C Taylor - Nadya's War

My eyes scanned the area, searching for hungry Luftwaffe pilots. I also kept tabs on where we were headed with equal intensity. I suppose I should have left navigation to our targets up to the boys in the Il-2s, but with Gridnev’s adamant statement that these guns had to be destroyed at all costs, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance, including our escorted pilots getting lost.

“I can’t make out anything,” one of Sparrow’s pilots said. “Where’s their damn artillery?”

“Hard to say with all the fog,” Sparrow Leader replied. “We should be having breakfast with the ground crews by now. Wide circle left. Little Boar, can you see anything up there?”

“Just anti-air,” I said. Surely those guns would be near our targets. What else would they be protecting?

“I think I’ve got them. East, about four kilometers away,” Klara said.

I turned my head right and found what she’d spotted. Underneath a small row of trees were at least six guns in a loose row at the top of a small hill. Next to them were trucks, and a little way off were some vehicles I assumed towed more anti-air. Even from a distance, the artillery looked imposing. I could only imagine what they looked like up close. The second I spotted them, all six fired. The flashes from their muzzles made me say a quick prayer for those who’d be receiving those shells.

I put my plane high and left of the Il-2 formation, proud of my wingman. “Nice work, Klara,” I said. “Sparrow flight, do you have eyes on target?”

“Copy, Little Boar. We’re starting our attack.”

I watched the Il-2s make a tight circle near to the ground. I knew I should have been scanning the sky, but a morbid curiosity kept me engrossed on the Il-2s. “Keep watching the skies,” I told Klara, figuring she’d be enough for the next few moments. “Can’t afford to let any fascist pilots slip in now.”

“I am. I am,” she said. Her voice sounded irritated, as if I were a parent nagging her for the umpteenth time to tend to chores already being done.

The anti-air fire intensified as the boys made their run. One of the trailing Il-2s took a hit to the wing and then three more to the fuselage. Black smoke poured from its nose, and fire spread down its side. My gut tightened for the crew. The pilot kept his plane on course with the others, and I watched in equal parts awe and horror as all four planes dumped their ordnance on the Romanian forces. Sixteen explosions in all sent up large plumes of snow and debris.

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.