Daughters of the Night Sky, page 22
“Oksana got everyone up and flying in two days, even though she couldn’t go herself,” Renata interjected. “I think it was the best thing she could have done. To see another unit come in and support our missions would have been the worst thing for morale.”
“Too much time to think,” I said. “I had weeks of it in the convalescent hospital.”
“Too right,” Polina said. “We’ve been too busy for too long to take kindly to sitting idle.”
“We’re none of us built for it,” I said. “Do you think Oksana is doing well?”
“She’s not Sofia,” Polina said. “She doesn’t have the . . . I don’t know what you might call it. The confidence? The way she made us all pay attention without trying?”
“Poise,” I supplied. “Self-assurance. Sofia had those in spades.”
“That’s it,” Polina agreed. “I’m not sure Oksana needs it, though. She knows her stuff, and people respect her, even if she isn’t friendly.”
I drew my lips into a line, wondering if that was for the best. Should they be willing to follow her when she was capable of risking so much for so little?
“She knows her aircraft, and she’s a good pilot,” Renata said. “She wouldn’t put anyone in unnecessary danger. She’s worth following. It won’t be the same, though.”
“No, nothing ever is,” I said, wiping the corners of my mouth and standing to make my departure.
With two minutes to spare, I joined Oksana, who was loading a box of supplies into the back of a truck whose paint was so badly singed, it could only have been in too-close proximity to the blast of a German bomb.
I slid into the passenger side, Oksana taking her place behind the wheel. We drove into a village just outside Taman. The few remaining buildings almost seemed to quake in anticipation of the next air raid. The residents wore the gaunt, haunted look of those who had lived too long in fear. Even the lucky ones who had managed to eat well enough still bore the appearance of a people who could never rest in earnest.
Oksana pulled up to one of the largest buildings, a school by the look of it. She looked around cautiously before exiting the truck and motioning for me to join her.
Oksana whistled, and at once several children scampered from the building and threw their arms around her midsection.
A cherubic little boy missing his front teeth grinned up at her. “Have you brought us any sweets?”
“No, my darling boy. You have new teeth coming in. The sugar wouldn’t be good for them. How about some good bread and some soup?”
The children nodded enthusiastically, and she pulled the box from the back of the truck. A little girl took my hand as we entered the building that smelled strongly of gunpowder and coal. She had no idea who I was, but the uniform told her all she needed to know—I could be trusted. I was on her side.
Their teacher, a wizened old man who must have been deemed too old for service, smiled at the sight of Oksana and guided us into the school cafeteria.
“We’re glad to see you, my dear,” he said. “And you brought one of your comrades. How nice to meet you.”
“Excuse me. Captain Soloneva, meet Comrade Mishin. He looks after the children here at the school.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, offering the stooped man a smile and sticking out my right hand. He took it in a firm handshake, his chest puffing with pride, as though Oksana were presenting him to Stalin himself.
“Can the regiment spare all this?” he asked, his eyes widening at the box, which contained a large jug of soup and two loaves of black bread along with a handful of bandages and a few odd first-aid supplies. The food looked like just enough to give each child a few mouthfuls, though they all danced in anticipation of their warm meal. “I cannot accept your help if it will land you in trouble, my dear. I couldn’t live with myself.”
“The cook himself gave me permission to bring this to you and the children, Comrade. It’s my honor to do so.”
“You’re an angel, Major Tymoshenko,” he said, breaking the bread into portions for each child as Oksana dished up the soup into the bowls the children produced from the nearby kitchen. I looked around for an occupation and ensured each child had both clean spoons and napkins for their meal.
The children smiled up at me with dirt-streaked faces that all looked far too thin and far too wise for their years. The oldest child was not yet thirteen, the youngest still toddled, clutching the sides of benches as he learned how to navigate the expansive room. He climbed up into the lap of one of the older girls, gumming his bread in between dimpled smiles.
“The wee one looks a bit young for school,” I commented to Oksana, who had served Comrade Mishin a larger portion of soup and bread with an admonishment to eat it all so that he would be better able to keep an eye on the children. “Is he tagging along with an older sibling to stay out of his mother’s hair?”
“Not exactly,” Oksana said, pulling me a bit farther from the table. “He’s here with his sister, but their parents were killed in a raid a few months ago. They’re all orphans. They’d be fending for themselves if it weren’t for Mishin.”
“He’s a good man,” I said, watching the man who tried, and failed, to siphon off some of his soup into the children’s bowls without being observed.
“There aren’t enough of them,” Oksana replied. “And as soon as we move on, he’ll be back to scraping together enough food to keep them alive. Most of them won’t make it through the winter. Fewer, if Mishin won’t eat his portion and keep himself alive, though there’s no reasoning with him.”
I looked at the faces, alight with happiness at the prospect of bellies that weren’t exactly full, but not rumbling for the first time in several days.
The sun began to hang lower in the sky, and we’d be needed in the air in a few hours. We made our farewells and loaded the empty crate back in the truck.
“It’s kind of you to help them,” I said after a few minutes on the road. “Not many would think to do it.”
