by Eric Meyer
“We just flew past Vyaz'ma,” Tamara said. “I think we have about a hundred and fifty kilometers to go.”
“Understood.”
The Lavochkins had banked away and were now coming in at us from the starboard side, both of them abreast of each other. Again they started firing from too far out and I was able to fling the aircraft in a spiraling roll away from them as their volleys flew harmlessly past. I decided there was nothing to loose now. I selected the German military open frequency and began to transmit.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday. We are flying a Russian marked Ilyushin IL-4 westwards, heading for Smolensk. Under attack from two Soviet fighters, Lavochkin LaGG 3s, we urgently need assistance.”
I repeated the call twice more, but no voice replied, the radio was silent. I looked around for the enemy and realized with dismay that the fighters had finally worked out where our Achilles heel lay. They had dropped back two kilometers and were coming in low, a classic underbelly attack that would give us no opportunity to shoot back. I couldn’t see them any more and knew then that they were very close, I flung the aircraft around again in a tight bank and dived to the port side. Their bursts were closer this time, much closer. They were both using their machine guns and a score of bullets hit the fuselage, if they’d used the cannon they would have blown us out of the sky. I could only assume they were out of ammunition, perhaps they hadn’t had time to re-arm after a previous mission, if they were already low when they took off it was possible they only have had enough ammunition for one burst.
The Lavochkins banked around about a kilometer behind us and came in low again for their next attack. I looked around for some cloud that we could hide in, but the dawn sky was clear, there was nothing. It was going to be touch and go, if the Russian pilots had been experienced we would have been dead already. This time they were taking nothing for granted, they disappeared behind our tail and I corkscrewed violently but they were too fast, they followed the aircraft down, raking our fuselage with their machine guns. The IL-4 staggered and I sensed that this time we’d suffered a mortal hit. I lowered the flaps a fraction and brought us out of the dive while I still had the chance, then I throttled back and the fighters zoomed past. The controls felt sluggish and when I looked out of the port window, there was a wisp of smoke coming from the port engine. Abruptly it burst into flames, I cut the power and the fighters hurtled past me, surprised by the sudden change of speed. I had to kick on the rudder to correct the slewing of the aircraft to port and adjust the controls to try to compensate. The aircraft was mortally wounded, there was no doubt. Apart from the failed engine the control surfaces had been shredded, making any kind of maneuvering difficult. Ahead of us, the fighters were banking ready to come back and administer the coup de grace. I put the nose down and started to lose height, if we had any chance to get down on the ground I needed to take it. The Lavochkins were passing us now, about a mile away on the starboard side, ready to come in again and hit from behind and underneath where we couldn’t bring the guns to bear on them.
Tamara thrust the headset at me. “It’s someone speaking German!” she said excitedly.
I took the headset from her and put it on.
“Ilyushin IL-4, what’s a German doing flying a Russian aircraft?”
A German voice, but who were they, where were they?
“Whoever you are, we’re returning from a mission behind the Soviet lines, I am Obersturmfuhrer Roth leading a half platoon of Sonderbattalion Kurz. Don’t ask, it’s a long story. Best estimate is we are midway between Vyaz'ma and Smolensk, aiming for a landing at Smolensk. I assume we’re still holding the city?”
“Affirmative, IL-4. I didn’t know the SS knew how to fly,” the unknown voice chuckled. “We’re roughly ten kilometers from your position, can you hold on? We are a flight of three FW 190s.”
I rapidly did the math, at maximum speed they’d be with us in about a minute, it was fast, but I was flying a crippled aircraft under attack from two fighters, albeit with novice pilots.
“We’ll be here, don’t stop for a cold beer on the way.”
“I hear you, IL-4. Hang in there, good luck.”
I threw the IL-4 to one side, I didn’t dare to corkscrew again, we’d never get out of the maneuver. We’d just go into a spin that would fly us all the way into the ground. I put on as much bank as I dared and the aircraft started to turn just as the machine gun volleys hammered out from the fighters. Most their shots whistled past us but we were too slow, a score of their machine gun bullets tracked over the starboard wing and I saw pieces fly off the engine cowling. The next disaster followed quickly, the engine started to splutter and I fought to stay in the air. If the engine gave out I’d be lucky to get the Ilyushin down in one piece. I dropped even lower and searched for a place to land.
“They’re coming around again,” Blomberg said from the aft part of the fuselage.
“Very well. I’m going to try to put her down, all of you find something to hang onto, it’s likely to be a bumpy landing.”
“More fighters coming in, I can see three of them,” Hachmann shouted from the front gun.
“Don’t shoot, it could be they’re ours, Focke-Wulf 190s.”
They grew larger and sure enough, three Luftwaffe FW 190s took shape in front of us. The Russians hadn’t seen them, they’d peeled off and were still coming up behind us again for a final pass that would finish us off. They had to adjust their speed to ours, we were down to about 150 mph and the fighters would be careful to come up on us slowly so as to be able to rake us with their machine gun bullets.
