The enlisted had taken up residence in an abandoned barn, filling their freetime with booze, cards, and relaxation in the wake of the tactical disaster that was Market Garden. Zhanna could have spent her precious free moments at the farmhouse where she laid her head to rest every night but she had taken to drinking the evening away with the others, amongst the prickly hay and the drafty interior of that barn. More than a few lieutenants, including Peacock, made themselves comfortable with the men and Zhanna preferred it there.

Buck's absence had left Zhanna out in the blinding sun, with little support in the American military. They tolerated her, saying that she was alright, "you know, for a Russian." There wasn't trust and that was something Zhanna hadn't realized she needed so desperately until the nearest source of it had been carted away to a field hospital. She missed his camaradiere, his dry humor, and most importantly, the way the men warmed instantly to him. When she had been Buck's little shadow, they had just accepted her as an inevitability.

She was still in Muck and Malarkey's good graces, and she knew she always had a place amongst the mortar squad. They would save her a drink after a long day of avoiding Sveta's irritable outbursts, not to mention, the added difficulty of not being cornered by Nixon, whose curiosity was sure to place him on the wrong side of a rifle barrel.

Winters could be seen, on occasion, brushing shoulders with the enlisted in that barn. His presence and his ease with both Zhanna and the men, calmed the atmosphere. Even Talbert, who spent most of his conversations with Zhanna engaged in a back and forth flurry of insults and sarcasm, was kinder to the sniper when Winters was present. He had slowly begun to warm up to the Russian women but Zhanna enjoyed teasing him too much to let that side of their interactions die with the arrival of his respect. There was the added incentive of his new companion, a large dog who had taken a liking to Talbert upon their arrival to the Island. Unfortunately for Talbert, the dog was devoted to Zhanna since it had laid it's large brown eyes on her.

Perched on the table, knees tucked underneath her, Zhanna watched Winters work on a grenade, tearing off a piece of adhesive from a roll. She wasn't quite sure what he was doing, explosives were not her area of expertise, but there was something comforting in the stillness of the work. His focus and the comfortable silence that enveloped them was enough to relax Zhanna's shoulders more than any amount of vodka could have.

"New guys giving the replacements the what for and why is," Tab scoffed, as if he could never have been guilty of this crime, unwanted advice being his first words shouted to Zhanna back in Benning. "I swear one of them has never shaved,"

"Yeah," Winters agreed. "Kids."

Kids. The replacements were all Zhanna's age, if not older. Twenty-two but she had been aged by what she had seen. Buck had asked how old she was when the fighting started. "I was sixteen when the war began," She had said. But that wasn't the first time she had fought. Survival was found in more places than a battlefield. She supposed that to these paratroopers, the enlisted were children but to Zhanna, they were familiar. Their faces, grim and drawn, had greeted her when she looked in the ornate mirror of the Samsonov residence. Long before the war had broken out.

"This is a hell of a dog, Tab," Luz said. He had grown to tolerate Zhanna at Compton's behest and still allowed her to be in his presence, out of respect for their missing friend. He wasn't half bad, Zhanna discovered, even if the majority of his jokes tended to be at the expense of another.

"Thank you," Tab said, throwing a stray stick towards the open doors, sending the dog chasing after.

"What'd you call it, Tab?" Winters asked, his fingers busy and eyes downcast but he seemed to always be listening.

"Trigger," Talbert said. "Casmirovna's idea."

"That's good," Luz conceded, his mouth full with a K Ration cracker. "I like that. Trigger."

Returning with his prize, Trigger trotted back to their group. Though Tab had his hands outstretched for the stick to repeat the game, Zhanna whistled for the creature, who abandoned Luz and Talbert to rest his head in her hands. She scratched at his jowls, Trigger's eyes closing in pleasure.

Luz shook his head in mock disgust. "First his mother and now his dog. Casmirovna, you have no shame."

Zhanna smiled, smoothing the brown fur of Trigger's spine, muttering sweet nothings in Rusian and Polish, the difference between the two lost on both animal and men. The dog wagged his tail peacefully as their conversation turned from Talbert's losses to the patrol that had been deployed on the dike road.

"Any news?" Tab asked.

"No, all's quiet."

Zhanna had heard the words, "spoke too soon," in a variation of contexts, but none seemed as applicable than in that moment. The doors to the barn burst open, Trigger jerked around, a loud bark sending Zhanna's still sensitive ears pounding, and a man shouted. "We've got penetration." It seemed Winters had spoken too soon, inviting this calamity on them.

"Alley's hurt!"

Winters shot to his feet and began to spit out orders, with a sudden switch from the calm demeanor to the commander that Zhanna was taken aback. Talbert moved to take the wounded soldier, laid him on the table as Doc was called and the location was questioned. It was the crossroads, where the road crossed the dike. A place that Zhanna had seen in daylight on patrols but had never ventured to after dark. Accusations were thrown, Liebgott's ability to stay silent was taken into consideration. Winters shut it all down, shouting for men to get to their feet and platoons were assembled. It was a flurry of activity that left Zhanna's ears ringing and her knuckles gripping the rifle, pale white. Weapons and ammo only. The men knew what they were doing, dashing from the soft yellow lamplight of the barn into the pitch black. But Zhanna hung back, not sure where she should go.

