40 Historical Photographs of “Night Witches,” the Soviet Pilots Who Bombed the Nazis During World War II

The “Night Witches” (German: Nachthexen; Russian: Nochnye Vedmy) were the all-female Soviet 588th Night Bomber Regiment (later the 46th “Taman” Guards Night Bomber Aviation Regiment) of the Soviet Air Forces during World War II. They flew harassment and tactical bombing missions on the Eastern Front from 1942 to 1945.

In October 1941, after the German invasion (Operation Barbarossa), celebrated Soviet aviator Marina Raskova (often called the “Soviet Amelia Earhart”) used her influence with Stalin to secure approval for three women’s aviation regiments. These were the 586th Fighter Aviation Regiment, the 587th Bomber Aviation Regiment, and the 588th Night Bomber Regiment. The 588th was the only one that remained entirely female throughout the war.

Most members were young volunteers in their late teens or early twenties, many with pre-war flying experience from civilian aviation clubs. The regiment was commanded by Major Yevdokiya Bershanskaya. Training was intense and compressed at the Engels Military Aviation School. The unit reached the front in mid-1942 as part of the 4th Air Army.

They flew obsolete Polikarpov Po-2 (also called U-2) biplanes—slow, open-cockpit wooden-and-canvas aircraft originally designed for training and crop-dusting. Fully loaded, they could carry only about 350 kg (770 lb) of bombs (typically two), had a top speed around 60–90 mph depending on load, and lacked radios, radar, or modern instruments in early use. Crews (pilot + navigator) often flew without parachutes until later in the war because of weight and low altitude.

Their signature tactic was to idle the engine near the target and glide in, releasing bombs with only the soft whooshing of the airframe (likened by Germans to a witch’s broomstick). This reduced detection by radar or sound. Planes operated in groups: some drew searchlights and flak while others approached silently. Crews typically flew 8–18 short sorties per night (each 30–50 minutes), returning to rearm and refuel. The planes’ low speed and high maneuverability made them hard for faster German fighters to engage effectively.

From June 1942 until the end of the war, the regiment flew roughly 23,000–24,000 combat sorties, logged nearly 29,000 flight hours, and dropped more than 3,000 tons of bombs plus tens of thousands of incendiary shells. They damaged or destroyed railways, bridges, fuel depots, warehouses, armored vehicles, and troop concentrations while also performing supply drops. They supported major operations including the Battle of the Caucasus, the Kuban/ Taman/ Novorossiysk fighting, the Crimean Offensive, operations in Belarus and Poland, and advances into East Prussia and toward Berlin.

In February 1943 the unit received the elite “Guards” designation and was later titled the 46th “Taman” Guards Night Bomber Aviation Regiment for its role in the Taman Peninsula battles. It earned the Order of the Red Banner and the Order of Suvorov.

About 32 members died during the war (combat, crashes, or other causes). Twenty-three received the Hero of the Soviet Union (the highest Soviet military honor), more than any other women’s unit. Notable high-sortie pilots included Irina Sebrova (over 1,000 sorties). Marina Raskova herself died in a non-combat crash in January 1943 while leading another regiment and received a state funeral.

The women faced outdated equipment, harsh weather, frostbite, sexual harassment and skepticism from some male personnel, and the constant risk of flak and night fighters. After the war the regiment was disbanded (October 1945). Many members returned to civilian life; postwar Soviet society largely pushed women back toward traditional roles, and the unit’s achievements received less public emphasis for a time. Their story later gained wider recognition through books, documentaries, and popular culture (including the Sabaton song “Night Witches”). They remain one of the best-known examples of women in direct combat roles in World War II and a striking case of effective use of limited resources through skill, endurance, and unconventional tactics.

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50 Rare and Beautiful Color Photos of Tver Oblast, Russia in 1910

In 1910, the Russian Empire was on the cusp of dramatic change, and these rare color photos offer a precious and vivid glimpse into everyday life in Tver Oblast.

