In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

Vladimir Markov

I was attracted to flying whilst still a young child. As a young lad I was active in a modellers' group and in an aeroclub. The instructors at the aeroclub were just like fathers to us. Their relationship with us was warm and friendly too. At the aeroclub we were kitted out with overalls and boots. We even got the 'Voroshilov' food allowance. We'd get up early in the morning, the dew still lying on the grass, the aeroplane standing ready for you. Do a flight and then off to the station - train to Moscow. That's how we learned to fly.

As I finished at the aeroclub at the end of 1939, a decision was taken to send me to the Serpukhov Flying School. I disagreed with the decision to study there. Why? My sister's husband (later to die near Smolensk) was a fighter pilot who had graduated from the Kachinskiy flying school. He told me, "It's great that you've gone into flying, but I don't advise you going into the naval air service."

I went to work at the 'Red Proletarian' factory, but was soon called up. We ended up at Klyuchevsitsy aerodrome just outside Novgorod. To begin with we remained separated from the rest, but by the end of a month we had completed basic military training. After that the 36 of us were summoned to the commanding officer to discuss our progress. We went in and were told: "You've now become part of a splendid aviation division and your duties will be guarding air-force equipment." At that point one of us stood up and said, "Excuse me, but I graduated from my aeroclub and have a certificate to prove it". Of the 36 of us, 34 had a passing-out certificate, yet we were being sent on sentry duty!

In the spring of 1941 we were called before a medical board, and on the 19th June I found myself enrolled in Moscow Military Pilots' School №2, located at Izmailovo aerodrome. Our tents were already erected, headquarters was on sight and there was even a pilots' mess room.

On the 21st June we went to bed, but next morning we were surprised that there was no reveille. We went down to the mess for a bite to eat but learnt that war had broken out. There was no panic, we were already morally prepared for such eventualities. They started splitting us up into appropriate groups. I don't wish to boast, but I'd had a pretty good induction to flying. I was attached to the group transferred to Chertanovo aerodrome. I was promoted to flight leader, and our instructor, Lilya, was a pretty young lady with a strict code of conduct.

Within a month the first air raids on Moscow had begun but our training continued. One day I was sitting in the cockpit and Lilya approached me saying, "Volodya, what would you like to serve in?" "Fighters." "OK." It was the end of our training and postings were in sight. I was sent off to Pavletskii station to travel on to Krasnodar. It was there we began to fly Polikarpov I-16s.

When Rostov-on-Don surrendered in the summer of 1942, anyone who was a poor flier was transferred to ground forces and sent the front. Later on we were to see a column of wounded amongst whom were those who had been on our course.

Any remaining trainees were withdrawn from Krasnodar to just outside Saratov. There we were re-trained on 'Yaks' and sent to the 8th Reserve Air Regiment at Bagai-Baranovka. It was there that I had to prove the regiment's good name before an Air Force Committee. I had to fly a circuit, fly cross-country, fly blind and demonstrate flying expertise in the combat zone. There followed firing at a drogue, ground targets, and individual aerial combat. My drogue score was 9 out of 60. Pretty good. My flying skills were scrutinised and I was told, "The Chairman of the Committee will now lead take off. You are to fly into the operations' zone and demonstrate your reconnaissance abilities and carry out a search. Engage in a dogfight and we shall assess your fighting capabilities." We both took off in Yak-1s. I spotted his plane and moved up in formation with him. He began spinning this way and that. I closed up right behind him and wouldn't be shaken off. With some annoyance he said, " Right, keep up, and land with me."

After this I left for the front. I went to the 91st Regiment of the 256th Division. The Divisional Commander was Hero of the Soviet Union Gerasimov, a Spaniard and friend of Kamanin - a decent bloke. Our regiment had been formed even before the war. He had taken part in operations in Bessarabia. The war caught up with him in Shepetovka and it was there that the regiment suffered its first bombing raid. Hero of the Soviet Union Major Romanenko was appointed Regimental Commander. We were stationed on an airfield between Kozelets and Borispol'. Experienced pilots accompanied us, the reinforcements, over the whole of the front line, pointing out everything. So we began to provide air cover for our ground troops. I became wingman to the Squadron Commander Borkov, from Leningrad. When I reported to him, he was sitting there reading a map. "Reporting for duty, sir," I said. He looked up: "You'll be flying with me, and if you lose touch with me, you're for it..!" But since I was a competent pilot, he had no opportunity of carrying out his threat.

Soon afterwards the Kiev operation began, and real fighting followed. On the 6th there was a particularly tense situation. First away on operations was Romanenko with his group. With him flew my friend Reptsev. Both went missing. Flight commander Misha Shilov did not return from the next sortie. Two-three hours passed and at 7 o'clock that evening we were sitting in the mess when up came a rider on a horse, Shilov to all appearances, swathed in bandages. It turned out he'd shot down a Heinkel-111 but had been hit in the process. After he'd done a belly landing, some kids had come running up to him saying in Ukrainian, "Mister Pilot, get away from here, there's Germans all about". He was secreted to some woman who gave him a dress. He'd scarcely had time to get a bite to eat when there was a thump at the door. He instantly leapt up onto the stove and just sat still. In came some Germans. Shilov had decided that if anything happened he would start shooting and jump through the window. The Germans spread out across the room, giving it a thorough looking over. They saw Misha sitting on the stove with his back to them. But his hair was so long, just like a woman's. "Who's that?" they demanded. The houseowner said that it was a woman staying there on her own, going to see her sister and just passing through. The Germans calmed down and asked in broken Russian, "Got any eggs or milk?" They had something to eat and left.

