Daughters of the Night Sky

I felt jealousy seize my stomach like a vise for a moment, but it passed just as quickly. It was best that one of us knew what we were doing. I had no desire to know of his past conquests but felt the sincerity of his words. I’d been his navigator long enough to know if he were telling an untruth.

“What now?” The question fell from my lips with an almost-audible thud to the carpeted floor.

“We go to war when we’re called. It doesn’t seem wise to make plans beyond that.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t,” I admitted. “But we will get through this. We won’t be digging trenches on the front lines. And when this whole mess is over, I’ll take a job teaching at a flight school and you can spend your days painting.” I caressed his cheek with my fingertips.

“You have a promise, my love,” he said, pulling me close and brushing his lips gently against mine. “My God, I don’t want to go.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant back to our solitary bunks in the barracks or off to war, but I agreed on either count.

For an hour or two, we curled up in each other’s arms, occasionally sleeping, mostly engrossed in exhausted, dreamlike chatter about our future. A home in Moscow, a tribe of children, a workshop for Vanya’s painting. Making plans for a future we couldn’t begin to envision, too shadowed by the looming threat of war.

We scurried back to the barracks moments before curfew. If Taisiya noticed anything amiss, she said nothing, and I loved her for it. It had been hasty and foolish to stay with Vanya, but I wanted no reprimand from her to mar the tender young memory that was forming in my heart.

CHAPTER 5

June 1941

The mess hall silenced as the metallic hum of the intercom system buzzed to life over our heads. “All cadets will report to the auditorium immediately following luncheon.”

Eyebrows arched and questions buzzed about the room as cadets hurried through the last bites of their meals.

“Likely another lecture,” Vanya hypothesized, opening the auditorium door for me, his hand lingering on the small of my back as he ushered me in. “Some of the third-years are being nothing short of reckless on their runs these past few weeks.”

“They’re all wanting to impress the officers,” I said, taking my seat next to him on the bleachers. “The war has them all imagining themselves as future aces, heroes of the cause, and all that.”

“If they want to impress the officers, if they want to be aces, they need to follow the goddamned rules,” he said, leaning back against the bleacher behind him with a grunt of annoyance. There was little that irritated Vanya more than a careless pilot. He’d taken to lecturing the more egregious offenders, always within earshot of the first- and second-year recruits. Most listened, but some found his interference presumptuous. He wasn’t a commander, so it wasn’t really his place, but my loyalty was with Vanya. If he was willing to share his knowledge, his classmates ought to be grateful and listen.

I looked away from his profile, silhouetted in the afternoon sun that streamed in from the high windows, and saw Taisiya breaking ranks, leaving the rest of our female contingent to sit next to us in the cavernous auditorium. I patted her knee as welcome, glad that for once I didn’t have to choose between Vanya and my sisters in arms.

“Cadets, we have a special treat for you today,” the headmaster himself said, standing on the enormous podium that was generally only wheeled out for ceremonies of special importance. “Major Sofia Orlova, Hero of the Soviet Union, is here to address you all. I trust you will give her your undivided attention.”

The headmaster’s admonition was unnecessary. Every cadet in the room sat straighter as the petite blonde stepped to the microphone. Her name was known to all of us. She had shattered so many records in aviation that Stalin himself had presented her with the highest military honor, Hero of the Soviet Union. We’d all grown up hearing about the exploits of these famous pilots, mostly men, who gained notoriety for flying from one end of Russia to the other, or setting records for speed. They were the heroes who had inspired us to earn our own wings, in many cases. This was the first time I’d been in the same room as one of these famous aviators, and I felt my childlike giddiness rush to the surface, coated in the honey-and-spice scent of my nostalgia.

“Comrades. My fellow pilots,” a confident, remarkably deep voice emanated from the woman who looked to be several centimeters shorter than I, and much smaller in frame. “I come to thank you for your efforts in your studies. What you do here is one of the most important endeavors our great nation is undertaking. We are moving into a new age, and Russia must be at the forefront of technology and training if we are to take our rightful place in this new world. Our great leader, Comrade Stalin, has wisely invested many resources in your training, and I know you are all working tirelessly to make the most of this opportunity to serve your country.