“So remember that then as you’re deciding what my fate will be. Remember that if you shoot me now, you’re one kill closer to becoming the man we both hate. I admit I want to live to see grandchildren and great grandchildren, but I don’t wish my nightmares upon anyone. Spare yourself my conscious and let me go.”
The wind picked up, biting my already frozen skin. Yet despite the harshness, I sweltered under my jacket as an internal struggle grew. I knew I was at a crossroads, a defining moment in who I was and who I wanted to be. The problem was, I still didn’t know who I was, save being a girl far from normal and having to do and live through things no one should.
I wanted to stop it all, the insanity, the battles, but if there was one thing the war had taught me, it was that I could control little in this world. I couldn’t control which girls lived or died. I couldn’t control what aces I encountered, what missions I went on, what my own countrymen thought of me. I could, however, control my actions in this moment, and I knew whatever I did, I’d think about it to my last day. Did I want to be someone who traded in death or one who dared to believe in life? Thus far I’d known the foremost the best, and it didn’t bring anything but misery.
Slowly, I holstered my weapon, though I was mindful to keep my distance. “Go,” I said. “If peace is what you want, may God speed it to you.”
Rademacher smiled. “Might I have your name before we part?”
“Junior Lieutenant Nadezhda Buzina.”
“Well Junior Lieutenant Buzina, I’m pleased to meet you,” he replied. “Though I do wish it had been under more agreeable circumstances. When this war is over, if you ever find yourself in Lucerne, feel free to find me. I plan on having the best butcher shop in the city. Or maybe a bakery. Or a good pub where people can relax… After all this, I could use a stiff drink. Regardless, I hope our next meeting will be more cordial.”
“Switzerland?” I said with a laugh. “I doubt I’ll be there anytime soon. It’s a bit of a walk.”
“All the more reason I should be going now if I’m to make it.”
A single pistol shot ended the conversation.
Chapter Thirty-One
Snow kicked up a few paces behind Rademacher. I spun around to find Klara a couple dozen meters away, limping toward us. Her left leg was bloody, but helped support her weight. She clutched her pistol with her right hand and kept it pointed at the German ace. The ire on her face said she’d unintentionally missed.
“Out of the way, Nadya,” she said. “Let’s finish this and get home.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want you to kill him.”
She stopped, and her brow furrowed. “They’ll be here soon. It’ll be impossible to take him with us.”
I shook my head and steeled myself for the inevitable confrontation. This was going to get ugly, and though I was certain Klara wouldn’t understand, I had a fool’s hope she would. “I’m not taking him prisoner, and I’m not executing a defenseless man. I’m letting him go.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” I glanced to Rademacher. While he looked thankful, tension stayed etched on his face. I doubt he had half as much confidence I could control the situation as I did, and the little I had was fragile. “Please, hear him out.”
“I’m not listening to a damn thing he’s said. He killed our friends. He tried to kill me. God, Nadya, how many times has he tried to kill you?”
“Too many,” I replied. “But it’s more complicated than I thought, or maybe it’s simpler. I don’t know. What I do know is he wants out of the Luftwaffe and out of the war. He’s not a threat, and I refuse to kill someone who’s surrendered. I won’t be that kind of girl.”
Klara looked at me incredulously. “Think, Nadya. Of course he’ll say that. He’ll say whatever it takes to save his hide.”
“I will say whatever it takes,” Rademacher said. “But I wasn’t lying. If you let me go, I’ll make my way to Switzerland and never fight again.”
“Quiet! Speaking Russian won’t win trust with me,” she said. The barrel of her gun dropped, but only for a second. Her face twisted, and her eyes studied every centimeter of my body. “And why should I trust you, Nadya, especially after what Petrov said about your family?”
“He wanted me dead, Klara. He’d say anything to turn you against me.”
“I saw your reaction, Nadya. I’m not stupid.”
In that moment, I had a huge choice to make. If I lied, our relationship would continue to crack, possibly die right then and there. If I told her the truth about my parents, I had to believe she’d keep quiet, not only for my sake, but the sake of countless others. I hesitated, which I wasn’t proud of, but I realized at this point she could’ve knifed me several times over before and hadn’t yet.
“You’re not stupid,” I said. “My family fought with White Army. While I’m proud they stood up for what was right, I’m not dumb either. I have to keep it quiet or everyone will suffer the consequences. I hope you understand. But I swear on all that is dear to me, we’re on the same side.”
“And the morphine?”
“It was an old syrette. I tossed it in the oil drum to let it burn so I couldn’t use it,” I said. I took a step toward her, but when she didn’t lower the weapon, I stopped, fearing she might actually use it on me. Tears welled in my eyes. “Klara, I love you. And if you don’t believe me then you might as well shoot me right now because you’re tearing my heart in two.”
“I—” Her gaze drifted behind me, and everything happened so fast. There was a hail of gunfire. Rademacher grabbed me from behind, punched me in the lower back, and threw me to the ground. He leapt on me before I could move and had my pistol in his hand.
“Move and die,” he hissed into my ear.
I froze, even held my breath. My eyes flickered to the side. An Opel truck idled at the rise of the hill. Next to it, three men stood wearing bundled uniforms and sloped helmets I’d not seen on either Russian or German troops. I guessed they were the Romanian allies of the Germans. Two of the men had Mauser rifles shouldered. The third held a submachinegun that looked like a PPSh-41. Its drum magazine and heavy barrel had a distinct look I could pick out from a hundred meters away. The fact that it was of Russian origin didn’t hurt either.
I couldn’t see Klara. As much as I didn’t want to see her dead, part of me hoped she was to avoid a prisoner’s fate.
Rademacher and the Romanians exchanged words I couldn’t follow. It wasn’t a heated exchange, but one filled with energy. He walked out of my field of view and fired a single shot. I presumed it was into Klara. I held back my tears as best I could.
He walked over to me once more, aimed my pistol at my head, and fired. The bullet struck next to my ear, and I jumped. He fired again. That shot struck a hair away from my skull, but I kept still. My ears rang, and the smell of gunpowder filled my nose. He dug into my satchel, took his Luger, and tossed my weapon on the ground before hurrying off.
Chapter Thirty-Two
For the next minute or two, all I can do is keep still and pray the Romanians don’t come back to inspect Rademacher’s handiwork. My shoulder burns, and my chest feels wet and sticky. Slowly, I look down and find the bloody hole in my jacket under my left collarbone. It’s messy, but I figure I won’t bleed out, at least, not soon.
I start to shiver in the snow and dare to glance around. Neither Rademacher nor the Romanians can be seen, and Klara is on her back in the middle of crimson snow.
I dash to her side, tripping over my feet as I come to her. Her eyes vacantly stare at the sky. Blood tinges her lips. Her chest rises and falls, but I don’t think it will last. She needs a surgeon and a half-dozen miracles. I don’t have either. But I do have hands, and I take hers in mine.