THE SKY WAS A PREDAWN SLATE GRAY WHEN OUR LITTLE biplane departed. For that brief time while we flew, I felt like I was not a part of the war, despite the devastation spread out below us, despite the injured soldier, now fitted out with civilian clothes, in my arms. This was our last moment together, maybe our last moment alive, but it was easy to imagine that it would never end, that it would always be us and the ticking engine.
I wondered what Iskra was thinking back there with her steady hands on the controls. Maybe I could ask her to just fly us away like I’d offered to fly Pasha away the day he left for the front. But we both knew that wasn’t an option. We had made our choice and we’d accept the consequences like the soldiers we were. And then we were over our aerodrome, approaching the plowed stretch of runway covered with thick stripes from tires and thin stripes from tail skids. We touched down to meet our fate.
The other women in the regiment were scattered over the trucks and the dugout roofs and the wings of their planes eating breakfast, but when Number 18 came to a stop, there was a general clatter from all across the airfield as everyone dropped her dishes and ran over. Iskra hopped out of the rear cockpit and was instantly mobbed with hugs and kisses from our friends, the girls we’d deceived, the girls who still didn’t know about our act of treason. Tanya gave her a light smack on the arm and scolded, “What do you think you’re doing, making your flight commander worry?”
Ilyushina, soaked in oil and in the process of dismantling a plane’s fuel system, took a moment to give us a thumbs-up.
Zhigli said, “We set out dishes for you. We knew you were coming back. A little engine trouble wouldn’t finish off the Korolevas.”
“It wasn’t exactly engine trouble,” Iskra admitted.
I undid my harness and helped Pasha out of the cockpit, saying, “He’s wounded. Can someone give him a hand getting down?”
Zhigli’s jaw dropped.
It was probably the first time in history that a man had landed at a military airfield and been swarmed by a crowd of curious women. It didn’t take them long to divine that this was the mysterious Pasha, and then, of course, he and I were both inundated with questions.
“Give him some space. He’s hurt!” I said to no avail. Our aide-de-camp eventually rescued him and whisked him off to the field hospital.
As I slung my leg over the edge of the cockpit, my other foot brushed something. A canvas bag. I had forgotten about it. I pulled the drawstring open. Inside was a handful of photographs. Of course. I took them out and climbed down.
Bershanskaya stood with her chief of staff a little apart from the raucous group, marking down that her lost eaglets had returned. I’d never worked out what to say to her, sometimes wanting to defiantly stand by my actions and sometimes only wanting to beg her not to be disappointed with us. It hardly mattered. Not even Iskra’s quick thinking could get us out of this one. So I just saluted and pushed the photos into her hands.
Bershanskaya looked me up and down and said only, “Are you hurt?”
I touched the dark stain that covered most of my flight jacket. “Oh—I’m fine. That’s not my blood.”
Kazarinova was there in an instant, her arms crossed, the crease between her eyes deepening as she considered me, Iskra, and the photos. I bowed my head, ready to accept what was coming. She told Bershanskaya, “I trust this settles the question of their loyalty.”
“Yes,” said Bershanskaya.
To me, Kazarinova said, “You two are going to Siberia for this.”
No despair settled its black wings on me, only peace. I’d found Pasha. I’d finished the task that fate had given me. I could handle anything now, even the camps. “Understood, ma’am.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Bershanskaya said brusquely.
“They deliberately disobeyed orders and deserted to rescue a known traitor!”
“They did none of that.” Bershanskaya squinted at Kazarinova. She was the taller of the two. I wondered why I’d never noticed that before. “I revised our flight plan a second time last night and reassigned the Korolevas to the rescue mission. Since the first squadron’s bombing objective was in the same direction, I had them depart with the rest of the squadron. Isn’t that right, Junior Lieutenant?”
The look she gave me was not hard to interpret. Hope flickering in my chest, I said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“In fact, I may recommend the three of you for decoration,” Bershanskaya mused. “You’ve all demonstrated great bravery and resourcefulness. I’m thinking, perhaps, the Order of the Red Banner?”
“We also took out an Me 109,” I added.
“Technically, the bridge took it out,” Iskra corrected me.
“Our regiment’s first kill. This has been a successful night,” said Bershanskaya.
Kazarinova’s voice was steely with carefully controlled fury. “Major, I think you don’t fully understand the repercussions of what you’re doing.”
“And I think you’re needed back in Moscow,” said Bershanskaya steadily. “If you want to get into a discussion with our superiors about why you interfered with a mission to secure strategically important documents, we can. But I would think carefully about whether there’s anything in your past that you’d rather not have subjected to further scrutiny.” To her chief of staff, she added, “Captain, go warm up Major Kazarinova’s car.”
Kazarinova threw Bershanskaya one last sullen look and then, walking heavily, favoring her bad leg, she followed the chief of staff. Relief poured over me like warm honey. It was over. No one would go to the camps, no one would be shot, and no one would ever, ever take Pasha from me again. I mouthed the words “Thank you” to my commander. Bershanskaya let her shy half smile creep across her face, but it passed and she told the two of us, “See that your aircraft is fit to fly and then get some sleep. You fly tonight at eighteen hundred hours.”