In late September 1942, desperately worried about her mother, Katya Budanova wrote to her favorite younger sister: “If you hear that mother is alive, let me know just as soon as you can, but don’t tell me if she is not. Just let me go on thinking it is either or.” Then, very laconically, she adds, “Olga, the situation here is extremely tense. If anything should happen, do not tell Valya [her elder sister] immediately. You yourself will be informed at once, as long as you give your permanent address. Love and kisses, my dear, sweet, lovely, unforgettable Olga. Be steadfast and honorable at your post. Do not forget me. Katya.”271 This letter, like Katya’s other letters, is faultless, even though she was educated only in a village school. When you read it, you have the feeling it has been written in order to prepare Katya’s sisters, who might already have lost their mother, for the fact that they might be about to lose Katya too. Nearly every day her 437 Fighter Regiment was losing pilots and aircraft in relentless fighting. In early October, however, everything changed for them.
Because 437 Regiment was flying the La-5 fighter, they were unable to service Yaks brought by the girls. They did not have the spare parts, and the mechanics had only a hazy understanding of their construction. At the first opportunity the girls were transferred to 9 Guards Regiment, which was being retrained to fly the Yak-1. Why were they not simply returned to the women’s regiment? The likelihood is that its commander, Tamara Kazarinova, did not insist on their return, but there was also another consideration. The pilots of 9 Regiment were waiting for new Yaks, and this transfer enabled them to begin training and keeping watch using the planes the girls brought with them. Although the regiment had been relieved of combat duties while it was being retrained, it was nevertheless required to provide cover for Elton railway station, which was a frequent target of German bombers. By now, this branch line was the only rail link with Stalingrad. Four airwomen already fully trained to fly the Yak could be on duty immediately, without the need to wait for the regiment’s male pilots to be trained up. It had already been decided to turn 9 Fighter Regiment into an elite unit by allocating it the most talented pilots, so it is not improbable that somebody at headquarters decided it was the obvious home for a flight of the best Soviet female sports pilots. The commander of 9 Regiment demurred. The task his regiment had to undertake was just too dangerous and he did not think it proper to put women at risk. He did, however, agree to take the girls on for a period of training. Although the 27-year-old Major Shestakov had never, unlike Belyaeva and Budanova, taken part in an air show he had become one of the top Soviet fighter aces in aerial combat.
Lev Shestakov, a “stocky commander” with protruding ears and the small features of a typical Slavic face, was “very dynamic” and very young.272 His colleagues nevertheless respectfully addressed him by his name and patronymic as “Lev Lvovich.” Commissar Dmitry Panov, an old acquaintance, was pleased to meet up again with him at the Stalingrad Front. He felt that this “short, gray-eyed, brown-haired strongman” with his authoritative, impulsive personality, was one of the best fighter regiment commanders in the Soviet Air Force and very much needed there.
In action, the young major was intrepid, displaying a combination of initiative and cold calculation. Immediately after interrogating a downed German pilot, he could organize a brilliant raid on a German airfield. Leading a group of fighters, he would seize the initiative in a dogfight, despite flying obsolete aircraft against superior odds. Early in the war Shestakov elaborated his own, innovative principles of aerial combat, and saw to it they were followed in his regiment. It was only when Boris Yeremin was transferred to Shestakov’s regiment at Stalingrad that he understood the theory of how best to deploy the pilots in his group during a mission.273 The first priority was to make sure you were higher than your enemy, because that conferred a speed advantage and made it possible to get into an optimal position. No less important was to range the group at different heights in readiness for battle—this ensured they could react more flexibly in the event of an enemy attack. When attacking, you should ensure the sun was behind you to dazzle the enemy; and so that your own aim was not obscured. Shestakov believed you should open fire at a distance of 100 meters or less, not directly behind the enemy’s tail but with a one- or two-quarter profile to give yourself a bigger target. This was not something taught in Soviet flying schools. Yeremin had received prolonged conventional flight training and flown at the front for a long time, but it was only from Shestakov that he heard these and many other “Fighter Pilot’s Commandments.” These were rules of thumb that Yeremin had largely worked out for himself in months of combat, but it was from Lev Shestakov that he first heard them succinctly articulated.
