mm cannon cartridges from a special compartment of the P-39 Airacobra fighter.

Three or four days later we got a job. We were loaded into five vehicles and sent to dig trenches. How to escape?! After work, they brought us to spend the night in large barns in which hay was stored - lovely, how nice. The Germans had order there too. I wanted to go to the toilet: “Shaize, Shaize, I want to go to the toilet.” For the toilet, the prisoners dug a hole, drove two stakes, and put a log on them, that is, so that you sat on this log, like in a toilet. Not like ours, he went into the bushes and that’s it. It was not possible to escape from the barn.

R-39 "Airacobra" of early series, 19th GvIAP

The three of us decided - me, Eleferevsky and Sashka the infantryman - that tomorrow at the formation we would try to be the last to stand, so as to be at the very end of the trench. And so it happened. There was only one more guy with us, he was so long, about two meters.

The task for the day is to dig a trench about three meters high. We started digging for about an hour. Then we say to Sashka the infantryman: “Go to the Germans, tell them you want to eat, so that they will allow you to pick up some potatoes.” It was October. The potatoes were removed, but some remained in the fields. Sashka went. We are sitting on the parapet of the trench. We wait for him for five minutes - no, ten minutes have passed - no. Vaska Eleferevsky says to me: “Vasya, this is a shitty thing, or Sanka has screwed up... or whatever happened. We need to cut our claws!” We're going into this trench. I’m running, but my coattails are just flying in different directions - the trench is zigzag. Like a tail, the coattails were sweeping across the ground. And suddenly this long one that was with us shouts: “Bend down!” By the way, he himself came running a week later. He turned out to be a cook, and then he was a cook in our partisan detachment. He told us: “Oh, what happened after you ran away. The Germans were terribly fierce!”

And then the two of us jumped out of the trench as soon as it ended. If the Germans had been a little smarter, they would have put a machine gunner at the end of it, and that’s all... We jumped out of the trench, and there was a bare field all around, you couldn’t hide anywhere - they were digging on a hill. But we just blew into the forest! We got there, the Germans didn’t notice our disappearance, and besides, fortunately for us, they didn’t have dogs. With dogs they would have found us quickly. We see some girl. They didn’t approach: “No, we think, he’ll sell.” We heard that in the occupied territory fugitives are sold for a pound of salt. And so we run, run. Eleferevsky says: “Vasya, listen, are your legs okay? Otherwise I rubbed it. Let's try, maybe my boots will fit you. We have the same leg.” I agree: “Come on, let’s exchange boots.” And I happily put on his chrome pre-war boots lined with kid leather. I spent 9 months as a partisan in these boots. And what a time it was: the end of October, November, December and until April, there was a lot of water. Wherever I climbed in them, my foot wraps were only slightly damp. The boots did not allow water to pass through! But that comes later. And then we ran away, probably seven or eight kilometers. We saw a long narrow copse. We are roaming through this forest. Then we see a hillock, and Sashka the infantryman is sitting on it and eating bread. He already has half a loaf of round bread! We responded to him: “You bastard!” He: “Guys, understand me, I started collecting potatoes, I see that I’m leaving. And you, who the hell knows, maybe you’ll be chicken, maybe you won’t run. I decided to bolt."

To celebrate, we forgave him everything. We say: “Come on, share your bread.” It was just October 9th. And on the same day we found a partisan detachment.

Maslov Leonid Zakharovich

Semyon Bukchin, Nikolai Gulaev, Leonid Zadiraka and Valentin Karlov from the 129th GvIAP sort out an air battle, spring 1944.

Our real work began on August 23, with the start of the Iasi-Kishinev operation. By that time I had already flown 20 or 30 combat missions. They flew to cover the bridgehead near Tiraspol. That's where I shot down my first Fokker. This is how it turned out. The group, led by Smirnov, the commander of the second squadron, went to cover the bridgehead - there was no one left to fly, so they assembled a combined group. I walked as a wingman at Kalashonka. Our unit connected the fighters in battle. There was porridge. Kalash and I were defeated, we are fighting separately. I twist my head and shout: “Kalash, where are you?” It seems to be close, but I can’t break through to him - two people pressed me. One Fokker fell off. I'm going to Kalash. I see Kalash fighting with one. I passed it and saw one Fokker at low level running away towards itself. I pressed him. I think we need to shoot it down faster, otherwise there won’t be enough fuel back. As Krasnov taught us: “When you see rivets, shoot.” The sight was uncomfortable. That’s why they shot either in the sighting line, or when they saw the rivets. The German presses, the smoke is already coming out, and you can see how the pilot turns his head and looks. I'm catching up. He's cutting - I think I'm about to crash into the forest, but I caught up, gave him a flat ride - he's in the forest. I gained altitude and went home. They confirmed to me...

We flew a lot. We didn’t have time to refuel - we took off again. I remember that I was all wet from sweat, although it was not hot in the La-5 cabin.

Commander of the 19th GvIAP, Major Georgy Reifschneider at the P-39 Airacobra aircraft

There were also losses. Gorbunov died - Meshcheryakov did not cover him. This episode is even described in Skomorokhov’s book “The Fighter Lives by Fight.” Meshcheryakov was tried and sent as a gunner on an Il-2. After the war he graduated from the academy. He was lucky to survive the war. Although flying as a shooter is a very dangerous business.

In general, you won’t guess where death awaits you. I had a good friend at school, Volodya Dolin. He was left as an instructor and was not allowed to go to the front. When Odessa was taken in the spring of 1944, we were sent to Lebedin for new planes. There, at UTAP, Volodya was an instructor. We met. I ask him: “What are you doing?” “I train young people, we ferry new planes. I want to go to the front, but they don’t let me. Take me, for God’s sake, I’m tired of it!”

And we arrived with the whole squadron. I went to the castle commander Kirilyuk. It was he who taught me how to fight. He was a bully - he didn’t recognize anyone, but he loved me. When the pilots in his flight were beaten, he took me with him. He was a robber! I told him about the Valley, he said: “Let’s take it, I feel sorry for the guy. Let's steal it. We need good pilots in the regiment. Just be quiet."

"Airacobra" of the 19th GvIAP, which crashed during a training flight

We put Volodya in his fuselage and flew off. Before reaching Pervomaisk, Kirilyuk began to fall behind, and a plume of black smoke began to emerge from his engine. Skomorokhov, who was leading the group, turned around. We look, Kirilyuk is about to land. He plopped down in the village right on the vegetable gardens: he jumped over one vegetable garden, another, a cloud of dust - and that’s it, nothing was visible. Well, we marked the landing point and flew to the regiment. It turned out that Kirilyuk was hospitalized with a wound to his jaw and a broken arm. He returned to the regiment in June. We ask him: “Where is Dolin?” - "As where? He was alive after all. The collective farmers put him on a cart and took him to Odessa.” It turned out that something inside him was knocked off during landing; he could not be shaken on the cart, and he died on the way. Kirilyuk was demoted for this. However, he is no stranger to being taken off and then put back on. Hooligan.

I’ll tell you another incident with him, when Romania capitulated and the Romanians came over to our side, in Karalash the four of us were walking through the city: Kalashonok, Kirilyuk, Orlov and me. Two Romanian officers in flight uniform met us. So important. They didn't give the honor. Kirilyuk stops them: “Aren’t you welcoming the Soviet liberators?” They said something so condescendingly. He got angry: “Oh, you’re still calling me names!” - How to punch one in the face! We to Kirilyuk: “Let’s go, what are you messing with.” He stands his ground: “They should welcome us!” He commands the Romanians: “Come on, walk past us in combat!”

Squadron commander of the 19th GvIAP I. D. Gaidaenko in the cockpit of his Airacobra

While we were dealing with them, the commandant’s platoon arrived and said to us: “What are you allowing yourself to do?!” Here Kirilyuk burst out: “What are you doing?!” We shot them down (and I also had to shoot down a Romanian Fokker near Odessa), and they...” In general, they explained themselves. The platoon commander told us: “Here’s what, guys, I’ll give you a ride to the outskirts of the city, and then you’ll walk to the airfield. But I ask you not to appear in the city again.” He took us and let us go.

We landed in Karalash at the beginning of September. From there they flew to cover Constantia, which was being bombed by the Germans based in Bulgaria. After the popular uprising in Bulgaria, the Germans immediately retreated, and there were no battles until the border with Yugoslavia. The Germans created a fortified area near Belgrade, and we had to accompany the “silts” who were digging them out of there.

Our first airfield on the territory of Yugoslavia was on the Danube island of Temiseziget. From there they flew mainly to cover attack aircraft. In addition, they also hung bombs on us. I remember one of the flights the day before the liberation of Belgrade. The cloud cover was low and it was raining. And now, against the backdrop of these dark clouds, there’s a solid wall of fire on us, but we need to storm the buildings in which the Nazis are holed up. We made three sorties and didn’t shoot down anyone. How did we stay alive? I don't understand. For this attack I received the Order of the Patriotic War, 1st degree.

