C Taylor - Nadya's War

The next morning I woke, unsure what the day would bring. I wasn’t scheduled for patrols since my fighter was so torn up that Klara would need a day or so to patch the damage and clean out the cockpit. Or so I assumed. I hadn’t seen her since I’d returned. All that changed when I left the mess hall after a hearty breakfast of stale bread, bland cheese, and frigid water, and bumped into her on the airfield.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” she said. Her eyes held a fire I’d never seen before, and she toyed with the wrench in her hand as if she wanted to brain someone with it.

“What are you talking about?”

“You come back with a hole blown through the cockpit, your blood everywhere, and you can’t even bother to tell me you’re all right?”

A pit of guilt took home in my stomach. God, how had I forgotten? The Divine didn’t have to respond for me to know the answer: morphine. “I’m so sorry,” I said. I stepped closer in an effort to diffuse her anger, and she shied away. “I don’t know what to say. We came back, and I wasn’t thinking—”

“That’s just it, Nadya, you weren’t thinking. Damn it, I already had to clean one body up. You could’ve at least checked in with me when you returned instead of giving me a damn heart attack when I got to your plane.”

“One body?” I barely got the words out, and I wondered if forgetting most of yesterday was a blessing or a curse. “Who?”

Klara grunted, and she looked at me with equal parts incredulity and concern. “The mail plane crashed yesterday,” she said. “I helped pick up pieces of the pilot. After that, when I got done washing, I found the inside of your fighter.”

Her face paled, and her eyes looked distant. The memory, fresh as ever, tormented her. My words, however, were anything but understanding and the moment I spoke them, I wished I could’ve taken them back. “You should’ve asked Alexandra.”

“I talked to her only as long as I could stomach her,” she said. “She told me you were in the dugout, and I went there to find you sleeping. That’s how little you think of me, is it? You’d rather take a nap than let me know you didn’t get your leg blown off.”

As bad as I felt about giving Klara the shock of her life, her ill words toward my wingman took me off the defensive. “I wouldn’t let her talk about you like that, and I won’t let you do the same. Mind your place and remember she’s an officer, and you are not. And for that matter, so am I.”

“Of course,” she said, giving a half-hearted curtsy. She tried to sound tough, but the waver in her voice and tears in her eyes shattered her façade. “You’re just like her, aren’t you? Looking down at us lowly folk, only bothering to speak when it suits your fancy.”

I groaned in frustration. What I had hoped was going to be a simple day had turned into anything but. I felt like wrapping my fingers around her thin neck and throttling her. My hand ached, and I could tell it wouldn’t be long before it became bothersome. “Go away, Klara, before I say something I’ll regret.”

“Gladly. I’m tired of you playing games with my head,” she said. She turned her back on me and walked off, and as she did, I heard her mutter one last thing. “Stupid, stingy Cossack.”

I grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. The momentum generated whipped her wrench through the air, and it connected with the side of my head. I crumpled to the ground, my world a mess of shapeless colors and a high-pitched ringing.

Slowly, everything took form. Klara was kneeling over me, eyes wide with terror, patting my face. “It was an accident I swear,” she said. She looked up for a second and the color drained from her face. “You have to believe me.”

In a quiet pond, devils dwell. I gave that proverb life when I grabbed her by the back of the head, pulled her in, and kissed her.

Klara’s lips were exactly what I expected the winter goddess Morena’s would be like, soft as down and as cold as a Siberian winter. Klara put a tentative hand on my shoulder. While we were pressed together, I could feel her hold her breath for a few heart beats before pushing away.

“Why did you do that?” she said, her face pale and voice weak. She traced the edge of her mouth with her finger, and her eyes glazed. “It’s not what I wanted.”

I took to my feet, probing my head where she clobbered me. I winced, and my hand came back covered in blood. “I don’t know,” I said. “Seemed funny at the time. Better than hitting you back, don’t you think?”

She stepped away. “Are you crazy? It wasn’t funny, and I don’t want attention.”

“Klara, to the box! Nadya, with me right now!”

I spun around, which caused me to stumble on account of dizziness. Gridnev marched toward us with a couple of armed soldiers. He moved like a dark storm carrying the fury of the sea. I put myself between them and Klara. “I’m fine, Major,” I said. “It was an accident.”

“Step aside and come with me now, Junior Lieutenant,” he said. “This isn’t a polite suggestion.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to leave Klara to the wolves. Gridnev opened his mouth to say something else, something I guessed would make things a thousand times worse, and I capitulated. “Yes, comrade major,” I said. My shoulders slumped and I moved to the side. “Where are we going?”

“Command post.”

I fell in step behind him when he spun around and left. The two guards rushed by and took Klara into custody. As they led her away, she silently pleaded with me to save her. I prayed I could. Striking an officer was serious, and kissing one—of the same sex no less—was probably as much so. The 20s were friendly to such relationships, relatively speaking, but under Stalin, persecution had been common up until the war. Now the consequence of such behavior was a gamble, largely depending on who saw it and what their attitudes were. I had no idea where the Major stood on the matter.

We entered the command post and from a corner drawer, Gridnev grabbed and threw a cotton rag at me. “Keep pressure on it.”

“Should I see the doctor about it, comrade major?” I asked while doing as told.

“You tell me,” he said. “You said you were fine.”

The side of my head warmed, and I wondered how much it was going to affect a chance at a good night’s rest. However, I wanted the injury to be seen as lightly as possible for Klara’s sake. “It can wait, I think,” I replied. “But maybe if I have some time after we’re done here I’ll still have him take a look.”

“Fine,” he said, plopping down behind his desk. He didn’t ask me to sit, which I took to be a bad omen. “What the hell was that about?”

“She was upset I didn’t let her know I was okay after coming back yesterday,” I explained, trying my best to find a way to put the entire encounter in a positive light. I was navigating tricky waters here, I knew. “She left and I grabbed her to finish the conversation. When I spun her around, the wrench went flying and found my face.”

Gridnev crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “So she was insubordinate.”

I shook my head, even though I’m certain we both knew he was right. “She was hurt.”

“And she lost her bearing, Junior Lieutenant,” he said. “We have rules and order for a reason. Or do you disagree?”

“No, comrade major,” I said. “I don’t disagree. People do things when they are scared and worried that they wouldn’t normally do.”

“Box, nonetheless.”

I shook my head and cursed under my breath. Though I knew he was aware of both, thankfully, he said nothing. “If I may ask, for how long?”