Nadya's War

by C. S. Taylor

  “Scramble, Nadya! We’re flying early!”

  I jumped at Alexandra’s call. “God, please tell me we’re not.”

  “Nadya! Get out here!”

  I heard her coming and fumbled putting on my boots.

  Alexandra ran in. Her cheeks were rosy from the weather, and her smile was as bright as the gleam in her eyes. All that faded when she held my gaze. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m exhausted,” I said. “I was hoping to catch a quick nap. Why the sudden rush?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess they wanted Rakhinka resupplied sooner rather than later.”

  Before I could protest, Alexandra grabbed my hand and pulled me out. We raced across the airfield, passing pilots and crews, and soon I was hopping onto the wing of my fighter and climbing into the open cockpit.

  Klara appeared at my side and yanked my belt tight. “Be careful,” she said with a flutter in her voice. “I’m looking forward to picking up where we left off last night, so you better come home in one piece.”

  Oh, how I wanted to return to the other night as well, where my kisses found a way down her neck and her nails found their way down my back. And God how I hated how secret it all had to be. I took her hand and pressed it against my chest. “As long as it beats, I’ll always come back to you. Don’t worry.”

  “I mean it,” she said. “Something’s felt off since I woke, and I know the cold has to be affecting you more than usual. So don’t take any chances, yes?”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  Klara leaned in and kissed my cheek. She wanted more, I knew, but there were too many eyes on the airfield. “Come back to me safe, Nadya.”

  “I always do.”

  She jumped down, and I went through my pre-flight checklist. Focusing on everything I needed to do to get off the ground helped ease my worries as it built my confidence I could still function despite lack of sleep and a gnawing arm. Once I was done, Klara cleared the prop, and I started up the engine. It roared to life, and Klara pulled the chocks free. My plane rolled forward, taxiing toward the runway. A couple of minutes later, Alexandra and I were southbound with our escort.

  “Little Boar, this is Raven,” said the pilot of the Li-2 transport. “Nice to have a pair of budding aces along with us for the trip.”

  I smiled at the praise, but anxieties persisted. This was one flight where I didn’t want any Luftwaffe around, most of all Rademacher. “If it’s all the same to you, Raven, I’d be more than happy with this being a boring run.”

  “Negative, Little Boar. Stay alert,” the pilot replied. “Fascists are fighting tooth and nail at Stalingrad. There’s a decent chance of us being intercepted.”

  “Wonderful,” I muttered, making sure the radio didn’t pick up the comment.

  Alexandra and I took staggered positions high and on opposite sides of the transport plane. The three of us flew over the landscape, less than a kilometer above the earth in order to keep our chances of being spotted to a minimum. However, so close to the ground, if we were caught, we wouldn’t have a lot of options to escape or fight back. Altitude, after all, could become speed. And speed was life. The only thing I could do was keep a sharp watch on the skies and pray they remained empty.

  “We should dance more,” Alexandra said over the radio. “I miss it, and I need the practice.”

  I giggled at the thought. Here we were, escorting supplies and ammunition to an airfield near the front, likely about to be pounced by Messers, and my dear, sweet wingman could only think about her waltz. Maybe once we landed, we could pass the time doing that.

  “You do need the practice,” I said.

  “At what?”

  “Dancing,” I teased. “I’d be embarrassed to be your fiancé. You’ll probably topple you both dancing at the wedding.”

  Alexandra laughed. It was nervous and unsettling. “Finally decided to reply to me? Or could you not wait another ten minutes till we landed?”

  I bit my lower lip, and I checked the clock. Nearly an hour had passed since we’d left Anisovka. Frantic, I looked left and right and over both shoulders, looking for something, anything, to show I hadn’t lost track of that much time.

  The snowy terrain beneath the three of us looked unfamiliar. I didn’t recognize any of the roads or buildings I could pick out over the landscape. But the view of a large, round lake off my left wing made my heart skip a beat.