Soon after the loss of Romanenko, Kovalev was promoted to Regimental Commander - a real pilot. What followed? On one occasion we flew out from Kopaigoraya on a reconnaissance mission and discovered some strange-looking haystacks. They were arranged in chessboard fashion, not like they are in the countryside. We descended a little and then even lower. We discovered that they were camouflaged tanks. Back at base we reported all that we had seen. The Germans, it seemed, were preparing a counter-attack. Soon after this reconnaissance flight our commander told Neokov, " You and Tsygankov fly over to Zhulyany, top up with antifreeze and get kitted out with your winter uniforms." This was at the end of November. We took off, arrived at Zhulyany, and had just dispersed for landing when we got the message: "As you were. Reform at such and such a coordinate. You'll be covering a group of 'Ilyushins'." Tsygan and I set off, he flying to my right. I lost touch with him in the clouds and began to search around. It was then that I saw my time was running out, fuel was low, and it was time to land. So I did. Tsygan was already down. I asked,

"Where were you?"

"Right there with you. So you didn't notice anything then? They almost got you. A 'Focke Wulf' came right up on your tail. Another few metres and he'd have got you."

"Thank you, Vanyusha," was all I could say. I hadn't seen anything in those clouds.

There were battles of all kinds at that time. We flew a lot of missions escorting 'Ils'. On the 23rd February I chased a "Peshka (Pawn)". It was one of our planes, but the Germans were flying it unmarked and without its stars. But I couldn't catch up with it - the oil temperature was already 120 degrees and the front line was nearby. I decided to break off and return.

In the spring we were dispatched to Kharkov to collect some new planes, Yak-9Ts. We didn't have long to fly them because by summer at Bagai-Baranovka we'd already got Yak-3's. I was given the first production model to test fly. Yes, a good machine, but the engine was sluggish. What was the matter? A test pilot was called in from the factory. He said to me, "You don't know how to fly it." "Well, you fly it then." He climbed in, took off and disappeared somewhere. Then we saw him coming towards us with smoke trailing behind. He said, "There's something wrong here. You're right, the engine 's not firing properly."

Then came a telegram that Golovatyi had bought the plane for Yeremin. We sent this "one off" to him. No doubt a new engine would be fitted and he would get it in perfect working order. We received the new machines on Monday, June 13th. The general staff and Yakovlev's deputy turned up. They wanted to take our photo. We all turned our backs, saying that it was Monday, and, whatsmore, it was the 13th - unlucky and a bad sign. Our photos weren't taken.

During the first two days of the Lvov operation the weather was bad and we were grounded. We were scrambled on the third day. Regimental Commander Kovalev led the flight. The ensuing battle was no joke: 22 of ours against 85 of theirs, all at an altitude of 1500 to 1700 metres. The fight went on for some 40 minutes then stopped unexpectedly. At the time I was already a senior pilot. I looked around trying to find Shilov, my flight leader. I'd only just seen his plane with number 69 on it. He was flying support to the regimental navigator. Borkov and I put down at a neighbouring airfield - our own was too far away. Even after we'd been refuelled Shilov still wasn't back. I said, "He's got to come back. I saw him." But we couldn't wait any longer for him. We got back to our airfield about 90 minutes later. There was still no sign of Shilov. A fitter suggested, "Happen he's had to make a forced landing." We found out later that he'd crossed the front line and come under anti-aircraft fire. He got a direct hit and his engine packed up. He thought that he was in a front line area so decided to land. He dropped his undercarriage, set his plane down and ran on until it came to a halt. He leapt out, but all around were Germans. He was captured. This was a great source of worry for us. I became flight leader in Shilov's place. Then the Lvov operation came to an end and we transferred to Trostyanets. There I shot down a '109'. Initially we had approached each other head on, but I did a 180? turn behind him and brought him down.

Just at that time our regiment was awarded the Order of Bogdan Khmelnitskii. For a whole month we tested out our Yak-3s under frontline conditions. For each sortie we wrote a report on how the machine behaved. And it turned out there was a range of designer flaws. Particularly serious were problems with lowering and retracting the undercarriage.

Our squadron was based at Dembitsy, just to the west of the Vistula. One day we were sitting around playing dominoes, and it was drizzling. A young woman came up to me and said, "I know you." "Where from?" "I'm Shilov's sister" -he had two sisters at the front- "You know, I'd like to collect his things so that they're not sent back to mum and upset her." All the lads fell silent. I said, "Come on then." I explained to her how only yesterday we had received a letter from a certain woman doctor. She wrote that, in a former prisoner of war camp in Przemysl where her medical unit was stationed, she had seen an inscription on the wall of one of the barracks. "I, Shilov Stepan Mikhailovich, eternally devoted to the Party of Lenin and Stalin, was shot down in a fierce dogfight over Ternopol on 16th July 1944. Whosoever reads this, please inform..." That was how we found out that he was a prisoner.

I remember flying one time with the deputy squadron leader to a neighbouring fighter group situated just 1? km from the front line. For that reason we had to come in at hedge-top height to avoid revealing its position. No sooner had we landed than we saw the Divisional Commander, Gerasimov, coming towards us. Cursing, he said,

"So, you figured on flying over in weather like this! Stay here till the morning. Today's the anniversary of the division's formation. There'll be medals, a concert and a supper. And that's for your efforts," he said passing out some spirits and we found some beer to go with it. What were we supposed to do with it? I said to the deputy Squadron Leader,

" Tol', let's take off our tunic tops, wrap it up and stow it behind the armour-plated seat. The main thing is to avoid getting into a dogfight en route."

