I’m Yakovlev1 fighter, my engine sings steel,
Skies are my soul and fiber,
But he, who’s sitting behind the wheel,
He thinks of himself as a fighter.

Junkers2 went down in this last ordeal -
I struck it with brutal force.
But he, who’s sitting behind the wheel,
Already gives me remorse.

In recent fight I was hit a great deal,
Mechanics did overhauling.
But he, who’s sitting behind the wheel,
Again is forcing me stalling.

A bomber now carries a bomb that will bring
Death to our headquarters.
And a stabilizer is singing, it seems:
"Peace to your sons and daughters!"

A Messerschmitt3 plane quickly gets on my heels.
I’m wounded and tired of war.
But he, who’s sitting behind the wheel,
I see - he is going head-on!

And what is he doing? Incoming! A blast!
But I will not burn in the rye!
Velocity limits all broken at last,
I exit the treacherous dive.

I’m leading, behind me... I better lose wings!
Just where is he, my wingman?
Well, now he’s on fire, but he nosedives and sings:
"Peace for all your children!"

The one, who’s now occupying my skull,
Is left by himself, a fool.
He got me confused and he forced me to dive
Right from the Nesterov’s loop4.

He switched to full throttle, he’s increasing wing loads;
Well, hardly a fighter ace.
Again, I would have to conform, I suppose,
But this time is very last.

I won’t be submissive! I swear by these skies!
It’s better to lie on the ground.
Now what? Is he deaf? Can’t he hear my fast pulse?
My gasoline blood... It runs out!

The patience threshold of the vehicle was reached:
The time of the pilot has passed.
The one, who was sitting behind the wheel,
Has burred his face in the glass.

He’s killed! With an ease I’m flying alive,
I’m burning my last reserves.
What’s this? I’m maintaining a vertical dive...
Can’t level my flight by myself!

It’s bloody annoying that I’ve little achieved,
But let Lady Luck gift others.
It seems that today I was able to sing:
"Peace for all your mothers!"