I chewed on those words. I could make my own purpose. Right now, I was the girl who let Martyona die, but I could change that. I could find that German ace, bring him down, and show the world how good I was. As strong as that conviction sounded, though, I doubted my abilities as I thought about how easily the man had out flown me. Would our next encounter be any different? I’d have to find a way to ensure it didn’t, otherwise I’d always be a failure. I managed one last question, one that haunted me in the shadows of my thoughts. “What if the future doesn’t cooperate?”
Sofia shrugged and with a half-smile, winked. “Life is life.”
Chapter Four
A week later, I was riding in the back of another GAZ-61 and on the last leg of my journey back to Anisovka. Doctor Grigory had cleared me for travel, feeling my burns had healed enough for me to return to my own unit. Despite the windows being down, my shirt stuck to my chest and beads of sweat lined my forehead. It wasn’t only the mid-August heat making me sweat. My hands ached more than they had when I was shot down.
Watching the scenery distracted me from my wounds. Large grass fields stretched out on either side of the road and were dotted with firs. They brought back memories of climbing similar ones as a child and using them as shields during snowball fights in the winter. Those were times I longed for, where friends stayed forever and I was naïve to the cruelty of the world. But life is life. I grinned at that last thought, realizing the saying had taken to me despite my objection.
The bumpy dirt road brought us by several small farms and villages. The inhabitants went about their busy, seemingly normal lives, but a keen observer could tell things were anything but. There were no able-bodied males to be seen. The ones out were either decades past their prime or shorter than their mothers’ hips. I wondered how long the villages would stay that way, or worse, what would happen when the front reached them. I hated that it was a real possibility, but resolved myself to help ensure Stalingrad would not fall. If we could hold the Germans there, these towns—these children—would never have to truly see what had claimed their fathers and brothers.
It was early afternoon when we reached Anisovka. I was eager to see everyone again, Klara the most. I couldn’t wait to share a meal with her, especially since eating back at the field hospital was boring at best and depressing at worst on account of all the injured.
We parked next to a beat-up ZIS-5 truck, painted the standard olive green and sporting wooden railings for the flatbed in the back. Bullet holes ran through the side and the top of the cab, and I cringed at the sight. At least in my plane I could fight back. Whoever had been driving the truck was a big, slow target. Maybe it had been hit while parked and no one had been in it. I latched on to that story as I exited the car.
“Shall I walk you in?” my driver said, motioning toward the single-story brick building that served as the airfield’s HQ.
“I’ll be fine from here on out, thank you,” I said.
My driver saluted. “Then I’ll take my leave, comrade pilot. I’ve orders to return as soon as possible.”
I returned the salute and sent him on his way. I wondered when such military protocols would feel normal. Here I was an officer, albeit a junior one, and so many soldiers looked up to me, saluted me, and even waited for my instruction. Any other time in history I would’ve been seen as barely an adult. Secretly, I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing, but I was good at faking it. Sometimes that’s all that counts.
I hobbled toward the command building, disappointed no one had come out to greet me. I couldn’t blame them. It’s not as if I’d given an itinerary on when I’d arrive. That and flights still had to be planned. Patrols still had to takeoff. We were in a war that hadn’t stopped because my flight was shot down. I thought I’d do well to remember that.
Though my eyes misted at Martyona’s memory, I smiled as a Yak flew overhead. The roar of its engine gave life to my heart like the Harrowing of Hell gave life to the dead. The old me had died, or must die at the least, and a new me would rise like a phoenix from ashes, brighter and stronger than ever before. Too bad I wasn’t a red head.
The door to the command building opened. Out stepped my commanding officer, Tamara Kazarinova, limping from an injury she’d suffered long ago during an air raid in Grozny. She wore a peaked service cap, leather boots, and a dress for a uniform. God! An actual dress! Had we finally gotten clothes tailored for women?
As soon as her eyes met mine, surprised flashed across her face, and her usual stoic features softened.
I stiffened and offered a salute. “Major,” I said. “Junior Lieutenant Nadezhda Buzina reporting for duty.”
“It’s about damn time you got here,” Tamara said with a glare, but her hardened façade melted in a flash. She ran up to me with a smile and gave me a hug. “Glad to see you’re safe, Nadya. When no one returned, we feared the worst.”
Tamara had always been stiff and cold in all she did, as if she were trying to mirror her older, masculine counterparts. I wasn’t prepared for her sudden warmth. “Kareliya didn’t come back?”
“No. We found her body at the crash site a few days after the mission. I’m sorry.”
I knew she’d died, even if I hadn’t seen it. She’d faced too many Messers and at least one ace for there to be any other outcome. I stood silent for a moment, wondering how long she had lasted before they tore her apart. “I should have flown better.”
Tamara pulled away. I caught a glisten in those dark eyes of hers, one I wagered few had ever seen before. “Luftwaffe pilots are incredibly skilled, even if the brass doesn’t want to admit it. I’ve said time and again you girls need more training before being sent into combat. If anything, we failed you.”
“I don’t know…”
Tamara squeezed my shoulder and added, “I do. Think nothing more of it. That’s an order.”
“Yes, comrade major,” I said. Though I agreed to her orders, I was certain I’d have better luck getting away with shooting a commissar in broad daylight than not blaming myself for that failed mission. Ultimately, I knew I couldn’t change the past. But I could redeem myself. I picked my next words carefully. “I’d like to start flying again in a day or two, comrade major.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I replied. “If I don’t, I’m afraid what little nerve I have left will be gone for good.”
Tamara took in a long, slow breath before straightening her uniform. Compassion faded from her face and the characteristic wrinkle across the bridge of her nose took form. “You do seem eager,” she said. “But I’m concerned about your wounds.”
“They’re better,” I said. “Give me a few days and I’ll be okay.”
“You’ve got a bad limp. You won’t be able to use the pedals much,” she said. “I dare say your burns won’t allow you to pull hard on the stick either. I know you want to defend the Motherland, but if you get back in the air, it won’t be in a few days.”
“If?” My heart skipped a beat. I swallowed hard, and words poured out of me like water from an upturned pitcher. “Every night I see Martyona’s face. I hear her calling to me on the radio. I have to avenge her. I have to kill the bastard who shot her down and make sure no one else dies at his hands, otherwise I’ll always be the girl who got her killed.”
“Steel yourself, Nadya,” she said. “Before this war is over, more girls will die—some who you’ll have known longer than Martyona. It’s an ugly fact there’s no getting around.”
“Should I pretend Martyona never mattered?”
Tamara shook her head. “Of course she mattered, but don’t let your grief get the better of you. You must move on. If you can’t control yourself here, how will you be able to in the air where it counts the most?”