C Taylor - Nadya's War

“This can still be a friendly encounter, Nadya,” he said. “Help me find the turncoats. As much as I’ve gone after you, in my heart of hearts, I’d truly like to be wrong and find you an ally instead of an enemy.”

I kept my eyes on him as I tried to judge his sincerity. I loathed that I thought he was telling the truth. That didn’t make him insanely evil, simply misguided, albeit greatly. “As much as I believe you, you have a funny way of showing it.”

“So you’re saying you know nothing of Valeriia’s death or others?”

I shook my head. “No. She ran out to her plane, tired, and crashed.”

Petrov sighed. His face turned downcast, remorseful even. “Our country has been infected by conspirators for two decades now. A number of fine people I’ve personally known have been lost to them, and like any infection, the wound must be made sterile. Sometimes that results in burning good tissue—and I admit, you are a skilled pilot—but a good doctor knows that sometimes the body must endure harsh treatments to ward off gangrene. So if you are loyal, consider this ordeal a sacrifice for the greater good.”

Before I could reply, he grabbed my wrist and pressed the icepick into my forearm. I gritted my teeth as it seared my skin. My eyes watered, but I didn’t scream, though I wanted to. I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. A hate for the man grew in my soul, one worse than I had for any German, Rademacher included. Part of me grew jealous at the Luftwaffe pilot. Surely he didn’t have to endure such scrutiny by his own officers. Then again, I’d heard Hitler and his upper echelon were as brutal as Stalin and his company. Maybe we were both suffering on opposite sides of the same coin.

My minor parallels with Rademacher were a fleeting distraction. Petrov was my real enemy, a coward that hid behind guns and position to terrorize his own people. As he burned my skin twice more, I knew one day I’d be his end, literally or figuratively. I hoped it would be the foremost, as the evil side of me delighted at the thought of putting him into the grave.

“Anything to say now?” he asked.

I shook my head and locked my jaw. Anything I said at this point would be so vile I was certain he’d kill me without a second thought. Still, if he was going to kill me, it would be nice to unload on him.

“I know you think you’re being clever by not crying,” he said, reheating the pick. “But only saboteurs and spies train to be so resilient. Do you think you could still fly if I put this in your eye?”

He brought the tip close to my face, and I tried to squirm out of the chair and break free. I even kicked at the man—pitifully, for he easily dodged it—and one of the guards hit me in the side with the butt of his gun.

Everything came to a crashing end as Tamara stormed in. The shock on her face was replaced with a mother bear’s fury as she drew her sidearm. “What the hell are you doing?”

“My duty,” Petrov replied, straightening. Though the two men guarding me appeared rattled, he was calm as ever. “All aspects of Valeriia’s death need to be looked at, Major. It’s only natural to question one of the last people who saw her alive.”

Tamara kept her pistol raised. “You touch her again and I’ll shoot you myself. From here on out, you stay away from my girls.”

“Are you openly threatening me?” he said, visibly appalled at the idea. “I should have you brought up on charges.”

“Try it and General Osipenko will exile you to a labor camp to die in disgrace.”

“You would run to your lover for protection,” he said with a snort. He motioned for the guards to follow him out, but before leaving, he stabbed the icepick into the desk.

Once he was gone, Tamara hurried over to me. I was still in shock at it all, but at least I could function again. Sadly, that also meant I could feel the burns he had inflicted as well.

“I really despise that man,” she said, gently holding my arm and inspecting the damage. “I’ll make sure he leaves you alone from here on out. I suppose the good news is he’s good at his trade. These burns look painful, but I don’t think they’re serious.”

“On my life, I had nothing to do with Valeriia’s death. You have to believe me,” I said, my voice cracking and my body shaking. It was then that it dawned on me how close to dying I’d gotten.

Tamara sighed heavily. “I believe you,” she said. “But I don’t know how the brass will take her loss, or worse, how Stalin will. She was a heroine of the Soviet Union. I’m afraid her death will have dire repercussions for us all.”

The next two days were filled with interviews into Valeriia’s crash. People who were both internal and external to our regiment came to poke their noses around. I told what I saw to Tamara three times, and to the investigators command sent four more after that. I wanted to fly, hoping even a mundane escort would give me some respite, but since I was one of the last to see Valeriia alive, I was temporarily grounded and forced to relive the ordeal over and over and over again.

No matter how many times I told my story with excruciating details that ranged from her bright smile to inspiring attitude, no one was ever satisfied with what I had to say, most of all me. Part of me felt recounting it time and again was more painful than Petrov’s interrogation the other day. He only wounded my skin. These stories wounded my heart. Thankfully, the Commissar was nowhere to be seen during that time. I wish I had thanked Tamara for that, but once the interviews were done, I barely saw or spoke to her.

In the end, the official report was that Valeriia died in battle in order to preserve her fame and the honor of the 586 th, but we all knew the truth. She’d climbed into the plane and taken off before her eyes had adjusted to the dark and crashed. That said, I wanted the world to believe the lie. She didn’t deserve to be killed in such a stupid manner.

Over the next week, I flew a half-dozen times. Alexandra and I went on four quiet escorts and a pair of uneventful patrols to the northeast. I’d hoped being back in the air would help me cope, but each time we went up, all I could think about was how there were now three girls who would never fly with us again. I did think about Rademacher a few times, but the zeal I once had at the thought of shooting him down was never a part of those thoughts. In fact, I even wondered what good shooting him down would do since it wouldn’t change anything. I laughed at myself when that thought occurred, seeing how up until now I had wanted nothing more than to blow him apart.

We also got our bounty pay. I wasn’t sure what Alexandra did with hers. I didn’t think she cared about it as I came to find out she came from a well-connected family. I stuffed my earnings in my sack under my bed. I didn’t have the energy to go into town and find something for Klara, though it was on my to-do list. I also wanted to send a portion back to my parents since they could probably have used it more than me.

I woke one cold morning to a right arm that felt as if it had been caught in the rusty jaws of an old bear trap. I whimpered and tucked the arm across my side, but it didn’t help. I tried flexing the hand a few times under the covers. The pain almost became manageable, but when haunting memories of both Valeriia and Martyona came back to me, I injected another shot of morphine into my side.

I put the leather case with my last syrette under my bed. I thought it might be empty, but I hoped I could squeeze out another drop or two if needed. I knew it would take time for the morphine to work its magic, so I decided to get dressed and drag myself outside. My stiff legs protested every movement, but I needed to keep my mind occupied on something— anything —else for the time being.