Swift Wind
Adora spent the rest of the evening waiting for Catra to say something. Anything. Catra just ignored her, busying herself with whatever work she had, and eventually making new work for herself, just to ignore the blonde bombshell in the room. At first Adora found Catra's petulance amusing, stealing glances over the manual she was studying, watching Catra convince herself that the perfectly clean floor was in desperate need of mopping.
The petulance stopped being fun when Adora extended the olive branch, inviting Catra to come to the mess hall with her, or to bring her back something if she was too busy. It would have been fine to be dismissed with a "I'm not hungry," or be given an honest "I'm not ready to forgive you." Catra had chosen instead to pretend that Adora didn't exist and neither react nor respond. Adora growled and stormed off.
Adora zipped up her leather jacket and braced for the autumn downpour. Bad flying weather never helped her mood, and right now it needed all the help she could get. "That stubborn brat," Adora mumbled under her breath. The person who I trusted most in the world won't even speak to me, she thought. "How the hell are we supposed to fly together?"
She wasn't about to give up yet. After wolfing down a light meal in the pilot's mess, Adora trudged over to the base commissary for some housewarming gifts. As she left, laden down with an arm load of vodka, chocolates and cigarettes, the light of the full moon filtered through the parting clouds. The rain had washed away the reek of jet fuel and industrial solvent, and for a brief moment the air was sweet.
Adora's breath hitched as Catra caught her eye once more. She was perched on the edge of the stoop, struggling with a cigarette lighter. Sparks danced in her hands, but the pale orange flame didn't emerge until Adora was right next to her. Catra made a feline stretch, yawning as she pretended not to notice Adora. Biting her lip, Adora resolved to make Catra notice.
Adora fished her the last Belomorkanal(1) from the pack in her breast pocket. "Hey, gimme a light," she demanded.
Catra's ear's pricked up, but before she could make a crack about 'the sweet little purebred Adora smoking like a delinquent,' Adora was already almost forehead-to-forehead with her, a cigarette held in her plump, pink lips.
She's cute when she blushes, thought Adora, as the tip of her cigarette brushed against the cherry-red embers of Catra's. Her free hand cupped the cigarette, shielding it from the wind-and so perilously close to caressing the other girl's cheek. After a few puffs, her cigarette lit and Adora smiled wanly. She blew a jet of smoke over Catra's head. "Thanks."
Catra groaned. "It's not because I like you."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm just surprised such a perfect little Komsomolets(2) would take up such vices."
"You know me better than that, Catra."
"Do I?"
That stung, harder than even Catra intended. Adora huffed, crossing her arms. "You know, I was looking forward to flying with you. Now...I don't know."
The hairs on the back of Catra's neck bristled. It was like watching Adora leave the creche all over again, and the only way Catra even knew how to respond to that feeling was more anger. "Well you're the reason I"m flying backseat," she cried like a wounded animal, "I am fully qualified to pilot the MiG-31. But you just had to go slumming it in this regiment. Why isn't Svetovoz's protegé flying the Su-27 with the other aces?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"I asked, didn't I?"
"Because a long time ago, a certain someone taught me to fight with my head, not with my heart."
Catra was seldom at a loss for words. Yet here she was, a gormless idiot right now.
"Listen...if it means that much to you, I'll pull in my last favor and transfer out of here." The tears began to well up in Adora's eyes. "You won't have to see me again."
As Adora turned to walk out of Catra's life again, Catra almost froze up once again. But this time, she found the will to move. "Wait!" she said, catching Adora's trailing hand. "Don't go."
Adora turned, her lip quivering. "I...I never wanted to leave you."
"I'll fly with you." The vulnerability was too raw and so Catra once again hid behind her walls, trying desperately to avoid betraying any neediness...any weakness. "You better be used to backseat driving though."
Adora smiled. "I think I can get used to it."
The shack would have been uncomfortably intimate even by the spartan standards of the Soviet military, but it was comforting to share it with someone Catra already knew. The duty-roster had them both starting very early, so there was little point in doing anything else except settling in for the night.
The shack was divided into two main rooms, a kitchenette and a bedroom. The kitchenette had some room for sundries and a countertop gas range, but it really only existed to make breakfast and tea. That there was a small fridge/freezer was quite a luxury, though right now the freezer's only job was to chill vodka. The toilet and shower were cramped into a closet sized space attached at the rear of the kitchenette; most of the remaining room was taken up by a table and chairs.
The bedroom had enough room for two single beds, a shared nightstand, and a footlocker at the end of each bed. After completing the evening constitutional, the two undressed and settled into their beds. Adora shifted a couple times to get comfortable in the unfamiliar bed. When that didn't work, she comforted herself with the thought that there at least was a pillow under her head.