“I’ve tried to do what I can whenever we’re near a village. They’re all the same. The people need help, especially the orphans.” It occurred to me then that over the past two years, much of what I’d considered to be her silence might very well have been her absence as she’d quietly tended to those who couldn’t tend to themselves. Knowing that her aid was a small mercy that was likely only to delay the inevitable.
“You didn’t need to bring me with you,” I said. “Are you trying to show me your kind side, then? Trying to get back in my good graces?”
“No. Trying to show you why I did what I did.”
“How do the children have anything to do with nearly blowing our plane out of the sky?”
“The only thing that might save those children and millions of others just like them—Russian, German, Polish, French, Dutch, and otherwise—is to finish this damn war. And we have to win it, Katya. You weren’t in Kiev. You didn’t see what the Germans were capable of. I will do what I can to follow the safety protocols because I want you in my plane, but I have to do what I can to end this war, even if it isn’t always safe. I made a mistake. It was a foolish maneuver, and I’m sorry.”
“That I can understand,” I said after a brief pause. “I’ll fly with you.”
Oksana took my hand in hers and shook it. “I won’t abuse your trust again.”
CHAPTER 21
November 1943, the Crimea, Sorties: 478
My dearest Katinka,
This letter brings with it all the love and blessings a mother can bestow upon her daughter. I am pleased to hear your wounds have mended and that your regiment has earned such honors. Pleased and unsurprised. You have always been one to quash a challenge that others would think insurmountable. You have your father’s heart.
I have news of my own that I hope will cause you more joy than grief. I have been in the company of a Colonel Grigory Yelchin. He has been overseeing much of the industry in Chelyabinsk Oblast, reporting directly to the highest echelons in Moscow, including the little factory where the ladies and I sew the uniforms for you and the other brave citizens at the front. We formed a friendship some months ago—he and his late wife were quite fond of ballet as well, so we had much to talk about. Just last week he asked me to become his wife. I confess I have spent most of my hours since then wondering how you will react to the news. He is a good and kind man, dearest Katinka, and I know you will love him in time.
I will never forget your papa, Katinka. I can say little else about the world these days with such certainty. You know what love is now, having found your Vanya, and I want to remember what it is to be a beloved wife once more. It won’t ever be the marriage your father and I had, but I think he will make me as happy as I can be until you and your husband are nestled safely around my supper table, warm, well fed, and far from harm’s way. I fear this letter won’t reach you until after the deed is done, so if I cannot ask your opinion on the matter, I will ask you, humbly, for a daughter’s blessing.
With all my love,
~Mama
“Lucya Yelchina.” I tested the name on my tongue. Beautiful. Unfamiliar, almost foreign.
“Who is that?” Polina asked from her bunk.
“My mother,” I said. “She’s remarried. That’s her new name.”
“How lovely,” Renata chimed in. “You must be so happy for her.”
“Yes,” I said, knowing the nobler side of me wished my mother the companionship her marriage would give her. “She’s been alone quite some time. It sounds like she’s made a good match for herself.”
“You don’t look convinced of that,” Oksana said, peering up from her book.
“Stop being so damned observant,” I said, wishing I had something other than my mother’s letter to lob at her.
“Too many years as a navigator,” she said. “Risk of the job.” She closed her book. “Speak. I won’t take you up in the air if you’re distracted.”
“It’s just odd to think of her with someone other than Papa, that’s all. The way she spoke about him, I thought she’d never love anyone else again. It’s disconcerting to find out it isn’t true.” I folded Mama’s letter and placed it back in the envelope and tucked it in with the rest of her letters and those from Vanya.
“That stands to reason,” Oksana said. “Our parents are supposed to be monoliths. Unchangeable. Solid. It’s unmooring when we discover they’re human.”
“Mama deserves her happiness,” I said, not wanting to imagine what this Grigory Yelchin might be like and how he’d managed to woo my mother after years of solitude.
“Write her to tell her so,” Polina said. “It will make you feel better.”
She passed me a sheet of her ivory stationery and a matching envelope. I accepted the papers, noticing there was something hard tucked in the envelope. I shook it out into my hand to reveal a small gold pendant encrusted with gleaming gems in pale blue and deep purple. In the center was a large gem—an aquamarine, I guessed—surrounded by a six-pointed star enameled onto fine gold filigree.
The shine caught Polina’s eye, and she leapt from her bed to retrieve it. “So sorry, I wondered where that had got to.”
“A Star of David?” Oksana asked.
“Yes. Silly to keep it, really. It belonged to my grandmother before she passed away. She wanted me to have it as a little keepsake of her. No one in the family has practiced in ages. Since my family joined the party in the revolution.”
“Wise,” Oksana said quietly. “It isn’t safe these days.”
“It isn’t safe for anyone to have faith these days,” Renata said, producing a cross from around her neck. She’d managed to conceal it for two years without a hint to the rest of us. “My family is Orthodox. Stalin tolerates us because of the war, but we still don’t crow in the streets. I’d never have been given a place here if the party knew.”
“Well, you needn’t worry,” Oksana said. “I’m your commander now, and I’m not sending you home. Just keep it from my superiors, and you won’t have a problem. Other than the problem we’re all facing right now, that is. Let’s move out,” Oksana said, closing her book.
