Sveta looked at Winters. He sat at his desk in the upper room of the CP. In his hands a pencil flicked up and down, nervous energy searching for an escape from the man who usually managed to bottle up so much. Losing his command had done a number on the usually quiet man. She could see the frustration itching to get out.

"Moose is in charge, but I want you on Pegasus."

Suppressing a sigh, she just nodded. It was to be expected. Heyliger was the CO, regardless of her outranking him. But it confused her, why she was being sent. "My purpose for going?"

"We have reports of a few Russians being involved," he tried to explain.

Sveta's eyebrows raised. Russians? In the Netherlands? With a nod, she asked him to explain. "What are the Soviets doing here?"

"I don't know." Winters got up, tossing his pencil back onto this desk, and rounded it to the front. He crossed his arms. "Sink doesn't have any more information. All we know is three Russians are stuck with the British and some of the Resistance. I want you to go along to make sure things proceed smoothly."

Sveta nodded. "Of course." But she could almost feel the fear creeping up. What if they knew who she was? Desperately trying to suppress her anxiety, she put her arms behind her back, grasping her left wrist to stop the fidgeting. "When do we leave?"

"They're leaving in a little over an hour. This was last minute information," he said. After a sigh, he looked out the window. "Do you know how to use a boat?"

"Yes. It won't be an issue."

Winters nodded again. He seemed to do that a lot when anxious. Small nods, in quick succession. She wondered if it was only fear for Easy, or if he was thinking of Zhanna no longer being in his direct command. She couldn't tell if it was more than friendship. But sometimes she wondered at the way he would ask after her. Then again, he asked after all his former officers and enlisted men.

"Is Casmirovna going?" Sveta asked. "Or is she staying behind."

"I have her on lookout along with a handful of the best riflemen from Dog and Fox," he told her. "They'll be posted along the bank as backup."

Sveta nodded again. Operation Pegasus had a solid plan. She wondered whose it was: Nixon's, Winters', or someone else. Nixon had a good mind for tactics.

"I'll go find Lieutenant Heyliger, then," Sveta told him. "Harry's going too?"

"Harry's going," he confirmed. "Peacock will be on the shore with two machine gunners in case they need suppressing fire in retreat."

Smart. Peacock would probably screw the whole thing up if he went in for stealth. She left Winters' makeshift office just as Nixon walked up. They exchanged quick nods. As she walked out into the night, Sveta took a deep breath. They had cloud cover which would aid their mission. A bright moon could glint off any uncovered metals like dog tags or rifle muzzles.

"You coming with us, Captain?"

Sveta glanced over where Spina carried a basket of supplies and headed her way. She smiled and nodded. "Apparently. Seems there are a few Russians across the way."

"No shit?" He joined her and they walked towards Easy's CP. She wanted to speak to Heyliger. Evidently Spina was headed there, too. "Sergeant Talbert's still sad over having to ditch his dog. Got any more Hershey bars? Word on the street is you've got a few."

Sveta chuckled as they walked. But she nodded. "Yeah I've got a few. But if I give you one, you can't tell Talbert that it came from me." She glanced at him and smiled at the way he brow furrowed. "I have an image to maintain, Spina. Can't have them thinking I'm going soft."

"You? Soft?" He laughed. "That'll be the day. No offense," he added. "I'll say it came from Captain Winters. He'd believe that."

"Or Roe." She smiled. "He always seems to have an extra one these days."

Spina huffed out a small chuckle. She didn't have the chocolate bar on her, but she promised to get it to him after the mission. As they approached the large farmhouse that Easy still used as a CP, she let herself relax a bit. Second Platoon still held the line, bolstered by Dog and Fox companies. First and Third stood inside.

She found Heyliger, Peacock, and Harry standing in a corner. A map sat in front of them on a small table, the overhead lanterns casting barely enough light in their secluded location. She nodded to them. "Winters wants me to accompany you," she said. "Apparently there are a few Russians with the British."