They never had a chance, concentrating on us they didn’t see the FW 190s coming at them, there was a hammering noise as the 20mm cannon opened fire and sliced the Lavochkins apart. Both exploded in mid-air, sending flaming pieces of metal and flesh to the ground, now less than 1000 meters below. Just then, the starboard engine died and I switched off the ignition and fuel supply to prevent fire.
“IL-4, it looks as if you’re in trouble,” a voice said over my headset.
“I’ll try to land it, we’ve got a good chance of walking away thanks to you, Luftwaffe. We owe you a drink when we get back, who do we ask for?”
“Glad to help, Obersturmfuhrer. This is Major Klempt, Jagdgeschwader 27. We’re part of Luftflotte 2 attached to Army Group South. We’ll stay on station while you come down, just to make sure there are no Ivans trying to finish you off.”
“Thank you, Major. Out.”
I had to concentrate on bringing the bomber down. Ahead of me was a wide, flat field, there were no visible trees or buildings that would obstruct a landing. What I couldn’t judge was what lay hidden beneath the white blanket of snow. I had no idea if there were any other problems lurking beneath the smooth surface. There was no choice, I had to get her down. We dropped lower and lower, the only noise was the rush of wind outside the fuselage.
“Shouldn’t we put the wheels down?” Goethe asked in a worried tone.
“Not for this landing, we need to go in on the aircraft’s belly. The wheels would cause us to tip over, they’d just dig into the snow and find the smallest pothole to dig into. It’s this way or nothing. Make sure you’re strapped in.”
We hit the ground with a tremendous crash that vibrated through the airframe, it felt as if it was disintegrating. The aircraft slid along the ground like a giant sled, an eight tonne sled, we bumped and rocked across hidden obstacles in the ground but eventually came to rest.
“Everybody out, it could catch fire at any moment.”
“What about Vielberg’s body?” Goethe said.
“Leave him, we need to get away from here, this will be his tombstone.”
We clambered out of the stricken bomber, I had to urge them to keep moving away from the aircraft, it was as if they were leaving their personal place of safety, not a heap of metal, rubber and petrol that could explode at any moment. Around us, there was only open space, a rolling landscape of white snow. It was going to be cold, very
cold. Above us, the FW 190s of Major Klempt were still circling. The lead aircraft roared in low and a hand waved to us from the cockpit, then they were gone, probably low on fuel, we were on our own.
“We need to get away from here as fast as possible, the Russians will be heading this way already.”
“Which direction are we heading in” Goethe asked.
“West, Scharfuhrer. What else?”
“Is it far to Smolensk?”
“Not far, no.”
I didn’t tell them we still had sixty kilometers to travel, by my reckoning. We were in the middle of the Soviet Union on an open steppe in winter with no warm clothing or cold weather equipment. Our first priority would be to find shelter from the biting cold, the winter would kill us just as quickly as the Russians would.
“Let’s head out, the enemy will come to check the wreckage very soon, we need to be well away from here by then. Hachmann, look after that pack.”
“Don’t you worry, I will,” he sneered.
I looked significantly as Blomberg, who nodded. We struck out through the snow, I led and Goethe brought up the rear. We were in a long, straggling line, Tamara was close behind me, then Hachmann, Bishop Romanova, Wasser, Blomberg and Brenner. We walked for three hours and I estimated that it wasn’t far off midday. We had to have somewhere to shelter soon, we’d be lucky to survive much longer out in the open steppe, we’d certainly never survive the night. The adrenaline that had stoked our metabolism during the fight in the air was ebbing fast, we were cold, astonishingly cold, it sapped at the mind, at the will to go on. Without shelter we’d just die on the open steppe.
Then we had a stroke of luck, we came upon a track of hardened snow, it had obviously been traveled over recently, the snow was packed hard and lined with the corrugations that were the marks of truck tires. It made a huge difference to our speed, we were able to walk much quicker than when we’d been wading through deep snow, the disadvantage was that someone had obviously traveled over this track recently. It meant there could be more vehicles along, Red Army vehicles. Twenty minutes later a vehicle did come along, heading in the same direction as us, a supply truck. We had a chance to surprise him, all the driver would see at first was a line of Soviet troops in the familiar white snowsuits and sheepskin hats together with two civilians. We were well behind the lines, why should there be any Germans in this area? That would be crazy. The driver stopped and shouted something in Russian. I flinched as a shot rang out from behind me, the driver pitched over onto the passenger seat, dead. I looked around, it was Hachmann, his pistol still smoking.
“What the hell did you do that for?” I snapped at him.
“He was a Russian, it’s one less for us to kill.
“And one less for us to question about the whereabouts of the Soviet Army, it might have been helpful for us to get past the lines.”
He shrugged. “Too late for that now, but at least we have the truck.”
I swallowed my anger. “Goethe, get the dead driver out, you know how to hide the body.”
