A month into their stay in Aldbourne, and Sveta had no more love for the enlisted than she had on the Samaria. It pained her to admit that Guarnere held the power within the platoons. Those Staff Sergeant stripes meant more to them than her Lieutenant bar. Their snide comments returned in full force, focused within the upper ranks of enlisted.

What Guarnere started, the others continued. Luz had a standing bet going on how long it would take before she shot one of them. Martin and Randleman, the only men she had developed a real rapport with, stopped talking to her. And her scolding of Guarnere had apparently mended his relationship with Liebgott, so that they worked to undermine her in tandem.

So she just stopped talking to them. Sveta had Zhanna, at least. She and Zhanna had been alone against the world for half a decade. Nothing would separate that. Nothing.

It bothered her only a little that the men had the exact opposite reaction to Zhanna. Sveta vaguely wondered if it was because she was small, and stayed quiet, and that was easier for them to stomach. Whatever the reason, the mortar squad of Malarkey, Muck, and Penkala included her more during training. They spoke to her freely, willingly.

She and Zhanna had been billeted in a small house near to the other officers of Easy Company. The Connors were an older couple with no children. Mrs. Jane Connors liked to knit and play piano. Mr. Robert Connors spent his days cycling around Aldbourne, sometimes helping with training by acting as an enemy to be captured. They hadn't objected to housing the two Russians. Even so, Sveta tried to stay out of the house as much as possible.

When Zhanna had told her that Muck had invited her to join the men at the pub that night, Sveta had been speechless. But she had nodded and smiled. And even though she'd seemed a bit concerned, Zhanna had gone with them.

"Are you going anywhere tonight?" Mrs. Connors asked.

Sveta had wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a small green apple from the counter. Her hostess sat at the table. In her hands, a copy of the local paper provided some meager entertainment. "I have a meeting," she lied.

"This late?" Mrs. Connors looked up. She placed the paper down on the red and white tablecloth. "They certainly are working you hard, my dear."

Sveta shrugged. "Wars don't win themselves."

"You don't need to tell me twice," she agreed. "It took everyone to win the Great War."

Just nodding in response, Sveta took another bite of her apple. She moved down the hall to the door. Her favorite spot to get out of the house and away from the Army was a small field not too far away. But as she went to open the door, a knock sounded.

Sveta pulled it open. To her surprise, Welsh, Nixon, and Winters stood there, just as surprised to see her answer so quickly. The officers had been her only form of contact outside of Zhanna that didn't make her want to punch a wall. She didn't like them. But she definitely liked them more than the enlisted.

"What do you want?" Sveta asked.

"We're hitting the pub," Welsh explained. "Want to come?"

For a moment, Sveta just stared at him, and then to Nixon and Winters. The smirk on the former's face made her narrow her eyes. He found it all funny, clearly, how confused she was. So she turned to Winters. "Winters, you don't drink."

"No," He agreed. As the others laughed, he just shook his head. "But I could use a break."

Right. Sveta still didn't answer. There had to be a ploy here. Before she could say anything further, Welsh jumped back in.

"Look, we know Casmirovna's out for the evening, so we thought we'd see if you wanted to join," he told her. "Besides, I'm tired of looking at these two every damn day."

Sveta had to suppress a chuckle. But she knew he was telling the truth. How? Sveta didn't know. Maybe wishful thinking. But after a year of jeers and taunts, she decided to step forward.

Her mom had always told her to be careful of her words. Watch out for prying ears and eyes, Sveta. But it went both ways. Allies were important. Nixon, he wasn't one. But Welsh, maybe he was, with his gap-toothed grin and short stature and blunt words. Winters she still couldn't decide on. He was too close with Nixon for her liking.

"Fine," Sveta said. Stepping out of the house, she pulled the door closed. The sun had already gone down hours ago, replaced by a slightly cloudy evening. "Lead the way, Lieutenants."

Sveta walked mostly in silence, listening to Nixon and Winters and Welsh chat. A few groups of enlisted roamed the streets as well, often accompanied by young women with pretty white smiles and cotton dresses. Aldbourne had a simplicity that Sveta had never known. Even in the war, they tried to stay positive.

