Chapter 534: Earth-shattering
There are always some people who don’t have time to watch “The Führer’s Sunday,” and there are always some whose Sundays are more colorful than the Führer’s. On the very day this documentary was released, the German Air Force engaged in a thrilling air battle with the Soviet Air Force on the Eastern Front.
Two of the latest Ta-152 fighters were flying one behind the other at their optimal altitude. The pilots skillfully pushed their control sticks, making the most advanced fighter in the world fly a little more smoothly.
This was the wingman’s fifth independent flight and his first frontline patrol. And this young pilot’s name was Hartmann. At not yet 17 years old, he was a novice among novices.
He had been personally nominated by the Führer and sent to the front, so his treatment was a little different from that of the other replacement pilots. The moment he arrived, he was sent to the 1st Fighter Wing of the German Air Force, led by Colonel Galland. Coincidentally, this unit was currently in the process of a large-scale re-equipment with the latest Ta-152 fighters.
And so this rookie pilot, who should have gone to another unit for training, had, under the influence of the “sucking up to the Führer” mentality, become a frontline fighter pilot at an incredible speed. Although this decision seemed a bit childish, because the intensity of the air war on the Eastern Front had weakened, everyone turned a blind eye to some of the minor details.
In any case, it was just a simple combat patrol. In any case, the Soviets didn’t dare to take off to intercept them. And in any case, even if a battle did occur, the battle-hardened lead pilot could use the unparalleled performance advantage of the Ta-152 to withdraw calmly. In the skies of May 1938, no aircraft could catch a German fighter. This conclusion was beyond doubt, the pride of all German pilots.
“Hartmann, I’m now simulating a dive attack. You are to cover my rear and flank. After that, I will pull up and cover you as you continue the simulated attack… Do you understand what I’m saying?” the lead pilot assigned the simulated training mission through the intercom. After all, bringing a rookie to the front this time was a bit against the rules, so he was thinking of returning to base as soon as the mission was over.
Hartmann heard the lead’s voice come through his headset and immediately replied, “Hartmann understands, lead. I’m behind you! Lead, I’m behind you!”
The lead pilot nodded. This young man favored by the Führer had been humble and cautious since his arrival at the fighter unit, possessing the qualities that every child of his age should have: he was obedient and willing to follow all the flight missions assigned by his superior.
Thinking of this, the lead pilot began to push his control stick. The agile Ta-152 at high altitude immediately responded. The horizontal scale showed that the plane was diving, and the speedometer also showed that the plane was slowly increasing its speed. The roar of the engine was intoxicating; this machine was born for war.
Hartmann saw the lead begin to dive and was about to follow him down to perform the dive attack simulation that he had practiced many times. But he saw some shadows below in the distance, so he did not immediately make the technical maneuver. “Lead! There’s something at your 11 o’clock, about 7,000 meters!”
“Soviet planes!” a message immediately came from the lead. “Maintain your altitude! Maintain your altitude! I’m climbing! We’ll talk after I’ve regained my high-altitude position!”
The distance between the two sides was constantly closing. Hartmann also saw the true number of the enemy. It was a full 10 Soviet fighters, but they were not a model in the identification manual. Hartmann had memorized the pictures of the Soviet fighters, but at least he could not immediately recognize what kind of Soviet planes they were in the distance.
“Lead! Lead! I can’t identify those planes. They’re not Soviet fighters. Do we need to confirm?” Hartmann asked, waiting for his lead to regain altitude while observing the opponent and reporting.
Laughter came from the lead’s side. “Kid, it’s rare to encounter such a real combat opportunity. I’ll teach you the first rule of air combat on the Eastern Front: ‘Any plane that doesn’t have an Iron Cross painted on its wings must be shot down!’ Understand?”
At the lead’s command, the two German planes began their dive. The roar of their engines grew louder and louder, and the planes’ speed reached an astonishing 700 kilometers per hour. The two planes were like two falcons soaring in the sky and diving down, approaching their target at high speed with the whistling of the airflow.
The Soviet planes had clearly also spotted the two enemies. After maintaining a relatively loose formation, they began to disperse. It was clear that the engines of this new type of aircraft were not bad, and their speed was much faster than the improved I-16 fighter that the Soviet Air Force had always relied on. After dispersing, these planes began to adjust their positions, clearly having no intention of escaping.
