[caldrail]

08:00 hrs, 31st August 1941, Vayenga Airfield

I'd had enough. Letters to the families of those lost in action is never an easy task. No matter what the circumstances, you tell them their son died in the line of duty. I left the squadron office quite late, gone midnight. It's a curious sensation to see sunlight at this hour. It felt no different to midday. Up here on the arctic circle the summer days lasted twenty four hours - the sun would not set for a month or two yet.

The Russian corporal waited for me as I strolled toward the billet. There wasn't anyone else in sight, none of the patrolling soldiers you normally saw at this hour. "You have cigarette?" She asked.

I didn't, as it happened. Such things were valuable currency at Vayenga and Dimitri was growing quite wealthy trading them for those little luxuries we desired. The woman had a stern face, someone who had known considerable hardship no doubt. There was a directness about her that I found refreshing. She wasn't the kind to stand on ceremony, something I discovered shortly afterward. Andreya Levchenko could hardly be described as innocent. Neither were the Russian officers who'd sent her on that errand.

Life continued as expected as the morning progressed. Wyatt, Compton, and Darnell joined me for another patrol around Kilpyavr. I made it clear to them I would suffer no nonsense. If they wanted to survive they were to follow orders and stay in formation. The three of them looked nervous, and in all honesty, I couldn't blame them.

We made a wide orbit of the area for a while. My flight were behaving themselves and given the reputation this area was getting, they expected to be bounced at any moment. Perhaps that's no bad thing. I did however get a couple of false alarms. The third time I almost groaned aloud, but they were right. An incoming flight of aircraft at nine o'clock. I was prepared for the worst, but as we drew closer, the unmistakeable bent wing of Sutkas were clearly visible, and I smiled.

Wyatt and Compton closed in first, each taking down a Stuka. I went after the other two. The first turned into a flamer and veered away to the right. The fourth was more persistent. I was hitting him but doing no more than making more holes in his airframe.

Looking past him at the horizon I spotted the swarm of aircraft heading our way. Something inside me turned cold. I knew it was During. The new lads simply weren't up to the job of taking on his Messerschmitts. I turned back and called my flight to rejoin.

"What about the other Stuka, Blue Leader?" Someone asked.

"He's damaged, don't worry about him. I'm not pursuing a lame duck into German airspace with enemy fighters about. We're going back to Vayenga. Job done."

Thanfully, we arrived home without further incident. Later in the day I observed the first flights of the Russian pilots in their Hurricanes. A few were typically hesistant and clumsy, but most made impressive take offs and landings. Ivanov is champing at the bit.

[caldrail]

08:00 hrs, 1st September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

Wyatt, Darnell, and myself disembarked from the lorry at the gate of Vayenga Airfield. This had been, without doubt, one of the toughest days we'd had. Ordered to patrol Kilpyavr again, the day had begun with clear weather and wonderful sunshine.

The sky had filled with Luftwaffe. Heinkel 111's, Ju-88's, Stukka's - they all came over the horizon in large numbers. This was an all out attack by the Germans and they meant to put Kilpyavr out of action as an airbase once and for all.

The Russians were screaming for assistance. They had bombers in the air for a mission against the Timovka Bridge and all their fighters were grounded, mostly from air strikes. I took a deep breath before I ordered the flight to turn and intercept. Deep down I knew During was waiting for us.

There he was. This time however we had the advantage in height. We saw the Messerschmitts flying in three o'clock low to support the bombers and we needed to take them out before we could do any more. It was going to be all or nothing.

I called Wyatt to stay with me. I could see him following on in my mirror. We both dived down and gave chase to the 109's. I was close enough to spot the flight leader. It had to be During! With the throttle wide open I went after him. He soon saw me and began a climbing turn to the right. There was no way I was letting him go. He barrel-rolled and tried to lose me. Again I followed him, and winged over into a descending half loop as he pulled through. We were down on the deck, turning hard.

