Linné fired up before Magdalena backed away.
As they returned to the line, they began to hear the muted roar of hundreds of voices. Sweeping in from the east was a long dark mass—the Seventy-Seventh and Forty-Sixth had arrived. The Elda had set up sandbag barricades, and while their rifles cracked out over the taiga, targeting the approaching army, a searchlight flicked back and forth across the sky, chasing wings and tails.
“Food stores will be behind the line, if they’re smart,” Linné said.
“Which building?” Revna squinted at the contour of dark farm buildings, dodging as the searchlight swung their way.
“Hang on—I’ll get out and ask.”
“No need to be sarcastic,” Revna said.
“What’s that?” Linné’s hand snaked over her shoulder to point. A pale blue cloud billowed up around the figures on the ground.
They realized at the same time. “Gas!”
The Strekozy scattered. Blue mist rose around them, reaching long tendrils into the cockpit. The acrid stench dizzied Revna. Her cheek tingled, as though it had been scraped raw and rubbed with sand. Something in her mind reached once, twice, then faded. Everything faded.
Linné’s free hand clamped over Revna’s mouth and nose. “Go,” she choked out.
Go? She was supposed to go somewhere? Revna tried to push the ever-growing fog to the back of her mind. She twisted the Weave and they swung up, bombs bobbing under their wings. “Power,” she managed through Linné’s fingers. They sped toward clear sky.
Revna coughed as freezing air filled her lungs. Her brain fought for clarity. The Elda. The war. Food stores. She knew where she was; she knew where she was going. She righted the plane.
They’d been in the gas only a few seconds, and she hadn’t gotten a proper lungful. The damage probably wouldn’t be permanent. Whatever the damage was.
A blue wall rose in front of them, expanding slowly now that the initial blast had died away. They’d never get over it without freezing the engine, and they’d never get through it without—
“Gas masks?”
“Back at the base,” Linné replied.
“Options?”
“We hold our breaths and try to make it through. Or we find a different target.”
Revna swooped low over a few outlying buildings. The searchlight tailed them in vain. They dropped their incendiaries on a roof and caught up to the other Strekozy with a burst of speed. They were almost at the mountains when Linné broke the silence.
“Good flying,” she said.
Revna resisted the urge to lift the earflaps of her helmet and ask for a repeat. She cleared her throat instead. “Thanks. And thanks for helping me with the—you know.” She coughed.
Linné was quiet a moment. Then she said, “You’re… welcome?”
Revna sighed. Progress was slow, but it was still progress.
Magdalena ran up with the gas masks as soon as they landed. “We heard,” she said. “Tamara’s panicking.”
“What does it do?” Revna took the masks and handed one to Linné.
“Daydream gas. You find it hard to concentrate and easy to get lost. You might think the clouds are the ground, or land in enemy territory.” And everyone knew what happened to soldiers who landed in enemy territory. They were hauled away by the Skarov on suspicion of treason as soon as they came back. If they came back.
“Better this time,” Olya said, popping out from behind the engine. Her smile had lost some of its angry luster. “Keep it up and our repairs might not be excessive.” She tapped Magdalena’s arm with her wrench. “Let’s take a look at Katya.”
“Come back safe,” Magdalena said again.
“I don’t mean to complain,” Revna said as Linné fired up. “But how many runs are we going to make?”
Eight. They made eight runs before Magdalena helped Revna out of the cockpit. Revna couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. Her arms burned. She pulled off her gas mask, grimacing—her sweat had frozen the rubber ring to her face. Her residual limbs were slick inside their prosthetic sockets, and her knees felt like jelly. The cold was an unwelcome surprise after the protection the Strekoza had given her.
Linné didn’t try to run ahead of them. She walked as if she’d carried the plane over the Karavels herself. Revna remembered Tamara’s gray face as she’d flown training mission after training mission.
“Tamara made tea for us in the mess,” Magdalena said, holding Revna’s arm so tight Revna thought she’d unbalance and fall over.
