Nadya's War

by C. S. Taylor

  Sofia said little as she bathed me with a wash cloth, large bowl, and pitcher. My hair was so grimy that she worked it with her fingers like a baker kneads dough. When she tended to my burns, however, she traded her rough touch for a compassionate one rivaling the angels. Once finished, she handed me clothes and my mood lifted. Funny how something new to wear could do that.

  “You carry a lot of guilt for someone so young,” she said, giving me another shirt as the first had been too long. “You’ll put yourself in an early grave if you don’t learn to let it go.”

  At first I wanted to deny it all, but I could see it in her eyes. She knew. “How can you tell?”

  “I’ve nursed more soldiers than I can count,” she said. “I know the look they bear and why they have it.”

  My eyes glistened. I couldn’t deny she had hit the mark, but I couldn’t speak of it either. All I could do was sit there and wonder if those she’d seen had the same regrets I did. This conversation hurt worse than any I could have had with the commissar. Eventually, I managed a question, curious if we had similar experiences and she had some secret she could pass on to help. “How many of them have died in your care?”

  “Too many for my likes,” she said as she found me a pair of trousers. “These are probably too large, but they are the smallest clean ones I have.”

  I took the pants and put them on, trying my best not to aggravate my ankle. “Did you lose ones you should have saved?”

  “We all have, dear, but there’s a saying I’ve taken to: Life is life.”

  I grunted, and my face soured. “I hate that saying. It’s so hopeless, as if the world is out of our control.”

  Sofia laughed, but quickly recomposed herself. “The world is out of our control,” she said. “That doesn’t make it hopeless.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You always control your own actions,” she replied. “You can make your own purpose and worth, find your own hope.”

  I chewed on those words. I could make my own purpose. Right now, I was the girl who let Martyona die, but I could change that. I could find that German ace, bring him down, and show the world how good I was. As strong as that conviction sounded, though, I doubted my abilities as I thought about how easily the man had out flown me. Would our next encounter be any different? I’d have to find a way to ensure it didn’t, otherwise I’d always be a failure. I managed one last question, one that haunted me in the shadows of my thoughts. “What if the future doesn’t cooperate?”

  Sofia shrugged and with a half-smile, winked. “Life is life.”

  Chapter Four

  A week later, I was riding in the back of another GAZ-61 and on the last leg of my journey back to Anisovka. Doctor Grigory had cleared me for travel, feeling my burns had healed enough for me to return to my own unit. Despite the windows being down, my shirt stuck to my chest and beads of sweat lined my forehead. It wasn’t only the mid-August heat making me sweat. My hands ached more than they had when I was shot down.

  Watching the scenery distracted me from my wounds. Large grass fields stretched out on either side of the road and were dotted with firs. They brought back memories of climbing similar ones as a child and using them as shields during snowball fights in the winter. Those were times I longed for, where friends stayed forever and I was naïve to the cruelty of the world. But life is life. I grinned at that last thought, realizing the saying had taken to me despite my objection.

  The bumpy dirt road brought us by several small farms and villages. The inhabitants went about their busy, seemingly normal lives, but a keen observer could tell things were anything but. There were no able-bodied males to be seen. The ones out were either decades past their prime or shorter than their mothers’ hips. I wondered how long the villages would stay that way, or worse, what would happen when the front reached them. I hated that it was a real possibility, but resolved myself to help ensure Stalingrad would not fall. If we could hold the Germans there, these towns—these children—would never have to truly see what had claimed their fathers and brothers.

  It was early afternoon when we reached Anisovka. I was eager to see everyone again, Klara the most. I couldn’t wait to share a meal with her, especially since eating back at the field hospital was boring at best and depressing at worst on account of all the injured.

  We parked next to a beat-up ZIS-5 truck, painted the standard olive green and sporting wooden railings for the flatbed in the back. Bullet holes ran through the side and the top of the cab, and I cringed at the sight. At least in my plane I could fight back. Whoever had been driving the truck was a big, slow target. Maybe it had been hit while parked and no one had been in it. I latched on to that story as I exited the car.