When she was at the verge of drifting off, the creaky old bedsprings squeaked as a weight settled in at the foot of her bed. Groaning, Adora sat up. Catra had curled up at her feet like she'd done so many nights at the orphanage growing up. Adora could just barely make out her olive skin and messy brown hair in the dim light. Adora tutted with amusement.
"Just...just let me remember, okay," Catra whispered, "I really missed you, Adora."
"I missed you too. Just don't get a crick in your neck, silly."
"Try not to kick me too hard, blondie."
"That was one time!"
"That's not how I remember it."
Adora settled back down. It was nice, feeling Catra curled up next to her, enjoying the warmth of her body. It made her feel safe in a way she hadn't for years. And as Catra's gentle, purring snores filled her ears, she was out like a light.
Morning duty-roster had given some unexpected good news, and it made reporting for duty at 0400 worth it. When they arrived at the pilot briefing room, Colonel Kurov sternly handed out written orders to Adora and Catra (as well as three other teams) to depart for the Gorky Aircraft Plant Nr. 21 to take delivery of four MiG-31MD interceptors and ferry them back to Lodeynoye Pole, just outside of Leningrad. A very long day, for sure, but it meant that at least some of it would be spent flying.
The uncomfortable ride on an Il-76 cargo plane headed for Gorky was a small price to pay for Adora. But for Catra, the anticipation was unbearable. She fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her legs to avoid the nervous tension in her calves, like she was bouncing on her toes before a fight.
Adora did her best to suppress her amusement at Catra's childish antics. When that failed, she decided to distract her. "So, what did you do in the PVO before joining this regiment?"
"I was in the VVS, not the PVO."(3)
"Oh?"
"Yeah, after you left for Suvorov military school, I decided I wasn't going to be left in your dust. I worked hard, I applied, and got accepted to Kharkov Higher Military Aviation School. I spent a few years flying a MiG-29 for Frontal Aviation in East Germany before I was given the opportunity for promotion and transfer."
"That's quite a change."
"Like you said, fight with your head, not with your heart. So what about you, what'd you do after you left."
Adora frowned. "It wasn't easy. They'd only recently made them co-ed, but I worked hard. I guess I fell in love with the planes I saw at the October parades, and decided I had to fly. Had to do my part, whatever it took."
Catra laughed. "You mean that ornery old woman groomed you with tales of glory in the defense of the rodina and how we all weren't even worthy of her sacrifice?"
"Oh that's rich," Adora said, furrowing her eyebrows. "You're strapped in right next to me, Catra."
Catra hissed and dropped the subject.
They arrived to a hot, sunny day in Gorky. After a rough landing, watching the gangly blond cargo specialist scramble to return the tumbling cargo to its place, the rest of the morning was taken up with bureaucratic busy work. After signing in triplicate for the delivery, they finally got to go to the hangar and see it.
Adora could hardly contain herself. When they were finally alone, she rushed up to the nuzzle the plane's radome, like some bogatyr finding her lost steed. "It's...it's majestic."
"You act like you've never seen one before," chided Catra.
"The last one I flew, it was stripped down to bare metal. We hacked away all the dead weight to make her light and fast as possible. This one...he's a true warrior, not a one-trick pony."
"Oh the plane's a 'he' now. With two women riding him...that's positively lewd."
"Must you?"
"Yes." But as fun as teasing Adora was, it was nice seeing her smile like this. It had been a long time since either of them had been this content. And it was a nice looking aircraft, a further refinement of the proven model, trimmed down by trading more of the heavy stainless steel for titanium. It would never dogfight like the newer fighters, but there was nothing in the air that could fly as fast.
"I'm naming him 'Swift Wind'."
"I guess that's an appropriate name for a knight's steed. I've got a Budenovka(4) back at base if you want to complete the look."
"See, things are more fun when you're not so cynical, Catra. Though I didn't take you for a collector."
The worst part of the day was waiting on the sweltering tarmac for take-off clearance. After all the pre-flight preparations and pageantry, this final wait at the very end was maddening. No matter how hard she tried, Catra couldn't trick the cockpit AC to engage with the engines at idle, so this just cooked in the sun, waiting for the runway to clear after an Aeroflot jet had to make an emergency landing.
"At least with the canopy up, the breeze is nice," Adora said, fanning herself with the paper flight plan.
"Always a glass half-full girl," Catra groaned.
"Better here than flying in someone else's plane. So...you flew a UB before. What do you make of the new model?"
"Roomier. The panels are nicer. Still think you got the better deal."
"Yeah, the visibility is better, but it's still not great to the rear. You've got to help with the periscope if we ever get jumped."
"Gosh, it's almost like you want me to back-seat drive."
The radio crackled, finally clearing them for take off. "Roger, tower. Proceeding to runway three," Adora responded.
"Fucking finally," Catra cried. "Don't look at me like that, I wouldn't say that with the line open. What kind of rookie do you take me for?"
