Stuka Pilot

by Hans Ulrich Rudel

  The month of January is quickly past and we pitch our H.Q. temporarily at Tazinskaja before moving to Schachty. The fighting from here is mainly against those enemy forces which are threatening the Donetz area. For sorties further North my squadron uses the airfield at Woroschilowgrad. It is not far from here to the Donetz; possible attempts to cross the river can be more easily countered from here. Because of the uninterrupted sorties and the stiff fighting we have done since Stalingrad, we are greatly reduced in the number of aircraft we can daily put in the air. The whole squadron has at the moment scarcely more than enough aircraft to form one strong flight. To fly on separate missions is seldom profitable, we fly in formation the leadership of which usually devolves on me. The whole Donetz area is full of industrial installations, chiefly mines. If the Soviets once get among these plants it will be difficult to throw them back; here they can find good cover and camouflage. Low level attacks among chimneys and mine shafts have generally only limited success, the pilots have to pay too much attention to their surroundings and the obstacles to be avoided, and cannot concentrate on the objective.

  On one of these days Flying Officers Niermann and Kufner celebrate their birthday. North West of Kamensk we look for the enemy, especially tanks, and the individual aircraft have separated somewhat from each other. On the tail of Kufner's aircraft with Niermann aboard it flies a Lag 5. I warn them and Niermann asks “Where?” He doesn't see it because the Lag has sneaked up from behind. Now it has already opened fire at close range. I had immediately turned back though without much hope of getting there in time. In the nick of time I shoot him off their tail before he realises what is happening. After this Niermann no longer claims that he is infallible in spotting every fighter.

  Such a "birthday celebration" is quite good fun, and many practical jokes are played; so also on this occasion. We have with us an acting M.O. Our airmen say that he cannot stand the “noise of firing”. In the small hours of the morning Jungklausen goes to the telephone and gets this doctor out of bed. Jungklausen pretends to be his superior officer in the Air Medical Corps: "You are to prepare immediately to be flown into the pocket ". ''Would you repeat that please?" "You are to prepare immediately to be flown into the pocket of Stalingrad. You are to relieve a colleague there " “I don't think I understand ".

  The doctor lives only on the floor below; we wonder that he does not hear Jungklausen's loud voice from the room above. He must be too excited. "But you know that I have a bad heart”. “That is beside the point. You are to take off for the pocket immediately." “But you know I have recently had an operation. Wouldn't it be better to give this assignment to a colleague?" "You can't mean that seriously! I cannot imagine that you are trying to wriggle out of this assignment. What sort of a hole should we be in if we cannot even count on you?"

  We are splitting our sides with laughter. The next day the doctor runs around in a terrible stew, but he boasts to anyone who is willing to listen to him that perhaps he is going to be required for this highly dangerous assignment. A few days later he has tumbled to the joke and is transferred. Better for us, better for him.

  In these days for quite a short time we use the airfield at Rowenki and then we move to Gorlowka, not far from Stalino, the centre of the Donetz industrial region. Heavy snowstorms hamper our flying activity: it is always a slow business getting the whole squadron into the air.

  Pilot Officer Schwirblat is sent to me as replacement officer, and on his first operational flight he has to fly alone with me into the Artemowsk area. I have flown some way ahead because apparently he has had difficulty taxiing on the snow. Then after he becomes airborne, instead of taking a short cut to join me he follows my track without closing up on me. Some Lags have fun with him and use him for target practice. It is a marvel that he is not shot down; he flies straight on without taking any defensive action; obviously he thinks that is the correct thing to do. I have to turn back and come in behind him; whereupon the fighters sheer off. After landing he discovers holes in his fuselage and tail unit. He says to me: "The flak peppered me properly; it must have been flak, for I never even saw a fighter”. I say with a touch of sarcasm: “I must warmly congratulate you on the excellence of your rear gunner who was presumably determined to see nothing - not even when the Lags were using him for target practice”.

