Nadya's War

by C. S. Taylor

My brow furrowed. “But I wasn’t even alive when that took place.”

  “Come now, Nadya,” he said, putting a sickening emphasis on my first name. “You Cossacks are a close-knit group. People would have talked. Help me, my dear comrade, and I’ll see you are well praised—perhaps even receive a commendation from Stalin himself.”

  I smiled as best I could, despite my inner revulsion at the man’s name. While he was wrong about us talking, Petrov was right overall. I did know names. Or more specifically, I knew a name: Father’s. Worse, I abhorred how a small part of me admired how on target he was. Such accurate intuition was rare and something I’d wished I’d had on more than one occasion. “I’d help if I could, but we’re from Tula and had nothing to do with any of that. We were vetted long ago.”

  The last part was true. We had been vetted, or at least our new identities had been. After the Revolution, Father had used what resources he had left to erase our past and give us a new one just before moving us to Tula. Bribery wasn’t cheap, but the quality of papers we each got were so good that when investigators looked into me and the family just prior to my acceptance to flight school, I passed without question. That said, none of the investigators at the time had had a personal vendetta against me either.

  Petrov set down his pipe and opened a drawer. From it he brought out an icepick with a wooden handle. He slowly rotated its tip in the candle flame. “Who helped you sabotage Valeriia’s plane?”

  “The hell I did!” I tried to jump out of my chair, but one of the soldiers kept me in place with an iron grip while the other kept his weapon trained on me. Petrov came around with the icepick, and I stared him down. “You can’t do this.”

  “I can if I must,” he said, studying me. “Let me ask you something, Nadya, do you believe Valeriia’s death was an accident?”

  “I hope so,” I replied. “Only because the alternative is far worse.”

  Petrov nodded. “As do I. What if I told you it wasn’t an accident? What then would you do?”

  I’d never considered that to be the case, but for the moment, I entertained the possibility. “Valeriia was a wonderful pilot and twice that of a woman. I’d do anything to catch those responsible, and when I did, I’d take my time ripping them apart.”

  My answer, spoken without filter or hesitation, surprised me, but apparently it didn’t surprise Petrov. “So you can imagine what it’s like to lose friends and family to traitors.”

  “I can.” I didn’t like how much I was agreeing with the man, but there I was, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “This can still be a friendly encounter, Nadya,” he said. “Help me find the turncoats. As much as I’ve gone after you, in my heart of hearts, I’d truly like to be wrong and find you an ally instead of an enemy.”

  I kept my eyes on him as I tried to judge his sincerity. I loathed that I thought he was telling the truth. That didn’t make him insanely evil, simply misguided, albeit greatly. “As much as I believe you, you have a funny way of showing it.”

  “So you’re saying you know nothing of Valeriia’s death or others?”

  I shook my head. “No. She ran out to her plane, tired, and crashed.”

  Petrov sighed. His face turned downcast, remorseful even. “Our country has been infected by conspirators for two decades now. A number of fine people I’ve personally known have been lost to them, and like any infection, the wound must be made sterile. Sometimes that results in burning good tissue—and I admit, you are a skilled pilot—but a good doctor knows that sometimes the body must endure harsh treatments to ward off gangrene. So if you are loyal, consider this ordeal a sacrifice for the greater good.”

  Before I could reply, he grabbed my wrist and pressed the icepick into my forearm. I gritted my teeth as it seared my skin. My eyes watered, but I didn’t scream, though I wanted to. I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. A hate for the man grew in my soul, one worse than I had for any German, Rademacher included. Part of me grew jealous at the Luftwaffe pilot. Surely he didn’t have to endure such scrutiny by his own officers. Then again, I’d heard Hitler and his upper echelon were as brutal as Stalin and his company. Maybe we were both suffering on opposite sides of the same coin.

