BY Raymond F. Toliver and Trevor J. Constable
The Luftwaffe’s Erich Hartmann was the most successful fighter pilot in the history of aerial warfare. In his two and a half years of combat during World War II, he flew 1,405 combat missions and engaged the enemy 825 times. He shot down 91 twin-engined aircraft and 261 fighters — a total of 352 confirmed kills. Ten of his victims were P-51 Mustangs flown by Americans — the rest of his kills were flown by Soviet pilots. In our era of ever-smaller air forces flying ever more expensive aircraft, it is inconceivable that a future fighter pilot could break Erich Hartmann’s record.
Although Hartmann was shot down many times, he survived the war and was captured by an American tank unit. He was just twenty-three years old. The Americans turned Hartmann over to the
Soviets, who staged "a kangaroo political trial for the dreaded “Black Devil of the South” and imprisoned him in a slave-labor camp for ten and a half years. Released in 1955, he resumed his career in the new Luftwaffe and finally retired as a colonel in 1970.
Hartmann was the consummate professional aerial killer. Dogfights were not his style. He preferred to single out an unwary adversary, get in very close and shoot, then retire. Wars cannot be won in a day. Hartmann once explained, “Every day kill just one, rather than today five, tomorrow ten. . . that is enough for you. Then your nerves are calm and you can sleep good, you have your drink in the evening and the next morning you are fit again.”
In the excerpt that follows, we meet the master learning his trade.
Erich Hartmann did not score his second victory until 27 February 1943. Soon afterward, a new and dynamic personality appeared on the Seventh Squadron scene, an officer who was destined to give Erich solid impetus toward the top — 1st Lt. Walter Krupinski. Appointed to replace Captain Sommer, Krupinski was the same smiling
Tiger who had so narrowly escaped from his crash-landed Me-109 the day Erich arrived at the front at Maykop. The new CO of Seventh Squadron took over his command in typical fashion, earning Erich’s immediate respect and awe.
Krupinski arrived at Taman Kuban, introduced himself as the new squadron commander, and asked immediately for a serviceable fighter. He went up, was promptly shot down, and bailed out. Brought back to the field by car, he demanded another Me-109, took off again immediately, and this time scored two kills, returning intact to the airfield. There was no doubt about this squadron commander: he was a tiger, and he obviously didn’t need any tightly ordered discipline in leading his soldiers. Erich liked Krupinski immediately.
The new squadron commander’s next request was for a wingman to be assigned to him. His hell-for-leather reputation had preceded him, and the NCO pilots were reluctant to assume the responsibility of protecting him. Paule Rossmann came to Erich as a representative of the sergeants.
“Would you please fly as First Lieutenant Krupinski’s wingman, Erich?”
“Why? Don’t the sergeants want the job?” Rossmann appeared a little embarrassed.
“The old-timers say. that he is a sharp officer,” said Paule, “but he can’t fly. They think it is better all around if an officer is his wingman. Will you do it?”
Erich found Rossmann hard to refuse. He agreed to see Krupinski. Erich was unhappy about the whole thing when he offered himself to the new squadron commander, because many of the sergeants were decorated veterans and usually knew a good fighter pilot from a bad one. Erich felt a little like a lamb going to the slaughter. Rrupinski’s bullish bluntness did little to ease Erich’s mind.
A strapping, five-foot-nine-inch dynamo, Krupinski was already famous in the Luftwaffe by the spring of 1943 as one of its outstanding characters and playboys. Walter Krupinski was a ripe, mature personality who looked and acted — on the military side of his life at least — far beyond his years. After six months’ duty in the Reich Labor Service he was drafted as a Fahnenjunker (cadet) in the Luftwaffe on 1 September 1939.
He had been flying as a senior cadet, and later as a commissioned officer, since the end of 1941 and had once flown as the great “Macky” Steinhoffs wingman. He was a successful and famous JG-52 ace with over seventy victories at the time Erich Hartmann
Offered his services as a wingman. Krupinski was destined to end the war as the fifteenth-ranked fighter ace of the world with 197 victories, and at the surrender he was a member of Adolf Galland’s elite Squadron of Experts in JV-44, flying the Me-262 jet fighter.
