Stuka Pilot

by Hans Ulrich Rudel

  As I come down to land all the men are gesticulating violently and pointing up into the sky. I look up and through the gaps in the ragged cloud cover I can see American fighters and Jabos, Mustangs and Thunderbolts circling above. They are flying at 4800 to 5400 feet above a layer of mist. They have not yet caught sight of me alone up there, otherwise I should have observed them while in the air. The Thunderbolts carry bombs and seem to be searching for a target, so our airfield is presumably their objective. Quickly, as far as one can use the word of a one-legged man in plaster, I hop over to where the others are standing by. They must all be got under cover. I hustle the children into the cellar where they will at least be safe from splinters but no more, for the house which we use as our operations room being the only one on the airfield is pretty certain to tempt one of those chaps up there. I enter last to pacify the children just as the first bombs drop, one of them close to the building; the blast smashes the window panes and sweeps away the roof. Our aircraft defence is too feeble to drive the bombers off, but enough to prevent low level attack.

  Fortunately we have no casualties among the children. I am sorry that their innocent, romantic ideas of aviation should have thus been brutally converted into grim reality. They soon quiet down again and the school-teacher marshals her little flock into a crocodile and shepherds them towards the village. Flight Lt. Niermann is radiant; he hopes he has got a film of the whole attack. Throughout the performance he has been standing in a fox-hole, filming the falling bombs from the moment of their release to their impact with the ground and the fountains of earth they spout into the air. This is a tit-bit for the expert photographer from Spitzbergen, where he has also succeeded in taking some unique pictures.

  Fresh met. reports from the Görlitz-Bautzen area forecast a gradual clearing-up of the weather, so we take off. The Soviets have by-passed Görlitz and pushed on beyond Bautzen, which is encircled with its German garrison, in the hope of reaching Dresden by way of Bischofswerda. Continual counter-attacks are launched against these spearheads trying to affect the collapse of Field Marshal Schoerner's front, and with our support Bautzen is relieved and we destroy a large number of vehicles and tanks. This flying takes a lot out of me, I must have lost much blood and my apparently inexhaustible stamina has its limitations after all. Our successes are shared by battle and fighter formations placed under my command and stationed on our airfield and in the vicinity.

  In the first fortnight of April a wireless signal summons me to the Reichskanzlei. The Führer tells me that I am to take over the command of all jet units and with them clear the air space above General Wenk's new army now being assembled in the region of Hamburg. This army's first objective will be to strike from the neighbourhood of this city into the Harz, in order to cut the supply lines of the allied armies already established further east. The success of the operation at this critical juncture depends on the preliminary clearance of the air space above our own lines, otherwise it is doomed to failure; the Führer is convinced of this and General Wenk who is to conduct the operation agrees with him. I beg the Führer to relieve me of this assignment because I feel that I am at the moment indispensible in Field Marshal Schoerner's sector, his army being engaged in a most arduous defensive battle. I recommend him to choose for the task someone from jet command who will not be so out of his depth as I should. I point out to him that my experience is limited to dive-bombing and tank combat, and that I have always made a point of never giving an order which I could not assist in carrying out myself. With jet aircraft I could not do this, and should therefore feel ill at ease with the formation leaders and crews. I must always be able to show my subordinates the way.

  "You have not got to fly at all, you have only to organise. If anyone questions your bravery because you are on the ground I will have him hanged."

  A trifle drastic, I reflect, but probably he only wishes to dispel my scruples. "There are plenty of people with experience, that alone is not enough. I must have somebody who can organise and carry out the operation energetically."

  A final decision is not reached that day. I fly back, only to be recalled a few days later to the Reichsmarschall who passes on to me the order to undertake this task. Meanwhile the situation at the front has so far deteriorated that Germany threatens to be divided into two pockets, and the conduct of the operation would hardly be possible. For this reason and those already mentioned I refuse. As the Reichsmarschall lets me guess, this is no surprise to him as since my flat refusal to accept the combat bomber command he knows my attitude exactly. This time, however, the principal motive of my refusal is that I cannot accept the responsibility for something which I am no longer convinced in my own mind is feasible. I very soon perceive how gravely the Reichsmarschall views the situation. As we are discussing the position at the front, bending over a table spread with maps, he mutters to himself: “I wonder when we shall have to set fire to this shack " - he means Karinhall. He advises me to go to the Führer's headquarters and personally inform him of my refusal. As, however, I have received no orders to this effect I fly back immediately to my wing where I am urgently awaited. But this is not to be my last flight to Berlin.

  A wireless signal on the 19th April summons me once again to the Reichskanzlei. To reach Berlin from Czechoslovakia in an unescorted aircraft is at this time no longer a simple matter; at more than one place the Russian and the American fronts are very close to one another. The air space is alive with aircraft, but none of them are German. I arrive at the Reichskanzlei and am admitted to the anteroom of the Führer's bunker. There is an atmosphere of calm and confidence, those present are mainly army officers taking part in present or contemplated operations. From outside one can hear the thump of the two thousand pounders which Mosquitos are dropping in the centre of the city.

