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Read Online Last Citadel - [World War II 03] by David L. Robbins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David L. Robbins
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squadron. She stepped up on trig wing root of her own plane and paused to admire the patchwork Masha had done. The squares of cotton had even been blotched brown and green to match the rest of the wings. Leonid came behind her and whistled at the number of holes she’d brought back from last night’s mission.
Katya climbed into her cockpit. She called down to Leonid, ‘Set the prop.’
He dropped the bucket and did as he was told, shoving the propeller into ready position, where the starter could grab it and heave it into rotation. Katya shouted behind her, ‘Clear!’ and nodded at Leonid. He shoved down on the propeller. The magnetos whirred. The propeller flung itself over once, twice, then the engine caught with a spitting sigh of smoke. Katya sat in the jouncing cockpit, smiling down at Leonid, who stood hands on hips, a handsome, admiring young man.
She let the motor run for three minutes, then shut it down. She climbed out of the cockpit, took the bucket off the ground, and held it under the radiator. Vera came running across the field, holding another empty bucket and a small packet.
‘Leonya,’ Vera said, shoving the bucket at him, ‘be a dear and go fill this with cool water.’
Leonid raised his eyes into his brows and turned to attend to this chore.
‘He’s nice,’ Katya said.
‘You own him,’ answered Vera.
The navigator unwrapped the paper packet and held up the new bar of soap she’d received in last week’s mail. Katya opened the cock on the radiator and filled the bucket with hot water. Big Masha came up, black from her shoulders to her knees.
‘You know you’re not supposed to keep doing this,’ she told Vera.
‘Yes,’ Vera said.
‘You know I have to refill that radiator.’
‘Yes, Mashinka.’
‘We’ll let you wash your hair, too,’ cajoled Katya.
‘But dear Masha, please, let us go first. There won’t be any soap left.’
‘This is the last time.’ Masha narrowed her eyes at Vera, always the jester.
‘Yes, Mashinka.’
‘I mean it.’
‘We know.’
‘Use cold water.’
Leonid returned with the bucket of well water. His boots were sloshed.
‘And you,’ Masha said to him, spinning on her black heels. Katya looked down, a greasy spot on the trampled grass marked where the mechanic had stood.
‘What did I do?’ the fighter pilot protested.
Vera took the bucket. She liked Leonid, and encouraged Katya in his direction. Vera had her own boyfriend, a navigator in a Boston A-20 - one of the Lend-Lease bombers from America - based on the northern shoulder of the Kursk pocket.
Katya mixed the hot and cold water in the empty bucket. She pulled off her tunic, down to her green undershirt. She bent over and Vera poured the warm water over her raven hair, cut short above her ears like that of all the Night Witches. Together, the two women washed each other’s hair, rubbing in the soap hard, while Leonid sat on the wing watching, saying nothing. Within minutes, several other women pilots were in the seats of their own cockpits, revving their engines, heating bathwater, and arguing with their mechanics. Katya and Vera were the ringleaders; Leonid chuckled at the influence they had in their squadron. Several male pilots walked by, probably, Katya thought, to get a look at the laughing girls in the wet undershirts. A few made snide comments, one said something to Leonid about him being the ‘Witches’ bath house boy,’ but he did not rise from his place on the wing nor even answer. Vera heaved a bucket of cold water in the jeering pilot’s direction, and Leonid had to go back to the well.
When the women had washed and rinsed their hair, they combed it flat against their heads and sat in the sun to dry it. Vera produced a small pocket mirror and the comb; the soap and these sundries were gifts from her bomber pilot. Gazing in the mirror, Katya noticed on her
Katya climbed into her cockpit. She called down to Leonid, ‘Set the prop.’
He dropped the bucket and did as he was told, shoving the propeller into ready position, where the starter could grab it and heave it into rotation. Katya shouted behind her, ‘Clear!’ and nodded at Leonid. He shoved down on the propeller. The magnetos whirred. The propeller flung itself over once, twice, then the engine caught with a spitting sigh of smoke. Katya sat in the jouncing cockpit, smiling down at Leonid, who stood hands on hips, a handsome, admiring young man.
She let the motor run for three minutes, then shut it down. She climbed out of the cockpit, took the bucket off the ground, and held it under the radiator. Vera came running across the field, holding another empty bucket and a small packet.
‘Leonya,’ Vera said, shoving the bucket at him, ‘be a dear and go fill this with cool water.’
Leonid raised his eyes into his brows and turned to attend to this chore.
‘He’s nice,’ Katya said.
‘You own him,’ answered Vera.
The navigator unwrapped the paper packet and held up the new bar of soap she’d received in last week’s mail. Katya opened the cock on the radiator and filled the bucket with hot water. Big Masha came up, black from her shoulders to her knees.
‘You know you’re not supposed to keep doing this,’ she told Vera.
‘Yes,’ Vera said.
‘You know I have to refill that radiator.’
‘Yes, Mashinka.’
‘We’ll let you wash your hair, too,’ cajoled Katya.
‘But dear Masha, please, let us go first. There won’t be any soap left.’
‘This is the last time.’ Masha narrowed her eyes at Vera, always the jester.
‘Yes, Mashinka.’
‘I mean it.’
‘We know.’
‘Use cold water.’
Leonid returned with the bucket of well water. His boots were sloshed.
‘And you,’ Masha said to him, spinning on her black heels. Katya looked down, a greasy spot on the trampled grass marked where the mechanic had stood.
‘What did I do?’ the fighter pilot protested.
Vera took the bucket. She liked Leonid, and encouraged Katya in his direction. Vera had her own boyfriend, a navigator in a Boston A-20 - one of the Lend-Lease bombers from America - based on the northern shoulder of the Kursk pocket.
Katya mixed the hot and cold water in the empty bucket. She pulled off her tunic, down to her green undershirt. She bent over and Vera poured the warm water over her raven hair, cut short above her ears like that of all the Night Witches. Together, the two women washed each other’s hair, rubbing in the soap hard, while Leonid sat on the wing watching, saying nothing. Within minutes, several other women pilots were in the seats of their own cockpits, revving their engines, heating bathwater, and arguing with their mechanics. Katya and Vera were the ringleaders; Leonid chuckled at the influence they had in their squadron. Several male pilots walked by, probably, Katya thought, to get a look at the laughing girls in the wet undershirts. A few made snide comments, one said something to Leonid about him being the ‘Witches’ bath house boy,’ but he did not rise from his place on the wing nor even answer. Vera heaved a bucket of cold water in the jeering pilot’s direction, and Leonid had to go back to the well.
When the women had washed and rinsed their hair, they combed it flat against their heads and sat in the sun to dry it. Vera produced a small pocket mirror and the comb; the soap and these sundries were gifts from her bomber pilot. Gazing in the mirror, Katya noticed on her
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