Daughters of the Night Sky(28)
“I’m sorry, Major. All I can tell you is that I wasn’t given the order to do it.” The young man had the good sense to look ashamed at the breach of conduct.
“Nor was anyone else. No matter now. Do the best you can for tonight, and we’ll sort things out in the morning. My recruits need sleep.”
“Very well, Major,” the sergeant said, visibly relieved to be able to pass the task of finding us proper accommodations along to someone else. “Please follow me.”
He led us to a massive gymnasium with thick concrete walls and a wooden floor that amplified sound. I could only imagine what the snores of three hundred exhausted recruits would sound like in fifteen minutes’ time. There were dozens of bunks matched up in precise rows, lining the walls and in two long rows in the middle. Gray, fraying mattresses offered next to no protection from the metal supports, and we’d have nothing but our bedrolls for linens. The room hovered somewhere just above freezing and smelled distinctly of unwashed latrine.
Welcome to the military life, ladies. Taisiya and I exchanged a quick glance, wondering who would be the first to grouse and how quickly Major Orlova would find her a place on a train heading eastward. Had they shown us this space as part of our admissions questionnaire and warned us it would be the best lodgings we could expect for the duration of the war, our responses would have given Sofia and the rest of the brass a very accurate picture of which of us were capable of service.
“Make yourselves as comfortable as you can, ladies,” Major Orlova said, likely calculating the number of needed bunks.
“So long as we aren’t on a moving train, I won’t complain,” I said, throwing my bedroll on an open spot on the floor, away from the chill that wafted off the concrete walls like frozen fog. Let the unseasoned girls have the beds.
“Your bedroom is this way, Major.” The sergeant motioned for her to follow him through the doorway that led to an adjoining hallway.
“What do you mean, Sergeant?” Orlova said, tossing her duffel on a nearby bunk.
“The commanders thought you’d appreciate your own accommodations,” he explained, blanching a little as she stood, arms akimbo, willing him into oblivion.
“This I have to see,” she announced, walking toward the hallway, the sergeant scrambling to match her pace.
In little more than a minute she returned, the sergeant noticeably absent.
“Absolutely incredible,” Orlova growled, rolling out her bedroll on the rank mattress. “A private room with a rug? Flowers? What am I doing here—training pilots, or debutantes?”
“I’ll be happy to cede my place on the floor if you really want to show them how angry you are,” I called from my nest, the unyielding cement beneath me causing my hips to ache.
“It’s a good thing I like you, Soloneva.” Orlova crawled into her bed with an audible grunt. Chuckles bounced off the walls as the major’s disdain dissipated.
I rolled to my side, the floor cruelly reminding me of its presence with every movement. I tugged my bedroll tighter, though I knew it wasn’t equal to the cold that enveloped the room. Taisiya’s breathing had already given in to soft snores as she lay curled up on the patch of floor next to mine, and again I envied her gift of falling asleep almost instantly.
I listened to the breathing go shallow all around me. Was Vanya any more comfortable than I was? Was he reasonably warm? Well fed? Unlikely.
I thought of Mama in her cabin. Comfortable and warm most of the time, no real want of food—but isolated. Unprotected.
It didn’t soften the unforgiving floor but made me far more tolerant of it.
We were called to assembly to begin our training just after dawn the morning after we arrived. The icy hangar where we gathered did little more than shield us from the bitterly cold wind.
When we returned, we found our scant belongings waiting on the feet of our new bunks, our uniforms folded in piles so neat they appeared to have been placed on the thin mattresses by machine. I discarded my flight-school uniform and took the drab-green jacket and trousers from the pile, lamenting that I could never replicate the precise folds.
The jacket fit well enough, though somewhat tight across the bust and hips, but loose at the waist. The trousers were a disaster; they were so large at the waist that I had to cinch my belt to the smallest notch to keep them from falling in a green woolen puddle around my ankles. Only the thinnest women with few curves were able to wear the uniforms properly. Oksana’s and Polina’s uniforms fit passably well, but neither fit as well as Major Orlova’s, who clearly had a uniform that was made to her size.
“Who tailored these things?” I wondered aloud, looking down at my figure in disgust.
“Men,” Taisiya said without humor. Her uniform was as ill fitting as mine, and she looked just as happy about it. She held up a pair of standard-issue underpants with the telltale flap in front. “Tailored by men, and for men to do a man’s job.”
“They know how to make us feel wanted, don’t they?” My underpants were just the same, and my boots a size 42—so large they rattled loose on my feet like those on a boy sporting his father’s shoes.
“Let’s go see the quartermaster,” Taisiya suggested, tossing her uniform aside and changing back into her cadet garb.
“Do you want to come with us, Oksana?” I asked, thinking as I donned proper-fitting clothes that to include her would be a kind gesture.