Stormtroopers are difficult to escort. Usually there were two groups - shock and direct cover. Above the target they were always covered upon exiting the dive. At this moment they are most defenseless, not connected to each other by fire interaction. And if the Germans attacked, it was only at that moment. They didn’t like to attack a group on the way; if they attacked, it was somehow haphazard, just to get away.

In order to take off from the muddy airfield, the Airacobras of the 66th IAP had to pave the runway with boards. March 1945, Germany

What then? We started flying near Budapest, on the South Danube. First we boarded straight away at Madoce. The rains flooded the airfield, turning it into a swamp. Two or three flights took off in afterburner with wing flaps extended. Just to get off the ground as quickly as possible. But this is very risky. An engineer was called. As a result, the planes were dismantled, loaded onto trucks and transported along the highway to Kiskunlatshaza, which had an airfield with a concrete runway. The drive there is 35–40 kilometers. We arrived at three o’clock in the morning, it was still dark, and by nine o’clock in the morning all the planes were ready to take off! Do you understand how seriously everything was staged?! Squadron engineer Myakota worked wonders! And the head of PARMA, where we were repaired, Burkov, was also on the level. You arrive, the plane is full of holes, and after 3-4 hours the plane is ready to fly again. These are the kind of engineers they were!

Hero of the Soviet Union, future Air Force Commander-in-Chief Pavel Kutakhov

When we flew out to Budapest, there were no special air battles. Only once, I remember, we made 2-3 sorties, and our duty unit was on alert. The rocket is in the air - the couple taxis - they receive the task already in the air. Only Lesha Artemov - Artem, as we called him - managed to take off. And suddenly - two “Messers”. I don't know where they were flying. Most likely for exploration or hunting. Lesha started a fight with them over the airfield and shot them both down in front of everyone. One of those two Germans sat down shot down. They picked him up alive. They brought me. The regiment commander Onufrienko was not there, his deputy was Petrov. The commander asked who flew out and shot down. The staff reported to him that the regiment commander was flying out, and he shot it down. Then we figured out how it really was. In general, everything happened like in the movie “Old Men Go to Battle.” Artem, when we met after the war, liked to joke that during the war he shot down twelve German and ten of his own planes. He was really unlucky - he was constantly shot down, so he counted this in the list of downed “our” planes.

Parking of R-39 fighters of the 213th GvIAP, spring 1945.

We ourselves had people about whom we could make films. Kirilyuk, whom I already talked about. I remember that there were only a few of us left near Budapest. Skomorokhov made up one link. We took off. And there is “Messera”. My Tajik Abrarov Rafik is my wingman. He was a good guy, but he was shot down by a Mess over the airfield. The hunters have come, they will stretch out like worms one after another, not like us - in front. He was landing, and they fell out of the clouds... And then we just flew over the Danube, we are going to Lake Velence, his engine malfunctioned. I told him: “Go home quickly, what else can we do with you, they’ll shoot you down.” I was left alone. It's uncomfortable without a partner. The troika was led by Kirilyuk, and as you go, something is bound to happen to him. He is fearless, he will get involved first and think later. He's a little taller, I'm a little shorter. The battle began, and then four Messers began to buzz me. I took a turn “For the Motherland,” as we called it, when you spin in one place, and these four attacked me from above. Well, it’s not easy to hit a banking plane, especially since I’m following and tucking under the attacking fighter, quickly passing in its sights. I'm slowly losing altitude. We started at 3000-4000, there are already mountains, but you can’t get out of the bend - they’ll knock you down. I myself shout: “Kirim! - that was Kirilyuk’s call sign. - Four bastards pinched! At least someone to help!” He answers: “Nothing, nothing. Hold on." It seems like he has no time, he needs to shoot down there, up there. I spun and spun. I looked around, and one “mass” was already on fire. Kirilyuk fell from above and knocked him down. Here one “Messer” missed and missed not far. Yeah, I think that's it, now I can handle you. I turned the car around like I gave it to him. He started smoking and went down. Kirilyuk: “Well done!” The other two ran away. Kirilyuk was an ace compared to us: he personally shot down 32 or 33 planes. Two years older than me, he went to war earlier. He had experience. We arrived, I said to him: “Kirim, why didn’t you come earlier? I asked you earlier. Altitude is at the limit, fuel is low.” He answers: “I watched how you would get out.” I say: “Wow!!!” That’s how he was, he just arrived at a critical moment. May he rest in heaven, he was a good man.

Semyon Zinovievich Bukchin next to his Airacobra, 129th GvIAP, spring 1945.

Dementeev Boris Stepanovich

Pokhlebaev, an experienced pilot and smarter than Zavodchikov, was appointed squadron commander instead of the deceased Zavodchikov. The breeders strove forward, he wanted to shoot down and distinguish himself. And Pokhlebaev... Later, after one air battle, I asked him: “Commander, why didn’t you attack?” - “I didn’t see you at that moment.” I think it is good if the squadron commander did not go to attack because he did not see his wingman. It’s better to keep your wingman today - tomorrow we’ll kill more.

Parking of aircraft of the 129th GvIAP, spring 1945.

So, a couple of days pass. In the evening we sit at the checkpoint, the smokehouse is on fire, everyone is depressed - no one wants to die. The aces are operating - in our country Zavodchikov was shot down, in other units the pilots were shot down. Who are we? We're not aces. Ivan Grigorovich Pokhlebaev sees that everyone is dejected and says: “Why are you hanging your nose? Well, aces! Just think, aces! Don’t we have weapons?! Look at the weapons we have, don’t we know how to beat them! Tomorrow we'll go and fuck them! Now let’s go to dinner.”

Pilots of the 129th GvIAP Georgy Remez, Nikolai Gulaev and mechanic Gulaev, who, judging by the unfaded marks from the orders, is wearing his commander’s tunic

We had dinner. We take off at dawn. On the approach to the front line we managed to gain three thousand - it is close, 25 kilometers. From the air you can see both your own airfield and the German one. Fokkers are coming towards us, they are already going into a dive, bombing our troops. Pokhlebaev says: “Let’s attack!” - and into a dive. I'm following him. The second pair remained at the top to cover the attack. I see a Fokker ahead of me. But I need to keep an eye on the squadron commander's rear hemisphere. He’s filming one Fokker, I’m on the left. I noticed that I also have a Fokker in front of me, I just need to take aim at it. Commands: “Hit, I’m covering.” Then I put all my attention on the sight. I shoot at this Fokker, it goes into a dive and never comes out of it. With a heavy overload, the plane took off just above the ground. I thought he couldn't stand it. It's dark in the eyes, of course. It seemed like my head would fall into my stomach. We've just reached 3 thousand - another group of Fokkers is coming. Pokhlebaev and I killed two more in the same way. Then the guidance station reports that four Fokkers have taken off. (Both we and the Germans bugged each other. Everyone knew each other. Let’s say they call Pokhlebaev’s four to replace a flight of another squadron that is fighting with the Messers. They just reported that Pokhlebaev is flying, look, the Messers are a coup, once, once and left, abandoned these ones. We walk, walk, patrol, there’s not a damn thing. We just hand over the shift to other pilots, leave, and then “Messers” appear from somewhere. The Germans knew that Pokhlebaev’s flight should be feared, but others can be beaten - They are less organized. Ours haven't fought badly yet, but the guys in the 57th Regiment were not friendly. If they flew into battle, the Germans would definitely show up and drive them away. Ours and the 66th Regiment were very friendly, and we got the results were much better.)

Pilots of the 129th GvIAP near the R-39 Airacobra fighter.

So, we look, four Fokkers appeared far behind. They are coming above us with a decrease in speed and right on our tail. I don’t know whether they see us or not, but they are following our course. I say to the squadron commander: “Ivan, a Fokker is approaching our tail.” He said it once, said it twice, he doesn’t hear. I see they are getting closer. It's bad. I turned around sharply. I take aim at the presenter. Tra-ta-ta, I only had one heavy machine gun fire. Fired five to seven bullets. I think where are ours? I see the squadron commander is nearby and the second pair is next to me. Already on the ground, the squadron commander said: “When you rushed, I immediately realized what was happening.” The leading Fokker began to smoke, began to smoke, and began to smoke. He turned away, and the other three left behind him. Well, I think the squadron commander saw it and will report. But he didn’t report. So this third one was not counted towards me. Okay, again in favor of war.

Morozov replaced us. He walks and shouts so cheerfully: “Let's go to the rescue! Let's go to the rescue! It is clear that he is ready to fight. As Pokhlebaev said yesterday - let's go beat them, and that's what happened! After this, our pilots became less afraid of these “Messers” and “Fokkers”.

