by C. S. Taylor
“Nadya! Wake up!”
I cracked open an eye to see who was my victim-to-be. “For all that is holy, Klara, it’s my day off,” I said, rolling over to give her my back. “I want to sleep in for once.”
“I’ve let you sleep, lazy,” she said, forcefully tugging at my shoulder. “You said you wanted to be there when Valeriia came back. I swear you’re worse than trying to wake my sister.”
My eyes popped open and I sat up, clutching my heavy blanket around me. “She’s back?” I asked. “What time is it?”
“Half past one. She’ll be here within the hour.”
I tossed the blanket to the side but grabbed it again when the frosty air bit my skin. “Did the sun forget to rise? How is it still this cold?”
“It’s warmed since this morning, you big baby, and it’s the warmest it’s been since the start of October,” Klara said. She tossed me a wool sweater and leather jacket, which were near the foot of my bed. “Put these on. I’ve got something to show you.”
I smacked my mouth and ran my fingers through my grimy hair. The latter had become the norm for all of us at this point. The frigid weather kept dips in the river non-existent, though at times we used some hot water from our planes’ radiators to clean up with. My last such washing was three days prior. “Can I wash first? I must look as terrible as I feel.”
“After,” she said. “Now dress.”
I did as I was told, though I did it under the covers as much as possible. Neither the sweater nor jacket was warm, and I hated their icy touch against my skin. “Where’s Alexandra?” I asked, noting her empty bunk.
Klara’s face soured. “Does it matter?”
“Settle down. It was a passing comment,” I said, perturbed at her attitude. Over the last week, I couldn’t help but feel as if she wanted Alexandra out of my life. There wasn’t anything specific I could point to, only a general sense I got from how Klara reacted when Alexandra was around. I didn’t like it, but felt foolish bringing it up because I knew Klara would deny such things.
“I don’t know where she is,” Klara said as she handed me my boots and gloves. When I had both on, she pulled me out of bed. She spun me around, and despite my protests, used a long strip of linen to blind fold me.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“It’s a surprise.”
“If you push me into the river, it’ll be the last thing you do.”
Klara laughed. “You’ll have to catch me first. And no, it’s not the river. Not yet at least. You need to get your bounty on that Stuka first so I can steal it.”
I stuck my tongue out. “I’ll curse that money if you do, and it will haunt you for the rest of your days.”
“You should give me at least half since I’m the one taking care of your plane all the time,” she said, ushering me out with her hand on my shoulder. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be stuck on the ground.”
She sounded playful for the most part, but there was envy under the surface. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you something,” I said. “But I still think you should tell me where we’re going.”
“I don’t care what you think.”
I tried counting paces to get a feel for where we might stop. I gave up when I realized she was turning me in several different directions as we walked, twice even backtracking. Outwardly, I smiled at her deception. She’d put a lot of thought into whatever it was. Inwardly, however, concerns grew in my mind that I might not take to her surprise as she hoped and I’d end up making her feel ashamed or even rejected.
About five minutes and twice as many stumbles later, we came to a stop. “Want to take a guess?” she said, spinning me around one last time.
I shrugged. “A pair of Russian Dons?”
“Horses?” she replied. “Must be nice to have that kind of money you can buy whatever you like.”
“You said guess. I did.” I said, taken aback at the bite in her tone.
She must have felt awkward, for she gave a nervous chuckle. “And what on earth would you do with horses out here? Where would I even get them?”
“I don’t know. But I give up. What is it?”
Klara untied my blindfold. “Well, it’s not a smelly horse, but I hope you like it all the same.”
My plane, once shades of olive, had been given a fresh winter paint job of whites and greys. On the lower cowl, Klara had painted an open maw full of jagged teeth with bloody tusks pointed upward. Fierce eyes were set above, near the start of the engine’s exhaust pipes. Though the design was far from intricate, the lines were clean, and the artwork was shaded so well the design seemed three-dimensional. It wasn’t as personal as my Hospitaller cross I still wanted, but it was close.
