A/N: Honestly, we love and appreciate Dick Winters and his saving-Zhanna-ness.

...what's worth fighting for...

Svetlana | Silmarilz1701

Training had done something for the Americans, that much was clear. They couldn't march to save their lives, but they could fight. At least Easy Company could. Carentan had proved as much, as had the counterattack that followed, and the skirmishes since. Sveta found the sounds of war comforting. Zhanna wanted to be as far up and out as possible; it offered control, a bird's-eye view. But Sveta knew that with bullets flying left and right, she had found herself as far from the grasp of Lavrentiy Beria as she could ever get.

And if she died from a German bullet, that meant she didn't risk dying from a Russian one.

The sun began to set on the crumbling town the Americans had claimed. The stones, usually a pale tan, almost white, glowed nearly gold against the red, darkening sky. Sveta took a deep breath, then a long drink. She stood along a wall, a low archway just behind her over the street. The drink that soothed her throat calmed her nerves and her muscles. In the quiet, ravaged French towns, Sveta felt much closer to Beria, to Stalin, to her father. She almost missed the danger, the thrill of a firefight. She wondered if she would get to hear the bullet that would ultimately find her?

She knew one would. But her bullets would find their ways into many Germans before that happened, and better to die defending her home than to die because of it.

"Samsonova."

Sveta turned left. Nixon moved over to her, flask in hand, the setting sun casting shadows over his face as he turned from it. She stood straighter. "Nixon."

"Have you seen Lieutenant Compton?"

He came to stand in front of her. Sveta looked him in the eyes. She hated that he stood several inches over her. All the officers did except for Welsh and so without a sound, she shook her head. But he didn't leave. "I don't keep tabs on him, Nixon. I'm not a spy."

His smirk grew, but he didn't comment on her jab. "If you see him, send him to Easy's CP. Do the same for Harry."

As he walked away, Sveta couldn't help but get in one more comment. "Are you acting as Sink's messenger pigeon, now?" She saw his movements halt. Sveta didn't even try to suppress her smile as he moved away without looking at her. "You're suited for it."

Sveta reached into her breast pocket. A frown replaced her smile as she realized there were no more cigarettes. Just her luck. Grumbling out a curse, she let her head lay back against the bricks.

"Now, see, if I still had my cigarette pack I could give you one."

Speirs. She tried not to grin as she saw him move over from the door across the street. Dog Company had taken a few of the houses there, with Easy across from them. The starkly contrasting lines of camouflage that had adorned his face on D-Day had faded, replaced instead by a layer of dirt and grime they all had gained. Contrary to his comment, a lit cigarette hung from his mouth.

"You should guard your cigarettes more closely, Speirs, if Casmirovna can steal them," Sveta said, voice even. But then she cracked a smile. "Besides, I've been warned not to accept your cigarettes."

He just shrugged in return. "Yeah, might have to shoot you, then."

"You wouldn't be the first to try."

Silence fell between them again. Sveta let her head rest against the bricks. Without her helmet, she could feel every bump and sharpened edge. But she didn't care. The steady hum of enlisted and officers mulling about, checking weapons and ammo and medical supplies, the trucks rolling through; it made her almost sleepy as she stood with Speirs. The smoke coming from his cigarette helped, too.

"Any word on that sergeant of yours?"

Sveta opened her eyes again. Speirs had joined her against the wall. In the twilight, she realized that the eyes she had thought were dark were hazel. She paused. But then she looked away, back across the street. "Sergeant Talbert? Doc Roe told me they shipped him back to England," Sveta said.

"I figured."

England. Sveta wondered what the Allies were saying about the Normandy invasion. Last she'd heard from Intelligence about Russia, the fighting near Leningrad had intensified. Hopefully, the Allied victory in the West would help their morale. The Germans were more equipped to fight in a Russian summer than the winter. But her people knew the Motherland better than any Kraut ever could.

"There you are, lurking as usual."

Sveta leaned away from the wall and looked past Speirs. Harry moved over to them, taking a drink from his canteen. She rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Harry?"

"Jesus, don't sound so happy to see me." Then he turned away from her and nodded. "Speirs."

"Welsh."

"We're needed at the CP," Harry told her. "Casmirovna and Compton just left on a patrol. Shouldn't be gone too long, but Dick wants to talk to us."