Captured using the early Autochrome process, the images display rich, saturated colors that bring to life the rural landscapes, historic towns, churches, markets, and people of the region. From peasants working in the fields to families in traditional clothing and scenes of provincial daily life, these photographs preserve a world that would soon be transformed by revolution and modernization.

As some of the earliest color images of provincial Russia, they serve as an extraordinary historical and artistic treasure, revealing the beauty, texture, and atmosphere of Tver Oblast at the beginning of the 20th century.

Spinning yarn in the village of Izvedovo, 1910

Monks at work, planting potatoes, Gorodomlya Island, 1910

Cows in a field, summer 1910

Entrance to the enclosure of the Nilova Pustyn. The Holy Gates with the gate church of St. Nilus, 1910

Entrance to the Orsha Monastery and the house of the abbess, 1910

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Fedot Sychkov: The Joyful Painter of Russian Village Life

Fedot Sychkov (1870–1958) was a beloved Russian painter celebrated for his warm, optimistic, and colorful depictions of rural life in Russia. Born into a poor peasant family in the village of Kochelaevo, he rose from humble beginnings to become one of the most popular genre painters of his time.

Sychkov is best known for his joyful portrayals of peasant girls in traditional colorful costumes, festive village scenes, lively fairs, and serene winter landscapes. His works are characterized by bright, vibrant colors, a deep sense of humanity, and genuine affection for the everyday life of ordinary people. Even through turbulent political changes in Russia, Sychkov remained devoted to themes of beauty, youth, and the simple joys of rural existence, earning him enduring popularity across generations.

These vibrant and heartwarming paintings capture Fedot Sychkov’s deep love for the Russian countryside and its people, securing his legacy as one of the most cherished and optimistic genre painters in Russian art history.

A Young Russian Woman with Flowered Shawl at a Table

A Girl amidst Blooming Poppies

A Mordvinian Girl

A Peasant Girl in a Red Headscarf

Amongst the Sunflowers

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The Heartbreaking Story of Palma, a Faithful Dog Who Waited for Her Owner for Two Years at a Moscow Airport From 1974

In the autumn of 1974, a passenger was boarding an Ilyushin Il-18 flight from Moscow. He was traveling with his German Shepherd, a dog he called Palma. However, upon reaching the steps of the aircraft, the crew refused to let the dog board because the owner lacked the proper veterinary health certificates.

Faced with a choice between missing his flight or leaving his dog, the owner made a heartbreaking decision. He took off Palma’s collar, unleashed her on the tarmac, and walked up the boarding stairs. Palma, thinking it was a game or a temporary separation, ran along the runway after the accelerating aircraft until it disappeared into the sky.

Palma didn’t leave the airport. Instead, she set up a daily routine near the runway, surviving on scraps given to her by sympathetic ground crew and airport staff. What made Palma’s story extraordinary was her memory. She didn’t just wait for any plane; she specifically watched for Ilyushin Il-18 aircraft, the exact model her owner had boarded. Whenever an Il-18 landed, Palma would trot up to the mobile boarding stairs, carefully scanning the faces of the passengers descending to the tarmac.

For two years, through scorching summers and bitter, freezing Moscow winters, she kept this precise vigil. Airport security initially tried to catch or remove her, but she was incredibly clever and elusive. Eventually, the airport staff grew to love and protect her, building her shelter and ensuring she was fed.

In 1976, a journalist named Yuri Rost from the prominent newspaper Komsomolskaya Pravda heard about the dog. He visited Vnukovo, witnessed Palma’s routine, and published a moving article titled “A Dog on the Runway.”

The story exploded nationally. The newspaper received thousands of letters from citizens offering to adopt Palma, sending money, or expressing outrage at the anonymous owner. The article also included a plea for the owner to return.

The owner actually did see the article. He wrote a letter back to the editorial office (wishing to remain anonymous due to the immense public shame), explaining that he had been working in the far north and felt too guilty and embarrassed to return for her after so much time had passed. He never came back.

