C Taylor - Nadya's War

I don’t think any set of words had caused me so much fear in my entire life at that point. I felt my mouth hang open, and I knew I should say something, but my mind was stuck replaying his words over and over again. If he learned about Father’s history, every last one of us in my family would be tossed in a shallow grave.

“That’s what I thought,” Petrov said. “I’ll talk to you later. Have a pleasant rest of the day.”

He turned his back to me and walked away. As he did, my imagination ran wild with what they’d do to my family. The beatings. The burnings. Electrocutions. My fear turned to anger and then hate. I glared at the back of his head, intent on protecting everyone I loved from this mad man. I could take him down if I had to. I would take him down. Before I knew it, Klara had a death grip on my forearm.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

I looked down to see my sidearm in hand. Shocked, I shoved it back in its holster. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you dare even pretend you are what he says,” she scolded. She ran her fingers through her hair and bit her lip. “Nadya, about what I said about religious people. I had no idea you believed such things when he asked.”

Now that Petrov was gone, my anger at him was replaced by a deep hurt. “You really think I’m gullible? Or a swindler?”

“Mother died when I was four,” she said with a sharp edge to her voice. “If there was a caring god out there, he would’ve stopped that. Maybe—”

She was cut off by a PS-84 flying over, flanked by a pair of Yaks. “That’ll be Valeriia,” Klara said, exhaling sharply and visibly relaxing. “Look, I don’t want what you believe to come between us. Please, forget all of this and catch Valeriia before Tamara scoops her up for briefings. I think she’s slated for duty tonight.”

“She is? No rest for the famous, I guess,” I said, deciding it was in both our interests to let the previous matter drop. As much as it pained me to hear what she thought of my beliefs, I didn’t want to exacerbate things and lose her again. Besides, with Petrov closing in on me, I wanted friends, not more enemies.

“No rest for any of us,” Klara replied. “I should get back to work.”

After we parted ways, I trotted down the airfield as Valeriia’s transport landed and taxied off the runway, grateful for the distraction from Petrov. By the time it had parked, I wasn’t the only one waiting for her to make an appearance. A crowd of girls waited for her, excited—some giddy even. I pushed my way through them, but everyone was trying to be upfront. Everyone wanted to see the girl who had made the 586 thfamous and had told her story to every newspaper and magazine in the country.

The passenger door at the rear of the plane opened, and Valeriia appeared, wearing a dress uniform tailored by a god, a stylish new haircut only the powerful and famous dared to have, and makeup second to none. I screamed along with the others, clapping and jumping like a schoolgirl who had lost her mind over something silly. But this wasn’t silly. Our heroine had returned, and I couldn’t wait to tell her she wasn’t the only one with a kill to her name.

“Thank you, thank you all,” Valeriia said, hopping off the plane. She had a spring in her step, and waved to everyone, but her energy felt muted, and her bright eyes held hints of fatigue. “I’ve missed everybody.”

Tamara stepped out in front and saluted Valeriia, despite the fact she was the superior officer. Then, even though she bore a smile and was trying her best to keep things joyous, Tamara killed the mood. “All right ladies,” she said. “I know everyone’s excited, but I’m going to cut this short right now. Get back to work. I need to speak to my pilot, alone. I promise you all can catch up with her soon enough.”

There was a collective groan from the crowd, and we slowly dispersed once Valeriia followed Tamara back to the command post. She yawned and stretched along the way, and I suspected the trip had been even more draining than she was letting on to. In all the time I’d known Valeriia, she’d never been one to show weariness, always carrying on no matter what without complaint. That being said, she probably would’ve traded entertaining us for a bed if given the option.

Zhenia appeared next to me. Her brow knitted, and her arms were folded over her chest. “This isn’t right,” she growled. “Valeriia shouldn’t be flying the day she comes back. It’s dangerous if she’s exhausted.”

“I don’t disagree,” I said, “but shouldn’t you be telling the Major that?”

“I have. And I’m about to march in there and tell her again.”

My eyebrows rose at the harshness to her tone. “Good luck, then? I’m not sure what I can to do help or why you’re telling me.”

Zhenia laughed, which eased the tension in the air for a brief moment. “I’m telling you, Nadya, because I think there’s a good chance I’ll be in the box before the night is out,” she said. “If that happens, I want you to look after Valeriia for me.”

I nodded. I still didn’t know what I could do, but I’d try my best regardless. If Valeriia was that wiped out from her trip, maybe I could switch nights with her and she could go up tomorrow instead. “I’ll keep an eye on her, but you don’t want to go to the box. It’s about as fun as watching lint grow.”

Zhenia smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now go do something else before I drag you down with me.”

I said a quick goodbye, and with not much else to do, I went in search of Alexandra. I found her near the mess hall, propped up against a birch tree. She held a mammoth-sized book in hand and didn’t look up from its pages when I stood at her feet.

“Valeriia’s back,” I said, feeling awkward standing there, smothered in silence.

“I saw the transport land,” she said. “I guessed it was her when I heard all the cheering.”

“She’s not as important as your novel?” I teased. “How rude.”

Alexandra looked up and threw me a wry grin. “Why? Should she be? She’s not as famous.”

“As your book?”

“Of course. It’s War and Peace . Have you read it before?”

I shook my head. I’d certainly heard of it. I couldn’t imagine any Soviet alive that hadn’t at least heard of Tolstoy’s famous work. “One day, I’d like to,” I said, but it was a half-truth at best. “Is it good?”

“It’s good. Lengthy, but good. Did you know Tolstoy’s wife copied it by hand seven times? Talk about dedication. I hope my fiancé is as dedicated to me as she was to him.”

“What do you like about it, other than his wife?”

“Everything,” she said. “The characters. The story. I love how it makes one think.”

“About?”

“Life. Everything,” she said. “Take for instance the part where the prince is trying to find God in an amoral world—that’s a topic everyone should think on at some point, you as well.”

Looking back, I think I jumped the gun, but at the time, I thought she was aiming that comment at me. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

Alexandra straightened like I’d splashed her with a bucket of ice water. She closed the book, though was careful to keep her place with a finger. “I didn’t mean to say you hadn’t,” she said. “You’ve always struck me as a smart girl. I’m sure you realize how silly the idea of gods is.”

My skin warmed, and with my brewing anger came feelings of hurt. Though she was my friend, I wanted to knock her down a couple of pegs. I had to be careful, however, with how I framed my beliefs. As much as I tried to be true to them, I didn’t want to be a martyr. “Old gods, yes,” I said, “but if I had to bet on some sort of creator of everything, I’d put my money on that rather than not. The universe doesn’t make sense otherwise.”