by C. S. Taylor
It was a deadly choice that would kill her if it went sour, but what options did I have? I had to get Rademacher to stop moving to get the shot, and the only way I could do that was to use Klara as bait.
“You better not miss,” she said.
Her plane rolled into a tight downward spiral with Rademacher following. As they went around, I pulled up and banked, setting myself up for a high attack where I hoped they’d be.
“Here goes,” Klara said.
Her plane rocketed up and stood on its tail. Rademacher followed. Perhaps his fighter was more damaged than I’d thought and he needed a kill fast to even the odds. Whatever the reason, right as he was about to get a perfect sight picture on Klara’s plane and blast it out of the sky, he lined up perfectly with my guns.
I was a lot of things that day: a daughter, a Cossack, a Christian, a thief, and a failure to two of the best female pilots I’d ever met. But one thing I wasn’t going to be was the one responsible for not bringing Klara home.
I grinned with a devilish delight and hammered my triggers. My guns stayed silent.
Chapter Thirty
I wanted to die a hundred deaths rather than see Klara get torn apart. I cursed myself a thousand times over for running out of ammo, and with equal parts instinct and hate, I drove my plane into Rademacher’s. He opened fire as my left wing struck his fuselage. Despite the violent collision, I managed to pop the latches to both the canopy and seat belt as my fighter tumbled in flames. I was immediately thrown clear.
Almost two thousand meters over the earth, I fell through the sky. Wind blasted my face and roared by my ears. I arched as hard as I could and pulled the ring to my rip cord. My parachute opened, snatching me upward and swinging my legs out in front of me. Sitting in the harness, I twisted in both directions to see what had become of Klara and Rademacher.
I found Klara’s fighter above and behind me, making a wide circle around my position. I could hear her engine making a grinding, clanking sound. There was a loud bang, and a black cloud erupted from the nose of her plane. My gut tightened, fearing for her life.
“Land over there!” I yelled, waving my hands toward a level clearing a few kilometers away. Though the ground below me had few trees, it looked like it had enough small hills in it to be a dangerous place to ditch a plane. She must have had the same idea—I know she didn’t hear me—and after half circle, she lined her plane up to make an emergency landing where I’d pointed.
I watched her plane glide overhead and remembered to bring my feet and knees together a moment before I hit the ground. Unlike the end of my first dogfight with Rademacher, this landing was softer thanks to the thick layer of snow.
My parachute fell on top of me, and it took me a few moments to get out from under it and untangle myself from the lines. Once I was clear, I undid my harness and drew my revolver. Off in the distant north, I could hear the constant booms of a large battle—one I knew stretched for hundreds of kilometers. I needed to get past it and back into friendly territory. As much as I feared the investigation into Petrov’s death, it was still true that everything would be ten times worse if I were captured.
Rademacher was probably thinking how bad things would be for him if the Red Army broke through and caught him. The thought of him spurred me to scan the sky. I saw him coming down in his white parachute, about a half a kilometer away, wobbling like a slow-spinning top. I wondered if something was wrong with his parachute and if he’d survive hitting the ground.
I headed toward where he was landing, and he disappeared behind the far side of a rise. My feet sank deep into the snow with every step, making the travel at times both difficult and tiresome. As I blazed my trail to Rademacher, I questioned the wisdom in such a thing. He’d be armed and obviously had no qualms about killing people. Moreover, he’d be working his way back to his own airfield and wouldn’t let anything or anyone get in his way—especially with the Red Army on his heels.
I considered avoiding him and taking the safer route to find Klara and get home. But my entire life on the southwestern front had revolved around him one way or another. I had to bring it to an end if it was the last thing I did. If I didn’t do it for myself, I had to for Alexandra and Martyona. They deserved rest more than I deserved closure. And of course, I had to know why he did the things he did.
I crested the hill and found the German pilot lying on his back. He struggled with getting out of the mess of lines wrapped around his leg and lower torso. I ran up behind him, pistol raised and ready to shoot.
