C Taylor - Nadya's War

“I’ve let you sleep, lazy,” she said, forcefully tugging at my shoulder. “You said you wanted to be there when Valeriia came back. I swear you’re worse than trying to wake my sister.”

My eyes popped open and I sat up, clutching my heavy blanket around me. “She’s back?” I asked. “What time is it?”

“Half past one. She’ll be here within the hour.”

I tossed the blanket to the side but grabbed it again when the frosty air bit my skin. “Did the sun forget to rise? How is it still this cold?”

“It’s warmed since this morning, you big baby, and it’s the warmest it’s been since the start of October,” Klara said. She tossed me a wool sweater and leather jacket, which were near the foot of my bed. “Put these on. I’ve got something to show you.”

I smacked my mouth and ran my fingers through my grimy hair. The latter had become the norm for all of us at this point. The frigid weather kept dips in the river non-existent, though at times we used some hot water from our planes’ radiators to clean up with. My last such washing was three days prior. “Can I wash first? I must look as terrible as I feel.”

“After,” she said. “Now dress.”

I did as I was told, though I did it under the covers as much as possible. Neither the sweater nor jacket was warm, and I hated their icy touch against my skin. “Where’s Alexandra?” I asked, noting her empty bunk.

Klara’s face soured. “Does it matter?”

“Settle down. It was a passing comment,” I said, perturbed at her attitude. Over the last week, I couldn’t help but feel as if she wanted Alexandra out of my life. There wasn’t anything specific I could point to, only a general sense I got from how Klara reacted when Alexandra was around. I didn’t like it, but felt foolish bringing it up because I knew Klara would deny such things.

“I don’t know where she is,” Klara said as she handed me my boots and gloves. When I had both on, she pulled me out of bed. She spun me around, and despite my protests, used a long strip of linen to blind fold me.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

“If you push me into the river, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

Klara laughed. “You’ll have to catch me first. And no, it’s not the river. Not yet at least. You need to get your bounty on that Stuka first so I can steal it.”

I stuck my tongue out. “I’ll curse that money if you do, and it will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

“You should give me at least half since I’m the one taking care of your plane all the time,” she said, ushering me out with her hand on my shoulder. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be stuck on the ground.”

She sounded playful for the most part, but there was envy under the surface. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you something,” I said. “But I still think you should tell me where we’re going.”

“I don’t care what you think.”

I tried counting paces to get a feel for where we might stop. I gave up when I realized she was turning me in several different directions as we walked, twice even backtracking. Outwardly, I smiled at her deception. She’d put a lot of thought into whatever it was. Inwardly, however, concerns grew in my mind that I might not take to her surprise as she hoped and I’d end up making her feel ashamed or even rejected.

About five minutes and twice as many stumbles later, we came to a stop. “Want to take a guess?” she said, spinning me around one last time.

I shrugged. “A pair of Russian Dons?”

“Horses?” she replied. “Must be nice to have that kind of money you can buy whatever you like.”

“You said guess. I did.” I said, taken aback at the bite in her tone.

She must have felt awkward, for she gave a nervous chuckle. “And what on earth would you do with horses out here? Where would I even get them?”

“I don’t know. But I give up. What is it?”

Klara untied my blindfold. “Well, it’s not a smelly horse, but I hope you like it all the same.”

My plane, once shades of olive, had been given a fresh winter paint job of whites and greys. On the lower cowl, Klara had painted an open maw full of jagged teeth with bloody tusks pointed upward. Fierce eyes were set above, near the start of the engine’s exhaust pipes. Though the design was far from intricate, the lines were clean, and the artwork was shaded so well the design seemed three-dimensional. It wasn’t as personal as my Hospitaller cross I still wanted, but it was close.

I realized I needed to say something, but what came out was barely adequate. “This is amazing.”

“You really like it?” she replied, her eyes bright and her voice full of pride.

“I do,” I said. “Those tusks look painful. Exactly what I wanted.”

“Thanks. They’re for show only. Don’t go ramming anyone with them.”

I chuckled. “I’ll try not to.”

Klara squeezed me tight from behind. “I’m so glad. I still want to do something with the tail, but I hadn’t figured that part out yet. All I managed to do so far was put your kill marker on it.”

I looked to the rear of the plane, and sure enough, underneath the bright red star of the Soviet Union there was a smaller red one representing the Stuka I’d brought down, a symbol to all that this plane was deadly and its pilot should be feared. “Don’t worry about the tail,” I said, the feeling of accomplishment swelling inside. “You’ll have plenty more stars to paint.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I didn’t have time to put the ‘Fighting for country and Stalin’ back on, but it might be best if I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Klara shrugged. “You might make me get rid of it,” she said. “And then I’d have to report you for being unpatriotic.”

“Even your mechanic questions your loyalty,” I heard Petrov say from behind. “How grand.”

I spun around to find the Commissar a few paces away, amused, slowly puffing away on his pipe. I could feel my face drain of color, but I still managed a reply. “She was joking.”

“Behind every joke there’s a little bit of truth. Isn’t that right, comrade Rudneva?”

“No, comrade commissar. I mean, yes, sometimes,” she said, stammering. “But I was joking and didn’t mean anything by it.”

Petrov raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t believe she’d make you strike a slogan dedicated to our leader?”

“No, comrade commissar.”

“Did you know she’s one of the few that still cling to religion?” he said. I went to say something, but he quickly held up his hand and cut me off. “Come now, Nadya. Don’t deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I said. The air surrounding me seemed to drop thirty degrees. My fingers went numb, and no matter what I did, they wouldn’t stop trembling, so I stuffed them in my pockets.

“I didn’t know,” Klara said with a hint of disappointment in her eyes. “But I don’t care.”

Petrov laughed. “What did you tell me religious people were the other day? Gullible or swindlers? Maybe you think Nadya is the former, but I’d say she’s the latter.”

A surge of anger ran through me, not for what he was doing to me, but for putting Klara in such an awkward position. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” I said. “Leave her alone.”

“You keep saying that, but why should I trust someone who clings to fairytales that are childish and dangerous? The answer, of course, is I shouldn’t. But do you know what I should do, Nadya?”

I wanted to say he should jump off a cliff, but I was far from being suicidal, so I shook my head. “I haven’t a clue.”

“I should see what else I can find out about you,” he said, pointing his pipe at me. “I have a feeling your belief in a god is one of many things you never wanted me to find out. So I must say, I’m curious what I’ll learn when I dig deeper into your past and family.”