In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

brazilian airforce in ww2

The First Brazilian Fighter Group consisting of four squadrons arrived at the Italian port of Livorno on the 6th October 1944. The Brazilian pilots started taking part in war missions, flying their new P-47 Thunderbolts on the 31st October 1944, and along with the US 350th Fighter Group were part of the Tactical Air Force of the Mediterranean which supported the US Fifth and British Eighth Armies.

On the 6th November the Brazilians suffered their first loss in action when: 2nd Lieutenant Cordeiro e Silva was killed by anti-aircraft fire in the region of Bologna. Then on the 11th November, the group began operations in squadrons formed exclusively by their own pilots and picking their own targets.

A month later, on the 4th December 1944, the Brazilians, together with the 350th Fighter Group, moved to Pisa airfield, 124 miles to the North and very near the front, which allowed the group to take better advantage of the range of their aircraft.

The Brazilians operated in Italy in the role of fighter-bombers, attacking rail and road bridges, railway stations and tracks, airfields, artillery positions, barracks and troop concentrations, and ammunition and petrol depots, Occasion the Brazilian airmen had the opportunity of supporting the Brazilian Expeditionary Force directly; such as on the 20th February 1945, the day before the BEF took Monte Castelo.

On the 4th February 1945, 2-Lt Danilo. were shot down in flames whilst attacking trains to the Southwest of Treviso. Baling out. Lieutenant Danilo walked for twenty-four days, across enemy territory before joining the partisans and finally getting through the front lines to rejoin his comrades.

Of the 48 pilots of the Brazilian Unit who carried out war missions, there was a total of 22 losses; five being killed by anti-aircraft fire, eight had their planes shot down and baled out over enemy territory, and six had to give up flying operations on medical orders. Three others died in flying accidents.

The 1st Brazilian Fighter Group accomplished 445 missions, making 2,546 flights and 5,465 hours flight on active service. It destroyed 1,304 motor vehicles, 13 railway wagons, 8 armoured cars, 25 railway and highway bridges and 31 fuel and munitions depots.

footnotes:

Brazil was the only Latin American country to send troops to the European Theatre. Brazil declared war on the Axis powers in July of 1942 and a force of 25,000 was prepared to be sent to Italy.

The arrival of the Brazilians in the winter of 1944-45 had caused a near panic in finding Portuguese speaking interpreters. In addition the Brazilians arrived wearing light clothing which was completely inappropriate for Appennine blizzards. Re-equipped with American uniforms it was found that the Brazilians had much smaller feet than the average American or British Soldier and finding sufficient footwear became a Quartermasters' nightmare.

The First Brazilian Infantry Division consisting of the 1st, 6th and 11th Brazilian Infantry Regiments, served in the IV (US) Corps of the Fifth (United States) Army in the Italian Campaign during 1945.

Brazil was one of only two Latin American countries to actually commit military forces during World War II, the other being Mexico.

THE BADGE OF THE 1ºGAVCA

The badge of 1ºGAVCA was designed while the Squadron was travelling to Italy aboard the transport ship UST Colombie by a group of its pilots, Ten.-Av. Rui Moreira Lima, Ten.-Av. José Rebelo Meira de Vasconcelos, Ten.-Av. Lima Mendes and Cap.-Av. Fortunato C. de Oliveira.
Drawn by the latter, it can be described as follows, according to its author:

- The green-yellow surrounding represents Brazil;
- The red field behind the fighting ostrich represents the war skies;
- The bottom field - white clouds - represents the ground to a pilot;
- The blue shield charged with the Southern Cross is the common symbol for the Brazilian Armed Forces;
- The ostrich represents the Brazilian fighter pilot, whose face is inspired in that of Ten.-Av. Lima Mendes, and also the stomach of the veterans of 1ºGAVCA;
- The white cap was part of the FAB uniform at the time and distinguished the Brazilian pilots from the other Allied pilots;
- The gun being hold by the ostrich represents the firepower of the P-47, with its eight .50in machine-guns;
- The motto "Senta a Pua!" is the war cry of 1ºGAVCA;
- The white streak, at the right, ending on a flak burst, was added later, and represents the danger brought by the German anti-aircraft artillery to the pilots (this device appeared only on replacement aircraft).

The use of an ostrich to represent the Brazilian fighter pilots comes from the fact that, during the early Forties, several Brazilian aircrew went to the USA to fly back to Brazil the aircraft then being bought in large numbers by the Brazilian authorities, not only training but also combat aircraft. During their stay in that country, they got acquainted to American food: baked beans, powder eggs and powder milk, among other items. The then Cel.-Av. Geraldo Guia de Aquino dubbed the pilots "ostrichs" and the nickname caught.

The war cry "Senta a Pua!" was a suggestion from Ten.-Av. Rui who had heard it several times from Cap.-Av. Firmino Alves de Araujo while serving at Salvador Air Base; it was used by the latter on his subordinates, inviting them to do their tasks at once and quickly. It became the Brazilian equivalent of the British Tally-Ho and the French "A la Chasse!".