Even near Kerch, I remember, I shot down a Fokker. We were behind the clouds, and the peninsula was covered with low, 300 meters, clouds. I won’t boast, but I shot well. This Fokker was about eight hundred meters away, almost at four quarters. I still wouldn’t have caught up with him, but I decided to scare him. Determined the range, took a lead, introduced corrections. I fired and looked - the shell exploded in the cockpit area, but there was no smoke or fire. I followed the German. He went to the ground and, in the area of ​​our front line, entered the clouds at an angle of 70 degrees. And then I heard the guidance station: “Who shot down the Fokker? He hit me." - “I shot.” - “Congratulations on your victory.”

Shugaev Boris Alexandrovich

I remember the day of December 31, 1943. I almost got hit then. New Year was just around the corner, but the weather was not so great. The Germans did not fly. We also refrained from flying. In the afternoon, on the occasion of the holiday, the regiment commander sent us to our apartments, ordered us to shave, wash, and hem our collars. As soon as we started to deal with this matter, the team urgently returned to the airfield. It turns out that an order was given from above to storm one of the German airfields. Our attack aircraft, who were supposed to carry out all this, were covered by the “Lavochkin”, and we, on the Cobras, in turn, had to block the airfield. For this we had to leave earlier. It turned out a little differently than planned. For some reason, the attack aircraft with cover took off before us, and we already rushed after them. Accordingly, we approach the enemy airfield, and German planes are already in the air. We had two groups. One group of eight aircraft went beyond the clouds. And there were seven of us, one of us didn’t fly out for some reason. It turns out that as soon as we approached the airfield, there were already “crosses” around us. We immediately entered the battle. After a while, one of ours shouted: “I’m hit, cover!” This is not surprising. Everything happened so quickly there.

Refueling the Airacobra of the 66th IAP pilot Boris Shugaev, spring 1945.

A few minutes later I looked, our “Cobra” was coming, and the “Messer” was closely behind it. Without thinking for a long time, I broadcast on the radio: “Cobra, there’s a Mass for you!” He immediately pressed all the triggers of the machine guns and cannons. I shot him down, the Fritz; even the ground troops, as I later found out, gave me credit for it. And then I shoot, and at that time some fascist also opened fire on me from behind. And my leg jerked from the blow. The impact of a 20mm armor-piercing shell hit my boot. The boot was cowhide and had a leather heel; there was also a horseshoe all over the heel, 5 mm thick. The heel is bent 90 degrees. However, thanks to this blow, the leg jerked, pressing the pedal, and the plane jumped out from under fire. As it turned out later, two shells hit the plane - one in my leg, and the second in the wing. Well, I see that I was slightly wounded in the leg. I tried the rudders - the plane obeyed. While I had speed, I, without slowing down, conveyed to the leader that I was leaving the battle, shot down. My altitude then was 500–600 meters, right under the clouds. I left this battle with a half-flip; my plane was not badly damaged, so I was able to land.

Flight commander of the 20th GvIAP Hero of the Soviet Union Alexei Khlobystov, who carried out an aerial ram three times, near the P-40 Kittyhawk aircraft

Soon I was almost run over again. We walked as a couple. We see a couple from another regiment of our division walking perpendicular to us. And at that moment a couple of “Messers” were following us, waiting for the moment to attack. I told a couple from another regiment: “The tail is behind us, help.” I was hoping that we would pass through like a bait, and that these Germans would attack from behind. Where there! But they didn’t hear me, and during this time the Germans approached and opened fire. I barely managed to maneuver, and only bullets hit the plane - the shells missed. Of course, there were two or three holes. While I was maneuvering, my leader turned around and shot down one enemy plane. The second fascist immediately went into the clouds, and only he was seen.

Results of combat operations of the most effective fighter regiments of the Air Force

(data provided by Vladimir Anokhin)

(according to M. Bykov)