I realized I needed to say something, but what came out was barely adequate. “This is amazing.”
“You really like it?” she replied, her eyes bright and her voice full of pride.
“I do,” I said. “Those tusks look painful. Exactly what I wanted.”
“Thanks. They’re for show only. Don’t go ramming anyone with them.”
I chuckled. “I’ll try not to.”
Klara squeezed me tight from behind. “I’m so glad. I still want to do something with the tail, but I hadn’t figured that part out yet. All I managed to do so far was put your kill marker on it.”
I looked to the rear of the plane, and sure enough, underneath the bright red star of the Soviet Union there was a smaller red one representing the Stuka I’d brought down, a symbol to all that this plane was deadly and its pilot should be feared. “Don’t worry about the tail,” I said, the feeling of accomplishment swelling inside. “You’ll have plenty more stars to paint.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I didn’t have time to put the ‘Fighting for country and Stalin’ back on, but it might be best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
Klara shrugged. “You might make me get rid of it,” she said. “And then I’d have to report you for being unpatriotic.”
“Even your mechanic questions your loyalty,” I heard Petrov say from behind. “How grand.”
I spun around to find the Commissar a few paces away, amused, slowly puffing away on his pipe. I could feel my face drain of color, but I still managed a reply. “She was joking.”
“Behind every joke there’s a little bit of truth. Isn’t that right, comrade Rudneva?”
“No, comrade commissar. I mean, yes, sometimes,” she said, stammering. “But I was joking and didn’t mean anything by it.”
Petrov raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t believe she’d make you strike a slogan dedicated to our leader?”
“No, comrade commissar.”
“Did you know she’s one of the few that still cling to religion?” he said. I went to say something, but he quickly held up his hand and cut me off. “Come now, Nadya. Don’t deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I said. The air surrounding me seemed to drop thirty degrees. My fingers went numb, and no matter what I did, they wouldn’t stop trembling, so I stuffed them in my pockets.
“I didn’t know,” Klara said with a hint of disappointment in her eyes. “But I don’t care.”
Petrov laughed. “What did you tell me religious people were the other day? Gullible or swindlers? Maybe you think Nadya is the former, but I’d say she’s the latter.”
A surge of anger ran through me, not for what he was doing to me, but for putting Klara in such an awkward position. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” I said. “Leave her alone.”
“You keep saying that, but why should I trust someone who clings to fairytales that are childish and dangerous? The answer, of course, is I shouldn’t. But do you know what I should do, Nadya?”
I wanted to say he should jump off a cliff, but I was far from being suicidal, so I shook my head. “I haven’t a clue.”
“I should see what else I can find out about you,” he said, pointing his pipe at me. “I have a feeling your belief in a god is one of many things you never wanted me to
find out. So I must say, I’m curious what I’ll learn when I dig deeper into your past and family.”
I don’t think any set of words had caused me so much fear in my entire life at that point. I felt my mouth hang open, and I knew I should say something, but my mind was stuck replaying his words over and over again. If he learned about Father’s history, every last one of us in my family would be tossed in a shallow grave.
“That’s what I thought,” Petrov said. “I’ll talk to you later. Have a pleasant rest of the day.”
He turned his back to me and walked away. As he did, my imagination ran wild with what they’d do to my family. The beatings. The burnings. Electrocutions. My fear turned to anger and then hate. I glared at the back of his head, intent on protecting everyone I loved from this mad man. I could take him down if I had to. I would take him down. Before I knew it, Klara had a death grip on my forearm.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
I looked down to see my sidearm in hand. Shocked, I shoved it back in its holster. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you dare even pretend you are what he says,” she scolded. She ran her fingers through her hair and bit her lip. “Nadya, about what I said about religious people. I had no idea you believed such things when he asked.”
