by C. S. Taylor
I spent some time thinking about Alexandra’s comment about God brushing teeth as well. Even though she’d been far from a religious scholar, let alone a leader or believer, the more I turned her idea over the more it made sense to me—or at least, gave me hope. Maybe things we saw as awful were necessary for growth for reasons we’d never understand this side of life. It still wasn’t a perfect answer, but I felt it had possibilities.
I took to my feet when I heard some talk near the door. By my best guess, it was still a few hours away from whatever scraps they’d feed me for dinner, but it sounded as if the guard was debating with someone on whether or not he was allowed to let that person in. The door opened, and Zhenia walked in. On top of the flight jacket, gloves, and goggles, she wore a look of concern and helplessness.
“I’m taking Klara up for an escort soon,” she said. She kept a few paces away, though I suspected it was not by her choice. If I had to wager, she was on the verge of crushing me in a hug. “I thought you should know since she’ll be flying your plane.”
“It’s hers now?”
Zhenia nodded. “Likely, yes. But we’re also getting replacement fighters soon. They might give her one of those, but I suspect not since she worked on yours and knows it better than any.”
The news didn’t surprise me. I’d figured Gridnev would do such a thing. In another time, another life, I’d have been jealous. Now, I only wanted to be sure she’d live through the war when clearly I wouldn’t. I would’ve liked one last kiss with her as well, but if wishes were horses. “Is she ready?”
“She’s too afraid to pull G’s,” Zhenia replied. “She thinks she’ll blackout and crash, which is bad in a dogfight. But she’s a natural at anticipating her opponent’s maneuvers. I’d hate to be in her sights once she gets over her fears.”
I laughed. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Well this should then. The Luftwaffe have almost disappeared over Stalingrad.”
Shock hit me harder than Petrov had hit my cheek. “Why?”
“We’re not sure,” she said. “The British and Americans have made big gains in North Africa. We think the bulk of the Luftwaffe in the area have been reassigned to help that front.”
“It’s about damn time our allies drew them away,” I said. “I have half a mind to think they waited this long on purpose.”
Zhenia snorted. “You’re far from alone on that thought. Regardless, despite Hitler’s early advances, with so many countries pushing against him now, his industry will never keep up. Mark my words, the Luftwaffe will stay overstretched until his country is in ruin. With luck, Klara will have good experience by the time she encounters her first real dogfight.”
“I hope so.”
“One last thing,” she said. “I want you to know none of the other girls believe anything Petrov said about you.”
I smiled. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
The door opened again, and this time it was Gridnev who entered. Where Zhenia had come to me with concern on her face, he came with irritation and weariness. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind that Zhenia was in the box with me. Perhaps he’d given her clearance before, something I’d considered likely, given that the guard had let her in. “See to your duties, Zhenia,” he said, throwing her a glance. “Nadya and I have matters to discuss.”
When she left and shut the door, I decided to get right to the heart of things. There was only one reason why he was here. “When’s my trial?”
“The twenty-fourth of December. You get to sit here for a month.”
My eyebrows arched. This was the second bit of news I hadn’t expected whatsoever. “You mean rot. Why so long?”
“Things are . . . happening on the front,” he replied. “Oddly enough, we can’t spare the time or manpower for a trial since the brass wants upper officers not connected to any of this to preside.” He sighed and shook his head. “And then there’s the absurdity of the entire situation. A respected pilot and a decorated commissar get into a fight and one ends up dead. That doesn’t look good no matter how the pieces fall. Brass wants this dealt with neatly, quietly, if that’s even possible. I dare say they don’t know what to do.”
I seized the moment like a starving dog being tossed a scrap of chicken. “I shot in self-defense. He would have killed me if I hadn’t.”
“I believe you, but the only other person there was Klara, and she says it all happened too fast for her to make sense of it,” he said. His face turned grave. “And then there’s the burnt syrette. I know you said he planted it, but the brass is sending an interrogator to see how truthful you are and to test your loyalty. I presented your side as best I could, but they weren’t convinced of your innocence. I think my words are the only reason you’re still alive.”
