C Taylor - Nadya's War

A faint glow crested the horizon, and I stopped to appreciate the sunrise. I hadn’t seen it for four days and had partly forgotten what it looked like, a side effect of ramping up my morphine dose. I should have cared about losing some of my short-term memory, but I figured it was a small price to pay to be free of physical and emotional torment.

“Nadya?”

I turned to find Klara fast approaching with a heavy coat pulled tight around her and a bag of tools in hand. Both her face and voice were filled with equal parts shock and concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you flying today?” she asked.

“I can’t remember,” I said, scouring my brain for the answer. The morphine must have kicked in sooner and stronger than I’d anticipated, and I grew fearful for what that meant for the rest of the day. “Did Kazarinova say something?”

“No, but then again, she hasn’t said much to anyone,” she replied. “Doesn’t matter though. She’s not going to be around much longer.”

“Why?”

“Zhenia has been calling for Kazarinova’s head,” Klara said. “If she doesn’t get it in the figurative sense, I dare say she’ll take it on her own literally. How could you not know this?”

I shrugged. “The last few days have been a blur.”

Klara closed the distance between us. She dropped her bag and brushed back my hair as she studied my face. “You’ve lost weight. I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”

I touched my cheeks. They’d thinned. “Probably. I haven’t gone to the mess hall lately.”

Her brow furrowed. Her tone became sharp, almost scolding. “No one made you go?”

“Alexandra brought me some bread a few times. I took some nibbles to appease her, but I haven’t been hungry.”

“Of course she did.” Klara snorted. “Have you met any of the boys yet?”

I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow. “What boys?”

“Wow. You have been out of it. We’ve added a third squadron. This one is full of men.”

Now that I thought about it, I had seen a number of boys around the base but hadn’t put much to it. There’d been talk before about them coming, but I’d always assumed it was gossip. Why would they mix the regiment? Most of the boys didn’t want to be flying with us girls anyway, and we didn’t need to have them around to show us how to do things.

I wanted our unit to be only us, sisters who’d proven themselves as capable as any other. I hated the idea that some would think we needed the men for whatever stupid reason they’d dream up. Besides, they’d be a distraction, and I assumed my mechanic had already fallen for one by the nervousness in her voice. “You found one you like?”

“I’m not looking at them. Besides, love is so cruel you could even fall in love with a goat,” she said. “Anyway, taking care of you is enough for me, but I guess I haven’t been doing a good job of that. You look like hell.”

It was so tiring to keep up the façade, and I almost told her about my pains, the morphine, and how I was barely functioning, but I feared I’d lose her too if I did. “Valeriia’s loss did me in,” I said, opting for a semi-confession. “I’m not sure how to snap out of it.”

Klara took my arm, and we walked in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, we found our way to my plane. She rested her head against my shoulder and said, “Do you know the history behind your fighter?”

“No, other than it’s mine.”

“Not quite what I meant,” she replied. “When it first entered the war, it was an unproven design. We had no idea how well it would match up against the German Messerschmitts. Brass and the politicians boasted it would dominate the skies, and the pilots ate it up, but deep down, we all knew that until it saw combat, there was always a measure of uncertainty.”

“And now it’s proven and has a new paintjob.”

“It’s more than proven. It’s been shot up, banged up, and overworked. Despite all of that, it still flies and even made a kill. Do you know why that is?”

“Because I have the best mechanic in the world.”

She squeezed me with a wishful sigh. “I hope you always will,” she said. “But listen, Nadya, no matter the damage, it can always be put back together. It takes time, and sweat, and others helping sometimes, but it can be done. Whatever the war throws at it, it can be made to fly again.”

Her analogy wasn’t lost on me. “I’m not a plane. You can’t stick a wrench to me and fix everything. If you could, I’d have begged you to do it long ago.”

“I can help when you stop going at whatever is bothering you alone,” she said. “Or you can decide to tell the Major you’d rather stay on the ground. If you do, you’ll be like any other plane that sits neglected. Winter’s chill will freeze you in place, burst your hoses, crack your block, and then you’ll be ruined. And the worst of it is you’re the one who will do that to yourself.”

I chewed on her words while admiring her artwork on my fighter. There was extra detail in the tusks I hadn’t noticed before, hints of shading and texture that rivaled any other. “You love this plane,” I said. “It shows with the paint job alone.”

“I care more about its pilot,” she said. “I’m afraid if you don’t pull together soon, that’s going to be it. No one will give you another chance, not with so many other girls out there wanting to be pilots.”

“I know. I know,” I said, hanging my head in shame. “But—”

“Enough!” I jumped at the ferocity of her words, and she didn’t ease off one bit as she went on. “Do you think Martyona or Valeriia would want you to wallow forever in misery? Both of them would tell you to act like the pilot you are, to be proud of who you are. Don’t dishonor their memory by making excuses. Do whatever you have to do so you can get back in that damn cockpit and fly like you used to.”

Her rebuke stirred my heart. My posture straightened. Determination rooted in my soul. God might not exist, might not care one bit for me or help me when I needed it the most, but Klara did on all accounts, and that was enough for me.

“Thank you,” I said, hugging her tight. “For everything. You’re right.”

“Anytime. What do you plan on doing?”

“First, I’m going to get some food and then get cleaned up. Once I’m done, I’m going to find Gerhard Rademacher and blow him out of the sky.”

“I’m glad to see you again, Little Boar.”

As was I. Funny how a few simple words could make or break a person. We made chitchat for a while. Klara talked about how she wanted a bakery when the war was over but didn’t think she had the money to start one. It was too bad that a person’s passion could be limited by practical considerations like monies. When I got the bounty from Rademacher’s kill, maybe I’d keep some tucked away and invest in her dream.

The conversation halted when Zhenia came over, looking as if she bore the weight of the world’s troubles on her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, dreading the next words out of my squadron commander’s mouth would be news of another death.

“As of ten minutes ago, the 586 thhas a new commanding officer,” Zhenia said. “Kazarinova is gone, and Major Aleksandr Gridnev is taking charge. They aren’t saying where she went, only that she’s never returning.”

Unease grew in my stomach. I’d never heard of Major Gridnev before, and though he was male, I was certain that fact wasn’t what was troubling Zhenia. “You look as if that is bad news,” I said. “I thought you wanted the Major gone.”

“I’m furious she’s not being brought up on charges for gross incompetence, but General Osipenko is keeping his lover safe,” she replied, popping her knuckles one at a time. “But that’s not why I’m here. Gridnev is calling a general formation at the top of the hour to address all the squadrons. After that, Nadya, he wants to talk to you.”