C Taylor - Nadya's War

Now, however, I wondered how well I could fly if I couldn’t use my arm whatsoever, which felt like a real possibility. I’d be leading Alexandra to her death. But returning without accomplishing our objective was not an option either. I could lose my wings and be branded a coward. I cursed and muttered to myself as I weighed the two options. The loathing I had for the position I was in was second only to my shame. How I wished I was stronger, and how I resented all the other girls who could fly without pain.

“So be it,” I said, pulling the cap off the syrette. I checked to ensure the ground crews were still busy, pushed back my sleeve, and stuck myself in the arm. It wasn’t an ideal spot, but it worked well enough. Better to be relaxed and have to concentrate more than paralyzed with pain.

Five minutes later, we were up in the air again, a couple hundred meters above the ground.

Alexandra sighed over the radio. “I’m glad that’s over with. I hate being down there in the dark.”

“I’ll second that,” I replied. “Turn to two-six-eight and maintain speed at four-fifty.”

“Where you go, I go.”

We flew on, and in the dark, I could barely see the Voronezh River pass beneath us. I wondered how many Germans heard us go by and prayed they couldn’t spot us or radio others about us. It was silly to think we’d never be spotted, I knew, but I hoped it wouldn’t be for some time, or better yet, well after we reached our target: lines of transport deep within German-held territory.

The sun crested the horizon. I welcomed the golden light and smiled. Now that we could see the snowy terrain, it was time to hunt. I hoped we’d stumble on a transport plane, as Gridnev had said they had reliable intel on recent lines of flight we might intercept this morning, but I would settle for a ground convoy as well. Either target would stir up the Luftwaffe. And if we kept hitting them deep in their lines, as Gridnev pointed out, they would be forced to pull some pilots from Stalingrad for defense, and with luck that would mean Gerhard Rademacher.

“Drop to five meters, maintain heading,” I said, easing the plane down.

“Repeat. Five meters?”

I shook my head. “I meant fifty meters.”

Alexandra obeyed, and I cursed under my breath. It hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. For a moment, I thought it was not only flyable, but a good idea. I checked the clock, and tried to figure out where we were based on the maps I’d studied the night before. We were past Voronezh and well on our way to Kursk. It was almost a half-hour flight from one to the other at our speed, which meant we had five minutes left. No, fifteen, I corrected.

Fifteen?

My mind strained to bring back the exact time we took off from the airfield, but it came up blank. It had to be well before dawn. I didn’t think there was any light. Or was it first breaking? A crushing headache took hold of me. I kept my right hand on the stick and used my left to massage my temples. I never should have upped my dose.

“Nadya,” Alexandra said. “Did you see that convoy?”

I twisted in my seat. A two-lane road was a kilometer or so off to the right, flanked on either side by trees. I didn’t see any trucks and assumed we passed them. “Negative. How many?”

“A dozen?” Alexandra said. “A couple of kilometers behind us by now.”

Twelve trucks. A good score by any measure, but I wanted more. I wanted something flying, something noteworthy. Shooting up supplies paled to dropping a plane. Still, it was better than nothing, and we might not catch anything else before fuel levels forced us back.

“Okay, follow me in. We’ll reassess after we tear them apart on the first pass.”

“Let’s do it.”

I eagerly pulled the plane into a gentle climb and banked right. I spotted the convoy as I swung around and counted eight Opel trucks. They were the backbone of Germany’s motor vehicles, four-wheeled speedy machines that weighed a couple thousand kilos. Most of the ones we spotted carried crates and equipment in the backs of their open flatbeds, while two others were covered—possibly carrying troops inside. Whatever they held didn’t matter. They were all about to share the same grisly fate.

My zeal faded as I leveled the plane at three hundred meters, which was low enough to get a good angle on the trucks but high enough to avoid small arms. The hairs on my body raised when the last vehicle in the convoy entered my sights about a half kilometer away. My soul shrieked in horror when I mashed both triggers.

My twin machine guns pumped a steady stream of bullets into the convoy, while the 20mm ShVAK took large chunks out of everything it hit. The trucks swerved off both sides of the road, and one of them even caught fire. Soldiers jumped from one of the covered ones, and I adjusted my aim to shoot into their ranks. Bodies fell. As I zoomed by a moment later, I caught sight of the carnage in full detail. My stomach churned at the slaughter. They hadn’t a chance. Though I was defending my homeland, I detested being a butcher.

I put my moral arguments to the side and banked left while dipping low so the trees shielded my movements from the surviving Germans. I checked the skies as well for enemy fighters, and thankfully, there were none. “Status?” I asked.

“South of their position, swinging around,” Alexandra said. “We tore them apart. Good thing we caught them with their pants down.”

My brow furrowed as I tried to understand what she was referring to. “Why?”

“Second Opel from the front had a 20mm anti-air in its bed,” she said. “Not something I want pointed back at me.”

“Or me,” I said. “Or anyone else.”

The last words slipped out of my mouth without much thought, but once they hung in the air, I chewed on them. I pictured it being placed at Stalingrad and shooting down countless numbers of our planes. I couldn’t let that happen, even if it meant a dangerous gamble to our own life and limb. “Set up for another pass,” I said. “We’re not letting that thing stay intact.”

“It’s one 20mm,” Alexandra protested. “It’s not going to tip the war.”

In the back of my mind, I knew she was right. Regardless, we had to take it out. There was a reason we had to. Briefing, was it? God, that headache was back, and it was too hard to think. I traded my thoughts for action. “Where I go, you go, right?”

Alexandra sighed. “Always. If it starts shooting at us, it’s not going to be pretty.”

“I know,” I said. “Come from the south. I’ll hit them from the north. Whoever they target, takes evasive action while the other blows it apart. They can’t possibly hit us both, right?”

“Copy,” she said, still sounding less than pleased. “Starting my run now.”

I popped my plane up to five hundred meters and brought it around for another strafing run. At first, it was hard to pick out which truck had the AA gun. My eyes had trouble focusing on everything that far away. I rubbed them with my left hand, and as soon as I did, tracers zipped in my direction. It took me a moment to realize what that meant and half as long to respond.

“Taking fire,” I said, turning sharply. I cut across the road and then rolled back in the direction I’d been traveling. I didn’t want them to lose sight on me, only their aim.

Time crawled. Streaks of fire stretched through the air and missed my plane by a dozen meters. Half dozen. Hit.

My ears rang, and I felt a concussive blast across my body. The air smelled of gunpowder. The wind howled in my cockpit. I dove the plane to the ground, ducking it out of sight of the Germans.

“Nailed him!” Alexandra screamed over the radio, her voice giddy. “It won’t even be fit for scrap!”