My throat tightened, and I could feel the strength in my legs wane. At least it seemed Klara had kept quiet about the syrette. I guessed she was hoping that it was an old one, and it was, but from her point of view, I knew she couldn’t be certain. God, that had to be eating her alive, trying to decide whether to stay true to me or her country. All of that, however, was secondary to my feelings about an interrogation. “I’d rather be dead.”
“For your sake, so would I,” he said. “However, that doesn’t change anything.”
I slumped against the wall. “What will become of me?”
“It depends on your questioning,” he replied. “I doubt anything good. If there’s anything I can do for you in the meantime, I will.”
At first, I didn’t give much thought to his comment as I considered it a passing politeness and nothing he could make good on. When the current state of the war popped into mind, I thought I’d take a shot at something, even if it seemed impossible. “You could let me fly one last time. I’d like to go up with Klara if I could so she could see who I really am, before my wings are clipped forever—before I’m beaten and killed. I don’t want to die with her thinking I’m a drug addict and a thief.”
Gridnev chuckled. There was even a touch of life in his eyes. “I don’t either, but I don’t think that will be possible. Innocence will only come from your interrogation.”
Refusing to be dissuaded, I pressed the idea. “Something big is going on, yes? Surely you need every pilot and plane available.”
Gridnev folded his arms and drummed his fingers. I thought for a moment he wasn’t going to say anything on the matter but was proven wrong when he replied. “There’s a counter offensive about to be launched and details are on a need-to-know basis, but yes, we need everyone for it, which is why your trial has been pushed so far back.”
“Let me fight,” I begged. “Let me fly one last time. Let me prove to those who would judge my character who I am.”
“Putting you in a plane given the severity of your charges is begging for trouble for both of us,” he said. “Whatever they have in store for you would be visited upon me and my family tenfold if you took the opportunity to escape.”
“I won’t,” I said, repulsed at the idea. “Order Klara to shoot me down if I try.”
Gridnev cracked a half smile. “We both know she never would.”
“It won’t come to that,” I said, feeling the opportunity slip away. “I’m a single kill away from becoming an ace. Can you imagine the pressure they’d be under to side with me if I came back with my fifth victory?”
Gridnev rubbed his chin. “You make a point. Public opinion alone could save you. I suspect Marina would fight for you tooth and nail.”
“Then get me cleared for one last mission. What’s the worst that could I happen? I’d die and this would all be over.” When I could still see the reluctance in his face, I played my last card. “You owe me. I saved your life.”
“That you did. That you did,” he replied. He paced slowly around the room, mulling his options under his breath. “Okay, Nadya. I’ll see what I can do. No promises. We strike in three days. You’ll know by then one way or the other.”
I lost my composure and
grabbed him in a tight hug. “Thank you!”
Gently, he pushed himself free. “No promises,” he reiterated while holding up his finger. “And not a word of this to anyone.”
* * *
On the third day after Gridnev left, my stomach was queasy with anticipation of his return. Despite the cold, my aching arm, and constant nightmares of Alexandra’s death, hope sprang in my soul that I’d be set free to fly once more. God, it would feel so good to see Klara again, not to mention fly alongside her. It was as if I had an angel behind me, whispering words of comfort and joy even though a bleak future loomed. The day wore on and my spirits fell, and those angelic words of comfort seemed to be more and more demonic words of torment.
When I woke the fourth day, I continued down my spiral of hopelessness. However, after my banquet of stale bread and chilled water I tricked myself into believing I’d counted the days wrong. That comforting delusion lasted a few hours. The reality was our forces had launched their counterattack, and since Gridnev hadn’t come for me, it must have gone well.
I went to sleep after sunset, wondering if they’d let me write one last letter home. I also wondered if I even should. My family could be judged guilty by association. No matter how innocent my words would be, those letters could be labelled as code.
