Under The Banner ▪ Band Of Brothers

...to separate lies from truth...

In war, men moved around like pieces on a chessboard. Sveta was no stranger to chess, having been a pawn for as long as she could remember. First for the Soviets, then for the Americans. Sobel had been a king, and then he'd lost. Meehan had gotten to be a king after that, but he'd died on D-Day. They'd gotten Winters in his place, and Sveta had to admit that he had certainly earned the right to her respect.

But Winters had won the game, and been promoted. Or lost, if the way he often paced in the upstairs room of the Battalion CP and glared at his typewriter was any indication.

Easy had a new King. Lieutenant Moose Heyliger. Sveta watched from the wall of the Battalion CP as he chatted with a smile between Winters and Nixon within earshot. She remembered him. He'd been her first platoon leader back at Benning. He'd been pleasant enough, and when he'd gotten the nod to Easy's CO the day before, he'd shaken her hand and smiled, and even mentioned Benning.

He'd said he was glad to see her. Glad she'd gotten the nod to Captain. Glad she'd been there on D-Day to help Winters with Brécourt Manor. And Sveta thought he was telling the truth.

Sveta took another drag of her cigarette. Things had been quiet since the attack at the crossroads. Well, quieter. Her brow furrowed, thinking about it. Thinking about the way Zhanna had gone silent for days.

Well, except for punching Liebgott so hard he'd had a bloody nose for half an hour. She gripped her left hand into a fist. Except, apparently, for telling Lewis Nixon about her cousin who had been conscripted into the SS and stolen away to a prison camp. She'd not come to Sveta. She'd not let her know that her family had been forced into service for the Germans. She'd not let her know, to help her process, to offer support.

She'd told Lewis Nixon.

Sveta felt tears stinging her eyes. Her throat started to hurt and she dropped the half-finished cigarette to the ground. With a harsh stomp and turn of her heel, she put out the flames so only the smoke remained.

Zhanna had told the one man they both knew wanted to solve the Russian puzzle. Not her friend, not her comrade in arms for more than three years. But him.

"You look fucking pissed."

Harry. Sveta looked up to find him standing at the door. He'd just left the Battalion CP, an unscrewed canteen in his hands. She straightened up. "I think most people would say that's normal, Harry."

He laughed. "Whatever. You're not angry all the time. Just, a lot of the time. Usually it has a target." Standing next to her in the shade, he gestured to the three other officers. "Let me guess." He paused, pretending to think. "Nixon?"

"Not this time." But she wouldn't say more, and changed the subject. "Hopefully Heyliger is good for Easy."

Harry agreed with her. "From what I heard, he's got a solid head on his shoulders. The men seemed to like him. And Dick speaks highly of him, when he's not freaking out upstairs."

Sveta broke into a grin. She couldn't help but chuckle at his estimation. It was true. She was glad that he at least stopped work most nights by midnight. If she'd had to deal with his pacing while trying to sleep in the next room over, Sveta may have had to ask Zhanna to shoot him.

Not that she would. She liked him, liked both Winters and Nixon, apparently. It worried her. How trusting was Zhanna these days? If she let slip something that somehow got back to Beria that made him interested in her, however unlikely out here on the front lines, there was nothing Sveta could do. If Beria learned Alexander Samsonov had sheltered a Pole, he would likely use it as some sort of proof of disloyalty to Stalin. Proof of weakness.

Then none of them would be safe.

Sveta looked at Harry. He had gotten out a cigarette, and struggled to light it. His zippo lighter wouldn't catch. She reached out and lit it with hers. "Here."

"Thanks. Fucking thing."

"Ron might have an extra. He collects them," she told him. "It's worth asking."

Harry laughed at her. "Do me a favor. You ask. He likes you."

She felt heat flush to her cheeks. Sveta was glad she rarely blushed. There was no benefit to letting Harry know about her emotions going haywire near Ron. "How's Liebgott's face?"

"Very bruised." Harry smirked. He turned to her. "Any idea why Casmirovna punched him?"

Sveta nodded. Her fists tightened again. She tried to relax. There had to be a reason why Zhanna hadn't trusted her enough to explain. There had to be a reason she had trusted Nixon.

She couldn't see one though.

"Casmirovna doesn't do anything without a reason," Sveta told him. "Don't ever doubt that, Harry."

Sveta watched as Winters, Nixon, and Heyliger parted ways. Heyliger moved off in the direction of Easy's CP, and the other two turned back to Harry and Sveta. She didn't have much to say to them, as they'd just finished a briefing before coming outside. So she told them she was taking a walk.

She hadn't gone on more than a few minutes before the grey clouds that covered the sky decided to open up. She hurried down the path to Easy's CP and burst open the side door of the barn. A few men turned her way. Liebgott's swollen face made her want to laugh. But she kept her mirth in check and moved to the corner of the barn instead to catch her breath. A roll of thunder made her jump.

Memories of Stalingrad came to mind. She forced them away. Sveta didn't want to think about her mother. Though she felt a bit guilty to admit it.

"Get caught out in the rain, Captain?" Heyliger asked. He turned to look from where he'd been chatting with Talbert and Lipton. They followed his gaze. "Seemed to come outta nowhere."

Sveta nodded, trying to wipe the water from her face. "Can't say I appreciate it."

At least here she was dry. Surrounded by men who tolerated her, chatting with an officer who respected her. Even with the thunder reverberating around them, reminding her of that night when the lightning had cut across her bedroom just like the sound of the bullet through the silence between thunderclaps. She didn't want to think about Stalingrad.

But then Zhanna walked in. Soaked to the bone, flanked by Malarkey, Penkala, and Muck, a tiny, forced smile on her face, she pulled Sveta back to Stalingrad. Liebgott watched her with a fierce glare. Sveta just watched her for any sign of the friend she had known. Masks couldn't fool her. She knew Zhanna had one on. A mask to hide what, though? Pain, anger, hurt? All of them?

Was her mask for Sveta? or for the men. Or for all of them? Sveta couldn't tell that, not anymore. She and Zhanna had been separated for one reason or another since Fort Benning, but never had Sveta felt so cut off from her as there, in the crowded barn while rain pounded against the wood and dripped through the roof. And that chasm, it brought back Stalingrad too. Another country, another year, another rainstorm.