"Right. Let's do it."

The next day a breeze sprang up. We set off at treetop height. Looking up we saw Germans above and squeezed right down to ground level, but there was a herd of something there and I picked up a bit of wool on my tail. We landed back at Zheshov (Strzyow). I set down but Tolya said,

"I can't land, my instrument are all haywire." He went round for a second approach, and made it this time. The commander saw this.

" Smarten yourselves up!" he barked - he was so angry. We immediately buttoned up our tunics. He went on:

" Why didn't you come back yesterday?"

"Gerasimov wouldn't let us fly in such weather."

"Well, you've brought something back with you, I hope?"

"Of course."

"Off you go, fall out."

In January 1945 we were part of the air cover provision for the troops fighting for Krakow. On the 20th we completed 5-6 sorties in a day, and as evening approached we arrived at Krakow airfield. The aerodrome had been mined and we had to land to the right of the landing strip. 'Lavochkins' were coming into land head on. Everyone just got down as best they could. The town was ablaze. We were billeted to a five-storey building and at about 10-11 o'clock we went back to the aerodrome for an evening meal. The commander was not there, he had remained behind at the previous base. His deputy had us sit down round a П-shaped table for de-briefing. We all had a drink, but realised something was wrong with it. The mess sergeant said, "Comrade pilots, don't worry, it's special rations, it's all above board, and thank you for your efforts." Next morning I got up feeling awful, but three others were still laid out and unable to get up. You felt hungry but the moment you ate anything your guts knotted up. We were baffled as to what had happened. No one went for lunch. That evening a girl suddenly came running in: "Comrade pilots, anyone who's been poisoned must get themselves to the first-aid post immediately." Off we ran and got checked over. It turned out one of our blokes had collapsed and the girl had gone blind. 26 pilots - the whole of the regiment had been poisoned! I've no idea how or to where we were then taken. We were lain two to a bunk. Nuns looked after us. A navigator and two other pilots died and several went blind. True, the mess sergeant died too - the stupid sod had served us methyl alcohol. I was laid up for ten days and only on 2nd February could I fly with my wingman, Vanya Kudenchuk, on a mission.

Spring was in the air, it was already warm and everything was thawing out. We set course for the allotted zone - south-east towards the small town of Gorlitz. Our task was to provide air cover for our tanks. The patrol zone was overcast, the broken cloud suggesting that it wasn't all that solid and thick. There were small breaks in it, at a height of about 1200-1300 metres. For some 35-40 minutes we patrolled giving cover in the target zone. When our operation time was up we turned about face and flew off in the direction of our aerodrome, hoping on our way to root out some enemy ground target and assault it. We flew on at a pretty good 500-550 km/hr. All quiet, it seemed. So I said to my wingman, "Vasya, let's find something to hit, it's not on returning to base with all weapons unused. At that very moment I happened to turn my head to the left and saw eight Me-109's coming up behind out of the cloud at high speed. Instantly I shouted to my wingman, " Vaska, eight of them coming up on our tail." The thought flashed through my mind - low on fuel, they'd obviously been stalking us.

To avoid being hit I had to veer steeply to the left and get into the clouds to gain the advantage. It's a good job we had the speed. I didn't climb, but Vasya, behind and drifting wide on the outside of his turn, picked up speed and plunged through the cloud. From the other side of the cloud cover he shouted that there were eight FW-190s. Their plan was clear: with our fuel about to run out, force us to climb high then shoot us down or at least force us to crash for lack of fuel. I did a U-turn in the clouds, flew a little further on then dived below the clouds. I saw, flying in line astern, two pairs of Me-109s. The leader of one of the pairs spotted me - he side-slipped into the cloud, but I managed to head off the leader of the second pair with a burst of fire from the clouds, then get him in my sights and loosed several more bursts at him. He rolled over onto one wing and went down. I too immediately dived into the clouds - almost out of fuel and no longer able to continue the fight. I reported in to an observer. Ground control told me, " No Soviet losses. Execute a 555 (return to base)." There was no way of finding my wingman. About five minutes later, breaking out from the cloud I saw a Me-109 ahead flying a parallel course. I ducked back into the clouds and when I emerged a few minutes later he had disappeared. I returned to base. At the very point of landing my propeller stopped. So I landed without power. The Yak-3 flies fine for 1? hours, but then you have to get down. Clearly we'd been flying all this time on petrol fumes! I crawled out of the cockpit and walked about in a daze. No wingman. They told me, though, that none of ours had gone missing. A couple or so hours passed. Then I heard the sound of an engine. Yes, it was № 75, Kudenchuk! As soon as he touched down his undercarriage gave way. "All right," I thought, "we can fix that, no problem." It turned out that he'd landed at Pokryshkino, had been refuelled but nobody had noticed that he'd been holed. We were lucky on this occasion, very lucky!

