“I’m eager to do my part.”
“I want to put more pressure on the fascists,” he said. “The 8th Army Air is down to two hundred planes. They’ve all but given the skies over Stalingrad to the Luftwaffe. While we still can’t contest them, I’m not going to sit here and do nothing.”
“Alexandra and I are up for more,” I said. “But we’re a pair of fighters. Our guns only do so much. Send some bombers with us, and you’ll get the German’s attention.”
Gridnev’s eyes lit up and his cheeks dimpled. “Precisely what I plan on doing, Nadya. I’m going to try and get some of the ground-attack regiments to assist us from here on out. So expect escort duty for the next few weeks.”
“Looking forward to it, comrade major.” I said. Though I replied in an even manner, internally I was thrilled at being assigned more strikes and scared at the dangerous nature of it all. Protecting bombers was a different beast than hunting on our own. If things went bad during the latter, our Yak-1s had a good chance to run. Bombers didn’t have that luxury, and we had to stick with them no matter what. Of course, the added responsibility also meant Gridnev was confident in my abilities as a pilot. My soul beamed at that thought.
Gridnev dismissed me after a bit of small talk, and I decided to head to the infirmary to have my newest wound looked at. A dull ache radiated across a large part of my head, and I wanted to be sure Klara hadn’t cracked my skull or chipped a cheek bone. Judging from the bloody rag in my hand, I knew I also needed stitches.
“Still getting yourself torn up, I see,” Doctor Burak said as I entered the room. He had a stethoscope in hand and was listening to a freckled boy breathe—a pilot from Third Squadron I presumed. He gave me a passing glance before returning to his work. “Take a seat. I’ll be with you shortly.”
When his patient left and he finally got to me, it was apparent that his idea of shortly was not at all what mine was. I suspected it was his passive-aggressive attitude due to my previous rebuffs. “Is it broken?” I asked, sitting on a wooden stool and pointing to the side of my head.
Burak’s fingers probed the wound. “No,” he said, “but it does look like quite the lover’s quarrel.”
I sighed and shook my head. News had spread across the base faster than the blitzkrieg, and already I was irritated at the jabs. If they thought we were a real couple, those jabs would have turned vicious. “It was nothing like that.”
“If you say,” he replied. “I have no ill-will to those desiring uncommon relationships. I was, however, going to suggest you seek a tenderer companionship with someone else before something like this does you in.”
My skin crawled, and I pulled away. “The only thing I’m looking for right now is a set of stitches so I’m not bleeding all over the place.”
“We got off on the wrong foot earlier,” he said. He was trying to sound friendly, but there was an underlying edge to his voice that showed he was more annoyed than anything else. “Why don’t we start over tonight, Nadya? I’ll have some decent food brought in. Maybe a bottle of wine, yes? We can relax and get to know each other.”
I smirked at his absurd persistence. “I don’t drink. Just stitch me up.”
Burak grunted and went over to a row of new, green crates lined up on a nearby table. They had English words across them, in white, which I couldn’t read, but the black caduceus on each one’s front told me all I needed. The short staff with wings and intertwined serpents clearly labeled the crates as medical supplies. From one he pulled a dark bottle of iodine, some gauze, and a folded cloth pouch.
“We’re low on anesthetics,” he said, putting the iodine on the gauze. “This might hurt a little.”
He cleaned the wound like he was scrubbing pots caked with grease. It hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to what I’d endured with my burns. In a way, I was glad they’d tormented me because they gave me the resolve not to flinch as he tended to my head. Still, I wasn’t going to let his lie go unchallenged. “Looks like you have quite the supply right there from the Americans.”
From the folded pouch he took a suturing needle, thread, and forceps. “I haven’t catalogued it all,” he said. “No telling how much or little we have. They sent some better rations, too. Not that it’s for you, but I thought you should know.”
A fire ignited in my soul. A trickle of perspiration ran down my back, and all I wanted to do was to drive him into the ground. I knew I couldn’t do that, but I was through being treated like a dog. “What do you think Major Gridnev will say when I tell him you’re neglecting your duties as a physician?”
“I don’t think he’ll respond kindly once I inform him the accusations come from a girl unfit to fly and who tried to change my mind about my recommendations with physical advances.”
“Stitch me up and get it over with.”
The needle burned as it pierced my skin time and again. With hard pulls, he drew the wound closed with the sutures. More than once my head jerked to the side with the tugs he made, but I didn’t make a noise. I didn’t even let my eyes water. I took all that pain and let it fuel my disgust for the man.
When he was done, I stood, looked him square in the eyes, and spoke with an even tone. “Next time you threaten me or decide to get cute, remember this: I’ve been shot at, blown apart, and set on fire by my enemies, and every day I still get in my plane and hunt them down. I’m not someone you can intimidate, and I’m not someone who won’t fight back.”
Doctor Burak’s face reminded me of a child who had discovered what an angry bull looked like when its tail was pulled. The look was fleeting, and he turned stoic in a couple of heartbeats. “Are you threatening me?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m telling you who I am. Take it as you will.”
I left feeling his glare on the back of my head. Outside, despite the icy October air biting my face and paining my burns, I smiled. I was proud I’d stood tall and was certain Father would’ve been too had he seen what had transpired. Actually, he would have broken the poor doctor in half had he been there. The thought of seeing Father wrap his large hands around Burak’s neck and wring the life out of him drew out a dark chuckle from deep inside me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Three days later and two hours before sunrise, I tossed in bed. I’d spent the majority of the night unable to sleep, replaying our mission briefing from the evening before over and over to distract myself from my ailments. Sweat covered my body. A phantom blade dug and twisted in my palm, and I wondered if amputation might be the only thing to ever bring me permanent relief. My stomach cramped, and my eyes lost focus for a moment. Had it been any worse, I’d have sworn my insides were ripping themselves apart. I’d never born a child before, but if it was anything close to what I was feeling, I wanted nothing to do with motherhood.
I could taste bile rising in my throat. Half-blind, I rolled out of bed and stumbled out of the dugout. Snow soaked my socks and numbed my toes. I pressed on, trying to get as far away from our sleeping quarters as possible before I wretched. I made it a few dozen meters before falling over. I caught myself on my hands and knees and then emptied my stomach. It didn’t have much in it, as I hadn’t had an appetite for the past two days.
For several tense moments, I stayed on all fours, panting and watching my breath crystalize in the air until the pain eased. The taste in my mouth was wretched. Off in the distance I heard Bri and that stupid mutt getting into another fight somewhere nearby, but didn’t bother to look. At the sound of crunching footsteps in the snow fast approaching, I pushed myself up to my feet.