Aimie Runyan - Daughters of the Night Sky

“She is one of millions in that situation, Major Soloneva. We cannot protect them all.”

“But we can order the men to act like gentlemen, can we not?” I countered, taking a step closer to his desk.

“We can order whatever we like. It doesn’t mean we will have any success,” he said, heaving a sigh that bordered on the dramatic.

“Are you or are you not their commanding officer?” I spat.

“Watch yourself, Major. This war is not over yet.” He sat up straight in his chair, his expression now hard. “These men have been fighting with barely enough food to survive. They have slept in tents and trenches for the better part of four years. Who am I to deny them some comforts?”

“ Comforts? At what cost? The safety of innocent civilians?”

“Soldiers are never the only ones who suffer in war, and no civilian is eager to have one fought on his front porch. It’s a bad business, I’ll admit, but there is nothing to be done.”

I felt the blood pulsing in my face, the heat emanating from my pores. He suddenly became very concerned with the papers on his desk, but I did not allow him to escape my stare.

“If we cannot protect innocent women and children from our own troops, then what was the war for? Would you be so complacent if it were your wife? Your daughters? Your sons being manhandled by the Germans?”

“Complacent, no, Major. I would be enraged. Furious. But know these two things: First, if the Germans had won, make no mistake they would be doing the same to the women and children back at home. Second, I would be just as powerless to prevent it.”

“Coward,” I seethed, and walked out of the makeshift office and back to the barracks, where Polina and Renata awaited my report.

“Please tell me they’re sending the bastards to Siberia,” Renata greeted me. “It would be too good for them, but it would be gratifying all the same.”

“Nothing,” I said, throwing my uniform jacket on my bunk. “They’re doing nothing.”

“So what do we do?” Polina asked. “There must be something.”

“We can take them some rations if we can find enough to spare without raising suspicion. Any more than that and it looks like we’re aiding the enemy and stealing food from the mouths of Russians.”

“So we do nothing?” Polina asked. “Just leave her there for it to happen again?” Her arms were folded tight over her chest, her lips white with anger.

“We can’t exactly stand guard outside her house.” I flopped on my bunk and cast my eyes up at the barracks ceiling. “I’ve taken it up the chain of command. They won’t be bothered keeping their men in line.”

“We can’t just leave Heide like that,” Renata said. “She needs help.”

“So do millions of other women,” I said. “It sounds heartless, but if the commanders don’t keep the men in line, all we can do is keep the men under our influence in check. I won’t be surprised if they send us home in the next few weeks. They don’t need pilots for sentry duty.”

“If our soldiers are acting like pigs, what was the point of saving the civilized world from Germany?” Renata asked no one in particular.

“We can’t go down that road,” I said. “We’ve sacrificed too much to think this was all for nothing. We need to get home and get back to our lives. The sooner we bring our troops home, the sooner this horror will be over.”

“Any news of Vanya?” Polina asked after a moment. “I know it’s been some time.”

“More than three months,” I said. “It’s been chaos, though. I’m sure the post isn’t able to keep up. And Andrei?”

“Fine. It sounds like his division will be sent home soon. They’ve been in so long,” she said, unable to keep the relief from her voice.

“Wonderful news,” I said. “Let’s hope we beat them home.”

They knew I’d spent the last few weeks trying to track down Vanya’s regiment and I’d had no success. The battle for Berlin had been so wrought with chaos that I allowed myself to blame the silence on the breakdowns in communication as units were reassigned and others deployed home.

We all craved our missing luxuries more acutely now that the war wasn’t there to demand our attentions day and night. Some longed for proper foods. Others, the comfort of their warm beds. I would have traded every jewel in the old tsar’s vault for a solitary postcard.

July 1945, Moscow, Russia

The throng of family members and loved ones assembled on the runway made a roar to put our little engines to shame. We exited the planes and dashed to find our husbands, children, parents, and siblings, who all clamored to welcome us home after nearly four years of separation from the families we fought for. I saw Polina kissing a tall man with a bulbous nose—her Andrei. Renata was in the firm embrace of her parents, who seemed set to keep her there for the rest of her days.

Mama rushed to me, eyes streaming, and flung herself into my arms.

“My darling girl!” She sobbed into my neck. “I am so glad you’re back with us!”

“Oh, Mama” was all I could say for my ragged breathing. After a long moment I pulled back to take her in. She’d gained a few kilos back and reminded me much more of the mama I remembered from my youth. She wore a dress that was by no means elegant, but made of good fabric and clearly new. The dark circles under her eyes had been replaced by a few graceful lines of experience and worry for her daughter on the front.

“This is Grigory.” She gestured to a tall man with a ruddy face and broad chest. His walrus mustache reminded me greatly of Karlov, which did not speak in his favor, but his sky-blue eyes twinkled with joy and kindness. He was exactly what I would have chosen for her.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my daughter,” he said grandly. “I thank you, most humbly, for your courage and your service. Your mama read much of your letters to me, and I like to think the pride I felt for you was on your father’s behalf.”

I kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder in appreciation. He was a decorated soldier but looked as nervous to be meeting his adult stepdaughter as he would have felt at greeting the business end of a bayonet in the last war.

“Enough of the flattery. I haven’t seen my mother this fit in years. You have earned my approval, Comrade Yelchin.”

“Grigory, please, my dear. I hope I might presume to call you Ekaterina?”

“Katya,” I corrected. “And of course.”

“Let’s go home,” Mama said, smiling broadly at the warmth of our exchange as she proffered me her arm. I felt my stomach drop with disappointment as I realized Vanya’s regiment wouldn’t be among those arriving back today. It had been a long shot, but I’d still been hopeful. I held Mama close to my side as Grigory wrestled with my duffel. I looked back at Polina and Renata, clutched tight to the bosom of their families, and knew I could not spoil their homecomings with a tearful goodbye. We would still have business together until the regiment was formally disbanded.

Mama and Grigory had relocated to Moscow from Chelyabinsk as the war began to turn in our favor. Grigory had been able to oversee the supplies sent to the western cities that had been leveled during the war instead of spending his time managing the construction of tanks. It was good to think of Mama in a city that was slowly coming back to life, and not alone in her little cabin near the village that would always be sleepy.

Their apartment was the size of a shoebox, but comfortable, given that every essential of survival was scarce as the nation sought to heal its wounds. Even before I’d taken in my surroundings, the smell of tea and freshly baked spice cake assaulted my nostrils and awakened in me a hunger I hadn’t known was there. There was good furniture, if a bit careworn, and because of Grigory’s position, they did not have to share the minuscule spare bedroom with another family. The windows were open to allow the July breeze to flow through the living room.