Doc Roe was carrying Alley away on a stretcher, Trigger was sent fleeing into the night. But Zhanna was left, almost alone, in the center of that barn. Her eyes were wide and she felt like she had stumbled into the main room on that cold November night again, blinded in the lamplight and blinking in confusion. Was she supposed to run or remain, frozen to the hay strewn ground?

Winters paused in the doorway, half draped in shadows, and looked back at Zhanna.

"Lieutenant Camsirovna, you're with me." His words, quick, precise, to the point, but sent that wave of familiarity and comfort through her. She nodded, tossing her rifle over her shoulder and ran in his wake, chasing after the platoons.

Her American boots were heavy as they stalked through the grass, the ridge of the embankment casting a shadow over their movements. Their heads bobbed above the shoulder height plants, Zhanna's helmet covered entirely, her only route was following Winters's careful footsteps before her. It was almost silent, her breath impossible loud in her ears, before the still night was cut with the sharp sound of machine guns. They dove against the embankement's damp grass, the only cover for miles.

"MG42," Talbert breathed from behind her. She was wedged between the sergeant and Winters, the butt of her rifle pressing painfully against her thigh.

Winters whispered a soft affirmation.

"What the hell are they shooting at?" Talbert asked, his voice, though whispered, loud in Zhanna's ear. "What's down that road?"

"Regimental headquarters," Hissed back Winters. "But that's three miles away. Why are they giving away their position?"

It was an open ended question, entirely hypothetical, that Zhanna filled in with her own silent reasons. They were cocky. They were careless, or, as Talbert so eloquently put it. "Maybe they aren't as smart as you and me,"

"I think I'll check it out anyway," Winter said. They were so close that Zhanna could feel his heartbeat against her forearm, pressed tight between his back and her side. It was more frantic than one would have guessed with his outward composure. Winters was good at hiding his fear, like good leaders should be.

"Hold here," he told Talbert. "Wait for my signal."

Zhanna would have settled in to wait, eyes fixed on the ridge line for any sign of movement but Winters nudged her and motioned for him to follow her. She did, crawling up the steep embankment, her nails digging into the dirt for a better grip. Her own heart was pounding in her ears, her breath growing ever more ragged with the machine gun fire increasing in frequency as they crested the ridgeline. She slid and landed hard on the other side, twisting her rifle off her shoulder and into her hands. For a few painful heartbeats, they sat motionless, waiting for more fire. When none came, Zhanna followed Winters, hunched down across the road at the top of the dike, before sheltering on the other side.

"What do you see?" Winters asked, as Zhanna brought the rifle to her shoulder and the scope to her eye. His breath was warm on her ear and she tried to slow her own breathing, to lower her heart rate so she wasn't shaking like she was submerged in an icy river.

"Three men," she whispered. "One with the submachine gun and the others are just watching. It's hard to tell how many. There could be a whole battalion on the other side of the dike and I couldn't know."

"Alright," Winters said. "What do we do?"

Was he asking because he didn't know? Or was he asking because he wanted to know what she thought? Zhannna had only ever been teasing when she offered tactical advice and if it was serious, it was just that, advice. Winters knew what to do, or he at least put on a good show.

"Give Talbert the signal," she said. "Then we dig in. Set up mortars. Fire a couple rounds and then call for reinforcements."

Winters nodded. She didn't think he would actually follow her suggested plan of action. To her surprise, he did, right down to the letter.

The men were signaled, darting across the dike like wisps of the night itself. Skidding down the other side, they dug into the ditches and natural irrigation, providing ample cover for their fortifications. Muck, Malarkey and Penkala were dug in at the back, a fallback position was established and then men were set up at staggered points. Zhanna sat at the crest of the dike with a full view of the three men, who still meandered as if they owned the road, laughing and joking in the now familiar sound of German. Guns were readied, final deep inhales were taken, and the first shot was given. Down to the letter, her plan was followed and that sent a shiver down her spine that could only be rivaled by the thrill of the trigger beneath her finger.

As soon as the shots were fired and the Germans recovered from their surprise, Winters pulled back, urging the men back to the safety of the mortars and the ditch. Zhanna watched their figures slip through the darkness out of the corner of her eye, though her full attention was directed to the three men. Quickly, with one, two, three, gentle squeezes of the trigger, Zhanna sent them tumbling down.

"Someone get Casmirovna," Winters shouted. A hand grabbed her ankle and yanked her down the embankment, her chin colliding with the soft dirt, teeth sinking into her tongue, the sharp metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

She scrambled along the ditch, mortars and rifles firing all around her before flinging herself against the bank beside Winters. He turned to her. "Reinforcements?"

"Reinforcements." She agreed, spitting out a mouthful of blood though he hadn't waited for her response, Winters was already shouting into Luz's radio.