  “Shall I walk you in?” my driver said, motioning toward the single-story brick building that served as the airfield’s HQ.

  “I’ll be fine from here on out, thank you,” I said.

  My driver saluted. “Then I’ll take my leave, comrade pilot. I’ve orders to return as soon as possible.”

  I returned the salute and sent him on his way. I wondered when such military protocols would feel normal. Here I was an officer, albeit a junior one, and so many soldiers looked up to me, saluted me, and even waited for my instruction. Any other time in history I would’ve been seen as barely an adult. Secretly, I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing, but I was good at faking it. Sometimes that’s all that counts.

  I hobbled toward the command building, disappointed no one had come out to greet me. I couldn’t blame them. It’s not as if I’d given an itinerary on when I’d arrive. That and flights still had to be planned. Patrols still had to takeoff. We were in a war that hadn’t stopped because my flight was shot down. I thought I’d do well to remember that.

  Though my eyes misted at Martyona’s memory, I smiled as a Yak flew overhead. The roar of its engine gave life to my heart like the Harrowing of Hell gave life to the dead. The old me had died, or must die at the least, and a new me would rise like a phoenix from ashes, brighter and stronger than ever before. Too bad I wasn’t a red head.

  The door to the command building opened. Out stepped my commanding officer, Tamara Kazarinova, limping from an injury she’d suffered long ago during an air raid in Grozny. She wore a peaked service cap, leather boots, and a dress for a uniform. God! An actual dress! Had we finally gotten clothes tailored for women?

  As soon as her eyes met mine, surprised flashed across her face, and her usual stoic features softened.

  I stiffened and offered a salute. “Major,” I said. “Junior Lieutenant Nadezhda Buzina reporting for duty.”

  “It’s about damn time you got here,” Tamara said with a glare, but her hardened façade melted in a flash. She ran up to me with a smile and gave me a hug. “Glad to see you’re safe, Nadya. When no one returned, we feared the worst.”

  Tamara had always been stiff and cold in all she did, as if she were trying to mirror her older, masculine counterparts. I wasn’t prepared for her sudden warmth. “Kareliya didn’t come back?”

  “No. We found her body at the crash site a few days after the mission. I’m sorry.”

  I knew she’d died, even if I hadn’t seen it. She’d faced too many Messers and at least one ace for there to be any other outcome. I stood silent for a moment, wondering how long she had lasted before they tore her apart. “I should have flown better.”

  Tamara pulled away. I caught a glisten in those dark eyes of hers, one I wagered few had ever seen before. “Luftwaffe pilots are incredibly skilled, even if the brass doesn’t want to admit it. I’ve said time and again you girls need more training before being sent into combat. If anything, we failed you.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Tamara squeezed my shoulder and added, “I do. Think nothing more of it. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, comrade major,” I said. Though I agreed to her orders, I was certain I’d have better luck getting away with shooting a commissar in broad daylight than not blaming mys
elf for that failed mission. Ultimately, I knew I couldn’t change the past. But I could redeem myself. I picked my next words carefully. “I’d like to start flying again in a day or two, comrade major.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “If I don’t, I’m afraid what little nerve I have left will be gone for good.”

  Tamara took in a long, slow breath before straightening her uniform. Compassion faded from her face and the characteristic wrinkle across the bridge of her nose took form. “You do seem eager,” she said. “But I’m concerned about your wounds.”

  “They’re better,” I said. “Give me a few days and I’ll be okay.”

  “You’ve got a bad limp. You won’t be able to use the pedals much,” she said. “I dare say your burns won’t allow you to pull hard on the stick either. I know you want to defend the Motherland, but if you get back in the air, it won’t be in a few days.”

