Thank you, thank you, thank you for the feedback you've been sending! I don't think I could persevere without your encouragement. :-)
Do you remember that job I was applying for a few chapters ago? Well, last week I had an interview. And that's the reason this chapter is a bit late. Remember kids, the key to a good interview is preparation. (Also, I turned 30...so...happy birthday to me.)
We've jumped ahead a bit, so you'll have to let me know how well I did at describing everything that happened between Chapter 20 and now.
Czechoslovakia is gonna be so fun, you guys! Let's get right to it!
Chapter 21 - November 2, 1944 - Western Poland
Stevie dreamed.
In her dream, she chased the Red Skull through a crumbling castle, the Howling Commandos at her back. The walls were thick, solid stone, but she could still hear the ocean crashing, the wind screaming.
"He has the Tesseract!" Peggy cried.
The Tesseract was an artifact that Red Skull had pulled from a church medieval tomb in Norway - possibly magical, possibly alien. It looked like a fist-sized blue box, and it was the source of all the strange energy cores that powered Hydra's weapons. In the dream, Stevie knew the information wholly, implicitly, without remembering where she had learned it.
"We can't let him reach the Runestone!"
The passages wound down and down and down. Schmidt was always just ahead of her, a flash of red, a black overcoat, a half-heard laugh. And then they were underground in a massive cistern echoing with the sound of water, a forest of columns spreading out into darkness. Even in the dream, the water was icy. Schmidt stood waiting, the Tesseract held aloft in his black-gloved hand. It looked like a drawing made of light, not quite real, bathing the space in a swaying, blue radiance. Hydra had been using the Tesseract as little more than a glorified a battery, but here, inside the Runestone, that little box would have almost unimaginable power.
"Too late, Fraulein Rodgers" Schmidt said, smile wide and terrible. In the blue light, his face looked more than ever like the face of Death itself, and Stevie found herself baring her teeth at him, snarling in rage.
The Tesseract pulsed with light, and, on the pillars, silver runes glowed in answer. The castle shook to its foundations.
"Much too late," Schmidt repeated, and Stevie turned to find the men behind her frozen in postures of horror and agony. Turned to stone.
"Bucky!" She tried to move, but her own legs were hard and gray, the stone creeping up her waist, to her lungs. She couldn't breathe...
Then, suddenly, she was in the belly of a huge submarine, the steel walls creaking from the pressure of the water.
No. Not here.
It was the Leviathan, Schmidt's experimental craft, deep under Arctic ice in the North Sea. Stevie's conscious mind remembered going there, remembered breaching the sub...and what she had found inside.
In the dream she was outside the engine room, a sickly green light flickering under the door. No matter how she struggled, Stevie couldn't stop herself from reaching out, taking the handle, turning it. She watched herself open the door.
No. No!
There was a smell, like brine and rotten fruit and burning rubber. A high-pitched hum that seemed to come from behind Stevie's own eyes. Something hovering in midair, like a flower made of glass shards, shifting and flickering, folding and unfolding. It hurt to look at - hurt her mind, more than her eyes. And there, on the floor all around her, not quite dead, but not quite alive - the crew...oh, God, the crew…
No!
Stevie woke up gasping, blankets tangled around her legs, heart pounding painfully in her chest. For a second she didn't remember where she was, and then it came back to her in a rush. She was in a Soviet encampment outside of Walbrzych, in the tent she shared with Peggy. Not inside the Leviathan. Not seeing how the submarine's alien weapon had mutated its crew.
A dream. Stevie put her head on her knees and shuddered. Thank God.
It would be impossible to get back to sleep after that. Stevie dressed quietly, so as not to wake Peggy, and tiptoed out into the camp. It was so early the stars were still out - sharp and cold in the black void of the sky.
It's the second of November, Stevie realized. One year exactly since the day she and Peggy had disobeyed orders and flown to Austria. A year that felt like a lifetime. In the past few months, the war had become larger - and infinitely stranger. Magic, mysticism...alien artifacts, for God's sake.
When did I stop reading Astounding Science Fiction and start living it? Stevie thought. Maybe she had just spent the past year slowly taking leave of her senses.
It must be all the strangeness that was giving her nightmares - or maybe it was just frustration, plain and simple. The Howling Commandos had destroyed the Runestone, destroyed the Leviathan - but Schmidt had still eluded them, a step ahead of them at every turn.
How? How does he know our moves before we make them? In her darkest, most fearful moments, Stevie wondered if one of the Commandos, one of the men she picked, the men she trusted - could be a mole for Hydra.
Well, if that isn't enough to give you nightmares...
"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
It was Bucky, in his navy wool jacket, hands in his pockets, customary cigarette dangling from his lips. The sight of him brought a smile to Stevie's face almost before she realized it, despite her unpleasant train of thought.
"Couldn't sleep," she said. "Thought I'd walk by the airfield. See if Raisa's awake. Walk with me?"
