Collaboration with @silmarilz1701
Svetlana knew how to play the game. She'd been caught in the political drama of Stalin's inner circle since birth. The only child of one of Stalin's closest friends, she grew up in the limelight, scrutinized by frie...
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Her rifle disappeared with her leg bag. When the shells had been exploding all around her in reds and golds, she hadn't realized the weight shift. But when she slammed into the ground between some trees, heart pounding in her chest like a drum, she found herself weaponless.
To her left roared a fire, the wreckage of a plane that had formed a burning clearing. To her right, Sveta heard the purr of a machine gun nest followed by the repeated thump of an anti-aircraft gun. German voices, nearly drowned out by the noise of war, sounded close.
Sveta knew fear. She'd known it for over a decade. She'd not had many friends besides Zhanna, but she had started to think of fear as one. And as she rolled her way into a thicket, she knew it again. Only this time she had to fear the shadows of Germans, not Russians.
She tried to breathe. Acrid smoke from the inferno nearby filled her lungs, and she smashed her face into her jacket. Heaving a cough, Sveta hoped, prayed to any being listening, that the surrounding cacophony would hide the noise.
Breathing became easier as she slipped through the trees, away from the burning wreckage and machine-gun nests. Soon she was picking her way through the thickets. She couldn't have gone over ten minutes when she froze at a noise on her right.
"Flash!"
Sveta's mind went blank. What was the response? All her years of English evaporated, replaced by panic. Moments later, a body crashed into hers. The American grabbed her, throwing her to the ground. Sveta cursed in Russian as her back hit a tree root.
The weight lifted off her chest. Sputtering, Sveta rolled over on her side. Everything hurt. Her head, her neck where the man had grabbed her, her back from the tree. Sveta coughed again. She choked on the air.
"Samsonova?"
Sveta used the tree to pull herself up. Clutching at her side, she glared out from under her helmet. No wonder it felt familiar, getting slammed into a tree root. She recognized the attacker immediately. "Speirs."
"You didn't give the countersign."
Sveta rolled her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she looked around. No Germans had come running at their scuffle. "I forgot the English," she admitted. Then she turned back to him. "Why'd you stop?"
"Before killing you?" He smirked. "Unless someone got really lost on the Eastern Front, the only two Russian women in Normandy are you and Casmirovna."
Flawless logic.
"Got a weapon?" Speirs asked her.
Sveta shook her head. "I lost my rifle." She'd lost her connection to Russia. For a moment, Sveta wondered why it didn't bother her more. Zhanna would've been scrambling without the gun. "You?"
He just shook his head. "Come on." Speirs went to lead. "Be careful."
"Of the two of us, Speirs, who's actually been in battle before," she reminded him.
