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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After her previous experiences with a tank, Zhanna wasn't pleased to be transported by one. The joint mission of Brits and Americans had been less than enthusiastically received, on both sides, and they wore their identifying armbands with great pride. Zhanna didn't care which flag she had on her arm, American or British. She could still feel the ground shaking beneath her as the German tanks approached in Carentan. She didn't really want to sit amongst the other paratroopers, reclining against the metal that reeked of oil and gunpowder. But she had accepted Buck's hand and allowed herself to be hoisted up, balancing her rifle across her knees.
Brushing shoulders with fellow paratroopers was reassuring after their time in Eindhoven, shoved and jostled by the locals. She had removed the helmet that marked her as American, becoming inconspicuous in the crowd. The officers hadn't considered snipers until Zhanna had breathed a word to Winters. She knew exactly where she would have hidden, if this had been her mission, one of the tall buildings that overshadowed the citizens and the soldiers. It would have been all too easy to pick off officers one by one.
Chaos made a sniper's work easy and the streets of Eindhoven were a breeding ground for that perfect element. The men had played into it, enjoying the attention from the adoring citizens, particularly the female portion. Buck wandered up with a girl on each arm, something he was wont to do even in England. Zhanna had shot him a look, warning him of the dangers without saying a word.
The men were less than enthused to leave the adoration behind but Zhanna was a little more relaxed now, out in the open of the fields and countryside. Only the path of the tank treads in front of them and the mission of Operation Market Garden heavy on their minds.
Even then, the awareness of her surroundings wasn't dull. She was focused, her eyes flitting left and right without an afterthought, no conscious effort. Just instinct. As they neared the smudge of a town in the distance, Zhanna squinted in the bright sun, ignoring the words of the men around her. Randleman complained about his preference for K rations. Buck rested his head against the metal of the tank, his eyes closed, snoring slightly. Skip and Malarkey chattered loudly above the drone of the tank. But Zhanna couldn't focus on any of that. She couldn't.
Before the first shot had even landed its mark, Zhanna was already ducking. Something in the air shifted and she just knew. A sixth sense that was the residual ache in her shoulder told her that a pair of eyes were watching her, a scope pointed at their procession of paratroopers and British tanks.
"Take a look at Eisenhower," someone called, pointing at the lead scout, several meters from the safety of the group. He shouldn't have been that far. Brewer, his name was.
Someone shouted to get his attention, to pull him back to where there was strength in numbers. But it was too late.
Zhanna was already sliding off the tank, ignoring Muck's confused looks, and shrugging off Buck's hand. He thought that she had fallen but it was in fact, intentional. She didn't want to see the white walls of the hospital back in England again. She didn't want to press flowers, stare at the ceiling, and retreat to the darkest reaches of her mind to avoid the shadows that danced on the walls at night. She slipped off the tank before the shot was fired and chaos broke loose.