IN ACTION!
The Brazilian pilots initially flew from 31 October 1944 as individual elements of flights of the 350th FG US squadrons, at first in affiliation flights and progressively taking part in more dangerous missions.

Less than two weeks later, on 11 November, the Group started its own operations, flying from its base at Tarquinia, using its call-sign Jambock.

The Group was divided into four flights, Vermelha (Red), Amarela (Yellow), Azul (Blue) and Verde (Green).Each flight had a complement of roughly 12 pilots, these having been flying together since their training spell in Panama. A pilot customarily wore an echarpe in the colours of his flight. The CO of the Group and some officers were not attached to any specific flight.

The Thunderbolt colour scheme
Initially the P-47s were finished in standard US fighter colours, olive-drab (top surfaces) and neutral grey (undersurfaces) (except those aircraft of the commander and operations officer which were finished in natural metal and olive-drab anti-glare panels). The badge of the Group was painted just after the engine cowling, and the aircraft code (flight letter-aircraft number) was in white letters over the cowling.

National insignia was in four positions, this being the US star-and-bar, with the white star replaced by the Brazilian star. Later, replacement aircraft were in natural metal, with olive-drab anti-glare panels, the codes being in black .

[bobbysocks]

what goes around comes around....

This is one of the amazing but true stories of WWII
The Evaders
By Roman Turski

I was born in Poland, where before the last war religious intolerance was not uncommon. In spite of my father’s objection to my participation in anti-Semitic demonstrations in Warsaw, I often heaved stones at windows of stores owned by Jews. I had no qualms about my actions, and later it took months of hardship and persecution-and a Jew- to show me how to abide by the Biblical injunction: “Love thy neighbor as thyself”.
When Hitler annexed Austria and war seemed imminent, I quit my job as instructor of a flying club in Lyons, France, and started for home. My plane developed engine trouble and I had to land at Vienna and stay there overnight to have it repaired.
The following morning, just as I stepped out of my hotel to buy a few souvenirs before checking out, a man who came running past the door bumped into me and sent me reeling. Outraged, I grabbed him and was about to give him a piece of my mind when I saw his face was white with fear. Panting heavily, he tried to wrench himself from my grip and said, “Gestapo—Gestapo!” I know only a little German but understood he was running from the dreaded German secret police.
I rushed him into the lobby and upstairs to my room, pointed to the foot of my bed and motioned him to lie down. I covered his slender, jackknifed body with artfully draped blankets so that the tousled bed looked empty. Then I pulled off my jacket, tie and collar so I could pretend I’d just got up if the Gestapo men came. In a few minutes, they did. They examined my passport, returned it and shouted questions, to which I replied: “Ich verstehe es nicht-I don’t understand it,” a phrase I knew by heart. They left without searching the room.
As soon as they had gone I lifted the blankets. The poor man let out a stream of rapid German. It was not necessary to understand a word to comprehend his gratitude.
I got out my flight chart and, by gesturing and drawing pictures on the margin of the map, explained that I had a plane and could take him out of Austria. He pointed to Warsaw, and his expressive hands asked: “Would you take me there?” I shook my head and made him understand that I had to land for fuel in Cracow. I drew pictures of police and prison bars to illustrate that he would be arrested upon arrival at any airport, and made it clear that we would land in some meadow just over the Polish border and he would get off. He nodded with satisfaction, and his narrow face and dark eyes again conveyed deep thanks.
The customs and immigration men at the airport waved us through when I told them my friend wanted to see me off. My plane was warmed up and ready for flight. We quickly climbed into it and took off. We crossed Czechoslovakia and soon saw the thin ribbon of the Vistula River and the city of Cracow. Landing in a large field by a wood near a country railroad station, I showed my companion where we were on the map, gave him most of my money and wished him luck. He took my hand and looked at me wordlessly, then walked rapidly into the woods.
When I arrived at Cracow airport there was a detachment of police waiting beside the immigration inspector. One of the police said, “We have a warrant to search your plane—you have helped a man escape from Vienna.”
“Go ahead and search it. Incidentally, what was the man wanted for?”
“He was a Jew.”
They searched my plane, and of course had to let me go for lack of evidence.
The war came, and after Poland’s short and bloody struggle against the Germans, in which I served as a fighter pilot in the Polish Air Force, I joined the thousands of my countrymen who wanted to carry on the fight for freedom. We crossed the border into Rumania and were promptly caught and sent to concentration camps. I finally managed to escape and joined the French Air Force. After France collapsed I went to England and fought in the Battle of Britain. The following June I was wounded while on a fighter sweep across the English Channel, when the Luftwaffe hit us over Boulogne. In those early offensive missions we were always outnumbered and outperformed by the Luftwaffe, and our only superiority was morale.
As we started for home I rammed an Me-109 and was hit by a piece of it’s sheared off tail. I was half blinded with blood. My squadron covered my withdrawal across the channel, but I was unconscious when my Spitfire crash-landed in England. (I later learned that my skull had been fractured, and that I was so near death that the head surgeon of the hospital to which I was taken believed it would be almost useless to operate on me.)
When I returned to consciousness, I gradually realized that a narrow face with large brown eyes was looking down at me. “Remember me?” their owner said. “You saved my life in Vienna.” He spoke with a trace of a German accent.
His words ended my confusion. I recalled a sensitive face and managed to say, “How did you find me?” I noticed his white smock. “Do you work here?”
“It’s a long story,” he replied. “After you dropped me off I made my way to Warsaw, where an old friend aided me. Just before the war I escaped and reached safety in Scotland. When one of your Polish squadrons distinguished itself in the Battle of Britain, I thought you might be in it, so I wrote to the Air Ministry and found you were.”
“How did you know my name?”
“It was written on the margin of your map. I remembered it.” His long fingers felt cool on my wrist. “Yesterday I read a story in the newspapers about a Polish hero shooting down five enemy planes in one day and then crash-landing near this hospital. It said your condition was considered hopeless. I immediately asked the Royal Air Force at Edinburgh to fly me here.”
“Why?”
“I thought that at last I could do something to show my gratitude. You see, I am a brain surgeon—I operated on you this morning.”