Heyliger nodded. "You can use a boat?"

"I'll be fine," she said, nodding. "How many minutes until we head out?"

"Not long." He glanced at his watch, tilting it to catch as much light as possible. "We've got 43 minutes until I want to be on the bank."

That didn't leave long at all. She supposed the subdued atmosphere of the CP made sense. Men sat or stood around mostly in silence. If they spoke at all their voices remained hushed. Most of their focus seemed to be on wrapping their equipment in dark tape or enjoying a few last minute cigarettes.

"Harry's taking care of the security on the far bank," Heyliger continued. When Harry nodded, he turned to Peacock. "You're in charge of our shore."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain, you'll accompany me and Colonel Dobie."

She nodded. "Right."

Before long, Heyliger had the men line up outside the barn. She could feel the tension, the way the men fidgeted with their straps. She had to remind Sisk not to play with his dog tags. He hadn't covered it all in tape and the chain would make noise.

"Ready?" Heyliger asked.

She looked across him at Colonel Dobie. The man nodded, sending them both a tight but hopeful smile. She nodded too.

Heyliger took a deep breath. "Let's go."

The boats slid into the water, sending ripples through the darkness. She forced her breaths to even out as she stepped inside, balancing as it threatened to tip. Small steps. Careful balance.

More, Sisk, Liebgott, and Hashey rounded out her boat. She handed the paddles out. As More leapt in at the end, sending the boat forward off the sand, she felt her heart leap into her throat. But nothing stirred except the water.

It wasn't until her feet hit the sand on the far side that she let herself truly breathe again. As she and Liebgott dragged the boat up, she cleared her mind. A few glances at the men around her, and she joined Dobie and Heyliger a meter from the tree line. Still no sign of Nazi activity.

"So, Colonel, where are they?" Heyliger whispered.

Dobie grinned. He leaned towards the dark trees. "Leicester."

"Square!"

The voice in the darkness sounded British. Sveta willed away the nerves that crept up like weeds. They'd heard nothing. There was no reason to believe the darkness held anything but allies.

"Heyliger, 506th of the 101st." He shook hands.

The newcomer grinned again, even wider. He shook his head. "Never thought I'd be so glad to see a bloody Yank." Then he glanced at her and his eyebrow raised a little.

"Captain Samsonova, 506th Red Army Liaison," she added. "I heard you've got some of my men?"

He nodded. "Started out with three of you Red Army Men. Now we're down to two. The Jerrys grabbed a fellow back in town when he went in for food."

She sighed. "Right."

"Your show, Colonel," Heyliger added.

Dobie nodded. With a quick word to his man, the two Red Devils disappeared back into the trees. Silence reigned. Only the lapping of the waves on the gravel shore disrupted it. Heyliger glanced at her. Then he turned back. "Bull, Liebgott," he hissed.

They scurried up like mice. Heyliger ordered them to pass the word of the impending British force. Once they were gone, he turned back to her. "Sorry about your man."

Sveta shrugged. "I hope for his sake that he had a gun."

"Why?"

"It would be less painful to die by his own gun than whatever the SS decide to do to him, Lieutenant."

She saw the way his eyes widened. She wished she could've felt as scared. But her mother's face just filled her memory, her mother's face, and Lana Stalina's mother who she just barely remembered, and even her own reflection that had stared back with tear stains so many times before. She didn't want to die by her own gun. But she would rather die by her own gun than whatever the Nazis or the NKVD would do to her.

By the time the General commanding the British Airborne appeared, Sveta had returned to the boats. There were so many men, all along the tree line, that even if she had wanted to seek out her countrymen, she was unable to. Instead she just crouched next to Sergeant More. Neither spoke.

"Captain, go back with the first group," Heyliger said, coming up to her. Behind him followed a General and two Lieutenants. "Escort them to the CP. Make sure they get there safely."

She nodded. They looked at her closely, but the General offered a smile that she tried her best to return. "More, you're with me," she ordered. When he nodded, she hopped into the boat to steady it.