On March 31st we flew out to attack Ratibor (Raciborz) airfield. The group was lead by Regimental Commander Kovalev. We got into a dogfight. I suddenly found myself on the tail of a pair of FW-190s. My wingman Gena Smirnov repulsed an attack on me from another pair and gave me the chance to attack the FW-190s. I shot down one, but as I chased after my wingman, German flak began to cut me off. I sensed that I'd been hit, the plane began to vibrate. It was cloudy with mist about. In such circumstances it was impossible to look for my group. Gena and I withdrew from the action, swung round onto course "0" reckoning on finding a main road. Before us in the haze a pair of Me-109s were following a parallel course to their own airfield. I could not overtake them because my machine was vibrating and I could not put on speed. I said to Gena, "Attack if you can, I'm right behind you." The Germans appeared not to spot us. Gena turned slightly to the right and attacked. I followed, a little distance behind. He got one but the second 109 quickly went into the clouds when he saw the attack. Like it or not, though, we had to return home. The cloud ceiling kept us down to 300-400 metres. I just could not recognise the locality although previously I had lead groups into this area several times already. We kept to our compass bearing "0" but in reality the course was quite different. Fuel was running low. The plane was shaking, so I decided to find a landing strip and set down. All around appeared quiet and I spotted a suitable landing site below me. I informed Gennadii, " Cover me, I'm going down". I landed, ran on a little, but the wheels began to dig in. The plane threw its tail up into the air and came to a halt. I leaped from the plane and noticed a chap driving a cart. I dashed over to him, drawing my pistol. Seeing me, he said in broken Russian, " I'm a Pole." I asked him whose territory was I in and where was the nearest airfield. He replied that it was Polish territory, now in Russian hands but that the front line was some 10-15 km away (waving his arm in it's direction). He added that there was an airfield at such and such locality. The aerodrome was quite close by in the event. I dashed to the plane and told Gena over the radio where to fly. I said, "Land there and come and get me." He flew away but returned 7-10 minutes later explaining over the radio, "I couldn't get down, the airfield's like a sponge, waterlogged and it's too dangerous to land." Following my suggestion he too landed alongside me as his fuel was about to run out.

It subsequently transpired that that there was magnetic distortion in this region. That's why the compass bearing was incorrect. Once we'd entrusted our aircraft to the local Polish authorities for safekeeping, we picked up our parachutes and with the help of the Poles made our way to a station. As it happened, we used to fly in overalls, and sometimes in sports clothes so that we wouldn't be taken for officers. That followed stories that officers were given rough treatment or shot when captured by the Germans.

From the station we travelled two stops and then got back to the airfield late at night on lorries from a motorised battalion that delivered ammunition and fuel to our troops. It was later revealed that six pilots, including we two, had not returned from the combat sortie. The Regimental Commander was pleased about our return especially since our aircraft were still intact. A team of fitters flew out to the site of our forced landing, they fixed my plane, refuelled it and flew it back to the aerodrome.

On 8th April our regiment was stationed at Grotkau. That morning the weather was fair, high cloud and a slight haze. My friend Misha Pyatak and I got orders to do a reconnaissance of the town's railway station and aerodrome located to the east of the town. Bypassing the airfield and the town itself, we approached from the west. At the station there were three fuel-tanker trains facing towards the front line. You got the impression that they had just arrived, although from the air there was no sign of them being unloaded. We reported our findings back to ground base. We immediately got orders to do two "dummy" runs to ascertain whether the Germans had any flak batteries. We did as commanded and reported that we had not been fired on. As it turned out the Germans had clearly not wished to give themselves away. We skirted the town and, setting a course towards the north-east, flew off in the direction of our airfield. We applied the 'scissors' manoeuvre as we flew, gaining speed to keep as low as possible and avoid ground fire. As we skimmed over an airfield we spotted a couple of airborne Me-109s which had just taken off. We were in a favourable position to attack with no need to deploy. We dived down to attack both. Lesha lead the attack, but after the first salvo his guns jammed. He shouted over the radio, "You continue the attack," which I did. One went down. We overshot the wingman, veered left and departed at hedge-top height for our airfield. We reported back to the commander who decided to send Tolya Malyshev and Vit'ka Alfonskii to attack the fuel train. We told them all we had seen. Malyshev approached his plane behaving in a somewhat unusual manner. I said,

"Tolya, what's the matter?"

"I've got a funny feeling. You know, it's stuck in my memory, being on fire whilst over the Kursk salient."

"Cut it out, Tolya! Good luck!" I retorted.

They flew out in their Yak-3s. An hour passed. The weather was getting steadily worse. A little while later there was the roar of an engine. One Yak came into land. It was Alfonskii.

He told us that they had flown off along our route towards the railway junction. They knew from us that there was no anti-aircraft fire. They had made their first approach on the trains at an angle to remain over the target as long as possible. But as they began to pull away, everything on the ground that could shoot opened up on them. A round hit Malyshev in the feeder tank. Alfonskii said he saw white, then black plumes of smoke coming from Malyshev's plane. Tolya began to be overcome by fumes and so he opened the cockpit canopy. (We flew with the canopy closed. We had been trained to. Incidentally, we also had to be trained in radio skills because initially radios weren't used. Only when the ranks of radio-operator 3rd, 2nd, 1st class and master radio-operator were introduced - and attracted extra pay - did we start using them.) So Tolya opened the canopy. I ought to say that we were flying in German gauze flying helmets. We had got our hands on them just outside Brzeg. Of course, when wearing flying helmets with integral headsets your head starts to sweat and your hair falls out. Even silk skullcaps were no salvation. Flames engulfed Malyshev's head. Alfonskii called out, " Tol'ka, hold on!!!" It was still about 15 km to the front line, but had only some 900 metres of altitude. Clearly he couldn't hold out any longer. He flipped the plane over on its back and ejected. He was captured but returned to the regiment on 13th May.

