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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24 December 1944
Something changed after the patrol. A wind shifted. When Sveta walked up to the line, she saw the men brighten up. It surprised her at first. The trust seemed foreign. Sure, the hostility had died down at the beginning of the siege, and some even had trusted her, but now it seemed nearly universal. It seemed that word of her actions had reached the ears of everyone in Easy.
And apparently beyond Easy.
Part of the job Dick entrusted to her was keeping in contact with Dog Company on their flank. It was no secret that she got along more with Ron than anyone else in the entire regiment, and he seemed content to use that. Sveta certainly didn't mind. While it wasn't fun to walk through the perfectly lined up trees of the Ardennes, dark trunk after dark trunk making it feel like a maze, she liked the destination. Ron was there, and she didn't mind their CO, Lieutenant McMillan.
Spina came with her this time. They walked in silence, or as well as they were able. He was hoping to scrounge any supplies off them he could, and mentioned that with her next to him he might have a better chance than on his own.
Each footstep crunched in the snow. Two pairs of Corcoran boots. Sveta had come to think of the boots as synonymous with the Americans. At first, it had bothered her to wear them. But now, with thoughts of escaping Russia through the Americans in her mind, she welcomed them. They would help her get out of Beria's clutches.
Her breath, trapped by the pillowcase still wrapped like a scarf, warmed her face. But there was wind. It stung her eyes as she blinked against it. She had about thirty minutes to get there and back before dinner.
The Americans were throwing some sort of party at the Division CP. Sink had suggested they all refrain from going, instead having all the officers join the men on the line. It had been one of the few times she'd really appreciated Sink's decisions. That was the kind of thinking that would keep the men alive and sane.
"How much farther, Captain?" Spina asked.
She looked at him on her left. His breath kept forming little clouds in front of his face, and he stuck his hands in his pockets, hunched inwards a bit from the cold. "Not far. Getting cold, Spina?"
He scoffed. "You could say that."
Though he couldn't see because of her scarf, Sveta just smiled. It was true though. They weren't far. She'd left her Russian rifle back at the CP, opting instead just for her sidearm, and she couldn't wait to put it back in it's holster so her hand could warm up in her pocket. Already it stung to grip the gun.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw friendly faces. They lowered their guns when they saw her, the only woman in combat anywhere near them. Sveta nodded. "Where's your C.O.?"
"He's one platoon over, ma'am, with Lieutenant Speirs," one said, a sergeant.
"Thank you." She turned back to Spina. "Come on, Doc. That's how much farther."