Krupinski’s exploits through the years had earned him a reputation for toughness that preceded him to Taman. He had a penchant for getting himself into impossible situations, and for wounds, bailouts, and crash landings. He once belly-landed near the Kuban River, coming down in a meadow which the German infantry had mined. As his shattered kite slid along the grass, it tripped a series of mines, and Krupinski immediately concluded that he was being bombarded by artillery.
Krupinski’s first impulse was to jump out of the plane and bolt for cover. His life was saved by a German infantry sergeant who bawled out the explosive facts about the field to him as he clambered clear of the cockpit. The soldiers took two hours to extricate him, walking out to him and testing the ground with sticks as they came. His career was a skein of similar incidents, culminating in the last months of the war when he was enjoying himself on recuperation leave at the
Fighter Pilots’ Home-in Bad Wiessee. At Steinhoff s urging, he took reluctant leave of a big barrel of cognac provided for the pilots and flew the ME-262 in Galland’s JV-44. Krupinski’s crash arrival at Maykop, with the burning fighter spewing live ammunition in all directions, was fresh in Erich’s mind as he confronted this formidable personality.
“Sir, my name is Hartmann. I am to be your wingman.”
“Been out here long?”
“No, sir. About three months “Any victories?”
“Two, sir.”
“Who have you been flying with?” “Rossmann mainly, but also with Hammers, Zwememann, and Grislawski.”
“They’re all good men. We’ll get along all right. That’s all for now.”
Walter Krupinski retired as a lieutenant general and is living in Neunkirchen-Seelscheid in West Germany. His only recollection of his first meeting with Erich Hartmann is an indelible impression of Erich’s extreme youth.
“He appeared not much more than a mere baby. So young and full of life. As he walked away from me that first day, I thought to myself, ‘Such a young face.’ ”
This same impression of Erich was shared
At this time by Capt. Guenther Rail, who had become Gruppenkommandeur of III/JG-52 in place of von Bonin, in the same shuffle that brought Krupinski to command No. 7 Squadron. Later we will make fuller contact with Guenther Rail as one of the JG-52’s greatest aces, but his recollection of Erich at this time parallels that of Krupinski.
“I saw him [Erich] first in the Seventh Squadron mess, and I thought only, ‘What a young boy — a baby.’ He stood out first for his extreme youth, but quickly came to everyone’s attention because he was a good marksman.”
Erich and Krupinski took to the air the following day with disturbing initial impressions of each other. Erich was sure that he was flying with a wild tiger who could not fly, and Krupinski was sure he was flying with a baby on his wing. The first mission was sufficient to change Erich’s mind about his new leader.
The new squadron commander waded into the enemy like a barroom brawler, a batteringly aggressive and fearless pilot who not only flew like a demon, but also kept a clear tactical head. Krupinski’s purported inability to fly was obviously a yarn without foundation. Nevertheless, Krupinski could not shoot straight and most of his ammuni-
Don went wide. Krupinski’s weakness was therefore supplemented by Erich’s strength as a marksman, for Erich had been a natural sharpshooter from the day he riddled his first drogue in training. Together, Krupinski and Erich formed a winning combat team.
Erich began by sticking close to Krupinski and, as they entered shooting range, decreased his airspeed and went to his leader’s reverse as he pulled up or broke. This gave Erich a few seconds to shoot, “filling in the holes Kruppi had left.” A couple of additional victories came this way. Soon they realized that they could depend on each other, and as Krupinski coached Erich, they began to read each other’s mind in combat, as have all the great fighter teams in history.
When Krupinski went into an attack, Erich would stay “on the perch,” watching his leader’s back and telling him what to do if another enemy aircraft intervened. During Erich’s attacks, Krupinski stayed on the perch and called out instructions to Erich to improve his attack or take evasive action. Erich heard Krupinski’s voice on the R/T rasping the same order over and over again:
*Straight shot or not, the indomitable Krupinski shot down 197 enemy aircraft in slightly over 1,100 sorties.
“Hey, Bubi! Get in closer. You’re opening fire too far out.”