Breslau (Wroclaw) was taken on 7th May. We remained on combat roster as whole flights. The planes were kept supported on trestles alongside the landing strip. On duty with me were Lesha Pyatak, Yura Danilov and Gena Smirnov. It was approaching lunchtime. The weather was clear and sunny, real spring conditions. Suddenly we saw half a dozen Me-109s brazenly flying towards us along the landing strip at a height of 1500 metres. We were up into the air instantly as the alarm sounded. Following us up were two or three pairs of aircraft from another regiment based here alongside us at the airfield. A dogfight ensued. The group of German planes split apart. One Me-109 was attacking a Yak from a different regiment. It so happened that I was the nearest and best placed to attack the Messerschmitt. I gave one burst, then a second. I saw puffs of smoke from his engine, his flailing propeller halting, the face and expression of the German pilot - looking back over his left shoulder at me, the big white crosses on the wings of his plane. This image is burned into my memory. One more burst of fire, he flipped the plane over onto its wing and limped off towards the front line, trailing smoke.

As evening approached a group of Petlyakov Pe-2s supported by Yaks arrived, having carried out their mission. All the bombers landed and almost all the accompanying fighters. Just one Yak was on its third approach and dropped its undercarriage textbook fashion. Just at that moment a Me-109 attacked it at high speed, coming straight out of the sun at low level. We shouted, as if the pilot could hear, "Look out, there's a Me-109 on your tail!" He had been forewarned over the radio, it seemed. He banked sharply to the left and the Messerschmitt overshot at high speed. The attack failed. But that was not the only incidence of the Fascists coming to get their own back for their compatriots.

On May 8th we transferred to just outside Berlin. The weather was clear. The Regimental Commander ordered me up into the air: "Fly to area such and such..." I flew on and reported, "Prince, this is Swallow -8, carrying out a 204 (i.e. one of a foursome of planes), a mission, please." Came the reply, "Swallow-8, Markov, thanks very much for your work, execute a 555." That was the only number that signified return to base. I said, "Prince, you've made a mistake, other groups have been here, I've just arrived." I got a repeat message: "No mistake, execute 555, thank you for your work." As I was approaching the aerodrome, the regimental commander Kovalev chided me, " I'm serious about this, why has Swallow-8 returned?" I said I'd give a report after I'd landed. The fact of the matter was that our unit's anniversary was designated for the 5th May, but it had been rearranged for the 8th. Six pilots were ordered to remain on duty, the rest get ready for the party. I, though, had a sort of feeling deep inside about this, with everyone sprucing themselves up, so I didn't. And I was proved right, I heard the alarm going off. It was around two o'clock in the afternoon. The whole regiment dashed to the airfield and took off en masse in the direction of Prague. I brought back two holes in my plane - one bullet had hit the feeder pipe, a second had lodged in a wing spar. And with that the war ended. In all I had flown 139 combat missions and had brought down six enemy aircraft.

[bobbysocks]

I, Khukhrikov, Iurii Mikhailovich, am a native Muscovite, in the fourth or even fifth generation. My ancestors were Dorogomilovo coachmen. My great grandfather, Stepan Khukhrikov, was a foreman of the Dorogomilovo coachmen. He drove cargo and passengers in the area of the Kiev Station. There used to be a Khukhrikov Lane, End, and Market in that area. The Khukhrikov Market was before the Borodino Bridge if you walked from the MID (the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), when descending toward the Moskva River. I was born in a military family. My father and uncle were military specialists. They had fought starting from 1914, and after the revolution worked in the Main Engineering Directorate of the General Staff starting in 1921. Father had the rank of a colonel, and uncle -- a lieutenant general. I was born in 1924 and lived and went to school at Chistye Prudy, opposite the Coliseum, now it is the Sovremennik Theater.

From 1930 to 1941 I went to School No.311 on Lobkovskii Lane, now it's called Makarenko Lane. I went to school with Iurii Nagibin [a well-known Soviet writer] (that's his mother's last name, back then he was Frumkin). Also with Zhenia Rudneva [Evgeniia Rudneva -- future female night bomber pilot]. She was older than me, and was already in the Aviation Institute before the war. Such were the people with whom I got to go to school.

In 1940, by fair means or foul, I joined an aviation club. They had turned me away from everywhere -- said I was too young. But I finally got what I wanted, and they let me in on the condition that I would bring a note from my parents saying they were not opposed. For the first time I took off into the air on a U-2 in September 1940, at the Kraskovo Airfield near Moscow.

In 1941 I was already 17. We had already flown from Kraskovo to Scherbinka, near Podolsk. There was a very flat field there. We organized an airfield, set up tents, and continued flying. On 1 May 1941 I, as the aviation club student, participated in the last peacetime parade on the Red Square.

In July 1941 I graduated from the club. They gave me a certificate of completion. It would help me out a lot later. All aviation clubs sent their students on to aviation academies. We were supposed to go to Tbilisi. But because the war started, all 1941 graduates were sent to Saratov, where we started flying SBs. They called it a "candle". It was completely unprotected, and besides that, made of duralumin -- any bullet or shell fragment caused a fire. I started flying it, and then an order came from the Defense Ministry: "Transfer the Saratov academy to the Airborne Forces". Soon they brought in gliders: US-4, US-5, Sh-10, G-9, "Stakhanovets". These were all sports models. There were also ones for airborne troops -- "RotFront-8" and "RotFront-11". Experienced instructors also came -- Iudin, Anokhin, and others. We immediately started flying gliders. We would be towed by U-2, R-5, SB, Douglas, and others. This way we gained experience. The plane would make a circle and at the height of 500-600 meters we would detach. We circled and were supposed to land near a landing sign. You couldn't afford to make a mistake in these gliders. For example, after making the last turn, if you miscalculated, you could fall before the landing signs, there was nothing to pull you up -- no engine! So you would fall. That's why we made our approach aiming to overshoot. And in order to descend, we banked and dived, which allowed us to lose altitude, and then landed with a minor deviation. We flew not in Saratov, but about 30 kilometers from the city, German villages were there. The residents had been deported. Villages remained unoccupied. That was where we lived and flew. Wide Volga steppe. A nice place to fly a glider.