The high command decided to create another “smashing fist” out of ace fighter pilots and, without more ado, took them away from other regiments. Flight lieutenants and squadron leaders were re-deployed to Shestakov as ordinary pilots and were, for the most part, undismayed by their demotion. The idea of belonging to an elite fighter regiment that was to avenge the Germans’ humiliating victories at the beginning of the war appealed to them. Sultan Amet-Khan, famed for his exploits in the Battle of Stalingrad and transferred, together with Vladimir Lavrinenkov, from the terribly depleted ranks of 4 Fighter Regiment, took the view that under Shestakov he would function even more effectively than before.274
The four male pilots transferred from 4 Regiment arrived in 9 Regiment at the same time as Belyaeva’s flight. Approaching the pilots’ quarters, Lavrinenkov was nervously wondering who they were about to meet. He had heard that everybody in 9 Regiment was a Hero of the Soviet Union but, when they entered, the pilots stopped in their tracks, thinking they must have come to the wrong place. The only people inside were two young women in light flying suits. They were sitting on a mattress covered with a blanket and “chatting away.”275 A short, pretty girl with blonde hair noticed them and said, “Come on in! Don’t be shy! Have you just arrived?” “Yes,” one of the men replied. “So have we. Hello, I’m Lilya Litvyak and this is Katya Budanova.”
Before Lavrinenkov and his companions had a chance to talk to the girls, another group of pilots came in. They were the same age as Lavrinenkov, no more than twenty-five, but all had more than one medal on their tunics, and three had the Gold Star. Lavrinenkov’s eye was immediately drawn to a fair-haired man of medium height, none other than Mikhail Baranov. Baranov was the best-known fighter pilot on the Stalingrad Front and immediately recognizable from his photographs in the newspapers; he had even had a pamphlet written about him. He was a Hero of the Soviet Union, had shot down twenty-four German planes and, at twenty, was just the same age as Lilya Litvyak. He eyed up the newcomers and asked who had flown in from where. Mikhail Baranov was now 9 Regiment’s deputy commander and, introducing the other pilots, he mentioned that both the girls had several kills to their name.
Pointing to a “long row of neatly made-up mattresses,” Baranov invited Lavrinenkov and his colleagues to settle wherever they pleased. Amet-Khan, a short Crimean Tatar with a slight stoop, was “stocky, agile, and had curly black hair.”276 He was sociable and witty and could not ignore the presence of the female pilots, immediately throwing his case on the mattress next to where Lilya and Katya were sitting. Lavrinenkov and Borisov reserved places next to him. To their chagrin, however, Baranov invited the girls to his office for a talk and to introduce them to Shestakov.
In terms of popularity in 6 Guards Fighter Air Division, Nikolai Baranov in 296 Fighter Regiment alone could compete with Lev Shestakov. They were the only two men in the entire division to be nicknamed Batya (Our Old Man), by the pilots and mechanics. At the front this expressed simultaneously the highest respect, devotion and affection. However, although they had that in common, and were both outstanding pilots, the two commanders were quite different in temperament and the nickname had different overtones for each man. Where Baranov, apart from his weakness for parties and the fairer sex, was an almost ideal commander with a kind and generous nature, Lev Shestakov was hot-blooded, short-tempered, often unreasonably strict and, in the heat of the moment, could be unfair.277
Discipline was fierce in Shestakov’s regiment.278 That first evening, Lavrinenkov and his friends came into the canteen, sat down, and wondered why the waitresses did not come running to serve them. Finally, someone whispered that the pilots never began eating before their commander entered. Shestakov had “only one Hero medal, but even twice-decorated Heroes seated at the table did not start their meal before the regimental commander appeared.” When Shestakov came in, all rose. Only after he had greeted them, and the debriefing of the day’s flights had concluded, could the meal commence. Proud of their commander, the members of the regiment were also proud of this discipline, which continued even after Shestakov was no longer with them.