  It was Lake Elton, no doubt about it. As much as I wished otherwise, it meant we were on the final leg of our journey, and I had indeed lost track of a half hour. God knows why I didn’t crash or veer off course. I could only thank Him profusely that I’d managed to subconsciously fly where I was supposed to despite how tired I was. Maybe He still smiled on me from time to time.

  “Welcome to Rakhinka, Little Boar,” said a male voice I didn’t recognize over the radio. “This is Badger. You are to circle the airfield until Raven has landed.”

  I slapped myself across the face as hard as I could. I cursed myself for becoming distracted again. I had to think. Had to concentrate. Had to wake up. Had to reply. “Understood, Badger. Holding.”

  I checked Alexandra’s position off my wing and entered a slight bank. The Rakhinka airstrip had a similar layout to the one in Anisovka with one main runway and a few taxiways that led to parking, hangars, and refueling areas. There were a lot more gun emplacements because of the airfield’s close proximity to Stalingrad. In fact, if I looked west, I could see plumes of smoke rising on the horizon—signs of the continued conflict in that great city. I wondered how the morale was for those on the ground. Did they fight with valiance or desperation? Possibly both. One thing I knew: the killing was far from over.

  “Little Boar, correct your heading to zero-nine-zero! Acknowledge!”

  “Correcting,” I said, slapping myself one more time and turning on heading. “Got caught up looking at Stalingrad. Apologies.”

  “Understood, Little Boar.” The man over the radio sounded calmer, which helped me relax. “You’re cleared for landing, right-hand approach. Little Boar Two, you will remain in pattern until she’s clear of the runway.”

  “As always,” Alexandra replied.

  I flexed my hands and rolled my shoulders. I craned my head to the right, and my eyes locked on to the runway over my shoulder. Even if my mind was an exhausted mess, this was a simple approach. The day was beautiful. My plane was in tip-top shape. I could do this.

  “Nadya, when we land, can we talk?” she asked.

  Her voice had a rare seriousness to it, and I wondered what it was she wanted. I pushed those thoughts away and banked hard to pull the plane around and put it on final approach. I cut back on the throttle and deployed the flaps.

  “Looking good, Little Boar,” the radio said. “Winds are light and variable.”

  “Light and variable. Copy.”

  I talked to myself the entire way down. Piece of cake. Piece of cake. Piece of cake. Adjust throttle. Adjust pitch. Concentrate. I checked the altimeter. Hundred meters. Ninety-five. Ninety. Airspeed. Two-ten. Cake. Cake. Cake. I got this.

  I flipped the gear lever down to lower my wheels. The indicator lights on the right turned from red to green. I tensed in anticipation of touch down and continued my internal instructions. Mind the flare. Mind the flare. Wheels down in ten. Nine. Eight.

  “Little Boar, Wave off! Wave off!”

  I slammed the throttle forward and retraced my gears. The plane surged. I wasn’t sure what I’d botched on the landing, and I dreaded to find out. Worse, I feared my second attempt would be disastrous.

  “Little Boar, we have incoming bombers to Stalingrad, heading two-six-three, forty-two kilometers away, altitude two thousand meters. Intercept them at once.”

  “Oh God,” I said, putting the fighter into a climb and raising the flaps. “Alexandra, you with me?”

  “Where you go, I go.”

  Gravity pressed me into my seat as we rocketed upward. Soon we hit five hundred m
eters. A thousand. Two. I leveled off when we were over three thousand meters high, hoping combat would shock me fully awake.

  “Badger, what’s their escort look like?” I said.

  “Unknown. Large flight. Be advised, the 437th is unable to assist.”

  That figured. I’d heard our fighter regiments had taken a beating and couldn’t contest the skies. I’d even heard our bombers had ceased daylight operations altogether. I guessed it was our turn to be thrust into the meat grinder with only a prayer to see us home safe. As we flew toward Stalingrad, a large part of me didn’t think we’d go home. Oddly, I was at peace. At least I’d have my wingman with me until the bitter end.

