On Wings of Silence, page 1
ON WINGS OF SILENCE
By
Lisa A. Olech
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
ON WINGS OF SILENCE
COPYRIGHT © 2024 by Lisa A. Olech
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: lisa@lisaolech.com
Cover Art by Olech Designs
Publishing History
First, 2024
ISBN: 979-8-9851921-1-7
Table of Contents
Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
On Wings of Silence
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
Also By Lisa A. Olech
About the Author
Raisa Basov is cursed as a witch—a Night Witch. A decorated pilot of the Russian 46th Taman Guards Bomber Regiment during WWII, Raisa dances with death each time her PO-2 climbs into the dark sky. Her only course is to do her duty as a proud patriot and stay alive so she can continue to care for her family already overcome by war. After an icy crash, Raisa faces a night of terror and sorrow as death waltzes past one more time and brings chilling footsteps in the snowy silence.
US Army medic, Calvin Elliott dreams of returning home, joining his father’s practice and scrubbing his mind of the horrors he’s seen of this damned war. All he has to do is survive. Lost and disoriented in a squall, a sniper tries to send him home early—in a box, but fortunately for Calvin, the guy is a lousy shot. Finding shelter in the blown out remains of a barn, he works to stitch himself back together and not freeze to death, before looking up in to the barrel of a pistol and a pair of dark eyes.
As allies, Calvin and Raisa join forces to survive, evade the Germans, and make their way back to their regiments, losing their hearts somewhere along the way. A story of patriotism and loyalty, On Wings of Silence speaks to the sacrifices of war, uncertainty of life, and the hard truth that sometimes the whispered hope of forever falls into the silence of lost dreams.
DEDICATION
To Benjamin, who introduced me to the amazing stories of the brave young women of the Russian Red Army 46th Taman Guards Bomber Regiment.
And to Timothy, who added his incredible talent to my vision.
There is no limit to my love and pride for you both!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Franklin D. Roosevelt once said, “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear.”
While this book is a work of fiction, it is true that the women known as the Night Witches were the epitome of courageous. When I was told of their bravery, I knew I wanted to learn all I could about them. They were truly the strong, fierce women I love to write about.
As I said, this is a work of fiction, but any facts and information shared about the 46th Taman Guards Regiment is true to the best of my research.
I did, however, take liberties with “Calvin” in this story, for there was no Company J, 622nd Medical Battalion that served in WWII to my knowledge, but instead I used information gleaned from a combination of troop accounts.
I also want to take this opportunity to recognize Ellen Ainsworth, a combat nurse with the 95th Evacuation Hospital who sacrificed her life for the life of her patients during the brutal battles at Anzio.
On Wings of Silence is a different book than the ones I usually write because it is not a romance. While Raisa and Calvin have a love story, each of these characters was based on the patriotic men and women that fought during WWII, and I could not imagine either of them leaving the country they each separately loved and fought for.
I want to thank Benjamin, Timothy, and Jonathan Olech. You made this book a family project, that made it even more special for me. Your technical knowledge, historical prowess, and artistic flair brought so much to this book. Thank you for your expertise. I love you all.
I also want to thank Stacey Wilk for her wisdom and dedication to craft. I am a better writer because of you. Also thank you for pushing when I needed pushing and lifting me up when I most needed it. XOXO
A special thank you to my readers who gave me the freedom and space to wander from my usual path of writing romance. I hope you still find enjoyment in this story even without a “happily ever after.”
And thank you to the handful of people who told me I couldn’t/shouldn’t write this story due to the “hot” nature of including a character from a current politically volatile country. It only made me more determined to do my work as a professional writer, in doing my research and by being respectful and considerate of all cultures and peoples. I wish to remind my readers that while the landscape has certainly changed, during the time period of this story, 1945, World War II, the Russian people were considered our allies.
~Lisa
CHAPTER 1
March 19, 1945
Western Front – approximately 95 kilometers southeast of Berlin
Deep, sucking mud threatened to pluck the oversized boots from her feet as the rich smell of sodden earth mixed with the sharp tang of engine fuel. Pilots and navigators still raced through the mire toward their waiting planes. The first to reach their aircraft were the first to leave, which meant they could fly more missions than the rest, be the best. To her, each night felt as if they were in competition to be the first to die, but it never slowed her feet. Now was not the time to think about dying. They had their night’s orders, and the sun was setting.
Teasing days of warmth had melted the last few fingers of winter, but as Raisa Basov kicked the muck from her boots and slipped into the cockpit, she caught a whisper of chilled breeze. The wind had turned its silent breath to blow from the northwest. By the time tonight’s missions were done, she would wager the muddied ruts of their temporary airstrip would be frozen again. Landings would be dangerous. But then what could be more dangerous than flying over the enemy, dodging machine gun tracer rounds, and avoiding blinding searchlights to drop bombs?