Bucky nodded, and they walked together in a companionable silence, boots crunching on the frost. Raisa was Stevie's pilot - one of the Russian bomber team who would be taking the Howling Commandos into Czechoslovakia. To the initial surprise of the Commandos, the pilots were all women.
"Although," Sergeant Dugan had admitted with a nod in Peggy's direction, "seeing our own ladies at work, this really shouldn't have come as a shock."
Experts at stealth, the squad were known as the Night Witches. They flew bombing raids against German positions under cover of darkness, flying suicidally low, cutting the engines on approach so they wouldn't be heard. Even slight, elfin Raisa - with her snub nose and freckled cheeks - had flown over seven hundred bombing missions, all without a parachute so her plane could carry as many bombs as possible. In the usual tense, interminable wait for everything to be in place so the mission could begin, Raisa had been teaching Stevie to fly her Polikarpov Po-2 biplane - not strictly allowed, but the other woman had a fine disregard for regulations when she found them inconvenient.
Before the war, the airfield had been a pasture where horses grazed, the grass now dead and brown where it wasn't hidden by early snow. Near the field was what Stevie thought of as the prison, for lack of a better word - a fenced-off square of ground where the Soviets kept the Germans they had captured. She stopped to look at it, at the men inside, hollow-eyed and shivering, huddled together for whatever meager warmth they could find.
Bucky must have seen her frowning.
"How'd the talk with the Polkovnik go?" He asked.
Stevie snorted. "He was polite. For someone who was basically telling me to go jump off a bridge."
Polkovnik Yakunin was the Russian equivalent of Colonel Phillips - a whipcord-thin man with close-cropped gray hair and eyes so light they were almost colorless. He had offered Stevie tea, and she had accepted so as not to be rude - but it meant she was holding a teacup and saucer awkwardly as she talked, unsure if she could put it down on his desk.
"This isn't right, sir," She had said. "Prisoners left without food, without shelter in the snow. Some of them are hardly more than boys. They're dying out there."
"Good," the Polkovnik had replied.
"What?"
"You didn't see what they did at Leningrad," he said, eyes cold and flat. "Those свиней starved an entire city - over one million people, including my sister, her husband, and their children. They've earned this. Worse than this."
"With respect, sir," she said. "How will starving thirty teenage boys make anything better?"
"With respect," the man had replied, baring his teeth in something that was not a smile. "You are an honored guest, and we are happy to fight alongside you against fascism. But you have no authority here, Captain Rodgers. And we will do with our prisoners as we see fit."
"I can see Yakunin's point, though." Bucky shook his head. "One million people - Christ."
"This has to end soon, right?" Stevie asked. "I mean, it can't go on like this much longer."
"Well, if nothing else, we'll run out of people." He dropped his cigarette and ground it under his heel. "What a crazy world."
Stevie found herself looking at Bucky's mouth. He had a very nice mouth. If she kissed him right now, she knew just what it would feel like.
God, Rodgers, she thought, blushing hotly. You were just talking about people starving to death. Now is not the time.
So far, it had never been the right time. They were too tired. There were too many people around. She was covered in alien goo. She hadn't told Stark anything either. The Commandos had left for Denmark in the middle of the night, with the news the Schmidt was heading for the Runestone. She hadn't wanted to wake Howard at two in the morning just to tell him that she wasn't in love with him.
Maybe I should just wait until the war is over, she thought. For both of them.
Was that cowardly?
Yes.
Stevie was distracted from her self-recrimination by the sight of Raisa coming out of the Polkovnik's tent and stomping across the airfield angrily.
"Raisa!" Stevie waved, and the other woman looked up, eyes big and startled in her rounded face. For a second, Stevie thought Raisa looked...guilty. Then the moment passed, Raisa smiled and jogged over to meet her.
"You're up early," Stevie said. "Not getting called onto the carpet, I hope?"
There was that guilty look again. "No, no - just some last minute details about tonight's mission. And are you ready?"
"Hard to be ready when we know next to nothing," Bucky said.
Intel on Weapon X was remarkably slim. Besides the name of the program and the location of the lab all they had were rumors. It was a specialized computer that let Hydra predict the future. It was an earthquake generator that could level cities. It was a sound cannon that could kill men and stop bullets in midair. It was another piece of alien technology, like they had found on the Leviathan. Stevie devoutly hoped that last one was not the case.
"I'm ready to get out of this camp," Stevie said. "Anything's better than waiting."
Raisa nodded. She hated inactivity, Stevie knew, and had spent the past two weeks drinking enough for three men and flirting outrageously with every one of the Howling Commandos, including Peggy.
"Just a little more time to kill," Raisa said, rocking on her feet restlessly. "Speaking of time to kill, want to go up? You could work on your Immelmann turn."
"Love to!" Flying was even more exciting than driving the motorcycle. "Want to join us, Buck?"
