“You’re on course. Five… three… marked!”
Oksana whistled into the German camp on the stalled engine, deployed the bomb squarely on the marked target, and pulled up to a higher elevation as the engine roared back to life and we maneuvered to return. The rat-a-tat of antiaircraft guns sounded seconds after we made our target, the searchlights now running, hunting frantically for the offending invaders.
Oksana circled back over the camp instead of taking an evasive course back to base.
“What are you doing?” I asked over the interphone. I would have called a course correction to her, but she knew she was well off course. There was nothing inadvertent about her actions.
“We have another bomb. I’m going to use it.”
“Got it,” I said. “There’s a convoy of trucks to the north of the camp. Good a target as any.”
She headed northwest, narrowly evading the searchlights’ blinding ribbons of death. She banked left, dove low, on course to drop her payload on a row of German trucks.
“Pull up,” I called over the interphone. “You’re at least twenty meters below the threshold.”
Ignoring my warning, she deployed the second bomb before she climbed to a safe altitude. I could feel the heat of the blast bounce the plane upward as the bomb made contact with the ground below. The trucks lay in ruins, their fuel tanks making smaller explosions as they ignited. Oksana deftly pulled us up and whipped back onto course for our own camp.
The craft shuddered as we flew, and I scanned all the instruments—such as they were—for any signs of imminent engine failure. I sniffed as intently as a dog waiting for his table scraps, seeking out the first whiff of smoke. Though it would do little good. If the craft was going to catch fire, it would go up quickly and we likely wouldn’t have a chance to land before it became engulfed in flames. In the best case we’d be forced to land in German territory. I doubted my little army-issue pistol would do much good against well-armed German sentries and had little desire to test that theory.
I wanted to growl over the interphone at Oksana for her carelessness. That same mistake had nearly cost Taisiya and me our places in the regiment, and for good reason. I stilled my tongue, knowing she’d respond better to cool logic on the ground, but it cost me every ounce of restraint I had not to hurl insults about her stupidity and that of all her relations—living and dead—over the tinny contraption.
We landed forty minutes later, my knees wobbling as I hopped onto the ground from the wing. We didn’t usually exit the aircraft between sorties these days, but it was clear we needed a mechanic’s assessment. I motioned needlessly to Polina, who was already approaching as I ran my hands over the linen. The scorch marks on the underbelly showed we had possibly been within mere centimeters of disaster, but there didn’t seem to be much damage beyond the cosmetic. I pulled Oksana by the crook of her arm away from the bustle of the ground crews.
“What was that, Oksana?” I asked in a low growl.
“War, Katya. In case you haven’t noticed.”
“You completely disregarded the safe limits of our aircraft. Not to mention my own warning.”
“I saw an opportunity, Katya, and I took it.”
“And you nearly took our plane down,” I said, thinking of where I might be if I had accepted Vanya’s offer. Someplace safer than the cockpit of a plane with a masochist as pilot. “Do you think a dozen trucks are worth an aircraft and two crew?”
“We need to get back in the air,” Oksana said, turning away. “Polina finished her check.”
“Do you want me to find another regiment?” I asked. “Because I will tolerate many things, but never recklessness. And I sure as hell won’t fly with a pilot who is too stupid to listen to her navigator.”
“You will fly the rest of our mission tonight.” Oksana’s tone brokered no refusal. “We can talk more tomorrow.”
We flew seven more sorties that night, and, as though sensing the anger shooting from my eyes through the back of her helmet, she didn’t deviate from the safe limits prescribed for the aircraft.
On our way back to the barracks by the early-morning light, I pulled her aside once I’d regained enough sensation in my face to be able to speak.
“We have to talk about what happened on that first sortie.”
“It’s simple, Katya. I had an extra bomb. I wasn’t going to waste it.”
“So drop it, but not when we’re under the safe ceiling. That was nothing short of stupid, Oksana.”
“Katya, we have to take risks to end this war.”
“A calculated risk is fine. I don’t mind aggressive flying, either. What I do mind is recklessness. It wasn’t even a particularly stellar target. To waste lives and resources like that isn’t just reckless; it’s dishonorable.”
Oksana paused and turned her head to look at the crews who were stumbling into the barracks to catch some sleep. “You were lucky out east,” she said. “Kiev was one of the first cities they came to. Do you know what it was like?”
“No.”
“They rounded up people—Jews mostly, and handicapped people, and anyone who spoke out against the Reich or fought back. They slaughtered them. By the thousands, Katya. Families. Children. I promise you, no matter how bad things might get in Miass, they will never be like those days when the Germans steamrolled through Kiev unchecked. Stalin did nothing to protect his own people. Probably thought Hitler had done him a favor until the fighting got too close to Red Square. Don’t talk to me about recklessness and dishonor. I’ve seen what they can do, and I make no apologies for what I did.”
“You will not settle a vendetta with me as your navigator, Oksana. I won’t do it. I am prepared to give my life for my country, but I’m not going to throw it away if I don’t have to.”
“They would cut every last one of us down, Katya. Don’t think they wouldn’t.”
“I know. But you have to be responsible for this unit. Did Sofia ever pull such tactics?”
“No, but as commander and as pilot, I can do as I please. I don’t answer to her anymore. Nor to you.”
“You said yourself that you need me. And now, more than ever, I think you do. But if you want to try leading without my help, keep on doing as you are.”
Back in the barracks I threw off my flight suit and threw myself under the covers of my bunk in my long undergarments. I knew sleep wouldn’t come, and I didn’t seek it out. I thought of the best way to return to Chelyabinsk and the flight school. How I could get word to Vanya of where I’d gone and to Mama to know to expect me. I cursed my folly for not taking my leave of service when I’d had the chance.
“I’m sorry,” Oksana said by way of greeting at the midday meal.
She sat apart from the others, as was her custom, and had gestured for me to sit across from her. I placed my tray on the table with more force than I intended but joined her all the same. She was my commanding officer, and though I was her second in command—for now—she was still my superior. I wouldn’t let my anger give anyone cause to criticize my discipline.
“I’m willing to forgive a moment of foolishness on your first sortie as my pilot,” I said. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Fly smart,” I said, picking at the grayish chicken on my plate and feeling what little appetite I had shrink further still. “It was the only promise I made my husband, and I intend to keep it.”
“Do you think the Germans are flying cautiously?” Oksana asked. “That their commanders are letting their pilots avoid risks?”
“No,” I said, looking up from the nauseating mess on my plate. “I know this is a war, Oksana. I don’t need you to patronize me. But there are lines we don’t cross. I won’t be a martyr. Don’t destroy what Sofia worked so hard to build. If you cared for her, don’t treat her memory so lightly.”