  Later, however, Schwirblat is to prove himself the best man in the wing, of an exemplary toughness. Everyone in the outfit speaks of him only as my shadow; for when on operations he sticks to me like a burr. In addition, he joins me in all my sporting activities with the same keenness, and he never smokes or drinks. It is not very long before he gives proof of his flying skill. He nearly always flies as my No. 2 and we often go out alone. We cannot let up for a moment because the Soviets are attempting a Westward thrust across the road from Konstantinowska to Kramatorskaja in the direction of Slawiansk to our North. In one of these attacks my record of operational sorties reaches the 1000 mark. My colleagues offer their congratulations by presenting me with a lucky chimney sweep and a pig. Despite stubborn recalcitrance on my part, my 1001st operational flight ends for some months to come my employment at the front.

  9 - Stuka Versus Tank

  I AM first to go home on leave; but I am determined to fly to Berlin before I begin it to find out what they mean to do with me. A special mission awaits me and therefore I have to report to a department of the Air Ministry. The high total of my operational flights is the sole reason for all this. If this is the sort of thing it lets me in for I shall not let them keep count any longer. In Berlin no one knows anything. "In that case I can at once resume my command; my Wing has presumably made a mistake”

  In ministries and departments, however, mistakes are denied on principle. After much telephoning I am instructed to proceed, on the expiration of my leave, to Rechlin where experiments are being carried out in the use of anti-tank weapons from aircraft. The Officer Commanding, Flt./Lt. Steppe, is an old acquaintance of mine. Afterwards the establishment is going to Briansk in order to confirm theory in practice. This sounds rather better, but all the same it is not an operational command. I am congratulated on my promotion to Flight Lieutenant.

  I spend the next fortnight skiing at St. Anton. A big ski tournament is being held here. As an active competitor and senior ranking officer, I am at the same time captain of the Luftwaffe team competing. There are a lot of big shots present: Jennewein, Pfeifer, Gabel and Schuler; for they also belong to the Luftwaffe. It is a pleasant holiday and at the end of the fortnight my batteries are recharged.

  I wish I could get out of going first to Rechlin. I would rather go straight to Briansk. The anti-tank experimental unit has already assembled and has conducted its preliminary tests. We have here Ju. 88 type aircraft with 7.5 cm cannon installed under the pilot's seat, and Ju. 87 Stukas like those I have always flown, fitted with a 3.7 flak cannon under each wing. They use a special ammunition with a Wolfram centre, supposed to penetrate any armour likely to be encountered. These shells do not explode until after they have penetrated the protective armour. The Ju. 87, which is not any too fast of itself, now becomes even slower and is unfavourably affected by the load of the cannon it carries. Its manoeuvrability is disadvantageously reduced and its landing speed is increased considerably. But now armament potency is a prior consideration over flying performance.

  Experiments with Ju. 88s armed with a large calibre cannon are soon abandoned as the difficulties which arise hold out no promise of success. Also one operational flight undertaken with Ju 87s results only in losses. The majority of our establishment is sceptical; what impresses me is the possibility of being able to shoot with an accuracy of within 20-30 cm. If this is attainable one should be able to hit the easily vulnerable parts of the tank provided one could get within close enough range - that is my conviction. From visual models we learn to recognise infallibly the various types of Russian tank and are taught where the most vulnerable parts are located: engine, petrol tank, ammunition chamber. Mere
ly to hit a tank is not enough to destroy it, it is necessary to hit a particular spot (i.e. petrol or ammunition) with incendiary or explosive stuff. So a fortnight passes; then the Ministry wishes to know whether we are ready for an immediate transfer to the Crimea. The Soviets are exerting heavy pressure and there we shall certainly have a wider and better field for the practical test of our theories.

