Lying on her front in the grass like a snake, Zhanna settled into the familiarity of the scenario. She had assumed this position often, the thirty days she had spent in the field flooding back to her now. Though her time spent fighting had been dangerous, she could at least fall back onto the experience. Overlooking the shelled-out town of Carentan, Zhanna knew what she was going to do.

The streets were cluttered with rubble and the silence was deathly but Zhanna knew that there was a beast lying in wait. Buck, his back to her, was tense. They were all waiting for orders, Easy Company crouched behind an embankment. This town was silent but they knew it would be filled with the clamor of bullets and wounded in only a matter of time. That's how it always was.

Sveta's shoulder brushed hers, a comforting familiarity. It was like in Russia, before America, before paratroopers. They would fight together like they always had. Sveta had lost her rifle in the landing but had acquired a lost American weapon. She had never been particularly attached to the Mosin-Nagant like Zhanna had and the new rifle didn't lend itself to their old work as a sniper pair. Though they were side by side now, when the fighting started they would be seperated. As they had been in America.

When Winters shouted for the line to advance, Zhanna's feet didn't budge for a heartbeat. Frozen firmly to the dirt, her American boots couldn't follow orders. The curtains fluttered through shattered windows as the soldiers ran forward under the spray of bullets but Zhanna couldn't move. Not until Sveta's hand squeezed her upper arm, lifting her up and into motion.

Once a few stumbling steps had been taken, her body's adrenaline, though depleted from the two days of solitary wandering, kicked in. Breathless energy and heart hammering movement, she ran among the men. They didn't get far before the Germans started to fire their machine guns at the road. Dirt coated her mouth as Buck tossed her into a ditch, shouting at the men to do the same. They huddled in that ditch bank, the bullets sending spray of dirt and fragments into the air. Zhanna coughed, rolling over so her rifle wasn't digging into her shoulder. She couldn't sit up, not without the danger of being shot but she could wriggle forward, ignoring Buck's warnings and Muck shouting, questioning her sanity.

At first glance, Zhanna wasn't intimidating. The men of Easy had seemed to forget that she was a sniper, not just the small girl who hung off to the side. She didn't look dangerous but Sink's eyes had widened in surprise when he had read her kill count and Nixon studied her like she was a hidden weapon. She had fought for survival, long before she had joined the military. Once she had been given her rifle, she had worked hard to prove herself. Zhanna wasn't much to look at but she was a sniper and it was time for the men of Easy company to remember that.

She slithered forward, pushing herself over the ditch and onto the road with her elbows. Blinking rapidly to try and remove the dirt from her eyes, Zhanna leveled the rifle at the machine gun, blocking out the bullets that found purchase in the earth around her. Buck's hand wrapped around her ankle, to pull her back into safety but Zhanna kicked out hard. Before he could intervene, she squeezed the trigger and through the scope, saw the bullet meet its mark.

Her shot had provided the briefest pause, allowing Winters to push to the front, shouting, "Let's go Easy!"

Buck's voice entered the chaos, calling on the men to move out. With Zhanna's window and their leader's encouragement, it gave the men enough to push forward and relieve Luz and Welsh, who had been isolated in the front, under heavy fire. Coming over the crest of the hill and rushing down into Carentan was like entering a ghost town that had burst to life with vengeful spirits. Rubble came alive with machine guns and explosions. Dust blew into the air, coating hair, skin, and lungs.

Someone shouted, "Spotter, upstairs window!"

Zhanna wasn't sure who it was directed to but she took it upon herself to provide the solution. The shot had been fired and the bullet loosed before she ran on, the adrenaline finally kicking in. While men were still being coaxed out of the ditch banks, Zhanna followed a group of confident - or were they reckless - men into the town. They didn't make it far before diving for cover, enemy fire raining down from above.

Snipers, Zhanna thought, in a dreadful position, tactically speaking. From the glance she had stolen at the enemy, he lay on a metal staircase, virtually open to returning fire. The steady stream of covering fire showed that he knew one well placed bullet could end his whole scheme. Zhanna's body was pinned against the stonewall of the alley. Lipton sheltering beside her was also stuck in place. Any attempt to take out the sniper would be met with a well-placed bullet in her torso or arm. Glancing to the side, Zhanna saw Shifty Powers, pressed against the wire of a chicken coop, cowering with his rifle in hand.

