“Nadya, are you okay?”
I wiped my mouth on the back of my sleeve and turned to find Klara nearby, holding a bag of tools. This was the first real interaction we’d had since she’d clobbered me and was sent to the box. I wasn’t sure how to act, so I looked at her in an awkward manner until I realized I should say something. “Upset stomach,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll catch your death out here, dressed in nothing,” she said. She pulled off her leather coat and put it around my shoulders. “Are you sick? You look terrible.”
I drew the coat around me, relishing the warmth it brought. I couldn’t help but crack a smile at her last remark. I must have looked like a corpse for her to say such a thing, for the moon above was barely past the first quarter and didn’t offer much light. I suspected had she been able to see me well, I’d have given her a heart attack. “I think it was something I ate,” I lied. “Awful way to spend a birthday, huh?”
“It’s your birthday?”
I feigned a deep hurt and clutched my chest. “How could you forget? I’m an old maid of twenty-one now.”
“Because you never told me,” she said. “Even if it was something you ate, you should let your weary bones rest, you hag. There’s plenty of time to find a new pilot.”
“I can fly. Honest, I feel better already.” I hoped my performance was enough to get her moving. Though I knew I was having withdrawals from the morphine, I couldn’t tell her. She’d have too many questions, too many concerns. She might even report me for stealing once she found out where I got the supply from. I’d go straight to the gallows if that happened.
“I still need to finish the prep on your plane,” she said, taking me by the arm and leading me back toward the dugout. “Bundle up and I’ll check on you in an hour when it’s time to rise.”
“How was the box?”
“Cold. Dark.”
“That all?”
Klara stopped a few meters away from the dugout. Her gaze drifted off into the darkness, and she rubbed her arms for warmth. “About as comfy as my foxhole during night watch,” she said. “But it was lonely, not that this is much better. I’m sorry for what I did, what I said. It was a bad day for me, and I snapped.”
“No, I should apologize,” I said. “I should’ve found you when I landed and let you know I was okay, but…”
She waited a moment after my voice trailed to prompt me. “But what?”
“But…” I sighed heavily, wishing I could tell her exactly why my thoughts were so muddled that day. “I was struggling with other things—not that you aren’t dear to me—but they hit me more than I expected.”
“What other things?”
“I can’t tell you.” When pain flashed in her eyes, I quickly added, “Not now at least. One day, I’d love to. Honest. Right now I’m asking—begging—for you to let this go.”
Klara bit her lip and toyed with her hair for far longer than I would’ve ever liked. “Think you could at least tell me before the war is over?”
I laughed. “Yes. I’m sure I could by then.” My shoulders fell with relief. “You have no idea how glad I am we could work this out without any more wrenches to the noggin.”
“Me too,” she replied. “But Gridnev said I’m not allowed to talk to you outside of duties anymore. I should be thankful, I guess. He should have stretched my neck or sent me to a penal brigade.”
“He’ll forget it all soon enough,” I said. “His real concern was me smooching you. I told him I’d never to it again, and I want you to know I meant it. I didn’t mean to put you off as I did.”
Klara shifted her weight from one foot to the other and fidgeted with her hands. “Oh, I see,” she said. “That’s okay, I guess, but why did you?”
“Kiss you?” I shrugged and gave back her coat. “I told you. I thought it funny, but after a crack in the head I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. Was it that awful?”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said, stumbling for words and then shaking her head with a huff. “Never mind. I don’t even know how to get it out.”
“Try,” I said. I was trying my best to ignore the stabbing in my ice-cold feet, but God, how I wanted to get back inside and find some warmth. That said, I figured I should give Klara at least a chance to spit out what was gnawing on her mind.
“Not now,” she replied. “Not here.”
My curiosity died. “Okay, then I’m going to bed. I’m freezing.”
Klara headed toward the airfield, and the moment I turned around, Petrov made an appearance. He was bundled in a quilted jacket with matching trousers. Despite the early hour, he didn’t appear tired, making me wonder if the man ever slept, or needed it for that matter.
“Good morning, Junior Lieutenant,” he said, stopping a few paces away. “You’re up early.”
“So are you,” I replied. I didn’t want to sound as if I was hiding behind Gridnev’s and Tamara’s orders, but I had to know why he was here. I didn’t think his presence was a chance encounter. “What do you want with me? We both know you’ve been told to stay away.”
“I like watching the night sky. Gorgeous, isn’t it?” he said, sounding sincere. He pulled his pipe from one pocket and a yellow tin of Dunhill Royal Yacht tobacco from the other. As he went on, he packed the bowl and started to smoke. “I often wonder how many stars there are. Ever tried counting them?”
“No,” I said. “I’m sure there are more up there than I can imagine.”
Petrov chuckled. “Lots of things have to be left to the imagination, I suppose. But one thing doesn’t.”
“What’s that?”
“What you’re doing here. It’s obvious you’re sick as a dog. You ought to see the doctor before it gets worse.”
I cringed as my stomach revolted once more. Though it was painful, I was glad I had enough self-control to keep from throwing up again. “I don’t need to. I’ll be fine.”
“I suppose you will,” he said. “All the same. It’s probably good that you aren’t bothering him as he’s busy taking inventory. It seems he’s misplaced a few items.”
I was glad that the dark covered my reaction. “Perhaps he’ll look after his stethoscope better.”
Petrov motioned to the doctor’s office with his pipe. “Oh he didn’t lose that. He can’t account for some medication.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. My chest and the back of my neck warmed, and I stopped fidgeting with my hands the moment I noticed I was. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sure you are,” he replied, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “If you happen to see anyone with morphine syrettes, be sure to bring them in.”
“Of course, but I’d like to go back to bed. So if you’ll excuse me, Commissar.”
Petrov sidestepped and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “As you were, Junior Lieutenant.”
I hurried inside the dugout and darted into bed and under my blanket. The squeaks of mice let me know I was now sharing the space with the little fur balls. Over the last few weeks, I’d gotten used to having the extra company. They were still everywhere, despite the cold, and despite Zhenia’s mouser (who was good at being one, but one cat a rodent genocide does not make). I lay there, staring at the dark above, tired, pained, shivering, and thinking about this morning’s encounters with Klara and Petrov.
I was in no shape to fly, yet I had to. Not only because I didn’t want to lose my wings, but I wanted to fight. I wanted to bring Gerhard Rademacher’s plane down, and the only way that would happen is if I was well enough to get out of bed.