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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Thousands of mosquitoes buzzed around the men. Between the humidity and the oppressive flames of still-burning wreckages, Sveta found herself wishing for a nice winter wind. She and Harry slogged forward in silence. In front of them, Hoobler had taken point followed by Blithe. Behind trudged the rest of Easy Company.
Having Zhanna back in one piece eased her fears. Even without her at her side, Sveta could relax. She was safe. Here in Normandy, away from the prying eyes of the American military command, they were safer. A pitiable irony really.
Sveta smacked at her neck. Muttering in Russian, she pulled her hand away and found a squished mosquito, blood staining her palm. Beside her, Harry squirmed, then smacked at his own neck.
"Sonofabitch," he muttered.
She just hummed in agreement. The sound of boots squishing in mud filled the area. But the sounds of war had mostly faded. The occasional crack of artillery fire would echo from the distance, but the once ever-present machine guns had ceased. A tense calm had fallen on the world with the darkness of night.
Behind her, she could make out Dukeman trying to keep his voice low. In front, Hoobler and Blithe marched in total silence. Soon her focus turned to the ground. Three German corpses lay strewn in their path. One had a burned face. Sveta grimaced as she stepped over them.
The carnage in Normandy reminded Sveta of the lie of the glory and glamour of war. War wasn't glamorous. War was ugly.
And yet, here in this fetid swamp which stunk of equal parts death, mildew, and burning gasoline, she found a refuge. Freedom. Sveta nearly scoffed as the thought passed her mind. Apparently she didn't need the Volga and the Valdai Hills to escape from Beria. A war-torn French countryside would do well enough.
"Damn!"
Sveta and Harry both turned their attention to Hoobler at the front. As Harry stalked forward, Sveta followed. He demanded to know the problem.
"We lost F Company, sir," Hoobler muttered.
Not again. Sveta felt anger burning her chest. She'd thought Easy had been in bad shape with Sobel when it came to navigating, but Fox Company had managed to match him for stupidity. And Harry wasn't any more pleased.
"Again?" he echoed, incredulously.
Hoobler just gestured forward. Sveta turned with Harry, walking a few feet up. As he'd said, the rear of Fox Company's line had disappeared into the trees. It was as if they had never learned how to march in formation at night. Sveta scoffed. Behind, she heard Hoobler telling Perconte the same information.
She glanced at Harry. He looked more furious than she'd ever seen him. Sveta wondered if he could see the same anger in her own expression. When he looked at her, he just rolled his eyes. They moved back to the group.
"Perconte, go tell them to hold up." When the sergeant acknowledged the order, Harry turned to his left. "Hoobler, take Blithe, go find F Company."
