On Wings of Silence, page 3
“Please be okay, please...” Raisa’s breath raced. Tears distorted her vision.
As if by some miracle, Oksana gave a small moan.
“Oh, thank you, God. Thank you, thank you.” Raisa fought to slow her breath and fight her growing panic. She wiped her face again. Adrenaline made her mind spin. “Okay, let me think. Okay. We aren’t too far from the field. Let’s go to that barn. Remember we saw it. It can’t be more than a few minutes’ walk. It will be fine. Out of the storm. We...we...” She looked about wildly for a clue as to how she could move Oksana out of the trees. “We’ll be okay. Everything is going to be okay.” Who was she trying to convince? “I just need to figure out...how to move you. Let me think. Maybe the wing? If I can just... Okay... That’s it. Good idea, good idea. I’ll just get you onto part of the wing and use it like a sled. Yes... That will work, won’t it? Yes, we’re going to be okay. Stay here. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
Time became irrelevant as Raisa fashioned a crude sled out of bits of wing and fabric and proceeded to push and pull Oksana to safety. Sweat mixed with the blood from a gash at Raisa’s hairline. She closed her eye to the blinding sting. Damp ran cold down the channel of her spine as well as she rushed back from stripping anything of value from their plane and doing her best to hide their tracks. For once this damn storm might be a blessing.
Dropping her small cache in haste, she checked on Oksana. In the glow of the flashlight, her skin appeared almost translucent.
“No, no, no... don’t you dare leave me. Oksana?” Raisa panted as she yanked a hand from her heavy glove to lay it on the girl’s chest. When it rose and fell beneath her touch, Raisa released a sob of thanks. She swept Oksana’s body with the light.
Blood seeped through the lower portion of her coveralls. There was no question Oksana’s leg was severely broken. And by the odd angle of her elbow, likely her arm as well. It had taken Raisa what seemed like forever to get them both away from the wreck, through the trees, and here to the barn. Oksana hadn’t moved. Hadn’t made another sound.
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered. Raisa unbuckled Oksana’s leather helmet and slipped it aside. She stroked her pale hair away from her still face. “Can you hear me, Luchik? Please open your eyes. Talk to me.” She took hold of Oksana’s hand.
Silence. Nothing but the sound of Raisa’s own blood rushing in her ears and the shuttered pull of air into her lungs.
Her training pushed past her panic. Shelter, heat, water, food. In that order. Always in that order. They had shelter. Heat...should she start a fire? She swept the light of her flashlight. The barn’s one side was open to the elements. The rough, hand-hewn walls had been no match for the war’s destructive power. Still, straw and hay littered the corners. Empty stalls lined the far side.
“One match would be all this barn would take.” Raisa returned Oksana’s helmet to her head. It was fur-lined like their oversized overalls to combat the open cockpits of their planes. “We are warm enough, though, don’t you think?” She tugged her own helmet tighter and winced at the bite of pain at her hairline. “Still, a small fire would help. I could clear a space. We have some water. Snow to melt if we need water...” Raisa checked off each item. “Food may be a problem. But we won’t be here long enough to worry. Come daylight we will...we will...” This is where Raisa’s ideas came to an abrupt stop. What would they do? Raisa dropped the flashlight in her lap and covered her face with her hands.
“You’re bleeding,” Oksana whispered.
Raisa's head snapped up as she gasped, “You’re awake. Oh, thank you...you’re awake.”
“Where are we?”
“Not sure. We got off course.”
“Crashed.”
Raisa nodded. “It was the ice. Pulled us out of the sky.”
“The ailerons. I can fix them.” Her eyes closed again.
“No. we don’t need those ailerons anymore. In fact, I pulled the rest of the wiring, in case we needed it.” Raisa moved closer. “The plane is not going anywhere. Not when you are lying on one of her wings.”
“Wing?” Oksana opened her eyes.
“Had to use a section of the wing to pull you out of the storm.”
Oksana blinked as if to clear her vision. “You’re hurt, Raisa.”