I woke at a knock on the door. Someone cursed on the other end at the stubborn lock. Convinced it was a firing squad sent to dispatch justice, I hid off to the side, ready to pounce.
“It’s me, Nadya. You can relax,” Gridnev said as he entered. Despite it being in the late hours of the night, he was dressed for command. That wasn’t surprising given he’d probably been coordinating assaults for the last day and a half. This must have been the first break he’d gotten.
“Apologies, but I’m going crazy in here,” I said. “How’d the counterattack go?”
“It hasn’t,” he replied. “Operation Uranus has yet again been delayed thanks to logistics and manpower.”
I reflexively sucked in a breath, hopeful this might mean something good for me, but braced myself otherwise. “Does this mean . . .?”
“Yes, you’re flying. Our assault launches in the morning. You’ll be escorting Il-2 Sturmoviks when they hit enemy lines,” he said, handing me a folded map. “Should be light resistance in the air, perfect for Klara’s first combat mission.”
I took a moment to study the flight plans scribbled across the paper. Klara and I would be meeting a flight of four Il-2s east of Mikhaylovka, shortly after dawn. From there we would be heading south, across the Don River, and striking Romanian gun emplacements protecting the flanks of the Germans and then a depot. “Seems straightforward,” I said, looking up. “What’s the catch?”
“These are high-priority targets, Nadya,” he said with deadly seriousness. “The guns are out of range of our own. If they don’t get knocked out, there’s no telling how many of our men they’ll kill. Every last one of them has to be destroyed. We have to have this drive succeed if we are to cut off the German 6th Army and put Hitler on the defensive. You will help knock out all those emplacements or die trying. Understood?”
“Understood.” I paused when I noticed a glisten in his eye. “What aren’t you telling me?”
His voice lowered. “Your interrogation is scheduled the day after tomorrow. It’s to last at least a week, assuming it doesn’t kill you.”
My mind fogged. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Though the techniques that would be used against me were more than enough to frighten anyone—beating, burning, tearing, and breaking anything and everything—the most fearsome thing I had to think about was how any confessions would be used against my family. Perhaps it would be best if I died on this mission after all.
“What if I run?” I asked.
“They’ll go after your family as co-conspirators against the State, and they’ll hunt you down for the rest of your life. I understand the NKVD are already on their way to watch your parents.”
“Why are you telling me this? You’ll share my fate if they find out.”
“Because I know what it’s like to be scrutinized by them over false charges,” he said. “Anyone who’s saved my life deserves to know what’s in store. Come back an ace, however, and I think you can avoid everything. The only problem with that is I don’t know if there will be any Luftwaffe for you to engage.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
An hour before sunrise, after I’d finished studying the mission maps and memorizing every detail, I grabbed a small bucket of red paint, a brush, and a lantern. I brought all three to my Yak-1 and painted the cross of the Knights Hospitaller on the fuselage, a quarter meter behind the cockpit. My burns tormented me as I worked, but I looked at the pain as penance for all I’d done. Strangely, that idea made it bearable, almost welcome.
I felt emboldened with each stroke of the brush, for I wasn’t only applying paint to the skin of the plane, but I was declaring who I was for all to see. As I’d said to Klara, a life hiding wasn’t living. It was waiting for Death. I was done waiting.
A whisper in the darkest recess of my mind told me my whole life had been leading up to this point. Maybe madness was responsible, but the thoughts gave me purpose and excitement. And if I was going to meet my maker and have the opportunity to ask Him why the world was so broken, I wanted to be able to do so knowing I hadn’t been ashamed of Him, at the end at least.
Once finished, I sat on the wing of the plane and raised the lantern to inspect my work. The lines on the cross were crisp, and I was pleased I’d managed such a good job. I shut my eyes and envisioned the look on everyone’s faces when they saw how my plane had changed—what statement it now made. I could even hear the gossip about how silly I must be to believe any god exists. So be it. I might be silly, even foolish, but I didn’t care what others thought anymore. Maybe I’d even smooch Klara in front of a crowd for the hell of it.