The aloof Shestakov was probably the only pilot in the regiment who did not have eyes for Lilya Litvyak. In the three weeks she spent at the steppe settlement Zhitkur, green-eyed Lilya came to embody for them “an ideal of femininity and charm.”279 How many fighter pilots were there in the Soviet Air Force who sported under their greatcoats a “pretty blue or green scarf” fashioned from parachute silk and tinted by their own fair hand with heaven only knows what dye?280 How many Soviet fighter pilots bleached and curled their hair? Vladimir Lavrinenkov and other young men would sometimes sing her a ditty popular at the time: “She gives me a glance and I feel like she gave me a ruble. She gives me a glance and I feel I’ve been scorched by her fire.” Something else they liked about Lilya was her restraint, and the fact that she gave nobody preference, treating them all alike. She was forward, friendly, and fun. Even the hawk-eyed Belyaeva had no cause to reproach her, while the girl mechanics in their flight, if they dared even to speak to any of the pilots, would find Belyaeva breathing down their necks. Valya Krasnoshchyokova incurred her commander’s wrath on account of Vasiliy Serogodsky. “Valya, come and sit on the wing until they send up the flare,” he was constantly begging. His plane was one Valya serviced, and she could feel that he did not want her to sit with him just to pass the time while he waited to take off. Vasiliy was a couple of years older than her, already a Hero of the Soviet Union, and “muscular, handsome and slim.” He had an expressive face but Valya did not particularly fancy him; he was a simple working-class boy with nothing interesting to say. The mechanics, however, had a special relationship with their pilots that was “part envy, part pity, part tenderness.”281 They were proud of them, and feared for their safety. The mission before which a young man was asking a young woman mechanic to come and sit on the wing of his plane might be his last.
So Valya would sit on the wing while Vasiliy waited for the order to take off, and would chat to him about this and that and answer his questions. Serogodsky was interested in her background, where she came from, and why she was so well read. One fine day, Belyaeva decided it was time to put a stop to this. “If I ever see you with Serogodsky again . . .” As always she was deaf to explanations, like the fact that it was Valya’s job to service Vasiliy’s plane. She evidently also gave Serogodsky an ear-bashing, because he stopped inviting Valya to sit on the wing. One time, however, as she was walking past, he said, “Valya, I’m about to take off, and I dedicate this mission to you.” Valya often remembered that later, because Serogodsky was killed soon afterward, one of the not infrequent non-combat casualties in the regiment.
Vasiliy died absurdly. Arriving together with Vladimir Lavrinenkov in a U-2 to pick up a repaired Yak from a village in the rear, Serogodsky decided to try it out straightaway. The two of them inspected the plane and tested the engine. Recalling what happened next, Lavrinenkov was baffled that “a front-line pilot who had been through the hell of defending Odessa and Stalingrad could, on an exercise over a quiet village in the rear, lose his sense of height, try to perform a difficult aerobatic maneuver at low altitude, and crash into the ground.”282 Vasiliy was, however, only twenty-three, an age when taking risks is addictive. It often happened that a young pilot would emerge unscathed from some desperate situation and lose his sense of danger. It was reported that Serogodsky’s low-altitude aerobatics were for the benefit of a local girl who was watching from the ground. It was a ridiculous way to die. Lavrinenkov buried his friend there and gloomily flew back to base in the U-2. The Yak was beyond repair.
“Ladies, smile for the camera!” It was something between an invitation and an order, and all the girls who at that moment happened to be out beside the aircraft would laughingly run to line up.283 Nine Regiment was still training at Zhitkur, but already reporters were frequent visitors because of the concentration there of Heroes of the Soviet Union. Mechanics, and especially pilots, who were young women were such an unexpected sight that the reporters were eager to photograph them. They were also pleased to find that female pilots, unlike their male counterparts, had no objection to them doing so.
