with a dozen or two adversaries. This did not embarrass the Oberleutnant – in the skies over German cities he had to meet many more British, and the Russians do not expect effective countermeasures and would be easy prey.
The heavy twin-engine jet fighter accelerated briskly down the runway and lifted off the ground. Perhaps Becker would have preferred to go into battle in a Messerschmitt Bf.110, but they had not yet had time to equip them with radars, and he had to make do with what was available. The Dornier also proved to be a good fighter in night conditions, and, by and large, the Oberleutnant was satisfied with his plane.
Making a U-turn over the airfield, Becker set a course for the site of the last air strike, information of which came just a few minutes before takeoff. The rest of his squadron's fighters were given other targets – there was no shortage of them, the angry cries from headquarters at all levels came through the communications lines in a steady stream, though, as Becker suspected, not everyone was able to reach his air group.
“Here they are!” Obergefreiter Gönsler, who served as flight mechanic and radio operator at the same time, reported. “The locator sees them! Judging by the size of the mark, it's a four-engine heavy bomber. The Russians have only a few dozen of them. It would be great luck if we could take it down.”
“Not if, but when, Wilhelm,” Becker grinned. “Turn on the infrared spotlight. The radar is a good thing, but the night sight gives more detail, even though it works at a shorter distance.”
“The Spanner-1 complex is ready, Herr Oberleutnant,” the flight mechanic said as he checked the sight-searchlight combination, “The enemy is changing course! They're trying to get away!”
“It was an accident,” Becker brushed it aside. “The Russians can't see us. They have nothing like our equipment. They just changed course for the next target. They won't get away from us – the Dornier has one and a half times the speed of this bast shoe.”
Far ahead, the ground was covered with flashes of explosions.
“Well, that's right!” Becker nodded to himself, “They were approaching a new target, so they changed course. Too bad we didn't have time to take them down before they bombed out.”
There it is, the Russian bomber. Huge, even compared to a twin-engine heavy fighter, but that doesn't help it… In the night sight, the plane, illuminated by an infrared spotlight, looked very contrasting, and the Oberleutnant slightly raised the nose of his plane, bringing the silhouette of the TB-7 into the sight.
The TB-7 (other names: Pe-8, ANT-42) was a Soviet heavy long-range bomber. Maximum speed (1941) – up to 350 km/h. Bomb load up to 5,000 kg. Practical range – 3,600 km. Practical ceiling 9,300 m. Shooting armament: four machine guns (ShKAS, UBT), two ShVAK cannons (20 mm).
Suddenly flashes flickered ahead, and tracers streaked across the sky, first to the right and above, and then a dozen meters below Becker's plane.
“Shit,” Oberleutnant swore, pulling the plane sideways and simultaneously firing his direct fire machine guns.
“There was no damage to the Russians,” said the flight mechanic with concern in his voice. “They are not changing course. It looks like they can see us after all, Herr Oberleutnant.”
“Even if they do, they don't see us well. The shooting was indirect, but you're right, they knew about us.”
The second attempt did not bring the expected result either. This time Becker decided to approach from the side, but the Russian bomber met him with two machine guns. The Oberleutnant did not try his luck, and after firing at the enemy at maximum range, approached him again from behind. The German pilot felt annoyed. He knew for sure the Russian shooters couldn't see him and were shooting just "somewhere over there," but Becker didn't want to run into a stray burst.
The third run was more successful. The bomber's aft gun mount was firing in a totally different sector from where Becker's Dornier was approaching its target, and the Oberleutnant, firing almost at point-blank range, put two long bursts into the huge carcass of the Russian plane.
“The Russian is on fire! Congratulations, Herr Oberleutnant!”
“There's plenty more of them here, Willie. We're going to have a rough night tonight,” Becker smiled.
“One more mark!” The flight mechanic shouted out in a suddenly changed voice. “It's something small, like our Dornier.”
“The Russians have twin-engine long-range bombers. I think the Yer-2, or something like that.”
“Not likely, Herr Oberleutnant. The speed is too high. It's going faster than us!”
“Pe-2? A dive fighter? The Russians originally designed it as a high-altitude fighter, then converted it to a bomber, but it still had pretty good speed. Point out the course, and we'll take him down.”
“It's coming to us itself, commander!" answered Gönsler in a puzzled voice, "The distance is a kilometer.”
“I see it!” The Russian plane was already quite distinguishable in the night sight, “right, Pe-2. It's going too boldly.”
Oberleutnant Becker was an experienced pilot, and he did not suffer from overconfidence. He remembered how strangely the crew of the downed bomber had behaved, having somehow learned of the danger before his Dornier had even opened fire. The German pilot drew conclusions. Becker decided that the Russians also had some kind of radar, but a very imperfect one that did not allow to accurately determine the direction of the target. So he simply changed course to attack the Pe-2 from the side.
“The Russian turned too!” immediately shouted out the flight mechanic. “The distance is 400 meters!”
“Take it easy, Willie,” Becker replied in a steady voice, though he himself was no longer confident.
“300 meters!”
Flashes flickered ahead. The tracer flashes passed close to the pilot's cockpit. Becker heard a sharp popping sound that no experienced pilot would ever confuse – the sound of bullets piercing the hull of the airplane.
The flight mechanic shrieked. The neon lights of the radar equipment blinked and went out. The right engine stalled and immediately burst into flames, and the Russian gunner's merciless bursts continued to pound the hull and cockpit of the plane. Not a single bullet has, by some miracle, hit Becker yet. Oberleutnant glanced at the flight mechanic. Willie was dead, there was no doubt about it, and the battered Dornier was losing control with every second.
“Crew, get off the plane!” Becker ordered himself.
The cockpit canopy flew off into the darkness; it was knocked out by the triggered squib. With an unbelievable effort the Oberleutnant managed to flip the burning Dornier, and he simply fell out of the cockpit, into the air, scalding cold at this altitude.
“I wonder who's down there,” thought Becker, swinging under the parachute canopy. He absolutely did not want to fall into the hands of the Bolsheviks.
An airborne radar, and even with a night sight and an infrared searchlight in addition! Why didn't I know about this? Probably because it is simply impossible to keep track of everything. The Germans just got their radar up to working order. This "Lichtenstein" has not even gone into production yet, and here it is, near Kiev, instead of protecting the capital of