Besides that I went through training as a diversionary group commander: explosives, hand to hand combat, fought dogs. Yes! Yes! We put on gloves, coats, and fought dogs. Like everyone, in October 1941, I submitted a request to be transferred to fighter aviation. It worked! On December 31 I was transferred to a fighter aviation academy. There we immediately began flying UT-1, UT-2, I-16. Our Belyi Kliuch Airfield was located 18 kilometers from Ul'ianovsk, not far from the Volga. Excellent airfield, good approaches.

Yes, I forgot to mention that in October I and my comrade Boria Bezrukov, with whom we had gone to school and the aviation club, and later found ourselves at the Saratov academy, had to deliver some things to Moscow. They were bales, boxes -- we came, signed, turned over the cargo. Then Boria and I decided, as patriots, to go to the front.

We infiltrated to the forward positions. Found rifles, fired them. 45mm guns were deployed next to us, real soldiers were there. Already experienced people. The Special Department worked well in that area. They found us out, that we were strangers:

"Who are you? Where from?" We told them everything that happened.

"What do you have?" That's where the certificates from the aviation club and the papers about our trip to Moscow helped us out.

"Get out and don't come back!" We picked up and ran. We got lucky with transport -- came to Saratov and no one found out about it. All of that took no more than a week, at least it went unnoticed. But I did get the "For the Defense of Moscow" medal. After I left for Ul'ianovsk from Saratov, Boria was killed. When we would fly gliders at night, 8 men sat in each glider as passengers. He happened to fly as a passenger. The glider caught up with the plane, the cable caught on a wing and tore it off. Everyone was killed.

We started to train in Ul'ianovsk -- and then an order came to retrain for IL-2.

A.D. The aircraft were delivered?

Yes. They brought in more than 30 from Kuibyshev.

I graduated from the Ul'ianovsk academy in 1943. Why so long? I was lucky! Many graduated after the war ended! They picked out only the most gifted, so they would teach us as little as possible -- there was no fuel.
So they sent us to a reserve airfield at Diad'kov, which was 18 kilometers north of Dmitrov. That's where pilots learned combat skills -- bombing, shooting. All of that took literally several hours. Possibilities were limited. A buyer from the front would come -- and we would go with him. Zhora Parshin came for us -- he was an ace! A ground attack pilot! He shot down ten aircraft in an IL! He fought from the first day of the war and to the end. Excellent man. I met him often later in Leningrad on the Liteinyi Avenue. It was 1944 when he took us. We found ourselves in the 566th Ground Attack Aviation Regiment. This regiment was the first to get its own honorary name -- Solnechnogorsk. It fought there, at Moscow. Everyone died, to a man. From 1941 only Afonia Machnyi remained, and even he lost his mind after half a hundred sorties, from 1942 -- only Leva Korchagin remained, from 1943 -- a little more, and so on. During the war the regiment lost 105 pilots and 50 gunners. 28 of us came to the division -- 15 were killed. Such were the losses.

I was put into the 1st Squadron of the 566th Regiment. Mykhlik was the squadron commander. Future Twice the Hero of the Soviet Union. We were lucky -- it was a period between operations, there was an opportunity to train, fly in formation, go into the zone. War began, and we started working at full steam in the Baltics. The regiment mostly fought in the Central and Leningrad fronts.

We fought in IL-2. It was an excellent aircraft for those times! Carried 600 kilograms of bombs, 8 rockets, 300 23mm shells for VIa cannon (150 per gun), and 1800 rounds for each machine gun -- 3600 rounds. The gunner had a 12.7mm Berezin machine gun, 10 DAG-10 distance aviation grenades for the protection of the lower rear hemisphere. If a German appeared, you would press a switch, and a grenade would fall on a parachute and explode 150 meters away. Besides that, an infantry submachine gun and grenades.

A.D. They say IL-2 was difficult to handle?

No. Not at all. I-16 -- yes. Especially when landing.

A.D. How useful do you think the rear gunner was?

The gunner was necessary. His usefulness is beyond question.

A.D. Did you already have all metal IL-2?

Yes. All aircraft were already equipped with radios. The only thing was that we sat on gasoline: a tank under me, a tank in front, a tank between me and the gunner. We were all in gasoline.

We started in the Baltics, went through Prussia, and finished in Wittenberg, from where we flew sorties to Koenigsberg and even Danzig.

We got hit a couple of times. A shell hit a wing on the twenty-eighth sortie. We made it back miraculously -- the hole was about a meter in size. If a bullet hits, the smell of burned metal can be felt. I smelled it. Turned my head -- there it was, a hole. But I was lucky -- the shock wave and fragments went to the gunner. His legs were mangled. Communications were disrupted. We landed in Wittenberg. I taxied, turned off the engine, jumped out onto the wing -- the gunner, Viktor Shakhaev, Siberian, born in 1926, was just lying there. Guys ran to us, pulled him out. Barely saved his legs. But it turned out that I was also hit. A fragment scratched the back of my head. Where did it manage to penetrate? They wanted to put me in a hospital, but I refused. War ended for me in Wittenberg. I had flown 84 sorties.