By the time I’d put everything back, it was about a half hour to sunrise, which didn’t leave a lot of time before we launched. I snuck across the airfield where Klara was getting ready in her fighter.
When I reached her plane, she was darting onto the wing and into the cockpit, stumbling as she did. I put a quick finger to my lips to hush the mechanic assisting her and jumped on top of the wing root. “Klara! Slow down!”
Klara nearly flew out of her seat. “Nadya! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she said with a death grip on the lip of her cockpit. “Can’t you see I’m trying to get ready? Where have you been?”
“Painting.”
“Painting what?”
“A little addition to my plane,” I said with a huge grin.
Even in the low light, I could see her face sour. “Painted over my boar?”
“I’d sooner destroy a stained glass window than do that,” I said. Though I wished otherwise, I knew something was bothering her, and I knew what that was. “I wasn’t using again, Klara. I swear. My arm is in far too much agony not to be.”
Klara’s gaze drifted away from me. “I know what I saw.”
“It was old.” I said, pulling on her parachute harness to be sure it was secure. She didn’t answer, so I tried a new approach. “Grill me when we get back. You’ll see I’m not lying.”
When I tried to lean in to give her a hug, she pulled away. “No, Nadya. I’m not going to let you muddle my thoughts,” she said. “They’re clouded enough, and I need to be able to fly so I don’t turn into a crater.”
Though hurt, I nodded and backed off. “Fair enough. From here on out, it’s all about the mission, and I promise to bring you home safe. Okay?”
I hurried back to my plane, wanting to tell her how much I loved her and her doubts about me were breaking my heart, but she needed time and space. I could only pray she’d get enough of both and realize I spoke nothing but the truth to her.
Climbing into my cockpit, I cast a worried glance to the east. An orange glow crested the horizon, and it meant I didn’t have long to pre-flight e
verything. The mechanic who’d replaced Klara’s role this sortie came from Third Squadron. Although I was sure he was a capable young man, it still made me nervous to have him responsible for my aircraft. Klara knew the intricacies of this plane. He did not. She’d put it back together after countless holes and explosions. He had not. So I triple checked it all.
I taxied on to the runway at the first glint of sun, ever hopeful the morning fog would not delay or cancel the flight. Those worries were largely unfounded, for our airfield was missing dozens of planes that had already been sent off on missions. Klara and I were some of the last scheduled to go.
At precisely 8:05, a single flare launched into the air, signaling that it was time for us to depart. Even this far behind lines, no one wanted to risk an early radio intercept on such an important day.
My mood lifted when I took off from the runway. I pulled back on the stick as far as I dared in eagerness to soar with the eagles. The plane’s climb was steep enough to sour any veteran’s stomach. It was a tiny miracle I didn’t stall the plane and crash, but as this flight would be historic for so many reasons, I was going to enjoy every second. I also wanted to show off my cross, so I made a low-level barrel roll over the airfield for everyone to see.
“Little Boar, stop playing.”
“Acknowledged,” I replied, even though I didn’t care in the least. I glanced over my shoulder. Klara saddled behind me about fifty meters to my seven o’clock. “On me, Klara?”
“On you.”
Her voice was calm, focused, like she sounded when she was working on an engine or remounting a machinegun. It helped me relax as we traveled west. “Watch those skies,” I said, despite needing to keep chatter non-existent. “I don’t care how empty they look or how overstretched the Luftwaffe are. Only takes one to catch us off guard and ruin our day.”
“Understood.”
“Remember to keep your speed up in a fight, but don’t be afraid of G’s. And don’t shoot until you’re sure of the shot. Ammunition goes quick up here. If they don’t see you and you’re close, don’t let off the trigger until you see flames.”