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On the way I already have an uncomfortable hunch that I have not been sent for anything pleasant. When I was wounded the last time, in November, I received another order grounding me in spite of which I went up again as soon as I got out of hospital Up till now no one has taken the matter up and I had gradually interpreted this silence as tacit acquiescence; but now, I guess, the question has come to a head and I am going to be put on the mat. I am flying to Berlin very reluctantly, knowing as I do that I shall never obey this order. I cannot bear to be merely looking on, giving advice or issuing orders at a time when my country is in direct need, especially as my wide practical experience gives me an advantage over others who lack this training. Success is the fruit of experience and commensurate with it. In spite of having been wounded five times, some of them seriously, I have always had the luck to make a quick recovery and to be able soon afterwards to pilot my aircraft again day after day, year in, year out, up and down the Eastern Front—from the White Sea to South of Moscow, from near Astrakhan to the Caucasus. I know the Russian front inside out. Therefore I feel an unremitting obligation to go on flying and fighting until the guns are silent and our country’s liberty is assured. Physically, I can do this because I have a healthy constitution and a body trained by sport; my fitness is one of the most valuable sources of my strength.

After a short stay with friends in Vienna I land in Berlin three hours later and immediately report by telephone to Karinhall. I would prefer to drive straight out there, so as to be able to fly back without any loss of time. To my bewilderment I am told to remain at the Fürstenhof and to apply in the morning at the Air Ministry for a pass to travel on the Reichsmarschall’s special train which is leaving for the West. My trip is going to be longer than I expected—so much is clear. It does not seem to have anything to do with a reprimand.

We leave for the West the following evening from Grunewald station. This means I shall see the New Year in on board the train. I dare not let my thoughts dwell on my unit; if I do I shall see red. What does the year 1945 hold in store for us?

We are in the Frankfurt area early on 1st January. I hear the roar of aircraft and look out into the graying morning. An armada of fighter planes, flying low, roars past the carriage window. My first thought is: Americans! It is an age since I have seen so many of our aircraft in the sky at the same time. But this is unbelievable: they are all marked with the German swastika and are Me 109s and FW 190s. They are heading westward. Later I am to learn the nature of their mission. Now the train pulls up; it seems we are somewhere near Nauheim-Friedberg. I am met by a car and driven through a tract of forest to a building which resembles an ancient castle. Here I am greeted by the Reichsmarschall’s adjutant. He tells me that the Chief has not arrived yet, I shall have to wait. He does not know what I am here for. I have no choice but to kick my heels here at Western G.H.O.

^{FW 190}

I go for a walk for a couple of hours. What wonderful air in these German woods and hills! I fill my lungs with relish. Why have I been ordered here?—I have been instructed to be back at three o’clock, at which time the Reichsmarschall is expected. I hope I shall not be kept waiting before he receives me. He is not there when I return. Besides myself, a general has arrived, an old friend of mine from my Stuka training days at Graz. He tells me about today’s operations, for the planning and conduct of which he is very largely responsible. Reports continually come in of large-scale attacks on airfields in Belgium and Northern France.

“The aircraft you saw this morning were part of one of the formations we have sent out to make low level attacks on the allied air bases. We hope to be able to destroy so many aircraft that the enemy’s air superiority above their offensive, which has been halted in the Ardennes, will be neutralized.”