The war began for Alexander Ivanovich in Ukraine, where he served in the 55th Fighter Aviation Regiment, which later became the 16th Guards Regiment. On June 23, 1941, he shot down his first enemy fighter, and at the very beginning of the war, he had to parachute out of his burning aircraft and break out of encirclement with ground troops.

Alexander Ivanovich began his combat career in the MiG-3 fighter, soon switching to the Yak-1, but achieved his true success in combat in the American Bell P-39 Airacobra.

During fierce air battles, his extraordinary talent as a fighter pilot—an innovator of air combat tactics—fully revealed itself.

Pokryshkin was the first to widely use the "Kuban Shelf" formation and promoted its adoption across all fighter units of the Red Army Air Forces. He also pioneered new aerial combat techniques: "scissors," "falcon strike," "pincers," "swings," and "vertical combat." A vocal advocate of offensive combat, Alexander Ivanovich consistently followed the succinct battle formula: "Altitude, speed, maneuver, fire," and always emerged victorious.

Alexander Ivanovich Pokryshkin on the wing of his Airacobra after 30 victories

Alexander Ivanovich paid special attention to the training of pilots and their combat skills. Thirty pilots who graduated from the "A.I. Pokryshkin School" became Heroes of the Soviet Union, three of them twice.

During the war, A.I. Pokryshkin flew over 650 combat sorties, fought in 157 air battles, and was officially credited with personally shooting down 59 enemy aircraft. However, to the end of his days, he was most proud not of his personal victories and awards, but of the fact that he was responsible for the death of none of the men he led into battle. If Pokryshkin saw that his wingman was at risk of being shot down, he would immediately cease his attack and protect his comrade.

On December 24, 1943, when nominating A.I. Pokryshkin for his third Hero Star, Lieutenant General T. Khryukin, commander of the 8th Air Army, wrote in the award sheet: "The bravest of the brave, a leader, the best Soviet ace!"

On August 19, 1944, Pokryshkin was awarded the third Gold Star medal for the country's first combat missions.

In February 1944, Guards Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Ivanovich Pokryshkin was summoned to Moscow with an offer to become the head of the fighter aviation combat training department. However, he was a tireless fighter and longed to go to the front. In April, he was appointed commander of his regiment, and by May, Alexander Pokryshkin was already leading the 9th Guards Mariupol Fighter Aviation Division.

He ended the war with the rank of Guards Colonel. The famous Victory Parade on June 24, 1945, on Red Square in Moscow was special for Pokryshkin, as he carried the Front Banner.

Bibliography

• Knowing Yourself in Combat. "Stalin's Falcons" versus Luftwaffe Aces 1941-1945. /Pokryshkin A.I. Moscow: Centerpoligraf, 2010/
• The Sky of War. /Pokryshkin A.I. Moscow: Voenizdat, 1970/
• Fighter Wings. /Pokryshkin A.I. Moscow: Voenizdat, 1948/

