Daughters of the Night Sky(42)
He nodded to Sofia, who had gained some composure. “Comrade Chernov is correct in this,” she said to us. “A tired Nazi is a poor soldier, and we will use this to regain a foothold in the area. We will have the element of surprise on our side, for a time, and I cannot emphasize how important these missions will be for the success of our ground units.
“I will be flying with Captain Tymoshenko, as I would not send any of you up when I would not go myself. Junior Lieutenants Kozlova and Andreyeva—will you fly with us?”
The pilot, Darya, and her navigator, Eva, stepped forward and replied “Yes, Major” in unison, then stepped back into formation.
“Excellent. Junior Lieutenants Pashkova and Soloneva, will you fly with us?”
I felt my stomach rise to my throat. We’d wanted this since Sofia first came to Chelyabinsk. Since we had learned of the war’s spread over the Russian border. Now that it was upon me, the reality of flying over German territory terrified me. My feet felt encased in cement and steel, as though I had become one of our efficient new buildings. I heard the clack of Taisiya’s boots as she stepped forward. She was no coward, and I could not afford to hesitate. I stepped forward, a split second after her, and slipped her the briefest of sidelong glances. We had to be in this together.
“Yes, Major,” we answered in one voice.
“I expected nothing less of any of you,” Sofia said, a grim smile finally pulling at her lips. “I’m dismissing you for the rest of the day to get as much sleep as you can. Navigators will be provided with flares and grenades. You will carry nothing else except your service pistols.”
“And parachutes, of course?” I asked.
“No,” Sofia said, blanching a few shades. “We need every available gram of load on these small craft to carry bombs large enough to inflict damage.”
There were no murmurs of dissent. Only stunned silence.
“One last directive. If we encounter enemy fire while out on a sortie, we have been given permission to return fire. That is a standing order. Everyone, flying or not, will report back at 2000 hours.”
A cold comfort—all we had were our sidearms and a few grenades against German machine guns.
Taisiya and I walked in silence back to the Utkin farm, surprising the kindly couple with our midday return.
The sun shone mercilessly down on the hut, flooding our room in an unwelcome pool of light. We did our best to block the offending rays with our winter coats, but this only caused us to bake in our beds as we choked out the little circulating air from the tiny windows. We shucked our uniforms and wore our thinnest shirts and undergarments in search of sleep. Our lives depended on it.
Just as I thought I might be able to achieve something like a shallow sleep, a timid knocking came at the door.
“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant Soloneva. There is a letter for you.”
Vanya.
When I opened the door, Comrade Utkina placed the letter in my hands and pulled the door closed in one fluid motion. She knew we would not be home sleeping at midday if the need weren’t dire, but neither would my mail be delivered to her home if it weren’t urgent.
My hands shook as I turned the envelope over, then trembled with relief as I saw my mother’s tidy script. It wouldn’t contain the news that Vanya was well and safe, but it wouldn’t contain the worst, either. I opened it gingerly, as though her words might escape if I weren’t careful to keep them captive.
My dearest Katinka,
I hope you are well, my sweet girl. As well as any of us can be in this dreadful time. All is well here in old Miass, though your mama is lonely with you so far from home. The only way I am able to keep from running mad with worry is to keep myself busy. Thankfully that is not a challenge. I have taken a job in an ammunition factory in Chelyabinsk. While it’s not exciting work, it’s useful. And not nearly as backbreaking as laundry. I’ve managed to save up for a new (still old, but slightly less ancient) truck, so getting to and from the city isn’t the worry it once was.
While Miass is as quiet as it ever was, Chelyabinsk is becoming an industrial hub—tanks rolling out of the city each day as you can’t imagine. I can only hope these horrible machines will serve to keep you safe. Please write to your mama, and let her know that you are safe, and any news you might have from your Vanya, too.
Be well, my darling girl.
~Mama
I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding, relieved by the anticlimax of the letter.
“I hope your letter has good news?” Taisiya asked. I smiled at her optimism but didn’t chide her. Good news was a relative term these days.
“You’re not able to sleep, either?” I said, lamely stating the obvious.
“No, for the same reason you aren’t,” she said, rolling to her side.
“It’s Mama. Just letting me know she’s well.” I didn’t give any details. If Mama was working in a factory, she’d be getting a worker’s ration and faring better than Taisiya’s farmer parents, who were forced to hand over the lion’s share of their crops to the troops. Her father had written that he was happy to make the sacrifice to the cause, but it left him with precious little to feed his family and nothing with which to trade or barter for other goods. Their situation was far more dire than Mama’s—and even they were better off than the Utkins.
“I suppose they wanted to get us our mail in case—” Taisiya mused.