by C. S. Taylor
I lowered my hand after it became clear he wasn’t going to return the salute. I suppose he could have nailed me for that as well, but given my aching arms and weary body, I hadn’t the desire to play games. I wanted this conversation done. “Can I help you with something, Commissar?”
“So polite. So direct,” he said, bringing the pipe to his lips and taking a puff. He walked around me, eyes never leaving my body. “I came to tell you I’m going to enjoy having you with me at Stalingrad where I can keep a close, personal eye on you.”
“Comrade commissar?” I cocked my head to the side while my heart pounded against my chest. I had no idea why I was being transferred. Surely I hadn’t angered Tamara that much. Maybe he was simply toying with me.
“When I heard Kazarinova was sending off the troublemakers, I’d hoped you were in that group,” he said. “And then I was disappointed to find out you weren’t. But can you imagine why I was so delighted to learn you were no longer fit to fly?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Because as a simple administrative clerk, you’re no longer crucial to the 586th’s readiness. Transferring you is a simple matter as you’re no longer under Major Raskova’s wing.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and balled my fists. I knew he was trying to get under my skin, but it was all I could do to not punch him in the face. “Why are you telling me this?”
Petrov stopped behind me and leaned in close. He took a long drag off the pipe and blew the smoke to the side. As he spoke, his words were soft, petrifying. “Fear brings out the truth, and I want you to know from this day on you’ll be under my careful watch. So run if you want. It’ll only make this all the more enjoyable.”
A shiver ran down my back. My mind raced in a thousand directions thinking about what he could do. Hard labor. Starvation. Rape. Those were the tip of the iceberg concerning methods to extract confessions. I’d heard stories of people whose feet were crushed multiple times, and others had various portions of their bodies scalded over and over with boiling water. Trying to escape was tempting, even if it ended with me being shot. But that’s all it was, a temptation. “I’m not running,” I said as strongly as I could muster. “And I’ll always be a pilot.”
“We all have our delusions,” he said as he walked out of my cell. “I look forward to seeing your face when I come to pick you up.”
Chapter Seven
The moment Commissar Petrov left, my mind raced to find a way to secure my flight status. Even if I somehow dodged or survived serving with Petrov, losing my wings meant I’d never find Martyona’s killer and redeem myself.
To get back in the air, I needed Tamara’s unwavering support, but I couldn’t gain it. At least, not on my own. I’d have to have someone else on my side who said I was fit to fly. My own desires to prove myself were not enough. Zhenia’s wishes were also not being listened to and she was flight commander. That left me with two options as far as I could tell, and I was skeptical either would succeed.
The first was to work my way up the chain of command and petition someone with higher authority to let me fly. Tamara would have to listen to her superiors, and the first logical choice was to speak to Marina Raskova. Major Raskova was the one responsible for not only forming my regiment, but the other two all-female aviation regiments as well. Her word was law when it came to us girls, and I liked to think I’d made a favorable impression upon her when I’d met her at Engels during training.
Unfortunately, it would take some time for me to get a letter to her and have her reply, assuming I even could. By then, Petrov would’ve had his fun with me, not to mention ample opportunity to intercept any such communication. It’s not as if they granted me a radio to speak to her in this cell. I also didn’t know to what lengths Marina would go to save me, let alone listen to me. As such, the Major was out, which left me with the regiment’s doctor, Ivan Burak.
I’d seen Ivan Burak a couple of times since my return about my injuries. He didn’t offer much other than to see him in a few weeks if the wounds turned ugly, and the exams were brief. The latter was on account that his eyes stared more at my body than my arms, and everything about the encounters had me shifting in the seat and wanting to get out of there. Despite that, I needed his help. A medical condition was holding me back, threatening my life. He could fix it all with Tamara if I could get him on my side.
I leaned against the door and cleared my throat to get the guard’s attention. The soldier, eighteen by my guess, shot me a glare out of his icy blue eyes. Another ten years and he might have been intimidating, but his baby face wasn’t much to fear. “I want to see the doctor,” I said.