In the fall of 1940, I arrived for further service in the 54th Aviation Bomber Regiment, which was stationed at an airfield four kilometers from Vilno. Great was my amazement when the next day, among the fighter pilots heading to the dining room, I saw my brother Ivan. He was no less happy. In the evening, after dinner, we met. There was no end to the stories and questions. After all, we haven’t seen each other for two years. After graduating from the Vyaznikovsky flying club in 1938, Ivan was sent to the Chkalovsky military pilot school. He graduated from it, became a fighter pilot and served for some time in Velikiye Luki, and from there their regiment flew here. The city of Vilna was liberated from Polish occupation by the Red Army in September 1939 and was soon transferred to Lithuania. In October of the same year, the USSR concluded mutual assistance agreements with the Baltic republics, including Lithuania, under which a number of Red Army garrisons were stationed in these republics. However, various provocations were carried out against our garrisons and military personnel, including the kidnapping and killing of our military personnel. Ivan told how in June 1940 the airfield was blocked by Lithuanian troops. Machine guns and cannons were aimed at airplanes and airfield structures. The personnel slept under the planes, ready to fight back at any moment. Ivan and his flight were ordered to take off and conduct reconnaissance. With great difficulty we managed to suppress the desire to storm the enemy. Three days later the blockade was lifted. In June 1940, elections were held that brought representatives of the people to power. Here, at the airfield, was the regiment in which my brother served. They flew on Chaika fighters. I will tell about myself. After graduating from pedagogical school, I, like many of my peers, asked to be sent to work in Siberia, although I was left to work in the city, and was even almost sent to study at the Leningrad Military Medical Academy. After a year and a half of working as a teacher, I was drafted into the army. To my greatest pride, which I immediately wrote home, I became machine gunner No. 1 on a cart. A dream came true - in childhood, everyone after the movie “Chapaev” wanted to become machine gunners. But I didn’t remain a “Chapaevite” for long. Soon, six of us from the regiment who had secondary education were sent to the ShMAS aviation school in Kalachinsk near Omsk. After graduation, he became an air gunner-radio operator, rank - sergeant major. Sent to serve in Kaunas at the air division headquarters. Everything here seemed new, interesting, and sometimes wild to us. The provocations that I have already written about drove us to live in a monastery. We lived there for two months. It was fenced with a high (eight meters) thick brick wall. One of the buildings was freed from the monks and handed over to us. Monastic cells were allocated for housing - quite comfortable rooms. Bed, table, bedside table, separate toilet, bathroom, prayer corner. A spiral staircase connected the library rooms (approximately 100 square meters each) from the first to the fourth floor. There was a lot of literature, different, including foreign, not to mention Catholic. In one wing of the building, part of the first floor was occupied by a huge hall, and here I saw an organ for the first time and played it. On the second floor there is a physical office. On the third - chemical, the floor above - biological. All well equipped. Our technical schools are squalor in comparison. That's it, monks! How far this is from what we were told about them at school. We were not really allowed to walk around the territory of the monastery. And there was no time, since we were leaving for the airfield in the morning. But they still watched. The monks have a strict daily routine. Usually from 6 to 7 pm they walked in pairs and alone through the large park. In the middle there was a covered veranda with ping pong (table tennis). I saw him for the first time. One Saturday my friend and I invited the girls over. We sat on the veranda, laughed and played. And it was just an hour of an evening walk and pious reflections of the servants of God - and suddenly such a temptation. From the next day, the hour of the walk was moved to another time, and we were forbidden to invite girls. On November 6th, a funny thing happened. The building was decorated for the October holiday. Slogans, flags. One of the flags was attached to the railing on the 4th floor balcony. In the evening we see the monks looking at our visual propaganda with some displeasure. About twenty minutes later the abbot of the monastery walked leisurely with two servants. I stood there for a while. I looked. Headed to division headquarters. They left after about five minutes. The division commissar jumps out after them. Staring at the flag on the fourth floor. We are interested. It turns out that if you look at the flag directly, it is just shamelessly projected between the legs of Matka Bozka Częstochowa, whose human-sized image was located on the wall. It is funny and sad at the same time. It was ordered to immediately move the flag to the corner of the balcony. The monks calmed down. This is how we became acquainted with monastic reality. And soon I was transferred to serve in Vilna in the crew of the squadron commissar in the 54th regiment, where I met Ivan. Now my brother and I served in the same place. In mid-June 1941 six crews of our regiment were tasked with transporting SB aircraft to an aviation school located in the Totsky camps near Chkalov (we began to receive new AR-2 aircraft and were already flying them). I was flying in the crew of Lieutenant Vasya Kibalko, to whom I was transferred for this flight. It turns out that the school's cadets had completed a course of theoretical training, but had not yet flown combat aircraft, since the school did not have them (only training "sparks"). It is not difficult to imagine the joy of the cadets when we landed at their airfield. They rocked us and carried us in their arms. And I got a special treat, because among those who met me (or rather, they noticed me earlier) Rasskazov and other guys with whom I studied together at the Gorky school in Vyazniki. After graduating from high school and the flying club in their hometown, they went to a flying school here and “swelled up” here waiting for planes. The meeting remained in my memory, although I never met these guys at the front (they said in the city that they all died). To rejoice in the evening, the kind hosts offered us a barrel of beer, which they had prepared with great difficulty in advance. We expected to walk here for two or three days, and from here I had to go to Tomsk to the Pedagogical Institute to enroll in correspondence studies. However, at night a telegram unexpectedly arrived from the regiment, in which the commander categorically ordered an urgent return to Vilna. Nothing to do. Go. Already on the trains we met many military men, summoned by telegrams to their units. There were many guesses, the most fantastic. We arrived in Vilna on the evening of June 21. We reached the airfield on foot. To our great surprise, there were no planes of ours (apart from a few faulty ones). The duty officer met us at the entrance. He said that our regiment and Ivan’s regiment flew to alternate field airfields during the day, the barracks were sealed, and we could sleep until the morning in the camp. If there is a car heading to the airfield at night, they will wake you up. We came to the hangar, collected airplane covers, and seemed to have settled down appropriately for the night - how much does a military man need? Since the next day was Sunday, everyone began to ask the group commander not to rush to the airfield tomorrow, but to rest for a day in the city. We went to bed around midnight. Suddenly the duty officer came running and said that a car was on its way to the regiment. The command “Get up, get in the car” followed. Alas, our plans to go for a walk in Vilna dissipated like a mirage. The field airfield was located 15-18 kilometers from Vilna in Kivishki. We got there at about two in the morning. The fog was so thick that literally nothing could be seen three steps away. We were taken to tents, but we couldn’t sleep because the alarm horn sounded. It was about three in the morning. We jumped up. Get dressed. You can't see anything in the fog. It was difficult to find our plane and technicians. We run up to the aircraft parking lot. Work is already in full swing there. We got involved too. The gunsmith was busy at the bomb bay, hanging up live bombs. The mechanic helped him. Since I was in the crew of squadron commissar Verkhovsky, I asked Kibalko how I could decide. He advised me to work on his plane for now (then she left me with him). I started setting up the machine gun and testing out the radio. The pilot and navigator fled to the checkpoint. Little by little the fog began to clear. We, who came from Chkalov, were noticed. Questions began. Suddenly, in the distance, at an altitude of about a thousand meters, a group of planes appeared in the direction of Vilna. The configuration is unfamiliar. They began to ask us if we had seen such people in the rear. Although we didn’t see it, we began to “bend” (and all aviators are masters at this) that it was obviously And L -2 (we saw them under covers in Saratov). In fact, these were German Ju-87 aircraft, a little similar to our attack aircraft. The strangers were simply flying in a group, almost out of formation. With our heads raised, we admired the decent speed of the planes. And since large exercises were expected in June, they believed that they had begun, and the flight of unfamiliar planes, our flight here, and the alarm are confirmation of this. The planes flew right above us. Why they didn’t bomb us still remains a mystery to me. Either the remnants of the fog interfered, or their attention was focused on the city of Vilna and our stationary airfield. In a word, after a few minutes they were above us. They separated into a circle and began to dive. Smoke appeared. An interesting (so to speak) detail: the first bombs, as we were later told, destroyed the hangar in which we were camping for the night. We admired this picture, thinking: practice bombs are falling, but why so much smoke? From further bewildered thoughts about what was happening, I was distracted by a rocket from the command post, indicating the command: “Taxi for departure.” I remember that the field airfield was not very important, the crews had not yet flown from it, and Vasya Kibalko barely managed to tear the plane off on takeoff, hitting the tops of the spruce trees. So we flew on our first combat mission. It was around 5 am. Believing that it was a training flight, I did not put on a parachute. It was attached to the straps in front and was very in the way. Let him lie in the cabin. And I didn’t load the machine gun - there was a lot of fuss with it later. Before the war, our regiment was given main and backup targets in case of war. And the route was worked out in accordance with this. The main target was the railway junction of Königsberg. Considering the flight a training flight, we gain altitude above the airfield. But we had to gain 6 thousand meters. We scored 2 thousand. Using a radio code, we ask the ground to confirm the task. They confirm. We scored 4 thousand. We ask again. They confirm. You must wear oxygen masks. We collected 6 thousand and went on the route. Before reaching the border we saw fires on the ground, and in some places gunfire. It became clear that this was a real combat mission. I urgently put on a parachute and load the machine guns. We are approaching Königsberg. We've bombed, we're heading back. We did not encounter any enemy fighters or anti-aircraft fire. The Germans, apparently, did not count on such “impudence” on our part. But then German fighters appeared, already in the border area. They immediately shot down several of our planes. The German managed to set our plane on fire with a long burst. Having flown 20-30 meters towards us, he made a bank and his smiling face became visible. Without much aiming, I manage to fire a burst from a machine gun. To my greatest joy, the fascist caught fire and began to fall. We burned and fell. What to do? We must jump. That's when the parachute came in handy. I tear off the cap over the cabin. I pull myself up to jump out. But the plane fell randomly, tumbled, and all attempts turned out to be fruitless; it was thrown from one side to the other. I look at the altimeter. Its arrow stubbornly shows a decrease in altitude, 5000-4000 meters. But I just can’t get out of the burning plane. This continued until about 1000 meters. This arrow is still before my eyes, stubbornly creeping towards zero. I even thought that I was done. And suddenly I was in the air. Apparently, I was thrown out of the cockpit when the plane turned over. I didn’t immediately figure out what to do. And quite instinctively he pulled out the parachute ring. He opened up. After 7-10 seconds I found myself hanging from a tree. It turns out that all this happened over a forest area. He unfastened the parachute straps, pulled himself up to the tree trunk and jumped to the ground. I look around. There was a forest road nearby. Since I lost my bearings during the battle, I decided to go east. I walked about 300 meters. Suddenly a man with a pistol in his hand jumps out from behind a tree and asks me to raise my hands. It turned out to be Captain Karabutov from our regiment, who was also shot down. The misunderstanding has been cleared up. Let's go together. Several more people from our regiment joined us. Then the infantrymen. They reported that the Germans were already somewhere ahead of us. They began to walk more carefully, looking for a working car from among those abandoned on the road. Found. I get behind the wheel. Karabutov is nearby. This is where the ability to drive the cars that we drove around the airfield in our free time came in handy. There wasn't enough gasoline in the tank, so we decided to refuel. It was not found in abandoned cars. But then we see an arrow on the tree indicating MTS. Turned around. A fence and an open gate appeared ahead. We're moving in. To our horror, there are German tanks about 50 meters away. The tankers stand in a group to the side. I turn the steering wheel in panic, turn the car around and out of the corner of my eye I see the tankers rushing towards the tanks. We jumped out of the gate and meandered along the forest road. Shells fired from tanks explode above the car. But they did not harm us, and the tanks along the forest road could not catch up with us. It blew by. After 8-10 km of travel we caught up with the retreating infantry unit. We learned that there was a highway to the north, and German troops were moving along it; from there their tanks were turned into MTS. That's why we didn't meet any Germans on this road. A day later we reached the Dvinsk airfield, where we were supposed to land after a combat mission.

