by Anne Noggle
When the women pilots were protecting a particular area and there were no enemy planes, they could fly two or three missions in a day. But when there was a dogfight, the maneuvers and steep dives made the blood come from the ears-there was a blood overload. Under these conditions they could only fly one mission; the men could fly more.
Galina Burdina was on duty, readiness one, in the cockpit, and on our field in Hungary was a Romanian squadron, because by that time the Romanians had surrendered and were fighting on our side. One of them saw Galina in the cockpit-she was a very beautiful girl-in her helmet with the curls of hair showing, and the pilot said, "I saw her over Korsun-Shevchenkovski." That was when we were bombing the cargo planes of the Romanians and Germans on an airfield, and one of the pilots was Galina. They flew very low, and this pilot could see a girl with curly hair and a beautiful face in the cockpit, and the pilot said, "I saw a woman pilot when she flew by," and nobody believed him at that time. Then in Hungary at the airdrome he recognized her curly hair, because he had memorized her in those few seconds!
During the battles near Zhitomir town there was a lot of night bombing-fascist raids-and it was very difficult for our fighters to find the target aircraft at night, even though they were guided. At night, when the planes were taking off or landing, the spotlight flashed for just a second to show them the direction, but there were some lights along the runway. We on the ground were fascinated by the view. On the one hand we realized it was dangerous to carry out missions at night, but on the other it was a remarkably spectacular performance. It was as if a huge prehistoric dinosaur were swinging its wings, with burning, gigantic eyes sparkling here and there in complete darkness, only stars twinkling in the sky. The lights along the runway were blue, and they were switched off after landing.
In another instance near Saratov, the Germans tried to bomb a bridge across the Volga. Komyakova shot down one aircraft, and after that no Germans appeared in the sky for some time. Some of the missions were to escort some very important person, for example, Nikita Khrushchev, who was at that time the First Secretary of the Ukrainian Communist Party and a member of the military council of the Ukrainian front. When he was flying from Moscow to Stalingrad, the pilots from my regiment escorted his transport plane. At that time the Germans had air superiority at Stalingrad. The German planes were flying all around our airfields, and in the daytime it was impossible to take off or land. They would fly for about one and onehalf hours and then leave to refuel, and other German aircraft didn't arrive right away. The Russian planes would then use this short interval to land and take off. When our pilots took off from this airfield they still had others at their disposal, so if the runway was blocked they flew to another airfield.
When the girls from my regiment were going to fly to Stalingrad, everyone realized they could meet their death there. I remember their faces at that time, beaming with happiness. They were at last to fly to the front to fight the hated enemy, and they were saying, 'At last our dream came true." I will remember that forever!
I always keep in touch with my friends-it is for the last day of my life.
Senior Sergeant Anna Shibayeva, mechanic of armament
I was born in 1917 near Moscow, together with the revolution! I worked at a plant as an expert in medical equipment. When the war broke out I voluntarily joined the army. I knew nothing about aviation before the war. I was selected by Marina Raskova to join the women's regiment as a mechanic of armament. I was trained in Engels with the other girls and then assigned to the 586th Fighter Regiment. I served in that regiment until the very last day of the war, and the pilot of our crew was Zoya Pozhidayeva, and the aircraft was the Yak fighter.
After the war I went back to the plant and retired last year from the same position I held before the war.
My husband was killed in the war. We had no children, I never remarried, and I live alone. But I have very many sisters from my regiment.
Lieutenant Klavdiya Pankratova, pilot, commander of the formation
I was born in the Crimea in 1916, but later on I moved to the Ukraine. I was admitted to glider school and then graduated as an instructor. Later I entered the Kherson Aviation School and received the rank of lieutenant. I had only excellent marks, and that is why I was given the rank of lieutenant before the war. I graduated in 1938, so I was twentytwo years old. I then began working as an instructor-pilot preparing the cadets for the air forces. The chief of our flying school went to Moscow and learned about Raskova's regiments. He returned and told me that he had lost me to Raskova's regiment, having blurted out that he had a woman instructor in his school. My cherished dream was to become a fighter pilot.
When I joined the 586th Fighter Regiment (Air Defense), my duties were to escort other aircraft and to work in air defense. In about 1943 1 became a night fighter. It was difficult because the ground areas were not lighted, the sky was absolutely black, and I flew by intuition. I could see, not very clearly, some black spots in the air and shot at them, and I couldn't even see where I was shooting! There were nights when we had to repulse the attack of the fascist bombers, and the sky was black with aircraft and no lights at all.
