The succeeding days and battles complete the picture and further successes are not denied us. While the cannon-carrying aircraft go in to attack, a part of the bomber formation deals with the ground defenses; the rest circle at a fairly low level like a broody hen round her chickens in order to protect the anti-tank aircraft from interception by enemy fighters.
Little by little I discover all the tricks. Skill is often the result of getting hurt. We lose aircraft in weakly defended areas because we are cruising in the middle of an artillery duel. The air space in the line of the artillery trajectory must be avoided, otherwise there is the danger of being shot down “by accident.”
After some time the Soviets have managed fairly successfully to cope with our air attacks against their tanks. If it is at all possible they move up their A.A. guns with the leading tanks. The tanks also are equipped with smoke shells to create a fog screen or to imitate a conflagration in the hope that their pursuers may veer off in the belief that they have achieved their purpose. Experienced crews soon get wise to this maneuver and are no longer deceived by it. A tank which is really on fire will show very bright flames, and to simulate such flames is far too risky a business. In many cases the tank will blow up as the fire catches the ammunition normally always carried in every tank. It is very uncomfortable for us if the explosion is instantaneous and our aircraft is flying at an altitude of 15-30 feet above the tank. This happens to me twice in the first few days when I suddenly fly through a curtain of fire and think: “This time you are for it.”
I come out, however, safe and sound on the other side even though the green camouflage of my aircraft is scorched and splinters from the exploding tank have riddled it with holes.
Sometimes we dive onto the steel monsters from behind, sometimes from the side. The angle of attack is not too steep to prevent us flying in quite close to the ground, and so also when pulling out from getting into any trouble in case the aircraft overshoots. If it overshoots too far it is hardly possible to avoid contact with the ground with all its dangerous consequences.
We have always to try to hit the tank in one of its most vulnerable places. The front is always the strongest part of every tank; therefore every tank invariably tries as far as possible to offer its front to the enemy. Its sides are less strongly protected. But the best target for us is the stem. It is there that the engine is housed, and the necessity for cooling this power centre permits of only a thin armor plating. In order to further assist the cooling this plating is perforated with large holes. This is a good spot to aim at because where the engine is there is always petrol. When its engine is running a tank is easily recognizable from the air by the blue fumes of the exhaust. On its sides the tank carries petrol and ammunition. But there the armor is stronger than at the back.
The tanks frequently carry infantry; if we are in sectors where we are already known these tank rifle men jump off, even when traveling at full speed. They all think their hour has come and that they have only a second before we are upon them. And Ivan prefers to meet the attack on terra firma.
In the second half of July the resistance in front of the German divisions stiffens; hedgehog after hedgehog has to be overcome and progress is only very slow. We take off daily from morning till night, and support the spearheads of the attack which have advanced northwards across the Pskoll river far along the railway from Bjelgorod.
One morning on dispersal we are surprised by a strong formation of IL II bombers which has approached our aerodrome unobserved flying at a low level. We take off in all directions in order to get away from the airfield; many of our air craft are still taxiing up to the take-off in the opposite direction. Miraculously, nothing happens; our A.A. guns on the airfield open up for all they are worth and this evidently impresses the Ivans. We can see normal 2 cm. flak ricocheting off the armor of the Russian bombers.
Only very few places are vulnerable to this ammunition, but with 2 cm. armor-piercing ammo. our light flak can bring down the armored Ivans.
Quite unexpectedly at this time we receive the order to move to Orel, on the other side of the bulge where the Soviets have gone over to the offensive and are threatening Orel. A few hours later we arrive at the aerodrome north of Orel over Konotop. We find then situation around Orel roughly corresponding to the rumors we have already heard at Charkow. The Soviets are attacking the town from the north, east and south.
Our advance has been halted all along the front. We have seen too clearly how this has happened: first the landing in Sicily and afterwards the Putsch against Mussolini, each time our best divisions have had to be withdrawn and speedily transferred to other points in Europe. How often we tell one another during these weeks: the Soviets have only their Western Allies to thank that they continue to exist as a militarily effective force.
It is a hot August for us in every sense of the word; to the south there is bitter fighting for the possession of Kromy. In one of our first attacks in this area directed against the bridge in this town a very odd thing happens to me. As I am diving, a Russian tank just starts to cross the bridge; a moment before the bridge was clear in my sights. A 500 kg. bomb aimed at the bridge hits him when he is half-way across it; both tank and bridge are blown to smithereens.
The defenses here are unusually strong. A few days later in the northern area, west of Bolchow, I get a direct hit in my engine. I receive a full burst of splinters in the face. I think first of bailing out, but who can tell where the wind will carry the parachute? There is very little hope of coming down safely, especially as Jaks are in this area. I succeed, however, in making a forced landing in the very front German line positions with my engine cut off. The infantry unit occupying this part of the line takes me back to my base in a couple of hours.
I take off at once on a fresh sortie and in the same region, too. It is a peculiar feeling to return a little later to the same place where one has been shot down a short while before. It stops one from becoming hesitant and brooding over the risks one is running.
We are about to take up positions. I have climbed rather too high and observe the heavy flak; it is now directing its fire on our formation, and the gun positions are recognizable from the flash of the guns. I immediately attack them and order the aircraft accompanying me to drop their bombs at the same time on the Russian gun-sites. I fly home relieved with the comforting feeling that they too must now be sweating hard.
Russian aircraft raid our airfield in the Orel sector every night. At first we are under canvas, later in stone buildings on the airfield. There are slit-trenches alongside the tents; we are supposed to take cover in them as soon as the raiders appear. Some of us, however, sleep through the raids because, in view of the uninterrupted all day flying, a good night’s rest is indispensable if we are to be fit to go out again the neat day. In any case Ivan generally keeps up his bombing all night. My friend, Walter Kraus, then skipper of the 3rd Squadron, is killed in one such raid. After his training period with me in the Reserve-Flight at Graz, being a former reconnaissance pilot, he soon found himself at home in the new sector and was a great asset to our Wing. He had just been promoted to Squadron Leader and awarded the Oak Leaves. We mourn the loss of a friend and comrade with bitter grief; his death is a staggering blow. How many hard blows of incomprehensible destiny must we yet experience?