The second month of the war was underway. The fascists were advancing, and enemy aviation was paving the way for their ground units. Our troops offered desperate resistance, but they could not yet stop the armored onslaught of the German war machine. Of all the fleets, the Baltic Fleet was in the most difficult position at this time.
In the first week of the war, Libava had to be abandoned. By the end of June, a few days after the fall of Riga, the enemy aimed one spearhead of its offensive at Tallinn. The aviation of the Baltic Fleet, by then concentrated at airfields near Leningrad, struck convoys in the Gulf of Riga and helped ground units hold back the movement of tank columns.
However, it was a pity to waste the forces of torpedo aviation on insignificant ground targets. There were airfields on Ösel (Saaremaa) island, but supplying the aircraft operating from there became increasingly difficult. Moreover, the island was subjected to frequent and intense raids by enemy aircraft. In late July, the fascists carried out their first raid on Moscow. The Stavka (High Command) was forced to work in shelters at night. With the onset of darkness, enemy planes appeared over the capital with German punctuality, dropping bombs and aiming for the city center – the Kremlin.
Preparing for the Audacious Attack
We wanted to carry out a retaliatory raid on Berlin, but the question was how. DB-3 aircraft, even with afterburners (DB-3F), from the Leningrad airfield hub, could not reach the enemy’s lair. In those days, we were planning to carry out air strikes on Pillau, where German naval vessels were based.
One day, unrolling a survey map, V.A. Alafuzov, acting as Chief of the Main Naval Staff, and I discussed the general situation on the fronts, especially in the naval theaters. The Northwest High Command, formed in Leningrad, sought to stop the enemy in the Pskov direction. Tallinn, the main base of the Baltic Fleet, repelled enemy attacks as they pushed towards the capital of Soviet Estonia.
The situation was difficult, with only a narrow coastal strip still suitable for land communications. Nevertheless, Vladimir Antonovich used a compass to gauge how far our aircraft could be sent. From Leningrad airfields, they “reached” only a little further than Libava. But if they took off from airfields on Ösel island, they could fly to Königsberg and beyond.
This was with the normal fuel reserve calculated during peacetime. But what if we took the absolute maximum range of these aircraft? Yes, then Berlin could be reached! However, they would have to fly over the sea and return immediately after dropping bombs. Lose 20-30 minutes in flight, and the pilots would not make it back to their airfields, landing either on Ösel island or in enemy territory.
There was no other choice. Only one option: fly to Berlin at the most advantageous altitude in all respects, bomb without losing time, no matter what resistance was offered there. Then return strictly on a direct course home. In short, it was possible to fly if brave pilots were found, the equipment was operational, and their airfields were not closed by fog.
Together with Alafuzov, we checked the calculations. We took various bomb loads with a full fuel supply. Initially, the conclusions were pessimistic: “Will it reach Königsberg? – Yes. And Berlin? – No.” Finally, after consulting with specialists, it was concluded that if the aircraft took a full fuel supply — 3000 kg — and no more than 750 kg of bombs, they would cover the distance to Berlin — about 900 km — and return home with 10-15% fuel reserve.
This was in the last days of July. “Tempting,” I thought, “but are we not sending pilots on an operation from which they will not return?” Everything needed to be weighed once more, and only then could a decision be made. After that, I also had to ask for permission from the Stavka of the Supreme High Command. The matter was serious and went beyond the authority of the People’s Commissar of the Navy.
The Commander of the Naval Air Forces, S.F. Zhavo-ronkov, was put in a difficult position. On the one hand, his data showed that such an operation was possible, with great risk, at the limit, but possible. On the other hand, what an enormous responsibility fell on him if the flight was unsuccessful and resulted in heavy losses. Indeed, all aircraft could be lost. “I will report to the Stavka,” I told him, to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. “Let me think, consult with the executors,” Semyon Fyodorovich replied.