  To fly in at low level and then open fire from a few yards above the ground is impossible on a stabilised front with strong A.A. emplacements; we know that much because the losses are greater than the results. We shall only be able to use this weapon, if at all, where the front, and consequently the A.A. defence, is on the move. Flt./Lt. Steppe stays behind at Briansk and will follow us later. I fly over Konotop and Nikolajew with all serviceable aircraft to Kertsch on the Crimean peninsula. At Kertsch I meet up with my wing and it wrings my heart to see the old faces again and for the time being no longer to be one of them. They are bombing the hotly contested bridgehead at Krymskaja. Comrades tell me that Soviet tanks which have broken through are advancing not more than a mile or so beyond the old main battle line. This means then that we shall have to attack them while they are still covered by the sited, and therefore heavy, flak defence of their own front line.

  The A.A. in this battle area is concentrated in a very restricted space. After the end of the fighting near the oilfields not far from the Caspian Sea where the Soviet oil centre lies, practically all their A.A. artillery has been brought up from those distant areas and concentrated here. They have travelled up through Mosdok – Piatigorsk – Armawir - Krasnodar. On one of the first days after our arrival we already make the first test South of Krymskaja. Tanks which have broken through are located 800 yards in front of their own main line. We find them at once and are eager to see what can be done. It is mighty little, for I am still flying above our own front line when I receive a direct hit by flak. Other aircraft fare no better. Now in addition enemy fighters arrive on the scene, an old production series of Spitfires. This is the first time I have met this type of aircraft in Russia. One of our young pilot officers is brought down in an orchard. He turns up the same evening with fruit and diarrhoea.

  After this beginning and the feeble results of our first test the outlook is none too rosy. We are the object of commiseration wherever we appear, and our sympathizers do not predict a long lease of life for any of us. The heavier the flak, the quicker my tactics develop. It is obvious that we must always carry bombs to deal with the enemy defence. But we cannot carry any on our cannon-carrying aircraft as the bomb load makes them too heavy. Besides, it is no longer possible to go into a dive with a cannon-carrying Ju. 87 because the strain on the wing planes is too great. The practical answer is therefore to have an escort of normal Stukas.

  A fresh Soviet assault offers us the opportunity to initiate this important new departure. N.E. of Temjruk the Soviets are endeavouring to turn the Kuban front. They begin to ferry parts of two divisions across the lagoons in the hope of bringing about by this manoeuvre the collapse of the Kuban front. We have only isolated strong-points with a very thin support line holding the marshland and the lagoons N.E. of Temjruk. Naturally their striking power is limited, and in no way a match for this new Soviet operation.

  Our reconnaissance confirms the presence of a strong assembly of boats in the harbour of Jeisk and near Achtary. These are attacked by our Stukas. The targets are so small and the boats so numerous that these attacks alone cannot deflect the Russians from their plan. Now at all hours of the day and night they swarm across the lagoons. The total distance they have to travel is something like thirty miles.The lakes are connected by little canals, and so the Russians edge nearer and nearer to Temjruk, behind the Kuban front and far in our rear. They pause at intervals to rest under cover of the tall reeds and on the eyots. When they keep themselves hidden in this way they are hard to locate and recognise. Yet if they wish to resume their advance they have again to travel across open water. We are in the air every day from dawn till dusk, racing above the water and the reeds in search of boats. Ivan comes on in the most primitive craft; one rarely sees a motor boat. Besides rifles he carries with him hand grenades and machine guns. He glides across in the little boats with a load of five to seven men; as many as twenty men are packed on board the larger craft. In dealing with them we do not use our special anti-tank ammunition, for a high potency is not required here. On the other hand one must have a useful explosive effect on hitting the wood, in this way the boats are most quickly smashed. Normal flak ammunition with a suitable fuse proves the most practical. Anything trying to slip across the water is as good as lost. Ivan's losses in boats must be serious for him. I alone with my aircraft destroy seventy of these vessels in the course of a few days. Gradually the strength of the defence increases, but that does not stop us.

