Stuka Pilot (30 page)

On 30th December a wireless signal is received ordering me to come to Berlin immediately and to report to the Reichsmarschall. I fume because I feel that now especially my presence here is indispensable during these difficult operations. I take off for Berlin the same day, going. via Vienna and determined to be back with my comrades in two or three days. Orders are orders. The only luggage I take with me is a large dispatch case with a change of linen and toilet articles. In view of the seriousness of the situation at the front I dismiss the possibility of being kept in Berlin for longer.

On the way I already have an uncomfortable hunch that I have not been sent for anything pleasant. When I was wounded the last time, in November, I received another order grounding me in spite of which I went up again as soon as I got out of hospital Up till now no one has taken the matter up and I had gradually interpreted this silence as tacit acquiescence; but now, I guess, the question has come to a head and I am going to be put on the mat. I am flying to Berlin very reluctantly, knowing as I do that I shall never obey this order. I cannot bear to be merely looking on, giving advice or issuing orders at a time when my country is in direct need, especially as my wide practical experience gives me an advantage over others who lack this training. Success is the fruit of experience and commensurate with it. In spite of having been wounded five times, some of them seriously, I have always had the luck to make a quick recovery and to be able soon afterwards to pilot my aircraft again day after day, year in, year out, up and down the Eastern Front—from the White Sea to South of Moscow, from near Astrakhan to the Caucasus. I know the Russian front inside out. Therefore I feel an unremitting obligation to go on flying and fighting until the guns are silent and our country’s liberty is assured. Physically, I can do this because I have a healthy constitution and a body trained by sport; my fitness is one of the most valuable sources of my strength.

After a short stay with friends in Vienna I land in Berlin three hours later and immediately report by telephone to Karinhall. I would prefer to drive straight out there, so as to be able to fly back without any loss of time. To my bewilderment I am told to remain at the Fürstenhof and to apply in the morning at the Air Ministry for a pass to travel on the Reichsmarschall’s special train which is leaving for the West. My trip is going to be longer than I expected—so much is clear. It does not seem to have anything to do with a reprimand.

We leave for the West the following evening from Grunewald station. This means I shall see the New Year in on board the train. I dare not let my thoughts dwell on my unit; if I do I shall see red. What does the year 1945 hold in store for us?

We are in the Frankfurt area early on 1st January. I hear the roar of aircraft and look out into the graying morning. An armada of fighter planes, flying low, roars past the carriage window. My first thought is: Americans! It is an age since I have seen so many of our aircraft in the sky at the same time. But this is unbelievable: they are all marked with the German swastika and are Me 109s and FW 190s. They are heading westward. Later I am to learn the nature of their mission. Now the train pulls up; it seems we are somewhere near Nauheim-Friedberg. I am met by a car and driven through a tract of forest to a building which resembles an ancient castle. Here I am greeted by the Reichsmarschall’s adjutant. He tells me that the Chief has not arrived yet, I shall have to wait. He does not know what I am here for. I have no choice but to kick my heels here at Western G.H.O.

^{FW 190}

I go for a walk for a couple of hours. What wonderful air in these German woods and hills! I fill my lungs with relish. Why have I been ordered here?—I have been instructed to be back at three o’clock, at which time the Reichsmarschall is expected. I hope I shall not be kept waiting before he receives me. He is not there when I return. Besides myself, a general has arrived, an old friend of mine from my Stuka training days at Graz. He tells me about today’s operations, for the planning and conduct of which he is very largely responsible. Reports continually come in of large-scale attacks on airfields in Belgium and Northern France.

“The aircraft you saw this morning were part of one of the formations we have sent out to make low level attacks on the allied air bases. We hope to be able to destroy so many aircraft that the enemy’s air superiority above their offensive, which has been halted in the Ardennes, will be neutralized.”

I tell the general that such a thing would be impossible on the Eastern Front because the distances which would have to be flown over enemy territory are too great, and to fly at low level is merely inviting heavy losses from the very strong ground defense. Could it be different in the West? It seems improbable. If the Americans are successful with similar attacks over Germany this is only because we have not sufficient protection for our airfields and their approaches, for the simple reason that we cannot divert enough men and material for this purpose. He tells me that today all formations have clearly mapped low level approach routes. In the East we have long since ceased to develop practice from theory; we do just the opposite. One can do no more than give the formation leader his assignment; how he performs it is his affair, for it is he who has to carry it out. At the present time the war in the air has become so variable that one can no longer rely on theories—only formation leaders have the necessary experience at the critical moment and are likely to make the proper decisions. It is a good thing we realized this in the East in time, otherwise it is a sure thing that none of us would be flying any more. Besides, have they not yet grasped the fact that we are helpless against the enemy’s masses of men and material?

For the enemy five hundred aircraft more or less on the ground is not decisive, as long as their crews remain in action. It would be infinitely better to use the fighters which have been saved up for so long over our own front to clear the air space above it. If we could remove for a while the nightmare of the allies’ immense air superiority we could give our comrades on the ground a chance to get their second wind. And movements of troops and supplies behind the lines could be carried out unmolested. Any enemy aircraft we might destroy would in most cases be a genuine loss, because the crews would be lost with them:

All these reflections pass through my mind. A few hours later the final result of the operation confirms my misgivings. Five hundred allied aircraft have been destroyed on the ground; over two hundred and twenty of ours with their crews have failed to return. Among those lost today are veteran formation leaders, old timers of which so few are left. It saddens me. Tonight the operation will be reported to the Reichsmarschall and to the Supreme Commander as a great victory. Is this intentional deception, or exaggerated personal ambition?