Everything was checked and weighed once again. The regiment designated for such a responsible mission was commanded by Colonel E.N. Preobrazhensky, and the regimental navigator was an excellent specialist, Captain P.I. Khokhlov. Their calculations confirmed the feasibility of the task. Two days later, at a regular report to the Supreme High Command, I spread out a map of the Baltic Sea, on which Ösel island and Berlin were connected by a thick line, showing distances and calculations for the bomb load: one 500 kg or two 250 kg bombs, no more, otherwise there wouldn’t be enough fuel.
The bombing strike by Soviet aircraft on Berlin then had great political significance. After all, at this very time, the Germans were already trumpeting the defeat of our aviation. A raid on the enemy’s lair, like nothing else, would convincingly prove the opposite. The Stavka approved our proposal. “You are personally responsible for the execution of the operation,” I was told goodbye. Upon returning, I immediately issued all necessary orders.
Based on the Stavka’s decision, the Military Council of the Baltic Fleet was ordered to select 15 crews from the First Mine-Torpedo Regiment and redeploy them to Ösel by 10 AM on August 2. The previously assigned task — the bombing of Pillau — had to be canceled. Control and leadership of the flight preparations were personally entrusted to S.F. Zhavo-ronkov.
After the decision was made, the Stavka urged me on. Understanding the full responsibility to the people who were to carry out such a risky mission, it was decided to first conduct a series of test flights, ascertain the possibility of a raid on Berlin, gather necessary data on enemy air defenses, and only after that give the final “go-ahead.”
On the night of August 2-3, a flight was made for weather reconnaissance and bombing of a nearby target — Swinemünde. The crews took a full supply of fuel and bombs — as if for a flight to Berlin — and took off from Kagul airfield. The operation showed that excellently trained pilots could take off even from this limited airfield.
On the night of August 4-5, five aircraft conducted a reconnaissance flight to Berlin. It was established that the anti-aircraft defense was arranged in a ring around it with a radius of 100 km, with many searchlights effective up to 6,000 m. Now everything was clear: the flight was difficult, but possible. On-site, the final thorough check of the material part was carried out, and the order was received: execute the mission at the first opportunity.
The Audacious Mission Over the Reich
A few more days passed, and the planes took to the air. There were 15 of them. The operation was personally commanded by Yevgeny Nikolaevich Preobrazhensky. His closest assistants in the groups were Captain V.A. Grechishnikov and A.Ya. Efremov, with P.I. Khokhlov flying as navigator. We received information about the aircraft’s takeoff just before my departure to report to the Stavka. I was sure the first question would be: “How is the Berlin raid going?” It was pleasant to report that the operation had begun. We would await the results.
On the night of August 7, the planes, with their full load, barely took off from the ground and, without losing a minute, set course for Berlin. They did not have to consider the danger of flying over the sea or choose a safe course over enemy territory. Altitude was their only means of protection against anti-aircraft guns and fighters. The Germans did not expect such audacity, and upon being noticed, our planes in the first flight were not even fired upon until the end of the bombing.
During the approach to the target, ground signals asked them who they were and where they were flying. Sometimes, believing them to be their own aircraft that had lost their way, they were offered to land at one of the nearest airfields. Deceived by Goebbels’ propaganda, as if “there was no danger from the East,” observation posts in Germany assumed anything but a possible raid by Soviet aircraft.
The fascists were still pushing towards Leningrad, Moscow, and Rostov in those days, thinking they were close to their goal. Meanwhile, Soviet aircraft were flying at an altitude of up to 7000 m to drop bombs on the enemy’s lair. Berlin was not blacked out; raids from the West were then rare and weak, and the capital’s residents had time to prepare for them from the moment an air raid warning was announced.
Soon, the target. By the lights and contours of landmarks, rivers, lakes, and roads, navigator Khokhlov refined his course and led the planes directly to the center of Berlin. They were already over the target, and there was still no anti-aircraft fire. “So, they don’t expect us,” Yevgeny Nikolaevich thought and continued the flight purposefully. Finally, it was time to bomb. Bombs were dropped on the target.
