Nadya's War

by C. S. Taylor

  “A miracle, huh?” I said. I wanted to retort with something along the lines of even Christ said to not test God, but I figured it was pointless. I was also curious at her answer to my next question. “So what would count as a miracle? The dead rising from the grave?”

  Alexandra smiled. “Maybe not as dramatic, but if you could turn water into chocolate, that would do it. I’d prefer a sweet treat to walking corpses any day of the week.”

  “Fine.”

  “And when it doesn’t-”

  “Yes, I know what you said,” I snapped as I left. I knew if I stayed much longer I’d say or do something I’d regret. Or worse, I’d do something I didn’t regret and would never be able to fix.

  I went back to my dugout and stewed over her words. It irritated me to no end for her to dismiss my beliefs in such a fashion. I was by no means the world’s greatest theologian, but to insinuate I hadn’t ever wondered why some prayers were answered and some were not was insulting, even if she wasn’t trying to be. I think deep down I was also mad because I didn’t have an answer, and that birthed insecurities as to whether or not my worldview was the correct one.

  I flopped on my bed and stared at the ceiling. My arm cramped, and the chronic pain in it grew from both cold and stress. I thought about dipping into my morphine supply, but there were only a handful of syrettes left, and I didn’t want to have to use them unless I had to. Not to mention the fact I didn’t want to steal any more, since at some point the missing supplies would be noticed. I already had had two nightmares that the doctor had gone to Petrov about the matter.

  Those dreams paled in comparison to the one I had when my father confronted me. In that dream, he didn’t come at me with anger, only disappointment. Having always been his little girl that could do no wrong, it broke me to see him like that. When I woke from that dream, I stayed awake for two hours with nothing but my conscience for company.

  I ended up napping as a way to cope with both pain and frustrations. I’d planned on getting up for dinner, but when I woke again, it was dark outside, and Valeriia was messing with the lantern near the entrance.

  “Sorry,” she said with a yawn. “I’ll turn it off in a moment. I was trying to find another pillow.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Zhenia got you out of flying tonight?”

  “No. The doctor told Kazarinova I was fit to fly,” she said, making her way to a bunk. “So I’m on duty. The plane is ready on the runway. Kazarinova is letting me sleep in here until I’m called.”

  “Is there still food in the mess hall?” I asked when my stomach rumbled.

  “There’s stuff there they say is edible, but I wouldn’t call it food. If you’re going, can you get the light?”

  “Of course.”

  I slipped on my boots, grabbed my jacket, and left after turning off the lantern. I nearly tripped on the way out as my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet. Funny how the body was like that. I got about dozen meters before someone ran by, yelling for Valeriia.

  I was about to fetch her from the dugout when I saw the light from the lantern come on. Valeriia came dashing out a few moments later. She stumbled as she did, likely hitting the same spot that had tripped me moments ago.

  “There’s a step there!” I yelled, having a bit of light-hearted fun at her expense. “You’ll never get your second kill if you can’t keep from kissing the ground.”

  “I’ll get mine before you get yours!”

  The corners of my mouth drew back. So she had heard about what Alexandra and I had done. I wondered if she was as proud of me as I was of her. I reminded myself to ask her when she got back. In a friendly rivalry way, I prayed she wouldn’t get to shoot anyone down that night.

  I didn’t see her climb in to her fighter, but I did hear the engine start, and I did hear her plane race down the runway. Then I saw the fireball, and her plane disintegrated.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The thud of my feet echoed in my ears. Behind me I could hear alarms. The fire truck would be coming soon, but it would be too late to save Valeriia.

  With every stride I took, my lungs gulped massive amounts of air. My legs burned. Half way to the crash site, I tripped on some unseen object in the shadows, but it barely slowed me. With years of gymnastics under my belt, I tucked, rolled, and was sprinting again across the airfield. My eyes fixed on the flames surrounding Valeriia’s wreck. My mouth whispered prayers for her salvation.

  “You can save her,” I prayed, searching the scattered fires for any sign of life. “I know you can. I know you will.”

  The last bit slipped from my mouth without any thought, and a calmness settled over me. This, I decided, was the miracle Alexandra would see—a miracle I needed.

  I stopped and scanned the area. She had to be close. If she couldn’t get to me, perhaps, I thought, she could answer me. “Valeriia! Where are you?”

  I found her dark form, lying about twenty meters away, at the edge of light from a burning patch of ground. She was still for the most part, but I could see her trying to raise her arm to beckon me over. My jaw dropped, and I was both shocked and thankful for the answered prayer. I decided right then and there I’d never doubt the Almighty again.

  I sprinted toward her, calling to the others I’d found her and she’d survived. In a few days, maybe a week at the most, all this would be a painful memory we’d laugh at. We’d all tell our grandchildren about the day Valeriia danced with Death in an inferno, and the older ones would roll their eyes and complain about how many times they heard it before.

  When I got to her, everything changed. She hadn’t been waving me over. It was just the sleeve of her leather jacket, torn and flapping in the wind. Her left arm was missing, and in the flickering light, I could see her skull had been caved in on one side and had a jagged piece of metal sticking out the other.