“Shut up and get back from the door,” he said. He unslung his weapon from his shoulder and rested his finger next to the trigger. “You can see him when you’re out of here.”
“This is a minor infraction,” I said, knowing my rights. “And as an officer, I’m entitled to see the doctor for treatment when I demand it.”
“Treatment for what?” he scoffed.
My burns ached more than usual, and I realized his balking was raising my anxiety. I decided to put pressure on him and play the resentful type. I couldn’t afford delays. “Listen, private. You’re doing your job well, but I am an officer, and I will be out of here in a few days. Do you want to be on my bad side when that happens?”
The guard hesitated before calling another soldier over. The two had a quiet conversation, and though I couldn’t hear the words, their gestures and glances told me it had to with the claims I’d made. After a short while, the soldier ran off and the guard returned. “I’m fetching the doctor, but if you try anything queer, I’ll shoot.”
I waited patiently, pleased at the authority I carried. Funny what a uniform and attitude could do. Had I neither, I’d have been merely another twenty-year-old girl saddled with despair and stuck in a cell.
It took about a half hour for Doctor Ivan to come. He walked in with his hands in his trouser pockets and an old stethoscope hanging around his neck. His hawkish eyes locked on to me, and a tight smile spread across his face. Without looking back, he waved the guard away. “You can wait outside, soldier.”
“Comrade doctor, I must-”
Ivan cut him off with a scowl. “I said you can wait outside. Now close the door.”
I enjoyed seeing my overzealous guard run off, but as soon as the door shut, I wished he had stayed. The air about Ivan felt off, as if it couldn’t settle in his presence. My gut told me to tell him I was feeling better and he could go, but I told myself I was being paranoid. “Thank you for coming,” I said, managing an appreciative smile. “I could use your help.”
“I might be able to,” he replied. “What’s wrong?”
I rolled up my sleeves and outstretched my arms, palms up. “My burns are giving me trouble.”
“We’ve been over this before,” he said. “Such terrible wounds can cause pain for a lifetime, even if they are small. Living life is not like crossing a meadow.”
“I’m not expecting life to be easy or the pain to go away. All I want is for you to tell the Major I can fly.”
“If you can’t work the controls safely, I’m afraid I can’t.”
His dark eyes looked regretful, but the slight drawing back of the corners of his mouth said otherwise. There was something on his mind, and it wasn’t relief for me. I dreaded asking the next question, but I didn’t feel I had any other choice. “There must be something you can do, yes?”
“A small dose of morphine could take the edge off,” he said. As soon as my eyes reflected my hope and I leaned forward, he added to his comment. “That would still take you off flight status. The Major would be concerned your brain would be muddled.”
“I could handle it.”
“I’d like to let you try,” he said. “But I have to document all I do. Not to would be . . . risky.”
There it was, the unspoken request. My stomach tightened, and the room chilled worse than any Siberian winte
r. I forced the question he wanted out of my mouth. I had to fly. I had to avoid Petrov at all costs. “What could I do to make things easier?”
Ivan closed the distance between us. His fingers toyed with my hair before trailing down my shoulder and side. “Where’s the fun in spelling it all out?”
I considered the offer, even though I loathed myself for doing so. I hadn’t a choice. It would be the lesser of two evils, I told myself. The doctor was only in his thirties, so there wasn’t a huge age gap between us. And I might have found him handsome if he hadn’t been so creepy.
Ivan touched my shoulder and leaned in close. “My room then, in the evening, when Kazarinova says you’re done in here. Do freshen up first.”
His words echoed in my ears. I felt myself withdraw deep inside my body as I pictured what spending a night with him would be like. I even dared to hope it would be a one-time event as well.
“I-” I stopped once I caught a whiff of cologne come from his neck. I cocked my head when I noticed his chin was freshly shaven as well. Muscles tightened. He’d planned all of this before he even spoke to me. My hands made fists, and I stepped back. I hated him for thinking so little of me, but I hated myself for even tiptoeing around that path, even if it was on account of how badly I needed to be in the air. “Get away from me.”
