C Taylor - Nadya's War

With stiff movements, I put my boots and jacket on, and grabbed my gloves from underneath the foot of my bed. “No thanks,” I said. “All I want is to fly.”

“Think about it,” she said, following me out. “Then we could be family forever.”

I stopped in my tracks and smiled at the thought. “We’ll always be family.”

We headed across the airfield and split to get in our fighters. I was amazed at the vigor in my steps. Apparently, a little solid rest and a numbing of the nerves did wonders for my spirits. I saw Klara near the tail of my plane, leaning against the fuselage, with a mournful look upon her moonlit face.

“It’s ready,” she said. “Are you feeling better?”

I stopped a couple of paces away. She sounded as if she was asking out of formality rather than genuine concern. “Much. I thought you were going to wake me up?”

“You don’t need me. Alexandra had that covered.”

“How—” I stopped myself from finishing that question, and after my stomach tightened, I forced myself to ask the next. “You heard us talking?”

Klara looked away. Her silence was all I needed.

“You’re taking it wrong,” I said.

“I’m not sure how to take being the biggest mistake of your life in a nice way.”

I took her by the shoulders. “I only regret getting us in trouble. That kiss was supposed to be funny, and now it’s become anything but. You were my first real friend here and still are. No one looks after me the same way you do. Not even Alexandra.”

She eyed me suspiciously. “Would you kiss me again?”

“Only if it wouldn’t land us both in the box or worse,” I said. I gave a playful laugh. “I can’t believe you even have to ask.”

Klara’s head dropped. She sighed with equal parts heartache and relief. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been so paranoid about losing you. All the blood. The dying. The orders to leave you alone, and then I hear you make comments like that and don’t know what to think.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I have to come back to you safe, yes?”

That brightened her face. “Yes. Always.”

“Then that’s what I plan on doing.” I stifled a yawn, and smacked myself a few times to wake up. “Tell you what, when I get back and the day is done, we can spend the night at the river, just you and me. If it goes well enough, we could make it a standing date.”

“That’s not right. It’ll be considered fraternizing.”

I shrugged. “I don’t care what it will be considered. Besides, if we pull off this attack, Gridnev will be so elated he won’t care one bit what we do. Trust me.”

Klara pushed off the plane. Her eyes looked hopeful and scared to be so at the same time. “If you promise he won’t care.”

“I promise.”

“Then come back to me safe, Nadya.”

Seven of us zipped through the overcast sky, a dozen meters beneath the cloud layer. Gridnev flew lead and a girl named Tania from First Squadron flew on his wing. Alexandra and I cruised next to them about thirty meters away. I pictured myself as a modern version of my ancestors who rode into battle on horseback, courageous and strong. If only they could see me now, sailing through the air to drive off the invaders. I wondered if they’d be proud or jealous. Maybe both.

The four of us escorted a flight of three Pe-2s from the 150 thHigh-Speed Bomber Regiment across the snowy landscape. That unit was led by Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Polbin who I’d heard was quite the commander. I’d also heard he enjoyed music and sang well, like me, which made me think we’d get along—even if he was a die-hard communist and loyal to Stalin.

The twin-engine Peshkas flew nearly as fast as our fighters, something I was grateful for. I’m certain the three crew members inside each bomber were thankful as well, since unlike the German Heinkels and Stukas, these planes were tough to catch for any aircraft. That being said, I was glad I was in my Yak-1. I wouldn’t have wanted to fly one of those bombers at all, no matter how prestigious they were. They were still big targets, and far less nimble than the fighter I had. I prayed we’d keep them safe.

All the Pe-2s, however, did have fresh, winter paint jobs. Their off-white and tan colors hid them well in the surroundings, and if I wasn’t paying close attention, I’d even lose sight of them from time to time. Their target was a rail depot the Germans were using to bring in supplies and troops headed to Stalingrad. Obliterating it would disrupt logistics and force the Luftwaffe to keep it safe once rebuilt.

With luck, the Germans wouldn’t spot the Peshkas until the bombs were already dropping and they were headed home. I fantasized about how easy of a mission this could be as we went deeper into enemy lines. Those thoughts almost turned into dreams as the drone from my fighter’s engine combined with the dreary sky nearly put me to sleep, despite the digging pain in my arm.

“Tighten up, Little Boar,” Gridnev called out over the radio.

My eyes snapped to the formation. I’d drifted away from the bombers by a good fifty meters sideways and at least that in altitude. I glanced over my shoulder to see Alexandra off to my right. She’d stayed with me even as I wandered. “Reforming now. Thought I saw something below and wanted a better view.”

It was a lie, but no one challenged me on it. I didn’t want to admit I was overtired because my body was craving morphine. I checked the clock. It was about a quarter till seven. I tapped the glass face, trying to remember how much longer we had until we reached the target. I grunted with frustration when I couldn’t figure it out and decided to make a routine check with the Major. “Confirm time to target?”

“Four minutes, thirty seconds.”

I eased back in my seat. That seemed right. I slapped my cheek a few times to wake up. God, I needed more rest. My response on the controls was sluggish, and I probably couldn’t navigate my way home to save my life. I feared I was going to be more of a danger to myself landing than any dogfight would be. I reminded myself that once I was clear of the withdrawals, sleep would come easier.

I scanned the sky and kept a constant vigil on the clock. Two minutes to target, I spied four dots in the sky, closing fast in a finger-four formation. Identifying the group was easy, even in my groggy state. “Luftwaffe Schwarm, three o’clock, six or seven kilometers out.” I said.

“Attack on my order,” Gridnev said. “Stay with our bombers.”

We held our formation for the next half minute in tense silence. Then the lead bomber’s pilot spoke on the radio. “We’re starting our run. Doors open. One pass and we’re gone.”

“Nadya, Alexandra, engage the enemy fighters,” Gridnev said. “Tania and I will be right behind.”

“Going in,” I said, peeling my fighter off to the right. Tension mounted in my chest and arms, not from nervousness, but eagerness. The pain in my burns even dulled under a sea of adrenaline. I wanted to prove myself again and be known as the girl with two kills now on her plane. Funny how such a boost to confidence and self-esteem came from what was a barbaric act—the death of another.

Our planes raced toward the Luftwaffe, and images of our two groups clashing violently with each other made me readjust my grip on the controls twice over. Since I was the lead plane, I should have been proud to lead the charge, but since I was out in front, what I really felt was exposed.

I changed the line of our attack by giving some rudder and angling my plane so it flew to the right of the German formation. This way, they’d have to make a choice to engage us or continue to chase our bombers. I didn’t know which I’d prefer and never had the time to figure it out. One moment the 109s were still two kilometers away, and seemingly the next, I was shooting by, nearly scraping my wing tip against one of the Messers.