By February 1943, we completed retraining, received new aircraft and flew to the front, to the Kursk Bulge. By this time I had already become the flagship gunner-radio operator of the first squadron. In March-May, the regiment occasionally made reconnaissance flights and bombed individual targets. They helped the partisans. Flights to help the partisans were associated with great difficulties. We had to fly far behind enemy lines through enemy airfields and fortified points. One day it was ordered to fly down and burn several villages where there were German garrisons. The partisans were surrounded here and broke through to the southwest through these villages. It was necessary to clear the way for them. Taking nine American Airacobras as cover, they flew along the front line for a long time and brought them to Fatezh, where they were going to take Yakovs in return. The Airacobras were supposed to land here and meet us on the way back. However, a tragic event occurred here, which sometimes occurs. In the nine of us from another regiment flying in front of us, two planes crashed into each other while turning, caught fire and fell. The anti-aircraft gunners, who had overslept, concluded that they had been shot down by fighters and opened fire on the Airacobras, mistaking them for Germans. The “Yaks” who were waiting for us to the side saw the anti-aircraft fire, the burning planes on the ground and also mistook the “Aircobras” for the “Messerschmidts” (they really look alike), supposedly blocking the airfield, and rushed to attack them. Thus began a fight between friends and family. Meanwhile, we were making one... two... circles to the side, not understanding what was happening. Despite my radio calls, the covering fighters are not approaching us. We had to ask the regiment commander by radio code what we should do. The command followed to go to the target without cover. A little later, two of our fighters caught up with us, but they also fell behind somewhere. We approached the target under the clouds at an altitude of 700-800 meters. I had to go through many anxious moments. Over the 90 kilometers that we flew to the target behind the front line, several enemy airfields and fortified points passed below us. But neither fighters nor anti-aircraft guns stopped us, apparently afraid to unmask themselves. About five kilometers away we saw long fiery arrows among the forest, pointing to the villages that we were supposed to bomb. We formed a bearing, in sections, and dropped bombs. We turned around. A sea of ​​fire raged at the site of enemy strongholds. The way back to my airfield was just as calm. We sat down immediately, as some of us were already running out of gas. During the flights, we saw how much the Germans concentrated aviation and anti-aircraft guns here. And it was very surprising to us when, under these conditions, wanting to give some veterans of the regiment a rest, the six of us were sent to rest for two weeks in an aviation sanatorium located in the Smirnovsky Gorge near Saratov. We got there not without some oddities. About 8-10 kilometers from Kursk there was an airfield from which we were supposed to fly to Saratov on the Douglas at 10 am. And we got to Kursk by train. We arrived at Lev Tolstoy station in the middle of the day. I want to tell you about this not to amuse anyone, but so that you can at least get a little idea of ​​what the situation was like near the front, in the rear. The train stopped. We stand for an hour or two. No movement. The commander went to the station chief. He didn't promise anything comforting. Trains with military cargo kept passing through, and they did not stop here. And it’s already evening. Then the commander sent a telegram to the division commander. He indicated where they were staying and that there was no hope of leaving before the morning. We're late for the Douglas. Is it possible to transfer us there on a U-2? The plane can land on a field about 600 meters north of the station. There was no answer, but soon the U-2 began circling over the station over the place that we indicated in the telegram, and began to land. At this time our train showed a desire to move. Having decided that the plane would not have time to transport the six of us before nightfall, in a hurry the commander told me: “Jump (and we were traveling on an open area), fly to Kursk on a U-2.” He jumped while the train was moving. I hurry to the U-2 landing site. There were about two hundred meters left. To my surprise, I notice that they are turning the propeller to start the engine. For what? And why are there two people there? I grab the pistol and shoot to attract attention. Converted. I run up to them. They ask who I am. I say that they came for us. Those eyes are wide open. They explained that they were with the mail and had nothing to do with us. Horror! I explained the situation to them and asked them to be transferred to Kursk. They answer that they can’t take off themselves, since the spring soil has become soggy and they have to wait until the morning, maybe it will freeze. What to do? I'm running to the station. The boss was no less discouraged than I was. I asked him to find out by phone where the train our people were traveling on was. Found out. It turns out that he has traveled about fifteen kilometers and is standing at the railway station in front of Kursk. They asked to invite the commander to the phone. After 10-15 minutes a conversation took place. Having explained the unpleasant news to the commander, I asked what to do. I learned that their train would remain idle for another two hours. I was ordered to catch up with them on foot along the sleepers. Without further ado, I decided not to waste time and jogged on my way. Various philosophical thoughts came to mind, but were distracted from them by a terrible desire to smoke. I smoked a lot then (and I started on the first day of the war). To my horror, I remembered that I not only had no tobacco, but also no documents. All this remained with the commander. Having trotted about ten kilometers (it was already dark), I saw a guard’s booth. I went there and asked for a smoke. Looking at me suspiciously - and I looked inflamed - the handler gave me terry for a goat leg. Having lit a cigarette, I seemed to move on with renewed vigor. Meanwhile, the inspector immediately reported on the phone that a saboteur had run in, threatened him with a pistol, took away the cigarette and disappeared in the direction of Kursk. But they had already determined what kind of saboteur he was and did not attach any importance to the “patriotic message.” I ran to the station, having completed the entire journey in record time - an hour and a half. And the train, it turns out, left about five minutes ago. Exhausted, he lay down on the sofa in the duty officer’s room. And only in the morning, having lost all hope, I arrived in Kursk. But there you still have to get to the airfield 8-10 kilometers. I got there, or rather, I ran. "Douglas" was already preparing to taxi for takeoff. The guys saw me and dragged me, barely alive, into the cabin. First of all: “Give me a smoke.” We had a good rest near Saratov.

Carrying out individual tasks, the regiment prepared for major battles. The famous Battle of Kursk was preparing. 3-4 days before the start of the battle, a messenger came running to our plane and gave the order to urgently report to the regiment headquarters. A representative of a fighter regiment has just arrived at the airfield to agree on the order of escort, cover, fire interaction, and communications. And I, as I already wrote, had to do this. I ran to headquarters. He was housed in a dugout. I looked around. And now the ways of the Lord are inscrutable. My brother was at headquarters, as a representative of the fighter regiment. We explained. He was already deputy regiment commander. We didn't have to talk much then. After the meeting, Ivan hurried to his airfield. It was late in the evening. While flying away, at the request of our regiment commander, he performed several complex aerobatics over the airfield and disappeared with a sharp descent. A rumor quickly spread among the flight personnel that we would be covered by the 157th Fighter Regiment, that there were quite a few Heroes in it, that one of them had arrived and that it was my brother. And I walked with my nose up. From the first combat mission we felt the difference in the organization of cover. Previously, fighters somehow huddled closer to us, although in a number of exceptional situations this should be the case. But not always. Previously, we were usually given 6-8 fighters to accompany us. Now there are four of them, and very rarely six. Usually Ivan on the radio and on the ground during meetings with our regiment told us not to worry about our tail, or rather, to bomb. Indeed, during our joint flights with their regiment, we did not lose a single aircraft from enemy fighters. During the Battle of Kursk, on some days, especially the first, it was possible to make two or three sorties. And all this in the face of fierce opposition from enemy fighters and anti-aircraft guns. There were so many anti-aircraft guns that people on the ground marveled at how they managed to get away and hit the target. After almost every flight, the plane had a lot of holes from anti-aircraft shells. One day, while checking my parachute, the sergeant major discovered a fragment in it that had pierced up to ten layers of silk and was stuck. So the parachute saved my life. There was such a case. I lie next to the lower machine gun, hold on to its handles and look for the target. Suddenly I feel a blow to my chest. It turns out that an anti-aircraft shell exploded next to the plane, a fragment pierced the side, flew under the right arm (they were both extended), hit the parachute carabiner, broke it, hit the chest and, hitting the order, pierced the left side with it and flew out. That's how powerful the impact was! And then the orders were never returned to me. It was not easy for me as a flagship gunner-radio operator. We must keep in touch with fighters, with the ground, inside the formation with gunners of other aircraft, and organize fire resistance to enemy fighters. And shoot yourself. You spin like a squirrel in a wheel. These days, cases of Germans using airwaves for disinformation began to be observed. I usually received the main and backup radio waves in the morning. Their use on the first flight was strictly limited. But the Germans managed to install them by 9-10 o’clock and use them for their own purposes. On August 12, we flew to bomb the Khutor Mikhailovsky railway station. Suddenly I received an open command on the radio to go back with bombs. Reported to the commander. He ordered to request confirmation with a password, but there was no confirmation. Then they decided to bomb the target. More than once there were cases when on the radio, in a pleasant voice, we were invited to land at a German airfield, promising a heavenly life. We usually answered with words that are inconvenient to write here. We started flying on July 7th. The tension of the fighting and the loss of comrades was depressing. These days we were accommodated at the school. Bunks were built in the classrooms and the crew slept on them. On the seventh, one of our crews was shot down. Then the second, third. They were all lying on the bunks in a row, one after another (this, of course, was an accident). But when the third was shot down, the crew of the fourth moved to the floor. In fact, there are many signs in aviation, and people usually believe in them. In the first days of the battles near Kursk, a certain balance in aviation was observed in the air. However, after 15-20 days of fighting, the situation changed in our favor. I remember one of the flights. They started giving us free flight assignments. The specific target was not indicated, the flight area was given and you had to look for the target yourself. One day at the end of July we were given a rectangle, the sides of which were two highways and a railway. This is where we had to look for purpose. We see a train with gasoline tanks moving west from the direction of Orel. What a success! We go in as he moves and fire at him. First the pilots from the bow machine guns, then the gunners from the tail ones. We came in once, twice. The bullets hit the train, but there is no point. The driver will either slow down or pick up speed. We decided to start shooting early on the third approach. And in a machine gun cartridge, bullets alternate: regular, tracer, explosive, incendiary, armor-piercing. And as soon as the bullets reached the ground, a fiery tail flared up, instantly caught up with the train and it exploded in front of us. We barely managed to turn to the side. Apparently the bullets in the first passes, hitting the tanks, went out, since they were also running out of gas. But we pierced the tanks, gasoline leaked onto the ground, and quite by accident we managed to light it on the ground on the third approach. Why didn't we realize it right away?