  My minor parallels with Rademacher were a fleeting distraction. Petrov was my real enemy, a coward that hid behind guns and position to terrorize his own people. As he burned my skin twice more, I knew one day I’d be his end, literally or figuratively. I hoped it would be the foremost, as the evil side of me delighted at the thought of putting him into the grave.

  “Anything to say now?” he asked.

  I shook my head and locked my jaw. Anything I said at this point would be so vile I was certain he’d kill me without a second thought. Still, if he was going to kill me, it would be nice to unload on him.

  “I know you think you’re being clever by not crying,” he said, reheating the pick. “But only saboteurs and spies train to be so resilient. Do you think you could still fly if I put this in your eye?”

  He brought the tip close to my face, and I tried to squirm out of the chair and break free. I even kicked at the man—pitifully, for he easily dodged it—and one of the guards hit me in the side with the butt of his gun.

  Everything came to a crashing end as Tamara stormed in. The shock on her face was replaced with a mother bear’s fury as she drew her sidearm. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “My duty,” Petrov replied, straightening. Though the two men guarding me appeared rattled, he was calm as ever. “All aspects of Valeriia’s death need to be looked at, Major. It’s only natural to question one of the last people who saw her alive.”

  Tamara kept her pistol raised. “You touch her again and I’ll shoot you myself. From here on out, you stay away from my girls.”

  “Are you openly threatening me?” he said, visibly appalled at the idea. “I should have you brought up on charges.”

  “Try it and General Osipenko will exile you to a labor camp to die in disgrace.”

  “You would run to your lover for protection,” he said with a snort. He motioned for the guards to follow him out, but before leaving, he stabbed the icepick into the desk.

  Once he was gone, Tamara hurried over to me. I was still in shock at it all, but at least I could function again. Sadly, that also meant I could feel the burns he had inflicted as well.

  “I really despise that man,” she said, gently holding my arm and inspecting the damage. “I’ll make sure he leaves you alone from here on out. I suppose the good news is he’s good at his trade. These burns look painful, but I don’t think they’re serious.”

  “On my life, I had nothing to do with Valeriia’s death. You have to believe me,” I said, my voice cracking and my body shaking. It was then that it dawned on me how close to dying I’d gotten.

  Tamara sighed heavily. “I believe you,” she said. “But I don’t know how the brass will take her loss, or worse, how Stalin will. She was a heroine of the Soviet Union. I’m afraid her death will have dire repercussions for us all.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next two days were filled with interviews into Valeriia’s crash. People who were both internal and external to our regiment came to poke their noses around. I told what I saw to Tamara three times, and to the investigators command sent four more after that. I wanted to fly, hoping even a mundane escort would give me some respite, but since I was one of the last to see Valeriia alive, I was temporarily grounded and forced to relive the ordeal over and over and over again.

  No matter how many times I told my story with excruciating details that ranged from her bright smile to inspiring attitude, no one was ever satisfied with what I had to say, most of all me. Part of me felt recounting it time and again was more painful than Petrov’s interrogation the other day. He only wounded my skin. These stories wounded my heart. Thankfully, the Commissar was nowhere to be seen during that time. I wish I had thanked Tamara for that, but once the interviews were done, I barely saw or s
poke to her.

  In the end, the official report was that Valeriia died in battle in order to preserve her fame and the honor of the 586th, but we all knew the truth. She’d climbed into the plane and taken off before her eyes had adjusted to the dark and crashed. That said, I wanted the world to believe the lie. She didn’t deserve to be killed in such a stupid manner.

  Over the next week, I flew a half-dozen times. Alexandra and I went on four quiet escorts and a pair of uneventful patrols to the northeast. I’d hoped being back in the air would help me cope, but each time we went up, all I could think about was how there were now three girls who would never fly with us again. I did think about Rademacher a few times, but the zeal I once had at the thought of shooting him down was never a part of those thoughts. In fact, I even wondered what good shooting him down would do since it wouldn’t change anything. I laughed at myself when that thought occurred, seeing how up until now I had wanted nothing more than to blow him apart.