Oksana Molchalin struggled to catch up. Raisa’s navigator. Her second since being assigned to the 46th. Oksana had served as a mechanic until several months ago when a lack of navigators had forced any mechanics also trained in directional flight to move forward in the ranks. The night prior to Oksana’s reassignment had been a deadly one for the Red Army’s 46th Taman Guards Bomber Regiment. Raisa still had horrible memories of that night, remembering the web of searchlights stretching across the sky, catching their PO-2s in their deadly glare.
Her navigator and best friend, Polina Oleyourryk had been giggling over some stupid joke she always told as they reached their plane in sixth place. s night, Polina was shot through their plane’s canvas-covered fuselage and killed in the cockpit behind her while Raisa flew on to watch in horror as ahead of them two of the lead aircraft for the mission had been hit with tracer rounds and simply burst into flames. The wood and doped fabric construction of the PO-2 turned the aircraft into flying candles should they be hit. Raisa, herself, had been shot through the floor of the cockpit, but her leg wound had been superficial. Polina had not been so lucky.
Raisa shook off the weight of the memories. It was not the time to remember. It was not the time to allow fear to smother her. She could be afraid come dawn when their night of dropping bombs was complete, and they were safely back at their home airdrome. Now it was only time to think about the mission. Tonight’s target was a railway station to stop German supplies, and make sure the enemy had no rest this night, or any other. After hundreds of nights, and thousands of bombs, the goal of keeping the front-line troops from sleeping most certainly had been achieved, but the enemy was wise to their scheduled flights, and now anticipated their arrival.
As soon as Oksana was seated in the open cockpit behind Raisa’s, the call came from the ground crew, “Start up! Swing prop!” Chocks were pulled from around their wheels.
Given the conditions, the mud of the runway proved too deep for the planes to take off in their usual fashion. As the propeller coughed and sputtered to life, the members of the ground crew each took hold of the plane’s wings and struts and held fast as Raisa slowly throttled the engine up to takeoff speed.
Around her, the aircraft shook with restrained power, until the crew let go, and the plane practically shot into the dark like a cork from a bottle. Raisa set course behind her comrades and climbed into the emerging stars.
They flew in groups of three. Tonight, Raisa and Oksana were last. The repeati
Following the lead aircraft that night, they climbed until the clear moonless night wrapped them in a sparkling blanket. At fourteen hundred meters, Raisa throttled back and killed the engine. For a heavenly moment, it was as if they floated in a vast sea of stars. Weightless. Silent. Waiting in that glittering space before dropping unaware onto their target. In the inky stillness, she would recall her earlier days at glider school.
She had been only sixteen when she’d begged to join the local flying club in Kherson. Those had been her happiest days. There was nothing that could match the feeling of flying her first glider. So romantic. Catching the updrafts over the hills, circling higher and higher. Above any adversary. Leaving any sadness far below. It was only when she landed when the reality of the world around her could ground her. Childhood innocence was not to be found in the Soviet Union during those early days of unrest.
Shaking off the memories, Raisa followed routine and dropped the aircraft into a calculated dive. Behind her, Oksana relayed their altitude. Keeping on the proper heading, Raisa watched the chalk mark on her left wing. Each pilot had their own. It told them the perfect moment to drop their bombs, reengage the engine, and pull the aircraft out of its death dive and away from the bomb’s explosions. Having no delay on the bombs they dropped meant even the smallest mistake could prove fatal.
After more than five hundred missions, Raisa was as skilled as a pilot could be. Leveling off, after the final of the three aircraft had hit their target, she banked and headed back to refuel and be outfitted with more bombs.
“Are you buckled in, Oksana?” Raisa yelled.
“Yes,” she reported.
“The mud is going to grab at the wheels before the ground crew can catch us. I don’t want to pitch you out onto your pretty face, Luchik.”
“If I truly was your ‘Sunshine,’ I would dry that damned field,” she called back.
“Be thankful you are no longer fueling or armament, or you’d be crawling through the frozen mud to set the bombs to our wings.”
“I am thankful for any day I can fly with you, Raisa.”
“You say this now, but those were not your feelings a few months ago. Your beautiful blue eyes were round as pies the first time you flew with me.”
“I didn’t want to disappoint you. It is a great responsibility. A navigator must protect their pilot. I have large shoes to fill and not these foolish men’s boots,” Oksana joked. “I looked up to Polina. She was so skilled. It is an honor to take her place...but...” Her voice dropped away.
At the mention of her friend, Raisa’s throat tightened. “You will soon be as skilled as she. As long as you remember to strap in. if I ever need to loop, I’m afraid of dropping you into the night.”
