A Dance with Death: Soviet Airwomen in World War II (50 page)

Nina Shebalina

Galina Burdina

Irina Lunyova-Favorskaya

Tamara Voronova

Marina Muzhikova

Yelena Karakorskaya

Kareliya Zarinya

Zoya Pozhidayeva

Zoya Malkova

Anna Timofeyeva-Yegorova

Anna Popova

Each year since the end of World War ii, the three women's airforce
regiments meet in a small park in front of the Bolshoi Theater in
Moscow on May 2. In 199o I was invited to be the guest of the 125th
Guards Bomber Regiment at their luncheon after the annual meeting.

The 46th Guards Bomber Regiment proceeded to the steps of the
Bolshoi for their group picture. They then read aloud letters from
fellow members unable to attend, while graciously accepting flowers,
interviews, and attention from admirers old and young. They were
very much the center of attention.

The 586th Fighter Regiment formed a tight group farther into the
park and began serenading me, singing wonderful minor-key war and
love songs and rousing melodies of their aircraft and victory.

The 125th regiment had gathered on the far side of the park and
were quieter, holding flowers, smiling, and embracing one another.
My friend Margarita Ponomaryova was with me. We had worked
together in harmony for so long that conversation flowed easily as she
murmured to me and spoke my thoughts to them. At that point we
began walking out of the park toward the Moskva Hotel, where the
regiment had reservations for our luncheon. When we arrived at the
hotel our banquet table was not ready. The regiment waited in a
reception area, where they spontaneously began to sing their songs
from the war.

They had gathered as a remembrance, a celebration. They are sisters, they will tell you-closer to one another than to their own
relatives. Ultimately their memento mori is one of survival, haunted
by the ghosts of those not so fortunate. As they perished, so came
others to fill the vacancies, and so the regiments endured. So if you
are they, you sing and you remember, and the memories that lie
beneath the surface most of the time are living, throbbing realities
this day.

We are seated at the banquet table, and the festivities begin. One of
the ladies rises from her chair, lifts her glass, and proposes a toast. We
all rise, and our glasses touch with a musical note. A husband, who
had also been a pilot, marvels at their absolute mastery of the bomber
aircraft, so heavy and unforgiving. The political commissar speaks at
length about the deeds of the regiment. A pilot toasts the skill and
dedication of the mechanics-they are comrades. Later we stand for a
moment's silence honoring those who are gone.

Then their attention is turned toward me, the American, who
represents the Women Airforce Service Pilots, who also flew during
the war. The focus is on me, who represents America in World War
u -America, with whom we all desire peace forevermore. I, too, am
fervent. I respond with affection and admiration; I toast them. I am
presented with a regimental postwar medal worn by all the members
of the 12Sth regiment, and I am made an honorary member of the
regiment.

Everyone talks and eats, and there are more toasts. Yevgeniya
Gurulyeva-Smirnova stands and sings a haunting melody in a clear,
melodious voice, then seats herself. Everyone sings together. I burn
along, feeling this nostalgia, feeling the vodka; and all around me,
their past that I never knew but nevertheless am touched by. I propose
another toast, with greetings from the Women Airforce Service Pilots
in America. I am filled with the dignity of the occasion, with the
mantle bestowed on me to represent my country. My small glass is
filled to overflowing. We all drink the toasts in a gulp. It is the way it
is done. Later, we file out of the dining room. Aleksandr Panchenko,
our other translator, loses his way, and we are diverted through the
hotel kitchen.