“Hände! Hände!” I yelled.
Rademacher’s arms shot into the air. “Nicht schießen! Nicht schießen!”
I froze and couldn’t help but crack a smile at the absurd situation. My orders had fully taxed my German vocabulary, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t speak Russian.
I eased around Rademacher and for the first time I got a look at the man who’d been trying to kill me—who’d killed my friends. He stared at me with eyes belonging to an innocent babe, not the devilish ones I thought they’d be. His thin lips, combined with a narrow chin and large, broken nose made him appear more comical than threatening. He wore leather gloves and a well-fitted fleece-lined jacket in near pristine condition with a white scarf. I was envious of the ensemble, for I still had my original, ill-fitted heavy winter coat and pants I’d been wearing since my first day of training. I looked like a hobo, a child at best, pretending to be a valiant and noble fighter pilot. He looked to be the real thing.
Rademacher was the first to break the silence. “Oh, it’s you. I’d congratulate you on shooting me down, but I guess you rammed me. I didn’t expect that.”
“There’s a lot I haven’t expected when it came to you.”
He looked up at his hands still held high. “They are tired. May I bring them down?”
“So you can shoot me?” I scoffed. “I think not.”
“No, but if I may,” he said. Keeping one hand high in the air, he slowly reached for the 9mm Luger at his left side. Using his thumb and forefinger, he took it out of its holster and flung it on the ground at my feet.
I picked up his pistol and stuffed it in my satchel, all the while keeping my revolver pointed at his head. “What makes you think I still won’t kill you?”
“If you were going to you would have by now,” he said. “But if you plan on taking me prisoner, go ahead and shoot me.”
“You killed my friends,” I said as memories of Alexandra flooded my mind. The gun shook in my hand and my voice cracked. “I should send you straight to Hell.”
“I did,” he said with a large, unexpected amount of remorse. “But you killed mine as well. Those men had lives, families, and friends, too.”
“Maybe they should’ve thought of that before they invaded our land.” My finger tightened on the trigger, my hate being barely contained. Looking back, I’m surprised the weapon didn’t go off.
“They fought because they had to,” he replied. “As do I. Surely you know what that’s like. Stalin has killed millions of your people and invaded Poland, yet you defend him with your life.”
“I’ll never defend him. I defend myself and the innocent people you’d murder.”
Rademacher shook his head. “I don’t go after civilians, nor would I. It’s why I fly fighters and not bombers. I decide who to engage, who to shoot. At least this way whoever fights against me has a chance.” He shrugged and finished untangling the lines around his leg. “You and I are not so unlike. We both fight for madmen who would kill us as much as praise us, and why? Because we must.”
I lowered the weapon. As much as I hated to admit it, his words had a ring of truth to them. He had no more choice in invading Russia as I had in defending her. I wagered some of the fascists enjoyed the conquest and wanted to see Germany rule it all, but that wasn’t the feeling I got from him.
“So what now?” I asked, unsure what to do with all these new thoughts.
“We can part ways, or you can shoot me. But I won’t b
e taken prisoner.”
“No, I can’t do that,” I said. “You’ll fight again and shoot down more of my friends.”
“On my word I’ll do no such thing,” he replied. “I’ve been tired of this war since it began. Hitler never learned from Napoleon’s mistake, never respected the vastness of Russia nor her mighty winters. He will lose this war, and I have no desire to be there when he does.”
I smirked, certain I caught him in a lie. “You said you fight because you must. You’ll fly the second they give you a new plane.”
A loud explosion thundered through the air, and Rademacher looked behind me. “I don’t think the Romanian lines will hold much longer,” he said. “My superiors will assume I died on the ground if not in the air. Believe me, I’ve thought long and hard how I can make my exit, and now I have a chance, if you’ll let me live.”
“If I let you live,” I repeated. His words resonated in my soul. I’d been sick of the killing as well, and if the roles were reversed, I’d be making the same plea. But, God, I wanted him dead. No, I wanted more answers first.
