I knew she was trying to sound reassuring for my own sake, but the tremor in her voice belied the optimism she put forth. I yawed my plane left and right, sliding the nose as far as I could without tumbling the aircraft so I could get a good view of what was behind me. The He-111s flew off in the distance, keeping their original heading, with the original two escorts flying loosely nearby. How smug they must have been, watching us play right into their trap.
Closer, some five hundred meters away, both Kareliya and Martyona fended off the Luftwaffe, but it was clear they were fighting a losing battle. The Messerschmitt pilots were taking turns making diving attacks, forcing my sisters-in-battle to burn altitude and speed to dodge the German’s sights.
“Two thirds left,” I mumbled, checking the fuel gauge mounted on the wing. That was more than enough to get me to Kamyshin where there was an auxiliary airfield we’d planned to refuel at on the way home. It was tempting to make a run for safety, but I didn’t want to see a girl who abandoned her sisters every time I looked in the mirror, and that wasn’t even considering what others would think of me.
I pulled on the stick and climbed, pushing past three thousand meters. With a gentle roll I brought my plane to bear on the dogfight. Martyona and Kareliya had sacrificed a lot in altitude and were making tight turns and staying together to keep each other clear. They didn’t have much more height to burn, and once they were skimming the treetops, they’d be easy pickings. But if I got there in time, the three of us had a decent chance to all go home, maybe even send the Germans running if we flew well enough.
Two 109s from up high began another diving attack. I was too far away to stop it, and all I could do was scream. “Two more coming! Break! Break! Break!”
“Nadya, I told you to return to base!” Martyona shot back at me. “Do as you’re ordered!”
I didn’t.
I pushed the throttle as far as it would go. At that setting, the engine guzzled fuel and would be running on fumes in short order. I took aim at one of the 109s that had just started its dive, and even though I was about four hundred meters away, I opened fire with both cowl-mounted machine guns.
Orange tracers streaked through the air. They didn’t come close to hitting their target, but since they flew in front of the German, they produced the desired effect. The 109 pulled out of its dive and rolled away to avoid my fire. I followed the enemy fighter up into a shallow and banking climb, spraying bullets once more. Most missed, but I managed to pepper the German’s tail. Tiny pieces of fuselage broke off, and in my excitement, I pushed the trigger to my cannon.
The 20mm ShVAK cannon sprang to life, belching flame and large shells that could punch through an engine block or explode a fuel tank with a single hit. My plane shuddered from the recoil as I held down the button, hoping for a kill. The shots failed to connect. Worse, I was about to overshoot my target and thus put myself directly into his crosshairs.
I pulled up and rolled my plane to keep my speed high, and then pulled the nose of my aircraft back down to meet him. Within a split second, my enemy realized what had happened and began rolling and pulling his nose into my maneuver. Over and over we went, like a pair snakes wrapping around each other in a corkscrew fashion, each trying to get the other to overshoot, each trying to score the kill. With every roll we made, our planes grew closer.
In a span of a few heartbeats, I could see every marking on the pilot’s plane, from the red letter “U” with a set of wings on one side and inscribed in a shield that labeled the pilot as being part of the Jagdgeschwader Udet unit, to the bright yellow eight painted over the rear of the fuselage, to the white tallies on the tail. My breath left me when I saw those. There had to be twenty victory markers painted on the right side alone. Each one represented a plane he had shot down. I hadn’t picked a fight with a fresh, scared pilot like myself. I’d picked one with a proven ace at least four times over.
Our planes continued to jockey for position. My rolls became slower and slower. The muscles in my arms and shoulders strained more and more. Each pass we made gave him an edge and me notice my life was now measured in seconds. I realized it wasn’t only my inexperience that was about to get me killed. The damage to my right wing had given my enemy more than enough advantage for him to exploit, too. My plane wouldn’t respond as fast as his no matter how skilled I was.
“Damn it, Nadya,” Martyona said over the radio. “Why didn’t you leave when you were told?”
I swallowed hard as the German ace and I rolled by once again. I could see his sharp, unshaven face this time as our canopies nearly brushed by. I could see the shark-like grin he wore. We both knew what was about to happen. “I’m a stubborn boar,” I said. The calmness in my voice surprised me. At least I’d die a heroic death.
On the next roll, I overshot my enemy. I continued until I was upside down and then yanked on my stick for all I was worth. Pain erupted in my arms and back, and I was convinced the sinews were pulling themselves apart. The G’s slammed me in my seat, and I held the tight maneuver as long as I could.
My vision darkened. Yells, orders, chatter on the radio faded to nothing. Exhausted, I let go of the controls. My plane leveled. My senses returned.
“Nadya break!”
Before I could react, my plane exploded.
Chapter Two
Fire ripped through the cockpit like it was made of flash paper. Flames licked my leather jacket and pants, and found my hands and neck with glee. Thick black smoke poured from my engine, blinding me to everything. I choked on the billowing clouds, and even protected by my goggles, my eyes watered. Worst of all, the smell of scorched metal and burning fuel filled my nostrils.
My ears took in the shrieks of a woman desperate not to die. Momentum slammed me into the side of the cockpit as the plane spun out of control. I fought with my canopy and managed to get it open. The instant it slid back, I unfastened my lap belt and was thrown clear of the fire-trailing wreck.
My training kicked in the moment I kissed fresh air. I arched my body for all it was worth, and my fall stabilized to a belly-to-earth position. I pulled the ripcord to my parachute, and when my silk savior blossomed round, I was sitting in the harness less than three hundred meters above the earth. God that was close. A few seconds’ hesitation and I would’ve made a quaint crater.
Descending, I knew I wasn’t out of the woods yet. There were still plenty of ways to die before I reached friendly lines. I ignored the pain in my hands and neck as best I could and got my bearings. A large plume of smoke rose from the ground a little over a half a kilometer away, and I could see burning debris scattered around it. Above and to my right, a Yak-1 fought against a pair of 109s. Both groups exchanged tracers, but only the Yak streamed white coolant against the orange evening sky.
The chatter of machine guns came from behind. I twisted in my harness and saw another 109 with a Yak firmly latched on its tail taking shots as they both weaved left and right. The two planes flew by, and in that split second, I identified them both. Martyona was hot on the German ace’s tail. My wing leader’s aerial acrobatics rivaled any seraphim’s, and I was thrilled to have front row seats for when she knocked him out of the sky. His plane was already leaking fluids.
The German climbed and rolled, and Martyona easily followed, but as she chased him into another tight corner, she suddenly overshot. My heart stopped as a burst of cannon fire spewed from the Messer’s nose. Chunks flew from the tail and left wing of Martyona’s plane. Her fighter tumbled, and before she could recover, the German fired yet again and sheared off her wing.