She wiped at her forehead. “Don’t worry about me. It’s nothing. A scratch. But you’ve broken your leg, I think, and maybe your arm. Hard to tell.”
“I don’t feel them.” Oksana frowned.
Worry nipped at Raisa, but she was quick to explain it away. “It is the cold. Shock. Maybe it is a blessing. When we get back to base, the doctors will fix you up properly.”
“Raisa...I can’t feel my hands. Or my feet.” Oksana looked at her with fear in her eyes. “I don’t think I can move.”
“It’s okay. You’re in shock. It’s just the cold,” Raisa repeated trying to reassure them both. “Rest now. What you need most is rest.”
“Am I dying?” Panic edged Oksana’s voice
“No, of course not. Don’t talk foolishness.”
“I feel funny.”
“It’s the shock... the cold...,” Raisa whispered as she huddled close and wrapped an arm around Oksana. “Can you remember what happened?”
Oksana began to cry. “I forgot,” she said in a hushed voice.
“I don’t remember much either. It seems like some kind of dream,” she murmured.
“No, Raisa...not like that. I forgot. My harness,” Oksana sobbed the words. “Please don’t be angry with me. You told me... I...only wanted... I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh.” She sat up and stroked Oksana’s damp cheeks. “Shhh. I’m not angry.”
“I’m frightened.” Panicked eyes held hers. “Stay with me?”
Raisa forced a smile past her own fear. “Where would I go?”
They were both quiet for a long minute. Oksana’s breathing began to settle, and she closed her eyes again. Raisa remained by her side. She curled around the broken body of her friend unsure what more to do. The silence of the snow falling beyond surrounded them. Raisa listened only to the faint beat of Oksana’s heart.
“Do you think they will put our plates out for us?” Oksana whispered into the night.
“Of course,” Raisa whispered back. “But we will fool them, won’t we? We will be the ones to come back. Can you imagine how they will all cheer? Dance around? I will demand our rations of vodka. All the rations. It will be a grand celebration.” Raisa continued praying if she said the words aloud, they would come true. “None will celebrate more than your Sascha. He will swing you in his strong arms. Kiss you and never want to let you go.”
“Sascha? No. He is not mine,” Oksana murmured. “Not him.”
“Yes. I see the way he looks at you. He has eyes for no one else. The others are green with their jealousy.”
“Raisa, I have to say something to you.” Her words came out as a ragged whisper.
“You can tell me anything,” she urged.
“Before I die—,” Oksana began.
“You are not dying.” Raisa sat up once more and shook her head. “I won’t hear it.”
“There is something I need to confess to you.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Wait for your priest.” Raisa wiped Oksana’s tears fighting back her own. “When you are an old woman in your bed, surrounded by all of your children and grandchildren. All with your lovely pale hair and beautiful blue eyes. Confess then. There is no need to make any confessions now.”
Oksana closed her eyes. Silvered tracks ran from their corners.
Raisa squeezed her hand. “That’s right. Rest. No more talk of confessions and dying. Not tonight.”
Her thoughts began to race. She could lay there and deny things all night, all day, all week. Oksana was in real trouble. If she couldn’t feel her injuries, did it mean her back was broken? If it wasn’t, dragging her through the countryside on a bloody wing... A sob escaped her. Raisa covered her mouth. Letting Oksana sleep, Raisa rose from her side and began to pace. The shaking had started again in her legs.
What the hell was she going to do? She glanced back at Oksana. It was just a matter of time if she couldn’t get her some help. Even at that, she had no idea where they were. She’d scoured the map, but they’d gotten so far off course. They would have crashed on German held land. The enemy could be behind any tree out there. Coming for them. There could be an entire regiment ready to blow the rest of this barn into splinters.
Pacing she came to a sudden stop as a shaft of cold reality pierced her. There was one way out. Her training prepared her for this. Raisa closed her eyes and remembered the single, horrible way out. Pulling off her glove, her hand trembled as she unsnapped the holster holding her pistol. The gun was ice cold. Her fingers wrapped around the grip. Two bullets, two shots, and then this night would be over for them both.