  The city raced beneath us. Stalingrad was littered with burnt-out husks of buildings, each filled with rubble and many with rising smoke columns. All across the once majestic area I could see flashes of light and concussion blasts from tanks and artillery trading shots. The men and women in those streets knew a nightmare I never would.

  “Enemy formation, eleven o’clock low,” Alexandra said. “Damn that’s a lot of them.”

  It took me a moment to find them. My eyes kept tearing and losing focus. Only after I cleared them twice did I see the speck of dots off in the distance. I gasped, hypnotized by their numbers. We were headed for a swarm, and I hadn’t a clue what we were going to do about it.

  “Orders?” Alexandra asked.

  I didn’t know. My mind was a blank. All I could do was stare with a cotton mouth as we raced toward them. How many were there? Eight He-111s? It looked like five were in front in a V-formation with three more in the rear formed in a similar fashion. Each of those bombers was bristling with machine guns I knew were eager to tear into any fighter that dared near them. They had at least that many escorts surrounding them. We were higher, and thus could keep our speed up when we dove to attack. We’d also have the sun at our backs, and they hopefully wouldn’t see us coming. But was all that enough? God, this was suicide.

  “Nadya! What do we do?”

  “Where I go, you go.”

  It was the only thing I could think to reply. I pulled the plane higher, rolled, and made an inverted loop. I picked out the He-111 on the far right of the lead formation and dove toward it. It looked to be the easiest shot. My vision tunneled as I focused on my target through the gun sight. I could feel the plane increase speed. I lifted in my seat, and even the smallest twitch of the controls bounced my aim.

  Tracers flew by my cockpit from all directions, but I stayed the course. I mashed both triggers until I flew under my target, missing it by a few dozen meters. I pulled back on the stick and was slammed into the seat. My vision darkened as the G’s sent my blood rushing to my feet. Even in near blackout conditions and my arms feeling as if they were wrapped in lead, I held back on the stick until I guessed I was climbing away at a good angle. When I relaxed, the G’s eased. My vision returned, and I blew out all the air I was holding.

  “Still with me, Alexandra?”

  “Right behind you,” she replied. “We chewed that first one up, but he’s still flying.”

  “We clear?”

  “For the moment. They’re probably worried there are more of us.”

  “I’m sure. Who in their right mind would send two against twenty?” I banked left and brought us around again. Pride swelled in my chest as I picked out the bomber we had attacked in the formation. Three trails of mist streaked behind it, two white and one brown. We must have hit some coolant and one of the fuel tanks. After watching him a few seconds, it was clear he was staying with the group and wasn’t going to break for home. Damn it to hell, I thought. Whatever they’re going to bomb has to be important.

  “Little Boar, this is Badger. We think they’re targeting the Red October factory. We’ve got a lot of troops there, and they’ve been trying to take it for a week now. Do not let them hit it.”

  I set my jaw. Those were the only words I needed to hear. I could make a difference. I would make a difference. I would bring honor to the Cossack name, remind all how fierce we were in combat, and that fierceness was not because we fought for Stalin and his filth or that we sought some barbaric glory, but because we fought for ourselves and for the Divine.

  Into the lion’s den we went once more. Machinegun and cannon fire tried to tear us apart from all angles. After that second pass, I pulled around to make a third and kept my speed high to deny the enemy any chance at following me. I had a few scattered holes in my wings at this point, but as best I could tell, my fighter still flew without trouble.

  I leaned forward and squinted, trying to pick out the bomber I’d hammered. I couldn’t find it. The formation looked different than I’d remembered it—messier. No matter. I chose another bomber, rolled left and countered with right rudder to line up my shot. I blew past the fascist, ripping into the bomber with all of my guns.

  “Did he go down?” I said, leveling off and extending away from the fight. I craned my head to both sides, but couldn’t get a good visual. “He should be in pieces.”

  I found the He-111 a moment later. Fire poured from its wing as it fell from the sky. I watched it burn all the way to the ground. This marked my third aerial victory, but I wasn’t excited for it, not even when I realized I was now over halfway to ace. The world would see me as an even more skilled pilot than before, but my soul said that wasn’t going to make me proud of myself. I needed something that this war would never provide, and I still didn’t know what that was.