Almost all the male pilots were as superstitious as old women, hardly surprising in a profession where lives were so much in the hands of chance. Each had their own personal quirks, but many superstitions were universal. Pilots would not shave immediately before a flight, preferring to shave the night before. They would fly in old, patched tunics, fearing that a new one would prove unlucky. Many Communists and Komsomol members had a prayer or miniature icon in their pocket, given to them by their mother as they left for the front. Absolutely everybody accepted that under no circumstances should you be photographed immediately before a mission. When reporters came to his regiment, Commissar Dmitry Panov knew in advance the answer he would get if he asked a pilot to be photographed: “You want me in my grave?” As one pilot justified his refusal, “Butov had his photograph taken and now he is dead. Bondar had his photograph taken and he’s dead also. Do you really want to photograph me too?” It was Panov who bore the brunt of the reporters’ indignation, and he was averse to being photographed himself. He could not help feeling there was some malign force at work. A pilot in his regiment had only to be photographed in flight suit, flying helmet and goggles in front of his plane covered with slogans like, “For the Motherland,” “Victory,” “For Stalin,” and you could be sure he would find himself in the gunsight of a German pilot or a German anti-aircraft gunner and be shot down in flames. Panov had the feeling that fate was “somehow restoring a balance” as it brought its deadly scythe down precisely on those it had just singled out for fame.284
The girls, however, Litvyak, Belyaeva, Budanova, and Masha Kuznetsova, readily allowed themselves to be photographed in order to show up the absurdity of the men’s superstitions. Lilya was photographed with a neat row of girl mechanics, and also poring over a map with Katya Budanova and Masha Kuznetsova. That photograph was printed in a newspaper, as was a photo of Belyaeva in the front-line paper, along with a note that she had shot down a German plane. They won few victories in 9 Regiment, however. The girls believed this was because they were given little opportunity to fly. The male pilots did not like having one of their girls as their wingman, and Shestakov rarely allowed them into the skies at all, having bluntly made it clear he wanted them out of the regiment, and was reluctant to subject them to risk in the meantime. The only exception while they were at Zhitkur was that, for a few days in early October, their flight was on duty every day because most of the pilots had been sent off to collect the new aircraft.285
Faina Pleshivtseva remembered October 2 vividly.286 The planes had just returned from a mission, the pilots still in the cockpits, but Katya Budanova and Raisa Belyaeva were already at the stands waiting their turn. They themselves hastened to help Faina and another girl mechanic refill the fuel tanks and quickly inspect the aircraft for leaks and damage. The mechanics helped them put on their parachutes, get into the cockpit, and buckle their belts. Belyaeva and her wingman took off to patrol in the direction of the Elton salt lake. As Pleshivtseva was told later, both pilots spotted a group of twelve Ju 88 bombers on the horizon. They attacked, firing first at the lead aircraft then the others until they ran out of ammunition. To their disappointment, they failed to shoot any of them down, but at least the bomber formation was scared off, changed course and, instead of bombing Elton Station, dropped their bombs at random and departed. “They chickened out, the bastards,” Katya said later, but was in a bad mood for the rest of the day because she had not notched up a kill. Soon, however she had another opportunity to increase her tally.
On October 6, Pleshivtseva saw Budanova off on another flight, and this time she returned victorious. It had been a quiet, sunny day, with no sign of Germans, “as if they were hiding.”287 Her spell of duty was nearly over, and she said to her mechanic, “No action today,” but just then a flare was fired. Dots on the horizon grew larger and became enemy aircraft. Budanova started her engine, but the propeller on Belyaeva’s plane, with whom she was jointly on duty, would not turn. Katya decided to fly alone, dispersed the formation of unescorted Junkers, and shot one down in a pall of black smoke. A kill! The next day, jointly with Belyaeva, she brought down another.
Her delight at that, however, was as nothing when, the following day, she at last received news of her family. Her mother was alive!288 Up until then Katya had been fighting to avenge her family’s deaths, but henceforth she was fighting for them to have a good life. In October 1942, she wrote to her sister, Valya:
I find myself in the thick of the fighting and am writing from Stalingrad. You know yourself what conditions at the front are like. Now my life belongs to the struggle against the fascist barbarians. I want you to know that I am not afraid of death, but neither do I seek it. If I have to die, I will not sell my life cheaply. My sweet, winged Yak is a splendid machine. My life is inextricably bound up with it, and we will die together only as heroes. Stay well! May your love of our Motherland grow stronger and may you work even better in her cause. Do not forget me.
Katya gave no details of her work as a pilot, and her family learned of her battles only after the war from others in the regiment.