Daughters of the Night Sky

The sun shone mercilessly down on the hut, flooding our room in an unwelcome pool of light. We did our best to block the offending rays with our winter coats, but this only caused us to bake in our beds as we choked out the little circulating air from the tiny windows. We shucked our uniforms and wore our thinnest shirts and undergarments in search of sleep. Our lives depended on it.

Just as I thought I might be able to achieve something like a shallow sleep, a timid knocking came at the door.

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant Soloneva. There is a letter for you.”

Vanya.

When I opened the door, Comrade Utkina placed the letter in my hands and pulled the door closed in one fluid motion. She knew we would not be home sleeping at midday if the need weren’t dire, but neither would my mail be delivered to her home if it weren’t urgent.

My hands shook as I turned the envelope over, then trembled with relief as I saw my mother’s tidy script. It wouldn’t contain the news that Vanya was well and safe, but it wouldn’t contain the worst, either. I opened it gingerly, as though her words might escape if I weren’t careful to keep them captive.

My dearest Katinka,

I hope you are well, my sweet girl. As well as any of us can be in this dreadful time. All is well here in old Miass, though your mama is lonely with you so far from home. The only way I am able to keep from running mad with worry is to keep myself busy. Thankfully that is not a challenge. I have taken a job in an ammunition factory in Chelyabinsk. While it’s not exciting work, it’s useful. And not nearly as backbreaking as laundry. I’ve managed to save up for a new (still old, but slightly less ancient) truck, so getting to and from the city isn’t the worry it once was.

While Miass is as quiet as it ever was, Chelyabinsk is becoming an industrial hub—tanks rolling out of the city each day as you can’t imagine. I can only hope these horrible machines will serve to keep you safe. Please write to your mama, and let her know that you are safe, and any news you might have from your Vanya, too.

Be well, my darling girl.

~Mama

I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding, relieved by the anticlimax of the letter.

“I hope your letter has good news?” Taisiya asked. I smiled at her optimism but didn’t chide her. Good news was a relative term these days.

“You’re not able to sleep, either?” I said, lamely stating the obvious.

“No, for the same reason you aren’t,” she said, rolling to her side.

“It’s Mama. Just letting me know she’s well.” I didn’t give any details. If Mama was working in a factory, she’d be getting a worker’s ration and faring better than Taisiya’s farmer parents, who were forced to hand over the lion’s share of their crops to the troops. Her father had written that he was happy to make the sacrifice to the cause, but it left him with precious little to feed his family and nothing with which to trade or barter for other goods. Their situation was far more dire than Mama’s—and even they were better off than the Utkins.

“I suppose they wanted to get us our mail in case—” Taisiya mused.

“Don’t say it.”

“I know.”

I lay back on my cot and searched my brain for a topic of conversation, but it all came back to the mission before us. What could I ask? Are you afraid? Of course she was. She was no fool, and she knew the value of fear. As long as Taisiya had a healthy respect for our mortality but did not allow her fear to choke her, it would be our greatest ally in the air.

“Have you heard from Matvei?” I asked after a while. None of the women spoke of the letters from husbands and beaux at the front anymore. It was cruel to those who hadn’t received word. Some of us never would, and that unspoken truth made each letter that we were lucky enough to receive as precious as treasure.

But with Taisiya I could inquire. I could share her joys and tragedies, as I would my own sister’s, had I been lucky enough to have one.