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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The dew had soaked through her shirtfront by the second hour. By the time the sun had begun to rise, Zhanna was damp and miserable. It was an uncomfortable position at best but she couldn't deny its strategic weight. Alone in this line of bushes, Zhanna's only source of light had been the faint pinpricks of cigarettes from either treeline. German or American, she had a perfect view of what would soon turn into chaos in the pink dawn.
No one had wanted her to break off from the mainline, where it was sure to be safe and there was plenty of backup but she reminded them that this was what Zhanna did. She was a sniper and fighting alone was what she was good at. While sitting and waiting in the foxholes of the American line had been a safe move, it wasn't going to help them in the coming battle. Zhanna could flank the enemy, providing a closer view of their line of defense and give an edge to the next morning's battle. Winters had agreed, after some consideration. Strayer, still shocked by her work in Carentan, had allowed it without question. Zhanna was, after all, not one of his men and if she was lost, he wouldn't, as he said, "lose any sleep over it."
Buck's protest had been out of concern and while Sveta hadn't joined her, she did exchange a hurried good luck, before the blonde had wriggled out of the foxhole and into the darkness. Zhanna had crawled through the grass to a line of bushes that looked out of the German line, the American line and the field between the two. Forming the first hide she had made since the battle of Smolensk had been strange but the branches and leaves gave her cover in the now rising sun.
Zhanna's rifle was resting against her shoulder and she could only wait for the first shot to be fired before beginning her private assault on the Germans. The hours before she had left the American line had been eventful. They had lost Talbert to a friendly bayonet and Zhanna had listened to the German line croon a cry of victory over a battle that hadn't been fought yet. Winters, when he had paused at Buck and Zhanna's foxhole to check on them, had seemed nervous. As nervous as Lieutenant Winters could be. Nerves never showed obviously on the man but appeared in a furrowed brow or a pursed lip. His brow had been furrowed when she had suggested flanking the enemy. He couldn't deny that it was a tactical move but Winters had told her to be careful.
As if Zhanna wasn't cautious enough. Agata had raised her to be vigilant, if not paranoid. It was the only reason she was alive today. Watching the sky slowly turn pink with the rising sun, Zhanna was reminded of mornings in the Samsonov home, when she would rise before Sveta or Veronika and sit in the window seat on the landing and watch the sunrise. She would always face the west, knowing that that same sun was rising over her parents. She would imagine them safe in Poland with family. Now, the vision was so familiar Zhanna didn't even have to try to conjure it. The image of her parents and her grandparents safe was the strength she needed to fix her eyes on the German line as the first shot was fired in the Airborne's defensive.
The silence that had stretched over the field was now broken, shattered like ice. That first shot had left the air weakened, ready to be filled with the heavy artillery. All images of happy families and safety were replaced with the harsh reality of the present. Zhanna's hands found familiar purchase over the rifle and began to pick her targets.
