Chapter 2: Natalya (May 1941)

That night, I can’t sleep. I keep waiting for the tell-tale signs that he has returned to the house. I strain my ears listening, but all I can hear is the soft whistling of the wind and a gentle murmuring of thunder in the far distance.

Finally giving up on the futile dream of sleep, I slip out of bed and crawl around the room as quietly as I can, grabbing anything I might need for a long journey.

I’m not going to actually do it, I think to myself as I grope in the dark for my hairbrush.

Lydia’s crazy to think that it could actually work, and I’m not stupid enough to risk everything on a smile and a promise. I wouldn’t make that mistake too.

A pair of socks gets tucked into the bag, followed by a shirt.

We’d never get in anyway. We’re just two girls from a nowhere air base in the middle of a town that you probably couldn’t even point out on a map.

A small bag of rubles makes its way into the bag, the only money I own. Maybe Lydia might have more, or if I got Mama to come with me, she could bring some.

Why would you need money? You’re not going anywhere, I remind myself.

The rubles stay in the bag.

I’m just reaching for a small photo of my brother, telling myself that I’m only going to look at it, nothing more, when a loud bang echoes through the house.

“I’m home, my loves!” My father bellows loudly from the kitchen, and I hear a crash - probably another vase being “bumped” to the floor.

I quickly move to the door, opening it a crack and peeking out into the hallway. My father’s bulky frame covers most of the doorway into the kitchen, but I can just see past him to where my mother frantically prepares a bowl of what is most likely now cold soup.

“Where is Nat...Nady...Nada... ah, you know who I’m talking about. Where is she?”

I have to fight every muscle in my body to keep still as his words ring through my ears. A father who couldn’t remember his own daughter’s name? I manage to keep still, terrified for what might happen next.

“Natalya, your daughter, is asleep, I would imagine.” I’ve always wondered how my mother manages to keep her voice so calm while talking to him. I sure as hell couldn’t, and at this point, I’ve stopped trying. Most conversations between us end in screams, tears, and blood.

“Is she not eating dinner?”

“She’s already eaten.” My father pauses, and I can almost hear the sloshing of his thoughts as they tramp through the molasses some generous doctors might call a brain.

I know I should leave now, use this chance to escape while he’s distracted, but I’m still fighting with myself about whether or not I should go. If I leave now, there’s no way I can take Mama with me, and that isn’t an acceptable option. But if I don’t leave now, then I’ll probably never get another chance like this.

As I try to make up my mind, I slowly pull the door a little farther open and wince at the loud squeak that erupts from the hinges. I freeze, leaning away from the doorway.

“Na...Natalya? Is that you?” My heart pounds as I’m stuck in place, and I can hear the heavy, uneven thomp, thomp, thomping of his footsteps as he makes his way to me.

I’ve given all up for lost when Mama’s voice rings through the tense fog like little bells.

“I’ve eaten too, so you’re on your own tonight.”

That makes him stop, but I’m worried that he’ll still be able to hear the thudding of my heart.

“You… You’ve already eaten?”

“Da, I -” Mama’s voice squeaks and I can’t help but lean forward to watch what’s happening.
“You ate without me?” He cuts her off, his voice sharp.

“Da, I assumed you would get something while you were out, and -”

I stifle a gasp as my father raises his hand, a bottle still clasped in his hairy fist, and smashes it into the side of my mother’s head. She reels backwards in shock, clutching her head and screaming.

Gasping, I feel as though someone has stabbed a hole in my lungs and all the air is escaping. I run out of the cover of the doorway and kneel at Mama’s side, gripping her hand.

“You mu’dak!” I scream at my father, grabbing a rag from the counter and trying to stem the flow of blood pouring from Mama’s head. She feebly squeezes my hand and I meet her deep blue eyes, my own tears splashing on her cheek. “It’s going to be alright, Mama,” I murmur shakily. Under my fingers, I can feel the rag already becoming soaked through with wet, warm blood.

Mama raises a quivering hand to my cheek. Her mouth moves with words to quiet to hear and I lean forward, putting my ear to her lips. “Go,” she chokes out. “Fly free, my ptitsa.” She exhales softly and I feel her hand go limp in mine.

I hover with my ear by her lips for a few moments more, the last dreges of hope evaporating.

I jump as my father lets out a loud belch behind me. I’d nearly forgotten he was there, still holding the broken bottle covered in Mama’s blood. I stumble back to my room, not looking at him. My breath rattles in my hollow chest as I quickly shove a few extra things into my bag. I’m just pulling it shut when the trembling, drunken drawl speaks from the doorway.