It was difficult to gain on him. At once he pulled up vertical and for a moment I thought I was going to get my chance, but the Hurricane simply hadn't the speed to stay with him. I stall turned out and went into a turn to find During before he found me. His 109 flashed past me - I could see him looking up at me.

Wyatt was in trouble! My wingman called for assistance. In a climbing turn I looked for Wyatt and tried to see if I could help. It was frustrating but I had no choice to let During escape this time. Then they got me. I don't know which Messerschmitt shot me down but it wasn't During. The Hurricane burst into flame. The heat was incredible! I felt the aeroplane shudder as the left wing snapped off and the flat spin that followed helped me no end, taking the smoke and flame away from the cockpit. I was out as soon as I could.



Kilpyavr was hit badly. The Russian fighter squadrons there were rendered toothless and the Pe-2 bombers took a pasting. By some miracle some managed to slip the net and Timovka Bridge was out of action again. Wyatt and Darnell were shot down too, joining me on the lorry home. Compton bought it.

Phelps met us at the gate. "Well played old chap."

I looked at him as if he was mad. "We got shot down and the Germans played merry hell with no-one to stop them. That's not a good result."

"No, I suppose not." Phelps replied thoughtfully, "But it's not all bad news. During bought it too. The Russian flak shot him to pieces. He tried to fly out and didn't make it. Don't suppose I could buy you a drink to celebrate, eh?"

I smiled. The Germans were well organised and experienced, but their star player was down. At that moment, it was the best news I could hear.

[caldrail]

10:00 hrs, 2nd September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

When the briefing was announced, both Phelps and I glanced at each other as we saw the trainee Russians joining us. The British Army was still encamped south of the field, and the expected counter-offensive had still to be confirmed. Was it finally today?

"It would be about time. The Germans are calling all the shots." I said as the aircrew gathered noisily in the open air, a large blackboard propped up on oil drums..

Phelps nodded, then said ruefully "The problem is the Russian commander-in-chief. What's his name? Kuznetsov? He's our biggest obstacle, you mark my words."

We were to be disappointed. Once again it was mundane patrols and defensive flying. What was the delay? The Russian pilots with 134 Squadron were getting their first taste of operations in Hurricanes today. The fighting at Ura Guba continued and the VVS were launching support raids. The more experienced Russian would escort them in.

I caught a glimpse of our friend with the walking stick. When it came to questions, Ivanov was asking them. Kuklev was looking a little flustered, Sergeyev glanced nervously in our direction. Was he talking about us?

Flight Sergeant Darnell leaned over my shoulder and whispered "I say Sir, my Russian isn't very good, but I do believe that was a disparaging remark."

"As you were Sergeant." I cautioned him, though in all honesty it was hard not to reach the same conclusion. With the briefing concluded the aircrew dispersed. The lads gathered and we couldn't help but notice the glances the Russians were giving us.

"Gentlemen." I said, "Our recent losses have not made a good impression. I want you all to know that regardless of the damage done by Jerry, we have responded as well as we can. I believe there's a fine bunch of men here, and no matter what's said, I'll support each and every one of you in the coming battles. We've beaten the Luftwaffe before, we can do so again. As for the Russians, we're under orders to get along with them, and we will. There will be no unpleasantness. Is that understood?"

A chorus of positive replies ensued. Once we'd returned to the dispersal it was clear the Russians hadn't even assigned us a patrol. I was beginning to grit my teeth when the adjutant leaned out the window. "Sir! Formation of Heinkels reported west of Kilpyavr."

The Germans were certainly determined to wipe that field off the map. No matter. I ordered the flight to get airborne. If we didn't press home the attack now, the loss of During would be forgotten by the German pilots. The lads responded eagerly, running out to their planes.

We took off in clear weather. As the ground began to drop away, I saw Kuklev's transport planes lined up by their tents. They hadn't moved since our escort job some days ago. Behind me, Ivanov and his Russian pilots were powering up for their take off runs.

Once we reache Kilpyavr the incoming bombers were easy to spot. "All right everybody." I called, "There's the Heinkels. Watch out for fighters and remember Jerry won't play fair."