“If you do survive a crash of your aircraft and find yourself among the enemy. Rather than fall into their hands, and suffer untold horrors, better to use your pistol to end your life humanly. With dignity. You will be praised as a hero of the motherland. Consider this your last resort.”
Raisa recalled the day they received their weapons. Some of the others brandished them about, teasing they were now flying cowboys from some American western movie. Some refused to touch them. Raisa pushed hers aside. She’d never need it.
Last resort. Last resort. She sat at Oksana’s feet and fingered the icy grip. Last Resort.
Raisa swallowed the sudden catch in her throat. All she could imagine was her mother answering their door to find a man delivering an official missive from the Army. Just like the one telling her, Raisa’s brother, Mikhail, had been killed. The same when she’d been told her father had been killed in the great war before this great war. Her dear mother had collapsed both times. An anguished scream ripped from her throat. She’d been inconsolable each time. Another death notice would destroy her.
Her mother had sobbed uncontrollably the day Raisa told her she was enlisting. Hung on to her legs to keep her from leaving. Raisa promised she would come back. Swore on the thick family bible she would return and help care for her mother and her two younger sisters. She was all they had left. Without her, they would be destitute. Their future hopes dashed.
The gun lay heavy in Raisa’s lap. Would the Army tell her mother she had taken her own life and killed Oksana rather than face capture and torture? Or would they spin some heroic tale for the sake of both their families? Perhaps her mother would never have to find out the real truth. Never have to live with the shame and retribution of Raisa’s desperate actions. Still the thought of her dear mother answering the door...
Raisa returned the gun to its holster and fastened the snap. This couldn’t be the end of them. No last resort. There had to be a way out of this. Oksana would rest, and in the morning everything would look better.
Standing, she looked down at a quiet Oksana. The snow beyond continued to fall in a silent hush. She didn’t know how, but they were going to get through this. If she had to carry Oksana out on her back, she would.
Behind her, somewhere within the dark expanse of the barn, a thud made Raisa start. She was quick to extinguish her light. Someone or something was back there. Creeping into the shadows, she moved closer. Soon a faint glow told her the “what” was most definitely a “who.”
Once more Raisa slipped her pistol out of its holster.
CHAPTER 4
Calvin hit the wall of the old barn. Holding his breath, he strained to hear. He prayed like hell he was alone and fished his lighter out of his pocket to raise the meager flame overhead.
The old barn resembled Swiss cheese but still carried the faint smell of its former inhabitants. Winds over time had swept the dirt floors and pushed what remained of hay and straw to gather into the corners of the remaining structure.
Calvin closed the lighter and caught his breath. His arm burned like a bitch but had thankfully stopped running blood down his arm. His sleeve clung wet and cold against his skin. Closing his eyes, he made a mental inventory of what he had with him and what supplies remained in his kits. His flashlight, sidearm, and rations were probably still burning in the utility boxes on the bike. He was low on sulfur and large dressings, but he figured he could tend his wound with what he had left. Did he still have that dose of morphine and half a bottle of Sulfonamide tablets? He’d need those. Calvin wasn’t a stranger to pain, but if infection set in, he was in serious trouble.
He shook his canteen. Less than half. Could melt snow if need be. Fire. That should be first on the list. Calvin hesitated. Maybe wait until sunrise? Less chance of it being detected. A deep shiver ran through him. Could be he’d be frozen by morning. He’d have to risk it. Keep it small. Tuck it out of clear sight. The ventilated roof would disperse the smoke.
Soon, a weak fledgling flame grew. One advantage to the Germans shooting up the old place. Kindling was not difficult to find. Calvin was careful not to set the whole place on fire. One stray ember...
He warmed his one hand. Attempting to reach out with the other, brought searing pain. God, he didn’t want to treat his arm, but what choice did he have? He swallowed back a rush of nausea. The faster he took care of it, the faster it would be over.
Buck up, soldier. Shit. How many times had he said the same thing to a patient? Now he understood the hateful stares he’d get back from some. He swore then and there, he’d never say it to another wounded soldier again.