“Attack with a dive and pull-up!” the lead gave the order to attack. Hartmann pressed the fire button with a slightly trembling finger. He was a little nervous now, because a battle under these circumstances was definitely not something that could be taught in a simulation.
Rat-tat! Rat-tat! The lead, flying not far in front of him, opened fire. Tracer rounds drew straight lines in the sky, charging towards the enemy planes further ahead. A short burst at this distance could disrupt the opponent’s formation and also allow them to adjust their attack feel, preparing for a closer-range attack.
The opponent was indeed thrown into disarray. A few Soviet planes rocked their fuselages slightly, clearly preparing to evade the bullets fired by the German planes. But there must have been an experienced pilot among the Soviet formation. After a brief moment of panic, they steadied their formation. A few planes began to climb, preparing for a life-or-death battle with the German planes.
After the “buzz” of the airflow, Hartmann slightly adjusted his flight path. He did not stubbornly follow behind the lead but flew at an angle to the lead’s rear. This angle made it easier to see the lead’s fire and also to observe the appearance of the enemy aircraft.
Rat-tat! Rat-tat-tat-tat! This time, the distance was close enough, and the lead did not hesitate to begin his attack. The cannon shells, trailing bright light, flew towards the opposite plane. After a short time, the first Soviet fighter went down in a plume of thick smoke. It did not fall many meters before the smoking and burning Soviet plane broke into several pieces in mid-air.
My God, did I just kill someone? In just a few seconds, a plane fell from the sky. This scene shook Hartmann’s heart. He had seen many planes and gliders soaring in the sky, but he had never seen such a bloody scene. Isn’t the vast sky a place for soaring? Why does elegant flight become so brutal here?
Poor Hartmann had not yet finished his train of thought when he heard his lead shouting a warning to him. “Watch your position! My God! You almost hit me! How could you fly to my rear flank? That’s my pull-up route! Watch out for the enemy! Watch out for the enemy!”
He quickly jerked his control stick, adjusted his position, and only then did he realize that the lead was clumsily climbing. It was clear that his lead had been frightened by his near-collision. The headset was full of panicked shouts. And at this moment, Hartmann had no time to apologize, because he had already charged into the heavy encirclement of the Soviet planes.
Hartmann quickly pushed his control stick further, making the plane’s speed continue to increase. He knew that the diving speed of the Ta-152 exceeded 700 kilometers per hour. This speed was enough for him to pull away from the enemy fighters and also to allow him to calmly climb back to his altitude from a distance.
“Enemy on your flank! Careful! He’s firing! He’s firing!” the lead shouted, while being chased by two Soviet planes. He was now too busy to ask who the lead was. His mind was now filled with the urge to get Hartmann out of here as quickly as possible.
At this moment, Hartmann was startled by his lead’s shout. He subconsciously pushed his control stick to the side again, and the agile Ta-152 began a rolling maneuver. The roll was the Ta-152’s only weakness, but this was in comparison to its predecessor, the Fw-190D, which had a heaven-defying roll performance. It did not mean that the Ta-152’s roll was terrible.
However, for him to perform a roll during a dive was clearly a major test of the entire fighter’s structural strength. Fortunately, this was a German fighter. Its quality could be said to be absolutely first-class in the world. If it had been a Japanese Zero, which was light to the extreme, it would have already disintegrated at this moment.
Hartmann suddenly felt that he had fallen in love with this plane. He felt that he could entrust his life to this reliable partner. He loved flying and liked competition, but he had never had a plane that he could entrust his life to. At this moment, he was like he had found his lover, letting out a high-pitched cheer.
To cheer in a hail of bullets—this seemed like a crazy thing to do. Even the German lead found it a bit incredible. At this moment, Hartmann was surrounded by seven Soviet fighters at medium and low altitude. It could be said that his situation was perilous. If he made the slightest mistake, he could become the first Ta-152 pilot in German history to be shot down by an opponent.
But that cheer, which was filled with excitement and joy, made the veteran pilot, who had flown for more than 100 hours on the front, confidently leave his wingman and continue to climb. He remembered the feeling he had had when he first flew the Ta-152. At that time, he had also wanted to cheer like that, to cheer for such a plane.
Published: 2025-09-03T02:38:16.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2025-12-15T16:01:47.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c534-earth-137999831
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