[bobbysocks]

shot down over dunkirk...SQNLDR K.B. McGlashan AFC

"...As the battle developed beneath me, two fighters, Messerschmitt Bf109s, slipped by 3,000 feet below emerging ahead and to my right at a great rate of knots. They were obviously seeking out the tails of my leading sections and had positioned themselves in the classic six o’clock position. I flicked my gun switch to ‘live’ and readied to roll my machine over to initiate a diving attack on the diving fighters. A screech came over my ineffectual TR9D radio, filling my helmet with deafening, squawking static. I later learned it was Geoff Howitt warning me of the five 109s diving on us, attacking from our port quarter. Howitt broke hard left and crossed in front of me, yet I was still none the wiser. Amidst this melee, I was concentrating on my attack and had totally neglected to look behind. The first indication I had of anything going wrong was when the armour plate behind my head began ringing like an alarm clock. Before I could draw breath, bright red tracers started bombarding my cockpit, whistling between my legs and ravaging the panels of Perspex and fabric to my left. The incendiary-tipped tracers assist the pilot in seeing where his shots are landing and from my perspective I could see them landing very well. As my instrument panel began disintegrating before my eyes, my thoughts leapt suddenly to the vapour-rich petrol tank that sat just behind the instruments. Momentary horror turned to short relief when I recalled that the tank was self-sealing.

The attack had been lightning quick. I slammed the control stick forward and to the right, entering a downward roll and sending the world spinning around. The back of my legs stung as metal splinters spat from the maze of piping fragmenting beneath my feet. Engine coolant, oil and all variety of hot fluids showered me as the scent of smoke began to fill the air. Foolishly I had been flying with my goggles atop my helmet and now the mix of smoke and oils that were bringing down my aeroplane were also serving to partially blind me. My cockpit had become a scene of absolute chaos. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the attack abated. Gathering my thoughts, I pulled the aircraft out of the dive and assessed my situation; not good. Bleeding oil and coolant, I knew my Hurricane was done for and I began readying myself to bail out. With the threat of fire growing, I cut the engine, switched off the fuel and set about sliding back the hood. My vision was getting worse and I fumbled to get the canopy back. Three times I tried and three times it slid closed. In my enthusiasm to get out, I was failing to lock the canopy open and a sense of incarceration came across me. Being trapped in a fiery cockpit was the dread of every fighter pilot and for a moment I began to wonder if this is how my war was to end. A moment after that, the second attack started.

The left hand side of my canopy exploded again as the red tracer ravaged what remained of my aircraft’s port side. With the engine shutdown, I was literally powerless. Again I slammed the stick forward, though this time to the left. I combined inertia with gravity, accelerating my wounded machine downwards. I felt a wallop and then a trickling sensation down the back of my leg and thought that I’d copped a hit in the backside. [It turned out to be a direct hit on an Agfa cartridge in my pocket, allowing the film to unfurl in my trousers.] Headlong, vertical and hurtling towards Terra Firma, I had a moment of unexpected clarity and recalled banter at the bar that formed a consensus that 109s were poor at recovering from dives. With the earth looming large in the windscreen and absolutely nothing left to lose, I decided to apply this theory. At the last possible moment I hauled back on the control column with all of my remaining might. As the blood drained from my head, my world faded to ‘black and white’ and then just black........."