Now that Petrov was gone, my anger at him was replaced by a deep hurt. “You really think I’m gullible? Or a swindler?”
“Mother died when I was four,” she said with a sharp edge to her voice. “If there was a caring god out there, he would’ve stopped that. Maybe-”
She was cut off by a PS-84 flying over, flanked by a pair of Yaks. “That’ll be Valeriia,” Klara said, exhaling sharply and visibly relaxing. “Look, I don’t want what you believe to come between us. Please, forget all of this and catch Valeriia before Tamara scoops her up for briefings. I think she’s slated for duty tonight.”
“She is? No rest for the famous, I guess,” I said, deciding it was in both our interests to let the previous matter drop. As much as it pained me to hear what she thought of my beliefs, I didn’t want to exacerbate things and lose her again. Besides, with Petrov closing in on me, I wanted friends, not more enemies.
“No rest for any of us,” Klara replied. “I should get back to work.”
After we parted ways, I trotted down the airfield as Valeriia’s transport landed and taxied off the runway, grateful for the distraction from Petrov. By the time it had parked, I wasn’t the only one waiting for her to make an appearance. A crowd of girls waited for her, excited—some giddy even. I pushed my way through them, but everyone was trying to be upfront. Everyone wanted to see the girl who had made the 586th famous and had told her story to every newspaper and magazine in the country.
The passenger door at the rear of the plane opened, and Valeriia appeared, wearing a dress uniform tailored by a god, a stylish new haircut only the powerful and famous dared to have, and makeup second to none. I screamed along with the others, clapping and jumping like a schoolgirl who had lost her mind over something silly. But this wasn’t silly. Our heroine had returned, and I couldn’t wait to tell her she wasn’t the only one with a kill to her name.
“Thank you, thank you all,” Valeriia said, hopping off the plane. She had a spring in her step, and waved to everyone, but her energy felt muted, and her bright eyes held hints of fatigue. “I’ve missed everybody.”
Tamara stepped out in front and saluted Valeriia, despite the fact she was the superior officer. Then, even though she bore a smile and was trying her best to keep things joyous, Tamara killed the mood. “All right ladies,” she said. “I know everyone’s excited, but I’m going to cut this short right now. Get back to work. I need to speak to my pilot, alone. I promise you all can catch up with her soon enough.”
There was a collective groan from the crowd, and we slowly dispersed once Valeriia followed Tamara back to the command post. She yawned and stretched along the way, and I suspected the trip had been even more draining than she was letting on to. In all the time I’d known Valeriia, she’d never been one to show weariness, always carrying on no matter what without complaint. That being said, she probably would’ve traded entertaining us for a bed if given the option.
Zhenia appeared next to me. Her brow knitted, and her arms were folded over her chest. “This isn’t right,” she growled. “Valeriia shouldn’t be flying the day she comes back. It’s dangerous if she’s exhausted.”
“I don’t disagree,” I said, “but shouldn’t you be telling the Major that?”
“I have. And I’m about to march in there and tell her again.”
My eyebrows rose at the harshness to her tone. “Good luck, then? I’m not sure what I can to do help or why you’re telling me.”
Zhenia laughed, which eased the tension in the air for a brief moment. “I’m telling you, Nadya, because I think there’s a good chance I’ll be in the box before the night is out,” she said. “If that happens, I want you to look after Valeriia for me.”
I nodded. I still didn’t know what I could do, but I’d try my best regardless. If Valeriia was that wiped out from her trip, maybe I could switch nights with her and she could go up tomorrow instead. “I’ll keep an eye on her, but you don’t want to go to the box. It’s about as fun as watching lint grow.”
Zhenia smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now go do something else before I drag you down with me.”
I said a quick goodbye, and with not much else to do, I went in search of Alexandra. I found her near the mess hall, propped up against a birch tree. She held a mammoth-sized book in hand and didn’t look up from its pages when I stood at her feet.