The Sky of War. /Pokryshkin A.I./

<...>
— Yes. The division commander just called. An important assignment was received from front headquarters.
— If we fly, then only alone.
— Absolutely. In this weather, where one can go, two will never get there! Pokryshkin, we must find General Kleist's tanks.
I already knew something about Kleist's tank group from reports from the Soviet Information Bureau. They had inflicted significant losses on us. Having advanced west of Orekhovo, through several districts of the Donbass, the tanks reached the Don.
Here they attempted to take Shakhty, cross the Don, and bypass Rostov. But, having suffered a crushing counterattack near Shakhty, Kleist's group retreated and disappeared under the cover of the autumn fog.
"We must find Kleist's tanks!"—a very specific task. Who, except pilots, could, under these conditions, scour all the front-line roads, plantings, and villages in one or two hours and say: the tanks are here?!
No one.
All that was needed was to see them, to report their location, and the Front Command would be completely clear on the operational plans of the enemy's "South" Group. Knowing where the enemy's tank forces were headed was crucial for our troops defending this area.
"Give me a two-kilometer map," I asked Nikandrych. My small-scale map was unsuitable for such a flight.
Regimental headquarters informed the division that I was flying out to search for Kleist's tanks. Nikandrych had just hung up when we got a call. The Divisional Commander was calling me to the phone.
"Pokryshkin, we need to find the tanks!"
It was both an order and a request. The Divisional Commander repeated it to further impress upon me the importance of the mission. He understood that simply saying "we need to find" wasn't enough. Something else needed to be said.
"We've already lost two 'little ones' in this search today. They crashed in the fog. Do you know why I'm telling you this?"
"I know. I must return, Comrade Divisional Commander."
"With the data!"
"I understand."
"Look at Chaltyr. Our forces have surrounded the enemy there. But the main thing is the tanks!"
"The main thing is the tanks!"
"We'll nominate you for an order."
"The mission will be accomplished!"
First, I mentally walked along the planned route. Upon reaching Novocherkassk, I turned south, then turned right and flew along the road, using telegraph poles as my guide. Seeing the railroad line, I turned right again.
I needed to determine the time I'd fly over each landmark in advance. I also played out several scenarios for regaining my lost bearings.
After careful preparation, I climbed into the MIG cockpit and took off. I immediately entered the clouds and descended. Altitude: 25-30 meters, visibility is extremely limited, the horizon is blocked, and the ground is visible only directly in front of the aircraft.
I strictly adhere to the landmarks. Here is the village of Bogayevskaya. From there, the road leads to Novocherkassk. I'm flying to Chaltyr. German motorcyclists are carelessly moving toward the town. If it's surrounded by ours, there must be troops of their own around it. I see only Germans. I'm flying so low that I seem to hear the rumble of motorcycles.
Here is Chaltyr. On the southern outskirts, I spot many tanks. Whose? Ours? I get closer and make out white crosses on their sides. I spot the same thing on the western outskirts—dozens of tanks. Apparently, they're part of Kleist's group.
I go back to examine the courtyards and streets more closely. And suddenly I notice that our infantry is fighting a defensive battle in Chaltyr. So, it's not the Germans, but the Soviet troops that are surrounded here. Doesn't the higher headquarters know about this? I need to fly to the regiment immediately.
Returning to the airfield, I immediately report to division headquarters about our encircled garrison. They're reluctant to believe me. But other scouts who followed me confirmed my information. A few hours later, the division commander ordered me to reconnoiter again, this time with the mission of finding the main group of enemy tanks.
Now I chose a new route—over country roads and forested areas. The tanks, I decided, wouldn't stick to open roads.
By evening, the weather had gotten even worse. Snowflakes began to flutter in the cold air. I had descended to my lowest point behind the front lines.
I circled for a long time over the assigned area—west of Novocherkassk—low on fuel, but found no sign of tanks. A feeling close to despair overwhelmed me. I hadn't found them, I had betrayed my trust. Could it be that they weren't here? What if they attacked our troops from this area tomorrow? What would my commanders and comrades say about me then?
I was already at risk of falling to the ground somewhere on my return when I decided to inspect another steppe forest belt.
Having flown a little off the road, I suddenly saw several wide tracks in the field.
Track tracks!
And suddenly, three rows of German tanks, tightly packed, one behind the other! It took my breath away. They! Such a large group—two hundred vehicles! Here it was, Kleist's main force!
The tank crews, of course, hadn't expected a Soviet plane to appear in such a sky—they had lit fires and were warming themselves. When they saw the plane right overhead, they scattered, running for their tanks. Like mice into holes, they dove through the hatches.
I'd forgotten about gasoline—how could I think of anything else but the tanks? I had to pass over them again to be sure I'd counted their positions. But that was already a mistake. Now I was met with such anti-aircraft fire that when I jumped into the clouds, they were illuminated by streaks, like lightning. I had to immediately pull away. At that moment, I was more concerned than ever about returning home as quickly as possible.
The memorable landmarks stood like reliable guards on the return route and did not fail me.
A deep, powerful feeling of battle joy, of success at the front! The enemy's secret and ruse had been unraveled. I practically ran from the plane to the command post. My return was awaited with great anxiety. The operator, Valya, saw me and smiled.
"Did you find it?" asked the regiment commander.
"Found it!" I replied.
Valya handed me the receiver. The divisional commander was waiting on the other end. He listened to my report, thanked me, and didn't ask a single question for clarification. The report on Kleist's tanks had to be urgently transmitted to other, higher headquarters.
At dinner, in the dorm, whatever I did that evening, the memory of that moment when I saw tracks in the field, then three rows of tanks and blazing fires near the forest belt remained etched in my mind. This image was forever imprinted on my memory.
It's difficult for a scout to evaluate the information he's gathered about the enemy. But the German tanks I saw in that autumn evening darkness were such a major "find" that they were constantly discussed at headquarters for a whole week. It was as if they'd been snatched from the darkness by a searchlight and never let out from under that watchful light. Early on the second day, someone flew out to see the fields of Kamenny Brod, where I'd discovered the tanks. They were no longer there. But nothing could hide their tracks!
Kleist's group was met by our army's strong defenses near Rostov. There, a fierce, unprecedented battle erupted. The Germans managed to break into the city for a few days. But the prepared defense prevented the enemy from capturing it outright. The enemy's significant losses immediately took their toll. The enemy crawled into Rostov, but they couldn't hold out during the first assault by our troops, quickly fleeing west. When our forces liberated this beautiful, war-scorched southern city—the first of the Great Patriotic War!—I felt that I had contributed to this glorious victory of the army and the people.
Our troops' attack on the enemy near Rostov soon echoed with the thunderous rumblings of our victory near Moscow. The Soviet Army's offensive near Tikhvin, the rout of the enemy hordes on Moscow soil and on other fronts, were a wonderful New Year's gift to the people, joyful harbingers of our final victory. But its sunny day was still far, far away, behind the fog, snowstorms, rain, and the terrible trials of several more years of war.
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"Know Thyself in Combat" /A.I. Pokryshkin, pp. 262-263/

