“One more thing,” said Major Roskova, as the weary ladies rose to leave the debriefing.

“One more thing,” said Major Roskova, as the weary ladies rose to leave the debriefing.  The airwomen of the 288th suppressed groans.  They had spent the night bombing their own airfield, fending off attacking German ground forces.  “Orders from Central Command.  We are to paint red crosses on our medical and barracks tents.  I want this done today, C-Section.”

“We used up all the red paint on the patriotic mural that YOU had us compose for Lt. General Miroshnichenko’s visit,” said Shura.  And you left us to find paint anywhere we could, she didn’t say out loud.

“Our supply registry shows 24 litres of red paint in stock.”

“It’s not… really…”

“Are you telling me that there is a problem with our quartermaster’s record-keeping?”

“No, Major.”

“Get it done.  Dismissed.”

————–

Outside in the light of sunrise, Shura divided up her section.  “Sonya, get to bed, you need to rest before you die of Communist zeal.  Toma…”  Toma was already sleep-walking to the barracks, ahead of Sonya.  Shura ignored the insult this time.  “Anastasia and I will be repairing planes.  Natty, take Liza, paint the crosses.”

“With what paint?  We all know know that the “red paint” in the quartermaster’s store is mostly used motor oil.  It’ll never dry, the red crosses will be drippy brown blotches!”

“Do you know why most barns are red?  The paint is made of two common ingredients: white-wash and rust.”

“Rust we have in abundance.  I’ll see if I can scrounge some white paint.”

“Good girl.  But don’t be at it all day.  You need your sleep, too.”

—————

In the supply tent, Natty got into it with the quartermaster, and then her player rolled snake-eyes on the scrounge move.  The quartermaster was livid.  “I told you your stunt with the red paint would come back to bite me, and now it has!  You’re going to get me thrown in the gulag!  I have no white paint!  Don’t ask me for any more favours!”  He stormed out.

Natty stood in the store, racking her brain for options.  Oily red paint.  The blood congealing in the bodies of the German soldiers outside.  Anything else?  Anything?

[I moved the spotlight to someone else while Natty decided what to do next.  When I came back to her…]

Natty grabbed a screwdriver and went into a frenzy, puncturing holes in all the cans of doctored red paint.  The diluted mess ran out all over the stockroom floor.

[We were all stunned.]

—————-

That evening, as the airwomen gathered for mission briefing:

Major Roskova: “I don’t see any new red crosses on the people’s tents.”

Natty: “Major, I’m sorry to report that, during the Germans’ attack yesterday, all of the red paint was shot by enemy gunfire.”

.

A favourite moment from last night’s game of Night Witches.