As we closed in the German escorts came into sight behind the bomber formation. This was a huge gamble. I ordered the flight to attack the fighters - we'd have to anyway. My wingman and I took up position on the right and we went for the two 109's heading our way. The first went high and past me without worry. His wingman hoped to get an early kill. I fired at haim as we closed head-on. He too went high. Smoke? His Messerschmitt bursts into flame. It goes over me like a burning comet.



I make a climbing turn and settle on another 109. He sees me as I give chase to him. I fire... Debris comes off him. Fire again... I can't tell if I hit him or not. Then he pulls up to gain height and I cut inside his turn. He's almost stationary in my sights. Fire! Got him! He wings over and begins a corkscrew dive. Immediately I follow. That German is pulling a very tight turn in the descent. I can barely keep with him. He's getting very low. Is he pulling out? No, he isn't. His plane noses into the forest and an explosion marks his passing.

I pull up and try to gain height, suprised by the tracer from behind. My wingman warns me of a bandit at seven o'clock. There's nothing for it but to barrel-roll upward. Before I run out of speed I pull the Hurricane through the top and roll erect. The 109 is gone, literally, as my wingman takes him down.

The other flight members are out of sight, and the enemy fighters with them. I head back to Kilpyavr but where-ever the Heinkels went, it wasn't there. Wyatt and Darnell reappear shortly afterward. One Messerschmitt got away, Darnell got the other. We're all elated by our success today.

After landing we found out the Germans had hit Vayenga. One Heinkel was shot down by flak into the river, the others escaping north of us. The Russian attack had been uneventful. One got the feeling Ivanov was feeling thwarted, especially when he heard I'd shot down two Bf109's.

[caldrail]

15:00 hrs, 3rd September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

The sound of a sick engine brought me to the door of the hut. On the approach to Vayenga was a solitary Hurricane whose pilot was coaxing it home on a wing and a prayer. It crossed the airfield boundary low, nose high, struggling for distance. Just put it down you idiot! Too late. The Merlin gave up. With the loss of power the Hurricane made a stately turn to the left and nosed in. Almost on the runway wasn't almost enough. I saw the aeroplane disintegrate on impact, parts flying off as if a balsa wood toy had been smashed with a hammer. There was no explosion, but little chance of survivng a crash like that.

The Russian rescue crews were on their way as the last few scraps of aeroplane fluttered to the ground. The Hurricane lay there folded up. I called for the Adjutant. "Any of our chaps flying?"

He looked at me for a second. "No Sir. That's... a Hurricane from 134 Squadron. The one suffering oil blockages. It was due an air test today."

"Let me rephrase the question. Who was flying that?"

The Adjutant sighed. "The... aeroplane was booked out by Squadron Leader Phelps."

Wing Commander Rhodes Crawford took personal control of 134 Squadron by early afternoon. None of the other pilots had sufficient experience or seniority. We all got a stern lecture on procedures and were expressly forbidden from making stupid mistakes. Not suprisingly, Crawford called me into the squadron office.

""Ah, Hendon, do sit down won't you?" He said, teeth clenched on his pipe, leafing through various documents. "We've had mixed success I see. A reprimand no less. For a mid air collision?."

I took a deep breath. "It was during a dogfight Sir. Unfortunately these things happen."

"Well they won't happen to my squadrons, I hope you understand that? I see you're also the top scoring ace here Murmansk. Thirteen kills. That's excellent. Keep up the good work. Now..." He leant back in his seat and made a few puffs on his pipe to refresh himself. "There's been some bother in headquarters. Kuznetsov has been replaced by a chap called Voroshilov. General Wynchett is of the opinion neither could organise a booze-up in a brewery, but as of now this Voroshilov chap happens to be the Russian commander for this front. He's made it known that he wants our Russian friends to take on more responsibility for the conduct of the war. Good for morale and all that. Well, that's mostly my problem, but I understand you had a little disagreement?"

