It’s two vs eight, that’s the rules of engagement,
The field is uneven for us.
Seryózha, chin up, we are not gonna make it,
Their trumps must be evened and fast.

This heavenly square is not one that I’m leaving.
The numbers don’t matter at all.
Today I am guarded in flight by my wingman,
And this easily evens the odds.

A Messer came up on my six, now it’s smoking,
It’s prop now is howling like two.
To mark their graves one don’t need any crosses,
The crosses on rudders will do!

Red Leader, Red Leader, they’re coming, my brother,
To meet them I cut to my right.
Go up to the clouds! Bank away and I’ll cover!
No miracles happen in fight!

Sergéi! You’re on fire! You are now at the mercy
Of strength of your canopy folds!
Too late! There’s a fighter approaching - a Messer.
So long! I will meet him head-on.

I’m certain: the score will be settled by others,
Our souls to the heavens depart.
They’ll fly through the clouds together like gliders,
For they cannot be left apart.

Archangel will tell us: "It’s tough in the Heaven!"
As soon as he closes the gate,
We’ll ask God Almighty to sign us together
To serve in the angels brigade!

Addressing the Father, the Son, and the Spirit,
I’ll ask to fulfill my last will:
My friend should be there, to protect me each minute,
Just as in this battle he did.

We’ll ask the Almighty for wings and for arrows,
An ace among angels they need.
And if they already have fighters too many,
In guardians we can enlist.

To guard someone’s life is a duty of honor,
To carry good fortune to those,
Who acted in life just like we with Seryózha -
Both in the blue skies and on earth.