She had never been able to understand his accent but she understood his skill with a gun could almost rival her own. Zhanna was pinned down but Shifty could do it. Whistling sharply to get his attention, she jerked her head towards the sniper and nodded encouragingly. Shifty dipped his head in understanding and with one shot, took out the German.

Zhanna rounded the corner, rifle raised and took out two machine gunners through an open window. She paused, waiting to see if another would take their place but the only movement was from the fluttering lace of a curtain. Shifty pushed forward with Lipton but Zhanna parted ways, slipping down a side alley to follow Guarnere as he cleared a sector on the right.

As men threw grenades and generally wrecked mayhem, Zhanna didn't fire a single shot. Following like a ghost, she watched as they blew the glass out of windows and took down German gunners. They cleared out buildings but Zhanna didn't have a foe in this kind of fight. It was too close, the enemy so close their eyes could be seen. She had done what she could but now she realized she wasn't much good on the ground. Not at this close range. She needed a little more height to be a real danger.

Without a word, she snatched at the back of the nearest soldier's jacket, Toye, and pulled him off to the side.

"I need to be taller!" Zhanna said, proper English escaping her in the heat of the battle. "Taller!"

"Okay," Toye said, loosening her grip on him. "Jesus,"

He pushed her through a doorway, to the cleared out building beyond. Zhanna coughed the dust still settling from the potato masher thrown through the window moments before. They tripped over rubble on their way to the stairs, ascending higher and higher. Toye kicked down the door to the room at the top of the landing and Zhanna glanced around the room before selecting the window overlooking the backstreets of Carentan and the retreating Germans.. She threw open the window, taking in the sight of rubble and marshland before kneeling to rest her elbow against the ledge.

Toye cursed under his breath as she fired her first shot. It found its mark in the back of a fleeing German, sending him into the water below him. She didn't stop, not when explosions rattled the window panes. Not when she caught Sveta out of the corner of her eye, hoisting up a battered Lipton. She kept up the steady stream of bullets, laying waste to the Germans before her.

Toye didn't speak, but the weight of his gaze on her back was enough to give away his shock. Easy knew Zhanna had been a sniper. They knew that she trained at the shooting range when no one else was around. They knew she was good. But they preferred to see her as small and timid. Muck admitted to forgetting she was a trained riflewoman at times. But now, with the men looking up from the streets to watch the blonde head and shining metal poking through the window, it would be hard for them to forget.

She didn't stop shooting until she had run out of ammo and the arm that had propped up the barrel was numb. The battle had been won but she had kept firing for a few heartbeats, refusing to accept the call to lower weapons. Zhanna had forgotten, in all her fear and worry, how good it felt to fight back. She had survived for so long that she had forgotten what it felt like to live.

Her feet felt like they were floating as she descended the stairs and joined the rest of the men on the streets. They were checking for wounds and passing around canteens, and Zhanna couldn't feel a thing. Buck had seen her briefly before leaving for the Battalion CP that was being set up outside of town. He was alright, a relief onto its own and he gave her that dazzling smile. They had both made it and that's what mattered. The numbness in her arm had spread to the rest of her body and she couldn't stop from grinning inwardly. She wandered around for a few minutes, or was it hours? Zhanna didn't know. Her mind was still racing, a stark comparison to the coolness of her limbs. Muck and Malarkey found her in those moments, when the battle was still fresh and their eyes still wild.

They settled down on a set of stone steps, passing around rations and complaining about the Greman's taste. They were joined by Penkala, More, and her old friend, Blithe. It was an attempt to slowly ride out the high of battle, something Zhanna had come to know and the men of Easy were growing familiar with. While Muck groaned about the quality of cheese, Zhanna spread a cloth on the ground, and began to disassemble her rifle. She hadn't cleaned it since her feet had touched French soil and she had reclaimed it from the hands of that Dog company sergeant.

"I heard you and that rifle were the stars of the assault," Malarkey said.

Zhanna didn't answer, just pursed her lips together to keep from smiling. "I did what I had to," She said finally. That was all they could ever do, wasn't it?

"You destroyed those retreating Krauts, Casmirovna," Penkala said.

Blithe lay silently, not contributing to the conversation. In the nearly 48 hours in his company, Zhanna had heard him speak only a few times. He had always been reserved but the action they had seen had retreated him further into his shell.

"You must have been blessed by that crazy chaplain," Malarkey continued.

