C Taylor - Nadya's War

“Growing up, my parents ignored me,” she said, her voice quieting. Her touch became as distant as the new look in her eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything worse than not feeling loved by those who are supposed to care for you. Maybe that’s why I cling to you so. I wish I could change that for both of us, but I can’t. All I can do is promise to never ignore you.”

I squeezed her hand, grateful that she could be vulnerable with me, but if she discovered I was a thief, I was certain she’d tell me what I’d been telling myself: God doesn’t listen to the wicked. He probably doesn’t listen to those drowning in self-pity either.

“For what it’s worth and if I remember my studies,” she added, “even Christ felt abandoned at one point.”

“I don’t want to think about it anymore,” I said. She was trying her best, but it wasn’t helping. All she gave me in terms of an alternative to being ignored was to equate myself with Christ. I wasn’t delusional. There was no grand scheme at play, no salvation of the world at stake. I was a silly girl who thought she could get the attention of the divine. Not only that, but I was a girl who also lied and stole.

Worst of all, I hated my enemies—I dreamed of killing them, even boasted about my first kill. Hardly the teachings of Christ, the man who forgave those who executed Him. When I thought about all of that, part of me felt lucky God was only ignoring me. Maybe that was His mercy toward me.

Or maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I did believe things rooted in tradition and superstition. If there were no God, today didn’t need explaining. It simply was.

There was a small service for Valeriia the following day at the end of the runway. I couldn’t pay attention to any of it. I simply stood there thinking life was cruel and hoping she was in a better place. When we were dismissed, I somehow got back to my bunk and lost consciousness.

Sometime late that afternoon a pair of soldiers carrying PPSh-41s pulled me out of the dugout and brought me to the command post, barely giving me enough time to put my boots on. I didn’t know what was going on. I only had the vague idea that Tamara was sending me up on a flight and was ordering me in for briefing. When I stepped inside, however, and saw Petrov leaning back in her chair with his feet kicked up on the desk and his pipe in his mouth, my heart raced faster than any dogfight I’d been in.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Junior Lieutenant,” he said. “This doesn’t have to take long.”

I sat in the chair across from him. No one else was in the room save the two armed soldiers who had brought me in. As I felt my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, I could think to ask only one question. “Is something the matter?”

Petrov snorted. “Many things are, Junior Lieutenant. First, the food here is terrible. Second, sleep has not come easily to me as of late, and third, while not a problem for me but you, the previous two points have left me in the mood to shoot first and ask questions later. But as I don’t want to leave a mess in Major Kazarinova’s office, I thought I’d at least give civility a try.”

My throat tightened, and though I prayed that Tamara would return quickly, I asked my next question as casually as possible to hide my fear. “Where’s the Major, anyway?”

Petrov took out a silver pocket watch from his coat and gave it a quick glance. “She’ll be gone for at least another hour,” he said. “So don’t concern yourself with her. Instead, concern yourself with me and answering my questions truthfully.”

“What sort of questions did you have?” I asked.

“Familial ones.” He reached under the desk and pulled out a small candle in a squat iron holder, like the one my grandmother would use late at night while penning letters. He put it on the desk, and from his jacket pocket he took out a box of matches and lit the wick. “I know you think I’m an evil person,” he said. “But I like to think we have the same goal.”

“My only goal right now is shooting down Germans.”

He smiled and tipped his head. “See? We are similar. We both want them dead. The difference is, I’m more passionate about the Motherland than you.”

“What does that have to do with my family?”

“Everything,” he replied, drawing deeply on his pipe. When he exhaled, he blew a perfect smoke ring and watched it rise to the ceiling before continuing. “I realize that not all Cossacks are treacherous, and not all of them fought with the White Army, but a great number did. They fought against progress and killed many of their Soviet brothers because they clung to a dying past. While I suspect your family was part of that, I’ll give you a chance to show otherwise—or at the very least, prove your own loyalty.”

“They’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Good,” he said. “Then you won’t mind giving me names of those who have. I know we didn’t punish everyone who fought against us in the Revolution. There are some that escaped. I want to know who and where they are.”

My brow furrowed. “But I wasn’t even alive when that took place.”

“Come now, Nadya,” he said, putting a sickening emphasis on my first name. “You Cossacks are a close-knit group. People would have talked. Help me, my dear comrade, and I’ll see you are well praised—perhaps even receive a commendation from Stalin himself.”

I smiled as best I could, despite my inner revulsion at the man’s name. While he was wrong about us talking, Petrov was right overall. I did know names. Or more specifically, I knew a name: Father’s. Worse, I abhorred how a small part of me admired how on target he was. Such accurate intuition was rare and something I’d wished I’d had on more than one occasion. “I’d help if I could, but we’re from Tula and had nothing to do with any of that. We were vetted long ago.”

The last part was true. We had been vetted, or at least our new identities had been. After the Revolution, Father had used what resources he had left to erase our past and give us a new one just before moving us to Tula. Bribery wasn’t cheap, but the quality of papers we each got were so good that when investigators looked into me and the family just prior to my acceptance to flight school, I passed without question. That said, none of the investigators at the time had had a personal vendetta against me either.

Petrov set down his pipe and opened a drawer. From it he brought out an icepick with a wooden handle. He slowly rotated its tip in the candle flame. “Who helped you sabotage Valeriia’s plane?”

“The hell I did!” I tried to jump out of my chair, but one of the soldiers kept me in place with an iron grip while the other kept his weapon trained on me. Petrov came around with the icepick, and I stared him down. “You can’t do this.”

“I can if I must,” he said, studying me. “Let me ask you something, Nadya, do you believe Valeriia’s death was an accident?”

“I hope so,” I replied. “Only because the alternative is far worse.”

Petrov nodded. “As do I. What if I told you it wasn’t an accident? What then would you do?”

I’d never considered that to be the case, but for the moment, I entertained the possibility. “Valeriia was a wonderful pilot and twice that of a woman. I’d do anything to catch those responsible, and when I did, I’d take my time ripping them apart.”

My answer, spoken without filter or hesitation, surprised me, but apparently it didn’t surprise Petrov. “So you can imagine what it’s like to lose friends and family to traitors.”

“I can.” I didn’t like how much I was agreeing with the man, but there I was, and there was nothing I could do about it.