God knew we’d killed enough innocents in this war and on this mission. Hiding bodies had become almost automatic. The men dragged the Russian away and re-appeared a few minutes later. I told them to climb into the back of the truck, I got in the cab with Wasser in the driver’s seat and Tamara in the center. He looked at me for orders and I nodded.
“Drive west.”
We drove for two hours, in the distance we saw Soviet troops moving around, for part of the journey we even fell in with a Soviet convoy of infantry transports guarded by armored cars. Tanks were parked at intervals along the road and we kept our heads averted as we went past. They didn’t seem to see anything odd in the winter uniforms we were wearing. We reached a crossroads, an NKVD man was directing traffic forward towards Smolensk. Tamara said that a sign at the side of the road stated we were only ten kilometers from the city. In the distance we could see Soviet artillery lined up firing repeated salvos at the city so at least we knew it was still in German hands.
“Go right,” I said to Wasser.
“But we don’t know where it leads,” Wasser objected.
“It leads away from the army deployed in front of us, Wasser. Just do it.”
We were almost on the turning, he swung the wheel over and the truck skidded onto the new track. There was a chorus of shouts behind us but no shots were fired and no vehicles followed in pursuit. We were entering a town called Novoseltsy, really a bleak, industrial suburb of the city of Smolensk. Wasser halted next to a ruined factory, this area had been destroyed during the German advance on Moscow when it was burned as part of the Soviet scorched earth policy, fought over by the Germans and then won back by the Soviets. Most of the structure was just heaps of skeletal framework with a broken machines lying under the snow making a series of unusual lumps on the otherwise pristine white surface.
“Where do we go now, Sir?” Wasser asked.
“It’s simple, we need to find a route into the city,” I said with more confidence than I felt. He stopped the truck and I got out and went to the back. “I want everyone to stay inside, we’re moving again off shortly to find a route into the Smolensk, when we get near our lines we’ll go in on foot with a white flag. Hopefully they’ll let us through.”
They looked dubious, we were in an active battle zone, but if the obstacle of the Red Army wasn’t enough, we had further trouble finding something white to show to our own troops. Tamara solved the problem by ripping off part of her petticoat.
“I’ll give it to you back when we’ve finished with it.”
“Thank you, I wish all of our problems were so easily resolved.”
At least she smiled.
We had to leave before it got too dark for our troops to see the white flag. Wasser started the engine and drove slowly forwards, he found a narrow track that led between two abandoned factories, across an open space and into the yard of another burned out factory. About half a kilometer away I could see a Panzer III. A German tank. We were already within range of their main gun.
“It’s time to dismount, we’ll leave the truck and walk across so they can see us. We’d better strip off the snow camouflage and sheepskin caps so that they can see our uniforms.”
We climbed down, removed the hats and camouflage and put on our backpacks ready to leave. Two things happened in quick succession. Hachmann jumped out of the truck and ran up to me shouting that I’d stolen his backpack with the Robe in it. Then the truck engine started and it drove away at speed. I looked around, Wasser was driving, he’d gone.
“The fucking bastard stole my pack, Jesus Christ he’s got the Robe, shoot him someone, stop him.”
“And bring the Red Army down on our heads, Hachmann? There are about half a million men within five kilometers of this place.”
He shook in fury, his face was so red with anger I thought he was going to have a heart attack.
I ignored him and turned to the platoon. “We’d better move on while we have some daylight, I don’t know what Wasser is up to, he’s obviously going over to the Reds, perhaps he made a deal with them for the Robe. They’ll know we’re here and be on our tail anytime now, we’d better go.”
I led the way, we weren’t pursued and soon we arrived near to the Panzer III I’d seen from Novoseltsy. Machine guns and rifles were pointed at us through firing slits and I walked forward slowly, my hands held high. The rest of the men followed behind me. A suspicious army captain ordered us to walk into an area behind a concrete wall, out of sight of the Russian lines. A score of troopers fell on us and searched us, but we were wearing German uniform and they were soon satisfied that we weren’t a communist suicide squad. They were even more convinced when we showed them our papers and they let us lower our hands.
“What the hell were you doing over there, Obersturmfuhrer, and who are these civilians? Russians?”
I thought for a few moments, I didn’t want to make things any more difficult for Tamara and Bishop Romanova than
they could have been.
“We were on a secret mission under orders from Berlin, this young woman helped us as an interpreter. The priest was a part of the mission, a central part. This is Kriminalinspector Hachmann of the Gestapo, he is the direct representative of Reichsfuhrer Himmler. I’m sure he’ll explain it all to you.”
The captain’s face fell when he realized he had a Gestapo officer to deal with, but the two officers walked away and seemed to be talking quite amicably. Quite how Hachmann would explain losing the Robe to Himmler was not my business, I was only pleased that it wasn’t my responsibility. He would not be pleased. Bishop Romanova, however, was completely devastated.
“I vowed never to be parted from the Robe, to guard it with my life. Literally with my life. Now I have failed.”