“He’s a dangerous adversary, but not an immortal one. If you focus on your training and work together, I’m confident you can bring him down,” she said. “Now get out of here. You’re on flight rotations for four days starting tomorrow.”
Alexandra looked at me, grinning, and held out an expectant hand. I took it with my left hand and put my right along the small of her back as she put hers up on my shoulder. “And here I thought you’d forgotten,” she said.
“You are not dancing out of my box,” Tamara said. She tried to be stern in it, but her amused face belied her cutting tone. When the two of us looked at her, poised like toddlers testing their parents, she cleared her throat and found her unyielding look. “I mean it,” she said. “Save it for the airfield, but if you waltz out of this box, you’ll be waltzing to the penal brigade before the day is up.”
I let Alexandra go. We’d flirted with disaster enough. “On the airfield,” I said to her.
Alexandra nodded and smiled back. “On the airfield.”
We didn’t wait until the airfield, but we did wait until we were far enough away from Tamara and the box that it didn’t come across as insulting to our commanding officer. We made a run to the mess hall for breakfast, which we knew would still have some scraps left over from the morning line. When we reached its doors, we waltzed in, guzzled frigid water and tore into stale hunks of bread, and waltzed out. Some of the other girls lingering inside looked at us as if we’d come out of an asylum while others seemed to find our antics funny.
We were halfway down the airstrip when an infamous voice from behind stopped my heart and me dead in my tracks. “Tsk. Tsk. Nadya. Mouthing off to a commanding officer like that. You’re making this too easy.”
I turned to find Petrov standing nearby. He had a long combat knife with a black handle and an S-shaped guard in one hand, and in the other he lightly tossed an apricot. “I thought you were in Stalingrad,” I said, my eyes never leaving the point of his blade.
“I was in Stalingrad, but now I’m here,” he said. “And I’ll be staying until I get what I want.”
“More apricots?” Alexandra said, taking my arm. “My mother makes a fantastic apricot pie. I could see how you’d want them.”
I shouldn’t have cracked a smile at her smartass comment, but I couldn’t help it. Sadly, her moment of levity was short lived.
“All I need is one,” he said, slowly digging his knife into the fruit. “I intend on splitting it open so everyone can see exactly what it hides.” He sheathed his blade and pulled the apricot in two. Its seed fell to the ground, and he then dropped the halves. “It’s easy to get to the center when you know where to cut, isn’t it? I wonder how long the flesh will take to rot.”
I didn’t have an answer or anything remotely snappy as a reply. Alexandra tightened her grip on my arm, telling me she didn’t either. Thankfully, Petrov left without further word, but my skin still crawled from the encounter.
“Do you think he’s here to stay?” Alexandra asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “He was too sure of himself.”
“Maybe Kazarinova can help.”
“Maybe, but I fear the only thing I can do is pray something else gets his attention.”
We started walking again, heading toward the fighters parked on the ground. About a dozen meters from the nearest plane, Klara spotted us. She dropped a belt of machine-gun ammunition off her shoulder and came barreling toward me.
“Shut your eyes, Nadya,” she said, trying to cover my face with her hands. “I swear, if you spoil the surprise I’ll clobber you with a wrench.”
“Okay bossy lady, they’re shut!” I said, happily following her orders. Her energy and upbeat attitude pushed all thoughts of Petrov from my mind. Next thing I knew, I had a dirty rag around my face that acted as a blindfold. “God, Klara. This thing smells terrible.”
“And you smell about as good as my little nephew’s diaper,” she said, taking my hand and leading me away. “I suspect that’s right for another three days in the box. I can’t believe you said that to her.”
“Me either,” I said with a laugh. “You should’ve seen her face when I did.”
“I can imagine. For the record, I would have sent you away for a week and stripped you of rank.”
Klara’s sudden seriousness put me on edge, and I half entertained the idea her surprise wasn’t a good one, probably due to my recent encounter with Petrov. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Alexandra cleared her throat behind me. “Since I’m still here, are you going to introduce us, or do you want to continue being rude?”
“Sorry, yes,” I said. “Klara, my mechanic, meet Alexandra, my wingman.”
“You’re the one Nadya saved,” Klara said, sounding impressed.
“I am. She’s quite the shot.”
“So I’ve heard. It’s all everyone’s been talking about. Well, that and Liliia shooting down a pair of fascists.” Klara grabbed me by the shoulders and manhandled me into place. “Okay. This is it.”
I smiled when she let out an excited little eep as she untied my blindfold. I had to blink a few times to square my eyes against the sun, but once they adjusted and I saw what she’d brought me to, words failed me.
A small, cartoon boar was painted on the side of my fighter’s nose. It was charging forward, head down, tusks leading the way and dust trailing behind. That was cute, likeable even, but inscribed around it were the words, “Fighting for country and Stalin.” My stomach tightened, and had there been a bucket of paint nearby, I would have tossed it all at the wretched thing. Though I was fighting in that man’s air force, I would never fight for him. I fought for myself, my own kinsmen, and my own land. Not some paranoid, power-thirsty madman with the blood of countless innocents on his hands.
“Isn’t it great?” Klara said, hanging off my arm. “I had a lot less to do the last few days since your plane wasn’t going anywhere.”
Thankfully, Alexandra spoke first. “It’s a boar.”
“Because Nadya is Little Boar.”
“No, I mean, it’s a boar,” Alexandra said. Disdain dripped from her words, and her face soured. “They’re ugly, stupid animals. Why would you ever call her that?”
“They’re fast and dangerous,” Klara said, tripping over her own reply. “It’s nothing bad. I’ve called Nadya ‘Little Boar’ since I’ve known her.”
Alexandra looked at me incredulously. “You let her? Surely not. It’s the stupidest nickname I’ve ever heard. You’re not a beast meant for slaughter. You’re majestic and deadly, a bird of prey who has found her talons.”
I liked the sound of that, a bird of prey, and the imagery was a thousand times more graceful and meaningful than a dirty pig. It was fitting for a Cossack, as such birds were free to roam where they saw fit, something we as a people had always done. More important, it gave me a way to attack the words around it without branding myself as a traitor. One does not request to strike out such things and live.
“You don’t like it,” Klara said, eyes glistening.
“I have asked you not to call me that,” I said. With every word I spoke, I could see the proverbial dagger twisting in her gut, and I hated what I was doing, but I had to. I couldn’t live with myself if everything I did was being dedicated to him. “And the colors are bright. I don’t want to be easily spotted.”
Klara’s face and shoulders fell. “I understand,” she said. “I’ll have it painted over before you go up tomorrow.”
“Good,” Alexandra said, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and leading me away. “Glad to see that disaster was avoided.”