was a bridge used by the Germans to ferry supplies and wounded. Maps were passed out; Nina’s fingers flew over the sketched terrain.
“Comrade Major,” one of the pilots called when the briefing wrapped. “I stalled last night on the fourth run and practically scraped grass by the time the engine kicked in. It was low enough I heard shouts coming from the Germans as they ran for cover.”
“What did they shout?” Nothing to Bershanskaia was unimportant; her eyes were the sharpest Nina had ever seen. Their stocky no-nonsense commander might not have Marina Raskova’s heroic glitter, but Nina was fairly sure she’d cut off a leg for Bershanskaia too. Even if she did want to slit her throat every day for being so damned cheery in her wake-up calls. “What did they shout, Comrade Lieutenant?”
“‘Nachthexen,’” the pilot quoted. “before the engine drowned them out.”
Bershanskaia pronounced the word silently. So did Nina. Nachthexen. One of the other pilots spoke up, the one who had been a language teacher before the war.
“‘Night Witches,’” she translated.
They were all still for a heartbeat. Night Witches. For some reason Nina thought of her father, drunk and furious out on the frozen banks of the Old Man.
What’s a rusalka, Papa? a little girl had asked him, never dreaming that one day she’d be flying through the sky in a plane called by the same name.
A lake witch, her father had answered.
And later on the streets of Irkutsk: I can track wolverines, girl. You think I can’t track my lake witch of a daughter?
Sky witch now, Nina had retorted.
Maybe not.
Not quite a sky witch, or even a water-bound lake witch. Something else. Something new. Nina looked around at the ladies of the 588th, all of them that made up something the world had never seen before, and saw smiles tugging lips, flashes of teeth showing in private, pleased grins. Night Witches.
“Well,” one of the navigators said at last, “I like it.”
A burst of laughter, and Major Bershanskaia clapped her hands. “To the field, ladies.”
A line of U-2s took off into the darkening sky for the new airfield, little better than an old turnip patch. The pilots hopped out, making way for armorers and mechanics. Everyone bounced on their toes, eyes on the sky. Exhaustion forgotten, hunger forgotten, shakes and shivers and bad dreams forgotten. The moon was rising, a plumper crescent than last night. Nina sniffed the night wind, heady and mountain scented, setting her blood on fire like a river of gasoline. Yelena tensed, ready to run, eying the Rusalka across the field.
Bershanskaia gave the chop of her hand that silenced all conversation. “Ladies, to your planes,” she usually said. But tonight it was “Nachthexen, to your planes.”
And they were all sprinting for their lives, sprinting for their planes, laughter crossing the lines in a fierce ripple. Yelena rode the crest in front, and Nina was bursting a lung somewhere in the middle of the pack. Twenty-four hours had turned like a wheel and here they were, back on the conveyor belt. Somewhere up ahead Yelena cried, “Too slow, rabbits! Rusalka first!” A few heartbeats later, Nina caught the wing and went flying into her cockpit.
And one by one, the Night Witches took to the air.
Chapter 22
Jordan
May 1950
Boston
Jesus, Jor.” Garrett laughed as he jumped down from the cockpit of the little biplane. “I thought you were going to try and climb out.”
“I can’t believe you trained for war in a plane like this. It’s cloth and plywood!” Jordan swung a leg carefully over the edge of her own cockpit. “I wonder if any of my shots will turn out. Trying to focus through goggles and wind shear . . .”
“I haven’t seen you snapping away like that in a while.” Garrett lifted her down from the wing.
“I’ve been busy. And it’s not like I’m going to make a career of it.” That used to be a bitter thought, but Jordan supposed all dreams hurt when they finally withered up in the glare of real life. What was the point in toting a camera everywhere, taking classes, sinking hours into photo-essays that no one would buy? She had a shop to work in, a sister to help look after. A wedding to plan.
“Mom wants to talk to you about flowers for the church,” Garrett said as though reading her mind, chocking the biplane’s wheels. “She wondered what you thought about orchids.”
“Um.” Jordan didn’t have any opinion about orchids, but as a bride-to-be, she supposed she’d have to