Chapter 1
A car stopped near a datcha located in the woods near Moskou. A soldier walked forward and opened the door. Oleg Ivanovich stepped out of the car into the freezing winter. He looked around him. The datcha stood in a small clearing in the woods. Oleg could not see the guards but he knew there would be plenty of them, watching him from the treeline.
"Welcome, comrade Ivanovich, how was your trip?"
A small men stepped forward, his two small eyes looked through round glasses. On his collar he wore the distinct symbols of a political officer. Oleg hated these guys, in fact he hated everybody who was not fighting the Germans.
"It was fine, but I am not used to let other people do the flying", said Oleg, ignoring the political officer.
"I see" replied the officer, "He is expecting you. You are supposed to leave after dinner, but since he likes to spend his evenings drinking vodka, it might be night before you get home"
"No problem, comrade, how do I address him?", asked Oleg.
"Just comrade" the political officer guided Oleg into the datcha. "I'll wait outside comrade, with all the other guards".
Oleg did not knew whether that last remark from the political officer was meant to show the privilege he had of personally visiting the great leader or whether it was a hidden message to make clear that he should not try to do some funny stuff, like a murder attempt.
Oleg entered through the door and stopped, there he saw him: the great leader. He was reading a book, but put it down as he noticed the young pilot in the doorway.
"Ah comrade Oleg, come here", Stalin stood up and embraced heart-fully Oleg. "Let me take a look at this young pilot who is so lauded by our Pravda!". Stalin pulled Oleg to the nearby table.
"Come, sit down and have a drink with me", Stalin poured two vodkas, handed one to Oleg and saluted: "To mother Russia". Both man drank the vodka in one gulp.
Stalin immediately filled the glasses again,"Come one comrade, tell me about your exploits". Oleg hesitated, had the Pravda not already revealed so much about his career, And did Comrade Stalin not have access to all the reports?
Stalin smiled with his little black eyes to Oleg:"I could read the Pravda or the reports your political officer sends but I'd rather hear it from you. Tell me about your first day in the field, when you shot two fascist pilots."
That mourning Oleg had arrived at the forward airfield, fresh from flight academy, he just had learned to fly the Yak-3. Short on pilots the commander of the squadron had no other choice then to immediately send his new recruits into battle. So it happened that Oleg was sitting in the cockpit of his new yak, ready for a patrol over the front-line. Suddenly sirens whaled over the airfield.
The radio crackled as the commander announced: "German fighter-bombers. They are heading this way, everybody take off!"
The Yak in front of Oleg took off. As quickly as possible, Oleg finished the preflight checklist, started the engine and rolled down the runway.
But the Germans were already above them. As he rolled down the runway, Oleg could spot the dark shadows in the sky, releasing small egg-like objects from their belly. Oleg flinched as one of the eggs dropped near the runway, disappearing in a cloud of fire, metal and dust. Metal sprayed his aircraft like hot rain.
Oleg sighted with relief when the wheels no longer touched the runway. Quickly pulling up his undercarriage, he turned towards theoncoming fascist pilots. He jammed the throttle forward, trying to gain some altitude while the German fighters screamed by.
He waited until the last German fighter had passed, before rolling his Yak into a split S on the trail of the nearest German. The Krauts were too focused on the airfield, trying to damage it in a single pass. They probably wanted to get the hell out of dodge before the Soviet pilots would have organized themselves.
Oleg was gaining on the nearest German, who was ignorant of the Soviet pilot. With the throttle jammed full forward, the distance between the two fighters got close pretty fast. Just as the German fighter almost filled the entire windscreen, Oleg pulled the trigger. 12.7 mm bullets together with a couple of 20 mm shells hit their mark. The German started to trail fire.
But there was no time for a coup-de-graçe. There were still plenty of German fighters left and Oleg wanted to shoot them down before they could do more damage to the airfield.
Ignoring the burning German, Oleg focused on another Kraut. This one was trying to escape the Yaks which were now buzzing around the airfield like angry wasps defending their nest.
But this pilot, sporting the numbers 22 on his fuselage, seemed to be much more capable. As soon as he spotted Oleg, he started to jink. Oleg tried to stick onto his tail, but the German rolled and jinked like crazy.
Deciding that the fight was not favorable, the German dove towards the deck, vainly trying to outrun the Yak.
But Oleg was not stupid, he simply waited until he knew where the German was heading before diving after him.
Oleg caught up with him as he started to climb out of his dive. Spraying the German with shells and bullets, flames and explosions erupted from the fighter.
However luck was on the Germans side, because his fighter withstood the pounding of the shells and bullets. Again Oleg had to pull hard on the stick to avoid crashing into the German.
This time Oleg was much more careful. The German never made the intention to turn on him, so he estimated that he had to be either low on fuel or wounded. So Oleg made sure he matched the speed of his yak to that of the German. Slowly creeping closer, he started to fire with hismachine-guns, firing short bursts. Every hit of bullets was followed by a couple of shells.
Soldiers on the ground, had also spotted the low-level flight. Anti aircraft guns began firing too at the German, carefully avoiding the Yak tailing him.
Finally the Germans luck ran out. A single shell exploded in on of the fuel tanks. The fuel tank was almost empty, but the fumes, set afire explosively by the shell, tore apart the fighter. The burning wreckage fell into the woods not far from the airfield.
"What a wonderful story" yelled Stalin, filling the glasses with vodka for another round, "I read about your two kills, but I prefer your story above dry statistics!".
Perhaps it was the effect of the vodka, when Oleg reacted: "Comrade Stalin, credit where credit due, I never shot two aircraft. I never saw the first one go down and nobody could verify my claim". As the words left his mouth, Oleg realized such words could get him shot. But Stalin laughed loud and handed the glass again towards Oleg.
"Comrade Oleg, I wanted your political officer to tell you this, but I suppose he won't mind if I told you so" Oleg could already see the execution squad.
Stalin gulped the vodka down, "Last week a farmer near your old airfield found the remains of a crashed enemy fighter. It was buried in the snow so it must have been shot down the previous winter and covered in snow, so that nobody found ituntil then". Oleg drank his vodka, preparing himself for whatever news would follow.
Filling the glasses again, Stalin continued with a smirk:" The fighter must have been your first victim, buried in the snow. They even found the fascist pilot still strapped into his seat. So comrade Oleg, you did not shoot one but two fascists on your first mission.".
Oleg sighted silently, raised his glass towards Stalin and said, "Comrade Stalin, I drink to that"
Both men banged their empty glasses on the table. Stalin grabbed another bottle of vodka, filled the glasses again, asking: "Come Comrade Oleg, tell me some more stories!"
