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The survivors of the raid were celebrating. The six Blackhawks sat with glasses of vodka amidst a crowd of chattering young women. But this time the admiration was mutual. The men had seen the Russian women perform as courageously and effectively as any man in any army. They were all the same really except for the difference that made life even more interesting. The two commanders stepped outside to see another sunrise.
"You will leave soon?" Lilya asked.
"We'll stay the day and get some sleep, if that's okay, and then head back to our base before the evening. We don't want to interfere with your operations anymore than we have already."
"What nonsense," Lilya said, laughing. "You fly with us into a battle that has saved the Rodina, at least for a while, and then you talk of interfering with operations. Do you really not know what this has meant to us . . . to me?"
"I'm trying, Lilya. All I've known for the last eight years is fighting, and I was just a boy, before that. I'm having feelings now that I've never had before. Is it alright if I take a little time to sort them out?"
She took his hands and drew them to her. "Of course, I'll be here."
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