My hands picked up a tremor as my plane picked up speed. I couldn’t help thinking about how similar this encounter was to the one I had with Martyona. Would it end in a similar fashion with Alexandra going down in a flaming wreck? Or myself? I didn’t see any other Luftwaffe around, so I set my jaw and focused on the gun sight.
The Stuka jinked as I pushed both triggers, but the plane was too slow. Machine gun and cannon fire raked the length of the bomber. To my utter frustration, it neither exploded nor came apart. I pulled up into a steep climb, cursing and telling myself all the reasons why making a second pass would be foolish.
“Burn in hell!” Alexandra screamed.
I rolled my plane so it was inverted while climbing and saw one of the 109s lose a wing and spiral out of control. My heart soared for her, but at the same time I was frustrated and jealous my target still plodded along. I’d been patient to not fire early and land all my shots, but a victory still eluded me. I was going to have to make another pass.
As I started renew my attack, black smoke belched out of the Stuka’s nose, and the bomber listed to the side. Then I saw the pilot jump from his plane, his parachute blossoming round a few seconds later. My face beamed, and I was so proud of myself I felt I could take on the world.
“That’s one for each of us,” Alexandra said.
“Did you catch the numbers on their tails?” I asked.
“Five and three, I think,” she said. “But they were red. Not sure if they were even Udet. Definitely not your man. Regardless, I suggest we leave. I’m going to have to get out and push my plane home if we stick around much longer.”
“Agreed,” I said, pulling on the stick to end in a shallow dive. “I’ll race you back.”
Alexandra followed, and we returned to Anisovka. I checked our six a few times, but the remaining 109 never gave pursuit. On the way, I grew frustrated that we hadn’t killed Rademacher. I detested that he was still in the air, and the more I thought about that, the more my hate grew like a dark, hungry creature feeding off my anger. God, how I wanted the man dead and the rest of the Germans driven from our land. The only consolation I found was that while we hadn’t killed him, I felt this mission had helped refine my shooting skills so that when I did meet Rademacher again, he’d be the one to die.
On the way back, I also wondered if he’d been as excited as I was for his first victory. Did it fill him with elation? Or was the death of another something he was amoral over? I guessed the foremost. He probably celebrated with the others in his unit, drinking beer and maybe even posing for pictures. He probably wrote his family home, too, as I planned to do. No. He didn’t have a family, I corrected. He was born from a factory of death. I didn’t want to think we had anything in common, even if it was something as ordinary as a father and mother.
When we were about eight minutes out, I made contact with ground control. “Den, this is Little Boar. We’re coming home with two confirmed kills.”
How I longed to say those words! They felt every bit of amazing coming out of my mouth as I had thought they would. I couldn’t wait to see the new look in people’s eyes when they saw me, a look of respect. Admiration. Best of all, I’d see it in the mirror.
“Repeat, Little Boar. You are claiming two kills?”
“Affirmative, Den. One Stuka. One 109. We saw them both go down.”
“Congratulations, Little Boar. Celebrations are in order. Stay sharp, and we’ll see you soon.”
I checked over both shoulders once more and saw only Alexandra’s plane sharing the bright blue sky with me. I was so thrilled to get down, I didn’t even glance at my fuel until I was on final approach and the engine sputtered once before quitting.
“Oh damn,” I said, laughing and feathering the prop for minimum drag. “Den, Little Boar is declaring no fuel and a dead-stick landing.”
“Understood. We have visual on you. Will you reach the runway?”
I readjusted my grip on the stick and rolled my shoulders to try and relax. “I think so,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I was. While a dead-stick landing was something every pilot had trained for numerous times, it still could turn messy. A sudden wind or a misjudged angle could force an off landing that might not end well. Uneven terrain had the tendency to ruin planes, and I didn’t want this flight to be marred in any way. If I crashed, Tamara would likely strip my wings, regardless of the kill. Besides, dying for something so silly wasn’t appealing either.
A tense half minute later, all of which I held my breath for, I made a perfect three-point landing a good hundred meters into the runway. I coasted as far as I could before pulling off to the side so Alexandra—who had to be running on fumes—could land behind me. God, I couldn’t wait to see the look on Petrov’s face when he learned what I’d done.
Once my fighter was parked, I opened the canopy, unbuckled everything, and stood on my seat, arms stretched high, and screamed with joy till my lungs gave out. I jumped out of the cockpit and slid off the wing as Klara bolted to me.
She grabbed me by my hands and spun me around. “You did it? Tell me you shot down a fascist!”
“Stop! You’re making me dizzy!” I said, laughing.
“Oh, the big, bad pilot is losing her balance, is she?” Klara said, tightening her grip and spinning me harder.
Someone slammed into me a moment later, knocking me to the ground and the air out of my lungs.
“You’re the greatest wing leader in the world, Nadya!” Alexandra said. “That was the most amazing, mind-blowing thing I’ve ever done!”
“That… really… hurt,” I said, gasping for air.
Before I could find my own feet, my wingman pulled me up and into a waltzing position. A heartbeat later, we were dancing down the runway. “We’re going to make the best team in the world, Nadya,” she said with boundless energy. “Wait and see.”
In that moment, I didn’t disagree with her, but Klara’s blank stare chilled me to the core.
Chapter Fourteen
A hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me from a blissful dream of sipping wine with Mother and Grandmother while stargazing, something all three of us loved to do. I fought returning to the land of the conscious with every fiber of my worn-out body, but whoever was at my bed shook me hard enough to make slumber elusive and give me a motive for murder.
“Nadya! Wake up!”
I cracked open an eye to see who was my victim-to-be. “For all that is holy, Klara, it’s my day off,” I said, rolling over to give her my back. “I want to sleep in for once.”
“I’ve let you sleep, lazy,” she said, forcefully tugging at my shoulder. “You said you wanted to be there when Valeriia came back. I swear you’re worse than trying to wake my sister.”
My eyes popped open and I sat up, clutching my heavy blanket around me. “She’s back?” I asked. “What time is it?”
“Half past one. She’ll be here within the hour.”
I tossed the blanket to the side but grabbed it again when the frosty air bit my skin. “Did the sun forget to rise? How is it still this cold?”
“It’s warmed since this morning, you big baby, and it’s the warmest it’s been since the start of October,” Klara said. She tossed me a wool sweater and leather jacket, which were near the foot of my bed. “Put these on. I’ve got something to show you.”
I smacked my mouth and ran my fingers through my grimy hair. The latter had become the norm for all of us at this point. The frigid weather kept dips in the river non-existent, though at times we used some hot water from our planes’ radiators to clean up with. My last such washing was three days prior. “Can I wash first? I must look as terrible as I feel.”
“After,” she said. “Now dress.”