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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December 5, 1942
Fort Benning, Georgia, United States
American Military complexes were enormous.
Too many buildings, too many people all marching around like tin soldiers and too much noise. Everyone was shouting or marching or singing. Zhanna wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a display of power, meant to intimidate, or if they were really, always like this. If it was a fear tactic, it was working. She was dwarfed by the men who passed her and even by the officer who led them to whatever corner of the base they were called to.
They had passed so many buildings, all of fresh, yellow pine boards that she had lost count. These barracks were new, still smelling of sawdust. Even in the military, the buildings were better constructed than the homes that Zhanna had grown up in.
America was full of unknowns, possibilities that made Zhanna question her place here. But following close behind Sveta, she knew that they had been through too much to turn back now. The rows of soldiers marching in formation passed the two girls and, as Sveta tucked Zhanna behind her, out of habit, she caught the all too familiar whistles, glares and whispered questions among ranks.
Sveta's shoulders were stiff, she noticed. The whispers and glares tore into her like sharp thorns. She wasn't used to being looked at with a mix of disgust, anger, and fear by her fellow soldiers; Zhanna knew her partner was accustomed to a certain level of respect, even in the army. The men of this Airborne unit looked at the two Russians like they were scum on their shoes, their glares burning into the back of their pilotka-donned heads. Zhanna knew what that felt like.
Sveta would get used to it. And Zhanna would need to grow accustomed to it again, she thought as someone snickered at her as she passed. Her rifle was taller than she was, Zhanna knew, and she must have been a sight to behold.
She hadn't been mocked publicly in a long time; the respect of being a sniper for the Motherland outweighed the blood that ran in her veins. Here, in whatever the hell this place was called, Zhanna couldn't even remember and her throat was too dry to ask, it seemed that her mark of respect was now the thing that would bring her contempt.
She didn't know where they were going and couldn't form the words in English so she stayed silent. All her practice in Britain seemed to have been lost to the strong Atlantic winds. They had certainly been lost in their ride from the train station, and if not then, most definitely in the jeep. Sveta had been nodding as the man had rambled. She was always better at that kind of thing. Zhanna had tuned them out.
The trees were different here. Of course they would be but it would have been nice for something familiar. Zhanna looked up at the tall structures looming in the distance. They were tall and metal, like spires stretching into the sky. Lines hung from them, like a rope swing. Was this where they would learn to jump?
