The Night Witches: 01

"Yes, Sargent Rudenov," Aleksandra mumbled, looking up, wearing a fur mustache.

Sometime later, far later, Aleksandra banked her Polikarpov biplane toward the west, sweeping over the sleeping purple and silver countryside, and put her fingers into her mouth. That was a good taste. A very good taste. But this would be even better. Guided by her navigator, using her stopwatch and map, Aleksandra approached the target at a height of just over three thousand feet, then, on cue, cut her engines, gliding like a witch through the dark. The wind rushed through the struts, she concentrated on her instruments, keeping on the compass mark, her navigator whispering through the com-link instructions. The navigator finally thrust her arm over the edge of the open cockpit, dropped two parachute flares into the slipstream. They they spun away, ignited, suspended from their little parachutes, casting a savage glorious blue light over the alien landscape. They were right over the target.

To be a war pilot, to feel this fantastic sense of achievement, that was worth everything. The girl could clearly see the buildings in the cold dark night. The Germans hadn't heard the plane coming because of their gliding approach, but now the searchlights came on, the sirens, the black flashes of flak starting to probe the sky for them. Aleksandra didn't want to spoil her aim so she simply flew straight through the puffing cloud 'plosion until she was right over the target. The Po-2 bucked in the gusts from some of the artillery shells, but kept on. Then Aleksandra yanked the release wire and dived away from the searchlights, pulling upward as the whole world below her blossomed into bloom.