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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Silmarilz1701
2100 Hours
Ron frowned at the lack of response at Sveta's door. He'd heard about the disastrous Varsity jump and then the shouting match between her and Nixon from Harry Welsh. The man had been nursing a drink, complaining about the way neither Nixon nor Sveta could hold their tongues. He checked his watch. That had been well over an hour ago.
Nixon now sat in Winter's room with him and Welsh, piss drunk and nursing a screaming headache. He'd looked almost pitiable. But they'd not had any clue about Sveta's whereabouts. Ron had wanted nothing more than to yell at them for it. They'd known her long enough to know better than to let her disappear. Silence from Sveta meant danger.
"Samsonova?" He knocked again.
Still no response. Ron released a strained sigh. After a brief moment, he made up his mind. The locks on the old houses in Stürzelberg didn't take much pressure to break. Old, and poorly made. It swung open with a single hit of his side.
His heart stopped. "Shit."
Tears streaked down her deathly pale face from closed eyes as she slummed against the bed. The fingers of her right hand gripped the small neck of a nearly empty bottle of schnapps. Another empty green bottle lay prone at her side. Falling to beside her, Ron drew his knife. He held it under her nose. A small ring of fog formed on the metal. At least she was still breathing.
"Hey, Svetlana." He tried to wake her up, tried to find any other sign of life. Her skin chilled his fingers. "Wake up. Come on."
It took a moment for her eyes to flutter open. But she couldn't seem to focus. Instead of responding to his questions as he asked for her name, rank, and birthdate, she just slurred out some Russian.
Fury filled his chest again. Winters and Welsh were smart men, good men. They should've seen this coming. Sveta needed a medic, immediately. The thought of leaving her there, all but dead to the world and barely breathing, scared him. She barely stayed conscious as he held her freezing hand.
It only took a moment to make up his mind. He shifted the grip of his right hand against her neck. Grabbing her body as best he could, he hauled her to her feet. Ron grunted. Welsh and Winters were just up the stairs. They had one drunk to watch already. They could handle a second. They would have to. He would make them.
It wasn't easy. Sveta stood nearly his own height. More than that, he didn't want to draw unwanted attention. Luckily the house stood quiet. Most of the men had gone to sleep already. After struggling a few minutes up the stairs, they reached Winters' door. He could hear muffled voices just beyond. Two, not three.
With her arm around his shoulders, Ron held up almost her full weight. He cursed under his breath. Balancing Sveta, he used his boot to pound the door. Welsh answered it. He stopped in his tracks.