"Yes Sir. That's been dealt with."

"I see. Now since most of your aeroplanes are unserviceable I'm requiring you and your flight to escort some transport planes in from Murmashi. It's a milk run. Now don't fret. We need to conserve our strength. My squadron will take on patrols of the area. All clear?... Good. Nice to have this chance to meet you, Hendon, that'll be all."

The milk run brought two Lisuonv transports back from Murmashi. The weather was good, if a little turbulent, and stayed in the circuit whilst the chaps came in to land. What's that west of here? Ivanov's flight? The specks looked a little less like fighters as they flew in overhead. Bombers! I throttled up and climbed. Flak was beginning to open up and I wasn't going to fly through that, so I held off and gained height. The Junkers 88's dropped bombs that mercifully did little damage, turning for home with my little Hurricane giving chase.

I closed in on the tail end charlie. A good burst caught him and I could see at least one engine was damaged. Avoiding the streams of bullets from their machinegunners I passed the rear of another, and gave a long aimed burst. He was smoking nicely, falling out of formation and diving in. I saw no parachutes.

I heard the impact of machinegun fire and jerked the plane upward. The engine note was less healthy so I decided to abandon any further attacks and made for Vayenga. The fate of Phelps was well in mind as I approached, but in the final analysis I had height to spare. The engine was whining and it seemed wiser to shut it down, gliding in and landing dead-stick. I hope Crawford approved.

Where had Ivanov gotten to? A few discreet enquires discovered he'd seen off a German attack on shipping out past the coast. There were no kills. A part of me wonders where the ace of '37 has gone.

[caldrail]

11:00 hrs, 4th September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

I saluted Wing Commander Rhodes Crawford as I passed him on the way to the squadron office. "Ah Hendon, just the man." He said, "Got some gen you might be interested in."

I waited for the information. He filled his pipe for no other reason than dramatic effect. I suspect he does that on purpose.

"Heard of a chap called Kenneth Davids?"

"Why yes Sir. He was my wingman. His Hurricane blew up."

"Indeed. Well the cheeky beggar managed to get the Red Cross to send a message to us. He's alive in hospital, due to be sent to a POW camp. Sends his greetings and all that. Thought you might like to know."

"That's brilliant news Sir." I responded. It really was something to smile about. I thought he'd been killed.

"Yes. I thought so too. We've also been tipped off about the Germans from the Russian interrogators. It seems a certain Erich Wisseman is proving to be a competent ace. Eight kills and looking to tackle you. Do watch out will you? There's a good chap."

We took off later that morning for a patrol. Ivanov's flight went ahead to cover Kilpyavr. The weather was clear. Glorious sunshine soon made the cockpit quite warm and not long after we received notice of German recconaisance to the south. My flight set off in pursuit, climbing hard to reach angels fifteen.

We saw the Ju-88 and spread out to attack. I arrived there first and made two passes, clearly causing damage. jarvis, our number four, nipped in and got a good burst in. The bomber began to burn as it began to descend to our left. I'll let him have that one, his first.

We resumed patrolling near Vayenga until the radio traffic became quite animated with Russian voices. It had to be Ivanov. Soon after that we received a call from Vayenga directing us towards two bandits believed heading for our field. Having been vectored in we spotted them two thousand feet below us. I called for the attack. We came down on them and one trailed smoke, turning west for his lines. A German managed to get on my tail and gave a few hairy moments, but I shook him off, and once MacDonald, my wingman, managed to see him off I gave chase to my former target.



I could hear Wyatt being congratulated. The other 109 was shot down. My target was proving elusive. I don't know if he knew we were trailing him at six o'clock low, but he was certainly putting on some speed. Slowly, ever so slowly, we gained on. Finally I was able to get three good bursts in. Only after the third did he begin evasive manoevers, ending up flying on the deck and apparently losing atitude. Just past the lines in German territory his battered 109 gave up and he force landed. Kill confirmed.