He pulled his ID tags from around his neck and tossed them at me. “Take them. Proof to your commanding officers that you won the day.”
I picked the tags off the ground. They were oval with smooth edges and had three holes punched on the top and bottom. In the middle, printed twice, was his unit and a few other numbers I assumed identified him.
“Do you know how many planes I’ve shot down?”
I cocked my head at the unexpected question. He said it with such a flat affect he might as well have been asking if I knew how many brothers and sisters he had. “A lot, judging by the tail on your plane.”
“Yes, a lot,” he said. His face turned morose. “Forty-seven to be exact. You’ve gotten a few as well since we first met in August.”
“You’re number six,” I said.
He smiled as if the number was something both to be proud of and pained over. “You’ve come a long way since then. Such a sloppy flyer our first fight. You still fire too soon and waste ammo. I knew your guns were dry when you set me up with your wingman.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because every night when I go to sleep, I see each kill I made over and over, and I sit there and think about how one day, when I meet my maker, I’ll have to account for all the lives I took. Worse, should I ever be allowed to walk the streets of Paradise, I’ll no doubt come face to face with those souls. I fear their look more than anything.”
“Tell me something. Why didn’t you ever shoot me down?” I asked. “You’ve had a few chances you’ve passed up.”
“I told you, I’m tired of death,” he replied. “You were no longer a threat when I let you go, and I didn’t want my soul blackened any more than it already was.” I don’t know what my face did, but he paused for a moment and nodded. “You know that feeling, don’t you? Executing someone who’s helpless. It’s a wound I fear I might never recover from.”
“Yes. I know what that’s like.”
“So remember that then as you’re deciding what my fate will be. Remember that if you shoot me now, you’re one kill closer to becoming the man we both hate. I admit I want to live to see grandchildren and great grandchildren, but I don’t wish my nightmares upon anyone. Spare yourself my conscious and let me go.”
The wind picked up, biting my already frozen skin. Yet despite the harshness, I sweltered under my jacket as an internal struggle grew. I knew I was at a crossroads, a defining moment in who I was and who I wanted to be. The problem was, I still didn’t know who I was, save being a girl far from normal and having to do and live through things no one should.
I wanted to stop it all, the insanity, the battles, but if there was one thing the war had taught me, it was that I could control little in this world. I couldn’t control which girls lived or died. I couldn’t control what aces I encountered, what missions I went on, what my own countrymen thought of me. I could, however, control my actions in this moment, and I knew whatever I did, I’d think about it to my last day. Did I want to be someone who traded in death or one who dared to believe in life? Thus far I’d known the foremost the best, and it didn’t bring anything but misery.
Slowly, I holstered my weapon, though I was mindful to keep my distance. “Go,” I said. “If peace is what you want, may God speed it to you.”
Rademacher smiled. “Might I have your name before we part?”
“Junior Lieutenant Nadezhda Buzina.”
“Well Junior Lieutenant Buzina, I’m pleased to meet you,” he replied. “Though I do wish it had been under more agreeable circumstances. When this war is over, if you ever find yourself in Lucerne, feel free to find me. I plan on having the best butcher shop in the city. Or maybe a bakery. Or a good pub where people can relax . . . After all this, I could use a stiff drink. Regardless, I hope our next meeting will be more cordial.”
“Switzerland?” I said with a laugh. “I doubt I’ll be there anytime soon. It’s a bit of a walk.”
“All the more reason I should be going now if I’m to make it.”
A single pistol shot ended the conversation.
Chapter Thirty-One
Snow kicked up a few paces behind Rademacher. I spun around to find Klara a couple dozen meters away, limping toward us. Her left leg was bloody, but helped support her weight. She clutched her pistol with her right hand and kept it pointed at the German ace. The ire on her face said she’d unintentionally missed.
“Out of the way, Nadya,” she said. “Let’s finish this and get home.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want you to kill him.”