"I can barely even see you, Catra, how would I be looking at you?"
"Yeah, but you were thinking about it."
"Keep it up and you'll be walking back to Leningrad."
With the engines powered up and the canopy shut, the blissful cool of the AC finally stopped Catra from sweating. They fell into the rhythm of pilot and weapon's officer quite comfortably, and before she knew it, the plane was at the end of the runway, the open blue sky ahead of her. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's see how well Swift Wind can gallop," said Catra.
"With pleasure."
The roar of the huge turbofans was actually pleasantly subdued in the new model. But the rush of power was undiminished. Lighter and with uprated engines, the new model MiG raced down the runway, pressing Catra into the seatback.
Adora was like a razor when she flew, not a single distraction. Everything maneuver was executed with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. The climb to altitude was smooth, and Catra lost herself in the routine until Adora broke her reverie saying, "20,000 meters. Have you ever seen the view from up here?"
"No, we never flew this high in training."
"Look up, Catra."
She could almost see the stars twinkling above her at midday. The vast green countryside stretched out hundreds of kilometers, like the whole of European Russia was at her fingertips. The horizon curved noticeably, and for the first time in Catra's young life the immensity of the Earth really hit her. She could see the sprawling expanse of Moscow to the west, now so tiny, like a hobbyist's model. "Wow."
"I'm glad...I could share this view with you."
"Me too."
"So...we're a bit behind our timetable. I'm sure the colonel would appreciate us doing whatever we could to make up for lost time," Adora said, mischief in her voice.
"Undoubtedly. Punch it."
"With pleasure."
The afterburners reignited with a crack. The jet shot past Mach 1 and kept accelerating, and soon they were outpacing the sun across the sky. Smooth as greased lightning, the Machmeter topped out at 2.83.
Adora whined. "He's got a lot more oomph in him, but the flight computer won't let me go any faster."
"I'll find the override someday."
"I'll hold you to it. But first...I don't think you've got a very good view in that cockpit." With a smooth jerk on the joystick, she snapped the plane into a lazy aileron roll until the plane inverted.
The patchwork of tilled kolkhozy fields was like a quilt of brown, yellow and orange so far above them. The thin lines of roads and railways wound through the valleys, more like little game trails this far away. Adora turned the plane upright again. "How you doing back there?"
"I'm not a beginner, it's going to take more than a little inversion to make me lose my lunch, Adora."
"Gosh, so touchy. Anyway, when I'm up high I like to remind myself what it is I'm fighting to protect."
It was something else, to hear the absolute conviction in Adora's voice. From anyone else, Catra would have dismissed it as Pavlovian conditioning. But Adora...she actually believed in it, enough to make Catra want to believe too. Almost. "You really are just the perfect Komsomolets. Fit, beautiful, and unbearably naive."
"Catra, I don't want this to turn into a political discussion. But you have to admit that things changed after the Storozhevoy mutiny, and they've kept changing."
"Not enough, Adora. It's something a Russian wouldn't understand."
"I'm not-"
"You pass for it, that's what matters. This isn't a personal judgment, Adora. It's just...you only got to see what it's like for a half-Korean, half-Kazakh mutt watching me. I had to live it. Fuck, not even my eyes match."
Miles away from anyone else, the heavy silence was oppressive. Gripping the yoke with white knuckles, Adora said, "I always thought that was the most beautiful part about you. Your eyes, I mean."
Catra's eyes went wide. An unfamiliar, tingly warmth radiated across her cheeks. She was glad that Adora couldn't see it, she wasn't ready to confront these feelings.
"I'm sorry, Catra. Sorry that I wasn't there for you."
"Stop. I'm not ready to talk about this."
"Okay."
"I didn't say I wouldn't forgive you. It's just, this is going to take time."
A weight lifted from Adora's chest. They were going to be stuck together for some time now. She could be patient.
1. A harsh, filterless cigarette named after the White Sea-Baltic Canal. The part that looks like a filter is just a hollow cardboard tube to allow smokers with a penchant for self-destruction like Adora to get the maximum punishment from it.
2. A member of the Komsomol, full name All-Union Leninist Young Communist League, the youth-wing of the Communist Party which seamlessly transitions from being a Boy Scouts like org for children into being the conveyor belt to any position of importance in the military, science, the arts and politics.
3. The Soviet military was not divided the way we're familiar with. They had two separate air branches, the VVS (Military Air Forces) which was responsible for coverage of ground forces, air-transport and long-range bombing, and the V-PVO (Anti-Air Defense Troops), which were responsible for protecting the USSR proper from attack with both anti-aircraft missiles as well as interceptors.
4. A Red Army hat from the Civil War era to the 30s, fashioned to have the same profile as East Slavic knight helms to evoke old folktales.