Ivanov had shot down two others. It seems his former skills are re-emerging. The Russian pilots were holding a celebration for his efforts and I made a brief appearance out of goodwill, dragging Wyatt along and rewarding him for earning a mention in despatches. As yet, relations with Ivanov were still frosty.

[caldrail]

11:00 hrs, 4th September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

Is it my imagination, or are the Germans losing heart? Until Josias During was shot down, they almost ruled the skies over Murmansk. Now they seem unwilling to press home attacks and fewer bombers are heading our way.

Perhaps I should be careful of such speculation. After all, Wissemann is out to get me. I even wonder if Crawford is trying to keep me out of danger. Ivanov leads his Russian pilots west ahead of us, almost like a first line of defence. With that in mind we took off on another patrol of the Vayenga area. Kuklev's transport planes followed us out. His squadron was now based at Murmashi to the south. Sergeyev was going with them and I shall miss his friendly consideration.

I decide to fly west too, within easy reach of Ivanov's flight. Before long we hear the Russian radio traffic step up in tempo, so it's a fair bet the Luftwaffe have come out to play. As we arrive at the scene of the dogfight we pick out our targets. It's easy to see who the Germans are at some distance in their grey-painted Messerschmitts.

After calling "Tally ho" I spot a Hurricane in trouble. The frantic radio calls must be him. Making a descending turn I pull in behind the 109 and open fire. The German is hit, and pulls up hard. I follow him and for a while he dodges my attempts to line up another good burst. Tracer comes over my left shoulder. MacDonald, where the heck are you? But it wasn't enemy fire. A Hurricane with 134's markings flashes past me at speed and tackles the German plane, turning left and shooting lumps off him.

I can see another Messerschmitt coming toward me. I turn and fire before he does. Was he hit? Can't tell. Maybe he was. He's turning for home and I give chase with MacDonald close behind me. He's losing speed. The German pilot noses down gently to compensate but I have an advantage. Closer... Closer... Fire!

The smoke starts pouring out of his engine. I follow him for a short while as he descends gradually, making no attempt to bail out. His descent is getting steeper. At last the enemy fighter noses in and that's that. On the return we encounter a Ju-88 on reconnaisance. The flight have climbed faster than me so I let them deal with it. Poor beggars never stood a chance. That's another Junkers written off. My wingman, MacDonald, claimed the Junkers. This, his first kill, was confirmed by the Russian army later that day. There was a suprise for me when I heard the confirmation of the 109 I shot down, and I waited for the moment to reveal what I knew.

I spotted Ivanov and his friends in the mess as we celebrated our successes of the day. He waited with a big smirk on his face as another Russian pilot, bold as brass, stepped toward me and bowed. "Mikhail Ivanov.. wishes... to ap.. to apologise. Very sorry for... push...shing in, yes? But... You were too low... and slow."

Beaming at getting his message across, he stood there grinning like a cheshire cat. I took a deep breath. "Please tell Mikhail Ivanov that he is... good pilot. But he did not shoot down an ace today."

The Russian looked perplexed. I smiled as I tried to explain. "Mikhail Ivanov can shoot down as many Germans as he likes. I will shoot down their aces. Today... I shoot down Wissemann."

It didn't take long for Ivanov to get the message. He pursed his lips as he nodded to himself. He gave a loud Russian curse and turned back to his friends. One doesn't like to boast, but needs must.

Wing Commander Crawford entered the mess and looked around for a victim. He shouted over the noise of socialising. "Wyatt! Is that how you present yourself?"

An astonished flight sergeant stood there trying to think what he'd done wrong. "Please excuse me Sir, I don't know what you mean."

"Oh don't you?" Crawford said as he approached my flight member in the sudden silence of the occaision. "Well let me tell you. You're improperly dressed. Get rid of those stripes Pilot Officer."

I don't think I need to describe the noise and antics that followed.

[caldrail]

Vayenga Airfield.

Bad weather put paid any to flying today. With plenty of time on my hands I consider our progress. Either we're winning the air war over Murmansk or we'll get an awful fright before too long.

