Stuka Pilot

It is getting on for July; our sorties are much more frequent and the planned local offensive in the area N. of Jassy is under way. Not with the invented number of tanks and later than the date of the original plan, but nevertheless with fresher troops than we have recently been used to. It is necessary to capture the whole plateau between the Pruth and Targul Frumos. It is an easier line to hold and its capture will also deprive the enemy of a favorable springboard for an assault. The whole front line in this sector is on the move and we succeed in pushing the Soviets back a considerable distance. By stubborn resistance they manage to hang on to several key points. They are lucky because local attacks intended to mop up these nests of resistance are never carried out. Some of our assault units which are thrown in, like a fire brigade, wherever the fighting is hottest have to be withdrawn. I fly my 2100th operational sortie in the course of this offensive. My target is a familiar one: the bridge at Sculeni, of vital importance to the supply line of the hard-pressed Soviets. Every time we come in to attack it from N. of Jassy it is already hidden by a smoke screen and we can never be sure of not dropping our bombs too close to our own front line. Each time I see the smoke screen I have to laugh, imagining the faces of the Ivans down below gazing up at our approach. It does not require a linguist to distinguish the one always recurring word: “Stuka-Stuka-Stuka.” Our days at Husi are numbered.

After a birthday party in my vineyard in the first half of July orders arrive for us to move to Zamosc in the central sector of the East Front. Here the Russians have launched a new large-scale offensive.

We arrive at this new operational base flying over the North Carpathians, over Stryj and by-passing Lemberg. Zamosc is a pretty little town, it makes a good impression. We are quartered in an old Polish barracks on the northern edge of the town. Our airfield itself lies rather far outside it and consists of stubble fields; the landing strip is narrow and at once causes a very regrettable accident. On his very first landing Warrant Officer W.’s aircraft pancakes and the pilot injures himself rather seriously. He is one of my best tank-snipers and it will be a long time before we have him with us again. Here again there is ample work for tankbusters, especially as the front lines are not stabilized but fluid. Break-throughs by tanks are the order of the day. We hold Kowel, but the Soviets have by-passed it and are endeavoring to cross the Bug. It is not long before their spearheads appear in the area N.W. of Lemberg—at Rawaruska and Towaszow, and at Cholm to the north. During this phase we have another move, this time to Mielec, a small Polish town sixty miles N.W. of Krakau. The aim of the Soviet advance is clear: they are trying to reach the Vistula on a comparatively wide front. Our targets are the oncoming masses of men and material now trying to cross the San to the north of Premysl. The fighter opposition is not to be underestimated as American fighters now more and more often put in an appearance after flying as escort to fourengined bomber formations. Originally they come from air bases on the Mediterranean. As we now have reasons to perceive, they do not return to base immediately on completion of the mission, but land on Russian territory to refuel. Then one day they come back on another mission and afterwards fly south to their starting base. On one sortie over the San I run into one such Mustang formation as I am already coming in to attack. There are nearly three hundred of them. I am flying with a formation of fifteen bombers without any fighter protection; we are still 23 miles from Jaroslaw, our target for today. In order not to endanger the squadron, and, above all, its several new crews, I give the order to jettison bombs so that we shall be better able to maneuver in the all too unequally matched air battle. I am reluctant to give this order; hitherto we have always attacked the target assigned to us, even in the face of great enemy superiority. This is the first time; it will also be the last until the end of the war. But today I have no choice.

So I bring my squadron home without loss and we are able to make up for our failure to carry out our mission the next day under more favorable conditions. Success justifies my action, for in the evening I hear that a neighboring unit suffered heavy losses from this huge formation of Mustangs. At midday a few days later while we are refueling we are again surprised by an American formation which immediately comes down to attack our aircraft. Our airfield defense is not strong and our A.A. gunners, at first taken by surprise, are slow in opening up on the attackers. The Americans had not reckoned with flak, and as it is certainly no part of their programmed not to return today, they turn away without any material success in search of easier prey.