[bobbysocks]

another blurb about SQNLDR K.B. McGlashan AFC
from the book DOWN TO EARTH: A Fighter Pilot's Experiences of Surviving Dunkirk, The Battle of Britain, Dieppe and D-Day

…as the Squadron’s only “single engined” pilot, I was to be sent to Abbotsinch to collect the sole dual control Battle in the country. On its return, the aircraft would be used to convert our “”twin engined” pilots to its ways with a minimum of pain. Well, that was the plan anyway…

…having familiarised myself with the type, I readied to take my new steed to its new home. The weather surrounding the airfield was bleak and foggy as I lifted off and started into the climb. Previously unaware of their presence, I found myself flying through a section of tethered barrage balloons over Glasgow. Through sheer good fortune I escaped harm at the hands of the helium-filled defence system. A few years later I would witness the lethal potential of Barrage Balloons as they dotted the skies over Crewe. One of our own, a Shorts Stirling, flew into the cables, exploding into a fireball before falling to earth and killing the entire crew. I could only reflect about my earlier escape.

With the near-miss behind me, I set course for Leconfield. Passing Thornton Hill, I had no sooner settled in for the flight when my engine stopped, leaving things very quiet. This was particularly embarrassing as I was not at a great height at the time and confronted with extremely limited options. It had been a very hard winter and the small rolling foothills were snow coated with a deeply frozen core of soil beneath. Without further ado I chose a field ahead. My selected area was divided by a small track crossing it and terminated with a house and garage at the far end. Not ideal, but it would have to do. Setting my speed and lining up on the field, I experienced a very uncomfortable feeling. The Battle was the first aircraft I had flown with retractable undercarriage and the proximity of the ground without my wheels lowered was rather unnerving. My next action seemed logical at that moment, but with the benefit of hindsight and experience, it was a basic error. I lowered the undercarriage.

I impacted the frozen earth well into the chosen landing site and bounced high above the snow. Floating over the track that I had noted on approach, my eyes caught those of a woman pushing a pram with a baby in it. I touched down again and stuck this time. Surmounting the crest of the hill, I started down at a great rate before striking a hedge which served to shear off my main wheels. The aircraft fell to its belly with little loss in speed initially and was now effectively a Royal Air Force toboggan heading straight for the residence’s garage. I tried to gain some directional control by kicking the rudders, though this proved very ineffective other than to slew the aircraft slightly from side to side. Throughout, the Battle’s course remained true. As I contemplated whether I would stop in time, one of the double doors opened and a head protruded to take in proceedings. The head was then rapidly withdrawn and reappeared through a side door, at speed, with body firmly attached.

[bobbysocks]

clobber kain and his hurricane...

Cobber' Kain was born in Hastings on 27 June 1918. Following school, he worked as a clerk in his father's warehousing business in Wellington.

In 1936 he obtained his private pilot's licence with the Wellington Aero Club before leaving New Zealand in November for London to join the RAF. Kain began his flying training in January 1937 and in late November was posted to 73 Squadron. Re-equipped with Hurricanes in 1938, the squadron was fully operational by March 1939 and on 24 August was ordered to mobilise for war.

Four days after war was declared 73's sixteen Hurricanes flew across the Channel to France. On 10 September 1939 Kain flew his first operational patrols, but saw no enemy activity. On a defensive patrol on 8 November Kain spotted a Do 17 reconnaissance aircraft ahead and above him. It began to climb and Kain followed, making two attacks but seeing no results. At 27,000 feet, with his Hurricane showing signs of strain, he attacked again and the Dornier dived steeply. Kain followed but pulled out when he saw fabric peeling off his wings. The Dornier crashed into a village, exploding on impact and killing the crew.

On 23 November he shot down another Do 17. Due to bad weather there was little flying in December, January and February. On 1 March 1940 Kain fought an action with two Bf 109's. His Hurricane was already damaged when he shot the first one down in flames. The second fighter attacked him, stopping the Hurricane's engine with a cannon shell but then flew off, leaving Kain to glide thirty miles from 20,000 feet to reach French territory. When his engine caught fire Kain prepared to bale out but got back in his seat when he saw his parachute strap was not in position. Fortunately the flames went out and Kain glided on to a forced-landing on Metz aerodrome.

On 23 February Kain received a Mention in Dispatches and in mid-March he was awarded the DFC. He was by now the centre of a blaze of publicity and his was a household name. On March 26 Kain destroyed a BF 109 and probably a second but then with his own engine on fire he baled out, with shell splinters to his left leg, a bullet-grazed left hand and burns to the face.

Kain went on leave to England on 2 April and before he returned his engagement was announced. Back with the squadron he damaged a Bf 110 on the 23rd. German air activity now intensified and on 10 May 1940 the blitzkrieg was launched. In the next ten days Kain destroyed five more enemy aircraft and probably destroyed or damaged another five.

On 22 May he was posted back to England. With other pilots he left early on the 23rd but on arrival Kain and another pilot were ordered to report back to 73 Squadron at once. They were put on administrative duties and Kain did not fly again until the 25th, when he destroyed a Do 17 but had to make an emergency landing in his damaged Hurricane. He destroyed an HS 126 on the 26th and another DO 17 on the 27th.

