1942 in Stalingrad. The Germans are preparing a tank strike, seeking to cut off those defending from the Volga. The only chance to stop them is to bomb tank fuel warehouses found by the intelligence. They should be ordered to be destroyed immediately.
The Colonel, commander of the Pe-2 Regiment, understands perfectly why this order was given to him. He was the only one who had three more pickers in the morning.
The pedestrians did not return from their assignment. Orders must be executed.
Of the aircraft capable of flying, there was only a connected Po-2 - a flooring floor covered with pearl, with a load capacity of two hundred kilograms. But to break through a seriously fortified roof of the warehouse, a more solid bomb is needed.
- Hang the fifty, - commands the Colonel, - on the fuel locks
by Baka.
- It won't take off... The castles won't hold up... - the voices are heard.
This is an order, the Colonel struggles.
- And who will fly, - the chief of staff is curiously interested, realizing that
The pilot is unlikely to return.
- The helmet is for me and the parachute, - addressing the adjunct, says the Colonel.
– You can’t – the assistant tries to stop him.
- No, on the 10th parachute - excess weight, carry 200 grams of vodka.

The aircraft, driven by the last force of the engine, somewhat miraculously takes off and, without even trying to gain height, takes the course to the southern part of Stalingrad.
Po-2 due to overload and altered weighing is almost uncontrollable, it is wrapped on the tangage and crane, and due to a lack of speed constantly pulls to fall into the roof. But the Colonel is a real ass, and he manages to hold the car.
A minute after forty, he was almost at the goal, the Messers were hit twice in the way, but they were higher and did not notice him, or took for a chariot slipping on the ground. The engine, working at the limit, begins to smoke, the plane begins to whisper even louder. Below the anti-aircraft, they are standing at the guns, but for some reason they do not shoot, but the Colonel is not before them, here is the wreck, but here are the warehouses, a little more, he pulls the throwing pen, the plane throws up, the bomb is gone.
The rocket immediately began to gain speed, the talk disappeared, the anti-aircraft opened fire, but it was too late. The warehouses are burning.

The chief of staff Paulus personally came to find out why the anti-aircraft officers did not open fire on time. But the same thing was from all the batteries: "We thought he was already shot down, he smoked and literally crawled in the air, decided he was falling... planes don't fly that way."

And our colonel, returning, got an excuse, because there was a strict order of the Stack, prohibiting commander of regiments to participate in combat flights.
The excuse, before all the building, the Colonel was made by the commander himself.
The Stalingrad Front Marshal Tymoshenko. He hugged her hand and kissed her three times.