“I wanted it to be a surprise for when we flew together for the first time.” Klara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If I were in your shoes, I’d think the same, maybe worse, but believe me when I say this. Changes are coming, and no one is supposed to know.”
“Sure. No one knows but you.”
“A few days ago the 24th and 66th Armies attacked the XIV Panzer Corps. Brass hats are trying to cover up the disaster, but word got out and the Germans are at the southern end of Stalingrad,” she said. “Everyone is afraid the city is going to fall, no matter how much they say otherwise. If it does, there’s no stopping the Germans. Kazarinova is transferring over a half dozen pilots to help with the defense.”
I chewed on her words, unsure how to take the news. Had she been training with Zhenia in the hopes of moving to a new regiment or to take the place of someone leaving? Or had she been trying for my spot all along and this news was a convenient cover story?
“Twenty seconds or I’m locking you in,” the guard called out.
Klara’s face turned worried. “There’s more. There’s a commissar named Petrov with Kazarinova right now. He’s asking about you and not in a good way.”
My gut tightened. “How?”
“He thinks you left Martyona to die. Please tell me you didn’t.”
“You know me, Klara. Of course not.”
She blew out a puff of air, but her body was still tense. “I believe you, but he sounded so sure—said you were a spy for the Germans and that I shouldn’t talk to you at all. He said you didn’t kill one of their pilots when you had the chance.”
“He’s on a witch hunt. Nothing more.” While part of me wanted to shoot the man, most of me wanted to cry. Not because Petrov was hot on my heels, but because Klara was taking a risk in telling me what he was up to. I had no doubt he’d label her as a traitor too if he caught wind that she’d tipped me off to his investigation. “I’m sorry I doubted you,” I said, hugging her. “You’re nothing but a true friend.”
She snuggled into the embrace with a sigh. “Thanks.”
“Hey! I said you could talk! Nothing else,” the guard shouted. “Now get out.”
“Be strong,” Klara said, disengaging.
“I will,” I said, convinced I could even if my hands felt as if they were on fire. The hug aggravated the injuries, but it might have been the stress from everything else as well. That was another thing I’d noticed while standing in the box. The pain from my burns was an excellent barometer to my anxiety.
Once she’d gone, I ate my breakfast of bread and water. The bread tasted like a brick of sand, but it might as well have been manna from heaven on account of how hungry I was. I nursed the canteen as I ate, careful not to spill any of the precious liquid inside. It would be all I’d get until supper.
My cell door opened an hour later and in strode Petrov. His eyes reminded me of a wolf who’d spotted a wounded deer, and he wore a uniform straight from the front lines: a peaked field cap, a waterproof jacket with rank diamonds on the collar, and field breeches tucked into his boots.
I shifted my weight from one leg to the other out of unease and offered a salute. “Commissar.”
Petrov stopped a couple paces away. In his hand he carried a lit pipe with a black stem and dark wood for the bowl and shank. “Why am I not surprised you’re here? But I guess it’s one step closer to swinging from a tree.”
I lowered my hand after it became clear he wasn’t going to return the salute. I suppose he could have nailed me for that as well, but given my aching arms and weary body, I hadn’t the desire to play games. I wanted this conversation done. “Can I help you with something, Commissar?”
“So polite. So direct,” he said, bringing the pipe to his lips and taking a puff. He walked around me, eyes never leaving my body. “I came to tell you I’m going to enjoy having you with me at Stalingrad where I can keep a close, personal eye on you.”
“Comrade commissar?” I cocked my head to the side while my heart pounded against my chest. I had no idea why I was being transferred. Surely I hadn’t angered Tamara that much. Maybe he was simply toying with me.
“When I heard Kazarinova was sending off the troublemakers, I’d hoped you were in that group,” he said. “And then I was disappointed to find out you weren’t. But can you imagine why I was so delighted to learn you were no longer fit to fly?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Because as a simple administrative clerk, you’re no longer crucial to the 586th’s readiness. Transferring you is a simple matter as you’re no longer under Major Raskova’s wing.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and balled my fists. I knew he was trying to get under my skin, but it was all I could do to not punch him in the face. “Why are you telling me this?”
Petrov stopped behind me and leaned in close. He took a long drag off the pipe and blew the smoke to the side. As he spoke, his words were soft, petrifying. “Fear brings out the truth, and I want you to know from this day on you’ll be under my careful watch. So run if you want. It’ll only make this all the more enjoyable.”
A shiver ran down my back. My mind raced in a thousand directions thinking about what he could do. Hard labor. Starvation. Rape. Those were the tip of the iceberg concerning methods to extract confessions. I’d heard stories of people whose feet were crushed multiple times, and others had various portions of their bodies scalded over and over with boiling water. Trying to escape was tempting, even if it ended with me being shot. But that’s all it was, a temptation. “I’m not running,” I said as strongly as I could muster. “And I’ll always be a pilot.”
“We all have our delusions,” he said as he walked out of my cell. “I look forward to seeing your face when I come to pick you up.”
Chapter Seven
The moment Commissar Petrov left, my mind raced to find a way to secure my flight status. Even if I somehow dodged or survived serving with Petrov, losing my wings meant I’d never find Martyona’s killer and redeem myself.
To get back in the air, I needed Tamara’s unwavering support, but I couldn’t gain it. At least, not on my own. I’d have to have someone else on my side who said I was fit to fly. My own desires to prove myself were not enough. Zhenia’s wishes were also not being listened to and she was flight commander. That left me with two options as far as I could tell, and I was skeptical either would succeed.
The first was to work my way up the chain of command and petition someone with higher authority to let me fly. Tamara would have to listen to her superiors, and the first logical choice was to speak to Marina Raskova. Major Raskova was the one responsible for not only forming my regiment, but the other two all-female aviation regiments as well. Her word was law when it came to us girls, and I liked to think I’d made a favorable impression upon her when I’d met her at Engels during training.
Unfortunately, it would take some time for me to get a letter to her and have her reply, assuming I even could. By then, Petrov would’ve had his fun with me, not to mention ample opportunity to intercept any such communication. It’s not as if they granted me a radio to speak to her in this cell. I also didn’t know to what lengths Marina would go to save me, let alone listen to me. As such, the Major was out, which left me with the regiment’s doctor, Ivan Burak.
I’d seen Ivan Burak a couple of times since my return about my injuries. He didn’t offer much other than to see him in a few weeks if the wounds turned ugly, and the exams were brief. The latter was on account that his eyes stared more at my body than my arms, and everything about the encounters had me shifting in the seat and wanting to get out of there. Despite that, I needed his help. A medical condition was holding me back, threatening my life. He could fix it all with Tamara if I could get him on my side.