C Taylor - Nadya's War

I leaned forward in the cockpit, trying to make Rademacher’s plane seem larger in my gun sight than it really was. At this point, his plane looked like the size of my pinky. I’d never land a shot on him from that range.

The Il-2s broke formation. Two turned left with the other going right. At first I thought it was because Rademacher was about to take them out, but then I saw a second 109 diving in from the clouds. It raked the solitary Il-2 with a vicious barrage of fire before veering off.

“Status?” Sparrow Leader called out.

“Leaking fuel. Gunner is hit,” came the reply. “I’m not sure I can stay.”

“Understood. Break and return home.”

Sparrow Three cut a fast, low turn toward me and we passed by in seconds. As we did, I gave the pilot a quick salute, hoping it would ease his worries, but I don’t think he saw it. Ahead, the remaining two Il-2s swung back on course while Klara and Rademacher entered their own dance together.

“Nadya, I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice wavering. “Get the other 109.”

She must have known as much as I did she hadn’t a prayer. Worse, Rademacher’s wingman was circling over the Il-2s and was about to re-engage. Time ground to a halt when I realized I had a choice. I could try and save Klara, or I could try and save the Il-2s. I couldn’t do both. I might not be able to do either.

“Hang on, Klara,” I said, angling my plane toward her. “I’m coming.”

“No. Finish the mission. Save the others.”

“I give the orders, not you,” I barked. There was no way in hell I was losing another friend, let alone my love. “We’ll save them together.”

I sped on, studying the dogfight as it unfolded, trying to feel what Klara and Rademacher were thinking. When I got within a few hundred meters, I chopped the throttle and pushed the nose down, anticipating the German ace’s next maneuver.

My instincts proved true, and Rademacher slipped under Klara and dead in my sights. I hammered the triggers and peppered his wing. Not as much debris flew as I’d hoped, but it was a start.

“Little Boar, we need assistance!” Sparrow Leader called.

“Finish him, Klara,” I said, banking my plane away and hoping the odds now favored her.

“Working on it,” she replied.

My plane dove to where the two Il-2s weaved back and forth in an effort to dodge the 109’s aim. Between their maneuvers and their rear gunners sending a lot of gunfire up into the air, the German pilot attacking them appeared to be having a lot of trouble lining up a good shot. Maybe we’d somehow all come home after all.

I caught up to them after a few seconds. When the Messer filled the ring on my gun sight, I sent a stream of death toward him. Not a single round found its mark, but the German jinked a hard right. His sharp maneuver bled speed, and I easily made the high-G yoyo to compensate and fired again.

A portion of his right wing sheared off along with his aileron on that side. The plane rolled right and barely pulled out of a dive into the ground. The Messer shuddered back and forth. I’m certain the pilot was doing all he could to keep the fighter aloft. I saddled up behind him and fired off another long burst. The plane went down in a flaming heap.

Instead of a rise of elation at the kill, I felt a rise of bile and my soul wither. I’d executed someone who was no longer a threat. I could have let him go. I should have. Then I wondered what was wrong with me. Plenty of people had gotten over their issues about killing others, especially when it was the enemy. Then again, I wondered if that was something to even strive for. Maybe it was good for the soul, in a strange way, to always be revolted by such a thing.

“You’re clear,” I said, turning back to the Il-2s and clearing my eyes.

“Good kill,” Sparrow Leader said. “We’ll take it from here. Go send that other one straight to Hell.”

I snapped my head around and saw Klara and Rademacher locked in rolling scissors a few kilometers away. Both planes were streaming at this point, which meant Rademacher had managed to score some hits on her. Hopefully, I could enter the fray before it was too late and the two of us could bring him down.

“Nadya,” Klara said as I raced toward her. “He’s on me tight.”

My hands shook, but I tried to sound strong for her sake. “You’re doing great. Keep moving.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

“As long as you need to.”

“You’re supposed to bring me home.”

I cringed at the desperation in her voice. “I will. Few more seconds. I promise.”

My hands tightened on the stick. Pain laced my arm and fueled my determination. But they were still a thousand meters from my position, and I could do nothing but watch their duel. God, why couldn’t this plane go any faster?

Rademacher won their contest before I got in range. He hammered Klara’s fighter, and her plane flipped upside down and went into a steep dive, streaming fuel, coolant and bits of metal. Rademacher didn’t follow. Instead, he hooked left, keeping me from getting a shot.

“Klara, what’s your status?” I asked as I followed my adversary. Despite the damage to his plane, it was all I could do to keep from overshooting as he threw my aim.

“Little shaken,” she said. “I’m not sure how long this plane will last.”

“Return to base. That’s an order.”

“A wingman does not leave her wing leader.”

I hit the side of the cockpit with my fist, knowing arguing was useless. The only way we were both going home was to bring Rademacher down before her plane gave out or he blew us out of the sky.

Sweat built on my forehead and neck as Rademacher and I jockeyed for position. I took potshots here and there, but he seemed to slip away from my sights at the last moment every time. My burning hand made it difficult to compensate for his sudden movements.

I eased off the trigger as we went into a rolling dive. I knew my guns were running low on ammo, and I couldn’t afford to miss anymore. When we pulled out of it, Rademacher was back on Klara’s tail.

The fight wore on for what felt like hours. More than once I thought Klara had cleared Rademacher from her tail, only to realize he’d not only thwarted my aim, but he’d put himself into a better position to shoot her down.

“You’ve got to end this, Nadya,” she said, her voice cracking. “My engine is overheating.”

White mist no longer poured from her plane. Her coolant was gone, and the life of her engine could be measured in seconds. With no time, no options, and a thread of hope to cling to, I gave the one order I could think of. “Klara, lose some altitude and hammerhead. I can come around up top when you two stall.”

It was a deadly choice that would kill her if it went sour, but what options did I have? I had to get Rademacher to stop moving to get the shot, and the only way I could do that was to use Klara as bait.

“You better not miss,” she said.

Her plane rolled into a tight downward spiral with Rademacher following. As they went around, I pulled up and banked, setting myself up for a high attack where I hoped they’d be.

“Here goes,” Klara said.

Her plane rocketed up and stood on its tail. Rademacher followed. Perhaps his fighter was more damaged than I’d thought and he needed a kill fast to even the odds. Whatever the reason, right as he was about to get a perfect sight picture on Klara’s plane and blast it out of the sky, he lined up perfectly with my guns.

I was a lot of things that day: a daughter, a Cossack, a Christian, a thief, and a failure to two of the best female pilots I’d ever met. But one thing I wasn’t going to be was the one responsible for not bringing Klara home.