Kain continued to fly as his unit retreated from one airfield to the next and on 5 June he shot down a Bf 109. On the 7th he was ordered to return to England immediately. The following morning a group gathered to bid him farewell as he took off in his Hurricane to fly to Le Mans to collect his kit. Whether he felt that those watching below expected him to put on a last show will never be known but he performed a series of low level aerobatics before crashing into the ground. The Hurricane broke up and Kain, fatally injured, was thrown clear.

Kain's official score is fourteen confirmed victories but was more likely to be between fifteen and twenty. Whatever the true facts may be, 'Cobber' Kain - as the first Allied ace of the war - had ensured his place in history.

[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".

[bobbysocks]

south african friends...

August and September 1944 have poignant memories for Poles and South African airmen. By August 1, 1944, the Russians had advanced to within a few miles east of Warsaw. General "Bor" Komorowski and other leaders of the Polish underground resistance (the "Home Army") judged the time right for rebellion against Nazi occupying forces. Stalin thought otherwise, as he had his own plans for post-war Poland. He halted his troops 15 miles east of the Vistula River within 48 hours when the Home Army decided to go into action, encouraged by previous promises of Soviet's support.
In desperation, the Home Army appealed to Britain and America for much needed arms, amunition, and medical supplies. These could only be delivered by air-drops. Again Stalin said "Nyet". This time to the reasonable suggestion that aircraft might land in Russian-held territory to re-fuel. The Liberators of SAAF 2 Wing - 31 and 34 Squadrons - based at Foggia in Southern Italy, and Halifaxes, flown by the RAF, whose 148 and 178 Squadrons, as well as Polish Flight No. 1586, also took part. The proposed supply*drops meant a journey of 1600 km out over heavily defended occupied territory; roof-top height approach to the dropping zones in flames of the burning city; and another 1600 km back to base - if they were lucky.
Out of 186 sorties, 92 were considered successful. That is, the Home Army were able to retrieve some of the material dropped. Thirty-one aircraft were lost - 17 on the four terrible nights of August 13-16. 69 lives of South African pilots were lost during this operation.
The Poles have long memories for their friends. To this day, flowers are laid on the graves of the airmen who did not make it; a special memorial has been placed in St Anne's Church, Warsaw; and another built by the late Bronek Kowalski (former officer of the Polish Home Army) at Michalin where a Liberator piloted by Jack van Eyssen crashed after the supply drop, with the loss of three crew members. Those were Bob Hamilton, Leslie Mayes and Herbert Hudson.
Every year, without exemption, since 1947 a commemoration service and function is held by Polish Community in Johannesburg to honour those who fell. Initially the venue was a Cenotaph Memorial in the centre of the city. Since 1981, service is being held at the Katyn Memorial erected in memory of Polish prisoners of war who were murdered by the Soviet security forces. In 1989, monument was extended to honour South African Airmen who tookpart in the Relief Flights.
"Poland will never forget her faithful friends who went to her help in her hour of isolation and despair" - these were significant words of H.E. Stanislaw Cieniuch - first Ambassador of the truly independent Poland during the Warsaw Flights commemoration of the year 1991.
Relief Flights did not achieve its military objectives, mostly due to the political scene of post-war Europe. However, commemorations held through the years have cemented bonds of friendship between the Poles and their South African friends. SASF effort have become one of the important links in Polish struggle for independence, although it came 45 years later.
In Michalin near Warsaw there is an annual event taking place to commemorate Flights and Airmen who died there. After untimely death of Bronek Kowalski monument marking the place where they fell requires renovation. Polish artists who did visit South Africa are organising fund raising concert in the Ateneum theatre in Warsaw on the 1st of June 2001. It is entitled "Polish Artists for South African Airmen". List of the performers is compiled of the best in Poland. Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs is most likely to take patronage of this event. Support is also given by the diplomatic corps with South African Ambassador Sikose Mji heading the list. Chief of SAAF will sent his representative. Polish businessmen are also helping to collect funds. The monument will receive maintenance free finishes throughout.

[bobbysocks]

a little more about poland...the warsaw airlift

Major J.L. van Eyssen, DFC:

At 17:00 on 1 August 1944, General Bor-Komorosky ordered the AK to rise against the oppressors and the die was cast. Fierce fighting erupted in most parts of Warsaw. The element of surprise aided the AK which, after five days had seventy percent of the city under its control. There was, however, no sign of the promised Russian intervention. The well-armed Germans received reinforcements and gradually stemmed, then turned, the tide, but not without heavy losses. The Poles were running low on food and ammunition, but still no assistance from the Soviets was forthcoming. The Russians, indeed, did not so much as reply to the Poles' call for help. The Polish government in London appealed to the Russians for help or simply co-operation, but Stalin flatly refused even to grant permission for aircraft based in Britain to land behind Russian lines.
Warsaw is about 910 miles (1,464 km) from Britain on the 'Great Circle Course', but in order to avoid German air defences in the Reich, a detour had to be taken which made the journey closer to 1,100 miles (1,770 km). The return journey of 2,200 miles (3,540 km) was, of course, out of the question. Churchill then ordered that relief be flown to Warsaw from Italy which is a little closer, some 815 miles (1,311 km) on the Great Circle. This route also involved flying over heavily defended points. The task was allocated to 205 Group of which I was a member.
General Durrant went to see Air Marshal Slessor and was surprised to be admitted to the presence of Winston Churchill himself who was in an adjoining office. General Durrant pointed out to Churchill that an airlift of 1,000 miles (1,609 km), most of it over enemy occupied territory, could hold no hope of military success and that the loss of airmen and aircraft would be tremendous. Although Churchill agreed with him, he nevertheless insisted that the operation be proceeded with, if only for reasons of propaganda and morale.
It is perhaps appropriate at this point to provide a brief technical description of the Consolidated B24 Liberator in which the Group's crews were to undertake the Warsaw Airlift. For the job on hand it was the best of the big allied bombers. (The enormous Boeing B29 Superfortress had not yet made its appearance.) The Avro Lancaster was fast and had a large payload but its range was shorter than that of the Liberator and, furthermore, there were none of them in Italy. The Handley Page Halifax had a smaller payload and shorter range than the Liberator although they were used in the Warsaw Airlift by the R.A.F. and the Poles. The legendary but overrated Boeing B17 Flying Fortress had neither the speed nor the payload capacity of the Liberator. In addition to ammunition, oil and crew, the Liberator could carry a further disposable load of 2,600 pounds (1,180 kg) which was made up of petrol and payload. Her maximum permitted take-off weight was 33 tons (33,530 kg). She was powered by four Pratt and Whitney double bank radial engines of the same design as those fitted to the Douglas DC3 Dakota. However, while the latter aircraft has only the engine-driven supercharger and develops 1,100 horse power (820 KW), the Liberator had an additional turbo super- charger which raised the horse-power to 1,400 (1,044 KW). Shortened engine life was, of course, of little consequence in wartime and engine performance enjoyed priority. The indicated airspeed of the Liberator was 180 m.p.h. (290 k.p.h.) which increased to 190 m.p.h. (306 k.p.h.) when the aircraft was adjusted for altitude and temperature. On return from a target, the bombs having been dropped and much of the fuel having been used up, cruising speed rose to about 210 m.p.h. (338 k.p.h.). In emergencies, on full power, the Liberator was capable of a lot more. Her defensive armament against fighter and ground attack consisted of six 0,50 inch calibre heavy machine guns. Because our aircraft operated mainly at night, the two forward firing guns and the ball turret underneath were removed.
The Liberators were fitted with, what was for those times, the most modern electronic equipment, including the GEE box and the radio altimeter. They were equipped with the Air Ministry bombsight which was, with respect to our Allies from across the Atlantic, superior to their Norden bombsight.
When it was known that we had to fly 2,000 miles (3,218 km) non stop, we had to take a new look at the question of payload versus fuel load. On conventional bombing raids we loaded sufficient fuel for the distance to be covered plus an additional twenty five percent in case of emergency. The balance was bomb load. For this operation the maximum fuel load of 2,300 gallons (13,639 t) would have to see us to the target and back with barely ten percent excess. As we had to carry the maximum payload, we exceeded the permitted take-off weight by one ton (1,016 kg).
Each aircraft carried twelve canisters in its bomb racks. The canisters were crammed with light machine guns, ammunition, hand-grenades, radio equipment, food and medical supplies and had parachutes attached to them to slow their rate of fall.
When planning commenced, two chilling prospects arose. The first was that, due to the long days in the northern hemisphere at the time, we would have to cross the enemy coast in sunlight, both going and returning. The second was that we did not have sufficient aircraft to 'saturate' enemy defences in the form of searchlights, ground-to-air fire and fighters. We had to take a 'zig-zag' course in order to miss G.C.I. (ground controlled interception) areas.
Our Liberators had to take a long run to take-off and all rose sturdily into the air without any having to resort to the emergency boost override. As the aircraft climbed, course was set across the Adriatic. The enemy coast was soon reached in summer sunshine and, although we felt too exposed for comfort, we drew consolation from the fact that fighters could not surprise us as easily as they could in the darkness. The pilot and his gunners formed a very closely knit team, particularly when the aircraft was attacked by fighters. The pilots seldom accorded the fighters the courtesy of flying straight and level and turned violently up or down at the last second to spoil their aim and at the same time to give their gunners the advantage with their heavy machine guns.
Darkness had set in and soon the Danube came into view as a thin blue ribbon. To the north lay the Carpathian mountains – and bad weather. We were tossed about in the clouds and frequently 'lit up' by lightning. At times our propeller discs created blue circles and blue flames trailed from wing tips and other projections. This frightening although harmless phenomenon is also seen on the masts of ships at night. Sailors call it St Elmo's fires.
North of the Carpathians the weather cleared and we altered course away from Cracow which we knew to be a night fighter training centre for the Luftwaffe. A further course alteration led towards Warsaw. Before long we picked up jazz music from Radio Warsaw which was just what we wanted as it meant that we were out of the range of GEE. Our radio compass needle led us directly to the city which first showed as a glow on the horison. We started to lose height and, as we drew closer to the city, were shocked by what we saw, in spite of having been told what to expect at the briefing. Rows upon rows of buildings were on fire sending clouds of smoke thousands of feet into the air. The smoke was, in turn, illuminated from below by the fires. It was obvious that a life or death struggle was taking place before us.