Steeling himself for what was to come, he removed his webbed gear and jacket. His coat confirmed the shot had traveled straight through. The bastard had aimed for the red cross on his armband. Calvin supposed he should be grateful he hadn’t aimed for the cross on his helmet. For a single moment he remembered the lines of white tents in Italy with the huge red crosses on top, the Germans had used them as target practice for weeks. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.”
After cutting away his sleeve, he struggled to see and keep himself mentally detached. It was a good skill to have in this war. Dark wounds stood out from the paleness of his skin. Blood still wept down his arm.
Tunnel wound. No cavitation. Small caliber GSW.
Calvin’s head began to swim. He threw his head back and closed his eyes as waves of nausea crashed over him. Pulling deep breaths, he steeled himself once more to continue the examination. No debris in the wound. Cold sweat ran down his face.
Alcohol. He braced himself.
A fiery sword of pain sliced clear through him as he poured it into the wound. A guttural groaning wail wrenched from his throat as the edges of his vision blurred. He stomped his foot trying not to scream, pleading for the agony to ebb.
Don’t pass out. Hold on. Hold on.
His breath hissed through his teeth. Son of a bitch. Sweat soaked through his shirt as he shook sulfur on the wound and fought to tie the dressing with one shaking hand. He unearthed two antibiotic Sulfonamide tablets and swallowed them. The ice-cold water in his canteen chilled a pathway into his empty belly. Forcing himself to take long, deep breaths, he closed his eyes and fought to return his breathing and heart rate to normal.
He’d done it. It was over. The worst was over... or so he hoped. The night was still young, and who the hell knew what the dawn would bring.
One thing at a time. He opened his eyes. The fire needed tending. If he could sling his arm and wrestle back into his jacket, he could gather more wood and snow to melt. Calvin unboxed a cotton sling and laid it out across his lap.
A blast of light caught him in its beam. “Nicht bewegen!”
Fuck. Calvin looked up into the barrel of a pistol. “Verdammt, ich bin unbewaffnet.” He raised his good arm in surrender. “If you’re going to shoot me, you’re too late, you bastard. Someone beat you to it,” he grumbled. Calvin shielded his eyes from the glare of the light. Behind the gun barrel stood a woman. Five, six. Dark hair. Superficial head wound.
“You speak English?” She cocked her head.
“Right. So do you.”
She blinded him with the light again. “You’re not German? You look German.”
Calvin shook his head. “Blame my mother. I’m American.” He lowered his arm. “If you’re not going to shoot me, can I finish this?” Keeping an eye on her, he pulled the sling’s knot tight with his teeth.
She lowered her weapon and shined her light on his gear. “You are a medic?” She wore a red star on dark bulky coveralls cinched in the middle with a wide leather belt.
“Good guess. You’re Russian. How do you speak English?”
“Does not matter.” Her accent was thick. “I need your help, please. Now.”
Calvin gave a quick appraisal of the gash on the woman’s head. “I’m not exactly in a position to help anyone right now.” He slipped the sling over his head and winced arranging his wounded arm. “Your wound isn’t critical. It can wait.”
“Not me. My navigator is badly hurt.” She raised her pistol again. “She needs you more than either of us. I must insist.”
“Navigator?” Had he heard her right?
“It is the correct word, yes.”
“Give me a minute.” He settled his arm against his chest and appraised the woman. “Like I said, I’m unarmed. You’re not going to shoot me, you need me. Drop your weapon.”
“I cannot give you a minute. The instant you gather your medical supplies and follow me I will put down my weapon.”
Calvin swallowed the last of his water, grabbed his web gear, and pushed to his feet. The world tipped. He gripped the wall to steady himself. “A lot of good I’ll do if I keel over.”
“I will hold you up.” Holstering her weapon, she held out a hand to him. “This way.” The beam of light lit a path through the dark.
His arm throbbed. “After you.”
Leading the way to the rear of the barn, she rushed forward and knelt by the injured woman’s side. “Оксана, проснись, я нашла помощь.” She brushed the leather helmet back from the woman’s pale blonde hair. The sight punched Calvin in the chest.