  We also got our bounty pay. I wasn’t sure what Alexandra did with hers. I didn’t think she cared about it as I came to find out she came from a well-connected family. I stuffed my earnings in my sack under my bed. I didn’t have the energy to go into town and find something for Klara, though it was on my to-do list. I also wanted to send a portion back to my parents since they could probably have used it more than me.

  I woke one cold morning to a right arm that felt as if it had been caught in the rusty jaws of an old bear trap. I whimpered and tucked the arm across my side, but it didn’t help. I tried flexing the hand a few times under the covers. The pain almost became manageable, but when haunting memories of both Valeriia and Martyona came back to me, I injected another shot of morphine into my side.

  I put the leather case with my last syrette under my bed. I thought it might be empty, but I hoped I could squeeze out another drop or two if needed. I knew it would take time for the morphine to work its magic, so I decided to get dressed and drag myself outside. My stiff legs protested every movement, but I needed to keep my mind occupied on something—anything—else for the time being.

  A faint glow crested the horizon, and I stopped to appreciate the sunrise. I hadn’t seen it for four days and had partly forgotten what it looked like, a side effect of ramping up my morphine dose. I should have cared about losing some of my short-term memory, but I figured it was a small price to pay to be free of physical and emotional torment.

  “Nadya?”

  I turned to find Klara fast approaching with a heavy coat pulled tight around her and a bag of tools in hand. Both her face and voice were filled with equal parts shock and concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “Are you flying today?” she asked.

  “I can’t remember,” I said, scouring my brain for the answer. The morphine must have kicked in sooner and stronger than I’d anticipated, and I grew fearful for what that meant for the rest of the day. “Did Kazarinova say something?”

  “No, but then again, she hasn’t said much to anyone,” she replied. “Doesn’t matter though. She’s not going to be around much longer.”

  “Why?”

  “Zhenia has been calling for Kazarinova’s head,” Klara said. “If she doesn’t get it in the figurative sense, I dare say she’ll take it on her own literally. How could you not know this?”

  I shrugged. “The last few days have been a blur.”

  Klara closed the distance between us. She dropped her bag and brushed back my hair as she studied my face. “You’ve lost weight. I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”

  I touched my cheeks. They’d thinned. “Probably. I haven’t gone to the mess hall lately.”

  Her brow furrowed. Her tone became sharp, almost scolding. “No one made you go?”

  “Alexandra brought me some bread a few times. I took some nibbles to appease her, but I haven’t been hungry.”

  “Of course she did.” Klara snorted. “Have you met any of the boys yet?”

  I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow. “What boys?”

  “Wow. You have been out of it. We’ve added a third squadron. This one is full of men.”

  Now that I thought about it, I had seen a number of boys around the base but hadn’t put much to it. There’d been talk before about them coming, but I’d always assumed it was gossip. Why would they mix the regiment? Most of the boys didn’t want to be flying with us girls anyway, and we didn’t need to have them around to show us how to do things.

  I wanted our unit to be only us, sisters who’d proven themselves as capable as any other. I hated the idea that some would think we needed the men for whatever stupid reason they’d dream up. Besides, they’d be a distraction, and I assumed my mechanic had already fallen for one by the nervousness in her voice. “You found one you like?”

  “I’m not looking at them. Besides, love is so cruel you could even fall in love with a goat,” she said. “Anyway, taking care of you is enough for me, but I guess I haven’t been doing a good job of that. You look like hell.”

  It was so tiring to keep up the façade, and I almost told her about my pains, the morphine, and how I was barely functioning, but I feared I’d lose her too if I did. “Valeriia’s loss did me in,” I said, opting for a semi-confession. “I’m not sure how to snap out of it.”

  Klara took my arm, and we walked in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, we found our way to my plane. She rested her head against my shoulder and said, “Do you know the history behind your fighter?”

  “No, other than it’s mine.”

