Stuka Pilot

One day, like the Prussian cavalry general Ziethen three hundred years ago, we are in battle east of Frankfurt above historic soil. Here a small German force has been surrounded by Soviet tanks. We attack them and those tanks which have not immediately caught fire try to escape across the open country. We come in at them time and again. Our comrades on the ground who had already given themselves up as lost leap for joy, throwing their rifles and steel helmets into the air and heedless of over pursue the fleeing tanks. Our fire put every one of them out of action. We in the air have for once the exhilaration of witnessing our success. After all the tanks have been captured I prepare a container and scribble a message of congratulations to our comrades from the Wing and me. I circle round very low and drop the container with some chocolate at their feet. The sight of their grateful, happy faces will steel us for the difficult operations ahead of us and spur us on to fresh, unremitting efforts to relieve our brothers-in-arms.

Unluckily the first days of February are very cold; at many places the Oder is frozen so hard that the Russians are able to cross the river. For stability they lay planks on the ice and I often see vehicles driving over them. The ice does not seem to be strong enough yet to bear the weight of tanks. As the Oder front is still in flux and there are gaps in the line where there is not one German soldier to oppose them, the Soviets are successful in establishing several bridgeheads, one, for example, at Reitwein. Our Panzer forces which are brought up too late arrive to find a strong enemy already lodged with heavy artillery on the west bank of the Oder. His crossing places are powerfully protected by flak from the first day. Ivan is accurately informed of our presence in this sector. My orders are to destroy all bridges day after day so as to delay the enemy and to give us time to bring up reinforcements and material from the rear. I report that at the moment this is more or less pointless, because it is possible to cross the Oder almost anywhere. The bombs crash through the ice, leaving relatively small holes, and this is the sum total of our achievement. I am, for attacking only recognized enemy targets on both sides of the river or the traffic crossing it, but not the so-called bridges of which in point of fact there are none. What look like bridges on aerial photographs are really the tracks of feet and vehicles on the ice; these and the planks laid between them to simulate bridges. If we bomb these tracks Ivan simply crosses the ice to the side of them. This is clear to me from the very first day because I have flown over them at low level countless times and, besides, this trick is nothing new to me, I know it from the Don, the Donetz, the Dniester and other Russian rivers.

So disregarding the order I concentrate my attacks on genuine targets on either bank: tanks, vehicles and artillery. One day a general sent from Berlin turns up and tells me that reconnaissance photographs always show new bridges.

“But,” he says, “you do not report that these bridges have been destroyed. You must keep on attacking them.”

“By and large,” I explain to him, “they are not bridges at all,” and when I see him contort his face into a question mark an idea occurs to me. I tell him that I am just about to take off, I invite him to sit behind me and promise to give him practical proof of this. He hesitates for a moment, then observing the curious glances of my junior officers who have heard my proposition with some glee, he agrees. I have given the unit a standing order to attack the bridgehead, I myself approach the objective at the same low level and fly from Schwedt to Frankfurt-on-the-Oder. At some points we encounter quite respectable flak and the general soon admits that he has now seen for himself that the bridges are in fact tracks. He has seen enough. After landing he is as pleased as Punch that he has been able to convince himself and can make his report accordingly. We are quit of our daily bridge chore. One night Minister Speer brings me a new assignment from the Führer. I am to formulate a plan for its execution. Briefly, he tells me:

“The Führer is planning attacks on the dams of the armament industry in. the Urals. He expects to disrupt the enemy’s arms production, especially of tanks, for a year. This year will then give us the chance of exploiting the respite decisively. You are to organize the operation, but you are not to fly yourself, the Führer repeated this expressly.”