A Memory of Fliegerkamerad Rolf Mink
This was certainly not a time for the romanticized chivalry of champagne-toasting knights. From the admiring gazes cast upon the aviation idols—constantly held up as role models in words and images—there emerged a naive fantasy: that one could, as a fighter pilot, engage these fire-spewing swarms of bombers with a mixture of zeal and hatred. Such calls to action were issued in every conceivable form. Only a few of my comrades were fortunate enough to have realized, as early as 1933—at the age of six—that Hitler’s path would lead only to chaos. Scarcely any of my comrades from the 1927 cohort were ever aware back then that the war had already been lost for Germany since 1941. And for many of my comrades, they had little time left to live. The harsh realities of life for the youth of that era may not fit well into today’s worldview, but they cannot be erased from our history. It was a time when boys of the same age, suffering from severe wounds, would call out for their mothers and for God. And these were the final days of the madness—a time when these boys, often driven by a primal instinct for survival, became unsung heroes.
But what about Rolf? Perhaps we had already crossed paths on May 1, 1944, during the aptitude testing for Luftwaffe officer candidates in Bad Blankenburg, Thuringia. For some of the applicants—who had spent months in gruelling service as anti-aircraft auxiliaries—the youthful innocence typical of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds had already vanished from their faces. The term "assault fighter" (Sturmjäger) began to circulate among the candidates. But by the time they were traveling by freight train in goods wagons from Stolpmünde to Gardelegen, the dream of flying had come to an end. In the former paratrooper training hall in Gardelegen, the full tragedy and the looming sense of hopelessness became starkly apparent. Right next to us youngsters lay or sat numerous "old hands", former airmen, awaiting their final 'missions' —this time as infantrymen for the Luftwaffe. Few of us knew that these final ground operations meant almost certain death.
'Ein Traum!' ; January 1945 on the journey to Stolpmünde young Flakhelfer hoping to complete fighter pilot training.
A few days later, Rolf became my bunkmate at the Flechum training camp near Haselünne. We were now members of the 2nd Paratrooper Replacement and Training Regiment III, under the immediate command of an Oblt. Schulz and a Lt. Waldier. Often after duty hours, or while lying in the lower bunk of our two-tiered beds, Rolf and I would engage in long conversations. What I learned about the young Rolf during these chats was—and remains to this day—truly fascinating: his father, who had served as a pilot with *Schlachtstaffel 10* (a ground-attack squadron) in 1917–1918 and was later shot down and killed in 1944 while ferrying a Morane aircraft, had introduced his son to the secrets of flight at an early age. By the time he was four or five, Rolf was already accompanying his father in powered aircraft; by seven, he was flying in gliders.
At the age of eleven, while at the Harsberg gliding school, Rolf earned the "B" badge—represented by two wings—and shortly thereafter, the "C" badge. He had already passed his "A" badge examination at the age of nine. Back then, in 1939, Rolf was considered the youngest glider pilot in Germany—and, indeed, the world. It was often quite an amusing sight to watch little Rolf climb into a glider, wearing a crash helmet that was far too big for him, along with his parachute. "He always had to look up to tall people, yet they, in turn, would usually gaze down at the little fellow with genuine admiration." He had come to know all the great figures of aviation—from the unforgettable 'father of the Rhön' [gliding movement], Ursinus, to the virtuoso of the skies, Wolf Hirth. For Rolf, 'flying' had become a word that pointed toward the future. He dreamed of becoming a fighter pilot. Whether this had also been his ambition during peacetime, I never learned.
The final days of my former comrade Rolf’s life unfolded like a time-lapse film, and his death confirmed his own dark premonitions. Sometime in March 1945, our company arrived in Holland. The days that followed were defined by the roar of V-1 flying bombs and the hissing of V-2 rockets, accompanied by the incessant clanking of enemy tank tracks. Our company was decimated; we were ordered to make our way—in small groups—toward the Teutoburg Forest. From there, or so the word went, a great counteroffensive would be launched, utilizing the new 'wonder weapons'…
At some point, in some place—quietly and without a word of farewell—the paths of Rolf and myself diverged.
1939 on the Wasserkuppe: Wolf Hirth with Rolf Mink—the youngest glider pilot in the world, having earned his "C" badge at the age of eleven.
On April 8, 1945, at 2:00 p.m., Rolf Mink was wounded by a gunshot to the abdomen near Recke, by the Mittelland Canal—on home soil. On April 11, 1945, at 12:30 pm., he passed away from his severe wounds. A written record states: "His mortal remains were laid to rest that same day at 4:00 p.m. with military honours. The body bears an unmarked identification tag and the Segelfliegerabzeichen (glider pilots badge) featuring three swallows." Rolf was not yet 18 years old.
by Wolfgang Koch in Jägerblatt 5/87
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