In the area of ​​the city of Loev, our units immediately crossed the Dnieper. A fierce battle ensued on the bridgehead. German planes frantically bombed the crossings to disrupt the replenishment, and enemy artillery fired at those who had broken through the Dnieper. We were ordered to suppress this artillery. Before one of the flights, we agreed on the ground that after dropping the bombs we would move away from the target into our territory by making a left turn. The fighters were informed. However, everything has changed. No wonder they say it was smooth on paper, but they forgot about the ravines. Before us, German positions on the right bank of the Dnieper were bombed by several more groups. And they all left the target with a left turn. The Germans realized this, the anti-aircraft guns took aim, and the groups ahead of us suffered losses from the anti-aircraft guns. The fire density was very high. We saw all this while approaching the target. Then the commander of our squadron decided to leave with a right turn, about which I radioed a message to the fighters. They threw bombs, made a right turn and, to their horror, saw that our fighters were going to the left. We were left alone. While we were making a turn towards the front line, we were intercepted by enemy fighters - and in large numbers. We prepared for battle, closed tighter. Seeing that we were unescorted, the Germans decided to use their huge advantage and land us at their airfield without shooting us down. Take him alive, so to speak. As soon as we made a turn to the right, towards the front line, shells and bullets from their fighters flew in front of our course. They cut us off to the left in every possible way. It smelled like kerosene. What should I do? On this flight we were accompanied by fighters from another regiment. But when we were still approaching the front line, I heard on the radio the voice of Ivan, who commanded a cover group over our crossings of the Dnieper (cover groups are not associated with escorting specific attack aircraft or bombers). After being wounded, Ivan lost part of his hearing and now in the air with his formation he was most often called not with a password, but with the nickname “deaf.” I knew this, as did many front-line pilots (and perhaps the Germans too). And when approaching the Dnieper, I realized that Ivan was leading the cover group. By the way, I told the commander about this. At the tragic moment, when we were surrounded by the Germans, our commander, before making a decision to fight, asked me if it was possible to call Ivan on the radio. Not knowing their password, I started calling out in plain text: “Deaf, deaf, I’m Gregory, how can you hear?” Fortunately, Ivan answered immediately. I reported to the commander and switched the receiver and transmitter to him. With my help, the commander briefly explained the situation in open text (for which we were later reprimanded - well, what should we do?). Having learned where we were, Ivan advised that we continue, reducing speed, fly to the German rear and wait for him. Having a significant advantage in altitude, he led the group in pursuit of us and five minutes later radioed that he saw us and was starting a battle with the Krauts. We took advantage of this, sharply increased the speed and made a turn towards our territory. The Germans were no longer interested in us.

During the liberation of the city of Dmitrovsk-Orlovsky by our troops, they bombed a Nazi convoy on the highway. They took small fragmentation bombs from the ground and now dropped them on the column. The fascists were blown away from the road like the wind. The cars were also abandoned. Then we formed a bearing along the links, made a second approach over the scattered column and stormed the enemy with machine gun fire. They got so carried away that many shot all the ammunition. Then a couple of German fighters turned up. They are coming at our tail, but there is nothing to shoot back with. In desperation, I grab a rocket launcher and shoot at the fascist. The German fighter apparently recognized the missile as a new type of weapon and rolled aside. No wonder they say: live forever, learn forever. Although I did not invent this method, it was also used in other parts.

There were days like these at the front. We flew on a combat mission from one of the airfields in Poland. In the morning, as usual, we did not have breakfast. We fortified ourselves with chocolate and that was it. Breakfast was brought to the airfield, but the rocket from the command post (“for takeoff”) “spoiled” our appetite. They flew off. The goal was far away and there was little gasoline left. Some sat down right away. Izvekov lands, and he has two external bombs hanging on him. You can't sit with them. From the start they give him a red rocket: “Go to the second round.” Gone. They call on the radio to decide what to do. And the radio operator of his plane had already turned off. Landing again, he gets another red rocket. We are all worried about how this story will end. Finally, the pilot figured out to turn on the radio and ask what was the matter, why they were chasing him, because there was barely any gasoline left, and he uttered other angry words. They explained to him and ordered him to emergency drop the bombs into a large lake about three kilometers from the airfield. Izvekov dropped, the bombs exploded there. He had to sit down across the starting line - he had run out of gas. They warned us that, obviously, there would be no second flight; we could go for lunch. Go. We had just settled down in the dining room when suddenly rockets came from the airfield: “Urgently take off.” We threw away the spoons, jumped into the lorry and drove to the airfield. Unfortunately, at a sharp turn, the tailgate opens and eight people find themselves on the ground. It was so unfortunate that many were sent to the medical battalion. Almost all of them turned out to be from different crews. The commander had to urgently redesign the crews, and time is ticking. From the division headquarters they ask why we don’t take off? They took off. The flight went well. But the events of that day did not end there. We arrive at the dining room in the evening hungry. The cooks serve us fish soup and fried fish. Where does such wealth come from, we ask. It turns out that the technicians managed to scout out the lake where Izvekov threw two bombs, and there turned out to be a lot of caught pike perch and other fish. They picked up two barrels. After the fish soup, we were served cutlets. They were also eaten. At night, some people, including me, began to experience terrible stomach cramps. We are urgently sent to the medical battalion. Poisoning. We did a wash. It turned out that the cook made these cutlets in the morning, brought them to the airfield, offered them to us for lunch, but we couldn’t eat them. Then he slipped them in the evening. I had to lie there for two days. Since then, not only in the army, but also at home, I couldn’t eat cutlets for ten years. How the regiment commander and the commissar took the rap for that day, one can only guess.

There was a pause before the Warsaw operation. Only reconnaissance flights were made. Once the regiment commander told me that he could give me leave for seven days to travel home. And even earlier, I found out that Ivan was supposed to go on vacation. They were then standing about twenty kilometers from our airfield. We called each other. It was decided that I would arrive at their airfield on a U-2 in the evening. I'll spend the night. And in the morning we will go by train to Vyazniki. A comrade transferred me to Ivan’s airfield. We arrived at about five in the evening, it was cloudy, continuous clouds hung over the airfield at an altitude of 700-800 meters. We sat down. I jumped out of the plane and went to the parking lot (my friend flew back). I asked the pilots where Ivan was (they knew me well there). They said that he gave transportation flights to young pilots and was at the landing gate. Ivan at that time held the position of deputy regiment commander for the flight department. At this time the Yak landed. He landed poorly, missed, and on top of that, he “got off.” When he turned to the T, Ivan jumped onto the wing. The propeller is spinning little by little, and the brother, waving his arms, apparently with indignation, tells something to the young pilot about the unsuccessful landing. Tom had to make one more flight in a circle. And at that time, to the horror of all of us who observed this suggestion, a German Ju-88 plane fell out of the clouds directly above T at an angle of 30 degrees. Since he dived (or rather planned) directly at our fighter, it seemed that he was about to shoot. But the situation, as we later learned, was completely different. The German reconnaissance aircraft, after completing the mission, was returning to its airfield. Since the ground was covered with clouds, the navigator and pilot, deciding that they had already flown over the front line (in fact, it was 20-25 km away), began to break through the clouds. Having broken through, to their surprise they saw our airfield and began to gain altitude again to hide behind the clouds, from which they descended about three hundred meters. At first, Ivan and the pilot did not hear the noise of the German car behind the noise of the engine of their plane, and only after noticing the desperate gesticulation of the starter, they looked up and saw the Yu-88. Snatching the pilot from the cockpit by the collar (and his brother was physically strong), he jumped up and gave the gas for takeoff. Seeing the scattering fighter, the German decided that he would not have time to hide behind the clouds and began to run away with humiliation. This turned out to be a fatal mistake. About eight kilometers away, Ivan overtook him and we heard the cannon and machine guns start working. The German also fired back. Immediately on the radio, Ivan reported that the German had been hit and sat on his stomach in a forest clearing. He asks to urgently send machine gunners from the BAO there to capture an enemy plane and pilots. He himself circled over the enemy’s landing site. Many of us, curious people, went there. I also settled on one car. About 15 minutes later we reached that clearing. But as soon as we jumped out to the edge of the forest, we were hit with a machine gun from a sitting plane. This immediately reduced our belligerence. Immediately jumping out of the car, we took cover behind tree trunks and began firing pistols at the plane, which was a hundred meters away. It is clear that our shooting is of no use. It was starting to get dark. It's time to take more drastic measures. Then the machine gunners arrived. Having opened fire on the plane, they crawled towards it. And we, emboldened, moved after them. Here I experienced for the first and only time how to crawl on my bellies under machine gun fire. At first they also responded from the plane with a machine gun, but soon it fell silent. The machine gunners approached the plane, we followed them. What happened? The plane's crew consisted of four people. Several shells and machine-gun bursts from Ivan hit the target. The pilot was wounded, which forced him to land the plane. The navigator was killed. The radio operator shot himself. The shooter was shooting back - a girl, she had no legs up to her knees. And only when the machine gunners wounded her did she stop shooting. I remember when they pulled her out of the cabin, she regained consciousness: she was biting and scratching. She was loaded into an ambulance and taken away. The pilot, who remained conscious, was also taken away. This example, to a certain extent, gives some idea of ​​our opponents. Ivan had long since flown to the airfield; they reported to the army commander about the landing of an enemy reconnaissance aircraft. By the time we returned to the airfield, the commander had already arrived there. The pilot was taken to the regimental headquarters, which was located in a small hut. Everyone wanted to listen to the interrogation of the captured pilot, but practically the size of the hut did not allow us to satisfy our curiosity. The most impudent ones pressed themselves outside to the open windows, I was among them. At the headquarters there were commander Rudenko, the regiment commander, the chief of staff, Ivan and an interpreter. From the interrogation it turned out that the crew of the plane consisted of a father, his two sons and a daughter. They have been fighting since 1940, with France. The pilot is a colonel and was awarded the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves for his services. Now they were making a reconnaissance flight along our railway junctions. After developing the film and deciphering it, German aircraft were supposed to strike in the morning. The wounded pilot grew weaker and asked to tell who shot him, the German ace, down. Rudenko ordered Ivan to unbutton his jacket and show him his awards. At the same time, he said that it was not a bast shoe that knocked him down, but a Hero of the Soviet Union. The German was taken away. Rudenko asked what Ivan would do tomorrow. He replied that he was leaving for a short-term vacation home. Rudenko wished him a happy meeting with his family, asked how much leave he was given, and upon learning that it was seven days, he added seven more with his authority. Hearing this, I was dejected. Ivan noticed me at the window a long time ago. Seeing my gestures, he guessed what was going on and asked permission from Rudenko, who had already gotten up, to make a request to him. He frowned and allowed it. Ivan said that he was not going on vacation alone, but with his brother (that is, with me). The commander was surprised that two brothers were flying in the regiment. He had known Ivan for a long time; Having received an explanation that I was flying in the bomber regiment, which they were covering, I asked what Ivan wanted. He explained that my brother, that is, me, has only seven days of vacation, and what happens now? Rudenko said: “You are cunning, Ivan. But I added leave for you for the feat, but for what for my brother?” However, after thinking, he instructed the regiment commander to contact my commander, explain the situation to him, and if he doesn’t object, let him add days for me too. Our commander Khlebnikov did not object to this turn of events, which was very pleasant for me.

