...I will be who I choose to be...

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"How many casualties?"

Sveta stood in the entrance of one of the Battalion CP's tents, listening as Dick got a report from Luz. The men had fended off a full attack on the line that morning just as the sun had risen. The heat of the cup of coffee in her hands faded quickly. They hadn't gotten a full report yet; too many unknowns that Lipton and Compton were still gathering. She forced away the fear of not knowing who had lived and who had died.

It amazed her really, how it had only taken a few days of the playing field being leveled for her to truly start worrying about the safety of the men around her. Watching as Dick nodded into the headset, her heart rate accelerated. Who lived? Who died? Who lay in their blood at the makeshift aid station?

She saw in them the fear she knew so intimately. At first it had provided selfish relief, that they knew how to suffer as she had. But each time she looked at them and saw their eyes filled with despair, she remembered the cold slap in the face that 16 April 1935 had been. They were experiencing that terror now. Or something akin to it.

"Keep me informed, Sergeant. Have Dike send Lipton to me for a full report later." Dick frowned as he slipped the headset back on the radio. In the cold, he couldn't hide his emotions as well. Stress etched into every inch of his face.

Sveta moved in from the doorway. "News?"

He glanced over. "Not much. Doc Roe took Sisk into Bastogne, but that's the only official casualty Luz had for me."

"He'll be fine."

Dick looked at her and after a moment, let out a small scoff. "Not sure how I feel knowing you're the most optimistic one around here, Svetlana."

She couldn't help her smile. He wasn't wrong. But somehow, knowing that the playing field had leveled, that the Americans, the Germans, and the Russians in this siege all had to contend with fear and nature the same, it allowed her to relax a bit more. "As long as your people can learn to adapt, they'll be fine. The Krauts already failed in the snow once."

"Knock, knock." They both turned to find Nixon, hands shoved under his armpits for warmth, moving through the doorway. He looked at them. "This a closed conversation, or can a lowly intelligence officer get in on it?"

"You have news?" Dick asked.

Nixon snorted. "None. Nothing new, at least." With a bit of bounce in his step, Nixon moved through the tent and past Sveta to plop down in a chair. "Jesus Christ, I swear it's getting colder."

"It is," Sveta told him.

Nixon sighed. "Comforting."

She smirked. "Don't tell me you're ready to give up, Nixon? While I'm still waltzing around just fine?"

"Never," he assured her. "I wouldn't be able to live it down. By the way, Doc Spina was looking for you. Said he had something to give you."

"Interesting," she said. "I'll go find him, then. Unless you need me to tell warm stories?"

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