C Taylor - Nadya's War

“Nadya, when we land, can we talk?” she asked.

Her voice had a rare seriousness to it, and I wondered what it was she wanted. I pushed those thoughts away and banked hard to pull the plane around and put it on final approach. I cut back on the throttle and deployed the flaps.

“Looking good, Little Boar,” the radio said. “Winds are light and variable.”

“Light and variable. Copy.”

I talked to myself the entire way down. Piece of cake. Piece of cake. Piece of cake. Adjust throttle. Adjust pitch. Concentrate. I checked the altimeter. Hundred meters . Ninety-five. Ninety. Airspeed. Two-ten. Cake. Cake. Cake. I got this.

I flipped the gear lever down to lower my wheels. The indicator lights on the right turned from red to green. I tensed in anticipation of touch down and continued my internal instructions. Mind the flare. Mind the flare. Wheels down in ten. Nine. Eight.

“Little Boar, Wave off! Wave off!”

I slammed the throttle forward and retraced my gears. The plane surged. I wasn’t sure what I’d botched on the landing, and I dreaded to find out. Worse, I feared my second attempt would be disastrous.

“Little Boar, we have incoming bombers to Stalingrad, heading two-six-three, forty-two kilometers away, altitude two thousand meters. Intercept them at once.”

“Oh God,” I said, putting the fighter into a climb and raising the flaps. “Alexandra, you with me?”

“Where you go, I go.”

Gravity pressed me into my seat as we rocketed upward. Soon we hit five hundred meters. A thousand. Two. I leveled off when we were over three thousand meters high, hoping combat would shock me fully awake.

“Badger, what’s their escort look like?” I said.

“Unknown. Large flight. Be advised, the 437 this unable to assist.”

That figured. I’d heard our fighter regiments had taken a beating and couldn’t contest the skies. I’d even heard our bombers had ceased daylight operations altogether. I guessed it was our turn to be thrust into the meat grinder with only a prayer to see us home safe. As we flew toward Stalingrad, a large part of me didn’t think we’d go home. Oddly, I was at peace. At least I’d have my wingman with me until the bitter end.

The city raced beneath us. Stalingrad was littered with burnt-out husks of buildings, each filled with rubble and many with rising smoke columns. All across the once majestic area I could see flashes of light and concussion blasts from tanks and artillery trading shots. The men and women in those streets knew a nightmare I never would.

“Enemy formation, eleven o’clock low,” Alexandra said. “Damn that’s a lot of them.”

It took me a moment to find them. My eyes kept tearing and losing focus. Only after I cleared them twice did I see the speck of dots off in the distance. I gasped, hypnotized by their numbers. We were headed for a swarm, and I hadn’t a clue what we were going to do about it.

“Orders?” Alexandra asked.

I didn’t know. My mind was a blank. All I could do was stare with a cotton mouth as we raced toward them. How many were there? Eight He-111s? It looked like five were in front in a V-formation with three more in the rear formed in a similar fashion. Each of those bombers was bristling with machine guns I knew were eager to tear into any fighter that dared near them. They had at least that many escorts surrounding them. We were higher, and thus could keep our speed up when we dove to attack. We’d also have the sun at our backs, and they hopefully wouldn’t see us coming. But was all that enough? God, this was suicide.

“Nadya! What do we do?”

“Where I go, you go.”

It was the only thing I could think to reply. I pulled the plane higher, rolled, and made an inverted loop. I picked out the He-111 on the far right of the lead formation and dove toward it. It looked to be the easiest shot. My vision tunneled as I focused on my target through the gun sight. I could feel the plane increase speed. I lifted in my seat, and even the smallest twitch of the controls bounced my aim.

Tracers flew by my cockpit from all directions, but I stayed the course. I mashed both triggers until I flew under my target, missing it by a few dozen meters. I pulled back on the stick and was slammed into the seat. My vision darkened as the G’s sent my blood rushing to my feet. Even in near blackout conditions and my arms feeling as if they were wrapped in lead, I held back on the stick until I guessed I was climbing away at a good angle. When I relaxed, the G’s eased. My vision returned, and I blew out all the air I was holding.

“Still with me, Alexandra?”

“Right behind you,” she replied. “We chewed that first one up, but he’s still flying.”

“We clear?”

“For the moment. They’re probably worried there are more of us.”

“I’m sure. Who in their right mind would send two against twenty?” I banked left and brought us around again. Pride swelled in my chest as I picked out the bomber we had attacked in the formation. Three trails of mist streaked behind it, two white and one brown. We must have hit some coolant and one of the fuel tanks. After watching him a few seconds, it was clear he was staying with the group and wasn’t going to break for home. Damn it to hell, I thought. Whatever they’re going to bomb has to be important.

“Little Boar, this is Badger. We think they’re targeting the Red October factory. We’ve got a lot of troops there, and they’ve been trying to take it for a week now. Do not let them hit it.”

I set my jaw. Those were the only words I needed to hear. I could make a difference. I would make a difference. I would bring honor to the Cossack name, remind all how fierce we were in combat, and that fierceness was not because we fought for Stalin and his filth or that we sought some barbaric glory, but because we fought for ourselves and for the Divine.

Into the lion’s den we went once more. Machinegun and cannon fire tried to tear us apart from all angles. After that second pass, I pulled around to make a third and kept my speed high to deny the enemy any chance at following me. I had a few scattered holes in my wings at this point, but as best I could tell, my fighter still flew without trouble.

I leaned forward and squinted, trying to pick out the bomber I’d hammered. I couldn’t find it. The formation looked different than I’d remembered it—messier. No matter. I chose another bomber, rolled left and countered with right rudder to line up my shot. I blew past the fascist, ripping into the bomber with all of my guns.

“Did he go down?” I said, leveling off and extending away from the fight. I craned my head to both sides, but couldn’t get a good visual. “He should be in pieces.”

I found the He-111 a moment later. Fire poured from its wing as it fell from the sky. I watched it burn all the way to the ground. This marked my third aerial victory, but I wasn’t excited for it, not even when I realized I was now over halfway to ace. The world would see me as an even more skilled pilot than before, but my soul said that wasn’t going to make me proud of myself. I needed something that this war would never provide, and I still didn’t know what that was.

“Nadya, I’m in trouble.”

Her panic ripped through my heart. I whipped my plane on edge and looked out the top of my canopy, desperate to find her. The bombers, still a good minute from their target, had broken off the attack. Some trailed far behind the main body, while others were turning around and making a run for home. Far below I saw Alexandra’s plane with a Messerschmitt 109 on her tail.

“I’m coming, hang in there,” I said, diving to her aid.

Alexandra weaved left and right dodging constant fire from her adversary. There was a bright flash on her left wing, and a section came off. Her rolls slowed. “I lost an aileron,” she said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”