We miss you here at the regiment. The tide is changing in our favour. I’m not sure how much news you are getting in Moscow, but Hitler’s Sixth Army has surrendered and Stalingrad is ours again. Of course, there is much work to do and it seems likely the Germans will push towards Kursk and that will see us deployed there in the not too distant future.
I also have good news on a more personal level. Colonel Smirnov will not be pleased if he learns that I have informed you of this ahead of him — so please act surprised when he does — but as your squadron commander I am delighted to tell you that on returning to the regiment you are to be presented with the Order of the Red Star Medal for your exceptional service in the defence of the Soviet Union and also the Order of the Red Banner for valour during combat. Colonel Smirnov has arranged for you to be promoted to the rank of senior lieutenant and you will be commanding your own squadron — though I hope from time to time you will do me the honour of flying as my wingman again on missions of grave importance.
We have received our upgraded planes. The new models have much improved rearward visibility and better gunsight and control systems. I know you were attached to your airplane and I did it the honour of thanking it for its service to you before it was taken away.
Thinking of you and looking forward to seeing you again.
Yours faithfully,
Captain Valentin Orlov
I had often thought of Captain Orlov while I had been in Moscow. He had been attentive to me the day I was injured. The tone of his letter told me something I had begun to suspect: that under his cold and proper exterior lay a warm spirit. Even though there wasn’t a declaration of love in the letter, there was much more than a commander’s concern for his wingman. I was so happy that I read the letter over and over until I knew it by heart.
I showed it to Mama. She was quiet for a long time before she spoke to me. ‘Natasha,’ she said, then hesitated. I assumed that she sensed the same thing I had and I expected her to warn me to be prudent. To fall in love when the world was in the throes of madness could only lead to heartbreak. But she did not.
‘Natasha,’ she said, ‘seize every moment you can to be happy.’
In March, I was declared fit enough to return to my regiment. Mama came with Dasha to see me off at the station. She wore her hair in a fetching chignon, with a dusky pink scarf around her throat and matching gloves. She looked so pretty.
‘When I return,’ I told her, ‘we’re going to see many more films together and I’m going to grow my hair long again and wear it like yours.’
I kissed Mama’s cheeks and patted Dasha. It was a simple parting and one filled with the confidence of my safe return. I waved to Mama and blew her a kiss from the window as the train pulled out of the station. ‘Wait for me!’ I called to her. How was I to know that I would never see her again?
The train took me from Moscow to an airbase near Saratov, from where I was transported back to my regiment by a supply plane. Colonel Smirnov was out on a mission when I arrived, so I went to the mess bunker to see who I could find. None of the weary-looking pilots and crew that were eating there was familiar to me. I ran to the sleeping bunker I had shared with the other women and was relieved to find Alisa taking a rest. She jumped up when she saw me. ‘Natasha!’
I looked around the bunker. Margarita’s bed and her belongings were gone.
‘She was killed last week,’ Alisa said quietly, the pain of losing her comrade heavy in her voice. ‘Her plane exploded. There wasn’t anything of her left to bury.’
I threw my bag down and sat on my bunk. Margarita was gone? She had kept us cheerful during the darkest days. Her plane had exploded! Still that was better than catching fire and burning slowly — that was the worst way to die.
‘And the others?’ I asked.
Alisa understood who it was I was anxious about. ‘Svetlana is fine. Captain Orlov is out on a mission with Colonel Smirnov.’
I ran to the hangar to see Svetlana. We embraced fiercely and she filled me in on what had happened since I had been away. The Soviet Air Force had gained supremacy over Stalingrad and now the Germans were being more aggressive in their tactics. Their new strategy was to outnumber us in air combat and nearly half the pilots in our regiment had been killed or wounded.
When we heard the planes returning to the airfield, Svetlana and I went outside to greet the squadron. Valentin spotted us and performed a victory roll which blew off my cap. If any other pilot had flown so close to the ground, they would have been put in the guardhouse for a week.
