VRANA

Another hot, summer night. I gazed at the stars, had a drink of vodka with our parachute packer behind the storage shed and now I'm here. Our NKVD officer, Mayya, wants a report from me. From me! What does she think? I'm some sort of criminal or Nazi sympathizer?  I'm just a poor boy from western Russia, pulled into this war like millions more. I saw things, I'd rather not see, but at least I'm still alive. I have a couple of scars from German bullets and pieces of glass, but I'm still alive. so far.

So, let me tell you my story:

I was born in 1913 and had a happy childhood, even if it was without a father who'd died in the Great War. My happiest childhood memories are those of a plane landing near our village. All the kids were fascinated by this strange flying machine and by the brave men that flew it. I stopped counting my broken bones, but there were many as I tried to jump from our cherry tree, trying to fly. My uncle realized I had to go to military flying school, as this was probably the safest way for me.

The training was going on very well, but I had a misfortune incident involving CO's wife and her poodle. Without going into details, I was thrown out, just before ending my advanced fighter training, and sent to gulag in Siberia.

Fortunately for me, even though catastrophic for my beloved Russia, war just started one week after my arrival at gulag, and I was able to volunteer for military service as a member of a recon team.

I actually got my pilot name, and while serving in a recon team, I spotted a magpie flying frantically and become alarmed, the magpie had been scared by an advanced German unit, and we had no other choice, but to pull out and go towards our lines. That bird saved our lives!

While on the retreat, we came across a devastated airfield, German 110's and 111's made a good job destroying our planes. Yet, there was a single I-16 left, and it was in excellent condition, apart from some small holes in the fuselage and windshield. Soviet planes can also fly well with half the tail - who said the tail section has to be that big anyway?

My recon commander gave me permission to part from squad and fly the plane to one of our airfields further inside our territory. I arrived at friendly base, and after inspection, ground crew found out, I only had about 5 litres of fuel left. Base commander was about to hand me over to firing squad, for allegedly deserting my unit, but fortunately for me, the unit really needed fresh pilot, they suffered heavy losses in past couple of days.

After couple of months, I ended up here, in 69.GIAP, a fine unit. It is true, I have lots to learn, and poodles seem to be haunting me still, but this is a unit one can almost call a family.