“Natalya, milaya, I- I didn’t mean to!” Stumbling into my room, I hear a crash as something falls off the bed stand.

Backing away from him, I grasp along the window ledge for some way to open it.

“Na-Naty, pozhaluysta. Please,” he whimpers, lurching forward a step and almost falling on his face.

My finger lands on a clamp holding the window shut and I pull it off.

“Forgive me, milaya.” Another step closer.

Pulling the window open behind me, I push the bag out behind me. His eyes widen as he starts to understand my plan.

“Can’t you just forgive me?” he whispers, and for the first time, I can hear true heartbreak in his voice.

But he had waited too long. My heart was sealed against him and no promise he could make would change that.

“Poshyel k chyertu, you monster,” I spit at him, my voice void of any emotion. I scramble backwards out of the window, falling into the thick mud outside. The air is heavy around me, but it can’t diminish the noise of my father’s renewed bellowing from inside.

Getting up, I grab my bag and run, only looking back once. Only once to the small house that had shown me my first fear, given me my first hate. Only once to the small swing that had never really been used properly, for love and laughter and family. Only once to the bright windows of the houses around us where I could almost imagine families laughing together while the Mama and Papa tucked their children into bed and kissed them goodnight. Only once to the neighborhood of families that loved each other, except for one.

But all I can see is the large silhouette looming in my window, a bloody, shattered bottle still clasped in his fist.

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I run and run and run, not paying attention to where I’m going. At some point it starts to rain, but I barely notice. After a few minutes of splating drops, I can’t tell if the wet on my face is rain, tears, or both.

When I get to the hangar building it’s dark, and with nothing shielding me from the ferocious weather, I’m stuck yanking on the locked doors. My old fantasy of stealing a plane and running away floats across my mind, but I toss it away. There’s no way I’d be flying anywhere in this weather, even if I was able to open one of the doors.

I’m just about to kick in one of the windows when someone grabs my shoulder. I swing around and almost whack Lydia in the face, but she ducks away just in time.

“Natalya?” My friend looks startled, and her eyes flick every direction, as if watching for something. “Is that you?”

“Lydia?” I whisper back, and then, without knowing what I’m doing, I wrap my arms tight around her and then I’m crying again. Comprehension slowly dawning, she gently pats me on the back and quietly shushes me. A small laugh escapes me and I step back, hugging myself this time.

“Wh-where’s your mother?” She asks hesitantly, clearly afraid to know that answer.

“She’s… she’s not coming.” I force my voice to stay steady, but a hiccup makes its way out as well. A large splash of water hits my nose, bringing us both back to the main problem. “Please tell me you have the keys to this place. I’m positively drenched!”

“Well, my good friend, you are in luck!” A small key flashes in her hand as she pushes past me to unlock the door.

Once inside, we both shiver, shaking water off like wet dogs. Lydia flicks the lights on and I shy away from the sudden brightness.

“See if you can find some dry clothes in one of the closets in the back,” she calls from the hangar door. “We can’t fly in this, so we’ll have to wait until morning.”

“I think that, before we do anything else, you get to explain to me what the hell we’re doing in the middle of the night in the pouring rain, breaking into a secure government facility?”

“First of all,” Lydia says, hooking her arm through mine and pulling me into the main building, “I think you’re being a little dramatic, don’t you?”

I glare at her and she laughs, pulling me forward. “Second of all, we aren’t breaking in. I have a key, remember?”

“Are you supposed to have that key?”

“That, my dear Natalya, doesn’t matter in the slightest. I have it so therefore we’re not breaking in. Thirdly -”

“There’s a thirdly?”
“Hush! Thirdly, you’re dripping all over me so we’re going to find you a change of clothes and a place for us to sleep tonight. How does my office sound to you?”

“You’re dripping everywhere as well,” I say, grabbing at a sodden scarf thrown over her shoulder.

“My office it is!” Jumping out of reach, she pulls off the scarf and then marches us down the hall in search of water-free clothing.

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We set off early the next morning and fly for what feels like forever, landing only to restock on water and fuel. We’ll have to stop again soon to restock on food, as Lydia was the only one to think of bringing any and we’ve gone through most of her rations.

Gazing into the deep blue sky, I let my thoughts drift, thinking about what I would do if Raskova didn’t accept me into the regiment. Maybe I would become a baker, or possibly a seamstress. Mama had taught me a few things, and, with a little more practice, I might be able to actually make a living on one of them. But I would never be able to live like that, doing the same thing every day, knowing who I would see, what I would do, when and where I would always be.

