Aimie Runyan - Daughters of the Night Sky

“Good woman, Ivanova. I’ll be proud to fly with you, sister.”

Sister. I caught Taisiya’s eye, and she returned a grin as ridiculous as my own. Orlova knew the struggle, just like the rest of us.

Vanya waited for me at the door to the auditorium, his face not reflecting the patriotic glow on our classmates’ faces. “Practicals are canceled this afternoon,” he said with no sign of his usual sly smile or roguish wink.

“Probably wise,” I said. “No one will be able to concentrate after that.”

“I’m sure that’s what Stalin is hoping for,” Vanya said, his lips set in a grim line. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

I followed him out of the cement corridors into the weak spring sun that still wrestled for victory against winter. He took my hand for anyone at the academy to see, but I didn’t care. They could talk all they liked. Vanya and I walked for perhaps a quarter of an hour before he finally dropped my hand and turned to me. He cupped my face and kissed me slowly, reverent as a penitent man saying his prayers. We hadn’t shared an embrace in the weeks since our date, too busy with the demands of our exams to steal time for one another away from the airfield. Was the sacrifice of that time with Vanya worth the reward?

“Katyushka, can you promise me something?” he whispered in my ear, kissing the soft skin of my jaw, earlobe, and neck in succession.

“What do you need, my Vanya?” I returned the favor by lacing my fingers in his hair and pulling his lips back to mine.

“Could you stay home?” His voice was still hushed, but I heard a note of panic I’d not heard from him before.

“What do you mean?” My brain whirled with excitement at having him near me again, but I felt myself slipping back into reality.

“They wouldn’t have Orlova come if war wasn’t around the corner. They’re trying to get us inspired to fight. The generals don’t trust Hitler to stay put, even if Stalin is too foolish to see his true colors. They’ll be loading the men on the train as soon as they hand us our diplomas. You have the choice, though. You heard what she said. I’m begging you to stay so I can fight knowing you’re safe.”

“You promised you’d not keep me from getting my wings,” I reminded him.

“And I won’t, but that doesn’t mean I can’t urge you to find another use for them.”

What he asked was as simple as breathing: the day after graduation, I could return to Miass and to Mama. I could find work and ease her burden. Perhaps even manage a way to help the war efforts from the safety of our isolated mountain town. War was the province of men, and no one would give my absence from it another thought. It was simple, but impossible. “Am I to let you go and spend my days mad with worry? Do nothing with all the training I’ve had?”

His hands slid down to my hips and pulled me so close I could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. He lowered his lips to mine once more and drank slowly from them before finally pulling back. “Damn you and your good conscience,” he muttered, tucking my head under his chin.

“Would you want me if I were otherwise? A biddable waif who’d be happy to wait at home and darn your socks?”

“Maybe not, but I’d be a damn sight happier if you could be one until the war is over. You can go back to being a shrew after we’ve won.”

“If only it worked that way,” I said, and exhaled slowly. “But we shrews can no more hide our shrewishness than a tiger can hide her stripes.”

“It’s all part of your charm. But if you can’t promise to stay home and be safe for me, promise you’ll fly smart. The stories my father has from the last war would tear you apart, and we’re headed for more of the same. To think of you anywhere near there kills me. My father is a ghost of a man. Mama says you used to never see him without a smile or a song. I wish I had known my father before the war took that from him. Don’t let me see that light in your eyes grow dim.”

He caressed the side of my face with his finger, his coal eyes intense with concentration, as I had only ever seen them before he went up on a challenging pattern. I thought of my own mother. I remembered the days when her heart was light. The war hadn’t silenced my papa’s song, and it wasn’t a war that had stifled Mama’s. I opened my mouth to protest, but he claimed my mouth with his, lingering until I could feel my knees dissolve into gelatin. I clung to his broad shoulders as I regained my breath. I had spent so many weeks stifling any feelings for him; my confusion was as dizzying as his kisses.

I wish I could say my determination to fly never faltered, but in that moment I wished I had the resolve to hang up my flight suit and keep a little house in the hills of Miass and wait like a dutiful bride for him to return. But the waiting—the interminable waiting—and the brutal uncertainty of praying to whomever would listen that the uniformed man with the telegram wouldn’t turn down the lane. Facing the Germans would be a far lesser torture.

For the first time the volume in the women’s bunkroom outstripped the commotion in the men’s.

“She was so beautiful,” Marta breathed. “How on earth does she manage that while setting world records?”

“Likely a combination of good genetics and not giving a damn,” I said. “The better question is how she maintained the discipline to set those records and how she got Stalin’s support to attempt it in the first place.”

“Sheer talent, from what I understand,” Taisiya added. “Which makes me hate her just a little.”

The rest of us laughed.

“She wouldn’t have come if war wasn’t on the horizon,” I said, repeating Vanya’s prophecy. “And not just the mess in the Baltic. She’s here to drum up patriotic fervor.”

“Well, Hitler is on the move, isn’t he?” Taisiya replied. “Stalin seems to trust him like a brother, but the generals may not be so convinced. It only makes sense to get troops at the ready.” It seemed a few weeks was enough time to give Taisiya a bit of perspective about Matvei’s conscription. A letter in the interim, describing his training regimen, had certainly helped that along.

“Oh, do we have to drag the war into this?” Klavdiya moaned from her bunk. “It’s the only thing people talk about these days.”

“Klavdiya, if you think there is anything more important to discuss right now, you’re sorely mistaken.”

My tone was harsher than it should have been, but girls like Marta and Klavdiya made my blood boil. They came to the academy with romantic ideas about flying, and when they found out the work involved, they neither buckled down to do it nor went home and ceded their place to someone more eager. I had little use for girls who had their heads turned by the likes of Sofia Orlova but weren’t willing to make the same sacrifices to achieve their goals.

“Well said,” Iskra piped up from her bunk. “This school likely wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the goings on to the west… and the east. I’m no more keen to go to war than the rest of you, but I’m willing to do my part for the education I’ve been given.”

“Then you’re silly,” Marta replied. “Orlova herself said we would have the choice. Why fly into harm’s way when we don’t have to?”

“It’s called honor, duty, and pride, Marta,” I seethed. “And I suggest you acquire some in the coming months. You may find yourself in need of them.”

The last two weeks at the academy were intense. When we weren’t in the air, we were in our books until we passed out in our musty bunks from sheer exhaustion. None of the men teased us for having our noses in books anymore. Not even Vanya. Our exams started in two days, and the instructors and students both seemed determined to cram a review of three years of instruction into our last week. A headache had settled behind my eyes, and I was ready to burn every beloved text in my battered footlocker.