Both parties drive steadily on. Circling low we watch for what is going to happen. Our tanks halt at a point where there is a gap of a few yards in the hedge. At any minute now they may both be suddenly surprised by the sight of the other at point blank range. I wait tensely for the second when both will get the shock. The Russians have closed down their turrettops; perhaps they suspect something from our astonishing maneuvers. They are still rolling in the same direction, traveling fast. The lateral distance separating the two parties is not more than fifteen or twenty yards. Now!
The Russians in the sunken ground have reached the gap and see the enemy in front of them on the other side of the hedge. It takes exactly two seconds for the first IV tank to set his opposite number on fire at a range of twenty yards; bits and pieces pepper the air. In another few seconds—up till then I have not seen a shot fired from the rest of the T 34s—six Russian tanks are ablaze. The impression is that they have been taken completely by surprise and have not yet grasped what is happening even now. Some T 34s move in closer under cover of the hedge, the rest try to escape over the railway embankment. They are immediately picked off by the German tanks which have meanwhile got a field of fire through the gap. The whole engagement lasts one minute. It is in its way unique. Without loss to ourselves every one of the T 34s have been destroyed. Our comrades on the ground are proudly elated at their success; we are not less delighted. We throw down a message of good wishes and some chocolate, and then fly home.
After a series of comparatively uneventful sorties it is not usually very long before we get another jolt. We get one now. Three of us go out, Flg./Off. Fickel and Flg./Off. Stapler escorting me with bombers on a tank hunt. We have no fighter escort with us and have just flown past one of our own armored units when 12 to 15 Aircobras appear with very aggressive intentions. They have all red noses and look as if they belong to a good unit. A wild helter-skelter begins close to the ground and I am glad when I have brought my two colleagues safely home, even though our aircraft are not entirely undamaged. Our experience is often the topic of evening arguments and reminiscences. Fickel and Stapler think that we had a pretty narrow squeak. At the same time the discussion is a useful lesson to our newcomers in correct evasive action in aerial combat.
Our One Squadron has been stationed for some time at Slynka, N. of Nowo Ukrainka, W. of us. My III Squadron also receives orders to transfer there with all 123 flying personnel, while our ground personnel proceeds by road to Pervomaisk on the Bug. Notification of my promotion to the rank of Squadron Leader comes through at the end of our time at Kirowograd.
At Slynka it begins to look as if winter had really set in. A bitter East wind blows almost every day. Temperatures fall to 20-30 degrees below zero. The effect of the cold is perceptible in the number of serviceable aircraft, for maintenance and repair in the open at these temperatures is a specialized business. It is particularly bad luck, because a spearhead of the Russian offensive N. of Kirowograd has just made a penetration into the neck of the Marinowka valley. They are bringing up very strong reserves in order to consolidate the positions won as a springboard for a fresh advance. Every halfserviceable aircraft on the airfield is used for low level attacks. On one sortie to the east, Flg./Off. Fickel is forced down after being badly shot up. The terrain is not unfavorable , and I am able to make a landing quite close beside him and take him on board my aircraft with his rear-gunner. In a short time we are back on our airfield, the poorer by yet another aircraft.
The Russian tanks rarely deliver night attacks, but during the next few days we—our colleagues N. of us in particular—get a taste of them. At midnight my Int. Ops. Officer wakes me in some agitation and reports that some men belonging to a fighter squadron stationed at Malaja Wisky have just turned up with a request that I take off immediately: the Soviets have driven onto their airfield in among the aircraft and their billets in the village. A cloudless starry night. I decide to have a word myself wit h the refugees. Malaja Wisky is 19 miles to the N. and several Luftwaffe formations with their aircraft have been accommodated on this airfield.
“All we can tell you is that there was a sudden racket while we were asleep and when we looked out Russian tanks were going past with infantry perched on top of them.” Another describes the tanks’ invasion of the airfield. It all happened very quickly and it is evident that they were taken completely by surprise, for they have nothing on but their pajamas.
I weigh up the situation and conclude that for me to take off there and then is impossible and also pointless, because to hit a tank I must have relatively good visibility. It is not enough that it is a clear and starry sky. We shall have to wait till sunrise. It is useless to consider dropping a few bombs simply to put the wind up the infantry passengers, because the place is occupied by German units. They are supply organizations, more or less helpless against the Soviet tanks.
We must take off at the crack of dawn; unluckily, on the return flight we shall have to contend with fog, for it looks suspiciously like it even now. We approach the airfield at low level and see our heavy flak in action on the ground. They have already knocked out some of the most venturesome of the steel monsters; the rest have retired to cover and are out of range. All the personnel of the air formations are at their posts. As we fly over the airfield they perform a regular war dance, for they have no doubt that we shall get them out of their predicament. One T 34 has driven into the flying control but and stands there drunkenly, lopsidedly among the wreckage. Some have concealed themselves in a factory area. Here the approach is hampered by the tall chimneys. We have to be devilish careful not to fly into them. Our cannons reverberate in every comer of the village. We also drop bombs outside the place; at least those Ivans who have come on the farthest now perceive that it is better to beat a retreat. For the most part they make for the eastern exit from the village where a number of deep gulleys offer cover. Here, too, their supply lorries with ammunition and petrol are parked. They hope to hold us off with light and medium flak, but we plaster their A.A. guns with bombs and follow up with cannon. Now they are completely silenced. Shortly afterwards the lorries catch fire and blow up.
The Ivans are in flight across the snow towards the East. Our most troublesome job today is the landing at Slynka, as the fog on the airfield refuses to lift and only allows a very short field of view when coming in to land.
By nightfall we have been back and forth seven times with the squadron while I, with one other aircraft, have been out fifteen times. Malaja Wisky has been cleared of the enemy with the loss of sixteen tanks destroyed from the air.
Not long after this episode our flying personnel leaves to join our ground personnel at Pervomaisk North. The airfield there has a small concrete runway, but it is of no use except to park aircraft on so as to keep them from sinking into the mud. It is practically impossible to take off, land or taxi; the whole place is a quagmire. Near the airfield is a hamlet in which we are billeted. After the last sortie of the day, or on days when no flying is possible, Gadermann must have his exercise. After finishing up with a long cross country run we always take a hot and cold tub, and end with a roll in the snow in front of the house in puris naturalibus. One’s feeling of fitness after this routine is indescribable; it is like being born again. Some Pans and Paninkas, who take a poor view of water in any case, happen to be passing at a distance from the house and gape at us all in amazement. I am sure that our antics are a fresh confirmation of their propaganda cliché: “Germanski nix Kultura.”