  “If?” My heart skipped a beat. I swallowed hard, and words poured out of me like water from an upturned pitcher. “Every night I see Martyona’s face. I hear her calling to me on the radio. I have to avenge her. I have to kill the bastard who shot her down and make sure no one else dies at his hands, otherwise I’ll always be the girl who got her killed.”

  “Steel yourself, Nadya,” she said. “Before this war is over, more girls will die—some who you’ll have known longer than Martyona. It’s an ugly fact there’s no getting around.”

  “Should I pretend Martyona never mattered?”

  Tamara shook her head. “Of course she mattered, but don’t let your grief get the better of you. You must move on. If you can’t control yourself here, how will you be able to in the air where it counts the most?”

  My head swam. Her advice seemed impossible and dishonoring, and her unyielding tone made me wish for the commander I’d caught a glimpse of moments ago. “I can control myself,” I said, though I didn’t sound convincing even in my own ears. “Let me back up so I can put that man into the ground.”

  “I intend to make them pay. I promise,” she said. “Now go get some lunch. Once you’ve had your fill, I’m putting you to work.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Our 4th tank army suffered heavy losses, and the Germans are fifty kilometers from Stalingrad. You can help with managing supply for the city’s defenses. There’s also plenty of admin, inventory, and inspection you can do.”

  “But you won’t let me fly.”

  “That’s the last of it, Nadya,” she said as her brow knitted. “Bravery may win a battle, but logistics wins a war, and right now I want to help win the war. When the doctor says you’re fit to go up and I’m convinced you can, we’ll discuss it again.”

  I was hurt at how final it all sounded as she left. I clung to the idea that one day soon I’d be allowed back in the cockpit. Until then, I decided I could refine my dogfighting skills in my head by analyzing every possibility and engagement I could think of so the next time I encountered the German Yellow Eight, I’d be the one doing the killing.

  With a rumbling stomach, I went to the mess hall. The building was made of wood and painted blue with a brown slanted roof that looked like the butcher shop near my family’s home in Tula. Mice scattered from the entrance as I approached. The airfield had been infested by the rodents all summer, and I reminded myself to watch my step, not so much for the mice, but because I didn’t want to risk turning my ankle if one ran under my boot.

  Inside the building I received a warm reception by those inside—kitchen staff as well as some of the pilots and ground crews of other planes. I appreciated their kindness, but their words and hugs put me on edge. I worried that if they knew what had happened that day, they’d blame me for Martyona’s loss.

  I took some bread and a small bit of kasha for lunch. The foremost was stale, but I was hungry and didn’t care. The latter was delicious. Usually the grain porridge was bland and at times undercooked, but this time it had salt, onion, and a touch of beef broth. In our world, such food was considered a slice of heaven. I shoveled the food in my mouth, occasionally having bits go flying or stick to my mouth and chin. More than once I wiped my face on my sleeve. Though unladylike, we were all used to eating in a hurry. Once finished, I tossed the small metal plate it had been served on onto a nearby counter and left posthaste.

  I didn’t get far before I heard a familiar, frantic voice from behind.

  “Nadya?”

  I turned around the second Klara dropped the wrench she was carrying and lunged after me. “It’s me! It’s me!” I said, laughing.

  Klara wrapped me in a bear hug so strong I was certain she’d pop a rib. She eased her grip as I wheezed, and she nestled her head between my neck and shoulder. “My Little Boar,” she said. “Why did you take so long to come back? I should sock you in the head for making me worry.”

  “I misplaced your plane and had to walk home.”

  “They said you were shot down.”

  I nodded. “By misplaced I meant turned it into a burning wreck that tried to kill me.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?” she said, an edge of anxiety in her voice.

  “I . . .” Grief hit me like a wild kick from a mule, and I found I couldn’t even start the story. In the short time I’d been at the Anisovka, Klara had become my best friend, and she looked up to me more than she should. She’d also been good friends with Martyona, and I feared her reaction if she knew how I’d failed.