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Girl in Russian Kokoshnik, Late 19th Century

The kokoshnik is a historic, crest-shaped traditional Russian headdress worn by women to accompany the sarafan (jumper dress). Originating as early as the 10th century in Veliky Novgorod, its name derives from the Old Slavic word kokosh, meaning a “hen” or “cockerel,” due to its resemblance to a bird’s crest.

Historically, the kokoshnik was strictly reserved for married women. Unmarried girls wore a similar but open-backed crown called a povyazka. In Orthodox Christian tradition, a married woman showing her hair in public was considered improper. The kokoshnik featured a back cloth that completely covered the hair. The specific shape, embroidery, and beads served as a visual biography, indicating the woman’s hometown region, wealth, and social status.

The Siberian “Mad Monk”: Portraits of Grigori Rasputin From the 1900s and 1910s

Grigori Rasputin (full name Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, born January 21, 1869 – December 30, 1916) was a Russian mystic, faith healer, and controversial advisor to the imperial family of Tsar Nicholas II. Often called the “Mad Monk” or “Holy Devil,” he rose from Siberian peasant roots to exert significant influence over the Russian court in the final years of the Romanov dynasty.

Rasputin was born into a peasant family in the remote Siberian village of Pokrovskoye (near Tyumen). His family was poor and largely illiterate; he himself received little formal education and remained functionally illiterate for much of his life.

As a young man, he gained a reputation for wild behavior: drinking, womanizing, and petty crime, which earned him the surname “Rasputin,” roughly meaning “debauched one” or “licentious.” Around age 18, he experienced a religious conversion. He visited the Verkhoturye Monastery, where he encountered the Khlysty (Flagellants) sect. He never became a monk but adopted a wandering lifestyle as a starets (self-proclaimed holy man), traveling to places like Mount Athos in Greece and Jerusalem.

He married Praskovya (Proskovya) Dubrovina around 1887 at age 19; they had several children (three or four surviving into adulthood, including daughter Maria). Marriage didn’t tame him; he continued wandering and living off donations while building a reputation for healing and prophecy.

In 1903–1905, Rasputin arrived in St. Petersburg. The city’s elite circles were fascinated by mysticism and the occult, and his unkempt appearance, piercing eyes, and claims of spiritual powers made him a novelty. High-ranking clergy like Bishop Hermogen and Inspector Theophan initially supported him.

He was introduced to Tsar Nicholas II and Tsarina Alexandra in 1905. His pivotal moment came around 1908 when he was called to help their young son, Tsarevich Alexei, who suffered from hemophilia (a hereditary bleeding disorder). Rasputin appeared to ease the boy’s suffering, likely through hypnosis, calm reassurance, or placebo effect, during bleeding episodes. This won the desperate parents’ trust. He famously told them that the fate of their child and the dynasty were linked to him.

Rasputin’s influence grew dramatically, peaking after 1915 when Nicholas took personal command of the Russian army during World War I and left Alexandra in charge of domestic affairs. Rasputin became her close advisor, helping appoint ministers and church officials (often favoring those loyal to him). His interventions sometimes harmed the war effort and government stability.

He was deeply controversial: accused of sexual debauchery, drunkenness, and exploiting his position with women; seen by many as a symbol of royal corruption and incompetence; hated by nobles, the church, and parts of society for his peasant manners in the imperial court and his political meddling. His supporters viewed him as a genuine holy man and healer; critics saw him as a manipulative charlatan.

By late 1916, a group of nobles, including Prince Felix Yusupov, Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, and right-wing politician Vladimir Purishkevich, decided to eliminate him to “save” Russia. The most famous account (from Yusupov’s memoirs) claims they lured Rasputin to the Yusupov Palace on the night of December 29–30, 1916. They allegedly poisoned him with cyanide-laced cakes and wine (which had no effect), shot him in the chest, beat him, and finally drowned him in the Neva River after he supposedly kept reviving.