The fighting at Ura Guba hasn't relaxed at all. Every two or three days the Germans make another attempt to capture the bridge. You have to admire the Russian soldiers defending the river. They've hung on tenaciously up there.

I find it worrying that our own divisions have not yet been sent into action. The summer won't last forever. We were sent here to support an offensive into Finland and so far we've advanced to a forward camp behind the lines. It's hard to imagine General Wynchett tolerating this delay. There must be a reason I suppose. No doubt we'll find out soon.

[caldrail]

08:00 hrs, 6th September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

Another patrol of the local area. More reports of intense fighting at Ura Guba. A distinct lack of Luftwaffe. Shipping out in the Barents Sea had reported a German bomber snooping around and Ivanov's flight had gone after it, though they didn't spot him at all.

[caldrail]

12:00 hrs, 7th September 1941, Vayenga Airfield.

The mist had persisted evn at midday. Nonetheless another patrol was caused for and we orbited the local area.

We heard the agitated radio traffic. I don't speak Russian, but that's someone in trouble. So we fly west and find the combat taking place at low level, well below us, marked by a solitary smoke trail. Wyatt has already led his wingman in, and I dive down toward the tiny aircraft heading east. As we quickly close on them we confirm they're German. I attack the rear one and he rolls out of the way very smartly indeed.

Flying past him I go after the enemy flight leader, but he's seen me and uses his speed to get away. Another 109 is closing on me fast. I see him in the mirror and barrel-roll for all I'm worth. By good fortune he misses me. Making a climbing turn to the right I try to spot a likely target. There's one, two o'clock low. Dow I go, diving after him, and I let loose a good burst at him. He starts leaving a trail and high tails it out of there. There's no way I can keep up with him.

The Messerschmitts seem to want to leave now. If I could catch them I would, but we're distracted by a number of bombers at six or seven thousand feet flying over us the other way. I tell the men to attack the bombers. These Junkers 88's aren't hanging around either, and it takes a while to catch them. I get there first, levelling off beside their formation as they make half-hearted attempts to fire at me. Turn right across their rear and fire at one... Got him, but he flies on. I continue drifting across and attack another as their formation breaks up, each bomber starting to turn in random directions.

Having chosen my quarry I go after him and fire again and again. I can see I've hit him but my ammunition runs out so it's time to head for home. Where's number three? Wyatt never made it. A 109 had made short work of him.

My wingman, MacDonald, got himself promoted to Pilot Officer today. Four 109's went down of which two were mine, the others by Ivanovs flight. I was credited with one Ju-88 that belly landed short of their lines.

The mood is one of frustration. I've been told that the reason the British haven't been sent into action is that the bridge at Ura Guba needs to be secured. Can't we just send our lads down the coast? I heard the Russians did that just after the invasion started. Officially, I've been told that 'Ours is not to reason why'.

[caldrail]

14:00 hrs, 8th September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

The mechanics have got another airframe fit for service. Those chaps have done a brilliant job with it. Over the last few weeks we've taken a lot of damage and I was beginning to wonder if we'd run out of aeroplanes. The last thing I wanted was Wing Commander Crawford cottoning on. Actually I think he has, being the nosey devil that he is, but he must also know I've been geeing the mechanics on.

Flight Sergeant Carey replaces Wyatt. I'm a little worried about him. He's nervous and inexperienced. I tell Jarvis, my number four, to watch out for him.

The morning came and went. Not until midday were we given a briefing and it appears we must protect an incoming convoy. The Germans have made their presence felt over the sea it seems.

The weather is good. Visibility is often an issue flying up here but today we can see for miles. The flight leaves Vayenga and turns north for the coast, rapidly climbing above cloud level. Keep up Carey. Jerry will have you for lunch if you don't stay with us.