Polina and Renata headed out for the airfield, Oksana several paces behind them. I tugged on her arm to keep her behind.
“That was kind of you to quell their fears,” I said. “Other commanders might not have been so understanding.”
“They’re excellent at their jobs,” Oksana said. “So long as that’s the case, the brass won’t question anything, and I have no desire to cause trouble for them. We all have our secrets.”
I thought about how close I had come to crossing the border—how willing I had been to escape with Vanya to save my own skin—and the truth of her words washed over me. People had lost their lives for less than what Vanya and I had done. I’d spent years becoming the perfect communist and dutiful patriot, but my actions were far more incriminating than those of my comrades, whose very identities could put them at risk.
“I need to chat with you,” Oksana greeted me one evening a few months later as I stood by the aerodrome after our last sortie of the night and mused over my coffee as the sun rose over the plains to the east. It was my moment of solitude, now that I hadn’t a spare half hour to meddle with my violin. More often than not these days I paired it with a cigarette, forcing myself to ignore the weakness in the little indulgence. It was early in the new year, but I made no plans to cast off this vice.
“What can I do for you, Major?” I answered, extinguishing the cigarette with the toe of my boot.
“Counsel. We’ve been offered some male support crews. It would save the backs of our armorers and get us a few more sorties per night.”
“I’d advise against it,” I said, taking a sip of the rapidly cooling brew. “The men won’t have the same work ethic, and they’d make the women nervous. We’re working as well as we are because we haven’t had male influence.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll like the rest of what I have to say. Whether we take the support crews or not, we’re going to be stationed alongside another aviation regiment. I don’t have all the details yet, but they’re coming and we’ll be sharing an aerodrome.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered. The face of the arrogant, young captain—Fyodorov?—that had nearly cost me my career back in training came into my mind. Who would find themselves in such a predicament this time around? “I’d be sure to set down some ground rules with their commander. Let them know that you expect the same impeccable behavior from their men as you do from us.”
“A lecture will probably be as useful as a spun-sugar teapot, but I will speak to him,” Oksana said, cupping a tin mug full of piping-hot coffee in her hands as I did. “I’ll do as you suggest with the male crew—tell our superiors to send them elsewhere.”
“Thank you,” I said, grateful she’d sought my advice and taken it. “I think introducing men would be a mistake.”
“We’re the last holdout,” Oksana said. “The other two units from the 122nd have already included men in some fashion or another.”
“Do you know how they’re performing?” I asked, wondering how Major Orlova would have felt about the change.
“Not with any real specificity, but if I am reading into it correctly, they’re not outflying us. Not even close.”
“Good. So long as we have that in our corner, it’s a reason to give the brass to leave us to our own devices.”
“They only have so many oars to stick in,” Oksana agreed. “They won’t interfere with us if we don’t give them reason. They’ve become used to us. And on that score, I get to do something pleasant for once, and you can help me.”
Oksana led me to the bunkroom, leaving the others behind to wipe the underbellies of the planes free from oil, to patch holes, and to get the planes ready for the next night. They had at least two hours before they could consider crawling into their bunks.
“The army has sent us a gift, and if I’m not mistaken, we’ll all be grateful for it.” Oksana opened a crate to reveal the usual drab-green uniform jackets.
“Good, we were due,” I said, pointing to a thin patch on the knee of my uniform trousers.
“Hold one up,” Oksana said. “Look at it.”
I took one of the garments from the pile, and pinched the shoulders between my fingers to examine it. As it tumbled free from its folds, I was surprised to find not a jacket but a simple long-sleeved dress made from the same coarse woolen fabric as our usual uniforms. Tailored with room for breasts and hips. Not fashionable by anyone’s standards, but made for an actual woman.
“They’re going to go mad,” I predicted. “Actually having clothes that fit?”
“And that’s not all,” Oksana said, moving to another crate. “Look in this one.”
Long woolen stockings to wear with the dresses, new brassieres that looked as yielding as iron, and—
“Underpants,” I whispered. Undergarments without a flap and a drooping rear end. Simple scraps of nylon that some of our number had even risked hard labor to fashion for themselves.
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Oksana said, her lips upturned in the most genuine smile I’d seen from her.
“Incredible,” I agreed. “They’re going to be beside themselves.”
We spent the next hour distributing the dresses, accessories, and even new boots to each bunk, checking against sizes. This was usually the task of the quartermaster, but I understood why Oksana had claimed it for us.
We stood back as the women stumbled in, bleary-eyed from the night’s toil. A few clambered into bed without noticing the pile of new clothes, so exhausted from fifteen hours out on the field. They weren’t left to their sleep very long when the squeals erupted from the others.
“You have to be kidding!” Polina screeched. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You can keep your embroidered gowns and velvet frocks—it’s magnificent!”
“It’s like Christmas morning,” Renata breathed.
“Grandfather Frost and the Snow Maiden have been kind to us this new year,” Oksana said, covering the gaffe. The party had been wise in co-opting some of the religious customs into their secular ones. There was only so much deprivation even a stalwart patriot could endure.