Erich was emulating Rossmann, with long-range attacks. He was hitting well every time he fired, which impressed the poorer-shooting Krupinski, but it was obvious he would do even better if he closed in on his targets. As Krupinski later said, “We had so many young pilots come to us who could not hit anything in the air that Erich stood out immediately with his accurate long-range gunnery.”
From Krupinski’s constantly calling him Bubi in the air came Erich’s nickname, which he has retained to this day. The whole squadron was soon calling him Bubi, and the name stuck.
Krupinski’s steady urgings, “Hey, Bubi, get in closer,” encouraged Erich to close his ranges. The closer he got to his foe, the more devastating the effect when he fired. Few shots went wide. Often the other aircraft could be seen to stagger under the multigun blast at close range. Even more often, there was an explosion in the air as the other machine disintegrated. When they went down that way, they would never come back up again.
Soon Erich had fully developed the tactics of air fighting from which he would never
Subsequently depart. The magical four steps were: “See — Decide — Attack — Reverse, or ‘Coffee Break.’ ” In lay terms, spot the enemy, decide if he can be attacked and surprised, attack him, and break away immediately after striking; or if he spots you before you strike, take a “coffee break” — wait — pull off the enemy and don’t get into a turning battle with a foe who knows you are there. The rigid observance of this tactical sequence carried Erich Hartmann to the top.
Air battles brought Erich into contact with every conceivable situation in air-to-air combat. He was not only confident of his abilities — without which no fighter pilot could ever succeed — but also extended his skills through experience. He could spot aircraft at phenomenal distances, sometimes minutes before anyone else airborne with him, and often intuit his foe’s intentions. He avoided the dogfight in favor of the lethal efficiency of hit and run. The “See — Decide — Attack — Break” was a sequence never to be broken. Following it meant success, departing firom it meant failure and even doom.
For joining and breaking combat Erich developed practical rules that kept him alive and unwounded while the Russian aircraft continued to fall. Under blue-sky condi-
Tions, he found the best mode of attack the high and fast approach. Where overcast prevailed, he made his strike low and fast. He waited whenever and wherever possible for this one fast blow rather than make his attack under less than ideal conditions. This was his “coffee break.” Surprise was the crucial element of the successful bounce.
In winter, with Karaya One camouflaged white and the sky overcast, the low-to-high attack pass proved extremely successful. He conquered his earlier tendency to slacken speed when closing in, going right to his foe at the shortest possible distance before firing. From flfty yards the power of Karaya One’s armament was devastating. Kills were scored with minimum ammunition.
The traditional tactic of turning with an enemy was something Erich had abandoned. Dogfighters could do it their way, and most of them loved the dogflght. Erich preferred his own methods. After his brief and violent attack, he would roll over wing deep and dive about two thousand feet under his foe if altitude permitted, pulling up from behind and below for a second attack. In this position, he could stay with any turn the enemy might attempt, and after firing, the Blond Knight was on his way upstairs for a third pass should his foe survive the second assault.
Each pass was a repetition of the “See — Decide — Attack — Break” cycle.
In the Eastern Front air battles, the Germans were almost always heavily outnumbered. Consequently, Erich himself was often bounced by Russian fighters. In the same way as he evolved his deadly attack tactics, he developed a set of defensive rules. Just as his attack methods rolled up his score past all the old dogfighters, so did his defense tactics keep him from being wounded. The two sets of tactics went hand in hand and led to his being consistently in action. Luck was almost always with him, but his penetrant analytical ability was ever Lady Luck’s bridegroom. Physical survival and a high score were the children of the union.
When a Russian bounced him from behind, to one side, and above — from “the perch” — Erich would go into a hard climbing turn, turning into his enemy’s firing pass. Where a Red pilot came from below and behind, Erich would go hard left or right and down, again breaking into his enemy’s pass, then immediately using negative g’s to lose the enemy.
Erich’s coolness soon became a legend among all who flew with him. He learned to observe his Russian foes as they came in to the attack and meet their thrusts with appro-
Priate parries. Resisting the urge to turn while an attacking Russian pilot was still outside firing range required coolness. The concept of simply sitting there while an enemy aircraft rushed in with a battery of guns charged was hard to accept in theory — and even tougher to execute in actual combat. Flying straight and level, using the rudder for slight slip, and waiting for the enemy to commit himself soon convinced the Blond Knight that he could avoid being hit under these circumstances. Vital information could often be gleaned in the split seconds before the attacking Russian opened fire.
