Aimie Runyan - Daughters of the Night Sky

I thought about how close I had come to crossing the border—how willing I had been to escape with Vanya to save my own skin—and the truth of her words washed over me. People had lost their lives for less than what Vanya and I had done. I’d spent years becoming the perfect communist and dutiful patriot, but my actions were far more incriminating than those of my comrades, whose very identities could put them at risk.

“I need to chat with you,” Oksana greeted me one evening a few months later as I stood by the aerodrome after our last sortie of the night and mused over my coffee as the sun rose over the plains to the east. It was my moment of solitude, now that I hadn’t a spare half hour to meddle with my violin. More often than not these days I paired it with a cigarette, forcing myself to ignore the weakness in the little indulgence. It was early in the new year, but I made no plans to cast off this vice.

“What can I do for you, Major?” I answered, extinguishing the cigarette with the toe of my boot.

“Counsel. We’ve been offered some male support crews. It would save the backs of our armorers and get us a few more sorties per night.”

“I’d advise against it,” I said, taking a sip of the rapidly cooling brew. “The men won’t have the same work ethic, and they’d make the women nervous. We’re working as well as we are because we haven’t had male influence.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll like the rest of what I have to say. Whether we take the support crews or not, we’re going to be stationed alongside another aviation regiment. I don’t have all the details yet, but they’re coming and we’ll be sharing an aerodrome.”

“Fantastic,” I muttered. The face of the arrogant, young captain—Fyodorov?—that had nearly cost me my career back in training came into my mind. Who would find themselves in such a predicament this time around? “I’d be sure to set down some ground rules with their commander. Let them know that you expect the same impeccable behavior from their men as you do from us.”

“A lecture will probably be as useful as a spun-sugar teapot, but I will speak to him,” Oksana said, cupping a tin mug full of piping-hot coffee in her hands as I did. “I’ll do as you suggest with the male crew—tell our superiors to send them elsewhere.”

“Thank you,” I said, grateful she’d sought my advice and taken it. “I think introducing men would be a mistake.”

“We’re the last holdout,” Oksana said. “The other two units from the 122nd have already included men in some fashion or another.”

“Do you know how they’re performing?” I asked, wondering how Major Orlova would have felt about the change.

“Not with any real specificity, but if I am reading into it correctly, they’re not outflying us. Not even close.”

“Good. So long as we have that in our corner, it’s a reason to give the brass to leave us to our own devices.”

“They only have so many oars to stick in,” Oksana agreed. “They won’t interfere with us if we don’t give them reason. They’ve become used to us. And on that score, I get to do something pleasant for once, and you can help me.”

Oksana led me to the bunkroom, leaving the others behind to wipe the underbellies of the planes free from oil, to patch holes, and to get the planes ready for the next night. They had at least two hours before they could consider crawling into their bunks.

“The army has sent us a gift, and if I’m not mistaken, we’ll all be grateful for it.” Oksana opened a crate to reveal the usual drab-green uniform jackets.

“Good, we were due,” I said, pointing to a thin patch on the knee of my uniform trousers.

“Hold one up,” Oksana said. “Look at it.”

I took one of the garments from the pile, and pinched the shoulders between my fingers to examine it. As it tumbled free from its folds, I was surprised to find not a jacket but a simple long-sleeved dress made from the same coarse woolen fabric as our usual uniforms. Tailored with room for breasts and hips. Not fashionable by anyone’s standards, but made for an actual woman.

“They’re going to go mad,” I predicted. “Actually having clothes that fit?”

“And that’s not all,” Oksana said, moving to another crate. “Look in this one.”

Long woolen stockings to wear with the dresses, new brassieres that looked as yielding as iron, and—

“Underpants,” I whispered. Undergarments without a flap and a drooping rear end. Simple scraps of nylon that some of our number had even risked hard labor to fashion for themselves.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Oksana said, her lips upturned in the most genuine smile I’d seen from her.

“Incredible,” I agreed. “They’re going to be beside themselves.”

We spent the next hour distributing the dresses, accessories, and even new boots to each bunk, checking against sizes. This was usually the task of the quartermaster, but I understood why Oksana had claimed it for us.

We stood back as the women stumbled in, bleary-eyed from the night’s toil. A few clambered into bed without noticing the pile of new clothes, so exhausted from fifteen hours out on the field. They weren’t left to their sleep very long when the squeals erupted from the others.

“You have to be kidding!” Polina screeched. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You can keep your embroidered gowns and velvet frocks—it’s magnificent!”

“It’s like Christmas morning,” Renata breathed.

“Grandfather Frost and the Snow Maiden have been kind to us this new year,” Oksana said, covering the gaffe. The party had been wise in co-opting some of the religious customs into their secular ones. There was only so much deprivation even a stalwart patriot could endure.

Despite the weariness driven deep into their bones, they tried on the new uniforms, reveling in the garments—particularly the boots—that fit properly.

“Enjoy them, ladies. You’ve earned this token of appreciation,” Oksana announced as the women admired one another. She pulled me off to the side and handed me a carefully wrapped parcel. “This one is yours.”

I opened my mouth to question why mine was given such attention, but closed my mouth just as quickly. I opened the package to find the same contents as all the others, but lovingly wrapped with a card on top:

Dearest Katinka,

Thank you so much for your letter of congratulations to Grigory and me. It meant the world to us. I think he read your words a dozen times at least. He tells everyone who will listen how proud he is of his new daughter at the front. These new uniforms are not all our doing. I think the high command had these planned for you and were waiting for the materials and funds to make it happen. Grigory did, however, use every favor in his pocket to ensure that the plans to give you proper uniforms did not get abandoned on a desk in Moscow. He insisted that we make the uniforms here in Chelyabinsk, which enabled me to sew the enclosed for you with my own two hands. It’s not the candy-pink flannel pajamas that I used to send, but I trust it will keep you warm and comfortable as may be.

“Your new stepfather will be named a hero if this regiment has anything to say about it,” Oksana said, peering over my shoulder. I cast her a peevish glance at the intrusion. She shrugged. “I had to know why your uniform had been given such treatment. I see now it was a mother’s touch. You’re a lucky woman, Katya.”

“Beyond measure,” I agreed. Grigory’s labors on our behalf had to have started months before he and my mother married. He cared enough about Mama to see this done for her daughter and her daughter’s comrades before he’d even secured her hand. Even if I wanted to resent his encroachment on my family life, it was plain he was doing his part to try to earn welcome.