Nadya's War

by C. S. Taylor

  * * *

  For about fifteen minutes, the entire 586th regiment stood in formation outside the command post and listened to Major Aleksandr Gridnev introduce himself. I stood in the back, so I didn’t get a good look at him, which was just as well. After what Zhenia had said, I was so irate I think my tongue would’ve come loose the moment he and I made eye contact.

  Gridnev explained that he’d been transferred from the 82nd Fighter Aviation Regiment, and though he’d commanded them for some time, he looked forward to working with all of us. All of the girls except for myself were both attentive and pleasant. I, on the other hand, was plotting all the nasty things I’d say—and do—when he finally told me my wings were clipped. I also was trying to figure out how long I’d be in the box afterward. My best guess was four weeks. Five tops.

  Though I missed most of his speech, I did catch his answers to two direct questions. The first of his answers was the 586th would be moving to the front lines when he felt satisfied we were all ready. He indicated he’d like this to be sooner rather than later since the Luftwaffe continued their relentless pounding of Stalingrad. The tractor factory in the city, a mini-stronghold for our forces, had recently weathered seven hundred attacks by dive bombers alone. His eagerness to see us in action energized the crowd, as most of the girls wanted to prove themselves in combat and had yet to do so. The second thing he told us was he was here to stay forever as Tamara had been transferred to the Air Defense Headquarters.

  The girls were split on Tamara’s reassignment. Some, like Zhenia, wished she’d be stripped of her rank and sent to a penal brigade. Others were much more forgiving. I think I was more in the latter group. While I did feel Tamara shouldn’t have sent Valeriia up that night, I knew she was under immense pressure from brass and tried her best. Unfortunately, her best wasn’t good enough. Maybe she should have quietly retired. I did wish I could’ve said goodbye to her. Not being able to felt as if she’d died since she’d vanished.

  When it was over, Gridnev dismissed us all, and then had me follow him to the command post. To my surprise, he also had Alexandra join us as well. I figured that was probably a good thing. I might kill the man if we were alone when he said I was no longer a pilot.

  “Sit, sit,” he said, taking his seat behind Tamara’s old desk.

  I eased into one of two chairs across from him and studied my new adversary. He was taller than I was by a half-dozen centimeters. He looked solid under his olive jacket, which was as immaculate as I’d come to expect from any upper officer. His face was round with a jaw as strong as a Soviet winter. He wore a clean shave and short hair that had a touch of grey. He tried to look serious, but his brown eyes smiled like a newborn’s.

  He kept the desk neater than Tamara had, for there were only two things on it, the officer’s hat he’d tossed there a moment ago and the picture of an intense-looking man with large eyes that stared into the distance with a face that hinted at being Flemish. He wore the uniform of a marshal. The dark coat with two rows of gilt buttons and large stars on the collar made his rank obvious. I felt like I should know the man, but I drew a blank. “Good morning, Major,” I said, remembering to be polite. “Was he a friend of yours?”

  Gridnev glanced at the picture. “Tukhachevsky? No, but he was of my father.”

  I straightened in surprise. While I didn’t know what he’d looked like, I knew the name. Everyone did. Mikhail Tukhachevsky was one of several high-ranking officers killed by Stalin’s purging of the Red Army five years prior. “Why do you have his picture?” I asked, unable to come up with any guess of my own. “I’d think displaying such a . . . person would bring unwanted attention.”

  “I’ve already had unwanted attention, Junior Lieutenant,” he said. “Twice, in fact. I keep his picture as a reminder of what this world can be like.”

  “Comrade major?”

  “A place where friends can be enemies and enemies can be friends, and being a hero makes no difference in the end.” He stopped, and I was certain he was going to say more on the matter, but didn’t. “Enough of that. I’d like to discuss your flying.”

  “What about it, comrade major?” I asked, exchanging a brief glance with Alexandra.

  “I’ve been going over your file,” Gridnev said, pulling two folders from the drawer in his desk. “Hers as well.”

