C Taylor - Nadya's War

A lump formed in my throat. If I didn’t fight harder, my life would be over. I thought about what Petrov would do and tightened my grip. I shut my eyes and counted the seconds. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty.

My grip weakened, and I pictured that devilish German ace, rolling his Messer around me, taunting me with his wicked grin, and then pictured the look of shock on his face when I’d turn the tables and blast him apart. The only way I’d see that day is to hang on longer. That final confrontation would be far harder than hanging off some silly beam. I would do it. I had to.

When my arms threatened to rip themselves apart, I thought about what the commissar would do to my family. If they were lucky, they’d be sent naked to a work camp in Siberia and be met with a swift, frozen death. Those thoughts helped me galvanize my body to bend to my will, and the pain faded.

I peeked at Klara. Though she was sweating, she still looked like she could go on for an hour. I shut my eyes and told myself to only worry about my own performance, my own strength. In that moment, my hands gave out, and I crashed to the floor.

“I suppose it had to end at some point,” I heard Klara say. She sounded both disappointed and amused.

I opened my eyes and looked up at them. I was shocked to find Tamara offering me a hand up.

“Congratulations, Nadya. You’re still flying,” she said. “But if those wounds cause issue, Klara permanently takes your seat.”

Confused, I twisted my mouth and glanced to my side. Klara stood next to me, arms wrapped around her midsection.

“You beat her by about a half second,” Tamara said, hand still out. “I’ll be honest, I thought she had you licked.”

“So did I,” I confessed. I winced as I took her hand, and she pulled me up.

Tamara turned my wrists and stared at my palms. “What on Earth did you do to yourself?”

I looked at my hands. The insides were rubbed raw and covered in broken blisters. I smiled sheepishly. “Practice, comrade major, over the last few days.”

Marina laughed and squeezed Tamara on the shoulder. “I can’t begin to tell you how impressed I am she wants to fly this badly,” she said. “I think you can give her a day to get cleaned up and rest before tossing her back in the cockpit.”

“Agreed,” Tamara said. “Nadya, you’ve got twenty-four hours. I’m putting you on the first patrol for tomorrow night.”

“Yes, comrade major.”

Marina and Tamara left. The moment they were gone, I jumped up and down, screaming like a little kid who’d opened up her perfect present for Christmas. “Oh God,” I said, stopping and abhorring my behavior. “I’m so sorry. I’m such an ass for acting like that.”

“It’s fine,” she said. Her arms hung limp at her side, and her eyes stared out into the distance like a bit of her soul had gone away, never to return. She turned her face to me and gave a smile. “I should get back to work before I end up here.”

She left, and I latched on to her words. Everything was fine. I’d kept my flight status. She was moving on. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take another slot when it opened up. More importantly, I was going to fly! I would redeem myself, avenge Martyona, bring honor to my lineage and earn respect from my peers. God, the day was a miracle!

I ran out the door and twirled. I longed for a dance partner, and I found Valeriia Khomyakova, deputy commander of my squadron to fill that need.

Valeriia had the face of a cherub with dark eyes that at first glance were playful and inviting, but if one held their gaze long enough, there was a dangerous glint to them. It made me think of her as a lioness who’d smile at someone who could be her next friend or next meal. I’d always thought that look was perfect given what we did. We were fighter pilots, a pride of huntresses, warm to each other but lethal to others. And though she had me by eight years, she barely looked twenty. Secretly, I hoped I aged as well as she did. To my delight, she never saw me coming as I snatched her up, spinning and laughing.

“Nadya!” she yelled, eyes wide. She pushed away out of reflex but didn’t pull herself free from my grasp. “Have you gone mad?”

“I’m flying! I’m flying!” I said over and over. I pounced on her like a cat on a mouse and squeezed her tight. She was taller than me by a few centimeters, and thus hanging off her neck came easy.

“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing. This time she squirmed out of my grasp and used her hand to keep me at bay. “For all that is holy in the world, Nadya, you need a bath. You reek.”

I sniffed myself and gagged, but feigned ignorance. “Not that bad. Surely you jest.”

“Come off it, Nadya,” she said. “Don’t try and pull that on me after a week in the box.”

I curtsied and failed to keep a straight face. “I apologize if I offended you.”

“At the moment, you nauseate me more than offend. When’s your first flight?”

“Night duty, tomorrow,” I replied.

“On patrol with me then,” she said. “That ought to give you enough time to be presentable, yes?”

“Maybe,” I said. I staggered toward her. “I’m feeling faint. I think you’ll need to help me.”

I lunged at her, laughing even more now, but she was quick, always had been both in the sky and on the ground. Before I could smear my sweaty arms and face on her, she slipped away. “Don’t you dare come at me again,” she said. She leveled a stern finger, but her voice was as light as a schoolgirl playing games in the classroom when the teacher was away. “I mean it Nadya! We’re hunting in less than an hour. I need to get ready, not fetch a change of clothes. I don’t want the Germans finding us on smell alone.”

“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and sticking my tongue out at her. “You really know how to suck all the fun out of a good celebration.”

Valeriia waved her hand in front of her nose and rolled her eyes up in her head. “Your odor did that long before I did. Now go.”

“I shall take my leave then,” I said, curtsying once more.

I headed off for the Volga River, about a ten-minute walk from where I was. I made a quick stop to my dugout. It was my glorified hole in the ground where we slept when it was either too cold or too wet to sleep outside, but I’d taken to it enough to call it home. There I grabbed a change of clothes and a ratty towel. I thought about trading my soiled uniform for a new one right there, but I was so filthy, I didn’t want to get my clean ones dirty the moment they touched my skin.

When I went back outside, I ran into Petrov as he came out of the command post. The perturbed look on his face intensified when he spied me, I’m certain on account of my upbeat attitude.

“Major,” I said with the proper salute. “I thought you should know I’m still a pilot.”

“So I’ve been made aware,” he replied, but instead of a look of disappointment, he had an amused look in his eyes, one I was sure the Devil had when he started a new game with one of us mortals. “Don’t think this changes anything. We’ll be spending a lot of time together in the near future.”

As unsettling as his words were, I kept my face straight, refusing to let him get to me. “I’ll be looking forward to it, comrade commissar.”

“No. You won’t.”

He flashed a predatory grin before sticking his pipe into his mouth and leaving. I hurried to the Volga to clear my mind of him, and a private driving an olive mail car picked me up as I headed out of the airfield. When I got in, I realized that from afar he must have thought me prettier than I was, for his eyes went wide when I got close. He said little to me, other than asking me where I’d like to get dropped off. Maybe he thought I was crazy. My matted, wild hair looked the part.