The Forgotten Night Witches

When I heard the engine shut off, I quickly moved my hand towards the lever to drop the bomb. I pulled it, but quarter way, the lever stopped. Again, really? I quickly unclipped my safety harness and pulled myself up. I felt the strong wind push me, but I held onto the wing of the dry wooden plane and promptly made my way. Once I reached the bomb attached to the wing, I quickly unfastened the harness from the wing and unhinged the bomb. I quickly climbed back into the seat and ignored the safety harness. I rushed to turn back on the engine as the ground started getting closer. I heard the loud BANG of an explosion behind me. I quickly pulled up the yoke, and we went up. I glanced behind me and saw the bright orange flames of the aftermath of the explosion of the Nazi bases below me.

I landed my plane, and once it stopped, I shut off the roaring engine. It was still midnight, and another fleet of night witches was preparing for their mission flight. Exhausted and cold, I looked up at the men's tents as I walked through the mud. They would have a much easier day fighting the Nazis tomorrow, thanks to us. Yet many of them felt like women like me didn't belong in the war. Well, most of them anyway. Maybe because they think we would die because we don't have as much experience. Maybe because we're women, they think we will get in the way. Perhaps it was all three and more. But, we were the Night Witches, the all-female 588th Night Bomber Regiment who bombed the nazis by night.

I walked through the bitterly cold night, my oversized boots sinking into the mud, made my way towards my tent. I opened the tent, and once I closed it behind me, trying to preserve the little amount of warmth, I looked up. My bed had a stack of envelopes, at least a hundred. Even though I knew I should get sleep, I fumbled with a match and lit a candle. I set it on my table, and the light made the words somewhat visible. My fingers picked up the light envelope, sending a shock of pain through my hand and arm. The coldness here had made it through my leather gloves and made my hands freeze. They weren't frostbitten yet, but it could happen by tomorrow night. I used my nail, and pealed the cover of the envelope open, and read the letters.

"Dear Raskova,

I'm a twenty-year-old woman whose brother is also at war. I want to join the Night Witches to make my family proud and do something good for my country."

I put the letter down and continued reading them. With my eyes getting heavier, I managed to read most of the letter but had fallen asleep a few hours after starting. Out of all the letters, only fifteen had caught my eye, and one of those was that stood out the most to me. I lifted my head from the table, awaking from the cold sleep I had gotten. A messy pile of envelopes sat beside me, and to my right were the ones I had put aside. I picked them up and walked out of the tent. A frozen breeze blew over me, nearly blowing the envelopes out of my hand. I had written a small paper to each of the fifteen females that I agreed to let them join if they went through the training. The one that caught my eyes was of a young woman, nineteen, whose brother died at war. She wanted not to make her family and country proud but to avenge her brother. I lost my father to a motorcycle accident, and my husband and I had divorced a few years ago. I put the letters into the mailbox and left for the planes.

"Dear Nadezhda, 

I have read your letter, and I believe you could be a valuable member of the Night Witches. I believe if you lose a close one, the feeling of anger and revenge can drive a person through a war like this. There's a certain sense of emptiness that this war brings into you. Having lost a loved one, that part of the heart has already diminished into darkness. We need more women like you and be willing to stand up for what we believe, and if you're ready to join the fight, you'll first need to pass the upcoming training that starts on November 10th. There's a train ticket within the letter to bring you to the training location. I hope to see you on the frontlines and teach you everything I know. 

Yours Truly,

• Marina"

My hands were shaking as I read the words in a whisper while sitting on the edge of the fireplace in the comfort of home. 

I read the letter, again and again, to make sure I understood it correctly. I could hardly believe that Marina Raskova personally wrote me a letter, accepting me into the night witches, and was willing to teach me everything she knew. 

I heard my mother walk through the kitchen. My thoughts immediately raced to how to break the news to her. Would she allow it? I knew she wouldn't. After losing her son in the war, I knew she'd do anything to convince me to stay as far as I could from the war. I've always had to do anything involving flying secretly. She knew she couldn't keep me away from it, though. I folded the piece of paper and put it deep in my pocket. 

Later that night, I packed my bag with the basic supplies; I knew in my heart that leaving at nightfall would be easier on her. Maybe it was just that I didn't want to face her to tell her that nothing she could do would be able to change my decision to join the night witches. I took the old ink pen from my desk and wrote her a letter. 

"Dear Mother, 

My hands trembled against the smooth paper. My Daughters's left. My only daughter has left for war. I couldn't believe what I had just read. I felt my eyes water as realization hit me. I sat in the kitchen and held the letter with a shaky grip. I rubbed my eyes as tears filled them, making it hard for me to see the letter. She could die. She could disappear. Too much could go wrong in war. I had already lost my firstborn child. My son. She knew the heartbreak it caused never to be able to see him again. She had felt it first hand, too.

Why would she do this? Am I ever going to see her again? I stopped myself as the bad thoughts kept coming. I can't think like this. I had to have faith in my daughter. In who she is. What she's capable of. I know once she puts her mind to something, there's nothing I could do to stop her, and all I could do is hold on to the hope that she would one day find her way back. I still cried. I felt tears slowly run down my cheeks and land on the letter. It hit a letter and ran through the ink writing. My thoughts swirling in darkness, just like the dark ink, bleeding through the paper. The pages felt heavy as they slipped through my fingertips, floating gently towards the kitchen floor. I don't know how long I stood there silently, numb from my thoughts before the screaming sound of the tea kettle brought me back to reality.

As the months went by and the seasons changed, I spent every day waiting for her return. Reading the paper daily to see the updates on the war, the rumors started to spread that the tides had changed. We were winning the war. I knew it was because of the honorable people that fought on the front lines. The ones who risked their lives and the ones that paid the ultimate price with their life. The brave men and women, like my son and daughter. Although I couldn't write to her and tell her, I hoped she knew just how proud I was of her. Not just for fighting a good fight, but for paving the road for women worldwide. Leading by example and showing that anything is possible, no matter the color, gender, or class you're born into, and soaring well past the boundaries our society has put into place.

 I had only received two letters from Nadezhda since she left and had no way to write back to her. She told me not to worry, but as any mother knows, the worrying never stops, no matter how old your children become or where in the world they end up. 

It was the end of September when I received her final letter;

"Dear Mama,

We're so close to winning the war, but it's taking everything from us to pull through this final stretch pushing back on the Nazis. We know our night raids on them are wearing them out and that they soon will have no choice but to give up and surrender. I wish you could see me fly; you'd be so proud to see me doing what I love and fighting for what's right. Know that I'm not afraid to die fighting for what I believe in and that no matter what happens, I'll always be with you. If you're reading this, I won't live to see the day, to finally come home. But know that I'll forever be watching over you.

Your daughter, 

Nadezhda"

I held the letter close to my heart, knowing this is all I had left of my child. The war ended just 17 days after reading her last letter. Over 20 million civilians and military from the Soviet Union gave their lives in World War II. And in my heart, I knew it was thanks to the brave heroes, someone's son or daughter, that we managed to win the war.