"I prefer to keep my feet on the ground." Bucky turned his collar up and lit another cigarette. "I'm going to find some coffee. You girls have fun."
As he walked away, Raisa cocked her head to the side and smiled. "I love to watch that man leave."
Stevie nearly choked herself trying not to laugh.
The Tatra mountains of Czechoslovakia were steep and rugged - nearly impassable in areas. Certainly not a place you wanted to be flying through in almost complete darkness in what was basically a refitted crop duster made of doped canvas and wood. Weapon X was housed in a mountaintop fortress defended by large anti-aircraft guns. Raisa and the Night Witches would drop the Commandos downslope; from there they'd go in on foot.
The cockpit of the Polikarpov was open, the wind icy against Stevie's face. Raisa and the rest of the Night Witches stayed low to the ground - seeming to sense the mountains ahead more than see them.
"You must have eyes like an owl, Raisa," Stevie said, grateful for the helmet radio that let her talk to her pilot. "Even I can barely see all these peaks."
"Thank you, Captain!" Raisa said cheerfully. "You're not bad yourself - Hey, if you get tired of life on the ground, maybe you could be a Night Witch. Bring that pretty sergeant along - he can be your tail gunner."
Stevie laughed. "I'll keep it in mind."
Despite the noise of wind, the night was peaceful. Clouds streamed by underneath the plane, the wings tracing lines of vapor. Against the sliver of the waning moon, Stevie could see a V of migrating birds.
Wait.
"Those aren't birds," Stevie muttered. "Raisa!"
The night exploded.
"Fighters!" Raisa cursed loudly in Russian, pulling her plane into a sharp barrel roll. "Take the gun!"
Explosions bloomed all around them. Ground and sky inverted themselves, and Stevie's stomach dropped out from under her as Raisa dove and whirled, relying on her plane's superior maneuverability to keep her out of the enemy's sights. Stevie wrenched the gun around, trying to get a clean shot on one of the fighters. They were so fast - cutting through the bomber squad like hawks among pigeons.
How did they know we were here?
Stevie's speculation was cut short as the slim silhouette of a Messerschmidtt entered her vision, and she squeezed the trigger. The gun was bone-rattlingly loud, bright flashes blazing from the barrel with every shot. Above Stevie, the Messerschmidtt's wing burst into flame. The plane struggled, trailing smoke, then slammed into a mountain in a burst of yellow fire. In spite of herself, Stevie felt a savage thrill at the sight.
"Got him!"
Then the Polikarpov shuddered. Stevie turned in time to see a spray bullets tear through the plane's left side, one leaving a hole the size of a softball just inches from her thigh.
"дерьмо!" Raisa cursed. "They hit the engine!"
Flames were licking at the nose, acrid smoke billowing back into the cockpit. Raisa hauled on the stick, trying to regain control as the engine coughed and sputtered.
She can do this, Stevie thought. She can pull into a glide. She's flown without an engine before.
Then, with a crack, the wounded left wing gave way.
Immediately, the plane plunged into a descending spiral, all semblance of control lost, the sky and ground flashing past in a nightmarish kaleidoscope.
"Captain!" Raisa screamed. "Jump! Jump while you can!"
Raisa, who didn't have a parachute.
Stevie tore off her restraints and ripped out the partition between her and Raisa, splintered wood biting into her hands. She seized the smaller woman tightly around the waist and, pulling her free of her own seatbelt, leapt from the dying airplane.
For a terrifying moment, they tumbled unsupported through the sky, bullets flying all around them. Then Stevie pulled the ripcord and her chute unfolded, jerking them upward. But something was wrong - the ground was still coming up at them awfully fast. Stevie looked up at her parachute - somehow the lines had gotten snarled; it was only half open - not nearly enough for her and Raisa's combined weight. They were still going to hit the ground at bone-breaking speed.
The wind was screaming in Stevie's ears, a high keening wail, or maybe that was Raisa.
Maybe, if I take the impact, Stevie thought in the corner of her mind that was still calm. Maybe Raisa will survive.
With only moments remaining, Stevie curled herself around the smaller woman, trying to aim her own back at the ground, to shield the pilot as much as she could.
I should have told Bucky, Stevie thought. I should have said something...
And then she hit the trees and everything went black.
I told you it would be fun right? *evil laugh* Anyway, some notes:
*The Night Witches are real - and they are amazing. Everything I said about them in the chapter is true. Welcome to the BAMF club, ladies.
*Sadly, the Siege of Leningrad was also real. The Nazi's intentionally closed off the city, causing AT LEAST one million deaths, perhaps closer to two million. This was completely intentional, motivated by the Nazi's racist ideology. History is hella depressing sometimes.
*Raisa is named after the title character in Carrie Vaughn's short story "Raisa Stepanova," about a female WW2 flying ace. The story appears in the Dangerous Women anthology. Great story, and a pretty great anthology, too.
Next time - What is Weapon X? (I bet you have some ideas!)