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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The Airborne had taken up a new role, a far cry from their usual offensive, upon their transfer to the quiet Austrian town of Zell Am See. With the buzz of Berchtesgaden still affecting the men and their heads, there was little motivation to do much even if their assigned task was something so menial compared to their previous exploits. Occupation duty provided the men with ample time to run amok, the smuggled German liquor with an abundance of free time as a mixer, proved to be more dangerous than the surrendering Germans that marched through daily.
Those who didn't have enough points to be sent home were given very little to do other than drink away the things they had seen and the idea of seeing more, the jump into Tokyo becoming a matter of when not if.
Zhanna wouldn't be going and neither would Sveta. That much was obvious. What quarrel did they have with Japan? Zhanna knew that if Sveta had the choice to be anything other than the dutiful daughter that Russia needed, she would have been on that plane without hesitation.
It seemed she wasn't the only one who wanted to be fighting.
Zhanna's war had been won. She had no desire for another jump, another fight, or another enemy. But other officers didn't feel that completion on their part and wanted to be masters of their own fate.
Zhanna knew that Winters had been frustrated at his lack of involvement with the men. Zhanna knew that he wanted to fight rather than file. Once cleared from the medic's watch but not released for duty, she had spent many hours in the spare chair in his office, watching the piles grow and his resolve wear down. It wasn't a surprise that he wanted to jump again. Dick Winters was morality and duty embodied but she had never expected rash to be in the mix.
And she certainly hadn't expected to hear of his request for transfer in a blaze of guts and glory from Nixon, who sounded smug as could be while the blood rushed in her ears.
He was going to leave Austria? He wanted to leave Easy Company? He wanted to leave her and Nixon?
"Where is he now?" Zhanna asked, not caring if she should have been supervising the arms drop with Malarkey or if she could be of translating assistance to Sink, which had often taken up her time.
"Guess he's in his billet," Nixon said. "He had his meeting this afternoon,"
Zhanna's feet might have sprouted wings, the American made boots still heavy in the soles couldn't hold her back. She didn't even try to disguise the run from Nixon who called after her. "You want a ride? Might be faster,"
He couldn't leave. Easy needed their Major, couldn't he see that?
The officers' barracks were never empty, halls filled with milling couriers, orderlies, and lost looking privates sent to give reports but they leapt to the side as Zhanna marched down the hall, her rifle over her shoulder. One bullet didn't matter much if the man she trusted to give her orders wasn't here.