  Concern washed over Alexandra’s face. Though she had her hands folded in her lap to appear professional, I could see her fidgeting with them. “Have we done something wrong?”

  “Commissar Petrov seems to think so.”

  I swore. Gridnev arched an eyebrow and Alexandra gasped. “Apologies, comrade major,” I said, even though I wasn’t at all sorry. “Permission to speak freely on the matter?”

  “For the moment.”

  “Commissar Petrov has had it out for me for months and is looking for any excuse to do me in. He’s a liar and a loose cannon, doing far more harm than good. I’d also like to mention Major Kazarinova nearly shot him herself for his behavior.”

  “Those are serious remarks, Junior Lieutenant.”

  “It’s all the truth,” I said. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but I’m sure they’re lies.”

  “Honestly, I don’t care,” he said. “About a week ago, all of the political commissars lost their command functions, which means all military decisions are back in the hands of military officers. Since I don’t know Petrov from the ass end of a badger and I’m not fond of the NKVD, I don’t care what he has to say, and I told him that. I also told him I intended to keep Major Kazarinova’s order in place that he’s not to bother any of you, or I’d send him away as well.”

  I could have kissed him right then and there. I almost did. “Thank you, comrade major. You won’t regret it.”

  “None of that, however, addresses my original concerns regarding your flying,” he replied. “Tell me what happened on your patrol on 30 September.”

  Alexandra and I exchanged confused looks. I was the first to speak. “Was the after-action report lacking?”

  Gridnev pulled our statements out of the file and lined them up next to each other. “The two accounts were thorough, especially near the beginning where you both describe spotting and subsequently following an unidentified aircraft. Curious, don’t you think, that you two say the exact same thing?”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” I replied.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence, Junior Lieutenant,” he said, leaning forward with a grunt. “This never happened.”

  I mentally kicked myself for such a dumb mistake. We were too specific in the same details for the story to hold up under scrutiny. Tamara was likely as excited as we were that we brought down two Luftwaffe to have noticed. Despite being nailed to the wall, I refused to give up. Maybe I could salvage something. I didn’t want to lie anymore, but I hoped I could redirect. “We brought down those planes. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

  “I know. The recon flight that spotted the wreckage is in the final report. But you did lie about the aircraft you spotted prior to the fight.”

  “It was my idea,” Alexandra said. “I wanted to head south. Our patrols were boring, and my little brother Viktor keeps writing, wanting to know how many Germans we shot down. I wanted to be able to write him back with exciting news.”

  Gridnev eyed us. The shine in his eyes disappeared, and his stare chilled me to the bone. “Is this accurate, Junior Lieutenant Buzina? That’s a severe breach of responsibilities.”

  For a brief moment, I thought about letting Alexandra fall on the sword for me. I’m not sure why she volunteered to. Perhaps she thought she would only be reprimanded while I was facing much worse, but I couldn’t let her do that. “It’s not true,” I replied. I put a hand on Alexandra as she started forward, I presume to argue. “She’s trying to protect me. The truth is, I’m the one who had to prove myself. I gave the order to fly south as the patrols we were being sent on amounted to nothing during the day. I needed the kill.”

 
“Still your wingman even while on the ground, eh?” he said. He leaned back in his chair, looking impressed. “What did you need the kill for? Pride?”

  “To make a difference in the war,” I said. That part was true, but it wasn’t the entire truth. I sensed he might suspect such a thing, so I filled him in on the rest. “I was also afraid Kazarinova was looking to have me replaced once we returned. I didn’t want my service to end in disgrace, and I figured if I had a kill under my belt, she’d reconsider.”

  “Why would she replace you?”

  “On account of my burns,” I said, showing him my palms. “She was afraid they’d interfere with my ability to function in the air.”

  Gridnev stuffed the reports back into the folder. “That’s close to what I suspected,” he said. “Major Kazarinova had mentioned them in your file, but I wanted to hear all of this from your mouth before I committed to any decision.”

  “So I’m losing my wings then?”

