She was right on that, though I was terrified of doing so. I’d have to work up the courage to bring my wingman in on the problem. Before our conversation went on, I heard someone whistling draw near. I looked over my shoulder to see Petrov a dozen paces away with a delighted face. “Hope I’m not interrupting, but I wanted to let you know your dugout is being searched.”
My heart felt as if it jumped into my throat. “What for?”
“I’m looking for missing medication,” he replied. “Well, some men along with Doctor Burak and Major Gridnev are, I should say. The Major insisted I stay away when I brought my case to him.”
“You’re chasing a dream,” I said. I prayed he truly knew nothing, but understood the possibility he might actually have me. “It’s not my fault the doctor can’t keep track of his own supplies.”
Petrov shrugged and smiled knowingly. “I don’t need your confession. You’ve got the strongest motive around here to be stealing it with your chronic pain, and you look sick often enough to point to withdrawals. He’ll find what you stole, and when he does, I’m going to stretch your neck for the entire regiment to see.”
“You’re wrong,” Klara said, leveling a zealous gaze at him. “I know her better than anyone. She’d never steal.”
“You’re a fine mechanic, Klara—if I may call you that—and you’re a shining example to all of what a Soviet should be. Strong. Dedicated. Selfless. But your good friend here has been manipulating you since you first met,” Petrov said. He popped out his silver pocket watch, gave it a glance, and said, “So, Junior Lieutenant, if you want to keep our game interesting, I suggest you start running. I’d say you’ve ten minutes at the most.”
“I don’t need to,” I said, knowing there was nothing to be found.
Petrov left with a brief goodbye. Klara and I watched him go. When he’d disappeared, I turned Klara’s face toward me and whispered, “Do you think he saw us?”
I saw her swallow, and before she answered, I knew she feared the same thing I had. There was no telling how long he’d been watching before we noticed him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The following day, Gridnev apologized for the search, stating he wanted the matter closed with Petrov and had had full confidence in me and nothing would be found. I ran into Petrov shortly thereafter on the airfield, asked if he’d heard about my second, confirmed kill, and said I looked forward to being not only the first female ace, but the first Cossack one too.
I made the conversation polite enough that I couldn’t get into trouble with Gridnev, but I’m sure Petrov knew my intent: to dig under his skin with my success and stir the proverbial hornet nest. Risky, yes, but I wanted to flaunt my victories in the face of my enemies and show them I was far from beaten, even if he had burned my arm and combed my dugout. Despite my barely concealed taunts and the fruitless search he had ordered, Petrov remained cheery throughout our conversation. That could only mean he had something in the works. I loathed to find out what it was and was terrified that he’d been witness to Klara kissing me.
If there was one good thing that came of it all, Gridnev was so embarrassed—though he never openly said so—that he practically gave the okay for Klara and I to be social with one another. Truthfully, he never verbally expressed consent, but simply turned a blind eye to our nightly escapes. I wasn’t complaining. Despite my fears on what Petrov might have seen, over the course of the next few nights, Klara and I spent countless hours watching the stars and fantasizing about the future. When bold (or careless) enough, we slipped further away from the airfield to further heat up the chemistry between us.
Near the end of the week, I sat bundled on my bunk. The oil drum in the corner glowed from the burning coals inside. Water pooled around it, but the warmth it offered lasted a half pace at most. Snow crept in from the outside, and the dugout floor was frozen solid. The makeshift heater had needed more wood for hours now, but no one wanted to go cut some in the frigid dark, least of all me.
Alexandra was at my side. She held my right hand in her lap and massaged my palm and forearm. “Is this still helping?”
“Thankfully, yes,” I said. Though now each press of her thumb was like glass twisting in my arm, I knew once she finished, the rest of the day would be better, but I still wanted a syrette, even if most of my physical withdrawals were gone. I sucked in a breath, shut my eyes, and jumped off the cliff of uncertainty. “I need to tell you something,” I began. “Something only Klara knows and no one else, and something I should’ve brought up a long time ago.”
“You two fancy each other,” she said, not missing a beat. “I realize others might not like it, and it’s nothing I’d do, but I don’t care as long as you’re happy.”
The corners of my lips drew back. As good as it was to hear those words, she’d missed the mark and I forced myself not to take the easy out. “No, I’m talking about me using morphine.”
Alexandra stopped her massage. She cursed several times under her breath and dug her nail into my forearm. She did it to the side of the burns, so it wasn’t excruciating, but she made her point before she spoke. “You’re better than that, Nadya.”
“I was,” I said. “I want to be. That’s why I’m telling you now. I’ve stopped for over a week, I think, but God the cravings are driving me insane. Worse, the colder it gets, the harder it gets.”
“So, you’re asking me to keep an eye on you?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m telling you not to let me out of your sight. At least not until winter is over or I can ignore the pain.”
Alexandra tousled my hair and squeezed me tight. “Where you go, I go,” she said. “You know, if you’d told me sooner, I could’ve helped more. Papa taught me some other non-drug ways to help pain on top of massages. We could have been doing those too, you know, but I thought this was enough.”
Alexandra returned to working on my arm. “We should cut extra wood for the barrel today. That will help, especially at night.”
“You’re busy enough as it is.”
“If it means keeping you off that stuff, I’ll find the time.”
Her words warmed my soul, and I wondered what I’d done to deserve such a friend. “You’re too good to me.”
She looked at me playfully. “I am. Don’t forget that.”
“Have you thought about what you wanted?” I asked.
“For?”
“Keeping me alive that last dogfight.”
Alexandra gave a wishful sigh. “Ah. A Stradivarius would be nice.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You play the violin?”
“I’m no Mischa Elman, but I’m quite good, thank you. Is there something wrong with that?”
“On account of your singing, yes,” I said with a laugh. “How can you not hear how out of tune you are?”
“Maybe I don’t care,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me. “Anyway, what’s in that new sack of yours?”
She was in reference to the large, worn burlap sack I had placed at the foot of my bunk last evening. No one else had said anything about it, and I doubted the other girls even noticed. “Might be something for you.”
Alexandra grabbed the sack. The contents clanked as she dove into the bag like a child at Christmas. “Milk,” she said, pulling free a couple of bottles. She stuck her hand back in and pulled out two smaller bottles. “Wine? Wine!”
Her face was radiant, and I was thrilled such simple pleasures were not lost on her. The fresh milk wasn’t easy to come by, let alone good wine. I was proud of myself for piecing it all together so fast.
“There’s one more thing,” I said. I leaned over and rummaged under the bunk until I found a small box I had wrapped in butcher paper and tied off with twine and a fancy bow.