The adjutant comes in and says to me:

“Wing Commander von Below has just rung up. He would like you to go over for a cup of coffee.”

“But can I not report direct to the Reichsmarschall?”

“The Reichsmarschall is not here yet, and there is no reason why you should not pay this short visit to Wing Commander von Below.”

I consider whether I ought to change, but decide against it because I would like to keep my last clean shirt for my interview with the Reichsmarschall.

A fairly long drive through the forest brings us into a town of huts and chalets, the Führer’s Western H.Q. Over coffee I tell Wing Commander von Below about the latest happenings on the Russian front; after twenty minutes he leaves me, comes back at once and briefly asks me to follow him. Quite unsuspectingly I follow him through several rooms, then he opens a door, stands aside for me to pass and I am face to face with the Führer. All I can think of is that I have not put on a clean shirt; otherwise my mind is a blank. I recognize the other persons standing round him: the Reichsmarschall, beaming—very unusual of late—Admiral Dönitz, Field Marshal Keitel, the Chief of the General Staff, Lieutenant General Jodl and a number of other military notabilities including Generals from the Eastern Front. They are all grouped round an enormous table spread with a map showing the present situation in the field. They look at me and this scrutiny makes me nervous. The Führer has noticed my embarrassment and regards me for a while in silence. Then he offers me his hand and praises my last operation. He says that in recognition of it he is awarding me the highest decoration for bravery, the Gold Oak Leaves with Swords and Diamonds to the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross, and is promoting me to the rank of Group Captain. I have been listening to his words in a semi-daze, but when he says with marked emphasis: “Now you have done enough flying. Your life must be preserved for the sake of our German youth and your experience,” I am on the alert in a twinkling. This means I am to be grounded. Goodbye to my comrades!

“My Führer, I cannot accept the decoration and promotion if I am not allowed to go on flying with my wing.”

My right hand is still clasped in his, he is still looking me in the eyes. With his left hand he gives me a black, velvet lined case containing the new decoration. The many lights in the room make the diamonds sparkle in a blaze of prismatic colors. He looks at me very gravely, then his expression changes, and he says: “All right, you may go on flying,” and smiles.

At this a warm wave of joy wells up in my heart and I am happy. Afterwards von Below tells me that he and the generals nearly had a stroke when I made my proviso; he assures me that the sheet lightning in the Führer’s face does not always resolve into a smile. Everyone offers his congratulations, the Commander in Chief of the Luftwaffe with especial cordiality; he gives me a hefty pinch in the arm from sheer delight. Admiral Dönitz’s congratulations are rather qualified, for he adds a trifle snappishly:

“I consider your persuading the Führer to allow you to go on flying unsoldierly. I have also had good U-boat captains, but sooner or later they have had to give up.”

It is a good thing he is not my C-in-C.

The Führer takes me over to the map table and tells me that the conference they have just had concerned the situation at Budapest; I have come from that sector, have I not? He recapitulates the reasons given him for the not exactly satisfactory operation now in progress in the Budapest area, which has so far failed to affect a link-up with the encircled city. I gather that weather, transport and other difficulties have been offered as an excuse, but no mention has been made of the blunders which we see every day on our sorties: the splitting up of the armored divisions and the choice of unsuitable terrain for both the tank and infantry assaults. I express my opinion, based on long experience of the Eastern Front and the fact that during this engagement I have flown as much as eight hours daily over this sector, mostly at low altitudes. They all listen to me in silence. After a short pause the Führer remarks, with a glance at the circle of his advisers:

“You see, this is how I have been misled—who knows for how long?”

He reproaches nobody although he knows the true circumstances, but it is evident that he resents the deception practiced on him. With reference to the map he shows his willingness to regroup our forces for a fresh attempt to relieve Budapest. He asks me where I think would be the most favorable terrain for the armored units to attack. I give my opinion. Later this operation is successful, and the assault group reaches the outposts of the defenders of Budapest who are able to break out.

When the conference is ended he takes me into his private study in an adjoining room, furnished in good taste and with utilitarian simplicity. I wished my comrades could be there and live through these hours with me, for it is because of their achievement that I am here. The Führer gives me a drink, and we talk of many things. He asks after my wife, our boy, my parents and my sisters. Having made the most detailed enquiries about my personal affairs, he begins to speak of his ideas of rearmament. Not unnaturally he starts with the Luftwaffe, dwelling particularly on the proposed modification of the aircraft we are using. He asks me if I still think it practicable to continue flying with the slow Ju. 87 now that the enemy’s fighters are as much as 250 m.p.h. faster than they are. Referring to some blue prints and calculations he points out to me that a retractable undercarriage might increase the speed of the Ju. 87 by 37 m.p.h. at the very most; on the other hand, its diving performance would be disadvantageously affected. He solicits my opinion on every point. He discusses the minutest details in the field of ballistics, physics and chemistry with an ease which impresses me who am a critical observer in this department. He also tells me of his wish to have experiments carried out to test the feasibility of installing four 3 cm. cannon in the wings instead of the present two 3.7 cannon. He thinks that the aerodynamic qualities of our antitank aircraft would be very greatly improved by this change; the ammunition would have the same Wolframkern with the result that the total effectiveness of the aircraft as a weapon would certainly be enhanced.