She hoped Zhanna was having a good time. As she approached the pub with the other officers, she couldn't help the smile that graced her face thinking how Zhanna could out drink the men. They were in for a surprise, no doubt. Long winters and hard times meant both she and Zhanna could hold their liqueur.

The pub bustled with activity. Some people played darts, others ran card games at pale wooden tables. The smell of alcohol, grease, and sweat filled her nose. Sveta had to suppress a gag. But she dutifully followed the other three to an open table in the corner.

Sveta took the chair in the back, up against the wall. She raked the crowd with her gaze. Mostly Americans, their paratrooper badges and brown dress uniforms made them easy to identify. Seven women sat or stood throughout as well, each with a man on either arm. At the bar, a trio of older men sat leaning over shot glasses.

"Hey, Svetlana, what do you want?"

Welsh's voice broke her concentration. He stood on the outside of their circle table. Sveta took a deep breath and sat back, relaxing her shoulders. "Surprise me. I can handle any drink you bring, Welsh."

"Fighting words," Nixon joked. He had the seat to her right. As Welsh disappeared through the crowd to go grab drinks, he turned to her. "How's your host family?"

"Fine," she said. With a bit of a shrug, Sveta looked at him. "Not much about them to tell. Mr. Connors fought in the first war. Mrs. Connors enjoys her quiet time."

Sveta's mom told her to smile. That's what men expected, especially in politics and war. Not just of the women, but other men too. Don't give away your real intentions. Sort of like poker. She'd seen the men playing it before, but had never tried her hand.

"How about you two?" She smiled this time. "I heard you and Welsh have a place together, Winters?"

He nodded back. "Yeah. It's nice. Aldbourne's a nice change of pace," he added. "Less noise, even with the war."

"Nixon?"

As he started chatting about the place he'd found, Sveta tuned him out. He had money, or his family did. That much she already knew. He liked to drink. She knew that too, having noticed the ever present bottles of Vat 69 in his office in Battalion HQ. So instead she just nodded along, pretending to be enraptured by his tales of his escapades in Aldbourne.

"Here we go." Welsh reappeared, dropping three glasses onto the table. Then he set down a large bottle of scotch. "Hope it doesn't disappoint."

"Harry, anything you can afford will disappoint," Nixon teased. But he wasted no time in pouring himself a glass. He turned to Sveta next. "Lieutenant?"

She nodded. "Please."

"Sorry, Dick, didn't have enough hands to get you a water glass," Welsh said. Then he took the filled shot glass Nixon offered him.

Winters just scoffed under his breath at Welsh's smirk. He pushed out his chair and went to find his own refreshments. As he faded into the crowd, Sveta took a drink.

"How's your fiancé doing, Welsh?" Sveta asked, turning to him on her left. With another smile, she let her body relax even more. Though she kept half her focus on the surrounding crowd, the rest she saved for her companions. "Is she enjoying herself?"

"Kitty's great," he assured her. "She's nannying for a neighbor right now. Says the kids are crazy." He smirked. "It's perfect. She'll fit right in."

"Anyone waiting back in Russia for you, Lieutenant?" Nixon asked.

Sveta looked at him. That was a complicated question. She didn't know of anyone, but her father had been talking of finding her a husband even before she joined the snipers. As she responded, Winters rejoined them. "Russia's a busy place, right now. No one's thinking of marriage, just survival." Then she turned it on him. "How about you?"

"Mrs. Kathy Nixon," he told her.

The way his smile faded and shoulders hunched, she didn't need him to go on. Either she was ill and it made him upset to think about, or he simply didn't want to be reminded of the marriage. He kept up his smile though, and went on to talk about Katherine Page, graduate of Stanford and current head of the Lewis Nixon household. She guessed it to be the latter answer, then.

She continued to sip on her alcohol. With each passing moment, the three men at the table slowly forgot about her and turned to their own discussions. Nixon muttered on about the incompetence of the Army. Welsh added his bitter two cents about Sobel. Winters just tried to keep them both reined in.