  To my surprise, Klara backed, pain and horror on her face. “Oil was ejecting from the gear valve again, wasn’t it? I’d meant to have it re-checked.”

  I grabbed her tightly by both shoulders, grimacing as a stab of pain shot through my palms. She had a touch of paranoia that could swing out of control if not caught fast. “The plane flew fine. I did not.”

  Klara bit her lip. She picked up her fallen wrench and studied it as if some defect would present itself. Finally, she looked at me and said, “Promise I didn’t miss anything?”

  “Promise.”

  “Did you ram one? I know they told you to do that if your guns jammed.”

  I laughed. “If it came to that, I don’t know if I’d still be here.”

  “Probably not, so try not to,” she said. Creases formed in her brow. Her voice turned vengeful. “I hope you find the men who killed Martyona and Kareliya. They deserve an early, painful grave.”

  In full agreement, I nodded. “I actually met the one who shot down Martyona,” I said. Klara’s eyes widened, and I explained. “He had to bail when his engine gave out. We met on the ground.”

  “Tell me you killed him. What was he like?”

  “A heartless butcher,” I spat, thinking how he tore Martyona apart. As fast as those words came out, that image jarred against my encounter with him on the ground. That experience left me perplexed as to who he was since I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t killed me or taken me prisoner. All I knew was I hated the man, that and one other thing. “He’s also a terrible shot with a pistol. He took a pop at me and missed.”

  Klara shuddered. “I’m glad he is. When do you fight again?”

  “Kazarinova didn’t say. She’s worried about my injuries.”

  Klara’s face soured, and she snorted. “Figures. If I were you, I’d make friends with the doc and get as many girls to support you as you can.”

  “What for?”

  Klara glanced around. The nearest group of people was a ground crew fifty meters away loading ammunition belts into one of our fighters, but despite the distance, Klara spoke in hushed tones. “Father always said gambling was wrong, but if I had to, I’d bet against you,” she said. “Kazarinova’s a bitter pill. If her wounds are keeping her grounded, she’ll do the same for you. She won’t have a lower officer showing her up.”

  “No, she’s not like that,” I said. “I know she’s hard, but she was sweet when I first arrived.”

  “All for show,” Klara said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Kazarinova’s been in t
rouble recently from some of her decisions. Losing Kareliya and Martyona added to the fire. She’s not going to risk more girls getting killed if your injuries are a problem.”

  “She wouldn’t replace me,” I said. Even as I spoke the words, I didn’t believe them. Two dozen Yak-1s sat on the field, and a thousand times that many girls were scattered across the country yearning to climb in one. Tamara would have no trouble filling my spot.

  “Something else,” Klara said. “Liliia and some others have asked Major Raskova to remove Kazarinova from her post. If Kazarinova goes down, I can see her taking some of us with her simply out of spite.”

  I gave her an incredulous look. It was unheard of to jump the chain of command and petition Major Raskova directly about anything. “They say they milk chickens, too.”

  “I’m serious, Nadya. It’s not a rumor. They’ve gone to Raskova twice now.”

  The image I had of Tamara crumbled like a childhood fantasy crushed by the hammer of reality. Liliia had been flying since she was fifteen and was an instructor prior to the war. She’d never struck me as someone who went at things lightly or rebelled against senior officers. I wondered what Liliia knew about Tamara that I didn’t. Then again, maybe I didn’t know Tamara well at all. “If that’s true, I’ll have to convince the Major I’m better in the air than on the ground.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “I don’t know about easy. After all, without effort you won’t pull a fish out of a pond,” I said with a growl. I turned and started for the command building, intent on saving my wings. I would not let my identity be forever fixed on being Martyona’s killer. I’d die before ever having to go home with such a thing hanging around my neck. So help me God I would prevail, and woe to anyone who tried to stop me.

  “Come back to me safe, Nadya,” Klara called out after me. When I glanced over my shoulder, she shooed me on and gave a devilish grin. “Now get going and get your first kill.”

  Chapter Five