Daughters of the Night Sky

Two hours later I’d done a passable job of taking in the waist on the trousers and had basted in the waist of the jacket well enough to stand inspection. I would have to find a larger block of free time to let out the bust of the jacket and alter the silhouette properly.

Sofia came in to find us with our uniforms in pieces and questioned what we were doing.

“There must be a mistake,” Sofia said when Taisiya explained the problems with the uniforms. “Perhaps the quartermaster was sent the wrong uniforms.”

“No, Major. We asked, and there was no mistake. Since the uniforms aren’t suitable as they are, we’re doing our best to make them fit,” I said, gesturing to the green mass on my bed.

“I’m not sure why I expected differently.” For a moment Sofia’s bravado vanished. Her lips formed a grim line. “It will be the first of many times we’re called to alter things to suit, ladies. Carry on.”

CHAPTER 9

“Lieutenant Soloneva, may I speak with you? And Lieutenant Pashkova?” Sofia called to us between training runs as we stretched our legs, cramped by hours in the tiny cockpit. Oksana was at her flank, but her expression didn’t betray any distress.

“Of course,” I said, falling into pace with her, Taisiya joining behind us.

“Ladies, you have an advantage that many of these women don’t—military training. Discipline,” she said, turning to face us when we were several yards away from the nearest pair of ears.

“These women are some of the most dedicated pilots I’ve encountered,” I said, remembering the antics of some of the cadets at the academy who had the full benefit of “military discipline.”

“I don’t mean to imply otherwise,” she replied without malice. “I wouldn’t have picked them if they weren’t. But they’re new to our way of life all the same. I’m looking to you to set a good example.”

“I hope we’ve done so thus far,” Taisiya said, the color in her face draining a few shades.

“Without question,” Orlova replied. “Your calm during the evacuation, your cool heads were admirable. I need you to know that I’m relying on you to be the model for this continued exemplary behavior. Especially when resolve is tested—which it will be.”

We nodded our assent, not that we had much option to do otherwise.

We assembled an hour later for our evening briefing. She offered her praise for the day’s performance and a few notes of censure and advice.

“The last act of the day, ladies, is to report to the post barber.” Fretful whispers broke what had until then been a respectful silence. The blue of Orlova’s eyes looked bright as she scanned the crowd. More than a few women patted their manes, most of which dipped well past their shoulders. Orlova’s blond locks were already cut to just below her ears in a bob, giving her a tidy appearance that Stalin himself would have applauded in one of his warriors.

We walked with all the cheer of pallbearers in a funeral procession to the building that housed the post barber. Two or three women cried openly at the sight of the team of barbers waiting grim faced for the first of us to claim the six open seats. We all hung back as though the seats were torture devices. Sofia waited with another officer in the corner, their eyes scanning the throng of nervous pilots.

This is simply the first test. The first of the sacrifices we will be asked to make.

Military discipline. This is what she’d meant. I took a step forward, inhaled deeply, and took my place with the sternest looking of the men. I freed my wavy auburn hair from its chignon and closed my eyes. I tried not to think of the stolen hours with Vanya as he ran his fingers through the long tresses. Fiery, he’d called them.

I fought to keep from cringing as I heard the slow metallic scrape of the scissor blades as the barber severed the locks from my head. I opened my eyes and focused on the women who looked at me. They dreaded having to follow my lead, but it was the price of service.

Snip. Snip. Scrape.

I could not look at the pool of red at my feet as the barber snipped, but I would not let my anguish travel from my heart to my eyes. Taisiya took the seat next to mine and released her hair from her pins with a curt order to the gangly young barber she’d selected to get on with his business. My eyes flitted over to her seat, where she kept her own grimace at bay. Well done, Taisiyushka. We’ll be ugly together.

The barber made short work of my mane, and I escaped the chair the moment he tapped my shoulder to signal that he’d finished with me. Sofia shot me a shallow smile, appreciative I’d been the first to fall in line. Once free of the barbers’ quarters, I sought out my bunk, glad at least that the sting of tears didn’t threaten.