She nodded. "Right." It took all her mental strength to push off the wall and away from the steady bricks. As she did so, releasing a long, silent breath, she felt a hand on her arm. Sveta looked at Speirs.

"Here."

She cracked a smile at the outstretched cigarette he offered her. His hands were a bit rough as she took it from him. "Thank you. Apparently some Americans do have manners." At his tiny smirk, she laughed.

Welsh just shook his head as she turned back to him and they started towards the CP. He watched her struggle with her zippo lighter. "Being friends with him won't win you any support with the enlisted," he reminded her.

If Sveta hadn't spent the past few months getting to know Harry, she would've snapped at him for his comment. Instead, she just rolled her eyes as the fire finally caught. The smoke filled her mouth and as she released it, Sveta chastised him. "You should know me better than that, Harry."

"What, that you don't care if the enlisted don't like you?"

"And that I don't have friends."

"Right. I forgot."

Even as they moved across the broken square, rounding a fallen statue to some Christian saint, darkness fell. Sveta wondered why they'd sent a patrol out this late, especially one with two officers. She'd have to talk to Zhanna when she got back. Or at least see what she could weasel out of Nixon over a bottle of whiskey. As stones crunched beneath her boots, Sveta could feel the shadows deepening. Most of the enlisted had gone off to grab some sleep between guard shifts, and the officers were likely in conference or doing the same.

They passed another obelisk, this dedicated to those from the first War to End All Wars. Sveta felt a pang of nostalgia hit her, thinking of the Square of Fallen Fighters back home. Did it still stand? Had the Germans destroyed the monuments in their razing of the Motherland? Sveta felt her throat clench, eyes stinging at the thought. They had no right. However much she hated Stalingrad, hated the name that spoke to the man who controlled her life, hated the memories it held, some part of it was and would always be home.

When they stepped inside the lamp-lit CP, they found Winters at a dining room table. Debris from shelling and gunfire had been swept to the sides, creating piles of destruction in all the corners that the lights just barely touched. He looked up as the door shut behind them.

"Oh, great. We just got some more Intel," Winters said. He gestured to a map that sat in front of him and a small set of notes. "Looks like we'll be in Normandy a while longer."

"Three days and three nights, eh?" Harry muttered.

But as Winters scoffed out a laugh, Sveta just rolled her eyes. She'd heard similar platitudes from her superiors in the Red Army once upon a time. She'd not believed it for one second from the American Army. No army kept promises like that. War was hell, not a vacation.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

Harry and Winters both glanced at her briefly before the latter outlined the German troop movements and the Allies' goals. With every passing minute, it seemed like the list of objectives would never end. But they did. By the time he'd finished explaining the intel from Sink, Sveta and Harry had both sat down and started sipping their canteens filled with alcohol. She needed the warmth.

"I've already brought Compton and Casmirovna up to speed," Winters said. He put down his water after a quick drink and gestured to the map. "As I get more information, I'll pass it on to you."

"If you get any information from Sink about Russia, do the same," Sveta reminded him. As they both looked at her, she sighed. It wasn't often she spoke of Russia to them. But the sight of the monuments in the square caused a deep ache in her chest. She wanted to see her home. She wanted to hear her language. Straightening up a bit, she raised her chin. "I am here fighting for Russia, Lieutenants, not for the French. It just so happens that you Americans are my way to do that."

Harry snorted out a laugh, but Winters nodded. "I'll let you know if I hear anything."

"See that you do," she agreed. As a thick tension lingered in the air, Sveta released a silent sigh. "Thank you."

As they turned to her, even Winters unable to hide his shock, Sveta tried her hardest not to smirk. They forgot that she was as much a politician as a soldier when circumstances called for that mask. Standing away from the table, the wooden chair scraping against the crumbled debris, she nodded at him. "If that's it?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is," Winters said.

Sveta nodded. "Good."

Her hands went to undo her crown brain even before she'd left the dining room. The pins hurt her head. With the stairs creaking beneath her boots, Sveta made her way upstairs. First, hair. Then she'd try to work what grime she could off her face. After that, sleep. Then in the morning, maybe she'd check in with Zhanna. Provided her friend wasn't too busy fraternizing with the Americans to speak with her.