A whirlwind was raging behind the misted windows but we — the Signals Squadron pilots — were up to the task… On one of those days of February when a blizzard had swept banks of snow all over the streets of the Filippenko hamlet I was called up to the squadron headquarters. They told me about the situation on our sector of the Front and ordered me to fly to the Barvenkovo Region where I would have to find Parkhomenko and Grechko’s cavalry corps and hand them over a package marked ‘Top Secret’. The Southern Front Communications Chief was to fly with me as far as Barvenkovo, but from there I would have to operate independently.
An angry wind was battering the machine. The engine was shivering as if in a fever and sometimes the wail of the wind drowned it out. All this was not a problem but how to break through the solid curtain of snow? It was endless, it had swallowed my small plane and held me tightly in its hands. Snow was clogging my goggles and was hitting me in the face. There was practically no visibility: I had only my intuition and experience to rely on. But there are moments when even they are powerless — and that was exactly what I felt on that day. But at last we were here in Barvenkovo. I delivered the General not far away from the railway station and was about to fly on. Climbing out of the cockpit the General leaned towards me, looked at me with his sad eyes and kissed the helmet on my head…
The snow was becoming thicker and thicker, the blizzard was getting stronger. In the cockpit I felt as if I were on a trapeze. All this taken together made it completely impossible to orient myself during the flight. What should I do? Return? But I had no right to take such a decision: I’d been ordered to keep flying and find the cavalry at any cost. Finding them would mean saving many thousands of lives… And I, finding any sign of a dwelling, would land my U-2 to learn who was there — friend or foe. Each time I had to land in extremely poor weather conditions. Airmen know what that’s like. I landed three times and three times I took off despite the winds and snowfall. I flew very low examining every gully, every ravine. I noticed tanks on one farmstead but I had not got a good look at them when they opened fire on me. But it turned out alright — the snowstorm saved me…
No one knows how my flight would have ended up had I not noticed horses in a gully. “Those are ours!” I closed in for landing and as soon as I touched down two soldiers in cavalry uniform ran up to me. So I was right! “Which corps?” — I asked them.
“General Parkhomenko’s 1st.”
“I’m from the Front headquarters. Which of the commanders is here?”
“The Head of Intelligence.”
An officer in a camouflage jacket was already walking towards me. He introduced himself as Head of Intelligence of General Parkhomenko’s 1st Cavalry Corps, and immediately told me the current situation, and I plotted the position of the 1st and 5th Corps on my flight map with barely visible pencil marks.
“Well done, pilot! See, you found us on a day like this. Give me the package, I’ll hand it over to the corps commander.”
“No, I have to do it myself”.
“Why ‘have to’?” The intelligence officer took a short pause and then laughed loudly and resoundingly. — I took you for an aviator but you’re an aviatrix! D’you want me to take you there?”
“No, I’ll find my own way.”
“Well, be careful”, he warned. “You’ll have to crawl for about a hundred metres up to that shed. The roundabout way through the ravine is too long and not safe: you can run into Germans…”
At last the package was handed over to a dog-tired General. He looked at the order and swore foully, not suspecting that standing before him in a flying suit and flying boots was a woman. A shell burst nearby. The explosion raised pillars of snow-dust, shaking the ground. Over our heads shrapnel whistled past, but the General continued to stand deep in thought. Then, turning to me, the General said decisively: “Here’s what to do. Shoot over to Grehcko in the 5th Corps, deliver my message to him and then fly to Front headquarters — bring us a radio set. We’ll do a bit more fighting here…”
“I won’t be able to do it before dawn, Comrade General — the plane is not equipped to fly at night.”
Another burst of cursing directed at the quartermasters who were lagging behind the Corps: the men and horses had nothing to eat. And on top of that the radio wasn’t working, he had sent a cart yesterday to Barvenkovo but it had disappeared. Continuing to curse, the General waved his hand in despair and suddenly asked “Have you caught cold or something? Your voice is kind of weak.”
“No…” I replied, took the envelope from his hands and asked: “What should I say at Front HQ?”
“What should you say?” The General said, still gritting his teeth. “Are you kidding, you greenhorn? Look what fire you’ve drawn down on us with your cropduster! You’re staying here with us…”
“But you’ve ordered me to deliver the package to the 5th Corps. I request permission to carry out the order.”
“Off you go then…”
It wasn’t too difficult to find General Grechko’s 5th Corps for I knew its location already from the Intelligence Commander of the 1st Corps. I landed my plane almost in the middle of the hamlet, handed the package in and took off straightaway. I remember that General Grechko was very polite. He told me, “Take off your flying suit, you’re wet all over. I’ll feed you and give you tea.”
I said: “I have to head back.”
“No, don’t put on the wet flying suit!”
I was returning to my aerodrome by night: I made circles knowing I had definitely reached it but was afraid to land, lest I crash my plane. It was pitch-dark on the ground. I wished someone would think to light a match at least or have a cigarette! At last I noticed a light and descended for landing. I touched down safely and at that moment my mechanic came up and helped me find the parking lot. Dronov was waiting for me as usual, not leaving the aerodrome. It had been him who, on barely hearing the murmur of my engine, had rushed to the airfield with a blowtorch. It was its light I’d noticed from the air…
Chilled to the bone, dead tired, I entered the command post like a ghost, to report to the squadron commander that the mission had been completed. He listened to me in silence, silently went to the telephone and ordered he be connected to Front HQ. “Permission to go sleep?”
“Granted!” Boulkin casually waved his hand. I was offended. Passing by the canteen I walked towards the house I was billeted in. Despite the late hour my hostess wasn’t asleep. Seeing me in such a state she began to bustle about, wailing “How did you manage to get so fagged out, darling? Have a drink, here’s some warm milk…” She helped me to pull off my wet boots and the flying suit, gave me warm valenki. “May be you’d like to get up on the oven? It’s lit…”
“The oven”, I agreed weakly.
My hostess was the exact copy of my mum. All mothers seem to have something or other in common. Each time I came back to spend the night in her hut she would sit me at the table and start treating me to Ukrainian borsch and the most tasty pickled tomatoes. She used to put all this on the table, sit on the other side and begin to tell me yet again about her three little boys who were fighting somewhere in the North. She would recall how difficult it had been to raise them after her husband’s death, regret that the sons hadn’t managed to get married and present her with grandchildren — the war had started. At the mention of this the hostess would sigh bitterly, wiping with the ends of her apron the tears running down her cheeks and keep plying me with food: “Eat, eat, my girl. Maybe someone’s mum will feel sorry for my little boys and feed them. Maybe even yours!”