  Before he could answer, Alexandra scooted forward and weighed in. “Comrade major, she’s one of the best pilots here, even if she’s not the easiest to manage. She’ll be an ace before this war is over.”

  “Thank you, Junior Lieutenant. I’ve got a good enough picture of what she’s like,” he replied. “I’ve already decided-”

  “No!” I said, jumping to my feet. My heart skipped a beat, and the room seemed to shrink all around us. “I’m sorry for the outburst, comrade major, but please reconsider.”

  “Sit down, Junior Lieutenant,” he said. As soon as my butt hit the seat, he continued. “I’m not stripping you of your wings, but I’m not going to tolerate you losing your bearing either. I am your superior officer, and if you value your freedom and ability to fly, you will remember that.”

  My mouth hung open. My world had flipped so many times in the last hour I couldn’t make sense of it all. “But Zhenia . . .”

  “Would do well not to make assumptions based on a few scribbles to the roster sheet,” he said.

  I shrank back in the seat. “Oh thank goodness.”

  “Or me,” he said.

  “You too.”

  “Now then, I am moving you from the standard rotation,” he said as Alexandra nudged me with her shoulder. “What I want is something special, top secret. Something I only feel comfortable enough giving to girls who do what you two did a couple of weeks ago.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “We’re going to make some deep strikes behind German lines,” he said. “Command will have a fit if they find out what I’m proposing, as they’d say it’s far too risky and this is a defensive regiment. But I’m of the opinion we need to do more than babysit bridges if Stalingrad is going to hold.”

  “Are we going to fly there then?” I asked.

  “No. Luftwaffe have that area in their grasp, and I don’t want to send you to your deaths,” he said. He pointed to a few areas on the map west of us. “There are supply lines the Germans consider relatively safe. If we hit those a few times, they’ll have no choice but to divert some of their airpower away from the city.”

  “Thereby helping our soldiers,” I finished.

  “Exactly. It also means you can’t speak of this to anyone for now. You also have to volunteer. I will say this, however: if we’re successful, there’s a good chance we can bait Gerhard Rademacher out of Stalingrad. Kazarinova mentioned you wanted to avenge Martyona’s loss, and I’d be happy to help make that happen.”

  Pride rose in my chest, and at the same time, I was astounded he thought I was skilled enough to be put on such daring missions. However, I didn’t need any convincing. I didn’t care where he wanted us to fly, how heavily defended the target was, or if we would even be expected to come back. If agreeing to his plans meant shooting down the man who killed Martyona, I was ready. “Tell us where to go, Major.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The following day, Alexandra and I took off from Anisovka before sunrise and headed west toward Voronezh, a city built near the site where the Voronezh River dumped into the Don. It was also a city the Germans had taken three months prior on their march to Stalingrad. Reports of what enemy forces now occupied the area varied since the bulk had moved southwest, but Gridnev felt it was a prime location for our first hunt. Given all the uncertainty, I prayed it would be a fruitful one—a safe one—and then prayed again begging for an answer when I felt as if those prayers fell yet again on deaf ears.

  We landed sixty kilometers east of the city on an old field serving as a secondary landing strip. All we had to guide us in were two small fires, one lit at each end of the field. Once we were on the ground, a truck pulled in between us and began refilling our fuel tanks. Two men worked the line between the truck and our planes while another stood guard. He wouldn’t be able to do much with his rifle, but I suppose it was better than nothing.

  Alexandra and I had been ordered to stay in our aircraft during the refueling before we left, and we were also on radio silence to help conceal our location. I didn’t like not knowing how she was, so I popped the latches to the canopy, slid it back, and made the excuse I needed to see her for the sake of the mission.

  It was a short trot to her plane, and I hopped up on the wing and knocked on her canopy. She jumped in fright, and I nearly fell off the plane laughing. Once she opened her cockpit, I tried to recompose myself as best I could. “Did you think I was the Baba Yaga come to steal you away?”

  “Not funny,” she said, soured. “I hate being this close to the front and not in the air. You should have at least warned me you were coming over.”

  “Wanted to make sure no fascists snuck up on you. Still up for this?”

