C Taylor - Nadya's War

Klara nearly flew out of her seat. “Nadya! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she said with a death grip on the lip of her cockpit. “Can’t you see I’m trying to get ready? Where have you been?”

“Painting.”

“Painting what?”

“A little addition to my plane,” I said with a huge grin.

Even in the low light, I could see her face sour. “Painted over my boar?”

“I’d sooner destroy a stained glass window than do that,” I said. Though I wished otherwise, I knew something was bothering her, and I knew what that was. “I wasn’t using again, Klara. I swear. My arm is in far too much agony not to be.”

Klara’s gaze drifted away from me. “I know what I saw.”

“It was old.” I said, pulling on her parachute harness to be sure it was secure. She didn’t answer, so I tried a new approach. “Grill me when we get back. You’ll see I’m not lying.”

When I tried to lean in to give her a hug, she pulled away. “No, Nadya. I’m not going to let you muddle my thoughts,” she said. “They’re clouded enough, and I need to be able to fly so I don’t turn into a crater.”

Though hurt, I nodded and backed off. “Fair enough. From here on out, it’s all about the mission, and I promise to bring you home safe. Okay?”

I hurried back to my plane, wanting to tell her how much I loved her and her doubts about me were breaking my heart, but she needed time and space. I could only pray she’d get enough of both and realize I spoke nothing but the truth to her.

Climbing into my cockpit, I cast a worried glance to the east. An orange glow crested the horizon, and it meant I didn’t have long to pre-flight everything. The mechanic who’d replaced Klara’s role this sortie came from Third Squadron. Although I was sure he was a capable young man, it still made me nervous to have him responsible for my aircraft. Klara knew the intricacies of this plane. He did not. She’d put it back together after countless holes and explosions. He had not. So I triple checked it all.

I taxied on to the runway at the first glint of sun, ever hopeful the morning fog would not delay or cancel the flight. Those worries were largely unfounded, for our airfield was missing dozens of planes that had already been sent off on missions. Klara and I were some of the last scheduled to go.

At precisely 8:05, a single flare launched into the air, signaling that it was time for us to depart. Even this far behind lines, no one wanted to risk an early radio intercept on such an important day.

My mood lifted when I took off from the runway. I pulled back on the stick as far as I dared in eagerness to soar with the eagles. The plane’s climb was steep enough to sour any veteran’s stomach. It was a tiny miracle I didn’t stall the plane and crash, but as this flight would be historic for so many reasons, I was going to enjoy every second. I also wanted to show off my cross, so I made a low-level barrel roll over the airfield for everyone to see.

“Little Boar, stop playing.”

“Acknowledged,” I replied, even though I didn’t care in the least. I glanced over my shoulder. Klara saddled behind me about fifty meters to my seven o’clock. “On me, Klara?”

“On you.”

Her voice was calm, focused, like she sounded when she was working on an engine or remounting a machinegun. It helped me relax as we traveled west. “Watch those skies,” I said, despite needing to keep chatter non-existent. “I don’t care how empty they look or how overstretched the Luftwaffe are. Only takes one to catch us off guard and ruin our day.”

“Understood.”

“Remember to keep your speed up in a fight, but don’t be afraid of G’s. And don’t shoot until you’re sure of the shot. Ammunition goes quick up here. If they don’t see you and you’re close, don’t let off the trigger until you see flames.”

Klara’s laugh blasted over the radio, music to my soul. “You trying to teach me everything you know over the next ten minutes?”

“I’m only passing on tidbits that could save your life.”

“Well, here’s something I’m going to pass on,” she said. “I hate this plane.”

I chuckled at the unexpected remark and feigned a deep hurt. “What? We’re flying the same one. You always said you loved my fighter.”

“I do love your fighter. I hate this one. It’s fresh from the factory and barely broken in,” she said. “I don’t know a thing about its personality.”

“Guess you’ll have fun discovering it,” I said. “Be sure to give it a paint job that reflects it.”

“Like your cross?”

Her tone was curious, but it held an edge of shock. “You don’t have to have one if you don’t like,” I replied. “But I like my cross. It’s from the Knights Hospitaller.”

“I know what it is. Why do you want it?”

“I admire who they were,” I said. “Their strength, their unwavering trust in God in a world that made no sense, and if I’m going into mortal combat, I think they’re admirable role models.”

“If you say.” She sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t have painted something so against the Motherland. People will wonder about you, but I guess it’s your choice.” The conversation died for a moment, and Klara picked it up before I replied. “Nadya, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk to you like that. My nerves are getting the best of me.”

“You’re doing better than I did my first time. When we get home, you’ll laugh looking back.”

We zipped over the frozen landscape for another ten minutes before the radio crackled to life. It was the tower from Anisovka. “Little Boar, be advised, Code Siren has been ordered.”

This was it then. The command to launch the attack had been given. I couldn’t begin to imagine what was happening on the ground, but going by earlier talks with Gridnev, the response must have been on a massive scale like no other.

I rolled my shoulders and stretched both arms to loosen up for battle. Fog still blanketed the ground, and I wondered if the pilots we’d be escorting would be able to see their targets.

It wasn’t long before we rendezvoused with Sparrow flight—the group of planes we were to protect—about twenty kilometers north of The Don. The Ilyushin Il-2s were single-engine, ground-attack fighters and a bane of the German armies. Each plane bristled with 23mm cannons and 7.62mm machine guns, as well as a rear gunner. On top of those, each also carried full racks of bombs. Truly they brought hell’s fury to the battlefield, and their legendary toughness helped to ensure they’d wreak havoc on enemy lines and live to tell about it. They were more than enough to obliterate our targets, provided Klara and I could keep them alive.

“Glad to have you with us, Little Boar,” their flight leader said. “Keep us clear and we’ll do the rest.”

Our flight crossed The Don shortly before nine. The fog had thinned, and the sight we were greeted with stole my breath. The Red Army swarmed the ground like ants with countless tanks and a thousand times that in men, all driving toward the Romanian lines. Fresh craters filled the landscape, a testament to an artillery barrage that had rained down on the enemy with the wrath of an angry god. Smoke rose from the earth and burning vehicles.

“Do you think anyone survived that?” Klara asked, her words mirroring my thoughts.

“I don’t see how anyone could have.”

We’d barely passed over our own troops when tracers leapt from the ground toward us. They appeared to bend away at the last moment, an optical illusion due to our speed and the gunners not adequately leading their shots. I brought my plane up a few hundred meters. There was no reason for us to be low at this point, and a lucky cannon shell would ruin our day like dynamite ruined a house of cards. “Popping up to cover.”