"Who?" More asked. Never one to miss a chance to tell a story, Malarkey recounted the tale of the reckless Father Maloney who had put his own life on the line to give a final blessing. Zhanna didn't think the chaplain had said a prayer for her but maybe life had seen it fit to give in return for all that it had taken. What skill with a rifle or a particularly deadly streak of kills could replace the loss of her parents or the pain she had endured, Zhanna didn't know.

The men were confident, now that they had a few skirmishes under their belts. The promise Zhanna had made to Winters, that the men would be ready when the time came, had been fulfilled. More had said with such assurance that they would see Berlin by Christmas. His words sent shivers down Zhanna's spine. The idea that their path would lead them to Germany and that the end of her time with the Airborne could be so soon. A few months from now, Zhanna could be back in Russia. Zhanna could find her parents and carve out that little piece of home that she had imagined. With the garden her mother wanted and the curtains of any color but white.

"Enjoy it while it lasts." Lieutenant Speirs, the man responsible for Sveta's bruised rib and an officer that Zhanna had yet to have the pleasure of meeting towered over them. "We are moving out soon."

"Out of town, Lieutenant?" More asked. "Already?"

Zhanna knew it would be inevitable. The movement of armies was like that of a chessboard. They had won this square, knocked out the German's piece and the only logical move was to advance. It was strategy, not unlike the politics of Stalingrad or the nuances of the NKVD purge. It was how the world worked. Once a prize was won, eyes were set to the next, bigger prize.

"That's right," Speirs said softly. Malarkey looked uncomfortable, more than just displeasure at the sudden movement. If Muck was unhappy, he didn't show it but exchanged a look with Penkala. Zhanna stayed silent. Speirs stepped through them, forcing Penkala to stand up to allow clear passage. Zhanna tucked her knees closer to her chest to avoid being stepped on.

More didn't seem to mind that he was in the presence of an officer, not allowing rank to stop him from opening his mouth. "Don't they know we just got settled here?"

Speirs turned back to face them. His dark eyes glanced over all of them, before settling on Zhanna. He seemed to forgive More's impertinence, forgetting it in favor of saying, "So you're the other Russian?"

There was a sharp intake of breath among her companions, one that didn't calm Zhanna's hammering heart under his gaze. Speirs' eyes were steady and unwavering but shifted when she replied. "I am. I've heard about you."

"You have?" Speirs reached into his jacket, and Muck stiffened beside Zhanna when the officer withdrew a pack of Lucky Strikes cigarettes. Standard army issue. "Cigarette?"

Zhanna looked at the offered pack, remembering the pain Sveta had been in, both physically and mentally after their scuffle. She smiled and plucked the Lucky Strikes from his grip, sliding it into the innermost pocket of her jacket.

Neither of them said anything, the air between Speirs and Zhanna chilling. She met his gaze steadily, not backing down until he turned back around and marched away.

"Are you out of your mind?" Muck hissed, as soon as Speirs's retreating back was out of earshot. "After what Mal saw?"

"What did Malarkey see?" Zhanna asked, her curiosity piqued. The cigarettes in her possession and Sveta probably only now returning from taking Lipton to the aid station, she wanted to know everything she could about the officer of Dog company.

"I told you, I didn't actually see it," Malarkey said quickly.

"What Speirs shooting the prisoners or the sergeant in his own platoon?" Penkala asked.

"What?" Muck said incredulously. "I didn't hear that one!"

"Wait he shot one of his own guys?" More cried.

Zhanna, realizing that this was all hearsay, tuned out their conversation quickly. Officers shooting NCOs, prisoners of war facing the end of a rifle. It was all a bunch of rumours, to her. Speirs did seem capable of such an act, from what Sveta had told her and from what she had seen. His eyes, dark and watchful, were like Nixon's.

While Nixon sought to solve the puzzle behind Zhanna, Speirs seemed more likely to pull a trigger when things got too complicated. He had bruised Sveta's rib and those eyes had sent the same chills down her spine as the NKVD officers had. He seemed to be watching her even now, his feet carrying him over to where Sveta stood, her back to the wall. He was facing away from them and while the alliance between Sveta and Speirs was all too familiar to the NKVD officers and the Samsonovs, there was something about him that Zhanna could respect. And if the rumors of shooting a Dog company sergeant was true, Zhanna viciously hoped it was the one who had stolen her rifle.