C Taylor - Nadya's War

“Putting you in a plane given the severity of your charges is begging for trouble for both of us,” he said. “Whatever they have in store for you would be visited upon me and my family tenfold if you took the opportunity to escape.”

“I won’t,” I said, repulsed at the idea. “Order Klara to shoot me down if I try.”

Gridnev cracked a half smile. “We both know she never would.”

“It won’t come to that,” I said, feeling the opportunity slip away. “I’m a single kill away from becoming an ace. Can you imagine the pressure they’d be under to side with me if I came back with my fifth victory?”

Gridnev rubbed his chin. “You make a point. Public opinion alone could save you. I suspect Marina would fight for you tooth and nail.”

“Then get me cleared for one last mission. What’s the worst that could I happen? I’d die and this would all be over.” When I could still see the reluctance in his face, I played my last card. “You owe me. I saved your life.”

“That you did. That you did,” he replied. He paced slowly around the room, mulling his options under his breath. “Okay, Nadya. I’ll see what I can do. No promises. We strike in three days. You’ll know by then one way or the other.”

I lost my composure and grabbed him in a tight hug. “Thank you!”

Gently, he pushed himself free. “No promises,” he reiterated while holding up his finger. “And not a word of this to anyone.”

On the third day after Gridnev left, my stomach was queasy with anticipation of his return. Despite the cold, my aching arm, and constant nightmares of Alexandra’s death, hope sprang in my soul that I’d be set free to fly once more. God, it would feel so good to see Klara again, not to mention fly alongside her. It was as if I had an angel behind me, whispering words of comfort and joy even though a bleak future loomed. The day wore on and my spirits fell, and those angelic words of comfort seemed to be more and more demonic words of torment.

When I woke the fourth day, I continued down my spiral of hopelessness. However, after my banquet of stale bread and chilled water I tricked myself into believing I’d counted the days wrong. That comforting delusion lasted a few hours. The reality was our forces had launched their counterattack, and since Gridnev hadn’t come for me, it must have gone well.

I went to sleep after sunset, wondering if they’d let me write one last letter home. I also wondered if I even should. My family could be judged guilty by association. No matter how innocent my words would be, those letters could be labelled as code.

I woke at a knock on the door. Someone cursed on the other end at the stubborn lock. Convinced it was a firing squad sent to dispatch justice, I hid off to the side, ready to pounce.

“It’s me, Nadya. You can relax,” Gridnev said as he entered. Despite it being in the late hours of the night, he was dressed for command. That wasn’t surprising given he’d probably been coordinating assaults for the last day and a half. This must have been the first break he’d gotten.

“Apologies, but I’m going crazy in here,” I said. “How’d the counterattack go?”

“It hasn’t,” he replied. “Operation Uranus has yet again been delayed thanks to logistics and manpower.”

I reflexively sucked in a breath, hopeful this might mean something good for me, but braced myself otherwise. “Does this mean…?”

“Yes, you’re flying. Our assault launches in the morning. You’ll be escorting Il-2 Sturmoviks when they hit enemy lines,” he said, handing me a folded map. “Should be light resistance in the air, perfect for Klara’s first combat mission.”

I took a moment to study the flight plans scribbled across the paper. Klara and I would be meeting a flight of four Il-2s east of Mikhaylovka, shortly after dawn. From there we would be heading south, across the Don River, and striking Romanian gun emplacements protecting the flanks of the Germans and then a depot. “Seems straightforward,” I said, looking up. “What’s the catch?”

“These are high-priority targets, Nadya,” he said with deadly seriousness. “The guns are out of range of our own. If they don’t get knocked out, there’s no telling how many of our men they’ll kill. Every last one of them has to be destroyed. We have to have this drive succeed if we are to cut off the German 6 thArmy and put Hitler on the defensive. You will help knock out all those emplacements or die trying. Understood?”

“Understood.” I paused when I noticed a glisten in his eye. “What aren’t you telling me?”

His voice lowered. “Your interrogation is scheduled the day after tomorrow. It’s to last at least a week, assuming it doesn’t kill you.”

My mind fogged. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Though the techniques that would be used against me were more than enough to frighten anyone—beating, burning, tearing, and breaking anything and everything—the most fearsome thing I had to think about was how any confessions would be used against my family. Perhaps it would be best if I died on this mission after all.

“What if I run?” I asked.

“They’ll go after your family as co-conspirators against the State, and they’ll hunt you down for the rest of your life. I understand the NKVD are already on their way to watch your parents.”

“Why are you telling me this? You’ll share my fate if they find out.”

“Because I know what it’s like to be scrutinized by them over false charges,” he said. “Anyone who’s saved my life deserves to know what’s in store. Come back an ace, however, and I think you can avoid everything. The only problem with that is I don’t know if there will be any Luftwaffe for you to engage.”

An hour before sunrise, after I’d finished studying the mission maps and memorizing every detail, I grabbed a small bucket of red paint, a brush, and a lantern. I brought all three to my Yak-1 and painted the cross of the Knights Hospitaller on the fuselage, a quarter meter behind the cockpit. My burns tormented me as I worked, but I looked at the pain as penance for all I’d done. Strangely, that idea made it bearable, almost welcome.

I felt emboldened with each stroke of the brush, for I wasn’t only applying paint to the skin of the plane, but I was declaring who I was for all to see. As I’d said to Klara, a life hiding wasn’t living. It was waiting for Death. I was done waiting.

A whisper in the darkest recess of my mind told me my whole life had been leading up to this point. Maybe madness was responsible, but the thoughts gave me purpose and excitement. And if I was going to meet my maker and have the opportunity to ask Him why the world was so broken, I wanted to be able to do so knowing I hadn’t been ashamed of Him, at the end at least.

Once finished, I sat on the wing of the plane and raised the lantern to inspect my work. The lines on the cross were crisp, and I was pleased I’d managed such a good job. I shut my eyes and envisioned the look on everyone’s faces when they saw how my plane had changed—what statement it now made. I could even hear the gossip about how silly I must be to believe any god exists. So be it. I might be silly, even foolish, but I didn’t care what others thought anymore. Maybe I’d even smooch Klara in front of a crowd for the hell of it.

By the time I’d put everything back, it was about a half hour to sunrise, which didn’t leave a lot of time before we launched. I snuck across the airfield where Klara was getting ready in her fighter.

When I reached her plane, she was darting onto the wing and into the cockpit, stumbling as she did. I put a quick finger to my lips to hush the mechanic assisting her and jumped on top of the wing root. “Klara! Slow down!”