In the end of May 1945 men were selected from the regiments of our division for the Victory Parade. They picked out men about 1 meter 80 centimeters tall and sent them to Koenigsberg to drill. Our sergeant was a brilliant drill instructor. So he drilled us. In the beginning of June we were put on a train and rode toward Moscow. There we were formed into a combined battalion of pilots of the 3rd Belorussian Front. Our commander was General Prutkov, commander of the 1st Guards Stalingrad Ground Attack Air Division. They gave us tunics, boots, caps. It was a merry, nice atmosphere. We lived in the Chernyshevskie barracks, not far from Shabolovka. Where did we walk? VDNKh, at the Crimean Bridge, some other places. Special Voroshilov rations in the mess, even white bread on plates. I must say at the front the food was also excellent. The parade was on June 24. I also went to the banquet.

A.D. Did you fly as a wingman or a leader?

Everyone was at first a wingman at the front. Vasia Mykhlik and I flew about 40 sorties. He went to Moscow to get his Star (Gold Star of the Hero of the Soviet Union - trans.) and came back only in the end of April. I was already a leader. The last two sorties I already led eight -- basically a squadron. That was May 8. The first sortie was at 10 in the morning, and the second around 2pm. To the Zemland Peninsula. We worked over its very edge. Returned. They refueled us for the third sortie. We taxied, waited for the order. The Chief of Staff Nikolai Ivanovich Borkov ran to us: "Iura, taxi back. It's over!" We turned off our engines, fired into the air in joy. The war was over! And then I flew ILs and MIGs for a long time.

A.D. They say that there were 7 killed gunners for each killed pilot, is that true?

No. Let me explain. We had 105 pilots and 50 gunners killed, why? Because the regiment fought from the beginning to the end of the war. The first half of the war in one-seater aircraft. And the second half -- in two-seaters. And most of the time, they died together. A ground attack aircraft pilot, according to the statistics, managed to fly 7-8 sorties and then died. Such were statistics.

A.D. Were you escorted by fighters?

Always. Very often during the Prussian operation we were escorted by Normandie-Niemen.

A.D. Were missions assigned to eights?

Not necessarily. Depended on the mission.

A.D. What missions did you get most often?

Usually the bombing of the forward positions. I went to reconnoiter on foot once. The infantry commander said: "You guys don't have to shoot. Fly here and show yourselves. That would be enough. And if you bomb, you'll always be welcome guests!" Sunk ships in ports, 4 times flew against airfields. That was scary business! They were well protected. Worked on armor concentrations. Well, against those targets armies -- hundreds of aircraft -- were sent, in order to wipe everything off the face of the earth.

A.D. What was more dangerous, enemy anti-aircraft artillery or fighters?

AA artillery. Of course, in the beginning of the war fighters really made the lives of ground attack pilots difficult. But by the end of the war -- AA artillery. That was scary business! Several dozen small caliber AA guns were deployed and would fire into the same spot. And all around black clouds from medium caliber AA guns. You would fly and not know which of them would... kiss you. Of course, we performed an anti-AAA maneuver.

We usually flew 50 by 30 -- 50 meter interval and 30 meter distance. When approaching the frontline we spread out -- 150 meter interval. And threw our planes side to side. Then we would get into a circle above the target and start working it. Little ones [fighters] would cover us. Those were the mechanics.

A.D. How many passes would you make?

It depended on the situation. There could be such counteraction -- Lord help us! Then it would only be one pass. You would use everything at once -- rockets, guns, bombs. If the counteraction was not that great, then several -- 4, 6 times. The leader would snake away, allowing the wingmen to catch up. We approached the target in formation, if weather allowed at the altitude of 1200-1400 meters, and departed after assembling, also in formation, at the same altitude.

A.D. What was the most vulnerable spot of IL-2?

The engine. Wings were fine, more or less. If a fuel tank was hit, that wasn't bad either, why? When approaching the target we opened carbon dioxide canisters, which filled the empty space of fuel tanks. If a bullet pierced the body and hit a fuel tank, the sealer would fill the hole, fuel would not leak out, there would be no vapor, and consequently no combustion.

A.D. How effective were rockets?

They were 82mm rockets. Of course, we fired them into the general vicinity. But at the forward positions targets were all over, so heavy was the concentration of forces and vehicles. A group would work -- one missed, another would hit the target for sure. We also carried RS-132, but only 2 of them. In that case we took less bombs -- only 200 kg. But usually we took RS-82, sometimes 16 of them.

A.D. And did you install 37mm guns?

We had 37mm guns, 40 shells per gun. I didn't fly one of those. They didn't work out.

A.D. Was the German infantry well covered?

They covered themselves in only one way -- concentration of AA defenses. Not single guns, but concentrated in quadrants. I would sometimes count up to 40 guns -- an uninterrupted stream of bullets. Small caliber AA artillery was especially dangerous.

A.D. Did you attack from a dive?

Always from a dive, 30-40 degrees. You wouldn't have time to fire everything at a steeper angle. 30-40 degrees -- that is the angle that provided the complete use of all weapons.

A.D. Did you use anti-tank bombs?

Yes. We took about 280 of them. There were also 25 kg, 50 kg, and 100 kg bombs -- 4 bomb hatches, 600 kg load. We would bomb from the altitude not lower than 1400-1500 meters. If there were low clouds, 400-600 meters, but then we put in delayed fuses.