I lived with the feeling that I was doomed to live in the air, and when an air attack began, I was eager to fight. One time we were prepared to take off on a mission, and we took off across the runway instead of down the runway. While the first aircraft succeeded in the takeoff, mine flew into the pillbox at the side of the runway, and the plane was destroyed. When it hit the pillbox, it came apart completely and exploded on the ground.
Once a male pilot and I were assigned a mission. We took off in our two fighters and had a battle with German Junkers, Ju-88s, and I shot down one of the bombers while I was fighting. The German aircraft I shot down exploded, and no one got out. I lost contact with my wingman; the weather conditions were very bad, and he just disappeared. When I landed at our airdrome he was there, but he had to land at several places before arriving at our home base because he had lost his orientation. My own map holder was blown away while I was fighting, but I flew back by instinct and memory.
When we took off at night I knew that the only way to survive was to be ice inside, to feel absolutely nothing, to concentrate, to focus only on the mission. To fight at night had to be by intuition, because we could actually see very little. The takeoffs and landings were extremely difficult-no lights, no guidance. When we returned to our field we were allowed for a short time to turn on one landing light. You needed to be psychic or have a sense of the situation to know where the ground and runway were. Before a flight I had to think over everything, every detail of the procedures.
Early on in my flying, in the glider school where I began, I had to compete with the men, but I never felt inferior to a man, never, and I also knew if I were to perform in something I would do it even better than a man!
In the regiment I was the most frank, open, and lively girl. I was always full of humor, the first to be merry, and my sisters in the regiment constantly asked me to sing songs, tell a story, dance, but life changes a personality drastically. Now it's difficult to believe that I was a ringleader in the regiment.
Once four of us were ordered to fly to the Kursk Bulge, to support the ground troops there. There were four aircraft: two commanders of the formation-I was one of them-and two commanders of the squadron. When we were returning from that mission we flew in two pairs, and I saw that the other pair was taking a different course or route, so I decided to show them the right course. I approached them twice and wagged my wings-we had no air-to-air radio contact-and then I returned back on course, but they wouldn't follow me. After the second attempt to get them to turn to the right heading, we left them and returned to base. Later we learned that one of them made a belly landing, and the other flipped over while landing. The com mander of our regiment reprimanded me for not bringing the other two aircraft back with us. I asked him, "How could I have done that, could I have tied them with a rope to my aircraft and returned
them here?"
Pilot Klavdiya Pankratova in a Yak-9 fighter, 586th regiment
We were normally sent in pairs on a reconnaissance flight, but for some reason that I did not understand, I was always sent alonealone without a prayer. One day I was given the mission to reconnoiter the area near Kursk, and I flew there and met another of our fighters, a man who was also without a wingman. He turned to me and said, "Brother, let's fly together." I growled out something indecipherable to him on the radio, being afraid to be recognized as a woman, accepting his offer. So we flew in a pair and fought as a pair, and I protected him in an attack on a Messerschmitt. When the fight was over, I decided to break away and finish the reconnaissance work assigned to me. He never knew I was a woman; we never saw each other's face.
In the four years of the war I was a night fighter, and I knew that in order to survive there should be no one on my tail, no fascist aircraft there. I always looked back, first over one shoulder and then the other, constantly watching behind my plane. When the war was over and I was walking down the street, I couldn't move without fear of someone behind me, a danger, a fear I carried with me from the war.
I had a very unpleasant experience with the commander of the regiment. I never tried to teach morals to anyone, but I was two or three years older than our commander, and I sometimes taught the girls how to do this and that, and he didn't like it. In the air I was constantly sent alone, not in a pair, and I always returned. The male commander didn't like my skillfulness; he didn't like me. And in 1947 he crossed my name off the list of those in our regiment who were to be awarded the Order of the Great Patriotic War, first grade, for deeds at the front. And he assigned me to night fighters where you flew alone always, never in a pair. Later on I was given another order, the Order of the Great Patriotic War, second grade, but I never saw the first grade.
It was impossible to locate the enemy aircraft at night to shoot them down, except when they were caught in a searchlight. Our fighters replaced one another; one took off and the other landed, and they alternated all night long. One night I was loitering in the area over Kiev, and I was caught by the searchlights. The German aircraft began shooting at me, and my plane was trembling but no shell penetrated it. I was swinging it back and forth like a leaf falling to escape the lights and the firing.
I flew 168 combat missions. I shot down a German fascist aircraft, a Ju-88. I also flew the P-39 Airacobra and the English Spitfire. I was the only Soviet woman pilot who did that. It all happened because at the end of the war, I married a fighter pilot and was transferred to his regiment, where all of the fighter aircraft were American and English; I married into the regiment. My husband and I flew in that regiment together for a year. I have a strong belief that it doesn't matter whether it is a woman or a man at the controls; a woman can he a military pilot, she can fulfill combat missions if a misfortune like war falls upon the heads of the people of a country.