Revna caught the sleeve of Linné’s jacket. “Are you—” She stopped shy of saying all right? Linné would never admit to weakness and would hate her for even suggesting it. “Thirsty?”
“Revna,” Magdalena whispered in her ear.
Linné eyed her, as though assessing whether she was joking or not, and whether it was worth it. “I could do with some tea,” she said, and she said it with only a little reluctance.
The cold hit Revna’s teeth as she smiled. Progress.
Three steaming cups of tea and fermented mare’s milk had already been poured for them. But instead of the cheerful ruckus she’d expected, they were met with a sea of serious faces.
“What kind of party is this?” she said. Her false joviality fell flat.
Katya’s hair had lost its curl and stuck damply to her head. Her nose was red. But her eyes were redder. “Pavi and Galina didn’t come back.”
Shock pierced Revna’s heart. Of course this was war; of course there were no guarantees. But did their losses have to hit so soon?
Tamara approached and handed the teacups to each of them. It felt strange taking tea from the woman giving her orders, stranger to be taking it when two of her comrades most likely lay in the piling snow. “They didn’t return from their second run.”
Daydream gas. They could have flown too high, frozen their engine like Revna and Linné had, and been unable to blast free in time to regain control. Or they could have mistaken the ground for the sky. Or they could still be drifting, drifting farther into Elda-occupied territory, minds spinning in confusion.
The Night Raiders raised their cups together. Tamara took a deep breath. Her voice was hoarse, and as she spoke, tears slipped over her cheeks. Katya was crying, Elena was crying—even Olya had red-rimmed eyes and no smiles to give anyone. But Revna felt frozen. It didn’t seem right that Pavi and Galina were gone. She hadn’t seen them taken like her father or shot like traitors and ration thieves in Tammin Square. They simply weren’t there anymore.
“I will wait for them tonight, and in the morning we will fly the Union colors at half-staff. They are gone because the Elda are here, and we won’t let anyone forget that. Tonight we pushed the Elda hard. Hesovec’s Day Raiders will help the Seventy-Seventh and Forty-Sixth finish the job. The Elda could be forced back toward Goreva for the first time during the war.”
To this, the girls drank. Goreva had been in Elda hands for three years. Revna couldn’t help wondering what it must look like now. Was there anything left of it worth rescuing?
“This is because of you. This is your victory. Commander Andrysiak of the Forty-Sixth and Commander Budny of the Seventy-Seventh extend their thanks for our capable assistance.” This got a muted round of applause.
Tamara swallowed. “We shouldn’t try to forget Pavi and Galina. But we have to carry on. We—”
The mess door slammed open. Two figures in mud-stained, oversized uniforms stumbled in. Pavi yanked the aviator helmet off her head and let her black braid tumble free. “Sorry we’re late.”
The room erupted. The girls surged forward, surrounding Pavi and Galina in an enormous hug. More than one shouted, “What happened to you?” Revna joined the outer ring, clasping someone else’s shoulder, someone else’s sleeve, pressing in, shocked to find she was crying at last.
When they broke apart, Pavi and Galina could do nothing for themselves. They were practically carried to their chairs, and two mugs were filled and put in front of
them.
Magdalena pressed her fingers to the side of Pavi’s nose. Pavi’s nostrils were tinged with blue. “What happened? Tell us everything.”
“It was the gas,” Pavi said. “We were so close to the ground we could have landed when the Elda sparked it off. I think I forgot where I was for a good fifteen minutes. It must have been sheer luck that kept us flying. By the time we came to, we’d gone so far south we almost couldn’t see the Karavels anymore. We set down and came back to our senses.”
“It took you a long time to get back,” Tamara said.
“We didn’t want to fly through the gas,” Pavi said. “We didn’t know how far it had spread.”
Galina nodded through the whole exchange. The circles under her eyes stood out like deep bruises.
Katya raised her glass. “Here’s to us—all of us. We rule the night.”
