Daughters of the Night Sky

His hands slid down to my hips and pulled me so close I could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. He lowered his lips to mine once more and drank slowly from them before finally pulling back. “Damn you and your good conscience,” he muttered, tucking my head under his chin.

“Would you want me if I were otherwise? A biddable waif who’d be happy to wait at home and darn your socks?”

“Maybe not, but I’d be a damn sight happier if you could be one until the war is over. You can go back to being a shrew after we’ve won.”

“If only it worked that way,” I said, and exhaled slowly. “But we shrews can no more hide our shrewishness than a tiger can hide her stripes.”

“It’s all part of your charm. But if you can’t promise to stay home and be safe for me, promise you’ll fly smart. The stories my father has from the last war would tear you apart, and we’re headed for more of the same. To think of you anywhere near there kills me. My father is a ghost of a man. Mama says you used to never see him without a smile or a song. I wish I had known my father before the war took that from him. Don’t let me see that light in your eyes grow dim.”

He caressed the side of my face with his finger, his coal eyes intense with concentration, as I had only ever seen them before he went up on a challenging pattern. I thought of my own mother. I remembered the days when her heart was light. The war hadn’t silenced my papa’s song, and it wasn’t a war that had stifled Mama’s. I opened my mouth to protest, but he claimed my mouth with his, lingering until I could feel my knees dissolve into gelatin. I clung to his broad shoulders as I regained my breath. I had spent so many weeks stifling any feelings for him; my confusion was as dizzying as his kisses.

I wish I could say my determination to fly never faltered, but in that moment I wished I had the resolve to hang up my flight suit and keep a little house in the hills of Miass and wait like a dutiful bride for him to return. But the waiting—the interminable waiting—and the brutal uncertainty of praying to whomever would listen that the uniformed man with the telegram wouldn’t turn down the lane. Facing the Germans would be a far lesser torture.

For the first time the volume in the women’s bunkroom outstripped the commotion in the men’s.

“She was so beautiful,” Marta breathed. “How on earth does she manage that while setting world records?”

“Likely a combination of good genetics and not giving a damn,” I said. “The better question is how she maintained the discipline to set those records and how she got Stalin’s support to attempt it in the first place.”

“Sheer talent, from what I understand,” Taisiya added. “Which makes me hate her just a little.”

The rest of us laughed.

“She wouldn’t have come if war wasn’t on the horizon,” I said, repeating Vanya’s prophecy. “And not just the mess in the Baltic. She’s here to drum up patriotic fervor.”

“Well, Hitler is on the move, isn’t he?” Taisiya replied. “Stalin seems to trust him like a brother, but the generals may not be so convinced. It only makes sense to get troops at the ready.” It seemed a few weeks was enough time to give Taisiya a bit of perspective about Matvei’s conscription. A letter in the interim, describing his training regimen, had certainly helped that along.

“Oh, do we have to drag the war into this?” Klavdiya moaned from her bunk. “It’s the only thing people talk about these days.”

“Klavdiya, if you think there is anything more important to discuss right now, you’re sorely mistaken.”

My tone was harsher than it should have been, but girls like Marta and Klavdiya made my blood boil. They came to the academy with romantic ideas about flying, and when they found out the work involved, they neither buckled down to do it nor went home and ceded their place to someone more eager. I had little use for girls who had their heads turned by the likes of Sofia Orlova but weren’t willing to make the same sacrifices to achieve their goals.

“Well said,” Iskra piped up from her bunk. “This school likely wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the goings on to the west… and the east. I’m no more keen to go to war than the rest of you, but I’m willing to do my part for the education I’ve been given.”

“Then you’re silly,” Marta replied. “Orlova herself said we would have the choice. Why fly into harm’s way when we don’t have to?”

“It’s called honor, duty, and pride, Marta,” I seethed. “And I suggest you acquire some in the coming months. You may find yourself in need of them.”

CHAPTER 6