“Throw your life away then,” he said. “In four days you’ll be gone, and no amount of begging will get me to save you now.”
The cell door slammed shut so hard I could feel the shock though my feet. I paced around the room like a caged animal looking to break free. No, like a wild boar ready to charge head long through whoever stood in my way. I could catch them by surprise. I could steal a gun, a car, or a plane if I had to. Even the darkest creatures from the gates of Hell would not be able to drag me back to him, and certainly the Almighty would not condemn me to such a fate. I could break free. I would break free.
“I won’t break free,” I said, sighing. “Think, Nadya. Think.”
I put one hand in the other and squeezed. My wounds throbbed and my head floated, but I squeezed harder, hoping to train my mind to accept the pain and move on. If I could master my body, I could show Tamara I could climb back in that cockpit.
I pulled my hands against each other for a quarter hour until I was dripping with sweat. I knew my twisted face and trembling body wouldn’t pass Tamara’s inspection, but I told myself I was on the right track to building tolerance. All I needed was more time.
I looked around the room hoping to find something. Since this was a cell, however, there wasn’t anything to work with. When I looked up and saw the single wood beam above me, I grinned.
“How about this for a good pull demonstration,” I said, feeling clever.
I jumped up and grabbed the beam with both hands. Fire raced through my arms as I pulled my chin over the top of the beam and held it. In my head I counted, determined to reach thirty seconds. Sharp stabs pulsated from my wrists to my shoulders, and I fell off before I reached the count of ten.
I hit the ground with a thump and spent a few minutes there, arms wrapped around my midsection, and I rocked until I felt strong enough to stand. Five minutes later, I worked up the courage to jump up again, only to fall once more. And so I repeated the process well into the night until my shoulders and back muscles were sore and my palms tender and red. I spent the next day doing the same, and the day after.
On the morning of the fourth day since Doctor Ivan’s visit, the last day of my incarceration, I waited patiently for breakfast, thinking about how lovely a dip in the river would be. The door opened, and it wasn’t breakfast coming through the door, but Marina Raskova. I could scarcely believe my eyes, and I’m sure I looked stupid gaping at her. She strode in with her dress uniform adorned with medals and blue piping, signature short-styled hair, and radiant charisma. I’d looked up to her ever since I was thirteen and she became the first female navigator, and even though her usually bright face bordered on infuriation, she was such a beautiful sight I almost didn’t notice Tamara following her in.
“Do you plan on saluting me Junior Lieutenant, or do you want to dig your grave even deeper?” Raskova said.
I snapped to attention at her cutting remark and gave her the proper honors. “Apologies, comrade major.”
Marina wrinkled her nose and took a half step back. “I suppose I can overlook your hygiene at the moment, given where you are, but you will clean up once we are done. Understand? You’re filthier than a herd of swine stuck in a bog.”
“Yes, comrade major.”
“Now then, you have some explaining to do.” Her expression changed to one of disappointment, and I loathed her next words, more so than if she’d simply been angry with me. “I expected much more out of you since your graduation at Engels. I want to believe in all my girls. Empower them. Defend them. Exalt them. Your recent actions don’t make me want to do any of that with you.”
“I don’t know what to say, comrade major,” I said. My eyes went to my dirty feet. I wanted nothing more than to shrink away into nothingness, but since I knew I couldn’t, I prayed I could salvage my image with her. “I was upset at losing my flight status, and I lost my bearing with Major Kazarinova.”
“Do you think she’s a capable commander?”
I straightened, surprised at the question. A glance to Tamara showed she was caught off guard as well. Was Marina truly asking my opinion on the matter? There wasn’t but one reply to make, was there? In all truth, I didn’t feel qualified to make such a judgment call, despite the gossip I’d heard, so I said the one thing I felt I could. “Major Kazarinova has always been fair and capable, comrade major.”