We soon spot the convoy. It wasn't for some time later that Jarvis spottted aircraft below us. Four Messerschmitts had flown in low on a nuisance raid. Why hadn't they sent bombers? I choose the pair of 109's flying east. Even though I'm descending rapidly it still takes too long to lose our altitude. Still, there is the German wingman. I pull in behind and let loose. He flicks left and gets away. Carrying on I tackle his leader. This German sees me coming. He makes a climbing turn but with excess speed I cut across and pull up behind. I get off a burst before Mac warns me of the fighter behind.

I hear Jarvis calling for Carey to bale out. I feel like screaming but I've more important things to care of. The dogfight turns into a real unco-ordinated mess. One moment you have a Messerschmitt in your sights and the next you're dodging the one behind. For a while it's absolute chaos, then, as the fight spreads out, I find myself alone on the edge.

Mac is calling for help. He has a Yellow Nose on his tail. I can see the tracer from here, narrowly missing him. Break you idiot, break! There's a couple more 109's not far away but I can't sit here and not do anything. Diving back into the fray I pull in hard to get behind a 109. The 'G' is building quickly and I'm breathing hard. Aim... Fire... Got him! He's leaving a thin trail behind him. Once again I'm bounced by another and have to evade.

I've lost everyone. Where are they? I search the sky and see three isolated trails of smoke heading southwest for German territory. They're running! Keeping a wary eye for a fourth I command the flight to converge. Two of the 109's are very low and look like they might only just make the coast. The other isn't far ahead and doesn't have the speed to get away. He's the one I'm after. As I close in he begins barrel-rolling, losing height, trying to stay out of my sights. I fire but after that hectic furball earlier I soon run out of ammo.

Blue Flight, where are you? They confirm they're closing in but I carry on harassing the German, hoping he doesn't realise I can't fire at him. It doesn't matter. His stricken plane loses too much height and he belly lands in the snow. I've lost the other two Messerschmitts. Can't see a fourth. That worries me.



Once the flight is back in formation we head home. Jarvis tells me that Carey collided with a 109 that tried to bounce him. He got out apparently. Well, I suppose a dose of cold salt water will shake his ideas up a little. Hopefully he wasn't hurt.

No-one knows what happened to the two other 109's, but I got the credit for downing the one I chased over the coast. Whilst we were keeping the convoy safe the Germans raided Kilpyavr again. Some damage, not too bad, though Kilpyavr is barely functional as an airfield.

[caldrail]

06:00 hrs, 9th September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

The convoy has docked at Murmansk (with Flight Sergeant Carey on board I understand) and the orders are to protect the ships in harbour.

The weather is supposedly clear but on the ground you wouldn't think so. Visibility is very poor indeed and I'm half tempted to demand that we stay on the ground for safety's sake. Then again there's a war on and I don't imagine Crawford would be too impressed.



Once aloft the air is wonderfully clear. The Germans appear to have made a more sensible decision than us and we're left alone, returning after a fruitless patrol to make a very dodgy landing in the murk. Everyone got down all right, though Jarvis had to go around and frightened himself witless after he mistook a nearby road for the landing strip. I know it sounds comical, but Jarvis got his ears bent by Crawford when the it turned out the Russian truck drivers heading for Murmansk thought they were about to be strafed.

It was late in the day when an embarrassed Carey turned up none the worse for his experience. I made an unintentionally barbed joke about enjoying a swimming lesson.

"Yes Sir." He replied ruefully, "But the German couldn't get the hang of it."

It wasn't a pleasant thought. I told Carey to get some rest and be prepared to fly tomorrow.

[caldrail]

16:00 hrs, 10th September 1941, Vayenga Airfield

Today the weather is good. There's some cloud but the air quality is excellent. Another day, another patrol. I walk over to my aeroplane and begin strapping on the parachute. It all seems so laid back today.

I hear Merlin engines running up, and off to my right Ivanov's flight are taking off to protect Kilpyavr. One by one the engines reach a crescendo of noise and accelerate across the grass. They turn westward, small dark specks in the bright blue sky. It leaves me with a peculiar feeling in my stomach as I watch them them depart for no apparent reason.

