In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

40 First Battle After the briefing, we pilots stepped outside the cramped dugout to await our orders. Who would fly the first combat mission? we all wondered. Maybe it'll be me, I thought nervously. All of us were terribly agitated, even the veterans, but we laughed and joked to hide our emotions. Rzhevsky told a joke about a little girl who asked her father to tell her all about locomotives, back when they were still brand new. He talked for a long while, even showing her a drawing, and then asked her, "Well, do you understand it all now?" "Sure, Papa!" his daughter answered. "Just one thing: where do you harness the horses?" The pilots all laughed. A short, robust little fellow named Volodya Sokolov skipped up to me and with great effort adopted an expression of utmost seriousness. "Annyuta, let's exchange statures!" he said. "Yes, let's, Volodya!" I replied. "I love high-heeled shoes, but I'm embarrassed to wear them because of my height. How are we going to do it? And what's in it for me? After all, I'm 170 centimeters, and you're only 160. I stand to lose ten centimeters!" Suddenly, the chief of staff broke in: "Sokolov, Yegorova, Vakhramov, Tasyets, Rzhevsky, report to the commander!" Our laughter and anecdotes evaporated. We rushed into the dugout. The commander described the route to us, a rather zigzag, indirect course. "All the better to skirt the enemy's anti-aircraft guns," he explained. "You must stay close in flight formation and do everything exactly as I do," added Navigator Pyotr Karev, our flight leader. He showed us our route on the chart. I was to be Karev's right wingman. I can scarcely describe my feelings on the eve of my first combat flight in the Shturmovik. I felt no fear. Instead, a feeling of satisfaction flooded over me. I had no reason to hang my head now. I had been included in the first combat sortie! The only woman among so many men, and such men-attack pilots! Five regiments comprised our 230th Attack Air Division-four attack and one fighter regiment, most separated by many miles. Four LaGG-3s1 from the 1 The Lavochkin-Gorbunov-Goudkov-3 fighter, named for its designers, was introduced in 1941. Pilots were not impressed with the airplane's lethargic acceleration, erratic handling, and poor maneuverability, and it quickly gained a reputation for FIRST BATILE 135 fighters' regiment that shared our aerodrome would escort us on the mission. The more daring fighter pilots didn't relish such assignments. Among themselves they referred to these escort sorties as "nursing" jobs. They would rather be hunting for enemy planes, shooting them down, and going home having "won" a few kills. But whatever their attitude, they saved my life that day. We sat on alert in our cockpits, awaiting the signal, a green flare. I scanned the instruments and ran my fingers over all the switches and levers, making sure they were in their proper positions. Sergeant Rimsky, my mechanic , bustled about the airplane, polishing and re-polishing the sparklingclean canopy glass, adjusting a parachute strap on my shoulder, and asking repeatedly, "How else can I help you?" "Thanks, my friend. I just need to be alone for a few minutes to collect my thoughts," I told him gratefully, glancing ahead and to my left at Karev's airplane . The flight leader seemed quite calm. He rested his hands outside, on the edge of the cockpit, and sang to himself. Isn't he the least bit worried about this mission? I wondered. But the hissing of the green flare cut short my ruminations . It arced over the field, its glow gradually dying out as it fell. It was time! We took off and turned toward Malaya Zemlya. Terrified of lagging behind the formation, I did my best to stick tightly to Karev. When he rocked the plane back and forth, I imitated his maneuvers. When he dove toward the ground, I followed. When he fired, I fired. I dropped my bombs the moment I saw his bombs falling. Still, I lost the formation after the fourth target run-not just lagged behind them, but lost them altogether . Wha t the devil was I to do? I was flying alone among an unbroken curtain of exploding missiles. I searched desperately for the formation. I made a U-turn toward our territory over the settlement of Myskhak02 Dozens of aircraft...

Share