“Yet you challenged her authority in the most shameful of ways, in front of another pilot, no less.”
“I have no excuse, Major,” I said with a wavering voice. Marina was set against me, and my identity as a pilot was slipping away.
“And what of this business with Commissar Petrov?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest and looking more displeased than ever. “My girls aren’t cowards. They don’t betray the Motherland. They fight with honor and courage. It hurts me even more to think you’d abandon everything we stand for. Do you know how many girls are out there who would die to sit in your plane and fight the fascists?”
My sorrow turned to anger at the mention of Petrov’s name. Throughout all of my days, I might have been as stubborn and hot headed as a boar, but I was no coward. “Petrov’s accusations are lies,” I spat, putting in as much venom as I could. Such comments and attitude could land me in front of a firing squad, but I wanted Marina to know without a doubt my words were true. “I nearly died trying to save Martyona, and I scoured her crash site, hoping she’d somehow lived. Only when I found her body did I work my way back to our lines. All I want to do today is get back in the air and shoot down the man who murdered her.”
Marina exchanged a look with Tamara, and from what I could tell, neither doubted my claims. That said, Marina asked me to recount the entire day, and so I did in vivid, emotional detail. When I was done, she sat on my words for several tense moments. “I believe you,” she said. “But if you can’t fly, you have no place as a pilot in the 586th.”
“I can fly,” I said, clearing my eyes. “My burns hurt from time to time, yes, but I’m more than capable of doing my duty.”
“I know you want to,” she said, this time with a sweet smile and eyes filled with compassion. She put a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “But both Major Kazarinova and Doctor Ivan think otherwise. I won’t overrule her decisions, especially since by your own mouth she’s a fair and capable commander. You can find service to the Motherland elsewhere.”
I set my jaw and refused to be hung with my own words. In a flash, I jumped up and caught hold of the wooden beam above me. My two superiors watched in silence as I dangled, and I dare say they both looked impressed. I fed off their reaction, used it to anesthetize myself from the burning coursing through my limbs. When I dr
opped sometime later, proud and assured of my spot, I smiled. “I can fly.”
The corner of Marina’s mouth drew back. “Major Kazarinova, what say you?”
Tamara’s face turned stoic. “I have an empty billet for one pilot. I have two girls wanting it. One is healthy but lacks experience. The other has some experience and is questionably fit at best.”
“I’m not questionable,” I said, trying to keep my rising anger under control. I brought back the edge to my voice as much as I could before going on. “I’ll hang there as long as it takes. I’ll show you my wounds won’t interfere.”
“We’ll see,” Tamara said. She called for the guard, and he darted in the room like a dog coming to its master. “Fetch me Klara Rudneva, and be quick about it.”
He left as fast as he came, and we waited a bit for him to return with Klara. Marina held an inquisitive look, but didn’t ask questions. I suspected she wanted to see where this was going without any influence on her end. I stayed quiet out of fear as I wasn’t sure what was happening.
“Comrade majors,” Klara said, entering the room and giving her proper salute. “I was called?”
“Stand next to Nadya,” Tamara replied.
Klara came to my side with trepidation. She bit a small portion of her lower lip and fidgeted with her hands behind her back. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” Tamara replied. “You want to fly in my regiment, yes?”
Klara hesitated. “I do, comrade major.”
“You are aware there is only one slot available, yes?” she said. “The two of you are going to compete for it. When I say jump, you both will pull yourselves up on the beam above and hang. Whoever hits the ground first stays on the ground. Understand?”
Klara started to object, but whatever she was going to say, she cut it off at the first syllable and instead gave a short nod. “Yes, comrade major.”
“Good. Now jump.”
The order caught me off guard, and I nearly slipped off the beam the moment I hit it. My muscles protested at the demand I put them through once more. I shifted my grip a few times, trying to rid myself of the stabbing sensation in my palms. But anywhere I held on, it felt like I was driving nails through my wrists.