A/N: Last chapter was quite the exciting one. And yes, Zhanna definitely has quite a road to recovery. In the meantime though, let's catch back up with Sveta. See how she's coping. I may be biased but I love this chapter.
...this empty house...
Svetlana | Silmarilz1701
Loneliness always hit Sveta when she was anything but alone. Standing in line for food from the Battalion cook, she could hear a chorus of American accents droning on around her. Some she could place; in her many months with them she'd learned to distinguish Philadelphia from Texas, and Texas from Southern California. But just because she could place them generally didn't mean Sveta knew who they all belonged to.
Standing with her meager cup of beans in the shadow of a tree, the sun starting to dip towards the horizon, she missed Zhanna even more. Instead of two Russians against a sea of Americans, she had only herself. Snipers always worked in pairs. Since Benning they'd been often separated, but not like this. Not with an ocean between them.
She took a deep breath. She'd lost track of the other officers. Winters probably stood in conference with Nixon and Strayer somewhere. Where Harry or Compton had gone off to, she couldn't even guess. An ache settled deep in her chest. Why did it bother her? Why did their disappearance without her make her heart hurt? They weren't friends.
Friends.
Zhanna had friends. She had Skip Muck, Buck Compton, Alex Penkala, Don Malarkey. They'd taken it hard, when the medical personnel had rushed her with Private Blithe to the field hospital, and not long after, across the channel to England. It had surprised her. She'd never expected to see any of the Americans caring if either of them got shot. But Zhanna had friends.
Sveta didn't have friends.
Sveta didn't even really have allies.
She took another deep breath. A couple of men from Dog Company strolled past accompanied by Powers and McClung. The smiles on their faces starkly contrasted the permanent dirt and grime. She wanted that. It had been years since she'd yearned for a reason to smile. And yet in the American base camp, surrounded by men who had spent over a year making her life miserable, that's exactly what she wanted.
A breeze ruffled her hair as she undid her braids. They'd begun to hurt her head, and here, off the line where they had showers however crude, where they could walk around without helmets, she decided it would be safe to take them out. Her fingers stuck against knotted tangles. Too bad those crude showers couldn't really wash out the weeks of foxholes and flooded fields. And she certainly wouldn't use them without Zhanna to watch her back.
"Lieutenant, want some coffee?"
At Doc Roe's voice, Sveta turned from her inspection of the grounds. Roe held out a tin cup. He didn't smile. It didn't surprise her; she knew he now understood the conversation they'd had in the Aldbourne pub about the hell medics went through. He'd saved Zhanna. But there had been many that had died despite his best efforts. That was war.
So she offered him what little smile she could conjure. "Thank you." She looked him over more closely. His tall frame seemed smaller than she remembered it. He held himself closer, shoulders more hunched but his brown eyes no colder. After tasting the coffee, she tried not to grimace. She failed.
Roe just snorted out a small laugh. "It ain't the best, but uh, it's what we got."
"Better than nothing," she agreed. "How are your supplies holding up? If we're put back on the line, do you have enough? If not, I can track some down."
He sighed. "We got a good amount. Could always use more morphine," he admitted. But then he gestured back behind himself. "Spina's been making the rounds, tryin' to get what he can."
"Roe." Sveta stopped herself for a moment. But it needed to be said. "Thank you."
"Coffee's no trouble—"
"No," she corrected. "For Lieutenant Casmirovna. I heard it was you that made sure she stayed alive."
He shuffled where he stood. His hands went into his pockets, folding his sleeves back a bit. But he nodded. "It's my job."
Sveta changed the subject, getting the attention off of him. She could see his discomfort in his fidgeting. "How's Spina doing, and Easy?"
"Not bad, I don't think." To her surprise, he looked at her, making eye contact. Very few of the men did that. It was like they thought she'd burn them with her dark eyes. Roe continued on. "Some men are hangin' by the tents, playing poker, if you wanna ask 'em yourself?"