Forensic evidence and modern analysis suggest a simpler story: He was shot multiple times at close range (including a fatal contact wound to the forehead), likely in the basement. There is no strong evidence of poisoning or drowning in the autopsy. Yusupov’s dramatic tale was probably embellished for dramatic effect and to portray the killers as heroic.

Rasputin’s body was dumped in the river and later recovered. His death did little to stabilize Russia; the February Revolution of 1917 overthrew the monarchy the following year, and the Bolsheviks executed the royal family in 1918.

Rasputin remains a legendary figure––part mystic, part villain––in popular culture, inspiring books, films, and songs (like Boney M.’s “Rasputin”). He symbolizes the decay of imperial Russia and the dangers of unchecked influence. While his exact powers and intentions are debated, his role in the Romanovs’ downfall is undeniable due to the scandals and resentment he fueled. His daughter Maria later wrote books defending him and lived an adventurous life as a circus performer in exile.

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200-Year-Old Wooden Bridge in Dagestan, Built Without the Use of a Single Nail

This 200-year-old bridge built without a single nail is a wooden bridge located near the village of Gulli (Juli) in the Tabasaran region of Dagestan, Russia. It is known primarily by its description rather than a formal historical name in English-language sources. The bridge is approximately 10 meters (about 33 feet) high.

The bridge was constructed by local Tabasaran people using traditional joinery techniques, relying on precisely cut, interlocking wooden joints and wooden pegs (sometimes called “trunnels” or dowels) instead of metal fasteners.

The builders used only local wood and stone that were available to them. A metal bracket visible on the bridge in some photos is a later addition and does not serve a functional or structural purpose.

The ingenious design allows the structure to flex and adapt to natural changes in temperature and humidity, which contributes to its incredible longevity. It has withstood harsh weather conditions for two centuries and can even support the weight of a passenger car today.

It stands as a testament to the advanced engineering knowledge and craftsmanship of traditional builders, showcasing the sustainable use of natural materials and the enduring strength of time-honored techniques.

When Frogs Saved the Milk: A Russian-Finnish Tradition Backed by Science

Long before refrigerators made life easier, rural communities in Russia and Finland faced a tricky problem, how to keep milk from spoiling. Their solution? Drop a live brown frog (Rana temporaria) into the milk jar.

This practice was common in the 19th and early 20th centuries and was a traditional, empirical method of food preservation passed down through generations. People observed that milk stayed fresh for a longer time when a frog was present, but they did not understand the underlying scientific reason.

Modern research, notably a 2012-2013 study led by Dr. Albert Lebedev at Moscow State University, investigated this folklore. Scientists discovered that the skin of the brown frog secretes potent antimicrobial peptides (natural antibiotic compounds) which inhibit the growth of bacteria and fungi that cause milk to sour.

The study confirmed that these natural compounds, such as Brevinin 1Tb, were effective at fighting off harmful bacteria like Staphylococcus and Salmonella, essentially acting as nature’s preservative.

This unusual tradition, which seems bizarre by today’s standards, was an ingenious, albeit unwitting, application of natural biochemistry that helped people preserve a vital food source in the absence of technology. 

Mathias Rust, a West German Teenager Who Landed His Cessna in Moscow’s Red Square in 1987

On May 28, 1987, 19-year-old West German amateur pilot Mathias Rust flew a Cessna 172 from Helsinki, Finland, and landed on a bridge near Red Square in Moscow. He bypassed Soviet air defenses, landing in the heart of the Soviet capital to deliver a message of peace, and was subsequently arrested. The incident was a massive embarrassment for the Soviet military and led to the dismissal of hundreds of officers, including the Minister of Defense.

West German teenager Mathias Rust standing next to his Cessna 172 airplane after landing in Red Square, Moscow, Soviet Union, on May 28, 1987.

Rust, with only about 50 hours of flying experience, flew his small plane from Helsinki, navigating through a massive gap in Soviet air defenses. His flight path was tracked, but military officials did not authorize an attack, fearing a potential incident with a civilian aircraft or a potential public relations disaster.