— "Tiger," I'm "Beard," I see the enemy. Attack!
A group of Ju-88s, covered by Messerschmitts, was attacked from above. The strike was successful: two enemy aircraft caught fire. Having lost the leading Me-109 and the leading bomber group, the enemy aircraft descended and turned west. One of the young pilots shot down the Ju-88. It was his first victory.
Later, my eight-man squadron also took off on a combat mission. Patrolling at high speed, using a pendulum-like method, we encountered ten Me-109s. In a difficult battle, with several young pilots in the group, we shot down three Messerschmitts. That same evening, we engaged eight German fighters and shot down five Me-109s. In these two engagements, I destroyed three enemy aircraft. The young pilots fought bravely and assertively. Future aces were born in combat.
Analyzing the actions of the German fighters, I came to the conclusion: they began approaching the front lines at a higher altitude than before. It became more difficult for us to fight because we were flying without oxygen. Even with a slight G-force during maneuvers, our vision darkened. This put us at a disadvantage against the enemy not only in combat but also during searches. At high altitude, experiencing oxygen deprivation, our pilots entered combat already fatigued. This could not be allowed to continue. After all, everything was in place to support high-altitude flights, but carelessness on the part of the regiment's engineering staff and the airfield maintenance battalion command took its toll. Our planes were simply not refilled with oxygen, which could have led to unnecessary losses.
Late in the evening, I met with regimental engineer Urvantsev, a weapons engineer named Zhmud. The conversation began, as they say, without diplomacy:
"Comrade regimental engineer, aren't you concerned about the pilots' fate? Why aren't our planes being refilled with oxygen? The Germans have started flying higher, and we can no longer fight them without oxygen."
"There were no orders to refill the planes with oxygen. If it's necessary, we'll take all necessary measures."
"If tomorrow the planes, not only of my squadron but of the entire regiment, are without oxygen, the pilots will mutiny."
"That's it, Alexander Ivanovich! Oxygen will be available tomorrow."
The next day, we flew with oxygen masks. The pilots' health returned to normal at high altitudes.
One very important issue had been resolved positively. Another needed to be resolved. The ammunition load of cartridges and shells was calculated based on the rate of fire of each type of aircraft armament for eight seconds of continuous fire. An experienced pilot, a good marksman, firing at close range, simultaneously using all weapons—machine guns and cannon—could shoot down up to three or four enemy aircraft in a single sortie.
However, the very first engagements showed that we were using the powerful cannon (37mm caliber) poorly. We often returned even after prolonged combat with unused cannon ammunition. The reason was the inconvenient location of the cannon trigger. It was located above the control stick. To press it, you had to twist your hand slightly, which disrupted aiming. This inconvenience was especially noticeable during firing under G-forces. Control of all weapons needed to be redesigned to a single trigger, the machine gun trigger. A discussion on this issue took place with engineer Zhmud.
— Comrade engineer, are you planning on storing shells?
— What do you mean, storing them? I don't understand.
— And you might want to know why the pilots bring back all, or almost all, their shells after a battle, while the machine gun containers are empty?
— I still can't understand why pilots don't use the cannon much in combat.
I explained that it was inconvenient to press the cannon button when firing. And I asked:
— By morning, convert the trigger release of all weapons to the machine gun trigger.
— But according to the instructions, this can't be done without the designer's permission.
— My dear engineer, we pilots are fighting, not the designer. Convert it immediately on my plane and on the planes of my squadron. In general, we need to convert it throughout the entire regiment. The pilots will thank you for it.
— We'll do it. It's not that difficult.
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Pilots on Airplanes. Dmitry Alekseevich Alekseyev on the La-5. Interview with Andrey Sukhorukov
<...>
The La-5 was very difficult to take off and land. In our regiment, either on takeoff, landing, or taxiing, the regiment commander, all the squadron commanders, all the flight commanders, and almost all the rank-and-file pilots would "break" the planes. And not only did they break, there were also accidents. And I didn't escape that either – I had an accident on landing.
<...>
No, of course, I knew that the Soviet Air Force had a high accident rate, but that it was so…

