They gave me a medal for it. The running man was so far from any cover that it was hard for anyone not to see what was happening. I swear I heard a yell of rage rise from the ground after he fell in a tangle of legs and arms. He did not get up. Others must have been watching his run from the trenches and bunkers; we were supposed to strafe in the hopes of killing some ground crew or even a mechanic.
As we were heading for home that sharp-eyed dorsal gunner, I never did know his name as he was killed the next mission, spotted a lone Spitfire very well hidden in a near-by wood. The pilot banked around and bore straight in for the spot where the gunner indicated and let loose with a burst of cannon fire. Nothing happened. Then it was my turn as we passed over the spot. I finally saw the plane and fired a burst of my gun at it. I suppose one of the tracers found some fuel, and an explosion occurred consuming the last fighter that I know of in our area.
We never again were attacked from the air in those last weeks before we were hastily transferred to the Black Sea area. I regret to this day taking the life of the runner. It really was an accident more than a well-aimed skillful killing. My deeds, whether by design or not, did get me transferred from the gunner position. I was given a medal and sent to bombardier school. I can think of two times that the armor plate near the pilot saved my life in my new position. During the whole of the war, we never had another gunner last more than eight missions. One or the other was always getting killed or maimed. The gunners in the IL-10 were given more armor but not our gunners in the Tu-2S. I guess the Runner saved my life by giving up his.
Dirk Weidman:
After Johnny was hit the same plane that shot him found the last Spitfire on the field. We knew it was the same one because it was painted with a shark’s mouth and was quite distinctive. A few well-placed burst of fire and it was aflame, and then it blew up. We’ve talked it over, and we all agreed it was the same gunner in the tail area of that plane that both killed Johnny and hit that Spitfire. I sure hope he’s proud of his days’ work.
By the time we got to Johnny, he was dead. He probably died instantly. I hope so. At least that gives us some feeling of comfort. I recall that William was really upset. He even tried to stop Johnny from going running all that way in the open like that. I mean what bloody good is one more plane is going to do with the bleeding Reds flying willy-nilly all over like they owned the place. In fact, they did own the air for the most part. You couldn’t drive a vehicle, especially a lorry in the day. Those bloody red bastards seemed to smell diesel fuel and appeared out of nowhere whenever a truck engine started up much less tried to run down the road. There was just too many of them and they were all over the bleeden place. Excuse my language mum, but I get upset when I think about those times and bad times they were. Yes bad times they were.
They sure put a crimper in the air operations out of Wittering. We never got a plane off the ground again during the whole battle. They would come and check occasionally and attack anything that looked like it was new or being repaired or just not destroyed. Those Red bastards never let up during the day. They was always around. Flying around looking for something to kill or destroy. There were just too many of them. Just too many of them…
Mrs. Winslow:
I knew what had happened the minute William showed up at the house. He and Johnny were mates, mates for life. William showing up alone meant only one thing. Only one thing… my Johnny was dead. Oh it hurt so bad I couldn’t even cry it hurt so bad. It just sat there like an explosion behind my eyes trying to find a way out. It did of course eventually. Oh how it did. Then the tears came, and they still haven’t stopped. Every night I think of me Johnny. The way he laughed and could make you feel like there wasn’t a care in the world. Now all that’s gone and all the cares of the world have returned.
Mr. Winslow still hasn’t acknowledged that our Johnny is gone. He sits on the porch like he expects him to come down the lane at any time. He doesn’t go to work and barely eats. The Vicar can’t do anything with him. He just looks right through you. Looks right through you trying to see Johnny coming down the lane. Not even the official notice delivered by the RAF changed his mind. Who knows maybe he sees Johnny, and we just don’t. How can a man go from being life itself to being a lifeless body? Still breathing, still going to sleep, still going to the loo but not quite alive. I’m so ashamed, but I’m angry at Johnny for leaving and taking Mr. Winslow with him. I’ve lost both my boy and my husband, my friend, my life.
Marshal Novikov looked over the roster of squadrons and pilot training units. Quite impressive and for once he was glad that Sergo had the ear of Stalin. It certainly made his life and career much better. No longer was the VVS the step child of the Red Army. Sergo had convinced Stalin to start concentrating on pilots and the production of defensive weapons systems such as the Wasserfall, X4 missile and the new jets, as soon as the resources were available. Even the Tu2 was seen as a protective weapon when it was tasked with keeping the RAF bombers from reaching the Motherland by destroying their means of landing and taking off. Concentrating on the anti-air defenses first, caught the Limeys by complete surprise and who would have thought that an old-fashioned smoke screen could be their downfall. Well, that and the sabotage of the VT or proximity fuse.
The VVS training program now rivaled the US training program in size and scope. With the extra six months of peace time and the knowledge of what was to come and how to capitalize on the known tactics of the RAF and USAAF it had been a rather “Happy Time” to use a German phrase from their Kriegsmarine. Things went their way so far. Shooting down their first attempt at using the most heinous weapon ever invented, the atomic bomb, was a master stroke, and he had to give Beria his due on that operation. It was a brilliant piece of spy craft that has frustrated all the major attempts both the RAF and Yanks had tried to mount. Beria was uncanny in his use of his spy network in gaining the needed knowledge to thwart every attempt of any size up to this juncture.
It could not last forever, and soon he was sure they would have to rely on the skills of both the Soviet design bureaus, Sergo’s factory workers and his pilot training schools. They could not rely on tricks and being able to look into a crystal ball forever to stay ahead of the cursed Americans. They seemed to constantly find a way and this time it was up to him to stop them wherever they dared to strike at the motherland. That new high tailed jet that MiG was working on will come as a surprise, I’m sure. Those American jet engines they captured almost three months ago, and the lessons learned were already finding their way into the design bureaus work. By spring, he will be able to give his newly trained and veteran pilots the means to truly defend the industrial heartland of the Soviet Union from all airborne attacks. He will no longer have to rely on Beria’s tricks and Sergo’s secret missiles. It will be the Soviet worker and pilot against the Western pigs and their best. He was supremely confident in his vision for pilot training. How could it fail… he had copied the American and British model?
10s of thousands of flyers were going to be ready by the spring, men who would have been used as cannon fodder by Zhukov. Men who would have been driving and dying in tanks and using their bodies to form human ramps over barbwire are now being trained to fly and fight in beautifully designed machines, machines designed to shoot down the American B29. Yes, they just had to make it through the winter and into the spring, and then they could stand toe to toe with the capitalist pigs and their air forces. New sources of aluminum ore and oil were being discovered every day. Now they only needed the time to exploit and mine their new-found riches, riches that rivaled the Americans. The greedy Amerikosi had just happened to start their mining first, but we were catching up. We had the added advantage of not having to waste time on the wants of the bourgeois, but can concentrate on the needs of the state instead. We would catch up fast.