Carey is about to climb aboard his Hurricane. I have to hand it to him, for a man nearly killed on his first sortie he seems very focused. Perhaps that's it. His near fatal dunking in the Barents Sea must have have woken him up. I hope it makes the difference.

Our patrol begins like all others. Climb to angels sixteen and maintain a wide orbit of the airfield. Once again the Russian voices are heard over the radio. This time they're frantic. Someone's in trouble. I listen as the Vayenga controller orders us west to support. Expect bombers and escorts in strength. I order the flight to head two eight zero. Carey is close behind my right shoulder. Good lad. At this hour of the day the sun is almost ahead of us and it's difficult to see anything for the glare. I have a growing worry that we'll get bounced any moment.

Finally, someone alerts us to the bombers five o'clock high. Good grief, there's enough of them! A formation of Heinkels, heading for Murmansk. Where are the escorts? I can hear Ivanov's men over the radio. Is he keeping them busy? There's nothing for it. "All right everyone, attack the bombers and watch out for escorts."

We climb up to meet their formation head on. I let off a salvo to no great effect, arcing up into the sky and coming around to catch up with the Heinkels again. They're shooting at me. Tracer is flashing past... Woah! That was a close one. Two bullets pass throught the cockpit.

Once I gain airspeed in the dive I close in on the right hand bomber ahead of me. I can see the hits, debris is coming off him. I can't stay on his tail for long - those gunners have the bit between their teeth. Turning left something large passes right underneath me. I can see orange flames, and a Hurricane pulls up into a steep climb to my right. Well done, whoever that was, but he's paid for it. His Hurricane is trailing thin smoke.

I go around for another pass. Two heinkels still in formation ahead. The right one is smoking nicely so I go for the leader. His plane takes damage too as I flash past him.

"Well done Number Three, he's going to Hell!" Someone says over the radio. Carey has shot a bomber down. Excellent. I make another pass but the angle is too steep - I haven't enough time to aim properly. Pull up. turn around, try again, and I open fire on him again. I can see the bullets hitting the front fuselage. He's beginning to dive. Forget him, there's another turning for home above me.

I chase the Heinkel in a climb and realise he's trying to evade another Hurrricane. The bomber is turning toward me as I come up underneath... Fire!... Yes!... The Heinkel is in serious trouble.



So are the Russians. I can see the dogfight below us, near the river. I tell the flight to take the escorts on. This time we'll jump them and help the Russians out. I dive down but the Germans are well aware of us. My target breaks and despite my efforts, he stays ahead and avoids my salvoes. He seriously pushes his Messerschmitt hard, but he's almost down on the deck. I am too, trying hard to keep pace, no more than a couple hundred feet above the trees rushing past me. Mac warns me of a bandit behind me just in time.

These Germans have their heads screwed on. If we stay here we get shot down. Mac pounces on the 109's behind me and they turn away. Siezing the moment I tell Blue Flight to break off and head east. We're outnumbered and low on ammo. Live to fight another day.

I look over my shoulder and search for Hurricanes. Two of them. The Messerschmitts are regrouping. By now though we're back across the river and the determined flak persuades the Luftwaffe to go home. Jarvis took longer to come home. He'd suffered engine failure after attacking the Heinkels and belly landed successfully.

Only a few of the bombers got away. The escorts however seemed invulnerable. They had the measure of us as soon as we joined the fight. That was a close one. For Ivanov's flight, it was closer. He was the only one who got back, and his plane was peppered with holes.

Have we another adversary at Petsamo?

[caldrail]

09:00 hrs, 11th September 1941, Vayenga

Todays patrol began in hazy weather on the morning of the 11th. As we expected, low level visibility was fairly poor. Just south of Kilpyavr we saw the stuka's below us, but in the event lost them in cloud. It was a very nervous moment.

"Keep your eyes peeled!".I said over the radio, craning my neck in all directions. I had no intention of getting bounced. The fighters were nowhere to be seen.

The day was otherwise uneventful, though I understand another Fw189 was shot down by Ivanov's wingman.