Sveta didn't have friends. Sveta didn't even have allies. But she wanted them. She needed them.
Still, the prospect of seeing the distrust in their eyes made her waver. She didn't need them. She had Zhanna. But now, she didn't have Zhanna. Now, she was alone. A single Russian woman in an army of American men.
So she nodded. After a bit of a lingering glance, Roe turned away, and she followed. They passed several rows of tents, piles of boxes with machinery and tools. On some, men lounged with cigarettes and chocolate bars.
It didn't take long for Sveta to recognize a few voices. Luz, Muck, Penkala at least. Laughter followed a few choice curse words. As they rounded a last tent, she found them sitting on the ground, a small crate covered in cards.
"I mean damn, George! You gotta be cheating," Muck insisted. He tried to reach across and snag the deck Luz had shuffled.
"Ey! Just cause you ain't as good as I am at this doesn't mean I'm cheating." He swatted away Muck's hand. "Penk, back me up."
But he just snorted and shook his head. "I am not getting involved."
"C'mon, just—"
Luz rolled to the side, trying to avoid him. "Jesus Christ! Stop!" As he did so, he noticed Sveta and Roe for the first time. His eyes widened. "Lieutenant!"
The laughter cut off immediately. Before she could respond, Muck had stood and repeated what Luz said. That was new. She suppressed a smile. "At ease."
"Any news about Lieutenant Casmirovna, ma'am?" Penkala asked. "We don't hear much."
Sveta frowned. "I've not heard anything. I'll let you know if I do, though." Silence lingered between them as no one knew quite what to say. Sveta certainly didn't. She needed allies. She needed friends.
Sveta had never had friends. She'd had Zhanna of course, but that was different. That was friendship born out of necessity. It had been thrust into her lap, however grateful she was for it. Vasily Stalin had been a friend. But that was friendship born out of circumstance.
"I've never played poker," she finally said. Sveta allowed the edge of her mouth to slip upwards into a small smile.
"Really?" Luz asked. "Even bein' in the army before?"
That made Sveta smile, but not from fond memories. "No. The advance of the Nazis didn't allow for much down time." And even if it had, the women had avoided extra interaction with her. Everyone knew who she was. They knew the darkness that shadowed her moves as a Samsonova.
"It's not that hard," Muck told her. "You just gotta be good at bluffing."
Sveta let out a laugh. The sound seemed to startle them, as all three raised their eyebrows at the action. But she couldn't help it. She'd bluffed her way through life since 1935. And while the crafted masks had crumbled more and more each month after August 1940, she still knew how to bluff.
She looked to ask Roe if he'd play, but the man had disappeared. He'd left her with just the three at the card table. A simple choice. Walk away, or sit beside them. Luz had been the perpetrator of many a joke at her expense. His betting pool about how long it would take for her to snap had increased the men's vitriol in Aldbourne. Muck and Penkala had been civil, but never quite friendly.
But then, neither had she.
"I know how to bluff, Private," she assured Muck. "But I don't have money with me."
"I'll loan you a couple bucks," Penkala offered. "I wanna see you beat Luz."
Luz just scoffed. But he made space for her, shuffling the cards again. "She ain't gonna beat me, Penk. She's never played."
"Just you wait, George. Give it a couple hands. I'll put money on the Lieutenant," he added. Then he glanced at her, shutting his mouth fast. "That is, if you don't mind, ma'am."
Sveta offered him a small smile. As she took out her canteen and drank some Vat 69 she'd stolen from Nixon's stash that had been lying around, Sveta settled on the ground. "Tell me, Private. Why do you think I can win?"
Penkala just shrugged. After a quick glance at Muck and then Luz, he turned back to her. "Well, for one, you're friends with Lieutenant Speirs. That takes balls."
She glanced up at him, then the other two. Luz had stopped his card shuffling, Muck stopped wrestling with his cigarette pack. Penkala just shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. So she grinned.
"Deal me in."