The planes, each lightened by half a ton, swayed and flew noticeably faster. It was no longer possible to observe the results of the bombing. Now searchlights swept the sky, and behind them — the bursts of anti-aircraft shells. They were now seen around the planes. But whatever happened next, the mission had been accomplished. This pleased everyone, and the danger of flying home, limited fuel, or possible bad weather over the airfield receded into the background.
Legacy and Recognition
Thirteen years later, Yevgeny Nikolaevich Preobrazhensky and I flew to Port Arthur, and almost the entire way we recalled wartime. It was then that Preobrazhensky recounted the details of the first raid on fascist Berlin. He said his pilots were exceptionally prepared, accustomed to flying far over the sea, and had over 2,000 flight hours on combat aircraft.
From his words, I could conclude that they had thought about raiding Berlin even before receiving orders from Moscow. The regimental navigator, P.I. Khokhlov, meticulously calculated distances. The front line from Berlin was already over 1,000 km away; only the islands of Ösel and Dago were closer to the target. From there, the direct distance was about 900 km, requiring at least 7 hours of flight at altitudes up to 8,000 m, and flying over the sea almost to Stettin.
Preobrazhensky recalled that at the very end of July, the Commander of the Naval Air Forces, S.F. Zhavo-ronkov, arrived in Bezzabotnoye. A thorough check of the equipment and selection of the most experienced pilots began. They understood the significance of this task and prepared without sparing effort. Then came the flight on the night of August 7-8, 1941. Divided into three groups, in machines overloaded to the limit, they took to the air from a very limited-sized airfield. They had to fly in or above the clouds, and the navigation equipment on aircraft of that time was poor.
Berlin was not blacked out, and anti-aircraft guns were not firing. Only when they dropped the bombs was heavy fire opened on their aircraft. The great strain of the flight later became apparent when the pilots were approaching their airfield. Some lacked composure, and as the planes came in to land, they released the controls prematurely, making “goats” (bounced landings), something never before noticed in them.
What happened? Why didn’t the fascists immediately understand, even after the bomb explosions in the city center alerted them to the raid? Newspapers attributed these successes to the British: “English aviation bombed Berlin. There are dead and wounded. Six English planes shot down.” To this, the British replied: “The German report on the bombing of Berlin is interesting and mysterious, as on August 7-8, English aviation did not fly over Berlin.”
Even here, Goebbels’ propagandists could not resist lying, inventing the myth of six downed English planes. English newspapers were quick to refute this version: Allied planes did not appear over Berlin that day. There was no reason not to believe this, and then it had to be concluded that this successful raid was carried out by Soviet aircraft. So much for a swift victory on the Eastern Front, so much for destroyed Soviet aviation!
The news of the successful return of the aircraft and information about the commotion caused by the unexpected attack delighted us, and I immediately reported it by telephone to the Stavka of the Supreme High Command. Most of all and deservedly, the Baltic sailors rejoiced, on whom the enemy was pressing at that time, and especially the naval aviation pilots.
Thus, the pilots of naval aviation were the first to carry out raids on Berlin. Others followed the first, but conditions became more difficult. Now the enemy met our aircraft with fierce fire as soon as they crossed the coastline, and over Berlin, the entire air defense system of the German capital was active. Each time, a special tactic had to be developed. High altitude helped.
There, at an altitude of over 7,000 m, even the actions of enemy night fighters with special powerful searchlights and the fire of German anti-aircraft guns proved ineffective. We also had to strengthen the defense of the Kagul and Asge airfields. Almost all anti-aircraft assets of the islands and modest fighter forces were redeployed there.
Hitler’s headquarters demanded from its command “to liquidate the naval and air bases on the islands of Dago and Ösel, and first and foremost the airfields from which raids on Berlin are carried out.” The raids on Berlin became a long and complex operation. They ended on September 5. When we abandoned Tallinn, providing airbase support on the islands became impossible. A total of ten raids were carried out, 311 bombs dropped, and 32 fires recorded.
For me, not only the aviation raids on fascist Berlin but also the names of those who were awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union remained forever in my memory. These were E.N. Preobrazhensky, P.I. Khokhlov, V.A. Grechishnikov, A.Ya. Efremov, and M.N. Plotkin.