  “Oh God, no! You’re going to be okay,” I said. The world seemed to close in darkness. All I could see were her lifeless eyes staring back at me, and all I could do was utter my denial and rock back and forth.

  A spotlight hit her, brightening the patch of charred ground she was on. My eyes snapped right to see a couple of girls from the ground crew race off the truck. One of them knelt beside Valeriia’s body and shook her head. The other draped a heavy fire blanket over the body.

  “Stop, you idiots! She won’t be able to breathe!” I started for the two of them, but someone grabbed me from behind.

  “Don’t look, Nadya,” Alexandra said, spinning me around. “You don’t need to see this.”

  I fought with my wingman, trying to get away, but she kept me in place. “Let me go!”

  “She’s gone!”

  “No, she’s not!”

  Alexandra tightened her grip. “There’s nothing you can do. Don’t let this be how you remember her.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said, jerking free. “I prayed. I prayed with all of my heart she’d live, and if she doesn’t . . .”

  Alexandra’s face paled. Her eyes were wide, and despite the gloom surrounding us both, I could see her trembling. “It doesn’t mean anything, Nadya.”

  “Yes, it does,” I said. My throat tightened, and I couldn’t get the words out.

  “I’m a stupid girl,” she said. “I like to pretend I know things, that I’ve got it all figured out, but I don’t. So don’t you dare listen to what I said earlier. Don’t you dare lose it on my account.”

  Losing it would be nice, I thought, to be anywhere but here, to be anyone else or nothing at all. The hairs on my body stood on end, and I felt as if I were being pulled out of my body. I didn’t know what to say, or do, or think.

  “I want to sleep and wake from this nightmare,” I whispered. “And if I can’t do that, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

  Alexandra slipped her arm around mine and led me away. My feet shuffled as we went, moving more out of reflex rather than conscious desires. I hadn’t the slightest clue as to where we were going until I found myself at the sid
e of my bed.

  “Lie down,” she said, easing me off my feet.

  She started talking about something else, God or gods or something, but her voice faded to the background. It was nothing more than a gentle murmur, like a barely audible brook on the other side of a rise.

  I stared at the empty bunk across from me. It was the same bunk Valeriia had slept in. I wondered if she knew what had happened to her, if it hurt, if she was in a better place or had just ceased to be. I wondered if Martyona had died in pain or fear. Had she been as terrified for herself as I had been for her? Or somehow in her last seconds did she know she was going to an eternal home and everything would be okay?

  I didn’t know, and I feared that last thought was more foolishness than anything. All I was certain of was that for both girls, I’d flooded God’s ears with prayers to save them and those prayers went unanswered. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, and I held them in check until Alexandra put a hand on my shoulder. That one act pushed me off the cliff of detachment and into the sea of grief.

  My body shook as I sobbed. My stomach knotted so tightly I was sure my insides were splitting apart. I don’t know how long I cried, but when I was done, I was exhausted with tear-stained cheeks, Alexandra was kneeling at the side of my bed, holding my hand, murdering a lullaby.

  “You’re terrible,” I said.

  Alexandra stopped. Her mouth twisted. “What?”

  “You can’t hold a pitch to save your life,” I explained. I wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve and cleared my eyes.

  “I thought I was helping,” she said. “I know I’ll never be an opera star, but am I truly awful?”

  I nodded. I tried to keep a straight face, but thinking about how clueless she was as to the sound of her own voice resulted in me laughing harder and longer than I ever should have. “Sorry, but I’d rather chew glass.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to do that,” she said. “Do you feel any better?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I know you were hoping otherwise, but I’m too tired to cry anymore, too tired to sleep, and-” I stopped midsentence and winced. I held my right arm up in the air and flexed the hand a few times. “And my arm is killing me.”

  She took my arm as she had so many times before and massaged the burns. “It’s probably stress. Your wounds have been so much better the last few days.”

  “The burns aren’t the worst of it.” My voice trailed off. I knew what I wanted to say, but I could barely think it, let alone put those thoughts to words. No matter how painful something was inside my head, it always seemed as if once it was given breath, it would take on life and grow into some hideous monster that would never stop trying to devour me.

  Alexandra, however, was undoubted by my demons. “What’s the worst of it?”

  I paused, trying to find a way to sum up what this evening had done to me. Before I answered, Klara came running into the dugout, panting.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “I was searching for you everywhere. The Major said you looked like death.”

  “She’s fine,” Alexandra said without even a glance in her direction. “You can tell the Major I’m with her.” When Klara didn’t leave, Alexandra turned to her and put a bite to her tone. “That was an order, comrade Rudneva, not a suggestion. Leave us.”

  Klara shook her head and stepped toward me. “She’s my pilot,” she said. “I want to hear it from her.”

  I was touched at her concern and stubbornness, but keeping Alexandra entertained was exhausting enough. I didn’t need more company. “I’m okay, Klara. Catch up with me in the morning, yes?”

  “Okay,” she replied. “If you need anything, anything at all, let me know. I’ll look in on you later.”

