C Taylor - Nadya's War

I grinned with a devilish delight and hammered my triggers. My guns stayed silent.

I wanted to die a hundred deaths rather than see Klara get torn apart. I cursed myself a thousand times over for running out of ammo, and with equal parts instinct and hate, I drove my plane into Rademacher’s. He opened fire as my left wing struck his fuselage. Despite the violent collision, I managed to pop the latches to both the canopy and seat belt as my fighter tumbled in flames. I was immediately thrown clear.

Almost two thousand meters over the earth, I fell through the sky. Wind blasted my face and roared by my ears. I arched as hard as I could and pulled the ring to my rip cord. My parachute opened, snatching me upward and swinging my legs out in front of me. Sitting in the harness, I twisted in both directions to see what had become of Klara and Rademacher.

I found Klara’s fighter above and behind me, making a wide circle around my position. I could hear her engine making a grinding, clanking sound. There was a loud bang, and a black cloud erupted from the nose of her plane. My gut tightened, fearing for her life.

“Land over there!” I yelled, waving my hands toward a level clearing a few kilometers away. Though the ground below me had few trees, it looked like it had enough small hills in it to be a dangerous place to ditch a plane. She must have had the same idea—I know she didn’t hear me—and after half circle, she lined her plane up to make an emergency landing where I’d pointed.

I watched her plane glide overhead and remembered to bring my feet and knees together a moment before I hit the ground. Unlike the end of my first dogfight with Rademacher, this landing was softer thanks to the thick layer of snow.

My parachute fell on top of me, and it took me a few moments to get out from under it and untangle myself from the lines. Once I was clear, I undid my harness and drew my revolver. Off in the distant north, I could hear the constant booms of a large battle—one I knew stretched for hundreds of kilometers. I needed to get past it and back into friendly territory. As much as I feared the investigation into Petrov’s death, it was still true that everything would be ten times worse if I were captured.

Rademacher was probably thinking how bad things would be for him if the Red Army broke through and caught him. The thought of him spurred me to scan the sky. I saw him coming down in his white parachute, about a half a kilometer away, wobbling like a slow-spinning top. I wondered if something was wrong with his parachute and if he’d survive hitting the ground.

I headed toward where he was landing, and he disappeared behind the far side of a rise. My feet sank deep into the snow with every step, making the travel at times both difficult and tiresome. As I blazed my trail to Rademacher, I questioned the wisdom in such a thing. He’d be armed and obviously had no qualms about killing people. Moreover, he’d be working his way back to his own airfield and wouldn’t let anything or anyone get in his way—especially with the Red Army on his heels.

I considered avoiding him and taking the safer route to find Klara and get home. But my entire life on the southwestern front had revolved around him one way or another. I had to bring it to an end if it was the last thing I did. If I didn’t do it for myself, I had to for Alexandra and Martyona. They deserved rest more than I deserved closure. And of course, I had to know why he did the things he did.

I crested the hill and found the German pilot lying on his back. He struggled with getting out of the mess of lines wrapped around his leg and lower torso. I ran up behind him, pistol raised and ready to shoot.

“ Hände! Hände! ” I yelled.

Rademacher’s arms shot into the air. “ Nicht schießen! Nicht schießen! ”

I froze and couldn’t help but crack a smile at the absurd situation. My orders had fully taxed my German vocabulary, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t speak Russian.

I eased around Rademacher and for the first time I got a look at the man who’d been trying to kill me—who’d killed my friends. He stared at me with eyes belonging to an innocent babe, not the devilish ones I thought they’d be. His thin lips, combined with a narrow chin and large, broken nose made him appear more comical than threatening. He wore leather gloves and a well-fitted fleece-lined jacket in near pristine condition with a white scarf. I was envious of the ensemble, for I still had my original, ill-fitted heavy winter coat and pants I’d been wearing since my first day of training. I looked like a hobo, a child at best, pretending to be a valiant and noble fighter pilot. He looked to be the real thing.

Rademacher was the first to break the silence. “Oh, it’s you. I’d congratulate you on shooting me down, but I guess you rammed me. I didn’t expect that.”

“There’s a lot I haven’t expected when it came to you.”

He looked up at his hands still held high. “They are tired. May I bring them down?”

“So you can shoot me?” I scoffed. “I think not.”

“No, but if I may,” he said. Keeping one hand high in the air, he slowly reached for the 9mm Luger at his left side. Using his thumb and forefinger, he took it out of its holster and flung it on the ground at my feet.

I picked up his pistol and stuffed it in my satchel, all the while keeping my revolver pointed at his head. “What makes you think I still won’t kill you?”

“If you were going to you would have by now,” he said. “But if you plan on taking me prisoner, go ahead and shoot me.”

“You killed my friends,” I said as memories of Alexandra flooded my mind. The gun shook in my hand and my voice cracked. “I should send you straight to Hell.”

“I did,” he said with a large, unexpected amount of remorse. “But you killed mine as well. Those men had lives, families, and friends, too.”

“Maybe they should’ve thought of that before they invaded our land.” My finger tightened on the trigger, my hate being barely contained. Looking back, I’m surprised the weapon didn’t go off.

“They fought because they had to,” he replied. “As do I. Surely you know what that’s like. Stalin has killed millions of your people and invaded Poland, yet you defend him with your life.”

“I’ll never defend him. I defend myself and the innocent people you’d murder.”

Rademacher shook his head. “I don’t go after civilians, nor would I. It’s why I fly fighters and not bombers. I decide who to engage, who to shoot. At least this way whoever fights against me has a chance.” He shrugged and finished untangling the lines around his leg. “You and I are not so unlike. We both fight for madmen who would kill us as much as praise us, and why? Because we must.”

I lowered the weapon. As much as I hated to admit it, his words had a ring of truth to them. He had no more choice in invading Russia as I had in defending her. I wagered some of the fascists enjoyed the conquest and wanted to see Germany rule it all, but that wasn’t the feeling I got from him.

“So what now?” I asked, unsure what to do with all these new thoughts.

“We can part ways, or you can shoot me. But I won’t be taken prisoner.”

“No, I can’t do that,” I said. “You’ll fight again and shoot down more of my friends.”

“On my word I’ll do no such thing,” he replied. “I’ve been tired of this war since it began. Hitler never learned from Napoleon’s mistake, never respected the vastness of Russia nor her mighty winters. He will lose this war, and I have no desire to be there when he does.”

I smirked, certain I caught him in a lie. “You said you fight because you must. You’ll fly the second they give you a new plane.”