According to our briefing we were to fly north along the Vistula dropping to 200 feet (61 m) and then to turn left about a cathedral in the north of the city. We were then to turn south keeping the river on our left, to open bomb doors and to drop lower still to about 150 feet (45 m). By using optimum flap we could keep our large aircraft under control at only 130 m.p.h. (209 k.p.h.). A greater speed could have snapped the shroud lines on the canister parachutes. We had to continue until we saw the letter of the night flashed in morse from the ground. When we saw it we had to drop all of our canisters together and get away as fast as possible.
An aircraft is most vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire at a height of 3,000 feet (914 m) to 5,000 feet (1,524 m). Over Warsaw, our aircraft attracted fire from hand-held machine guns, rifles and even pistols! Poor visibility due to smoke was also a serious hazard.
From 4 August until early September 1944, 196 sorties took off for Warsaw of which eighty-five reached the target area and thirty-nine aircraft were lost.
The Airlift could not save the gallant Polish Army. While the Polish army was being destroyed, the Russians sat idly by a bare 20 miles (32 km) away. Stalin realized that his western allies strongly disapproved of his handling of the Warsaw Rising and for the sake of 'window dressing', he was seen to relent, but only when he knew that it was too late. He granted permission for American aircraft based in Britain which were flying supplies to Warsaw to refuel behind Russian lines. On 18 September 1944, 107 U.S.A.A.F. planes dropped supplies from so great a height that less than twenty percent of the supplies reached Polish hands.
The Russians later, for 'window dressing' purposes. did drop supplies to the AK but made sure that these would be of little use. The Russian canisters were dropped without parachutes so that much of the contents was damaged. The firearms which the Russians supplied were so inferior as to have seemed to have been factory rejects while the cartridges which they provided were of a calibre which would not fit any of the Polish arms.
The Warsaw Rising failed and General Bor-Komorosky surrendered on 2 October 1944. The spirit of the Poles that died then seems to have been inherited by the following generation which has only recently clearly demonstrated that it does not intend to accept communist domination. Some day the Poles must again be free.
The Warsaw Airlift occasioned acts of individual heroism which should not be forgotten. Second Lieutenant 'Bob' Burgess became the youngest recipient of the DSO (Distinguished Service Order) after he, as second pilot, took command of a crippled Liberator and flew it eastwards to safety. The pilot had, without a word to his crew, stepped out into the night, as it were, by parachute. Burgess, who had never before landed a Liberator did so skilfully at first light.
Major 'Bill' Senn was awarded the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) for bringing back a badly damaged Liberator all the way from Warsaw to Foggia in spite of the fact that he had been wounded.
The Late Nick Groenewald found himself falling through the night sky, after his Liberator had blown up over Warsaw, with his parachute pack in his hand like a briefcase. He clipped it on to his harness and opened it, fortunately, in time. He did however suffer facial burns. Polish doctors performed skin grafts on his burns after which he volunteered to fight with the AK to the end.
My aircraft was also shot down. The survivors of my crew and I eventually arrived in Moscow where an amusing incident occurred. A Royal Navy admiral attached to the British Military Mission in Moscow sent a car to take me to the Kremlin. I was given to understand that I was to attend a conference and that the agenda touched upon our mining of the Danube. The admiral led me into a room where about twenty senior naval officers were already seated, all of whom were Russians. The Royal Navy admiral took the only remaining seat and I had to stand. I soon realised that this was not to be a conference at all but, rather, an interrogation. The senior Russian officer, who appeared to be an admiral of extremely high rank, sat at the head of the table and put questions to me through an interpreter. At first the atmosphere was not unfriendly, and I answered all his 'bread and butter' questions such as where had I come from, what was I doing, what was the general performance of the Liberator or like. He then warmed to his point and asked me where, when, from what height and at what speed I had dropped the mines and how many I had dropped. I answered all of these questions. Then came the question to which he had been building up and that was how the mines worked. My answer was simple. I did not know. When this answer was translated for my interrogator he flew into a frenzy while all the others glared at me as if I were the devil himself.
The interpreter's task was a difficult one indeed. Before he had translated the first of the ravings, more were added at a higher pitch and volume. The message that came through to me was that we were Allies and the Russians had borne the brunt of the war against the worst tyrant in history and there was I purposely denying them vital information. When eventually I had the opportunity to speak, I explained that the mines were top secret, even in the Royal Navy, that our squadron armourers were not allowed to see them and that they were loaded into our bomb-bays by Royal Navy armourers and the bomb-doors shut. I ended by telling them that my orders were to carry the mines and drop them, not to design, build or maintain them. At that juncture the Royal Navy admiral and I were dismissed. Once we had arrived back at the admiral's office I asked him what the interrogation had been all about. He told me that the Russians had overrun quite a stretch of the Danube and that our mines, still being active, were blowing up Russian shipping. When I exclaimed that that news was the best that I had heard in months, the admiral agreed with me but added that I should not quote him.
The Airlift failed in its purpose but it served to cement a bond between Poles and South Africans based on mutual respect and sincere friendship. Evidence of this are the annual commemoration services arranged by our local Polish community. But there is further evidence, and in this lies a wonderful story. A letter from the Director of Information Services of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, tells of a selfless and public-spirited Pole, one Bronislaw Kowalski, who has, on his own initiative, and over a period of years, erected a shrine in the woods near the village of Michalin, some thirty kilometres south-east of Warsaw. The shrine marks the exact spot where a S.A.A.F. Liberator crashed in flames at midnight on 14/15 August 1944. It was erected to the memory of three airmen who died there that night, namely, Second Lieutenant R.G. 'Bob' Hamilton and Sergeants Leslie Mayes and Herbert Hudson. In his garden Kowalski built another shrine in which a light burns day and night and has done so over a number of years.
The remains of the three airmen had long before been moved to the military cemetery near Cracow where they are buried together with the other S.A.A.F., R.A.F. and Polish Air Force casualties in perfectly tended graves.