  Klara left, but not before giving a silent snarl to the back of Alexandra’s head. I sighed, wishing I could understand whatever rivalry they had going on enough to put an end to it. “I wish you two wouldn’t fight.”

  “I wish she’d remember her place,” she said. “But enough of that. You were saying?”

  “About what?”

  “The worst of it.”

  I rolled over and pulled the blanket up to my chin. Up close, I studied the weave in the fabric, found some odd pleasure in watching the fibers twist around each other. It was all I needed to focus on to answer her question, to spit out the words and be detached from it all. “You were right,” I said. “My prayers do fall on deaf ears, but it’s not because God doesn’t exist. It’s because He hates me. I don’t care if you think I’m stupid or crazy for believing such things. It’s true.”

  “No, it’s not. You are far too wonderful of a person to be hated.”

  “You barely know me.”

  “And yet I’ve already seen how amazing you are.”

  I sighed. “Then tell me why my prayers go unanswered. Why am I ignored by someone who’s supposed to love everyone?”

  “Growing up, my parents ignored me,” she said, her voice quieting. Her touch became as distant as the new look in her eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything worse than not feeling loved by those who are supposed to care for you. Maybe that’s why I cling to you so. I wish I could change that for both of us, but I can’t. All I can do is promise to never ignore you.”

  I squeezed her hand, grateful that she could be vulnerable with me, but if she discovered I was a thief, I was certain she’d tell me what I’d been telling myself: God doesn’t listen to the wicked. He probably doesn’t listen to those drowning in self-pity either.

  “For what it’s worth and if I remember my studies,” she added, “even Christ felt abandoned at one point.”

  “I don’t want to think about it anymore,” I said. She was trying her best, but it wasn’t helping. All she gave me in terms of an alternative to being ignored was to equate myself with Christ. I wasn’t delusional. There was no grand scheme at play, no salvation of the world at stake. I was a silly girl who thought she could get the attention of the divine. Not only that, but I was a girl who also lied and stole.

  Worst of all, I hated my enemies—I dreamed of killing them, even boasted about my first kill. Hardly the teachings of Christ, the man who forgave those who executed Him. When I thought about all of that, part of me felt lucky God was only ignoring me. Maybe that was His mercy toward me.

  Or maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I did believe things rooted in tradition and superstition. If there were no God, today didn’t need explaining. It simply was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There was a small service for Valeriia the following day at the end of the runway. I couldn’t pay attention to any of it. I simply stood there thinking life was cruel and hoping she was in a better place. When we were dismissed, I somehow got back to my bunk and lost consciousness.

  Sometime late that afternoon a pair of soldiers carrying PPSh-41s pulled me out of the dugout and brought me to the command post, barely giving me enough time to put my boots on. I didn’t know what was going on. I only had the vague idea that Tamara was sending me up on a flight and was ordering me in for briefing. When I stepped inside, however, and saw Petrov leaning back in her chair with his feet kicked up on the desk and his pipe in his mouth, my heart raced faster than any dogfight I’d been in.

  “I’m so glad you could make it, Junior Lieutenant,” he said. “This doesn’t have to take long.”

  I sat in the chair across from him. No one else was in the room save the two armed soldiers who had brought me in. As I felt my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, I could think to ask only one question. “Is something the matter?”

  Petrov snorted. “Many things are, Junior Lieutenant. First, the food here is terrible. Second, sleep has not come easily to me as of late, and third, while not a problem for me but you, the previous two points have left me in the mood to shoot first and ask questions later. But as I don’t want to leave a mess in Major Kazarinova’s office, I thought I’d at least give civility a try.”

  My throat tightened, and though I pray
ed that Tamara would return quickly, I asked my next question as casually as possible to hide my fear. “Where’s the Major, anyway?”

  Petrov took out a silver pocket watch from his coat and gave it a quick glance. “She’ll be gone for at least another hour,” he said. “So don’t concern yourself with her. Instead, concern yourself with me and answering my questions truthfully.”

  “What sort of questions did you have?” I asked.

  “Familial ones.” He reached under the desk and pulled out a small candle in a squat iron holder, like the one my grandmother would use late at night while penning letters. He put it on the desk, and from his jacket pocket he took out a box of matches and lit the wick. “I know you think I’m an evil person,” he said. “But I like to think we have the same goal.”

  “My only goal right now is shooting down Germans.”

  He smiled and tipped his head. “See? We are similar. We both want them dead. The difference is, I’m more passionate about the Motherland than you.”

  “What does that have to do with my family?”

  “Everything,” he replied, drawing deeply on his pipe. When he exhaled, he blew a perfect smoke ring and watched it rise to the ceiling before continuing. “I realize that not all Cossacks are treacherous, and not all of them fought with the White Army, but a great number did. They fought against progress and killed many of their Soviet brothers because they clung to a dying past. While I suspect your family was part of that, I’ll give you a chance to show otherwise—or at the very least, prove your own loyalty.”

  “They’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Good,” he said. “Then you won’t mind giving me names of those who have. I know we didn’t punish everyone who fought against us in the Revolution. There are some that escaped. I want to know who and where they are.”