A little piece you might find entertaining. There are more entries, which I'll post a little more of each day of this week. Enjoy.
Sabre
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Diary of An Aviator
May 2, 1940
My little son, Eric: On your mother's suggestion, I have decided to begin keeping a diary so that you might know something of what I am going through. Though you are only three months old, what happens in the next few months will change the world you will grow up in. Will it be a better world? I do not know, my little Eric.
Hitler is hailed by some as the savior of the Fatherland. And as we were invading Poland, I found myself wanting to believe that it was for the security of our nation. And that our annexation of Austria and the Sudentenland was for the noble cause of liberating our fellow Germans. Heaven knows our national economy has at last shown a recovery from the terrible depression that followed "The Great War." But now we are in a state of war with the English and the French again, for the second time this century.
This phony war is like a dream. Many of us expected the Tommies and the Frenchies to come roaring into the Ruhr after their declaration of war, and that we would now be fighting to hold invaders away from our homes. Yet here we sit, back in our comfortable peacetime airfields in Germany. The only thing different is the amount of time we spend practicing. We fly every day, usually two or three sorties.
To fly! My son, that you could know the joy and freedom I feel in the cockpit, free from the shackles of gravity and the weight of worry. The flying is the only thing that gets me through each day, helps me to forget the tension as we wait for a war just out of sight. Our Messerschmitt 109s are without a doubt the best fighter in the world. Nothing the French or British have can touch it in combat.
Even this new British fighter we've heard rumors about, this Spitfire, could not possibly be its equal. You do not climb into it; you put it on. It handles like a dream, too. Not quite as maneuverable as the Hurricane, but much faster and better climbing. Our cannon are much better then those puny machineguns of the Hurricane, too.
The staffel I have been reassigned to is a grand bunch of fellows. About half are from the staffel I flew with in Poland. Our CO is an old hand, Werner Wannemacher. He flew in Spain with the Condor Legion. Six victories! Manfred Lackey is our XO, and flew with Major Wannemacher in Spain. What a great teacher Manny is. Extremely patient with us less experienced pilots. It is no exaggeration when I say I would not have survived Poland without his tutelage. Marcus Eager, Westle Dauvous, Robert Kittelson, Janous Pacell, Dalhart Lanksford, Walden Barrow, Franz Gonsdalt, Dortman Halland. What a crazy excuse for a fighter squadron! But there is not a one I would not trust my life to (and do practically every day). They train hard, fight hard, and play hard. They are Germany's finest.
Yet, the waiting is beginning to take its toll, even on this group. You can sharpen a blade to a razor edge, but if you continue to grind and grind, eventually you will have no blade left. I do not know how much longer High Command is going to keep us at this. I wish the damn English and French would just come on and get to it!
No, I do not really mean that. It is the stress of constant operations with no apparent purpose. Still, something is in the wind. The last couple of days, Major Wannemacher has been going back and forth between the field and Gruppe headquarters. Fresh supplies of benzene and ammunition have been pouring in, at a rate twice what we expend in practice. Finally, in our morning ops briefing we were told today's sorties would be the last for about a week. Seems the maintenance troops will be doing some major overhauls of our kites. Hansirman, my crew chief, was positively gloating over the chance to work on White 6 (that is my Emil) without the nuisance of a pilot trying to bust it. It all seems pretty ominous. Either High Command has figured out the French and British are about to attack or...No, they could not possibly think an attack into France could succeed. True, we would smash the RAF and the Armee de l'Air. But French and English ground forces seriously outnumber the Wehrmacht.
Janous is calling from the doorway. It is time to fly our last sortie of the day. Until a later time my son, may God keep you and your mother safe.
Your father,
Lt. Rolf Jorganson