And then it came to who should retire. It was not the men, of course; I was made to retire, and I didn't want to. Later I wanted to go into civil aviation, but they hated fighter pilots; they didn't take me. So I had to quit flying.
Senior Sergeant Zinaida Butkaryova-Yermolayeva, parachute packer
I was born in a village, and my parents were peasants. In 1931 my relatives who lived in Moscow decided to take me to live with them. It was the time of collectivization in the Russian countryside, known for its peasant riots and massive annihilation of farmers resisting this hated policy. It was dangerous to live in a Russian village at that time. So I came to Moscow and lived for some time with my relatives there, and then I went to the textile factory. I was under seventeen at that time; I worked there for five years. There was a campaign in the country to work as much as you could, to achieve outstanding results in labor, and I was one of those who joined this movement. The factory was a weaving mill, and I was a weaver.
I was fond of sports, and when the war started I was young and single, and I usually took the night shift at the factory. I lived in a dormitory, and I saw a note pinned on my bed that said, Zinaida, you should come to the drafting office. I was sent to the office of the Central Committee, and they told me to come back the next day to be sent to the front. I said I had to work in my factory. I was told I should quit the factory and be there the next day. We were all in a patriotic mood at this time, and I said I would go to the front with pleasure.
On September 11, 1941, we came to the Airforce Academy here in Moscow where the women gathered. They gave us military uniforms and high boots, and during the night we went to bomb shelters because the Germans were bombing Moscow. We met there with Marina Raskova, and then we were sent to Engels to the flying school. We all studied everything about the aircraft, and at the end of six months we were assigned a specialty.
I was appointed parachute packer, and I was very disappointed because I wanted to work on the aircraft. My commander was a major of the parachute section, and he tried to calm me, but I started crying. We had a field tent with a long table of fifty square meters where I could pack the parachutes. The rule was that before the packers started their work, they must first make some jumps. Of course there was no great desire to jump, but we considered it a duty. So I put on this parachute, and I had another parachute, a reserve one; I got into the cockpit, and we climbed to goo meters.
The pilot told me to get ready. There is a cord from the pilot to the parachute so if you are not balanced enough, or freeze up and don't pull the ring yourself, it will open. I asked permission to get out of the cockpit and to stand on the wing. I climbed out on the wing, the pilot decreased the speed of the plane, I held onto the cockpit with my left hand, got ready, and asked the pilot which leg I should jump from. He told me either. I took the ring in my hand, and the pilot said jump, so I jumped and pulled the ring, but it was too difficult to pull. Then I took both hands and pulled it again, and then came the shock of the parachute opening. I felt something sliding off my leg; it was one high boot and then my sock, and I landed with one boot and one bare foot. Then everyone started laughing! I made three jumps in all.
When one of our aircraft was shot down and the pilot jumped with the parachute I had packed, I felt proud because it was also the result of my job that the pilot got down safely. For my good work I was given a medal. Every day I checked the parachutes that were in the cockpits. The minimum altitude for jumping was about two hundred to three hundred meters; otherwise, the pilot would hit the ground before the parachute completely opened.
I was at the airdrome whenever the planes were flying, and at times the Germans bombed our field. All of the airdrome personnel lived in dugouts underground and slept on bunks. In the winter it was so cold when you awakened in the morning that sometimes your hair was frozen to the wood of the beds; but you could hardly call them beds, because they were some thin logs with mattresses on them. We wore men's uniforms, trousers, and underwear. Our ration was a soldier's, and the pilots had their own rations.
Once at Voronezh city, where the military situation was very grave and the Germans were massively advancing, the logistics battalion couldn't bring us our rations for three days. We had no other food; we lived on herring, so we survived. When we were stationed near the villages we would exchange tobacco, cigarettes, bread, and sugar for milk, sour cream, eggs, and butter and sometimes meat. We seldom had meat, only cooked soup bones.
When we moved to another airdrome, a cargo aircraft with mechanics, ammunition, and some instruments was first to go, and sometimes our pilots took the mechanic into the cockpit of the fighter aircraft. There was some space inside the fuselage, and the mechanics flew with the pilots in that manner. It was forbidden, of course, but the front is the front. I had duty also at the command post of the regiment and in the officers' mess. I enjoyed that duty because I was close to the food. But we adjusted ourselves to the wartime food and seldom felt hungry.