‘You’ve changed him,’ Svetlana said. ‘He’s different because of you.’
When the planes landed and the pilots alighted, Valentin turned to me and our eyes met. It was as if nothing else existed; it was only Valentin and me in the whole world. Then Colonel Smirnov distracted him with a question and the spell was broken, but the fluttering sensation in my heart remained.
That evening, Colonel Smirnov threw a party in my honour. Everyone had been saving their chocolate, sugar and milk rations so the cook could bake a cake for my return. Colonel Smirnov played the piano while the rest of us danced. Because the women were outnumbered, some of the men partnered with each other. Valentin danced only with me and no one interrupted us. The happiness I felt was at odds with the reality that we were fighting against an increasingly desperate enemy who had annihilated so many of our comrades.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about all those we had lost in your letter?’ I asked him.
‘I didn’t want you to worry,’ Valentin replied. ‘I wanted you to get well and come back.’
The regiment asked me to sing the latest song from Moscow and I sang the one from the film I had seen with Mama.
Wait for me, and I’ll come back.
Wait with all you’ve got.
Wait, when dreary yellow rains
Tell you, you should not.
Wait when snow is falling fast,
Wait when summer’s hot,
Wait when yesterdays are past,
Others are forgot.
Wait, when from that far-off place
Letters don’t arrive
Wait, when those with whom you wait
Doubt if I’m alive.
Valentin’s eyes were on me and I knew the song was for us. As long as we loved each other and expected the other one to survive, neither of us would die.
Afterwards, Colonel Smirnov ordered us all to bed, as we were flying out to a new airfield the following day. I settled into my bunk, but after tossing and turning for half an hour, I decided to take a walk outside to clear my head. I slipped out of bed, wrapped my coat over my nightdress and tugged on my boots before going outside. I approached the sentry and told him I couldn’t sleep and wanted to stretch my legs.
‘Thank you for informing me,’ he said with a touch of irony in his voice. ‘Otherwise I would have shot you.’
The moon was full and the air was fresh as I walked around the airfield. There was no longer the smell of smoke that had choked the atmosphere around Stalingrad when I was first transferred here from the 586th. I thought about Valentin and how handsome he had looked as we’d danced together.
‘Natasha.’
I turned to see him standing behind me.
‘Did you enjoy your party?’ he asked.
‘I did.’
Valentin smiled with a tender expression in his eyes. ‘Are you glad to be back here … with me?’
I wanted to tell him that I returned safely because I’d known that he was waiting for me but I couldn’t get the words out. Instead I stepped towards him. He embraced me and kissed me softly, then with deepening passion. For a moment neither of us moved, then he stood back and took my hand. There was a hut next to the runway where the pilots would wait on the days the weather was too inclement for us to sit in our planes. He led me there. My body felt weightless and our steps were languid.
The hut was dark except for the glimmer of moonlight that seeped through the gaps in th
e walls and the window. Valentin closed the door behind us and took me in his arms. My heart pounded. His warm breath on my neck made my knees go weak. He moved away again, taking off his overcoat and laying it on the floor. Then he removed his boots before reaching down and taking off mine. I slipped my coat over my shoulders and gave it to him to lay on top of his.
‘Here we are, Natasha,’ he said, taking me in his arms again and lowering me onto the coats. He lay beside me and unfastened the buttons on the front of my nightdress then caressed my breasts and stomach. Everything he did sent tingles of desire through me. Aroused with yearning, I untucked the shirt from his trousers and ran my hands over the soft bare skin of his back. He smelt fresh, like lemons.
In one fluid movement he sat up and tugged his shirt over his head, sending his neat hair in all directions. I reached up and smoothed it down again, giggling as I did so.
‘Still laughing, beautiful Natasha?’ he whispered, unbuckling his pants and pressing his naked flesh against mine. Every part of me burned when he moved over me.
I held his face in my hands knowing that I would never love another man the way I loved Valentin.