The others followed. Sveta took a paddle this time, handing More and one of the British lieutenants the other two. Even as other boats skidded into the river, she led hers with as much poise as possible. Small ripples. Small noises. Smaller chance of dying from a stray sniper bullet.

Sveta never looked back. She never tried to see how the mission progressed until her feet stood on solid ground and More had begun the trek back. In the clouded night, she could barely see their boats. Sveta smiled. Then she turned to the men at her side. "Follow me."

By the time she'd brought the British officers to the 506th headquarters and returned, the mission had ended. She could hear a party raging from the barn. A party meant alcohol, which she sorely craved. Her own stash had dried up a couple of weeks ago. She'd been able to manage the headache, but she would take a drink of anything the men had found.

The moment she opened the barn door, light flooded her eyes. She shied back. But the voices inside leveled off, loud but not obnoxious. Sticking to the edges of the barn, Sveta tried to locate anyone she knew. Zhanna stood with the mortar squad, a beer in her hand. She couldn't find any of the medics. Harry seemed thoroughly drunk from his spot with Dobie and Heyliger. She sighed.

Someone thrust a beer into her hand. Sveta smiled down at it. With the alcohol to soothe her nerves, she moved into the crowd. Martin and Randleman stood chatting with Lipton and Luz. Lipton caught her eye and smiled.

She nodded to him. Sveta moved over there, drinking her beer and hoping she looked more at ease than she felt. A little over half a decade ago, she'd have been confident in her skill at hiding anxiety. Not anymore.

"Captain." Lipton nodded.

She smiled as they straightened up. "Good work," Sveta said. She nodded to each of them. But then she turned back to Randleman. "Did I see you only pretending to paddle, Sergeant?"

Luz and Martin both burst out laughing. For his part, Randleman just grinned around his cigar. "Yes, ma'am. Somehow my paddle broke on the shore," he explained. "I figured I'd try to blend in."

Sveta started laughing. "Inventive."

"You speak to the Russians yet, Captain?" Martin asked her.

"Are they here?"

He nodded. Pointing a bit behind himself and to the right, he tried to show her. "Think they were over there. Two of them, downing a fuck ton of beer."

Sveta nodded. "Thank you. If you'll excuse me, I should speak with them."

Lipton and Luz both nodded to her as she passed them. The two Russians, dressed in street clothes but still bearing their pilotkas proudly on their heads, sat on some hay. They chatted with some of the British officers. At her approach, they all looked her way. The British officers left as she began to speak in Russian.

"I'm Captain Svetlana Samsonova," she said. "Red Army liaison to the American's 101st Airborne. I'm glad we could get you back to safety."

"Alexandrovna Samsonova?" The one on the left straightened up. When he stood, his full stature rose above her by a few inches. She looked into his blue eyes and could see recognition dawn. "Soviet liaison? So you are what, a spy for Premier Stalin?"

The gut punch his words left made Sveta stagger a bit. But the other man didn't contradict his taller comrade. Instead he just stood as well, moving a bit closer. "What else would the daughter of Alexander Samsonov be, Pyotr?"

"I am no spy, Corporals. Though perhaps you should be careful of such," she reminded them. "Stalin has ears everywhere, comrades."

"We are no comrades of yours," the first spat. Taking a step forward, he raised his voice a litte. As the attention of the barn turned to them, he continued on. "The Army was supposed to rid itself of privileges from birthright. But people like you and Stalin's boy are proof of otherwise."

"I earned my position, Corporal," she hissed. Sveta's chest started to burn along with her cheeks as she realized the barn watched their every move. She had to be careful. She couldn't let anyone know of her disloyalty to the Soviets. Even as she tried to see if Zhanna had caught the men's words, their raised voices already drawing attention, she noticed the girl disappearing out of the barn. Anger flared up in her again. "You would do well to watch yourselves."

