Fly Toward Death

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Book excerpt

Prologue

An emergency meeting was called by the high-ranking officers of the Soviet Union after the surprise military attack by Germany on June 22, 1941.

The Soviet Union was unprepared for the onslaught the Germans were throwing at them on the ground and in the air.

A long wooden table with several chairs on each side and one at the head of the table dominated the austere room.  Men in dark-green military uniforms brightened by gold, red or blue trim indicating their status shuffled through mounds of papers.  They began addressing their government’s weak air force strength, caused by the devastating air strikes that wiped out almost half of their air defense.

A general flipped to another page from the myriad papers in front of him and began reading it.  He stopped and shook his head.  “What is this nonsense?  A petition for women who want to enter the war as pilots and soldiers?  Why is this even on our table for discussion?”

Another general showed his scorn, “What is wrong with these women?  They should stay at home in the kitchen, have children, and support our men.”

“They do not have the physical or mental stamina it takes to fight a war like a man.  They would die almost immediately.” The first general said leaning forward on the table.

There was quiet in the room as all the generals looked toward the leader of the Soviet Union, Iosif Vissarionovich Stalin, sitting at the head of the table.

Stalin spoke firmly, “I had thought that at first, but I believe if these women wish to join the military and fight it might be to our advantage.  We can train the women quickly, and it will free up the time for us to train our male pilots and soldiers better.  This is an acceptable cost of war.”

Chapter 1

Senior Lieutenant Vera Zhkov continually weaved her Biplane from the darkened sky into the bright search lights from below and back into the safety of the black shadows of the night. Machine-gun fire and rifle bullets zinged all around her as she maneuvered to drop her two bombs.  Her fragile, two-seated, World War I Biplane was flying low enough for her to hear the Germans screaming and yelling as she pressed forward to her drop zone.

A shell from anti-aircraft cannons ripped through both wings of the plane; passing through to explode above her. The air was hard to breathe as the smoke from the discharged cannon filled her lungs and burned her eyes.  The concussion from the blast caused her plane to be pushed downward, closer to the enemy below. Seconds later, bullets from a machine gun struck her plane just missing her engine and fuel line.

Vera raised her hand and her navigator, sitting behind her, grabbed the release lever and pulled hard.  The two bombs attached to the belly of their plane fell downward hitting their target. 

Quickly, Vera turned her plane from the glaring search lights, made a wide circle, and headed back to her airfield.  Her hands and legs trembled as she fought to keep their shot-up plane in the air.  “Are you all right?”  Vera called back to her navigator.

“Flak went straight through our wings.  No structural damage though.” Lt. Ksenia Yivoskov, her navigator, leaned forward and yelled to Vera.  “Did you get hit?”

“No, I am okay.   Are you all right?” Vera asked again.

“If I could stop shaking, I could check me out,” she said.  “It appears that I am alright, but someone shot a hole in my pillow.  Almost got me that time,” Ksenia poked a finger through the large hole on the edge of the pillow she sat on. 

“This was our fourth sortie,” Vera said wiping the frost off her goggles.  “We made it through this one alive.  I hope it continues through the rest of the night.”

“Through the rest of the night?”  Ksenia blurted sardonically.  “How about the rest of the war?”

**

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

Soldiers loaded the women into the back of the military truck and tied down the canvas covering that was whipping about in the cold, pelting rain.  A soldier slapped the side of the driver’s door, and the truck jerked and lurched as it began to move forward.  A convoy of five trucks pulled away from the training base and headed out toward Stalingrad.  Each truck held ten newly trained women pilots, navigators, mechanics, and armorers.

Vera Zhkov was an officer in the regiment and promoted to Senior Lieutenant because of her excellent flying skills during training.  She sat in one of the military trucks and peered out at the disappearing city landscape through the canvas covering that offered little reprieve from the cold, wet winds.

Her large, blue-gray eyes looked around at the women in the truck.  Vera’s long, light brown hair was done up in a neat, tight bun at the back of her head.  She glanced at each one of the women and realized she was the only one who had her hair tucked back.   The rest of the girls had their long hair down. She knew they had fussed and primped so that the men would see them at their womanly best.

Vera sat back studying the young women she was traveling with in the very uncomfortable, cold military vehicle.  Through the course of their army training as pilots, navigators, mechanics and ground crews, she came to know some of them quite well.

She was the oldest woman in this regiment at twenty-three years old, and the youngest was seventeen.

As far as Vera could tell, the young women were from universities, collective farms, factories, and stores where they worked as clerks.

The frigid and bumpy ride to the train station did nothing to deter the women in the truck from laughing and joking with each other.

Vera listened as they talked about all the handsome men in the army they had already encountered.