The accident rate was off the charts. I'll go further: even the most experienced pilot could have had an accident on the ground in an La-5. Once, Alexander Ivanovich Pokryshkin, already a Three-Time Hero of the Soviet Union, flew to our regiment. He came so that he could be filmed in a Soviet aircraft. Pokryshkin, of course, was flying an American Airacobra. They decided that a Three-Time Hero of the Soviet Union flying a foreign fighter was ideologically unacceptable; he needed to be "one of our own."
Okay, so Pokryshkin came to see us, a bunch of reporters, our regiment commander went to see them, and the division commander flew in. I saw it all very well, since I was on duty that day. The film production was top-notch. They brought out our regimental banner, Pokryshkin stood in front of it, and in the background, we were taxiing in our La-5s. And I was there, taxiing. In short, it was a movie.
Okay, so we move on. They got Pokryshkin a specially painted La—with stars for the shot-downs like these on the sides, a guards' badge, and bright, fresh camouflage. He flew the La, landed successfully, and when he started taxiing, look, the La—hop!—and sat down on its tail. We already knew what that was—the Lavochkin had this quirk: if you turned it too sharply, you couldn't hold it, and then the rear wheel would break off. And it could break off in different ways. If only the wheel fork broke off, it was nothing, just a minor inconvenience. But the wheel could have broken off along with the reinforcing frame to which the fork was attached, and a broken reinforcing frame means failure of the entire fuselage, which is considered an accident. (An accident entails a serious investigation: How was a combat aircraft lost outside of combat? Did the pilot intend to disrupt the combat mission? And so on.)
We're watching, waiting for the results (our regimental engineer immediately ran there). Our engineer returns, "blacker than a thundercloud": "An accident!" When Pokryshkin was told he'd caused the accident, he cursed, said he'd "seen this show-off before!" (and showed where), called in a UT-2, and flew away. In general, as far as I know, the Lavochkin was an unlucky plane for Pokryshkin, although Pokryshkin was, of course, an outstanding fighter pilot (no matter what various "truth-seekers" say about him now). In flight, the La-5, on the other hand, was very simple. Easy to control. If you get into a spin, just let go of the stick and it will recover on its own, without any delay. All combat maneuvers were also smooth, sharp.
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Alexander Ivanovich Pokryshkin about his friend, Alexander Klubov
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Alexander Ivanovich undoubtedly possessed literary talent! His books "On a Fighter" (Novosibirsk, 1944), "Wings of a Fighter" (Moscow, 1948), "The Sky of War" (Moscow, 1956–1975), which went through five editions, "Your Honorable Duty" (Moscow, 1976), and "Know Yourself in Battle," published posthumously (and subsequently reprinted) in 1986, have become part of the golden fund of Russian military literature.
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