At precisely 8:05, a single flare launched into the air, signaling that it was time for us to depart. Even this far behind lines, no one wanted to risk an early radio intercept on such an important day.
My mood lifted when I took off from the runway. I pulled back on the stick as far as I dared in eagerness to soar with the eagles. The plane’s climb was steep enough to sour any veteran’s stomach. It was a tiny miracle I didn’t stall the plane and crash, but as this flight would be historic for so many reasons, I was going to enjoy every second. I also wanted to show off my cross, so I made a low-level barrel roll over the airfield for everyone to see.
“Little Boar, stop playing.”
“Acknowledged,” I replied, even though I didn’t care in the least. I glanced over my shoulder. Klara saddled behind me about fifty meters to my seven o’clock. “On me, Klara?”
“On you.”
Her voice was calm, focused, like she sounded when she was working on an engine or remounting a machinegun. It helped me relax as we traveled west. “Watch those skies,” I said, despite needing to keep chatter non-existent. “I don’t care how empty they look or how overstretched the Luftwaffe are. Only takes one to catch us off guard and ruin our day.”
“Understood.”
“Remember to keep your speed up in a fight, but don’t be afraid of G’s. And don’t shoot until you’re sure of the shot. Ammunition goes quick up here. If they don’t see you and you’re close, don’t let off the trigger until you see flames.”
Klara’s laugh blasted over the radio, music to my soul. “You trying to teach me everything you know over the next ten minutes?”
“I’m only passing on tidbits that could save your life.”
“Well, here’s something I’m going to pass on,” she said. “I hate this plane.”
I chuckled at the unexpected remark and feigned a deep hurt. “What? We’re flying the same one. You always said you loved my fighter.”
“I do love your fighter. I hate this one. It’s fresh from the factory and barely broken in,” she said. “I don’t know a thing about its personality.”
“Guess you’ll have fun discovering it,” I said. “Be sure to give it a paint job that reflects it.”
“Like your cross?”
Her tone was curious, but it held an edge of shock. “You don’t have to have one if you don’t like,” I replied. “But I like my cross. It’s from the Knights Hospitaller.”
“I know what it is. Why do you want it?”
“I admire who they were,” I said. “Their strength, their unwavering trust in God in a world that made no sense, and if I’m going into mortal combat, I think they’re admirable role models.”
“If you say.” She sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t have painted something so against the Motherland. People will wonder about you, but I guess it’s your choice.” The conversation died for a moment, and Klara picked it up before I replied. “Nadya, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk to you like that. My nerves are getting the best of me.”
“You’re doing better than I did my first time. When we get home, you’ll laugh looking back.”
We zipped over the frozen landscape for another ten minutes before the radio crackled to life. It was the tower from Anisovka. “Little Boar, be advised, Code Siren has been ordered.”
This was it then. The command to launch the attack had been given. I couldn’t begin to imagine what was happening on the ground, but going by earlier talks with Gridnev, the response must have been on a massive scale like no other.
I rolled my shoulders and stretched both arms to loosen up for battle. Fog still blanketed the ground, and I wondered if the pilots we’d be escorting would be able to see their targets.
It wasn’t long before we rendezvoused with Sparrow flight—the group of planes we were to protect—about twenty kilometers north of The Don. The Ilyushin Il-2s were single-engine, ground-attack fighters and a bane of the German armies. Each plane bristled with 23mm cannons and 7.62mm machine guns, as well as a rear gunner. On top of those, each also carried full racks of bombs. Truly they brought hell’s fury to the battlefield, and their legendary toughness helped to ensure they’d wreak havoc on enemy lines and live to tell about it. They were more than enough to obliterate our targets, provided Klara and I could keep them alive.
“Glad to have you with us, Little Boar,” their flight leader said. “Keep us clear and we’ll do the rest.”
Our flight crossed The Don shortly before nine. The fog had thinned, and the sight we were greeted with stole my breath. The Red Army swarmed the ground like ants with countless tanks and a thousand times that in men, all driving toward the Romanian lines. Fresh craters filled the landscape, a testament to an artillery barrage that had rained down on the enemy with the wrath of an angry god. Smoke rose from the earth and burning vehicles.
“Do you think anyone survived that?” Klara asked, her words mirroring my thoughts.
“I don’t see how anyone could have.”
We’d barely passed over our own troops when tracers leapt from the ground toward us. They appeared to bend away at the last moment, an optical illusion due to our speed and the gunners not adequately leading their shots. I brought my plane up a few hundred meters. There was no reason for us to be low at this point, and a lucky cannon shell would ruin our day like dynamite ruined a house of cards. “Popping up to cover.”
My eyes scanned the area, searching for hungry Luftwaffe pilots. I also kept tabs on where we were headed with equal intensity. I suppose I should have left navigation to our targets up to the boys in the Il-2s, but with Gridnev’s adamant statement that these guns had to be destroyed at all costs, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance, including our escorted pilots getting lost.
“I can’t make out anything,” one of Sparrow’s pilots said. “Where’s their damn artillery?”
“Hard to say with all the fog,” Sparrow Leader replied. “We should be having breakfast with the ground crews by now. Wide circle left. Little Boar, can you see anything up there?”
“Just anti-air,” I said. Surely those guns would be near our targets. What else would they be protecting?
“I think I’ve got them. East, about four kilometers away,” Klara said.
I turned my head right and found what she’d spotted. Underneath a small row of trees were at least six guns in a loose row at the top of a small hill. Next to them were trucks, and a little way off were some vehicles I assumed towed more anti-air. Even from a distance, the artillery looked imposing. I could only imagine what they looked like up close. The second I spotted them, all six fired. The flashes from their muzzles made me say a quick prayer for those who’d be receiving those shells.
I put my plane high and left of the Il-2 formation, proud of my wingman. “Nice work, Klara,” I said. “Sparrow flight, do you have eyes on target?”
“Copy, Little Boar. We’re starting our attack.”
I watched the Il-2s make a tight circle near to the ground. I knew I should have been scanning the sky, but a morbid curiosity kept me engrossed on the Il-2s. “Keep watching the skies,” I told Klara, figuring she’d be enough for the next few moments. “Can’t afford to let any fascist pilots slip in now.”
“I am. I am,” she said. Her voice sounded irritated, as if I were a parent nagging her for the umpteenth time to tend to chores already being done.
The anti-air fire intensified as the boys made their run. One of the trailing Il-2s took a hit to the wing and then three more to the fuselage. Black smoke poured from its nose, and fire spread down its side. My gut tightened for the crew. The pilot kept his plane on course with the others, and I watched in equal parts awe and horror as all four planes dumped their ordnance on the Romanian forces. Sixteen explosions in all sent up large plumes of snow and debris.