She stopped, and her brow furrowed. “They’ll be here soon. It’ll be impossible to take him with us.”
I shook my head and steeled myself for the inevitable confrontation. This was going to get ugly, and though I was certain Klara wouldn’t understand, I had a fool’s hope she would. “I’m not taking him prisoner, and I’m not executing a defenseless man. I’m letting him go.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” I glanced to Rademacher. While he looked thankful, tension stayed etched on his face. I doubt he had half as much confidence I could control the situation as I did, and the little I had was fragile. “Please, hear him out.”
“I’m not listening to a damn thing he’s said. He killed our friends. He tried to kill me. God, Nadya, how many times has he tried to kill you?”
“Too many,” I replied. “But it’s more complicated than I thought, or maybe it’s simpler. I don’t know. What I do know is he wants out of the Luftwaffe and out of the war. He’s not a threat, and I refuse to kill someone who’s surrendered. I won’t be that kind of girl.”
Klara looked at me incredulously. “Think, Nadya. Of course he’ll say that. He’ll say whatever it takes to save his hide.”
“I will say whatever it takes,” Rademacher said. “But I wasn’t lying. If you let me go, I’ll make my way to Switzerland and never fight again.”
“Quiet! Speaking Russian won’t win trust with me,” she said. The barrel of her gun dropped, but only for a second. Her face twisted, and her eyes studied every centimeter of my body. “And why should I trust you, Nadya, especially after what Petrov said about your family?”
“He wanted me dead, Klara. He’d say anything to turn you against me.”
“I saw your reaction, Nadya. I’m not stupid.”
In that moment, I had a huge choice to make. If I lied, our relationship would continue to crack, possibly die right then and there. If I told her the truth about my parents, I had to believe she’d keep quiet, not only for my sake, but the sake of countless others. I hesitated, which I wasn’t proud of, but I realized at this point she could’ve knifed me several times over before and hadn’t yet.
“You’re not stupid,” I said. “My family fought with White Army. While I’m proud they stood up for what was right, I’m not dumb either. I have to keep it quiet or everyone will suffer t
he consequences. I hope you understand. But I swear on all that is dear to me, we’re on the same side.”
“And the morphine?”
“It was an old syrette. I tossed it in the oil drum to let it burn so I couldn’t use it,” I said. I took a step toward her, but when she didn’t lower the weapon, I stopped, fearing she might actually use it on me. Tears welled in my eyes. “Klara, I love you. And if you don’t believe me then you might as well shoot me right now because you’re tearing my heart in two.”
“I-” Her gaze drifted behind me, and everything happened so fast. There was a hail of gunfire. Rademacher grabbed me from behind, punched me in the lower back, and threw me to the ground. He leapt on me before I could move and had my pistol in his hand.
“Move and die,” he hissed into my ear.
I froze, even held my breath. My eyes flickered to the side. An Opel truck idled at the rise of the hill. Next to it, three men stood wearing bundled uniforms and sloped helmets I’d not seen on either Russian or German troops. I guessed they were the Romanian allies of the Germans. Two of the men had Mauser rifles shouldered. The third held a submachinegun that looked like a PPSh-41. Its drum magazine and heavy barrel had a distinct look I could pick out from a hundred meters away. The fact that it was of Russian origin didn’t hurt either.
I couldn’t see Klara. As much as I didn’t want to see her dead, part of me hoped she was to avoid a prisoner’s fate.
Rademacher and the Romanians exchanged words I couldn’t follow. It wasn’t a heated exchange, but one filled with energy. He walked out of my field of view and fired a single shot. I presumed it was into Klara. I held back my tears as best I could.
He walked over to me once more, aimed my pistol at my head, and fired. The bullet struck next to my ear, and I jumped. He fired again. That shot struck a hair away from my skull, but I kept still. My ears rang, and the smell of gunpowder filled my nose. He dug into my satchel, took his Luger, and tossed my weapon on the ground before hurrying off.