Combat work continued. On April 16, the Berlin operation began. It was a dark day for our regiment. Perhaps during the entire war our regiment did not fight such heavy battles. We made two sorties against German tanks and artillery positions in the Seelow Heights area and shot down six enemy fighters. The regiment flew in three groups, we were in the second. And so, on a collision course, about twenty Focke-Wulfs attacked the first group, and then ours. We could not fire from the bow machine guns, since we were on target with the first group and could hit our own. But when the Germans began to make a U-turn under our formation, I managed to catch one in my sights and light it with a long burst. We ourselves lost three crews that day to anti-aircraft guns and fighters. Two people from the planes shot down on April 16 jumped out with a parachute and then returned to the regiment. Very successful flights were made to Frankfurt an der Oder and Potsdam. In Potsdam, the railway junction was destroyed, and on the second flight, the headquarters of the German division was destroyed. On this day, perhaps, we inflicted the most significant damage on the enemy: we destroyed the division headquarters, killed more than 200 soldiers and officers, blew up 37 carriages, 29 buildings, and a large amount of various equipment. All this was confirmed by photographs, and then by ground units. On April 25 we flew to Berlin for the first time. Berlin was burning. The smoke rose to a height of up to three kilometers and it was impossible to see anything on the ground. Our target turned out to be obscured by smoke and we hit a secondary target (for each flight we were given a primary and secondary target) - the Potsdam railway junction. On April 28-30 we flew to Berlin again. They hit the enemy airfield and the Reichstag. The wind intensified and, as I remember, the smoke, like a huge fox’s tail, deviated sharply to the north, and our targets became visible. The Reichstag was hit from a dive with two 250 kg bombs. The most experienced crews flew with them. Photographs recorded a direct hit on the Reichstag building. Then I and my comrades visited the Reichstag and signed it. But for the sake of fairness, I always say that the first time we signed it with a bomb was on April 30th. In addition to Government awards, all of us received personalized watches for this flight. On May 3, a solemn meeting was held on the occasion of the capture of Berlin, and on May 8, on the occasion of Victory in the Great Patriotic War.

Lev Zakharovich Lobanov

To spite all the deaths

Perhaps this can be considered happiness: I gave thirty years of my life to the sky, was a pilot - civilian, military and civilian again. Before the war, he flew gliders, jumped with a parachute, worked as a line pilot in the civil air fleet, delivering passengers, mail and cargo day and night. Then, at the Bataysk Military Aviation School, as an instructor, he trained fighter pilots on the I-16 aircraft. He spent the entire Great Patriotic War on the Southern, Stalingrad, Southwestern and 3rd Ukrainian fronts.

He fought with Messers and Junkers, bombed enemy airfields, train stations, trains on railroad tracks, and oil fields. At night he made his way to targets inaccessible to daytime aviation, and spent hundreds of hours over enemy territory. I shot down myself, they shot me down... After being wounded in an air battle at the end of 1941, I could not fly for eight whole months. During this time, he served in the infantry, in a rifle regiment on the Voronezh Front - he commanded a platoon, a company, and replaced a battalion commander who died in battle.

In August '42, I flew again, but not on a fighter, but on the R-5, a night reconnaissance bomber familiar from the Civil Air Fleet and dear to me. At one of the front-line airfields he was accepted into the party. Before the end of the war, he switched to the Pe-2 dive bomber, on which he celebrated Victory Day.

The war is over. He fulfilled his old dream - he moved to live and work in the Far East. I am again at the controls of civilian aircraft - Si-47, Li-2, worked on the Catalina hydroboat, mastered the domestic Il-12 and Il-14 in the Khabarovsk air squad. The shores of the Bering and Okhotsk Seas have become close to me, just as the shores of the Baltic, Black Sea and Caspian Sea once were... I can’t imagine a better region than the Far East!

Before you are notes from a front-line pilot, stories about individual combat missions, about incidents that are deeply etched in the memory by their unusualness or the fierce intensity of the battle.

We have few published memories of the combat work of fighter pilots on I-16 aircraft in the first, most difficult months of the war. Of those who fought with the fascist armadas on the I-16 in 1941, now almost no one is left alive... And, perhaps, nothing at all has been written about the combat affairs of the night reconnaissance bombers flying on the R-5 aircraft. But the regiment in service with these aircraft was unique in its tasks...

So I tried to at least partially fill this gap.

Instructor

Our acquaintance took place in the office of the commander of the training squadron, Captain Kovalev. Tall, with a powerful chest and a somewhat humorous expression on his face, I immediately liked him, and for some reason I decided that serving under his command would be easy and simple. The commander opened my personal file, glanced at the photograph - still in the uniform of a civil air fleet pilot. Now, after I was drafted into the army in April 1940 and sent to this Bataysk aviation school for retraining as a fighter, I was wearing the uniform of a military pilot: a silk snow-white shirt with a black tie, a dark blue jacket with figured patch pockets on sides and chest, breeches of a purely aviation cut, chrome boots, also of a non-standard style, and a blue cap.

- “Flies on U-2, R-5, Stal-3 and K-5 planes...” When did he manage to do so in his twenty-three years! - Kovalev chuckled, reading aloud my last description from the Civil Air Fleet detachment. “He has 4,100 hours of flight time, of which...” Well, of course, the typist made a mistake, she tapped an extra zero, because our entire squadron won’t have that kind of flight time,” the squadron commander looked questioningly at each other with Senior Lieutenant Ganov, the flight commander, standing next to him.

This one, in contrast to Kovalev, is short, dry and agile. This is exactly how I always imagined a fighter pilot to be - small, fast, sharp-eyed, to match his nimble car...

Ganov didn’t have time to speak - I took out my flight book from the tablet:

Comrade captain, the typist is not to blame, the typing is correct. Everything is written down here, down to the last minute.

But for this you had to fly a thousand hours a year,” Kovalev incredulously twirled the book in his hands and continued: “Of these, 715 hours at night...” Do you hear, Ganov, he also flies at night! What else is written about your heroism: “He is interested in sports, has a first class in boxing and gliding, and has completed thirty parachute jumps.”

Kovalev suddenly smiled and put the folder down.

Listen, lieutenant, maybe we can fight? Show me what you can do.

Wrestling, or rather, pressing hands through the table, was a craze back then; everyone was “pressing” - from schoolchildren to gray-bearded professors. I silently took my starting position. Ganov followed our preparations with obvious curiosity. Kovalev’s palm turned out to be hard and strong. Well, a struggle is a struggle, and I, tensed, began to slowly squeeze his hand... The commander, frowning, suggested exchanging hands. But I again pressed his left hand to the table.

