28.03.2009, 05:20
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.
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.