Daughters of the Night Sky

“Matvei is well,” Taisiya said, poring with a tiny flashlight over one of the letters that had been forwarded to Moscow, her head bobbling along with the rattle of the train. “The food is dreadful, and he misses his mother’s kotleti and potatoes, but he likes his comrades well enough. It doesn’t sound like he’s at the front.”

“I’m glad,” I said, patting her knee. She hadn’t been able to read the letter, with the chaos of the last few days, but seeing his handwriting on a piece of paper no more than two weeks old had caused her shoulders to drop a few centimeters and her breathing to deepen, visibly. “I haven’t heard from Vanya since we arrived in Moscow.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she said, taking my hand for a moment. “He’s one of the best pilots Chelyabinsk has seen.”

“He didn’t seem particularly distressed in his last postcard,” I admitted—not right at the front, no imminent danger, from what I could read. The situation may have changed in the passing weeks, but I knew deep in my gut that he was still alive. Not happy. Not well. But at least alive.

“Your Matvei would do well to be grateful instead of bemoaning the loss of his mother’s cooking,” Oksana said, looking up from her book, the title of which I couldn’t make out because her hands obscured it. She’d made her nest across from us, and I’d hoped we’d be able to use some of the interminable journey to become better acquainted. She showed no interest. “Compared to the villagers that surround him, he’s eating like a king.”

“So that he has the strength to defend them,” Taisiya countered, folding the letter and stuffing it carefully, though forcefully, back in its envelope.

“It does no good to defend a people who have starved to death,” Oksana said, returning to her book.

A rush of blood warmed my cheeks. “You know we’re going to be defending those same people, right? And will be fed the same soldiers’ rations?” At least, I assumed that was going to be the case. If they gave us men’s clothes, they ought to feed us like men as well.

“Yes, but I won’t complain about the food I don’t have while I have something to eat and others don’t.” Her blue eyes blazed hot over her tattered pages.

Taisiya made to stand, but I gripped her hand to stop her. No good would come of whatever she had planned.

“Matvei is making a remembrance of home,” I said, my voice clear enough to bounce off the walls of the clattering metal tube. “He’s honoring who he’s fighting for and the life he wants to go back to. He’ll be a better soldier for it.”

Major Orlova moved over to our portion of the car just in time to hear my pronouncement. “Hear, hear, Katya,” she said, taking the spot on the floor next to Oksana. “The best soldier is a homesick one. They know what they’re fighting for.”

“I agree,” Taisiya said, flashing a superior glance at Oksana and beaming a smile at Major Orlova.

“Are you ladies faring well enough?” Orlova asked.

“As well as can be expected, Major,” I replied. “I’ve had all I’ll ever need of never-ending train rides, though.”

“Too right. It looks like it will be more like a few more days,” Orlova said, her expression showing no stoicism at the prospect. “For a trip of nine hundred kilometers. We’d practically do as well to walk, but we have supplies to take with us. And when we’re not in training, call me Sofia, please.”

The three of us looked at our commander without blinking for a moment. That was not the behavior of a major in the Red Army, but it was not for us to question her.

“Do they know where they’re sending us, then?” Irina asked, wrapping an arm around Lada, who had slipped further into her misery.

“Not precisely,” she answered. “They’re looking at a few options. Military schools the chief among them, given that we’ll be in training.”

“Will we be in training long?” I asked, sitting up straighter. “When do they expect to send us to the front?” Surely our three years of training should be sufficient.

“I like your enthusiasm,” Orlova said, smiling. She recalled all our names without hesitation, though she’d only known us for a few days. “But I don’t think there are any expectations yet. We have a wide range of experience in this group, and we need to see where each of you belongs. The commanders in place will call us up when we’re ready.”

“Or whenever they have need of us, whichever happens first,” Oksana said humorlessly.

“There is truth in that,” Orlova agreed. “But there are more trained pilots than there are aircraft for us to fly. We’re going to have to prove we’re ready before we’re deployed. It took all my influence with Comrade Stalin to get this operation off the ground. But I promise you the training will be nothing like what you’ve been used to.”