Or maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I did believe things rooted in tradition and superstition. If there were no God, today didn’t need explaining. It simply was.
Chapter Sixteen
There was a small service for Valeriia the following day at the end of the runway. I couldn’t pay attention to any of it. I simply stood there thinking life was cruel and hoping she was in a better place. When we were dismissed, I somehow got back to my bunk and lost consciousness.
Sometime late that afternoon a pair of soldiers carrying PPSh-41s pulled me out of the dugout and brought me to the command post, barely giving me enough time to put my boots on. I didn’t know what was going on. I only had the vague idea that Tamara was sending me up on a flight and was ordering me in for briefing. When I stepped inside, however, and saw Petrov leaning back in her chair with his feet kicked up on the desk and his pipe in his mouth, my heart raced faster than any dogfight I’d been in.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Junior Lieutenant,” he said. “This doesn’t have to take long.”
I sat in the chair across from him. No one else was in the room save the two armed soldiers who had brought me in. As I felt my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, I could think to ask only one question. “Is something the matter?”
Petrov snorted. “Many things are, Junior Lieutenant. First, the food here is terrible. Second, sleep has not come easily to me as of late, and third, while not a problem for me but you, the previous two points have left me in the mood to shoot first and ask questions later. But as I don’t want to leave a mess in Major Kazarinova’s office, I thought I’d at least give civility a try.”
My throat tightened, and though I prayed that Tamara would return quickly, I asked my next question as casually as possible to hide my fear. “Where’s the Major, anyway?”
Petrov took out a silver pocket watch from his coat and gave it a quick glance. “She’ll be gone for at least another hour,” he said. “So don’t concern yourself with her. Instead, concern yourself with me and answering my questions truthfully.”
“What sort of questions did you have?” I asked.
“Familial ones.” He reached under the desk and pulled out a small candle in a squat iron holder, like the one my grandmother would use late at night while penning letters. He put it on the desk, and from his jacket pocket he took out a box of matches and lit the wick. “I know you think I’m an evil person,” he said. “But I like to think we have the same goal.”
“My only goal right now is shooting down Germans.”
He smiled and tipped his head. “See? We are similar. We both want them dead. The difference is, I’m more passionate about the Motherland than you.”
“What does that have to do with my family?”
“Everything,” he replied, drawing deeply on his pipe. When he exhaled, he blew a perfect smoke ring and watched it rise to the ceiling before continuing. “I realize that not all Cossacks are treacherous, and not all of them fought with the White Army, but a great number did. They fought against progress and killed many of their Soviet brothers because they clung to a dying past. While I suspect your family was part of that, I’ll give you a chance to show otherwise—or at the very least, prove your own loyalty.”
“They’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Good,” he said. “Then you won’t mind giving me names of those who have. I know we didn’t punish everyone who fought against us in the Revolution. There are some that escaped. I want to know who and where they are.”
My brow furrowed. “But I wasn’t even alive when that took place.”
“Come now, Nadya,” he said, putting a sickening emphasis on my first name. “You Cossacks are a close-knit group. People would have talked. Help me, my dear comrade, and I’ll see you are well praised—perhaps even receive a commendation from Stalin himself.”
I smiled as best I could, despite my inner revulsion at the man’s name. While he was wrong about us talking, Petrov was right overall. I did know names. Or more specifically, I knew a name: Father’s. Worse, I abhorred how a small part of me admired how on target he was. Such accurate intuition was rare and something I’d wished I’d had on more than one occasion. “I’d help if I could, but we’re from Tula and had nothing to do with any of that. We were vetted long ago.”
The last part was true. We had been vetted, or at least our new identities had been. After the Revolution, Father had used what resources he had left to erase our past and give us a new one just before moving us to Tula. Bribery wasn’t cheap, but the quality of papers we each got were so good that when investigators looked into me and the family just prior to my acceptance to flight school, I passed without question. That said, none of the investigators at the time had had a personal vendetta against me either.
Petrov set down his pipe and opened a drawer. From it he brought out an icepick with a wooden handle. He slowly rotated its tip in the candle flame. “Who helped you sabotage Valeriia’s plane?”
“The hell I did!” I tried to jump out of my chair, but one of the soldiers kept me in place with an iron grip while the other kept his weapon trained on me. Petrov came around with the icepick, and I stared him down. “You can’t do this.”
“I can if I must,” he said, studying me. “Let me ask you something, Nadya, do you believe Valeriia’s death was an accident?”
“I hope so,” I replied. “Only because the alternative is far worse.”
Petrov nodded. “As do I. What if I told you it wasn’t an accident? What then would you do?”
I’d never considered that to be the case, but for the moment, I entertained the possibility. “Valeriia was a wonderful pilot and twice that of a woman. I’d do anything to catch those responsible, and when I did, I’d take my time ripping them apart.”
My answer, spoken without filter or hesitation, surprised me, but apparently it didn’t surprise Petrov. “So you can imagine what it’s like to lose friends and family to traitors.”
“I can.” I didn’t like how much I was agreeing with the man, but there I was, and there was nothing I could do about it.
“This can still be a friendly encounter, Nadya,” he said. “Help me find the turncoats. As much as I’ve gone after you, in my heart of hearts, I’d truly like to be wrong and find you an ally instead of an enemy.”
I kept my eyes on him as I tried to judge his sincerity. I loathed that I thought he was telling the truth. That didn’t make him insanely evil, simply misguided, albeit greatly. “As much as I believe you, you have a funny way of showing it.”
“So you’re saying you know nothing of Valeriia’s death or others?”
I shook my head. “No. She ran out to her plane, tired, and crashed.”
Petrov sighed. His face turned downcast, remorseful even. “Our country has been infected by conspirators for two decades now. A number of fine people I’ve personally known have been lost to them, and like any infection, the wound must be made sterile. Sometimes that results in burning good tissue—and I admit, you are a skilled pilot—but a good doctor knows that sometimes the body must endure harsh treatments to ward off gangrene. So if you are loyal, consider this ordeal a sacrifice for the greater good.”
Before I could reply, he grabbed my wrist and pressed the icepick into my forearm. I gritted my teeth as it seared my skin. My eyes watered, but I didn’t scream, though I wanted to. I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. A hate for the man grew in my soul, one worse than I had for any German, Rademacher included. Part of me grew jealous at the Luftwaffe pilot. Surely he didn’t have to endure such scrutiny by his own officers. Then again, I’d heard Hitler and his upper echelon were as brutal as Stalin and his company. Maybe we were both suffering on opposite sides of the same coin.