Irkoutskiy was regarded in the squadron as a ‘lucky one’. Once with the pilot Kasatkin he even landed straight on a minefield and everything came out ok — both survived unscathed. And once Irkoutskiy took off with the pilot Sborshikov to reconnoitre the roads near Nikolayev. En route they encountered 10 Ju-87s escorted by Me-109 fighter planes. The fighters pounced on the defenceless U-2, Sborshchikov landed the plane directly and he and Irkoutskiy ran from it in different directions. The Hitlerites made several passes on the plane, strafed the running airmen as well, but without success. The whole U-2 was holed but it hadn’t caught fire and the flyers, as the saying goes, ‘got off lightly’. When they came back home it turned out that our aerodrome had been bombed yet again — the whole airfield was sown with mines as if with tulips. How to land? There was a cross on the ground to forbid them from landing but nevertheless Sborshchikov touched down, manoeuvring between shell craters and mines during the run like a true circus artiste. The crew received a citation from Front Headquarters. But Sborshchikov was put on a charge by the squadron commander for landing when the inhibitory sign was on the ground.
“Egorova! You and me are fellow natives — I was born near Torzhok too”, once Irkoutskiy addressed me and asked: “Have you been getting letters from your mum?”
“Haven’t heard from her for a long time. I’m afraid the Fascists are raging around our parts. I fear for mum very much…”
“I haven’t heard from my mum for a long while either”, bowing his head, the partorg78 said quietly, and went on: “Our comsorg79 told me the Comsomol recommended you to the Communist Party. So, I am ready to vouch for you. After all, Egorova, I joined the Party in 1939 and had been in the Comsomol since 1928. You see how old I am!”
“What are you talking about? You’re only 31”, I pointed out. “Are you married, Ivan Iosifovich?”
“No, Egorova, I haven’t got around to it. I haven’t had time. I had a girlfriend but she got married, giving up on me leaving the Army… Well, Egorova, Commissar Ryabov will give you the second reference — he told me about it himself”, our partorg added finally.
The Party meetings in our squadron had always been short, with minutes written in a condensed fashion — just the resolutions, and questions were discussed mostly in relation to admission of new members and candidates to the Party. The commissar had always been present at the meetings. The Battalion Commissar80 Alexey Vasilievich Ryabov wasn’t a skilled public speaker or a theorist. He was just a good man. With all his heart, with all his deeds the commissar had always tried to inspire the squadron personnel to carry out the tasks set us. And we had the same task as the whole nation — to destroy the enemy…
During one of the Party meetings I was accepted as Party candidate. It was in April 1942. At that time we were based in the settlement of Voevodovka near Lisichansk and the candidacy card was handed to me in the Southern Front headquarters. An officer from the political section presenting me with the card suddenly asked me:
“Comrade Egorova, aren’t you a sister of Vasiliy Alexandrovich Egorov?”
“No”, I answered glibly.
Later I would suffer a lot from my treachery towards my brother. How could I disown so heedlessly my elder brother who had taken the place of my late father for me? The bitterness still stings my soul. How could I answer that way? Many years later when my brother had been ‘rehabilitated’ and he had come to Moscow, I told him about it. He thought a bit, then smiled and said: “You were probably afraid they wouldn’t let you fight?”
“I did.”
“Oh, you cowardy-custard!” And my brother gave me a big kiss, forgiving my forced disavowal of him…
For the first time after my ‘Barvenkovo epic’ I managed to sleep my fill. A good sleep drove away the fatigue. Everything I had endured during the two most difficult flights was left somewhere behind and sunk in the depths of my memory. But at the same time it was clear to me that new ordeals were waiting for me. Sprightly, full of strength, I entered the squadron headquarters and the first thing that struck my eye was a large piece of paper fixed on the corridor wall. I was going to walk past but one of the airmen who chanced to be nearby said with a cunning smile: “Don’t turn your nose up, Egorova, read it — it concerns you.”
“Me?” I was surprised and went to the paper… Some amateur artist had depicted on it a fairy of the air drifting through a snowstorm. Under the friendly caricature was a caption: “A woman flies but the men have a day off!”
“They’ve given the blokes a good stir, eh?” Asked Listarevich who had suddenly appeared. I blushed and muttered something indistinct. “What are you shy for? You’ve taught all airmen a good lesson”, and offered me his hand. “Let me congratulate you: the commanders have put you up for an award for searching out the cavalry corps…”
“Egorova, the commander’s asking for you!” came the call.
“You’re to fly to the 6th Army to pick up General Zhouk — the Front Artillery Commander”, the squadron commander ordered.
“Yes sir!” I replied, repeated the order and began to plot the course on my flight map. I took off when the day was already declining. It was pleasant to fly. Everything was white and clean and the sky was clear as if there were no war. However, as the saying goes “God helps those who help themselves”! And just in case, I was doing a contour flight, hiding myself in gullies and copses, trying to merge with the countryside. Immediately after landing a light vehicle rolled up to my plane. A General came out of the car and I delivered my report by the book. “For the Front artillery commander you couldn’t find a bloke?” He asked discontentedly. I answered the question with a question: “Permission to ask where we’re flying to?”
A colonel accompanying the General named the required place. Taking the map from its case I plotted the course there on a wing of the plane with chilled hands, and got into the front cockpit. The general in his astrakhan, muffled in a scarf almost right up to his eyes, settled behind me and we took off. I could see the tired face of my passenger in the mirror fixed on the left hand side to a centre-section stanchion. Our eyes met time and again, I was showing him with my hand sometimes the earth decked out in silvery winter apparel, sometimes the sun — but the General continued to frown. But suddenly a shadow fell on the plane. I looked around and a treacherous chill ran down my back. Two Messerschmitts were insolently and self-assuredly diving upon us! I began to throw my machine left and right just above the ground fleeing the machine-gun bursts. But the Germans were coming in to the attack again and again! The engine snorted, then did it again… The impression was that it was choking like a man short of air. Below, as far as the eye could see, lay the steppe, densely covered with snow. No welcoming smoke, not a hut. The domain of the wolf. Suddenly the engine stalled… I turned back to my ‘passenger’ showing him by hand that I was going to land. In reply he just shook his head but an open dissatisfaction showed in that movement. “Talk about gentry”, I thought. “He doesn’t understand they can kill us… Like we have to land just because I feel like it?”… Especially given I was carrying not just an officer but a “God of War”81 commander. There’ll be no end of trouble now!”