About an hour later, the questions finally turned back to Sveta. The alcohol warmed her body. Every so often she had to remind herself that she'd been drinking, and that she needed to be doubly careful of her tongue. Her mother had drilled that into her too. In Russia, vodka flowed from veins like blood, especially in the winter. But it made you vulnerable.

"When this all ends, what are your plans?" Welsh asked her.

Sveta sat up a bit straighter. "Russia's my home, Lieutenant." Her expression softened a bit. "I miss the Volga River, and the Valdai Hills. I did some training there, north of Smolensk. It's beautiful. If there is a god, the Motherland is his masterpiece."

"Isn't it cold, though," Nixon protested.

Sveta smiled. "Lieutenant, cold doesn't bother me. If you could see Russia away from the cities, you'd understand."

She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the pine trees lit by a setting sun. She recalled the source of the Volga, brilliant and clear. That was the Russia she loved. That was the Motherland Sveta fought for. Not the fetid cities, full of the stench of death and false promises.

Her mom promised that one day, they'd get away from the cities. But then she'd pulled the trigger on the Korovin pistol and been buried six feet under, roses on her grave. Sveta opened her eyes. She could hear the screams of the children in Rostov-on-Don again. She could hear her mother's sobs. She could see the red blood staining the mattress.

"Well, it's been a lovely evening," Sveta told them. Her hands shook where they sat in her lap, obscured by the table. "Thank you for the invitation. But, I really must be going."

"Do you want someone to walk you back?" Winters offered.

But she just shook her head, standing up from the table. Her back touched the wall as she slid the wooden chair back in. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. Good night."

She didn't spare them a second glance, but she took it slow so as not to draw attention. The bar had filled even more. When she opened the door to the outside air, she took a deep breath. Much better than the pub. She looked right down the cobbled street. A few lamps lit the way, and she set off.

Just like before, there were a few groups of enlisted hanging about. Some were British forces as well, likely on leave. Most didn't spare her a second glance. They were too preoccupied with drinks and smokes.

As she hit the next street over, someone called out to her. She turned at the British accent. A man not much older than herself, with well trimmed dark hair, stood on the other side of the street below a lamp. By the way he swayed, she guessed he'd been drinking. As she made eye contact, he grinned and moved across to join her.

"Ey, dollface," he commented. "Come here often?"

"Out of my way," Sveta ordered. He was a soldier; he had to take orders.

But the man just laughed. He got too close, and Sveta took a step back. Her hand went to her hip. Sveta froze. No side-arm.

"Smile for me," he added. "Come on, doll."

She pushed past him. When his hand grabbed her arm to pull her around, Sveta shouted. But he wasted no time in punching her in the face, and Sveta couldn't focus. She tasted blood. Her ears rang. Sveta threw her hands up on instinct to protect her face from another blow.

He tried to grab her again, scratching her face with his nails. Sveta kicked out, catching his knee. His pained cry echoed around them, and she backed up, trying to see past the blood trickling from her brow. He hit the ground, passed out.

Panting, Sveta felt blood rush to her head. Her entire body screamed in pain, and anger, and bitterness. When she heard the pounding of boots, Sveta looked up and took a step back. Of course it would be them. Easy Company.

Guarnere. Toye. Liebgott. Grant. Talbert. Luz. Of course. It had to be them, not someone else. It couldn't have been anyone else in the entire fucking universe. That would've been too easy. Too simple. As they came up to her, Sveta struggling to catch her breath, they paused.

Sveta gritted her teeth. All warnings to stay silent that she'd been given for a decade evaporated. She'd had enough.

"Here to finish it off?" None of them responded, so she scoffed again, trying to wipe the blood that was still dripping over her eye. Pain surged through her, and she flinched back. "Go ahead. Punch me, too. You know you want to," she snapped. "Just a fucking Russian broad, right?" She added a few colorful Russian curses.