“We rule the night,” they murmured. Everyone drank, even Tamara, though her smile seemed sadder than ever.
13
OUR REALM IS THE NIGHT
They should have gone to bed. They should have tried to get a few scant hours of sleep before they woke for training and the next night’s mission. But when the cook came in to make breakfast, they got out their bowls. Olya turned the radio to state-approved jazz, where a woman’s smoky voice crooned “Factory Girl’s Blues.” Revna moved to a chair by the wall and loosened the buckles on her prosthetics as the others set up their makeshift dance floor.
Katya heaved a sigh as she collapsed next to her. “Not dancing?” Revna said.
“In a minute. What do you think?” Katya opened her writing kit and pulled out the top sheet of paper. She’d drawn a girl in sharp profile—a girl with Revna’s nose, Revna’s eye and chin. A strand of dark hair had escaped from her aviator helmet and fluttered in the wind. The goggles on the helmet were cracked and smeared with smoke, but her eye gleamed with determination. The moon was partially obscured by the headline OUR REALM IS THE NIGHT. At the bottom, Katya had stenciled in THE UNION’S WOMEN FLY FOR YOU.
“I think I’ll send it off to the Public Morale Committee,” she said.
“With my face?”
“If that’s all right. I like your nose,” Katya said. “It’s sharp, but small.” She rubbed her own nose—perfectly normal-sized, Revna thought, but she smiled.
She imagined her profile pasted up outside her factory, where Mrs. Rodoya could see it every day, or on the lampposts on the street outside her house. She was surprised at how much she liked the idea. Not that she thought the Public Morale Committee would use it. “It’s beautifully done.”
The men started coming in for breakfast and clustered near the door, wary at the sight of Olya and Nadya dancing. Asya went up to the one at the front; he grinned nervously but allowed her to lead him to the empty floor.
Katya yawned. “Let me know if Linné’s dark-haired pilot comes in.” She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
The dance floor gradually filled. Some of the girls danced with each other and some snagged a boy to dance with. Tamara watched from the side, sipping her tea, more like an indulgent aunt than a commanding officer. Linné stood nearby. She studied the dance floor as if it were a problem.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Revna looked up at a blue star pinned to a silver-covered chest. Her blood turned to ice. “Ah, yes?” Oh, God—no, not God, she corrected furiously, trying to push her thoughts onto the track of the innocent. Would they really arrest her now, after she’d had a successful night?
It was the blond Skarov, the one who always smiled. He was smiling now, too, and though his yellow eyes unnerved her, the smile itself seemed kind. Another thrill of fear ran through her. If he wasn’t here to arrest her, why was he talking to her? Had something happened to Mama? Or Papa? Kolshek Prison wasn’t known for its amenities. Many died there in service to the Union they’d never betrayed.
He extended a hand. “Might I request the honor of the next dance?”
“What?”
“A dance. I’m sure you’re tired, but the problem is, if you turn me down, I’ll have to parade on the floor with Dostorov. And he dances like a yak. He smells like one, too.” He smiled, inviting her to laugh.
The other Skarov was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’d danced his partner right off to an interrogation room already. Everyone else was on the dance floor or engaged in conversation. Tamara was examining a living metal glove with Magdalena. Linné was pulling off her jacket. The only person paying attention to them was Katya, and her eyes were wide with terror.
“I, um, didn’t bring my dancing legs.” I left them under a cart.
“I’ll help you.” He started to unbutton his coat. He wore a plain brown shirt underneath, like all the other recruits. Revna wasn’t sure what she’d expected—a full military dress suit, maybe?—but that wasn’t it.
You don’t have any idea how to help me, she wanted to say. But no one said no to the Skarov.
She pulled up her trouser legs, showing off her prosthetics in all their glory. Maybe he would get uncomfortable and change his mind. She took her time rebuckling them, rubbing her calves and drawing the living metal snug, though it pinched her already sore skin. She winced when she stood. But Tannov was still there, looking as if dancing with her was the only thing he wanted to do with his morning. Maybe he’d dance her all the way into a cell, let his knife do the talking for the next eight hours.