“Valeriia’s back,” I said, feeling awkward standing there, smothered in silence.
“I saw the transport land,” she said. “I guessed it was her when I heard all the cheering.”
“She’s not as important as your novel?” I teased. “How rude.”
Alexandra looked up and threw me a wry grin. “Why? Should she be? She’s not as famous.”
“As your book?”
“Of course. It’s War and Peace. Have you read it before?”
I shook my head. I’d certainly heard of it. I couldn’t imagine any Soviet alive that hadn’t at least heard of Tolstoy’s famous work. “One day, I’d like to,” I said, but it was a half-truth at best. “Is it good?”
“It’s good. Lengthy, but good. Did you know Tolstoy’s wife copied it by hand seven times? Talk about dedication. I hope my fiancé is as dedicated to me as she was to him.”
“What do you like about it, other than his wife?”
“Everything,” she said. “The characters. The story. I love how it makes one think.”
“About?”
“Life. Everything,” she said. “Take for instance the part where the prince is trying to find God in an amoral world—that’s a topic everyone should think on at some point, you as well.”
Looking back, I think I jumped the gun, but at the time, I thought she was aiming that comment at me. “What makes you think I haven’t?”
Alexandra straightened like I’d splashed her with a bucket of ice water. She closed the book, though was careful to keep her place with a finger. “I didn’t mean to say you hadn’t,” she said. “You’ve always struck me as a smart girl. I’m sure you realize how silly the idea of gods is.”
My skin warmed, and with my brewing anger came feelings of hurt. Though she was my friend, I wanted to knock her down a couple of pegs. I had to be careful, however, with how I framed my beliefs. As much as I tried to be true to them, I didn’t want to be a martyr. “Old gods, yes,” I said, “but if I had to bet on some sort of creator of everything, I’d put my money on that rather than not. The universe doesn’t make sense otherwise.”
Alexandra laughed but quickly looked mortified and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be disrespectful, but I’m being honest when I say you’re the first person I’ve met who thinks such things—well, who isn’t seventy y
ears old.”
“What’s wrong with being seventy? My grandparents turned seventy last year.”
“Nothing,” she said, holding her hands up. “But they’re probably clinging to such things out of habit, not proper education.”
“So we’re stupid now, is that it? If I was as smart as you, I’d believe what you do?”
“Likely,” Alexandra said with a shrug. “And I wouldn’t say you’d have to be smart—because you are—just better read. Look, I don’t want to fight about it. But haven’t you ever thought why believing some sort of god exists is only held by the minority at this point?”
“Maybe there would be more of us if Stalin hadn’t executed them all,” I spat.
The color drained from Alexandra’s face and her eyes frantically scanned the area. “Are you trying to join them?” she whispered. She stood and tried to gently take me by my shoulders, but I stepped away.
“I have no love for anyone who’s slaughtered and exiled us by the countless thousands merely because of our religion,” I said with a sharp tone and spiteful eyes. “And that’s not even considering the millions of Cossacks he starved to death in the thirties. So forgive me, dear, if my voice sounds a little harsh.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine,” she said. “But Petrov will shoot you dead if he hears even a whisper of that.”
“Not if I shoot first.” I started to leave, but she called my name and I stopped.
“I hope I’m not out of line,” she said, slowly picking her words. “But I want to ask you to do something, sometime, and I’m only asking you because I’m your friend and I want to help.”
I snorted. “Help me what?”
“Be free of superstition.”
I shook my head, annoyed at her for keeping this conversation going and at myself for continuing to subject myself to it. I should have left. “Say what you will. I guess I should know what my wingman thinks of me.”
“I want you to pray for something tonight,” she said. “Anything, but make it something miraculous. And if it happens, tell me, and I’ll admit I’m the one wrong about all things divine. Otherwise, I hope you’ll realize your prayers don’t fall on deaf ears. They fall on no ears because there is no god out there. Maybe then you’ll stop torturing yourself.”