  Alexandra nodded. “Where you go, I go.”

  “Shouldn’t be much longer. Glad you’re okay.”

  “Are you okay? That’s the real question,” she said. “Your arm bothering you?”

  I looked down and realized I had it tucked hard against my midsection. She knew me far too well for me to outright lie, but I didn’t want her to worry. “It hurts, and it’s so cold I feel like I’m only wearing a nightgown,” I said. “It should be better once dawn comes and things warm up.”

  “We’re almost done, comrade pilot,” one of the soldiers called out. “I must insist you return to your plane.”

  Alexandra nodded toward my fighter. “Better go. If you say you can fly, I’m with you, but if not, let’s scrub the mission. We can always go out again.”

  “I can fly. I promise.” I hopped off her wing and returned to my plane. Climbing into the cockpit and strapping in, I wished my words had been true, but while the cold made my wounds worse, I’d noticed lately even when I was bundled and warm, the pain threatened to get the better of me. Only one thing helped.

  I pulled a morphine syrette out of my pocket and turned it over a few times in my hand. I’d managed to snag another box the prior night, knowing I’d need more. Relief was but one tiny stick away. I didn’t use the morphine prior to leaving Anisovka as the higher doses I was now taking ruined my night vision and muddled my thoughts. The former spelled a recipe for disaster when flying in the dark, and the latter could be dangerous as well, even more so when it came to navigation.

  Now, however, I wondered how well I could fly if I couldn’t use my arm whatsoever, which felt like a real possibility. I’d be leading Alexandra to her death. But returning without accomplishing our objective was not an option either. I could lose my wings and be branded a coward. I cursed and muttered to myself as I weighed the two options. The loathing I had for the position I was in was second only to my shame. How I wished I was stronger, and how I resented all the other girls who could fly without pain.

  “So be it,” I said, pulling the cap off the syrette. I checked to ensure the ground crews were still busy, pushed back my sleeve, and stuck myself in the arm. It wasn’t an ideal spot, but it worked well enough. Better to be relaxed and have to concentrate more than paralyzed with pain.

  Five minutes later, we were up in
the air again, a couple hundred meters above the ground.

  Alexandra sighed over the radio. “I’m glad that’s over with. I hate being down there in the dark.”

  “I’ll second that,” I replied. “Turn to two-six-eight and maintain speed at four-fifty.”

  “Where you go, I go.”

  We flew on, and in the dark, I could barely see the Voronezh River pass beneath us. I wondered how many Germans heard us go by and prayed they couldn’t spot us or radio others about us. It was silly to think we’d never be spotted, I knew, but I hoped it wouldn’t be for some time, or better yet, well after we reached our target: lines of transport deep within German-held territory.

  The sun crested the horizon. I welcomed the golden light and smiled. Now that we could see the snowy terrain, it was time to hunt. I hoped we’d stumble on a transport plane, as Gridnev had said they had reliable intel on recent lines of flight we might intercept this morning, but I would settle for a ground convoy as well. Either target would stir up the Luftwaffe. And if we kept hitting them deep in their lines, as Gridnev pointed out, they would be forced to pull some pilots from Stalingrad for defense, and with luck that would mean Gerhard Rademacher.

  “Drop to five meters, maintain heading,” I said, easing the plane down.

  “Repeat. Five meters?”

  I shook my head. “I meant fifty meters.”

  Alexandra obeyed, and I cursed under my breath. It hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. For a moment, I thought it was not only flyable, but a good idea. I checked the clock, and tried to figure out where we were based on the maps I’d studied the night before. We were past Voronezh and well on our way to Kursk. It was almost a half-hour flight from one to the other at our speed, which meant we had five minutes left. No, fifteen, I corrected.

  Fifteen?

  My mind strained to bring back the exact time we took off from the airfield, but it came up blank. It had to be well before dawn. I didn’t think there was any light. Or was it first breaking? A crushing headache took hold of me. I kept my right hand on the stick and used my left to massage my temples. I never should have upped my dose.