Never flying again.

I know that if I don’t get into the regiment, the only job that could keep me content even a little would be to become a flight instructor. It would be the best option, the only option if I have any say in it, though not particularly high paying. I could make it work though, I would have to. Anything to make sure that I keep flying.

Plus, I’m free now. I can do anything I want. Maybe, if I really wanted to, I could even -

“Natalya! Watch it!”

I jump out of my thoughts and look up. While I’d been lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was going and now my plane is gliding towards Lydia’s as she tries to move out of the way. I pull the stick back and the plane turns away. I can still feel the pounding thud-thud of my heart as I right it.

“You alright?” Lydia’s voice, though full of static, is layered with worry and exhaustion, and suddenly I can feel every hour of sleep and rest that we’ve missed during our flight catch up to me as well.

“Da,” I respond through the radio. “Just really hoping that this works out.”

“It will, somehow. Don’t worry, just try your best. That’s all any of us can...” Lydia’s voice fades out and I glance over my shoulder, nearly flipping the plane again while I try and process what I’m seeing.

The front of Lydia’s plane is leaking a black fog, steadily growing thicker by the second.

“What did you do?” My voice shakes as I run through possible scenarios in my mind.

“I don’t know! The engine just started smoking!”

“Well, whatever it is, you need to get out of there!”

Lydia doesn’t have a chance to say anything since I’ve started rambling, calling out any idea that scrambles through my quickly emptying mind.

“I have an extra seat behind me. I’ll pull up underneath your plane and you can jump in.”

“We are in two metal aeroplanes, flying at 200 miles per hour, and you think that it would be a good idea for me to jump out of mine and fall into yours, hopefully landing in the small metal seat behind you? Without killing myself?”

“I saw someone do it once.”

“Where, the circus?”

“No, one of those pictures they show in the theater!”

“Well screw movies! Those are fake anyways, I would kill myself if I tried doing half of the things they show.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?” I’m nearly yelling now, desperation filling every particle of my body. When she doesn’t respond, I almost tear the radio out of the plane in frustration. “Lydia!”

“The controls are down, I can’t land it!” Her voice is high and hysterical, but strangely calm as well, as if she’s already accepted whatever fate is carried to her. But I haven't. I’ll only ever accept one fate, the one where she lives, somehow.

I can’t lose anyone else.

“Lydia, you have to get out of there! I can’t keep flying without you, not alone! What if something happens, or - or...” I choke on my own words, not able to say anything more.

“I’ve got a parachute,” she says, the plane shaking violently as another plume of smoke erupts from the front. “Naty, you have to get to Raskova. Promise me you’ll get into the regiment, whatever it takes.” She pauses, seeming to collect herself. Her voice cracks and I can tell that she’s holding back her tears much better than I am.

“What are you talking about? You’re going to meet me there. We’re going to get in, together!” I fruitlessly swipe my hand across a wet cheek, only to have more drops fall. “Lydia, there’s got to be a way to get you out of there! We’re doing this together.”

Her voice is soothing as it comes over the radio, but I don’t miss the soft hitch in the middle. “Of course I’m meeting you there. But, just in case… kill some of those Germans for me, da?”

I turn and see that she’s slid on a parachute and is climbing onto the wing. With one last look back, she jumps and I hold my breath, waiting for the soft puff of the white fabric to form a new cloud beneath me.

But it never comes.

Leaning back in my seat, tears streaming down my dirty, exhausted face, I hover over the area for another hour, hoping beyond hope that she would somehow fly back up in another plane, or maybe I would just wake up from this horrible nightmare and Lydia and Mama would be fine and happy. I circle the ground for hours, slowly spiraling away from her plane’s crash site, searching for any sign of a survivor, but as time passes and the sun rises in the sky, I know that it’s futile to keep waiting. Tears still running down my cheeks, I turn the plane around and fly into the sunset alone.

It’s a clear day, not a cloud in sight, but it’s not right. It should be raining, with darkness and lightning surrounding me. Maybe it would even strike my plane, sending me falling down, down, down, until I joined Lydia. Maybe someone would find us, or at least what was left of us, and tell stories. Or maybe we would be forgotten, just another name, lost in the wind.

But my plane, curse its strong metal and tough engine, flies on, carrying me as its prisoner.

“I’ll kill some Germans for you,” I croak softly to the empty air around me. “I promise.”