  Flying Officer Ruffer, an excellent gunner belonging to a neighbouring anti-tank squadron flying H.129S is brought down and lands like Robinson Crusoe on an island in the middle of the lagoons. He is lucky. He is rescued by a company of German assault troops. Soon the Soviets realise that they must write off this plan; for with these losses success is no longer attainable.

  It is now about the 10th of May and I receive the news that the Führer has awarded me the Oak Leaves; I am to leave immediately for Berlin for the investiture. The next morning, instead of my usual excursion flying my cannon-carrying aircraft at low level over the straits of Kertsch on the search for boats, I am on my way to Berlin in a Me. 109. En route, I puzzle out a plan of campaign to wangle an early return to my Wing. In the Reichskanzlei I learn from Wing Commander von Below, the adjutant of the Luftwaffe, that some twelve soldiers are to receive the decoration at the same time as myself. They are members of all the services of different ranks. I tell Wing-Commander von Below that I intend to explain to the Führer that I am tired of being seconded to the experimental unit and wish to be allowed to resume command of my old front squadron in the Immelmann Stuka Wing. Only on this condition will I accept the decoration. He urges me not to, and gives me his promise to deal with the matter himself. I say nothing of the steps I have already taken in memos addressed to the Air Command.

  Shortly before we report to the Führer, von Below brings me the welcome news that he has just fixed everything. I get back to my old squadron, with the proviso that I shall continue to study the usefulness of the experimental aircraft. I gladly agree, and now at last I can really be happy over the Oak Leaves.

  The Führer pins the medal on our chests. He talks to us for over an hour about the military situation, past, present, and future plans. He touches on the first winter in Russia and Stalingrad. All of us who were there at the front are amazed at his unerring grasp of detail. He does not blame the German soldier at the front, but sees things exactly as we up there have experienced them. He is full of ideas and plans, and absolutely confident. Again and again he stresses that we must win the victory over Bolshevism, as otherwise the world will be plunged into an appalling chaos from which there is no way out. Therefore, Bolshevism must be smashed by us, even though for the present the Western Allies refuse to recognise how disastrous is their policy for themselves and the rest of the world. He radiates a calmness which infects us all. Each of us goes away to his task revitalised, and so two days later I am back with my wing at Kertsch. I take over the command of my old squadron.

  10 - On the Kuban and at Bjelgorod

  I HAVE taken a cannon-carrying aircraft with me and I introduce my squadron to the new machine. Wherever I see a chance of an operation for the experimental unit it takes off together with mine. Later it is reformed into an anti-tank squadron which operates independently, but in action it is subordinate to my supervision and command. The Briansk establishment now also follow us; Captain Steppe likewise returns to the squadron formation.

  There is work enough for us Stuka bombers, for the Soviets have got across the Black Sea and behind our front. They have landed and formed beach-heads on the hilly coast East
and South-west of Noworossisk. These are now frequently the target of our attacks. Reinforcements and material continue to arrive at the landing quays. The A.A. defence is as furious as at other crucial points of the Kuban bridgehead. Many of my comrades make their last flight here. My squadron commander bales out over the beach-head; he is lucky, the wind carries him over our lines. So we fly back and forth between the beach-head and Krymskaja. I generally dive with my flight almost to ground level and then fly off in a low level flight out to sea near the beach-head, or over the marshland further North where the defence is weaker. The small release height of the bomb improves the bombing results, and also the defence is not yet accustomed to our very low level tactics.

  If, as we approach Krymskaja above the tobacco-growing ravine, the flak begins and many a new crew gets windy, they are soon calmed down again when they hear the "old sweats" having their fun over the R/T with a joke or a snatch of song. Someone calls out: “Maximillan, get cracking!" This refers to the skipper of the second squadron; he keeps on circuiting in the flak, eternally delaying his dive, so that the aircraft behind lose their sense of direction. This self-confident coolness then soon infects the tyros. Not infrequently I do a loop, a roll or some other stunt; I wonder if the A.A. gunners think I am having a lark with them?