None of them spoke. Talbert and Luz shifted where they stood though, as Liebgott knelt by the passed out British soldier and checked to see if he was breathing. She hoped he wasn't. Her face still ached. The alcohol in her system made her a bit sick with the fight.

"Deal with him," she muttered. Sveta moved off.

"Where are you going, Lieutenant?" Toye asked.

Spinning back to him, her head ached. Sveta nearly grolwed. "To get some ice for my face. Is that alright with you, Corporal?"

"Spina's on duty tonight," Talbert supplied. He moved over to her. "If you want the docs to take a look."

Sveta nearly laughed again. But she knew it would be a bad idea not to go get it looked at, and of the enlisted, Sveta disliked the medics least. So she nodded. As Liebgott and Grant got her attacker to his feet and Toye and Guarnere stood back, Sveta turned to Luz and Talbert. "Show me the aid station."

They walked in silence. Luz handed Sveta a handkerchief, and she tried to stave off the bleeding as they went. They hadn't gone far, only a few streets, when she heard laughter. Familiar laughter.

Zhanna, Muck, and Penkala trailed along the streets. Zhanna had been drinking. She smiled, and chuckled once in a while, and her gait was off. More spring in her step. Sveta looked at her in concern.

"Sveta!" Zhanna caught sight of her at the same time. She hurried over. "The bars here, they don't have good vodka. But they have good whisky!"

Shit. It took Sveta longer than it probably should've for her to piece together the broken English and Russian she used. Some words Sveta couldn't even recognize as anything other than Polish words.

"Lieutenant!" Muck looked at her in surprise.

She grimaced, removing the stained cloth from her face. Likely the bruising had started already. She glanced to his left and saw Penkala staring at her.

"What happened to your face?" he asked. He trailed off at the end of his questions, looking beyond Sveta.

She turned around to find Luz and Talbert grimacing. Then she looked back at Penkala. "British soldiers are even less mannered than Americans," she muttered. "What are you two doing?"

"Walking the Lieutenant home, ma'am," Muck told her. "She enjoyed herself tonight, though."

"So I see," Sveta said. She turned to Zhanna, who was singing to herself. "Zhanna, you should stop speaking Polish."

"What language is that?" Muck asked. "She's been lapsing into that for the past twenty minutes!"

Sveta hesitated. "Could be a dialect of Russian I'm unfamiliar with," she lied. They bought it. "Muck, make sure she gets back to our billet. Mrs. Connors can take care of her from there."

"Sure."

"Zhanna, stop speaking Polish," Sveta tried again.

"Why?" she asked. "It is good language!"

Giving up, Sveta just shrugged. Her head ached. Her eyes stung. The blood had mostly stopped, but now it caked down her skin and itched. She couldn't deal with a drunk Zhanna right then. She had to trust the men that Zhanna had placed her trust in.

Muck and Penkala continued to laugh at whatever Zhanna was saying while they meandered down the street the other way. Sveta watched them. Then she turned back to Luz and Talbert. "Is it far?"

Talbert shook his head. "No."

Luz cracked a smile around his cigarette. Gesturing back at the other three, he laughed. "She's having fun."

"Yes." Sveta nodded. Zhanna had to be careful, though. She had to watch herself. "She is."

She left it at that. Talbert and Luz started chatting more, voices low, broken by the occasional snicker. By the time they reached the building that had been turned into a makeshift medic station, Sveta was about ready to cry. Her face hurt, her anger wanted to explode. But she just followed them inside the farmhouse.

"Hey, Doc, you in here?" Luz called.

Spina came around from the back, shoulders hunched and frowning. Dark circles under his eyes spoke to his exhaustion. "Jesus, what the hell happened to you?" he asked. Spina put down the clipboard he'd been holding and moved to them.

"Some British jackass jumped her," Talbert told him. "Grant and Lieb are taking care of him."

Sveta turned back to Talbert. The anger in his voice caught her off guard. But she nodded back to him and then turned to Spina. "It looks worse than it is."

"Yeah? And who told you that? A doctor?" He snorted. "Sit down. I'll find something for ya."