TWENTY
Moscow Times, 4 September 2000
The Defence Minister announced today that the war heroine Natalya Azarova, whose remains were recently discovered in Orël Oblast, is to be given a funeral with State and military honours. The funeral is to be held in the newly consecrated Cathedral of Christ the Saviour.
According to Professor Yefim Grekov of Moscow University, who has written a book on Natalya Azarova, the granting of a State funeral, and a Russian Orthodox one at that, is a sign of the massive changes that are taking place in the country. ‘Choosing the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour for Natalya Azarova’s funeral ceremony is highly symbolic,’ he claims. ‘Last month the Russian Orthodox Church canonised Tsar Nicholas II and his family, eighty years after they’d been brutally executed by the Bolsheviks. The Church declared them to be martyrs, even though during the Soviet period the Tsar and his family were considered criminals. Now Natalya Azarova, whose memory was once sullied by the suspicion that she was a foreign spy, is to be honoured in the highest possible way.’
The original cathedral was built to give thanks to Christ for saving Russia from Napoleon. Under Stalin, the beautiful church was demolished with the intention of building a ‘Palace of the Soviets’ in its place. Due to geological problems and a lack of funding, the palace was never built and the site was turned into a public swimming pool. After the fall of the Soviet Union, the Russian Orthodox Church received permission to rebuild the cathedral in all its glory and over a million Muscovites donated money to the project.
‘It is quite extraordinary,’ says Professor Grekov. ‘In a country riven with economic and social problems, wars and terrorism, symbols of the past have become more important than ever. The government anticipates that a beautiful heroine from the Great Patriotic War is exactly what the Russian people need to inspire them again.’
Natalya Azarova’s body will lie in state for five days, under the watch of a guard of honour. The public will be able to pay their respects during this time. As the remains are skeletal, the coffin will be closed, but the sapphire brooch she received from Stalin — and from which her call sign, Sapphire Skies, was derived — will be displayed on a cushion on top of the coffin. Also displayed will be her Gold Star medal, recognising her as a Hero of the Russian Federation, the honour that was denied her for so many years.
Lily showed the Moscow Times article to Oksana.
‘I’ll check with Doctor Pesenko,’ Oksana told her, ‘but Svetlana seems well enough to go to the funeral. I’m sure she would want to.’
But when Lily put the question to Svetlana that evening a troubled look clouded the old woman’s face. She remained quiet for so long that Lily began to worry that she was feeling unwell again. When Svetlana finally spoke her voice was heavy with grief.
‘Natasha loved the Motherland and its people. She fought and died for them alone. I’m glad that they now know she didn’t forsake them and she was never a German spy. But as for everything else, the hypocrisy of it is disgusting.’
Hypocrisy? That wasn’t a sentiment Lily had expected and she wondered what Svetlana meant. Was she angry that the government had refused to recognise Natasha as a national heroine for so many years and might only be doing it now for political reasons? But Svetlana said nothing more and Lily didn’t want to push her.
‘I think if she doesn’t at least watch the funeral broadcast, she’ll regret it,’ said Oksana on the way home. ‘They were like sisters. I’m going to speak to Polina and see if we can use a private room at the hospital that has a television set.’
‘Good idea!’ said Lily. ‘The funeral’s scheduled for Friday week. I’ll take the day off work so I can watch it with you.’
Oksana said good night to Lily in the elevator but telephoned her apartment half an hour later. ‘I’ve got some news that I couldn’t wait to tell you,’ she said.
‘What?’
Oksana drew a breath. ‘I’ve just finished speaking with my contact who’s been trying to find out where Svetlana lived before she came to us. He’s met with nothing but dead ends. As you discovered in Professor Grekov’s book, Svetlana Novikova was listed as “missing in action presumed dead” in 1943. The survivors of the three women’s air-force regiments get together every year on the second of May in a park in front of the Bolshoi Theatre. Svetlana has never attended or set the record straight. Even her parents believed that she’d been killed in the war right up until their own deaths in the early 1970s. The Svetlana we know has been living under a false name, which she hasn’t disclosed to us. I suspect she doesn’t want to go to the funeral because someone — one of the other women who trained at Engels with her or Valentin Orlov — may recognise her.’