  “Nadya, I’m in trouble.”

  Her panic ripped through my heart. I whipped my plane on edge and looked out the top of my canopy, desperate to find her. The bombers, still a good minute from their target, had broken off the attack. Some trailed far behind the main body, while others were turning around and making a run for home. Far below I saw Alexandra’s plane with a Messerschmitt 109 on her tail.

  “I’m coming, hang in there,” I said, diving to her aid.

  Alexandra weaved left and right dodging constant fire from her adversary. There was a bright flash on her left wing, and a section came off. Her rolls slowed. “I lost an aileron,” she said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Almost there,” I said. With my plane still in a dive, I rapidly closed the distance. My exhaustion faded under a surge of adrenaline. I felt in control of my plane and myself, but Alexandra’s constant maneuvers were throwing my aim off as much as her enemy’s. “Alexandra, level off. I need the shot.”

  “Can you make it?”

  “Absolutely,” I promised, hoping it wasn’t a lie.

  “Waltzing,” she said. “I’ll straighten on the third.”

  The tremor in her voice drilled home how crucial the next few seconds would be. I chopped the throttle to maximize my firing time, and studied the rhythm of her moves. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

  She straightened out, and so did the German. I fired.

  The Messer’s engine exploded, and flames poured out of its nose. My heart sang like the heavenly host ushering in the Second Coming. I didn’t stop shooting. My cannon pumped shell after shell into the 109. The German’s canopy broke away, and I saw the pilot jump. He flew by my plane, narrowly missing my wing. For a frozen moment in time, I got a look at him. He looked around my age and every bit as terrified as I’d pictured Alexandra to be. It was then I realized we were skimming the ground, less than a hundred meters in the air. His chute would never open in time.

  “He’s . . . dead. You’re clear.” I told her. Though I saved her life, my words sickened my soul. I’d seen pilots bail before, but this was the first time I saw the face of a dead man—a man I’d sent to the grave.

  Alexandra kept up her evasive maneuvers as she replied. “Are you sure?”

  “Very.” I scanned the sky. No other Luftwaffe had followed us. The chaos we’d sowed paid off in our favor. “Pull up. Let’s get clear of ground fire.”

  Alexandra gained altitude and leveled. “Next time I go where you go, let’s find som
eplace nicer.”

  Movement grabbed my eye, and I turned to see another 109 diving down on us. Cannon fire spewed from its nose with vengeful fury and slammed into Alexandra’s plane. The Messer was gone as quickly as it had come, but before it flew off, I caught sight of the bright yellow eight painted on its tail.

  My jaw dropped. Alexandra’s battered and leaking plane limped through the sky as if any moment it would disintegrate. I tried to ask her if she was okay, but fear at the answer kept the question in my mouth.

  “I’m all right,” she said softly. “Make sure he doesn’t come back around. I can barely keep this thing in the air.”

  “You’ll make it. Leave him to me.” I weaved back and forth to keep a watch on our six. Rademacher hung back, shadowing, waiting. My mind raced through the possibilities of what he was thinking. Surely he knew he could finish Alexandra off before she crossed the Volga. I wasn’t that much of a threat either, given I’d be outnumbered in no time. Was he that confident in his kill or was he simply not interested in another victory tally on his tail?

  I never came up with an answer to that as we limped home, but I was more than prepared to jump into his line of fire and shield Alexandra from another pass. I prayed he wouldn’t reengage. When the Rakhinka airfield was in sight, I thanked God profusely for answering that prayer.

  “Still okay?” I asked, eager to set foot on the ground.

  “Little shaken, but fine.”

  Alexandra got emergency clearance to land so she didn’t have to circle around. She’d said she was okay. And I believed her. Then her plane hit the runway. Her landing gear shattered, and the fighter tore its wings off as it slid.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Wave off, Little Boar,” the control tower said over the radio. “There’s a crash on the field. Circle around to runway zero-two-zero.”