Inexperienced or inferior pilots always gave themselves away by opening fire too early. Erich discovered that in such instances he could soon change his role from defender to attacker, but if the Red pilot held his fire and kept closing in, then it was certain that an old-timer was at the controls. A battle was then in the offing.
Erich developed only one rule for breaking away as a last-ditch maneuver, and that was to execute a movement where possible with negative g’s. An attacking pilot expects his quarry to turn tighter and try to outturn him — the classic dogfight. The attacking pilot must turn even tighter in order to pull firing lead on his quarry. As a result, his quarry
Disappears under the - nose of the attacker. At that moment the quarry can escape by shoving forward on the stick and kicking bottom rudder. The forces on his aircraft change from plus 5 g’s to minus one or minus one and a half g’s. This escape maneuver is almost impossible for the attacker to see or follow until it is too late. Erich made good use of this escape tactic, which threw the attacker instantly from advantage to complex disadvantage.
The attacker was first of all placed at the psychological disadvantage imposed by negative g’s — weightlessness. Physically he was disadvantaged, being lifted from his seat to hang against his belt — an impossible situation in which to track a target, due to the higher negative attack angle. Finally, the erstwhile attacker lost his overview of the area, and steering the aircraft in the right direction for continued pursuit became guesswork.
Erich reserved these tactics for last-ditch situations. In all other attacks, his rule was to turn into his assailant’s turn, using positive g’s. He called these “My Personal Twist Regulations,” and he taught them to his young wingmen to help keep them alive. His tactical skill in attack and defense took him through more than eight hundred aerial bat-
Ties without a scratch — too stunning an achievement to be attributed to blind luck.
Once he clarified his tactics and got some experience, Erich’s kill tally rose so quickly that he became a subject of discussion among other pilots. His consistent string of victories and seemingly charmed life made him a focus of competitive attention as 1943 wore on. There were even some pilots who thought that there must be some trickery involved in Erich’s success.
Sgt. Carl Junger of the Seventh Squadron, who had flown as Erich’s wingman, was invited with two other pilots to visit the nearby Eighth Squadron mess. This social gathering had a noteworthy sequel, arising out of squadron rivalry. During festivities, Junger heard Erich Hartmann’s name mentioned in some of the noisy conversation. Second Lt. Friedrich “Fritz” Obleser, who had come to JG-52 about the same time as Erich, had scored well at the outset of his career, while Erich was conquering his buck fever and learning the tricks of Rossmann and the dog-fighters. Once Erich settled down to lead his own elements, he rocketed past Obleser in the scoring. Fritz was expressing his skepticism about Erich’s consistent skein of kills.
Junger as Erich’s wingman had been witness to many of Erich’s kills. He was annoyed
By the implication in Obleser’s remarks. The next day, Junger told the Blond Knight what Obleser had said. Erich thanked Junger and made up his mind in a flash about what should be done. He went straight to Maj. Guenther Rail, the Gruppenkommandeur, under whose command both the Seventh and Eighth Squadrons were operating.
“Fritz Obleser of the Eighth Squadron has been saying to other pilots that he doesn’t believe my kills are genuine.”
Rail’s eyebrows went up. “Well, I know they are genuine. I see the witness reports and all the details. What do you want me to do about it?”
“I would like to have Obleser fly as wing-man on a few operations, sir. That is, if it can be arranged.”
Rail nodded. Pilots locking horns was nothing new to him. “Of course. I’ll issue the orders. He can come down tomorrow.”
A somewhat embarrassed Obleser duly reported the following day for duty as Erich’s wingman. Since his temporary transfer was for observational purposes, he was assigned to the better vantage point offered by the second element in Erich’s Schwarm. He flew two missions and saw two of Erich’s devastating close-in downings, in which the Blond Knight blew up his opponents’ aircraft.
On the ground, the convinced Obleser signed the two kill confirmation claims as the official witness. Fritz apologized in manly fashion for his earlier criticism and was allowed to return to the Eighth Squadron with his story. No further expressions of skepticism about Bubi Hartmann’s victories came from any neighboring unit.
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