  It is nearly 11 p.m. when I stand in the presence of the Supreme Commander. I have foreseen the object of this interview: the definite acceptance of the assignment previously discussed. It is an idiosyncrasy of the Führer to beat about the bush and never to come directly to the point. So on this evening he begins with a half-hour lecture explaining the decisiveness in the course of the centuries of technical developments in which we have always led the field, an advantage which we must also now exploit to the limit and so positively turn the tide of victory in our favour. He tells me that the whole world is afraid of German science and technology, and shows me some intelligence reports which indicate the steps the allies are already taking to rob us of our technical achievements and our scientists. Every time I listen to him I am astounded at his memory for figures and his specialised knowledge of all things technical. At this time I have about six thousand flying hours behind me and with my extensive practical experience there is very little I do not know about the various types of aircraft he refers to, but there is nothing on which he cannot expatiate with an incomparable ease and on which he does not make apt suggestions for modifications. His physical condition is not as good as it was perhaps three or four months ago. There is a perceptible glitter in his eyes. Wing Commander Below tells me that for the last eight weeks Hitler has had virtually no sleep; one conference after another. His hand trembles, this dates from the attempt on his life of the 20th July. During the long discussion that evening I notice moreover that he is apt to repeat certain trains of thought, which he never used to, though his words are clearly thought out, and full of determination.

  When the long preamble is finished the Führer comes to the main theme I have listened to so often. He recapitulates the reasons communicated to me a few days ago and concludes: "It is my wish that this hard task should be undertaken by you, the only man who wears the highest German decoration for bravery."

  With the same and similar arguments as on the last occasion I once again refuse, especially as the situation at the front has still further deteriorated, and I emphasise that it is only a matter of time before the east and west fronts will meet in the middle of the Reich and when that happens two pockets will have to ope
rate separately. Only the northern pocket would then come under consideration for the execution of his plan, and it would be necessary to concentrate all our jet aircraft inside it. It interests me that the number of serviceable jet aircraft, including bombers and fighters, on the returns for the day is given as 180. At the front we have long felt that the enemy has a numerical superiority of almost twenty to one. Seeing that the jet aircraft require particularly large airfields it is obvious to start with that only a limited number of airfields within the northern pocket come into question. I point out that as soon as we have assembled our aircraft at these bases they will be pounded day and night by enemy bombers and from a merely technical aspect their operational effectiveness will be nil in a couple of days, in which case it will no longer be possible to keep the air space above General Wenk's army free of the enemy and the catastrophe will then be inevitable because the army will be strategically immobilised. I know from my personal contact with General Wenk that the army includes my guarantee of a free air space as a reliable factor in all its calculations as we have so often done successfully together in Russia.

  This time I cannot take upon myself the responsibility, and I stick to my refusal. And once again I discover that anyone of whom Hitler has reason to believe that he only desires to serve the best interests of the whole is free to express his opinion, and that he is willing to revise his own ideas, while understandably he has ceased to have any confidence in people who have repeatedly deceived and disappointed him.

  He declines to accept my "two pocket theory" as an accurate prediction. He bases his opinion on a firm and unqualified promise given to him by the respective army commanders of each sector that they will not retreat from the present fronts which are, broadly speaking, the line of the Elbe in the West and in the East the line of the Oder, the Neisse and the Sudeten mountains. I remark that I trust the German soldier to acquit himself with especial gallantry now that he is fighting on German soil, but that if the Russians mass their forces for a concentrated blow at one key point they are bound to batter a gap in our defences and then the two fronts will link up. I quote instances from the eastern front in recent years when the Russians hurled tank after tank into the battle and if three armoured divisions failed to reach their objective they simply threw in ten, gaining ground on our depleted Russian front at the cost of enormous losses in men and material. Nothing could have stopped them. The question then was whether or not they would exhaust this immense reserve of man-power before Germany was beaten to her knees. They did not, because the help they received from the West was too great. From a purely military standpoint every time we gave ground at that time in Russia and the Soviets suffered heavier losses in men and material it was a victory for the defence. Even though the enemy ridiculed these victories we know that it was so. But this time a victorious retirement was useless, for then the Russians would be only a few miles behind the western front. The Western Powers have accepted a grave responsibility - perhaps for centuries to come - by weakening Germany only to give additional strength to Russia. At the end of our talk I say to the Führer these words:" In my opinion at this moment the war can no longer be ended victoriously on both fronts, but it is possible on one front if we can succeed in getting an armistice with the other."

