STATION 01: Engels airdrome - Training flight

Galina watches as Larisa marches away. What is wrong with her? First getting lost and now heading away again.

Her heart sinks as he looks at the barracks. Many of the bunks are stacked with engine parts, manuals and files. On one, a large bomb has been placed. The mechanics clearly see the place as a dumping ground for their unwanted gear. The bathroom has been ruined by similar tipping . Sinks broken or full of sump oil. None of the showers seem to work. A covered latrine trench, some distance from the barracks, seems to be the only option for ablutions.

The lack of concern for the new pilots is so complete it seems almost deliberate.

Marx, she reflects, considered that a society’s level of development could be observed through its treatment of women. But the logical conclusions of this thought trouble her.

She struggles not to show her disappointment and to help to clear a space where she and the other new girls can lay down their gear.

Larisa froze in her tracks, turning around with a deer-in-the-headlights look when called out by Masha. She opened her mouth to defend herself, and was about to say something about how surprised she was to discover such a precious find amongst the older stuff in the store, when she saw that Masha wasn't about to give her any grief about it.

"Lieutenant Litvyak is certainly very -" She caught herself before she said the word 'attractive', and wondered for a moment whether she possessed the same male gaze as the majority of the airmen in this camp. "Yes Sergeant, I will make sure your stock of oil will be replenished. It is not right for the men to hog the supply for themselves." She had no idea that that was the situation, but made her promise, intending to find some way to keep it.

With that she dashed out with a quick step, before Masha could change her mind. So intent was she to hurry to the 586th (so that she could then try to reach the 588th), that she hadn't realised she had swished past a bunch of pilots doing their pre-flight inspections, not until she heard the catcalls above the aircraft engine noises. The last time such a thing had happened was just last year. In one of her nicer dresses, and with proper make-up, she had swiveled in the direction of the wolf-whistles with a curtsy and a winking smile, before turning away girlishly to trot off without looking back.

This time she hadn't expected it, with her pleasant form concealed under an overcoat that had kept her warm during the long march here. But perhaps it was the pretty shoes that framed her calves and ankles, or perhaps it was the curls that still peeked from under her hat. But mostly it was because she was carrying the gloves inside the rations box which she did not want to reveal which kept her hurrying on without looking back. Still, she couldn't help making the smallest of curtsies with a slight bend of the knees as she walked faster away; if any of the airmen were truly checking her out they would notice her feminine gesture. Who knows, the more sincere among them, if there were, might just follow up on their machismo.

"Dasha Bobkova," Dash says, announcing herself. "I am from Zhelenogorsky." She lets the words hang in the air. Everyone should be aware that the city was just lost a few weeks ago to the Germans. And by the way she's dressed, she likely walked the whole way to the recruitment center.

Last everyone saw her, she had her son, Maksim, with her. She didn't explain why he wasn't with her now. The words made her think of her home town, of her old apartment. The last time she saw that apartment, it was being bombed. The windows were blown out. She had been at the playground with her son. She knew coming here would mean that she would never be able to have a funeral for her husband, but it also meant that she would have a safe place for her son and be able to work a job that could support him.

"Yes, let's get this place cleaned up, comrade. I don't enjoy living in a dirty house."

Galina gives her details and shows a friendly face to her fellow flyers. She is glad to see the makings of a real squadron.

"A formidable name," she says smiling, at the final introduction.

She is nervous at the prospect of the training flight, but fights the sensation of butterflies in her stomach.

Larisa peeked at the one who had called out, who knew if their paths would cross again. But only with the briefest of glances without giving the game away as she hurried back to where the 586th was.

"Lieutenant!" She called out smartly, "Sergeant Masha was very helpful, I can be dressed and ready to leave immediately. I bring the squadron a gift!" She continued proudly and whipped out the box of gloves and placed it in front of everyone. On a quieter note she half-mumbled to Litvyak, "Sergeant Masha asks that you help her get some oil back from the male squadrons. With your influence."

Galina struggles with disappointment. She thought the planes would be training aircraft at worst. But as bombers!


She looks for some happier angles on the discovery. The planes are at least simple in their design and should be easy to learn to use. As biplanes, they will be slow and stable, good for bombing. The new pilots will be able to fly missions in the same machines they trained in. And they will fly under cover of night.

But, beneath these thoughts run less pleasant reflections. They will be slow, defenceless against any kind of Nazi fighter. And night flying, night bombing, will be disorientating and hazardous.

She blinks, struggling to master her emotions.

Dearest Maksim,

I hope the work they have assigned you is going well. I cannot wait to see you again, but I must wait until my additional training is complete. They have given us old crop dusters, which, fortunately, I am well experienced in flying.

We are going to be flying at night, which means your mom will be well protected. They won't be able to see us.

Soon, we will be able to return home again.

With all my love,
Dasha

It crossed her mind whether Litvyak would continue to buy the enthusiastic facade. It would be a hell of a first impression even if she didn't. And the gloves were to her credit. Maybe she could leverage that. Or if not she would quickly fade away from here.

"No," Dasha says, "No one that far west. Most of my family moved to the Oblast when it was created for jobs, and I was born there. I met my husband there and we had a son. My son is still with me."

Larisa gaped at the Yakolevs, and hastily tried to recover her composure before blurting out anyway, "Bozhe moi! They're beautiful." She wanted to clamber aboard the single-seater straightaway, but observed decorum to see which of the planes the others headed towards first, before picking the last one to board. This was her chance to show them why she was here. And even if they booted her back to the training squadron, she could proudly say she first flew in one of the Yaks.

Galina nods at the SLT’s question.

"I would not like to imply that my instructor was less than fair. Surely he must know the importance of our role, in this time of Mother Russia’s need."

But Galina does not really believe this. Some men are threatened by the possibility that women can achieve success in fields formerly reserved for men. This Great Patriotic War was an opportunity to prove that women could work alongside men as their equal partners. A little war, against chauvinism and backwardness, within the greater war against Fascism.