A.D. About how many sorties did you fly per day?

Sometimes 3... but that was a lot. A lot.

If someone says it wasn't scary -- they're lying. The moment of expectation was the scariest and most unpleasant. For example they would say: "1400 such and such airfield". You sit there: 1400 -- nothing, 1430 -- nothing, 1500 -- no order! Or you sit in the cockpit, waiting for a rocket, and nothing. Legs start shaking. A real panic starts. After all, there was no guarantee that you wouldn't be shot down during the mission. When a rocket would shoot up into the air your head would start working in a different direction, panic would be turned off. Then there was an unpleasant feeling when we approached the target but would not be attacking it immediately. They would be prepared for us and fire. After the attack started -- that was it, the pilot was at work, looking for targets, pushing triggers, rockets, guns, machine guns, pulling the ASSh-41 (emergency bomb release. Bombs could be released by the buttons, or if you wanted to release them all at once, you pulled that lever).

A.D. How was the effectiveness of a sortie determined?

Everyone had a gun camera, which was working when you were firing the guns. If you set a vehicle on fire, it wold be recorded. If you worked a tank, that would also be recorded. Besides that, gunners could have wide area cameras. There would usually be a couple of them per group. It covered a large area, and after we landed the film was printed. Besides that, when approaching the front line we established communications with the observer, usually a representative of the air division. We could recognize his voice. He would literally aim us: "Guys, a little to the right. OK. Now." Gave us the permission to attack. Told us where the bombs were falling. On the second pass introduced corrections. His confirmations were taken into account.

A.D. And how did you break in new pilots?

The usual. After the school pilots were sent to a reserve air regiment. There they passed through a short combat course. Bombing and strafing ground targets with cannon and machine guns. Then a buyer would come in. We were considered to be relatively ready for combat work.

A.D. And in the regiment?

After the above procedure we were flown in to the regiment and allocated to squadrons. Squadron commander would fly with each one, taking measure of everyone's level of preparedness, and picked out his wingman. I immediately became squadron commander's partner. I flew only with him. I loved flying and was almost always first.

A.D. Were there any IL-10 in your unit?

Of course. But only after the war. Their qualities were the same. Same weight, gunner, crew commander, pilot. The structure was more compact. Wing area was a little smaller. Same armament. Two cannon and two machine guns. Slightly different range. But mainly it was the same thing.

A.D. Did you ever hit friendlies?

We had Twice the Hero [of the Soviet Union] Len'ka (Leonid) Beda, we had gone to school together. An untidy person. Although, you shouldn't say anything bad about the dead. Once a general came, we were formed up. The general noticed him:

"Last name?"

"Beda" ("Beda" means "trouble" in Russian -- trans.)

"I am asking you what your last name is!"

"Beda, comrade commander!"

Len'ka killed 118 men at the end of the war. It wasn't his fault, they told him before the mission: "Bomb that target". But he had to get there first. Maybe 30 minutes. While they were flying there, the situation changed. We captured that place, but no one reported to him. The group worked the target -- 118 of our soldiers died. He returned, they tore off his shoulder boards, but immediately investigated, returned them. Later he was the Air Force Commander of the Belorussian Military District.

A.D. Have you ever encountered enemy aircraft?

I've never had to participate in a dogfight, but the rear gunner didn't sit without work -- after pulling out from an attack he fired at ground targets.

A.D. Were there any cases of cowardice?

There were single occurrences of cowardice. There was one time, when N. was leading a large group, about 20 aircraft, he turned away before reaching the target, the entire group returned to the airfield. Court martial. Gave him seven years. But he fought well afterward -- 4 Orders of the Red Banner. There were sly people as well. A small number, but there were some. He would gain altitude. We fly, attack, but he just hangs there, then descends to 1000 meters, releases the bomb load, gets in formation. But we see everything.

A.D. Did you beat him up?

Warned him. Told him: "Sasha, you do this one more time, we'll shoot you down". He was disrupting our interaction! We flew at a distance of 600 meters, he climbed, therefore the distance became 1200. Interaction was disrupted. The warning worked.

A.D. Were there penal ground attack squadrons?

No. They would send offending officers to us, not necessarily pilots. They would fly 10 sorties as rear gunners.

A.D. What was considered a combat sortie?

Only bombing enemy targets with photo confirmation.

A.D. Did you lose aircraft for technical reasons?

Technicians worked well. If a plane didn't return for technical reasons, something happened, that was very serious. Such occurrences were investigated.

A.D. Did you have to manipulate the engine's modes of operation?

Yes, of course. It was easy to do.

A.D. Did you use any special tactics?

Yes. You would make the first pass, second one, then they would say from the ground: "Wait a little, when the infantry passes, we'll redirect you to other targets". So we work this target, stay in the air, and then we work other targets based on the commands from the observation post.

A.D. Did you fly during operational pauses?

The most intense activity was during operations. Then we flew a lot, but for that time was needed, and corresponding preparation. Crews, equipment were being prepared. During pauses between operations we flew anyway. Performed tactical missions. Of course, with smaller forces. We would be sent to support infantry or to destroy columns on the march. For example, Pokryshkin flew more than 500 sorties. Participated in 84 dogfights. Shot down 59 aircraft. I also have 84 combat sorties. But if you translate our effectiveness into money, I wouldn't be short of him. Be sure of that. Of course, ground attack pilots' hands are covered in blood up to the elbows. But it was our duty, and I think we did a first class job. Did everything we could. Well, and God didn't pass us by with "crosses".