“I have never seen so many men in one place in all my life,” a cherub-faced young girl giggled.

“Just think we are going to be surrounded by hundreds of men every day,” another sighed.  “We can dance and party all we want.”

All the girls giggled and began telling stories about their home life before they became soldiers in the Red Army:  All, except one.

Vera looked at the pensive, young woman sitting across from her at the end of the truck.  Senior Lieutenant Elena Petrovka was nineteen, a petite and very bright woman.  Throughout her pilot training, Elena excelled in every aspect of flying.  Vera thought she was quite beautiful with her long, flaxen, blond hair and deep, blue eyes.  And, her delicate features belied the fierce determination that drove her.

Vera was the only one who knew Elena’s story.  She looked out the slit from the canvas covering to the bleak landscape they were traveling through.  Vera remembered the two of them talking quietly one night as they took a short break and walked around the training compound in Engels.

Elena’s father was arrested as a traitor to the Soviet Union and shot for treason when she was fifteen years old.  She knew he was not a traitor, and she was going to show them that the Petrovka name was an honorable, loyal name to the Soviet Union. 

Vera had her own reasons for joining the Red Army Air Division.  She thought back to that day on June 22, 1941 – a day she would never forget.  She was staying with a friend near her younger brother’s Army flight school and decided to visit him before she returned to the University.  The only time he could see her was before his classes, so she got there early in the morning.

She had almost burst with pride as her brother walked toward her in his army uniform.  “You look so handsome,” she said.  Sergei turned slowly around so she could admire him, and they broke out laughing. 

They laughed and talked for a while until someone came running up to them telling them that the Germans had declared war on the Motherland.  They had destroyed airfields, and they needed to get everyone in the air as fast as they could to stop the German Luftwaffe headed toward Moscow.

Vera was stunned.  She protested saying that her brother had less than two months of training.  She watched in shock as the young, inexperienced pilots raced past her toward their training planes. Sergei gave her a quick hug and took off with the rest of the students.  Etched in her memory forever was her brother stopping, turning around, and waving at her with a big grin on his face.  That was the last time she ever saw him.  He was killed that day in an air battle over a barren field near Moscow.

**

The truck hit a large hole in the road jarring Vera’s reverie back to the present.  It was a long drive to Stalingrad from Engel’s flight training academy.  She thought they would have gotten there sooner, but the soldiers driving the military trucks, kept stopping frequently for the women to get out and do their private business.  Vera knew the real reason was because they like flirting with all the young girls they were hauling to the train station.

Once they reached the train station all fifty women were crammed into two railway cars, along with the soldiers and civilians alike. Hours later, they finally reached their destination, which was a little village south of Moscow. 

Every building in the village that had not been destroyed by the Germans was taken over by the Red Army. Most of the buildings were used to billet the soldiers and officers. One was used as a mess hall, another as a supply station, and a large house standing on the outskirts of the village was where the women were going to be temporarily billeted.

The women were advised to go to the supply station first to get their military uniforms.  They were each issued a military jacket, a pair of pants and boots. 

“What is this?”  Elena held up the large, men-sized clothing and boots.  “There is enough room for two people in these things.”

“This is what you are issued,” said the supply officer disgustedly as he handed out their uniforms. 

Vera studied the short, balding, older man and wondered why he was just a corporal at his age.

“Do not blame me that they are letting women in the Army.  The last bunch of females who came through here were digging dugouts for our real soldiers, complaining that their poor little hands were bleeding from using rough handled shovels. They had the nerve to ask me if I had any bandages or supplies to take care of their silly wounds.”

“Did you have the bandages and medicine to accommodate these women?”  Vera’s voice held back the contempt she felt for this ignorant little man.

“Of course, I did.  I told them I had bandages and ointments, but they were only for men who were doing the real fighting,” he said emphasizing the word ‘real.’  He arrogantly looked at her up and down with disdain.

Vera straightened her back.  Her voice rang of authority. “Comrade Corporal, are you as stupid as you look?” 

“Yes, yes he is,” a woman yelled from behind her.

“You will address me as Comrade Senior Lieutenant Zhkov,” she leaned forward her eyes narrowed as she pointed to the display of bars and badges on her jacket.  “If you ever, ever forget that again,” she growled at him, “I will have you sent to Siberia for the rest of your life.  If I find out that you have withheld bandages, medicines or anything else from any woman in the Red Army, in any way, I will personally come back here and shoot you between the eyes.  And, I have spies everywhere, so do not think I will not find out.”

Terror filled the man’s eyes.  He stepped back away from the fierce look Vera was throwing at him; his mouth open and eyes wide with fear.

“Now, finish giving out the uniforms' Comrade Corporal,” Vera said with venom dripping from her words.