  “Not quite what I meant,” she replied. “When it first entered the war, it was an unproven design. We had no idea how well it would match up against the German Messerschmitts. Brass and the politicians boasted it would dominate the skies, and the pilots ate it up, but deep down, we all knew that until it saw combat, there was always a measure of uncertainty.”

  “And now it’s proven and has a new paintjob.”

  “It’s more than proven. It’s been shot up, banged up, and overworked. Despite all of that, it still flies and even made a kill. Do you know why that is?”

  “Because I have the best mechanic in the world.”

  She squeezed me with a wishful sigh. “I hope you always will,” she said. “But listen, Nadya, no matter the damage, it can always be put back together. It takes time, and sweat, and others helping sometimes, but it can be done. Whatever the war throws at it, it can be made to fly again.”

  Her analogy wasn’t lost on me. “I’m not a plane. You can’t stick a wrench to me and fix everything. If you could, I’d have begged you to do it long ago.”

  “I can help when you stop going at whatever is bothering you alone,” she said. “Or you can decide to tell the Major you’d rather stay on the ground. If you do, you’ll be like any other plane that sits neglected. Winter’s chill will freeze you in place, burst your hoses, crack your block, and then you’ll be ruined. And the worst of it is you’re the one who will do that to yourself.”

  I chewed on her words while admiring her artwork on my fighter. There was extra detail in the tusks I hadn’t noticed before, hints of shading and texture that rivaled any other. “You love this plane,” I said. “It shows with the paint job alone.”

  “I care more about its pilot,” she said. “I’m afraid if you don’t pull together soon, that’s going to be it. No one will give you another chance, not with so many other girls out there wanting to be pilots.”

  “I know. I know,” I said, hanging my head in shame. “But-”

  “Enough!” I jumped at the ferocity of her words, and she didn’t ease off one bit as she went on. “Do you think Martyona or Valeriia would want you to wallow forever in misery? Both of them would tell you to act like the pilot you are, to be proud of who you are. Don’t dishonor their memory by making excuses. Do whatever you have to do so you can get back in that damn cockpit and fly like you used to.”

  Her rebuke stirred my heart. My posture straightened. Determination rooted in my soul. God migh
t not exist, might not care one bit for me or help me when I needed it the most, but Klara did on all accounts, and that was enough for me.

  “Thank you,” I said, hugging her tight. “For everything. You’re right.”

  “Anytime. What do you plan on doing?”

  “First, I’m going to get some food and then get cleaned up. Once I’m done, I’m going to find Gerhard Rademacher and blow him out of the sky.”

  “I’m glad to see you again, Little Boar.”

  As was I. Funny how a few simple words could make or break a person. We made chitchat for a while. Klara talked about how she wanted a bakery when the war was over but didn’t think she had the money to start one. It was too bad that a person’s passion could be limited by practical considerations like monies. When I got the bounty from Rademacher’s kill, maybe I’d keep some tucked away and invest in her dream.

  The conversation halted when Zhenia came over, looking as if she bore the weight of the world’s troubles on her shoulders.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, dreading the next words out of my squadron commander’s mouth would be news of another death.

  “As of ten minutes ago, the 586th has a new commanding officer,” Zhenia said. “Kazarinova is gone, and Major Aleksandr Gridnev is taking charge. They aren’t saying where she went, only that she’s never returning.”

  Unease grew in my stomach. I’d never heard of Major Gridnev before, and though he was male, I was certain that fact wasn’t what was troubling Zhenia. “You look as if that is bad news,” I said. “I thought you wanted the Major gone.”

  “I’m furious she’s not being brought up on charges for gross incompetence, but General Osipenko is keeping his lover safe,” she replied, popping her knuckles one at a time. “But that’s not why I’m here. Gridnev is calling a general formation at the top of the hour to address all the squadrons. After that, Nadya, he wants to talk to you.”

  Sweat gripped my palms, and my arms ached. “What for?”

  “I wanted you to hear it from me first, but you’re being pulled from the roster. I’m sorry.”