‘I did wonder about that,’ said Lily. ‘Why would she have wanted everyone to continue thinking she was dead?’
Oksana clucked her tongue. ‘My guess is that she is afraid of something. I only hope that she’ll tell us one day soon what that something is.’
‘I have a lot of respect for the elderly who lived through the war,’ Polina told Lily and Oksana on the day of the funeral. ‘Natalya Azarova must be an important figure for them.’
Polina had allocated the women a private room in the hospital and provided them with tea-making facilities and cut sandwiches. Oksana helped Svetlana into an armchair and propped her up with cushions. ‘Listen,’ she said, stroking Svetlana’s hair, ‘we are going to watch the broadcast of Natasha’s funeral because, while it might bring back painful memories, it will help you say goodbye. You will regret it if you don’t. The way you’ve described Natasha to us, we can see how deeply you cared for her.’
Svetlana looked into Oksana’s eyes and didn’t make any protest. Lily turned on the television. Natasha’s coffin was surrounded by bouquets of roses, carnations and asters. Priests in white cloaks sprinkled holy water and intoned prayers. Lily couldn’t take her eyes off Valentin Orlov, who stood alongside the President and the Prime Minister. He was stony-faced and solemn, but now that Lily knew his story she sympathised with the heaviness he would be feeling in his heart. Wasn’t the fact that he’d searched for Natasha all these years a testament to his undying love?
Behind General Orlov stood the men and women veterans of the air force and other dignitaries. The President gave the eulogy, saying that Natalya Azarova represented a generation of heroic young men and women who gave their lives for Mother Russia. Many of the veterans wept as he spoke. Lily knew that no matter how much she learned about the war, she would never fully be able to imagine the horror those people had lived through. It was beyond comprehension.
Heroes were no longer interred in the Kremlin wall, and after the ceremony the coffin was driven in a black Mercedes hearse to Novodevichy Cemetery. The streets were lined with people throwing red carnations before the procession. To Lily’s surprise, while
there were many elderly people among the spectators, most of the crowd were her age or younger. It seemed the newspaper report was true: Natasha was bringing the nation together.
Before her coffin was placed in the ground, she was given a three-volley gun salute and a squadron of air-force planes swept overhead. A military band played the Russian national anthem. Even if Lily had never met Svetlana and learned the intimate details of Natasha’s life, she would have been moved by what she was seeing on the screen.
When the broadcast finished, Svetlana sat motionless in her chair, her fists curled in her lap. Lily glanced at Oksana. Perhaps making Svetlana watch the funeral hadn’t been a good idea after all. She remembered how after Adam’s death, before she sold their beach cottage, she kept looking at things that had belonged to him: his surfboard; his clothes in the wardrobe; the signed T-shirt from Kelly Slater, the famous American surfer. She’d hoped that by staring at Adam’s possessions, she could desensitise herself to the sadness. But it never worked. Perhaps there were certain kinds of pain that remained raw forever.
Svetlana started to cry. ‘All these years I thought …’
Lily rubbed Svetlana’s arm and waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. Perhaps sharing the truth would be the final closure for her, not the funeral.
‘Svetlana, you said that Natasha would have been disgusted by the hypocrisy. I don’t think you meant the church, because Natasha was a believer. I also don’t think you meant Valentin or her comrades, because they’ve clearly never forgotten her. Whose hypocrisy were you referring to?’
Svetlana straightened herself and emotion animated her again. It was like watching a flat tyre being pumped up. ‘The hypocrisy of the State,’ she hissed. ‘The utter hypocrisy of the government.’
‘Ah,’ Oksana said. ‘Because they wouldn’t give Natasha the benefit of the doubt all these years even though she sacrificed her life for her country?’
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