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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For all her newfound confidence around Nixon and Winters, Zhanna saw very little of them in the weeks following the battle of the crossroads. Part of it was her own choice, an attempt to distance herself from the momentary show of weakness and the secret that had slipped from her lips before she could curb it. The rest boiled down to Zhanna not crossing paths with either captain. They were much too busy preparing for the latest tactical feat, Operation Pegasus.
Nixon was particularly involved, ready to put the disaster of Market Garden behind them while Winters had been promoted to Executive Officer of the Second Battalion, placing him firmly behind a desk in the uppermost room in Battalion CP, a place Zhanna rarely visited if she could help it. Sveta spent more time in its walls than Zhanna, giving her a place on Operation Pegasus. That and her ties to the Russian military.
Operation Pegasus was a midnight mission across the Rhine to retrieve a battalion of stranded soldiers. The main front was led by Heyliger, Welsh, and the British Colonel Dobie. To everyone, particularly Zhanna's, surprise there were a few Russians among the British ranks. While the men practiced with the boats and Sveta marched about with purpose, Zhanna had retreated to a corner of the camp. Winters placed her on shore detail last minute, with the task of watching the bank for the boats and assisting with the unload. The mission itself went off without a hitch on her end, the riverbank was cold and her feet were numb long before the final boat beached.
The sand gritty between her jump boots and her socks, Zhanna grimaced. The reminder of her less than active role, a less than distracting hour spent on the beach, didn't leave her particularly ready for enjoying the party that followed. She hung back, away from the Russians and Sveta. Zhanna didn't have a shadow to hide in so she made her own, in a corner of the barn with Skip, Penkala, and Malarkey to shield her from view.
They had been more hesitant around her, noticing the change after the battle on the crossroads. Janusz had been transferred, the last thing she had seen of him was a flash of dirty blond hair as he was loaded in the transport. There was nothing to be done so Zhanna didn't bother. She didn't bother to worry about a lot of things, choosing to distract herself in any way she could. Why bother crying over her parents when she could keep fighting, keep pushing. She would be molded to the River's current anyway. Why fight the inevitable?
"Do you know these Russians?" Skip asked.
"Do you know every American?" Zhanna asked. "Don't ask foolish questions."
"Jesus, someone's testy," Malarkey said, downing another beer. Zhanna didn't think she was being unreasonable, perhaps a little sharper. But she didn't like the look on Sveta's face and she didn't like the anger that dripped through the air, hanging on every surface.
"Are they not the friendly kind?" Penkala asked.
"Most aren't," Zhanna muttered. "At least not to me."
Nixon hadn't asked why her cousin had ended up in the SS. He hadn't asked any of the questions that were no doubt burning inside him. He had kept his distance. He had allowed her the space she needed.