Well done, Lieutenant,” he brushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead. - Glad that you will serve in my squadron. Tomorrow we start flying.

Before being assigned to squadrons, we had already managed to study the I-16 aircraft - at that time the best Soviet fighter. The surface of the planes and the fuselage was “licked” to a mirror finish; a helmet or gloves placed on the wing rolled off from there. Behind the pilot was reliably shielded by an armored back, in front was covered by a wide thousand-horsepower engine, which in turn was protected by a metal propeller. In a word, the I-16 was not inferior to foreign fighters in its combat qualities. The lack of a cannon on it was compensated by the incredibly high rate of fire of two machine guns and four RS rockets suspended under the wings, and the somewhat lower speed (compared to the Messerschmitt-109E) was compensated by extraordinary maneuverability. However, when piloting, the car was distinguished by extreme “rigor” - it did not forgive mistakes.

My first flight was not entirely clean: as soon as I took control, I almost turned the car upside down. Damn it, this “donkey” turned out to be a restive horse! I ran it in: after three laps everything returned to normal. Moreover, it turned out that the I-16 was much easier to pilot than the transport vehicles I was used to in the Civil Air Fleet.

Finally, Kovalev decided to train me in air combat. We met at an altitude of three thousand meters. I already felt the car perfectly, I drove it easily, without tension. At first they “fought” on turns. No matter how hard Kovalev tried to get close to my plane from behind, he didn’t succeed, I didn’t let him. Several times I myself had the opportunity to “hit” him, but I never decided to press the trigger of the film machine gun. It seemed somehow inconvenient to immediately “squeeze” the commander like this in the first battle.

Such compliance cost me dearly. Kovalev suddenly threw the car into a coup and, turning out of it with a combat turn, “sucked” to my tail, not lagging behind until landing. Yes, don’t put your finger in the commander’s mouth... I was angry with myself for my mistake, for my complacency. That’s it: from now on, no giveaways to anyone, no matter who turns out to be my “enemy.”

The competition for the title of instructor pilot was also conducted by Kovalev. In this fight I decided

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According to the author, the novel “The Secret of the Master” shows the confrontation between two systems - good and evil. On the side of the forces of light, the main character is Heinrich Steiner, a native of a German colony. In the early thirties of the twentieth century, while serving in a Soviet air squadron near a secret German flight school, military pilot Heinrich Steiner was recruited by local security officers to work to expose German agents. Then events will occur as a result of which he will illegally leave the Soviet Union and end up in the lair of Nazi Germany. A…

Gunsmiths equip a ShVAK cannon on a LaGG-3 fighter

Before dinner, after combat missions, the pilots always received vodka. Usually at the rate of 100 grams for each combat mission. Grigory Krivosheev recalls: “There were three tables in the dining room - for each squadron. We arrived for dinner, the squadron commander reported that everyone was assembled, and only after that they were allowed to begin. The foreman comes with a beautiful decanter. If the squadron made 15 sorties, then this decanter contains one and a half liters of vodka. He places this decanter in front of the squadron commander. The commander begins to pour into glasses. If you deserve a full hundred grams, it means you deserve it, if you deserve it a little more, it means you did a great job, and if you didn’t get enough, it means you didn’t fly well. “All this was done in silence - everyone knew that this was an assessment of his actions over the past day.”

Hero of the Soviet Union I.P. Laveikin with the crew at his LaGG-3. Zalazino, Kalinin Front, December 1941

But before a combat mission, most pilots tried not to drink alcohol at all. Sergei Gorelov recalls: “The one who allowed himself to drink, as a rule, was knocked down. A drunk person has a different reaction. What is combat? If you don't shoot down, you will be shot down. Is it possible to defeat the enemy in such a state when, instead of one, two planes are flying before your eyes? I've never flown drunk. We only drank in the evening. Then it was necessary to relax, to fall asleep.”

Breakfast at the airfield under the wing of LaGG-3. Many pilots complained that after intense flights they lost their appetite, but it seems that this is not the case

In addition to vodka, the pilots were also given cigarettes (usually Belomor - a pack per day) and matches. Anatoly Bordun recalls: “Most of our pilots traded their cigarettes to the technicians for shag. We liked it even more than Belomor. You could immediately get high on makhorka, so you wouldn’t want to smoke during the flight. And the technicians willingly changed with us, because they wanted to push themselves with cigarettes. Well, we are already pilots, we don’t need to force it!”

LaGG-3 on the assembly line of plant No. 21 in Gorky (archive of G. Serov)

The technical staff were, of course, somewhat worse fed than the pilots, but often not bad either. The relationship between pilots and technicians was always the warmest, because the serviceability and combat effectiveness of the fighter depended on the technician.

In the cockpit of this MiG-3 with the inscription “For the Motherland” on board is Vitaly Rybalko, 122nd IAP. The AM-35A high-altitude engine made it possible to develop 640 km/h at an altitude of 7800 meters, but at the ground, as the pilots put it, it was an “iron”

Of course, among the technical staff there were women - motorists and junior weapons specialists. Sometimes the pilots began affairs with them, which sometimes ended in marriage.

MiG-3 of the 129th IAP parked

Many fighter pilots believed in omens. For example, they tried not to shave or take photographs before combat missions. Sergei Gorelov recalls: “There were also signs: you couldn’t shave in the morning, only in the evening. A woman should not be allowed near the cockpit of an airplane. My mother sewed a cross into my tunic, and then I transferred it to new tunics.”

The monetary certificates that fighters were given for their service were mostly sent to their relatives in the rear. It was not always possible to spend money on yourself, and there was no need for it. Vitaly Klimenko recalls: “Before the relocation began, I sent a certificate to my wife to receive money from my salary, because I knew that life was difficult for Zina and her mother at that time. We, the pilots, were well supplied with food and clothing during the war. We didn’t need anything... Therefore, all front-line soldiers, as a rule, sent their certificates to their wives, mothers, fathers or relatives, since food was especially difficult in the rear.”

The pilots, as a rule, washed their uniforms themselves. They didn’t have much trouble with this, since there was always a barrel of gasoline at the airfield. They threw tunics and trousers there, then all they had to do was rub the clothes, and all the dirt would fly off, all that was left was to rinse and dry the uniform!

A MiG-3 group patrols over the center of Moscow

The pilots washed themselves every twenty to thirty days. They were given field baths. Stoves and boilers were installed in the tents. There were barrels there - one with cold water, the other with boiling water - and rye straw lay nearby. Having received the soap, the pilots steamed the straw with boiling water and rubbed themselves with it like a washcloth.

But sometimes a pilot could be called to a combat mission even while washing. Anatoly Bordun recalls: “The weather worsened, and due to the lack of flights, we organized a bathhouse. We are washing ourselves, and suddenly a flare takes off. As it turned out later, the weather cleared up a bit and the bombers approached our airfield, and we were required to accompany them. Accordingly, we jumped out of the bathhouse. I only managed to put on pants and a shirt. Even my hair was left soapy. The flight went well, but if I had been shot down, I think they would have been amazed on the ground that the pilot was barely dressed and his head was in soap.”

The year 1943 was a turning point in the air war on the Eastern Front. There were several reasons for this. Modern equipment, including those received under Lend-Lease, began to be supplied to the troops en masse. Massive bombing of German cities forced the German command to keep a large number of fighter aircraft in the country's air defense. An equally important factor was the increased skill and training of the “Stalinist falcons”. From the summer until the very end of the war, Soviet aviation gained air supremacy, which became more and more complete with each month of the war. Nikolai Golodnikov recalls: “After the air battles on the Blue Line, the Luftwaffe gradually lost air supremacy, and by the end of the war, when air supremacy was completely lost, “free hunting” remained the only way of combat by German fighter aircraft, where they reached at least some positive result." The Luftwaffe remained an exceptionally strong, skillful and cruel enemy, fighting bravely until the very end of the war and sometimes inflicting very painful blows, but this could no longer affect the overall outcome of the confrontation.

Memoirs of fighter pilots

Klimenko Vitaly Ivanovich

Vitaly Klimenko in a school class in front of a stand with an M-11 engine

Nearby, 100–125 km from Siauliai, was the border with Germany. We felt her closeness on our own skin. Firstly, military exercises of the Baltic Military District were ongoing continuously, and secondly, an air squadron or, in extreme cases, a flight of fighters was on duty at the airfield in full combat readiness. We also met with German intelligence officers, but we did not have an order to shoot them down, and we only accompanied them to the border. It’s not clear why they lifted us into the air to say hello then?! I remember how during the elections to the Supreme Councils of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania we patrolled at a low altitude above the city of Siauliai.