He landed on the Bolshoy Bridge, next to Red Square, rather than on the square itself because it was too crowded. He then taxied his plane to a stop on the square.

Rust stated his mission was to build an “imaginary bridge” for peace between East and West and to deliver a message to Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. The stunt was inspired by the failed Reykjavik disarmament summit in 1986.

“I got my private pilot’s license in autumn 1986,” Rust told The Guardian. “I was 19 and very political. I was interested in relations between East and West, particularly the Reykjavik meeting between Gorbachev and Reagan. I realized that the aircraft was the key to peace. I could use it to build an imaginary bridge between East and West. I didn't tell anybody about my plan because I was convinced my family or friends would stop me. I didn’t think much about what would happen afterwards. My main focus was on my mission to get there and land. I believed that something would work out.”

“My plan was to land in Red Square, but there were too many people and I thought I’d cause casualties,” he added. “I had thought about landing in the Kremlin, but there wasn’t enough space. I wanted to choose somewhere public, because I was scared of the KGB. I approached Red Square three times, trying to find somewhere to land, before discovering a wide bridge nearby. I landed there and taxied into Red Square. As it turned out, the day I chose – May 28 – was the holiday of the border patrol. I suspect that’s how I got away with it.”

Rust was arrested, and the Soviet Union’s Supreme Court sentenced him to four years in a labor camp for violating border crossing and air traffic regulations. He served 14 months before being released and returned to West Germany.

“My landing caused plenty of confusion,” he said. “People came up and surrounded the plane and soon the police arrived to take me away. The defense and air defense ministers were both replaced and more than 2,000 officers lost their jobs. I was sentenced to four years in a labour camp, but spent my time in the interrogation prison because the KGB couldn't guarantee my safety.”

The incident exposed significant weaknesses in the Soviet air defense system, leading to the dismissal of numerous high-ranking military officials.

Mathias Rust next to the plane in the aero club, 1985-1986.

Rust’s rented Reims Cessna F172P (serial #F17202087), registered D-ECJB, was sold to Japan where it was exhibited for several years. In 2008 it was returned to Germany and was placed in the German Museum of Technology in Berlin.

Because Rust’s flight seemed harmful to the authority of the Soviet regime, it was the source of numerous jokes and legends. For a while after the incident, Red Square was referred to jokingly by some Muscovites as Sheremetyevo-3 (Sheremetyevo-1 and -2 being the two terminals at Moscow’s international airport). At the end of 1987, the police radio code used by law enforcement officers in Moscow was allegedly updated to include a code for an aircraft landing.

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Alexei Stepanov: A Poet of the Russian Countryside in Paint

Alexei Stepanov was a Russian painter, illustrator, and art teacher whose works captured the quiet dignity of rural life and the beauty of the natural world. Born in 1858 in Simferopol, Crimea, he trained at the Moscow School of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, where he developed a deep interest in depicting animals, landscapes, and scenes of everyday peasant life.

Stepanov became associated with the Peredvizhniki (the Wanderers), the group of realist painters who rejected academic traditions and sought to bring art to the people by portraying real social issues and organizing traveling exhibitions across Russia. His canvases often blended lyricism with realism: serene rivers, meadows at dusk, and rustic figures at work or rest. He was particularly noted for his skill in painting horses and rural scenes, which conveyed both natural detail and poetic atmosphere.

Beyond painting, Stepanov was also a respected teacher at the Moscow School of Painting, where he influenced a younger generation of artists with his dedication to sincerity and observation in art. He died in 1923, leaving behind a body of work that reflects both the Russian countryside and the values of an artist committed to truth and humanity.

Today, Stepanov’s paintings remain admired for their simplicity, warmth, and the way they bridge realism with quiet lyricism. These works reflect not only his mastery of realism, but also the quiet lyricism and human warmth that made him a true interpreter of rural Russia.

