The thoughs and events of a team of Grumpy Old Men during the cold winter over Stalingrad
3rd March 1942
Cato
” All 5 of us grew up in the same village, Wittenberg, a small village near Dresden. 3 of us even grew up on the same street. We are far from Wittenberg now. The cold winter in Russia is nothing to write home about, at least nothing good.
We had been interested in aviation since we where kids really, and when we got the call to join the Luftwaffe we never thought twice. None of us really saw the ideas of the NSDAP, or the Nazi party, but fighting the Russians came easy.
After we had our initial training it became clear that Lee had a calling for flying the bigger planes, dropping bombs and transporting troops and supplies. The rest of us, Cato, Jarkko, Peter and Drew had our eyes on fighters all the way. So in the end we got separated, the 4 of us joined the 51 sqd and got our seats in BF 109’s and Lee joined the 27 sqd and got a seat in his favourite, HE 111. Luck would still have it that our bases where only a short drive between, and we usually caught up several times a week. However, we really missed a proper alehouse or Bier Keller. Just like the loud but cozy ones back home. Nevertheless, we where still alive, all of us.”
Our squadron is flying every day now, but we still have enough planes and pilots left to have a days rest between flights, unless we have to scamble. Luckily it seems to be far apart from that now.
Tomorrow we are up in the skies again. Hopefully Drew will be out of hospital by then. The dummkopf got a piece of shrapnel in the arse two flights ago and he is really milking it hard. Been in bedrest for a week now. Probably trying to get the nurses to check his nethers daily. or so he says. I have ever only seen field medics here, and they where named Hans and Willhelm last I checked.”
14th March 1942
Cato
“It has been two weeks now, we have flow 5 more sorties and Drew is still at the hospital. It seems his wounded arse was worse than we though, or whatever he ment with his arse still hurting for the blow it took. Yes well, I am not going to speculate. There are more pressing matters that stirs my mind.
Our bomber squadrons are taking a real hit these days. Every 10 planes in the air, 8 or more never hit the target or is being shot down before they get there.
Many of our bomber squadrons have pulled away to be used as transport or supply runners and so Lee has been transferred to our squadron and is now in a 109 flying with us. At least a positive in the mids of the shit we live through. We have also been sent a new pilot as replacement for Drew.
Stumpy McFly. A young cocky sack of shit from Berlin. A true believer of Hitler and his ideas for the ubermensch and world domination. He did not really fit our group much, but he could fly a plane and kept our back safe, or so we thought anyway. I would notice that his trigger happy fingers would nearly send me to the ground.
I was flying in fast and low, getting ready to climb up under a IL2 for a kill. I hit it hard and there was instand smoke from the engine, I break left and suddenly get sprayed with fire. How the bullets missed my body is still beyond me. Canopy was peppered with holes and my aileron was not very responsive. I had to use my rudder to get the plane banking right. Stumpy had not been the wing man he was supposed to and opened up on the IL2 himself, without regards of friendly planes.
5 minutes into the battle and I was heading home. But thank fuck I was heading home. I could easily ended my days there. I hoped Stumpy would get back alive too, cause I was going to kill him myself. Now if I only could make it back to base, or at least friendly side of no mans land before my plane broke to pieces. I landed it somehow, now to wait for McFly to come back………”