[bobbysocks]

Born in 1908, Gerben Sonderman served in the Dutch navy in 1929-1930. After that he learned to fly. He had considerable talent for that. IN 1935 he was accepted by the LVA (Dutch airforce) despite the fact that he was already 26. He became best known as chief testpilot for Fokker, where he tested all the new a/c, like the G.I, D.XXI, D.XXIII, T.V, T.IX etc. While being testpilot, he was still in the LVA, assigned to 3rd JaVA, flying G.I’s from Rotterdam Waalhaven.

On May 10th, at around 3.55h, He111’s attacked Waalhave airport. Gerben Sonderman was one of the 3 pilots “on alert”. Sonderman was already in his cockpit (G.I 311) when his gunner sgt. Holwerda arrived at the a/c. They had never met before, as Holwerda was just transferred to the 3rd Java the day before. Not knowing who the man was, Sonderman signaled Holwerda to take away the chocks. Sonderman immediately taxied away, giving Holwerda hardly the chance to climb in his seat. As soon as he had taken off, Sonderman found a Ju52 above him, which he shot down. As soon as he shot the Ju52, he got some Bf109E’s on his tail. His radio was shot to pieces, but Sonderman could maneuver out of his position and somehow managed to appear again behind the Bf109’s. One Bf109 was shot on fire, after which it fell into the Rotterdam Harbor.
Meanwhile, Holwerda in the back didn’t know what was happening. He was not used to Sonderman’s precise and brilliant way of flying. He was only able to brace himself and never fired the gun.
Sonderman was attacked again by many Bf109’s, but he managed to avoid them. One Bf109 did a head on pass on the G.I. Sonderman avoided collision and while doing so shot down this Bf109 as well.
Sonderman withdrew to save some ammunition and flew in formation with 2 other G.I’s (328 and 334). West of Rotterdam, Sonderman spotted a He111 which he attacked. The He111 made an emergency landing near Rockanje. (Sonderman never claimed this victory).
Waalhaven being occupied by German paratroopers, Sonderman had no choice then to land the G.I on the beach without fuel. There the aircraft was later destroyed by German bombing.

Sonderman didn’t fly again in may 1940. He got a special assignment to go to Belgium. Sonderman decided to stay in occupied territory and became later a major player in the Dutch resistance. of to After the war, he became Prince Bernhard’s personal pilot and also resumed his duties at Fokker. He made fame by his daring and precisely flown demo’s. While demonstrating the S.14 jet trainer for Rockwell in the USA, Gerben Sonderman died in a crash. It is speculated that he suffered from a bleeding in his brain, becoming unconscious, while performing a vrille.

Quotes:
Sonderman after the war about his flight:

"Someone took away the chocks and then stepped in…He probably was a radio operator, but he was only ballast. As the radio was broken and he didn’t fire a shot. I tried to get his attention by shaking the plane, but he stayed where he was and didn’t move. I thought he was killed and didn’t pay attention anymore. I was very surprised to see him stepping out of the plane after landing….. I still don’t know his name."

Sonderman received many awards. Amongst others:
The King’s medal for courage (GB)
Bronzen leeuw (NL)
Medal of freedom (USA)
Ridder in de order van Oranje Nassau (Knighthood, NL)