Daughters of the Night Sky

I was grateful to have Taisiya. School had been a lonely slog, and she was one of the first people who truly understood how deeply the desire to fly had sunk into my bones.

Taisiya gave herself a quick glance in the mirror and gave an impassive nod, which meant her uniform looked tidy and she was pleased enough with her appearance to go up. On the rare occasion she had to wear a dress, the effect was charming. She looked like a young matron who ought to be chasing a ball with her three sturdy sons. When she was in uniform, her middling height, brown hair, and even features simply blended into the academy walls. It was possibly her greatest asset in her advancement so far. My towering height and auburn hair attracted much more attention than I would have liked, but I refused to slouch. Nor would I cover my red tresses with dye to make myself invisible.

We joined the rest of the cadets in the mess hall to endure a supper that grew more and more inferior as war drew nearer to our doors. In a room buzzing with over two hundred cadets, the nine women of the academy sat together at a long table in the back of the hall. As was our custom, we pulled out our training manuals, textbooks, and notes during the meal and saved our chatter for the hour just before bed, when we were too tired to get much good out of studying.

“If you ladies are nervous,” a jeering voice called out from the next table, “why don’t you do something else? Sew uniforms, perhaps? Or go west and dig trenches when the time comes?” The comedian was a first-year student with rust-colored hair and crooked teeth, surrounded by mates shaking with laughter.

“Shut your insolent mouth, boy,” I snapped. “And learn some humility in front of your superiors before you open it again, if you have brains under that godforsaken orange mop you’ve got.”

The cadet and his entire table went quiet and returned to their meal while the women all looked over to me with silent approval. We studied constantly because we didn’t have the luxury for error, and I refused to accept cheek from underclassmen for it. I had to be even-tempered with the instructors, but junior cadets were welcome to the full brunt of my anger when they deserved it.

“Jackass,” Taisiya hissed under her breath. “He doesn’t know which side of the plane to keep upright.”

If that were true, he’d have a hard time earning promotion from theoretical studies to practical runs toward the end of his first year. If he wasn’t promoted soon, he would be either transferred to a nonflight field—learning to run the wireless, most likely—or shown the door. I’d gone through the very same thing, despite stellar theoretical skills. It took my registering a formal complaint with the academy’s commanding officer to get in the air.

It was always a battle, and some days I worried I’d be tired of fighting before I even got to the front.

I retreated to the dank and chilly confines of the bunkroom after supper. Most of us reviewed notes or perused our books for another couple of hours, but uniforms were shed. I gratefully traded my coarse uniform for my quilted flannel pajamas and dressing gown. Mama had been careful to send drab greens and blues my first year, thinking it would be best in my military setting. When my second year came around, I begged her for periwinkle, pink, lilac—anything feminine—much to my mother’s astonishment. She rose magnificently to the occasion, sending me thick quilted pajamas of the softest pink flannel adorned with tiny rosebuds along with a matching pink dressing gown. I knew it had to have cost her dearly, but as my burden on her finances was so light now, I didn’t begrudge her the little indulgence.

Taisiya had a letter from Matvei, her beau, who had taken over the running of his family’s farm near the little village of Serbishino. Matvei’s letters were one of Taisiya’s few sources of unmitigated joy, but her face turned ashen as she read his words.

“He’s been called up.” She looked down at the paper, incredulous.

“It sounds like things are worse in Poland,” I said, not knowing what reassurances might help. “But it may all come to nothing. They need troops at the ready in case the worst happens, but there’s no reason to believe he’ll see action. And if he does, at least he’s enlisted and training now.”

“He’s a farmer, Katya. He’s not built for this. He hasn’t been trained like you and I have.” She set the letter aside and buried her face in her hands.

I sat next to her on the thin mattress of her bunk and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “They’ll train him, Taisiya. It makes no sense for them not to.”

“Logic has never been the strong suit of the Red Army,” Taisiya snapped, picking up the letter and placing it in her bedside table with the rest of his correspondence. “Stalin needs warm bodies, and I don’t think he cares how long they stay that way.”