Nadya's War by C. S. Taylor

Author:C. S. Taylor [Taylor, C. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tiny Fox Press
Published: 2017-09-18T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

There was a small service for Valeriia the following day at the end of the runway. I couldn’t pay attention to any of it. I simply stood there thinking life was cruel and hoping she was in a better place. When we were dismissed, I somehow got back to my bunk and lost consciousness.

Sometime late that afternoon a pair of soldiers carrying PPSh-41s pulled me out of the dugout and brought me to the command post, barely giving me enough time to put my boots on. I didn’t know what was going on. I only had the vague idea that Tamara was sending me up on a flight and was ordering me in for briefing. When I stepped inside, however, and saw Petrov leaning back in her chair with his feet kicked up on the desk and his pipe in his mouth, my heart raced faster than any dogfight I’d been in.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Junior Lieutenant,” he said. “This doesn’t have to take long.”

I sat in the chair across from him. No one else was in the room save the two armed soldiers who had brought me in. As I felt my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, I could think to ask only one question. “Is something the matter?”

Petrov snorted. “Many things are, Junior Lieutenant. First, the food here is terrible. Second, sleep has not come easily to me as of late, and third, while not a problem for me but you, the previous two points have left me in the mood to shoot first and ask questions later. But as I don’t want to leave a mess in Major Kazarinova’s office, I thought I’d at least give civility a try.”

My throat tightened, and though I prayed that Tamara would return quickly, I asked my next question as casually as possible to hide my fear. “Where’s the Major, anyway?”

Petrov took out a silver pocket watch from his coat and gave it a quick glance. “She’ll be gone for at least another hour,” he said. “So don’t concern yourself with her. Instead, concern yourself with me and answering my questions truthfully.”

“What sort of questions did you have?” I asked.

“Familial ones.” He reached under the desk and pulled out a small candle in a squat iron holder, like the one my grandmother would use late at night while penning letters. He put it on the desk, and from his jacket pocket he took out a box of matches and lit the wick. “I know you think I’m an evil person,” he said. “But I like to think we have the same goal.”

“My only goal right now is shooting down Germans.”

He smiled and tipped his head. “See? We are similar. We both want them dead. The difference is, I’m more passionate about the Motherland than you.”

“What does that have to do with my family?”

“Everything,” he replied, drawing deeply on his pipe. When he exhaled, he blew a perfect smoke ring and watched it rise to the ceiling before continuing.

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