Cranes Flying

After the Hunt

Arrival of the Teacher

At the Volga

Autumn

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30 Amazing Photographs Capture Everyday Life in the Soviet Union in 1960

Jerry Cooke, a celebrated photojournalist known for his vivid and humanistic style, visited the Soviet Union in 1960 and captured a rare and nuanced glimpse into everyday life behind the Iron Curtain during the Cold War. His photographs from Russia in that era were published in LIFE magazine and other outlets, offering Western audiences an intimate look at Soviet life beyond the politics.

Cooke focused on the lives of ordinary people — families walking in parks, children playing, workers commuting. His lens highlighted the shared humanity between East and West, often in contrast to the West’s image of a grim, totalitarian USSR.

He was particularly fascinated by young people — students in classrooms, youth at dance clubs, kids in summer camps — reflecting the USSR’s emphasis on education and collective activities. He photographed workers in factories and farmers in collective fields, revealing the structure of Soviet labor and state-run agriculture, yet often showing pride and resilience in their faces.

Unlike the harsh, propaganda-driven images that typified Cold War visual rhetoric, Cooke’s work had a humanizing and observational tone. It neither demonized nor romanticized; instead, it bridged cultural divides through quiet moments of everyday life.

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The First Russian Submarine Was Built in 1721 and Tested in the Presence of Russian Emperor Peter the Great

The idea to build a “stealth vessel” capable of sailing underwater and “knocking a warship out from below” belonged to Yefim Nikonov, a simple carpenter who worked in a shipyard in the 18th century. He had no engineering background and was illiterate. But that did not stop him from being a master shipbuilder.

Nikonov sent numerous technical specifications (written down by others) to Peter the Great for a submarine that would “lie quietly under the waves then destroy warships, at least ten or twenty, with a projectile.” If it failed, he said, he was ready to answer with his head.

In 1719, the Tsar finally paid attention to the project and invited Nikonov to discuss the idea in person. Although the concept was by no means new (Dutch engineer Cornelius Drebbel had tested the world’s first submarine in the Thames in London back in 1620), Peter became transfixed by it. He appointed Yefim as his “master of stealth vessels” and gave him a workshop in St Petersburg and the right to choose his assistants.

Thirteen months later, a small prototype was tested in the Neva. Halfway across the river, the vessel submerged, then surfaced on the other side. The second dive did not go so smoothly, and the vessel failed to rise. The tsar, looking on, personally took part in the operation to raise the ship using ropes. Despite the failure, he ordered the construction of a full-fledged model.

Nikonov’s “stealth vessel” was completed in 1724. When entering it in the books, the clerk miswrote one letter, writing “Morel” instead of “Model”. The name stuck.

The first Russian submarine was shaped like a large wooden barrel six meters long, two meters high. It was fastened together with iron hoops and wrapped in leather.

Ten tin plates perforated with tiny holes were built into the body. Through them, outboard water flowed into leather bags, causing the vessel to submerge. On surfacing, the water was discharged overboard using a copper piston pump. The five-crewed submarine was powered by oars.

Morel’s main weapon was to be flamethrowers (“fiery copper pipes”). In addition, a diver would climb out and, using special tools, damage the hull of the enemy ship. Nikonov even designed a “diving suit” for this new profession.

In the spring of 1724, the “stealth vessel” was again tested in the Neva, once more in the presence of Peter the Great and naval officers. It successfully sank to a depth of 3-4 meters, but then scraped the ground with its keel.

The hermetically sealed Morel was ripped open, and the crew had to be urgently rescued. But despite this second failure, Peter refused to condemn either the vessel or its inventor, ordering that he “not be blamed for this discomfiture.”

Monument to the “stealth vessel” tests in Sestroretsk, St. Petersburg.

However, the Tsar’s death soon afterwards put paid to the ambitious project. The now patronless Nikonov had far less money, manpower and materials to play with.

The last “stealth vessel” tests took place in 1727. After another unsuccessful attempt, Nikonov was demoted from the rank of master shipbuilder to simple “admiralty worker” and sent from the capital to remote Astrakhan. As a result, Russia had to wait nearly two more centuries before acquiring its first submarine fleet.

(This article was published on Russia Beyond)