Prohibition of Interference. Book 3. Impact Strategy

The Germans, inspired by the successful start of the battle, decided not to delay in destroying the Russians and distribute the targets among themselves. I do not know how they agreed on this in the absence of communication, but the leader of the pair of Messerschmitts continued to pursue the Yak, and his wingman slightly corrected the course and began to approach our Pe-2 from behind.

At 400 meters the German pilot felt comfortable enough, not too afraid of the machine guns of the Russian bomber. He was in no hurry to shoot himself, either – after all, the distance was great, and his ammunition supply was not infinite. I turned the machine gun on the turret slightly and fired a short burst toward the enemy. It wasn't very accurate, but it gave the computer a lot of information to make adjustments to the guidance system.

The German did not even flinch when several tracers flashed to the right and above his plane. My machine gun's belt was mixed with rounds of armor-piercing, incendiary, and armor-piercing tracer bullets. It was thought that this approach contributed to the combined defeat of the enemy aircraft, although I would have preferred to limit it to armor-piercing ammunition only.

The enemy plane was only 350 meters away. A little more, and the enemy will try to hide in the dead zone, where my fire will be hindered by the tail of my own plane. I wasn't going to let that happen. A burst! The hits were visible even to the naked eye. I aimed for the cockpit, as the Messerschmitt was descending with its nose down, and the engine wasn't obscuring it. A second later, the enemy disappeared from my sight. He never fired a shot, but the computer only repainted its marker yellow – apparently, it wasn't sure of my shooting score.

“"Blackbird-2", are you alive?” the marker of the last Yak also turned yellow, but after a couple of seconds it turned green again.

“He made holes in my wings, the bastard,” the pilot replied. “The plane obeys the rudders. The engine works.”

The leader of the pair of Messerschmitts stopped chasing the Yak and joined his wingman, who was barely keeping his plane in the air. The plane itself did not appear to be seriously damaged, but the pilot was apparently injured. The fighter was yawing from side to side, and was pressing closer and closer to the ground. The computer repainted its mark a gray-yellow color, deeming the target practically unfit for duty.

“We're going home,” I ordered, and then the German pilot finally lost control of his plane.

The fiery flower of an explosion blossomed below – the wingman of the pair of Messerschmitts fell into the woods. I cursed quietly to myself. It was not difficult to predict what the surviving enemy would do now.

I took a quick look at the situation. We changed course again sharply, and the other pursuers must have lost us. It took another five minutes to reach the front line, but it was clear that the bothersome Messerschmitt would not leave us alone.

“Lieutenant, get down on the ground! "Blackbird-2", don't let him come at me from the side – let him try to attack from behind.”

The German did not attack from the side. Taking advantage of the fact that near the ground our speed did not exceed 450 kilometers per hour, the Messerschmitt gained an altitude of about one kilometer and rushed to attack from top to back. He apparently considered the death of his wingman to be an accident, insane luck, for which the gunner of the Russian bomber should pay with his life.

“Waiting for orders!” the Yak pilot reminded me of himself.

“Go up a little higher and attack him if he changes course and comes in from the other side.”

“Understood. I'm on it.”

The pilot and navigator of the Pe-2 were silent. After destroying one of the Messerschmitts, they had no desire at all to interfere in the battle management or to challenge my actions in any way.

“This is "Blackbird-2". Strong vibration when climbing. Engine loses power!”

“"Blackbird-2", hold on a little longer. I need you here for a few more minutes.”

“The altitude is 600 meters.”

“That's enough. Stay out of the attack. Just let the German see you.”

The enemy is 500 meters away. That's a long way. It is possible to hit it, of course, but the killing power of ShKAS bullets is no longer the same at that distance. The Pe-2 flies to the front line, nestling almost to the treetops of a small forested area. As luck would have it, the cloud cover thinned and the German is falling on us from above, as if at an exercise.

400 meters. I guess it's too early to shoot – I don't want to scare off the enemy. If he refuses to attack and tries to come in from the side, it will be much more difficult – in the Pe-2 defense this is another weak point.