  A rather tired smile flits across his face as he replies: "It is easy for you to talk. Ever since 1943 I have tried incessantly to conclude a peace, but the Allies won't; from the outset they have demanded unconditional surrender. My personal fate is naturally of no consequence, but every man in his right mind must see that I could not accept unconditional surrender for the German people. Even now negotiations are pending, but I have given up all hope of their success. Therefore we must do everything to surmount this crisis, so that decisive weapons may yet bring us victory."

  After some further talk about the position of Schoerner's army he tells me he intends to wait a few days to see whether the general situation develops as he anticipates or my fears are justified. In the first case he will recall me to Berlin for a final acceptance of the assignment. It is nearly one o'clock in the morning when I leave the Führer's bunker. The first visitors are waiting in the anteroom to offer their congratulations on his birthday.

  I return to Kummer early, flying low to avoid the Americans, Mustangs, four-engined bombers and Thunderbolts, which soon infest the upper air and are above me almost all the way back. Having to fly like this alone below these enemies and constantly on the qui vive-"have they spotted you or not?"- is a greater strain than many an operational flight. If Niermann and I occasionally get rather hot under the collar with the suspense it is not to be wondered at. We are glad to set foot again on our home base.

  The slight relaxation of the pressure exerted by the Russians West of Görlitz is partly due to our daily operations which have inflicted heavy losses. One evening after the last sortie of the day I drive into Görlitz, my home town, now in the battle zone. Here I meet many acquaintances of my youth. They are all in some job or other, not the least of their activities being their home defence duties with the Volkssturm. It is a strange reunion; we are shy of uttering the thoughts that fill our minds. Each has his load of trouble, sorrow and bereavement, but at this moment our eyes are focussed only on the danger from the east. Women are doing men's work, digging tank traps, and only lay down their spades for a brief pause to suckle their hungry babies; greybeards forget the infirmities of age and labour till their brows are damp with sweat. Grim resolution is written on the faces of the girls; they know what is in store for them if the Red hordes break through. A people in a struggle for survival! If the nations of the West could see with their own eyes the happenings of these days pregnant with destiny and realise their significance they would very soon abandon their frivolous attitude towards Bolshevism.

  Only the 2nd squadron is billeted in Kummer; the wing staff has its headquarters in the schoolhouse at Niemes, some of us live in the homes of the local inhabitants who are 95 per cent German, and do everything possible to meet our every wish. The business of getting to and from the airfield is not altogether plain sailing, one man always squats on the mud-guard of every car as look-out for enemy aircraft.

  American and Russian low-flying planes scour the country at every minute of the day, actually criss-crossing one another in this region. The more unpleasant visitors come from the West, the others from the East.

  When we take off on a sortie we often find the "Amis" lying in wait for us in one direction and the "Ruskis" in another. Our old Ju 87 crawls like a snail in comparison with the enemy aircraft, and when we approach the objective of our mission the constant aerial combat strains our nerves to snapping point. If we attack the air is instantly alive with swarming foes; if we are on our homeward course we have again to force a passage through a ring of hostile aircraft before we can land. Our flak on the airfield usually has to "shoot us a free path”.

  American fighters do not attack us if they see that we are headed for the front and already engaged in aerial combat with the Ivans. We generally take off from the Kummer airfield in the morning with four or five anti-tank aircraft, accompanied by twelve to fourteen FW 190s carrying bombs and at the same time acting as our escort. The enemy then waits for our appearance in overwhelming superiority. Rarely, if we have sufficient petrol, we are able to carry out a combined operation with all the formations attached to my command, and then the enemy in the air outnumbers us by only five to one! Yes indeed, our daily bread is earned with sweat and tears.

  On the 25th April another wireless signal from the Führer's headquarters reaches me, completely jumbled. Practically nothing is intelligible, but I assume I am again being summoned to Berlin. I ring up the air command and report that I have been presumably ordered to Berlin and request permission to fly there. The commodore refuses, according to the army bulletin fighting is going on round the Templehof aerodrome and he does not know if there is any airfield free of the enemy. He says: "If you come down in the Russian lines they will chop my
head off for having allowed you to start."

  He says he will try to contact Wing Commander von Below immediately by wireless to ask for the correct text of the message and where I can land if at all. For some days I hear nothing, then at 11 p.m. on the 27th April he rings me up to inform me that he has at last made contact with Berlin and that I am to fly there tonight in a Heinkel III and land on the wide east-to-west arterial road through Berlin at the point where the Brandenburg Gate and the Victory monuments stand. Niermann will accompany me.

  The take off with a Heinkel III at night is not altogether easy as our airfield has neither flares round the perimeter nor any other lighting; it is, besides, small and has good-sized hills on one side of it. In order to be able to take off at all we have to partly empty the petrol tank so as to reduce the weight of the aircraft. Naturally this cuts the time we can stay in the air, a serious handicap.