He’d taken off his gloves. His hands were warm and dry. Revna resisted the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her trouser legs.
A path cleared around them as they made their way to the floor. Now they were getting attention. She ignored it. Breathe, walk. Her prosthetics trembled. Stay steady.
A bright swing began with a blast of saxophone. Before the accident, she’d danced with more enthusiasm than skill. Now she didn’t even have that.
Tannov rested his hand on her waist and bobbed back and forth. “Revna, isn’t it?”
She coughed. “Yes,” she said, trying to push some confidence into her voice. She was getting dizzy, watching him. He looked a little like a chicken. She bit back a hysterical laugh.
“And where are you from?”
Don’t you already know? “Tammin.”
“The factory town. I’ve spent so many hours in your palanquins I think I have ‘From Tammin Reaching and Environs’ stamped backward across my ass. Pardon the language,” he added as she winced.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“I’ve never been to Tammin. Is it nice?”
She ought to say yes. But if the Skarov could sniff out lies, like everyone said, then surely he already knew how she felt. “I’m sure it’s quite boring compared with where you’re from.”
“And you have family there?” he pressed.
Ice spread up her spine. Forget dancing; this was where Revna needed to watch her step. “I have a mother and a sister. Protectors of the Union,” she added brashly, though he must know already. And he must know how they got their status back.
“No father.”
Was there a question in his tone? Revna didn’t want to offer up information freely. But her silence felt damning to her. Refusing to contradict him might make him think she was hiding something. Could she address it without rousing his suspicion?
“My father’s a traitor,” she said at last, in the harshest voice she could manage. She hoped Tannov would think it came from contempt, and not from heartbreak. “We don’t speak of him.” The voice in her head cried, louder and louder, Now who’s the traitor?
“I see.” His tone was neutral, but his arm went rigid, and his hand tightened around hers. He could probably break it with a squeeze of his fingers. “Important to uproot treason before it spreads to the whole family tree.”
Her palms were slick again. She wanted to tear away from him. She wanted to tell him to say whatever he was thinking and get it over with. But he still smiled, kind and carefree, and no one else seemed to think that anything was wrong. Re
vna risked a glance at Tamara. Tamara was still deep in conversation with Magdalena.
She should have known. No one would save her from this.
“The original arrest papers recorded my innocence. If you like, I can borrow Tamara’s radio and send to Tammin for the documents.” She tried to say it casually, but her voice cracked on documents.
“Do you think it’s necessary?” he asked.
Another trick question. And the longer it took her to sort through her words for an answer, the more suspicious he would find her.
The song ended before she could come up with a suitable reply. Tannov bowed. When he released her, she stumbled back, suddenly cold. “It was a pleasure, Miss Roshena.”
“Yes,” she said. “I mean—”
He led her over to the door—by Linné, she noticed. Linné watched her strangely, she thought. What had happened? Had that been an interrogation or just a conversation?
“I need a cigarette,” Tannov said.
“All right.” Linné reached for her jacket, folded on a table.
Nerves spiked in Revna again. First the Skarov had singled her out, and now he was singling out her navigator. She doubted his conversation with Linné would be the same sort of family attack. He’d be asking about her instead. How well did Revna fly? What did she say in the cockpit?
Tannov went for his coat. This would be her only chance to talk to Linné before he did. “Did you speak with Tamara?”
“About what?” Linné pulled her jacket on, wrinkling her nose at its smell.
“You still want to switch partners, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?” Linné countered.
What should she say? Not anymore was a lie that anyone could see through. Yes might turn into an entry in the Skarov’s interrogation notebook.
Revna didn’t like Linné. Linné looked at her face and somehow saw only her feet. But they’d helped each other last night. And even with Tannov breathing down her neck, working together was better than being grounded alone. “I want to fly.”
We Rule the Night Page 18