“It is the rush of the mission. It takes over. I forget. These straps are most uncomfortable. They were not made for breasts. And if we have another bomb to unstick...” A week ago, in the ‘rush of the mission,’ without warning, Oksana had crawled out onto the wing to kick at a stuck bomb. Raisa had aged ten years in those terrifying moments. “I promise to hang on if you ever turn us on our heads.”
“And you promise not to take any more walks upon the wings? I forbid it. Is that understood? I give you an order,” Raisa cursed. “I’m not training another navigator.”
“I promise, Raisa. I mean, yes, Lieutenant Basov. I understand.”
After ten more rounds, they approached the airfield one last time. A red sun rose behind the building clouds as Raisa lowered her aircraft to a few meters above the ground. She dropped her speed to stalling so the crew could literally catch the aircraft and keep it from getting mired. Through the night, the ground crew had torn apart a nearby fence and used the posts to create a temporary runway. Raisa wasn’t sure which landings were worse. Mud or logs. Both jarred the plane, her, and Oksana to their breaking point. But it was dawn. Eleven missions completed this night, and they were blessed to be landing anywhere.
She took pity on the ground crew as they secured her plane. Covered in icy mud, they kept the planes, fuel and bombs moving throughout the bitter cold. Just as Raisa had predicted, overnight the temperature plummeted. The only thing saving the runway’s mire from freezing solid was the constant take offs and landings of the squadrons all night.
“I cannot keep my eyes open. I will be lucky not to fall asleep on Major Bershanskaya’s desk when I give her our night’s report.” Oksana hooked her arm through Raisa’s and tipped to peer into her face. “You are quiet. Are you well?”
Raisa simply nodded. It would be hours yet before she slept. Exhaustion couldn’t compare with the incessant shaking. It had been this way since her first bombing mission. When sitting in the cockpit, it was as if a part of her shut off, and it was only after, when she climbed out into the first light of dawn the tremors in her legs would start.
Each time she would fight against it, but this was one battle she never won. Some days it was so bad, she feared her teeth would splinter from the chattering. It was her price to pay. At least she wasn’t plagued like some of the others. Horrific nightmares haunted several. Some simply retched any food they tried to eat. Others would cry themselves to sleep. Each dealt with the heavy weight of their responsibilities and the extreme dangers of their positions in their own way.
Raisa shook.
When her body finally stilled, Raisa slept deep and dreamless for as long as they were allowed. If she got two to three solid hours, she wouldn’t need to rely on the tablets the army provided to keep them awake and alert. Coke Cola pills they named them. Two could keep Raisa awake for days, but she hated how they made her feel. Almost brittle. She would stare at her hands, convinced if she curled them into fists, parts of her fingers would break away.
Perhaps tonight she would sleep long enough to dream. Tightening her jaw, Raisa trudged back to their temporary housing, hoping to keep the shaking of her body from chattering her teeth to dust.
When she and Oksana entered the dining hall, however, they were greeted with the news one of their planes, two of their sisters and comrades, had failed to return. None would sleep this night.
The members of their team huddled in small groups, comforting one another. As they sat to eat their meal, the two empty plates set at the table were their fearful hope those lost would soon be found. That by some miracle, the plane would find its way back. Its crew, safe and uninjured. For days those plates would sit empty in denial of the truth. Those lost were lost. Over all these years, none had found their way back to their seats at the table.
It wasn’t long before the tremors in her hands made it impossible for Raisa to keep the food on her fork.
Next evening, the mood among the other women was still somber. Resolute. Two plates still sat empty. There had been no word of their missing comrades. No wreckage found. Their empty cots still stood against the wall waiting. Hope was truly the last thing to die.
Oksana added two rounded teaspoons of jam to her tea. Raisa drank hers black, bitter, and strong. During today’s mission meeting, the main concern beyond all eyes looking for their two missing sestras was the weather moving in from the west. A late spring storm was due to bring snow to the area. It was forecasted to turn bad after midnight, but that still gave them time to fly a few drops before being grounded for low ceilings.
Once more they raced out to their aircraft. Raisa and Oksana were fourth. First in their pack. The leading aircraft were already in the air.
Rattling down the pole-built runway, Raisa pulled back on the stick between her knees and relished the feel of the plane finding the silken air. Rising over the trees lining the western edge of the airfield, the sounds of the battle were close. The claws of the searchlights already scratched through the growing clouds. To her horror, Raisa watched as two of the lead crews were caught in those claws, set aflame by tracers, and exploded in front of them. Tonight, the enemy had been waiting for them. German machine gun fire filled the air. With the ceiling dropping faster than they forecasted, they’d be trapped.