300 meters.

“This is "Blackbird-2". Permission to attack! He's going to shoot you!”

“Stand down!”

The distance is 250 meters. I think it's time. The aiming markers aligned on the enemy plane. The computer shows the probability of hitting the target at the edge of my field of view. Almost 90 %. A burst! It is beginning to get dark, and tracers paint the sky with bright strokes. Missed! How did he make it?! What did he feel? I don't have an answer, but at the last moment the Messerschmitt twitched to the side and the burst went by. Now he's going to go into a blind spot, and it's going to be really bad. A wounded Yak is no help to us, hence… A burst! Some rags fly from our own tail – a couple of my bullets stroke against the keel of the plane. A hundred meters away, a hot fire is blazing right through the sky. Still, the incendiary bullets that could set even a protected gas tank on fire came in handy. The German shoots back. It looks like he's just guessing, but our long-suffering tail catches another hit.

“How's the plane?”

“It obeys the rudders,” answers Lieutenant Kalina in a slightly hoarse voice.

Below us there is a bright flash – a shot-down Messerschmitt has met the ground.

* * *

Staff Sergeant Silin, call sign "Blackbird-2", followed the landing of the bomber and also led his fighter to the ground. The plane obeyed him reluctantly, as if it had suddenly become many hundreds of kilos heavier. The landing gear struts came out smoothly, good thing there was no problem with that at least, and the Yak rolled hard on the ground of the runway.

A little to the side, Silin noticed the plane of Junior Lieutenant Kostrov, all blackened, with the cockpit canopy splattered with oil. So Ivan made it to the airfield, and even managed to land the damaged plane. That's good, though of course they won't get their commander back.

The Staff Sergeant struggled to get out of the cockpit and took a couple of steps toward the men running toward him.

“Are you hurt?” Silin was asked by an unfamiliar technician who ran up first.

“No,” the pilot shook his head in the negative, “but it looks like the fighter needs some serious repairs.”

“You've been through a lot.”

“We lost our commander. He was killed with the first burst – no luck. But we took out two of them, too.”

“Well, if they confirm it,” the technician nodded toward the Pe-2, "I think they'll give you both wins. Who distinguished himself?”

“They did,” said Silin with a crooked grin.

“I don't understand…”

“And what is there to understand? Both fascists were driven into the ground by the Pawn's gunner. That's how it happens.”

Chapter 3

As Sudoplatov told me in the morning, the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command had already prepared another plan to unblock the troops, encircled in the Kiev pocket, without my brilliant advice. This time the plan was to launch simultaneous strikes from outside and inside the ring at night to negate German air superiority in the initial phase of the operation.

Beria hesitated for a long time before informing Stalin of my proposal, but it required virtually no changes to the already developed plan, and the head of the NKVD decided that it couldn't get any worse.

After heavy losses suffered by Soviet long-range aviation at the beginning of the war, the Supreme Commander-in-Chief forbade the use of the TB-7 without his direct permission, so the Commissar of Internal Affairs had to resolve the issue directly with the Chief. Despite Beria's fears, Stalin hardly hesitated.

“Go ahead, Comrade Beria,” he nodded as he listened to the Commissar's report. “We are obliged to take every opportunity to increase our chances of a successful operation. Within reasonable limits, of course, and under your personal responsibility.”

As a result, the implementation of my plan ended up in the hands of the NKVD, and I still had to report to my direct superior.

“Comrade Senior Major of State Security,” I began my report as soon as we were alone, “the reconnaissance flight was successful. The data for the night bombing strike is sufficiently collected. One fighter was lost. The pilot was killed. The other planes sustained varying degrees of damage.”

“I'm surprised you came back from there at all,” Sudoplatov answered grimly. “Mark on the map what you saw, and you can rest for a couple of hours. TB-7s and Yer-2s will be over our airfield at exactly zero o'clock. By that time you should already be in the air.”

* * *