Stuka Pilot

I detail my requirements in bombs, petrol and ammunition. If they are not satisfied it is a matter of days before I shall cease to be able to operate. In his own interest he promises to see that the matter receives priority attention. I explain to him what possibilities I see for the use of my formation, basing my views on the picture he has given me of the position here.

I leave Ordensburg Krossinsee at 4.30 A.M. knowing that in two hours time I shall already be flying above this sector. From now on the Stukas are out without a pause the whole day long. Our aircraft are painted with the emblem of the German Order of Chivalry, for now, as six centuries ago, we are engaged in a battle with the East. Intensely cold weather has set in, a powdery snow lies on the airfield an inch and a half deep in places; when we take off this snow dust is blown into the mechanism of the cannon of our antitank aircraft and ices up as soon as we are airborne. After firing one or two rounds the cannon jam when we are on the target. I feel an agony of frustration. There are the Russian armored columns advancing into Germany and when we come in to the attack in the face, at times, of a very strong defense what happens?

Nothing comes out of our cannon. One has half a mind to crash the aircraft onto the tank in sheer desperation. We come in again and again for another try—it is hopeless. This happens to us at Scharnikau, at Filehne, at many places. The T 34s race on westward. Sometimes a single shot is enough to blow up a tank, but more often not. Most valuable days are lost before I finally get enough labour to have the runway more or less cleared of snow. The enormous numbers of tanks make one’s hair stand on end. We fly to all points of the compass; if the day were three times as long it would be too short. The co-operation of our fighter squadron in this area is excellent; they react to every fresh reconnaissance report from us—”The enemy’s advance guard is at this point or that.” In a joint operation east of Deutsch Krone we are able to inflict considerable losses on the Soviets, also at Schloppe in the forest regions lying south of it. When the tanks are in a village they generally drive into the houses and try to conceal themselves there. Then one can only spot them by a long pole projecting from the front of the house; this pole is the barrel of their gun. Behind them the house is open and as it is unlikely that any Germans are still living in these houses we come in from behind and fire into the engine. No other method of attack is feasible. The tanks catch fire and blow up into the air with the ruins of the houses. If the crew is still alive they sometimes attempt to drive the blazing tank out into fresh cover, but in that case it is indeed lost because the tanks are then assailable in every vulnerable place. I never drop bombs on villages even if it is militarily expedient, for I shudder at the thought of hitting the German inhabitants with our own bombs when they are already exposed to the Russian terror.

It is a dreadful thing to be flying and fighting above our homes, the more so when one sees what masses of men and material are pouring into our country like a flood. We are no more than a boulder, a small obstruction but unable to stem the tide. The devil is now gambling for Germany, for all Europe. Invaluable forces are bleeding to death, the last bastion of the world is crumbling under the assault of Red Asia. Of an evening we are more exhausted by this realization than by the incessant operations of the day. Stubborn refusal to accept this fate and the determination that “this must not happen” keep us going. I would not like to have to reproach myself for having failed to do everything within my power till the eleventh hour to stave off the appalling, menacing spectre of defeat. I know that every decent young German thinks as I do.

South of our sector the situation looks very grim. Frankfurt-on-the-Oder is threatened. So overnight we get the order to move to Fürstenwalde which brings us nearer to the critical sector. A few hours later we are flying in the operation area Frankfurt—Küstrin. The spearheads of the Soviet advance have reached the Oder on the outskirts of Frankfurt. Further north Küstrin is encircled and the enemy is wasting no time in his efforts to establish a bridgehead at Göritz-Reitwein on the west bank across the frozen river.