"We don't trust a single word you say, Samsonova." The second man, shorter but well built, moved closer to her yet again. "My friends are rotting in Siberia because of your father, and his friends Beria and Stalin. Your friends."

Sveta gripped her fists so tight she thought for sure they would turn white. They didn't understand. They couldn't understand. Shaking, Sveta turned away from them.

"You are a traitor to the Motherland. If anyone deserves the Camps, it is people like you."

Spinning around, she hit the man so hard across that jaw that her knuckles bled. The barn exploded into chaos as a few of Easy's men jumped the pair of Russian enlisted. Sveta clutched her hand to her chest, heaving out a few tight breaths as she suppressed the tears that wanted to spill over. Pain surged through her. Her arm felt like it was on fire even as she turned away.

"Martin, More," she called. The two men held the Russians back and looked sober enough. For a brief moment, she considered having them escort her countrymen to a cell. But instead she shook her head. "Let them go." Then she turned back to them. "If I am a spy for the NKVD, you'll be dead before sunrise."

She turned on her heels. Hopefully Spina was up, or Roe. She didn't want to go to the aid station where inevitably questions would be asked. She couldn't deal with that. Not as tears already threatened to crack her porcelain façade. Not as memories of what her father had done to her Motherland's people filled her mind. Not as she thought of her permanent connection to the evil of Stalin's regime. In the darkness, she tried to stretch her bleeding hand. Steady movements, in and out with her fingers, caused such a sting that she couldn't stop from hissing through her teeth. Tears threatened to spill.

"How'd the mission go?"

Ron. She looked up at him. He leaned against the wall of the main Battalion CP building smoking a cigarette. In the lamp light that streamed down from over his head, he looked nearly angelic. But the shadows that stretched around him contradicted that image.

"Jesus Christ, what happened to your hand?" He pushed off the wall to stand straighter as she joined him in wrestling out a cigarette. "Did you punch a wall?"

She tried to laugh, but it came out more as a half hearted snort past the tears that closed her throat. "No. Just a Russian who thinks I don't belong to my country."

"You should've shot him."

Sveta did laugh that time. He was probably right. But instead, Sveta just leaned against the brick wall and allowed her eyes to close. She tried to shove the anger down, shove away the bitterness, the fire, the guilt. But as another wave of pain shot through her hand and up her arm, she winced and looked at where it had already started to swell.

"Shit," she muttered. Sveta didn't want to cry. She didn't want to let the men win. She didn't want to risk the weakness.

"Let me see it."

She didn't think twice before shoving her right hand his way. Maybe the pain clouded her judgement. But as soon as he grabbed it and she felt the warmth in his grasp, she straightened. Why did human contact make her feel so much better? Her breath caught as she realized he'd caught her staring.

Maybe because it made her feel more like a human than a puppet.

"Just bruised," he told her.

She felt heat rising to her face. But if she moved too fast, if she pulled her hand away it would betray her. So she just smirked, cocking her head a bit and drawing it back with as much nonchalance as she could manage. "That seems to be a recurring theme. First a rib, then a hand."

"You've got uncanny luck, Svetlana."

He moved closer. Sveta couldn't tear her eyes away from his own hazel ones. She felt human for a moment there. Not a pawn, not a puppet, not a doll. A person.

Until footsteps interrupted her. She turned away, breaking the eye contact without a second thought, but not without a deep pang of regret. She found Roe and Spina hurrying over. With an internal curse, she moved away.

"Captain! Sergeant Lipton said you hurt your hand," Roe said. He glanced at her, and then at Ron a bit behind and to Roe's right.

Sveta followed his gaze. Ron had gone back to smoking a cigarette beneath the lamp. She sighed and turned back to the medics. "I just need some ice and a wrap."

"We'll be the judge of that," Spina reminded her.

Her shoulders fell, but she nodded. She'd never won an argument with a medic, not a Russian one and not an American. With a last glance behind herself at Ron, she moved away. She needed ice. She needed sleep. And more than anything, she needed a drink.