As he disappeared back through the maze of shelves that had been put together well above her height, Sveta sighed. She turned to the two sergeants. "Thank you. I suppose I owe you a new one of these," she added, holding the blood soaked handkerchief up to Luz.

He shook his head. "Eh, no worries. It ain't even mine. Won it in a bet earlier."

She should've known. But just nodded again, her head pounding, and sat down in the chair Spina had gestured to. "You're dismissed," she said.

They both nodded to her. It wasn't a salute, but it was certainly better than the usual total disregard for her presence, or worse, poorly hidden sniggers. They left side by side. Sveta tried to get her head to stop spinning.

"Here you go, Lieutenant." Spina reappeared with some cloths and rubbing alcohol. Standing over her, he poured the alcohol on the washcloth and started to try to clean off her face. "Jesus, he did a number on you."

Sveta flinched, biting her cheek as the alcohol burned her cuts. Tears stung her eyes. "It won't happen again," she forced out through gritted teeth. "I can assure you of that."

After letting it dry for a moment, Spina started applying some bandages to the small cuts along her forehead. It didn't take long. "They ain't too bad. Probably hurt though." Then he turned to the bruise she guessed was already forming on her jaw. "Do you want ice?"

She sighed. "Sure."

"Here's some painkillers," he told her.

Dropping a couple of pills in her hand, he turned to get her water and a pack of ice. Sveta just looked around. There was only low light on in the farmhouse turned medic station. It helped a bit with her headache. But she felt bad that Spina had to be stuck in here for the whole night. It probably got dull. When he came back, she tried to offer him a small smile.

"Thank you." She accepted the glass of water and downed the pills. Then she took the sack of ice and pressed it to her face. "Are you here the whole night?"

He sighed, falling into another chair. "Yep. Dusk to dawn. It's fine though, the shift only comes up for each of us once every couple weeks."

"Small mercies," Sveta murmured. She closed her eyes a bit, relishing the way the ice numbed her face. Though her hand started to cramp, she just pushed it into her skin. She found it oddly relaxing. Not just for the pain, but her stress. Her pounding heart slowed. "Where are you from, Spina?"

"Philadelphia, Pennsylvania," he told her.

Sveta opened her eyes. That made sense. He had an accent similar to Guarnere. She didn't know much about their state. "Do you like it?"

"Philly?" He smirked, laughing a bit. "Hell yeah. Everyone from Philly loves it. I ain't got much, but my wife's there, Agnes. So that's what matters," he told her. "You?"

Sveta shrugged. "Stalingrad, in southern Russia."

"Miss it?"

She glanced at him. Then she looked around, doing a quick check for the familiar glint of mics and out of place wires. She sighed, finding nothing. "Sometimes. I miss Russia, but I do not miss my home."

"If you're in the south, is it cold there?"

Breaking out into a smile, Sveta shook her head. "Why is this everyone's first question? It's not that cold. But I don't know if you would find it cold, as an American."

Spina laughed too. "Okay, okay." Lifting his hands up in protest, he apologized. "Just curious."

She closed her eyes again. The ice had started to melt, and she moved it around on her face to see if she could get it closer to the skin. Before long, she gave up. At least it had helped for a while.

"Done?" Spina looked up from his clipboard where he'd been checking supply lists. "Great."

She let him take the melted ice away and stood. Moving her jaw still hurt, but the ice had done the trick and left it mostly numb. "Thank you."

"No problem. You need a guard to walk you back?" he added. "I can try to find you one."

But Sveta just shook her head. "I'll be fine."

He offered her a small smile as she turned and left. Sveta sighed. She let her shoulders sag and frown replace the neutral smile. God, she was exhausted. All she wanted was to sleep for a year and have the whole thing be done. Everything. She wanted it all done.

But then she remembered the way her mother had collapsed into her desk chair each evening. Exhaustion written in every line on her face, she'd been despondent. Sveta didn't want that. Sveta didn't want to be the next one to die bleeding out on some mattress, staining satin sheets with crimson blood. So she forced herself to stand straighter. She had to get home.