Tag: Red Army

On Meeting an Enemy

Staff Sergeant Erwin Meier of the German Luftwaffe was a highly decorated pilot during World War 2. Unlike most air forces of today, the Germans allowed non-commissioned officer to be pilots, and Meier was one of the best the Germans had. Flying his Messerschmitt Bf-109 machine, Meier had recorded double digit kills on the difficult Eastern Front of the war by 1942. For his service and skill, the pilot was awarded medals and other air awards. And that’s why, when he was shot down by a Russian pilot, he was somewhat surprised.

The time was September, 1942, and the decisive Battle of Stalingrad had finally begun to turn to the Soviets’ way. However, the end of the struggle was still undecided, and establishing air superiority was still important to both sides. While the Germans had their faster and more maneuverable Messerschmitts, the Russians were able to counter with their own fast and nimble Yaks. However, unlike the German crates, the speed of the Yaks was because they were made of wood and that made them much more vulnerable to enemy fire.

It was a clear day when a squad of four Yaks spotted some German bombers and their fighter escorts headed for the Russian lines around Stalingrad, and the Russians closed in for an attack. Meier saw the Russians at distance, and he peeled away from his group and looped back around to come in on the Russians from behind. Now, the pursuer became the pursued. Meier’s tactic was so bold and smart that he managed to gain an advantageous position on the rear of the Russian squad leader, a man named Major Danilov. As he was squeezing off some machine gun rounds into the now-splintering tail of the Russian’s plane, Meier felt a violent jolt. Somehow, a Russian pilot had managed to come in on his tail, and his Messerschmitt was being pelted with rounds. Several Russian rounds found his engine, and the German ace realized that his plane was doomed. He veered off from his attack on the Russian major and tried to keep his craft steady while he unlatched and then pushed back the glass covering over his head. He checked his horizon and then bailed out of the doomed aircraft, deploying his parachute after he was sure he had cleared the plane.

As he gently fell to earth under the canopy of white silk, Meier cursed himself for being so careless. How could he not have seen the pilot that snuck up on him from behind? That guy must be a good pilot, Meier thought. And, when he reached the safety of the ground, a squad of Russian soldiers were there to quickly take him captive. Meier thought he knew the names of the best Russian pilots he was facing daily in the skies above Stalingrad; he had studied their tactics and their tendencies, and, in his mind as he was being questioned and moved to a POW camp, Meier ran through the list of who he thought might have been the one who shot him down using such a good maneuver.

“Would it be possible to meet the pilot who shot me down?” he asked his questioners through the interpreter. Sure, came the answer back. The Russians were happy to oblige him because they realized that a meeting between their own pilot and the German hero would make for good publicity and would boost morale in the Soviet press, good news for a people hungry for any victory in the war, no matter what the size of it. So, Meier was taken to the makeshift airfield where Major Danilov’s squadron was based. And he was introduced to Lieutenant Litvyak, a 21 year old blond Russian who looked like someone you’d meet in a school yard rather than in a deadly air duel. But Meier thought the Russians were kidding him, trying to embarrass him. Surely, this kid couldn’t’ve been the expert pilot who got the drop on him and shot him down so expertly. Still incredulous, Meier asked Litvyak to describe how the short battle unfolded. The Russian described the encounter to a tee. Meier became convinced that this, this, this child had bested him in combat. The Russians, of course, were gleeful. For his part, Major Danilov acknowledged that Lt. Litvyak had saved his life, that he was probably doomed if Meier had been able to finish him off. What made it worse in Meier’s mind was that the young Russian pilot had only been on the front for less than a week and already been credited with three “kills” including Meier. The brave and skilled Lt. Litvyak would soon be promoted to command a squadron of Russian planes and be credited with dozens of sorties and several more kills before being shot down and killed in August of the next year.

But that was long after the Soviet propaganda machine made a big deal out of the fact that the German ace Erwin Meier had been bested in combat by a girl.

On the End of the Line

The little apartment above the barber shop is still there. Little has changed since 1960 at 716 East Gerrard Street on the edge of Toronto, Canada. In 1960, that’s where the Martemianoff Family lived. Constantine and his wife, Sinaida, had left eastern Europe decades ago and settled in the tight-knit immigrant community, finding the little upstairs apartment both affordable and convenient.

That summer, as the 1960 presidential election dominated the news, the elderly couple found themselves faced with a dilemma. A close friend of theirs, another immigrant, an old widow, needed their help. She’d buried her husband a few years before and had then suffered from a stroke earlier in 1960. After a stint in the hospital, it was determined that she could not take care of herself.

Now, Christian charity only goes so far in my book. The Martemianoffs had a similar give and take; they discussed at length what their obligations were before God and what they could do to help the widow, if anything. It was Constantine who suggested that they allow the now-bedridden old woman to move in for a time. Perhaps, he told his spouse, they could nurse her back to health enough that she could return to her own home and care for herself. Sheepishly, Sinaida agreed.

And so, the widow was released from the hospital and moved into the spare bedroom in the little apartment above the barber shop on Gerrard Street. And soon, any misgivings that either of the hosts may have held about helping the widow were dispersed. She needed care, certainly, but her attitude was bright and cheerful. She told Sinaida, “I always laugh; if I ever start crying, I may never stop!”

She was ever so grateful to the couple for their help and patience with her. There is, I’ve learned, good pride and bad pride. Bad pride is thinking that your crap doesn’t stink; good pride is holding your dignity when you’re in a dire situation. And that good pride, that’s what this widow woman had, the couple saw. Of course, they knew her fairly well already, but you never know what someone is truly like until you have to live with them and care for them day after day.

Sadly, despite her good attitude and the good care of the couple, the widow never recovered. She died a few weeks after coming into the Martemianoff’s home. And, perhaps, it’s fitting that Constantine’s house is where she died at age 79. After all, it had been his job several decades before to take care of the widow and her family when he and she were both young.

You see, Constantine had been a bodyguard for the Russian Imperial Family, and the widow who died in his spare bedroom above the barber shop was Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, the last survivor of the line of the Romanov Dynasty.