Fragments of wreckage from the artillery were still in the sky when the damaged Il-2 disintegrated. My body numbed, and I banked to watch the fireball slam into the ground. I told myself the crew was dead long before it hit, but I didn’t believe it. I’d been in a plane like that, and Death took its time.
I distracted myself by inspecting what was left of the Romanian artillery. The area looked as if God Himself had driven an angry fist into the land several times over. Craters marred the rise, and both guns and trucks were overturned and shattered. The only signs of life I could see were two men scrambling down the hill. “Sparrow, they’re done for. I suggest moving on.”
“Copy,” Sparrow Leader replied. “Moving to secondary targets now.”
Klara and I followed the Il-2s as they changed course. Our next target was a direct-support fuel depot. Prior recon had shown it had a pair of field guns near the fuel tanks. The twin 23mm cannons each Il-2 sported would make short work of such a soft target. With no German air to protect them, I pitied those on the ground as much as I hated their invasion.
“Little Boar, this is Stag. Luftwaffe is incoming from the south.”
I cursed under my breath for foolishly thinking they’d never show up. They’d never leave us unchallenged, no matter how thinly spread they were.
“I don’t see them,” Klara said with a nervous edge.
“Sparrow, we’re climbing to fifteen hundred meters, still escorting,” I said as my plane responded to my desires. “Recommend not sticking around longer than we must.”
“I agree, Little Boar. We’ll dump and run.”
I soon found the road we were to follow to the southeast. The depot was no more than a couple of minutes away. As the five of us sped toward our target, my eyes went back to the sky. It didn’t take long to spot the yellow-nosed 109 shooting across the landscape.
“Vis on a Messer low, one o’clock,” I announced to the others. “He’s headed straight for us.”
“Only one?” Klara said. “That doesn’t seem right.”
Her thoughts rang true, and I held off from intercepting his attack. “You’re right. He’s got to be bait.”
“He’ll be on us before we reach the target,” Sparrow Leader said. “Deal with him one way or the other.”
I nodded, knowing his words were as true as Klara’s. The German at this point was a few of kilometers away, which would put him in a firing position in no time at all. With no other options, I rolled right and throttled up, praying the jaws of whatever trap I was about to fly into weren’t as bad as I feared. “Klara, stay with the others. Look for his wingman.”
In seconds, the distance between me and the 109 closed to a few hundred meters. My thumbs mashed the triggers, but it was a hair too late. The German fighter cut left and pulled up, dodging my fire. I followed with my own climb, thinking to catch him before he brought his plane to bear on me, but when I was at the peak of my climb, I found his nose pointed square at my plane.
Flames erupted from his guns. Tracers danced around my plane before skipping off my canopy and leaving large cracks across its top.
I kicked the rudder pedals, sliding my plane out of the line of fire and rolled it at the same time so I could keep my eyes on my adversary. The muscles in my neck burned with fire due to a combination of me twisting in my seat and fighting high-G maneuvers at the same time. That pain was only second to the massive amount ripping through my arm. I didn’t dare rest, however. If I did, I knew I’d be dead.
“Assist?” Klara asked.
“Negative,” I replied. “Keep those Il-2s safe.”
The German and I danced in the air. Each step we took was a lethal one should the other miss a beat. We ended up on course for another head-to-head pass, but this time when I rolled the plane upright, I slammed the stick forward and dove my plane to slip under his aim.
My body lifted in the seat and blood rushed to my head, causing my vision to redden. My plane slid under his, and as I chopped the throttle to pull up and stick on his tail, I saw the bright yellow eight painted on his plane. Once again Rademacher and I fought, and once again, his plane sported several more victories since last we’d met.
To my surprise, Rademacher didn’t bring his plane around to re-engage. It only took a heartbeat to understand why. Our brief encounter had put him on the tail of Sparrow flight with me heading in the opposite direction. Though I circled my fighter as hard as I could without bleeding off all of my speed, I’d never catch him before he engaged Klara and the Il-2s.
“Klara, it’s Rademacher. You’re all that’s between him and our boys.”
Klara’s fighter went vertical, climbing far above the Il-2s. Though she reacted quickly, her voice had concern. “Nadya, I still don’t see his wingman.”
“We’ll deal with him when he comes.”
Klara flipped her plane and dove toward the German ace. The maneuver set her up for a perfect attack, but before she fired, he side-slipped before issuing a perfect barrel roll, throwing her aim and forcing her to overshoot.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” she shouted on the radio. “I should’ve had him!”
“Don’t lose heart. We’ll get him,” I said, trying to sound hopeful.
I leaned forward in the cockpit, trying to make Rademacher’s plane seem larger in my gun sight than it really was. At this point, his plane looked like the size of my pinky. I’d never land a shot on him from that range.
The Il-2s broke formation. Two turned left with the other going right. At first I thought it was because Rademacher was about to take them out, but then I saw a second 109 diving in from the clouds. It raked the solitary Il-2 with a vicious barrage of fire before veering off.
“Status?” Sparrow Leader called out.
“Leaking fuel. Gunner is hit,” came the reply. “I’m not sure I can stay.”
“Understood. Break and return home.”
Sparrow Three cut a fast, low turn toward me and we passed by in seconds. As we did, I gave the pilot a quick salute, hoping it would ease his worries, but I don’t think he saw it. Ahead, the remaining two Il-2s swung back on course while Klara and Rademacher entered their own dance together.
“Nadya, I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice wavering. “Get the other 109.”
She must have known as much as I did she hadn’t a prayer. Worse, Rademacher’s wingman was circling over the Il-2s and was about to re-engage. Time ground to a halt when I realized I had a choice. I could try and save Klara, or I could try and save the Il-2s. I couldn’t do both. I might not be able to do either.
“Hang on, Klara,” I said, angling my plane toward her. “I’m coming.”
“No. Finish the mission. Save the others.”
“I give the orders, not you,” I barked. There was no way in hell I was losing another friend, let alone my love. “We’ll save them together.”
I sped on, studying the dogfight as it unfolded, trying to feel what Klara and Rademacher were thinking. When I got within a few hundred meters, I chopped the throttle and pushed the nose down, anticipating the German ace’s next maneuver.
My instincts proved true, and Rademacher slipped under Klara and dead in my sights. I hammered the triggers and peppered his wing. Not as much debris flew as I’d hoped, but it was a start.
“Little Boar, we need assistance!” Sparrow Leader called.
“Finish him, Klara,” I said, banking my plane away and hoping the odds now favored her.
“Working on it,” she replied.