Sveta hadn't expected to be in England forever, but she certainly thought they'd have more than a couple of weeks to prepare for jumping back into Europe. Her hands clenched and then released as she turned from the table in Regimental HQ. Other men, mostly lieutenants of 1st Battalion, crowded the door. Even without knowing what they said, the grumbling tones told her enough. No one was happy.

"So much for a break," Harry muttered. "Shit."

As she moved into the hall, he came to stand next to her. Sveta watched as he fidgeted with a button on his dress uniform. She could see the fear in his body, in his abnormal movements. She couldn't blame him. "No rest for the weary, Harry."

"That goes without saying."

Surrounded by other officers just as weary as them, Sveta and Harry made their way into the sunlight. Her newly issued Captain's bars reflected the light. She smiled. As much as she joked with Ron about the promotion, it did feel nice. It felt like maybe they trusted her a bit more, and maybe she could trust them.

"Are you heading over to the Mess hall?" Harry asked her. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he turned to look at her. "I hear Gordon's planning a performance in honor of his return."

Sveta smiled. But she shook her head. "Not right away, I don't think."

He shrugged, then turned away. She watched as his back receded. Compton soon joined him, his gait recognizable even without the way his blond hair blinded onlookers in the sunlight. All around her, men trickled out. Mostly officers, but not all, Sveta watched them go from her spot against the red brick walls. She let herself relax with the stone to anchor her.

As she stood there, breathing, Sveta faded into the background. That skill had almost disappeared after August 1940. Before then, as a teenager, she'd gotten so good at hiding in plain sight that her mother had called her a ghost. There was power in being forgotten. Before Beria, Sveta had perfected that. She'd learned how to work in the shadows, how to watch and listen and imitate.

She'd almost forgotten what that felt like, working from the shadows.

Before long, the crowd of officers that had flooded out of HQ after the briefing had disappeared. Some were inside, like Nixon and Winters. Some had left to grab last minute drinks, as she didn't doubt Harry and Compton would do before long. But only she still stood outside. Her thoughts wandered to Ron. She wondered where he'd gone off to. They'd shared an exasperated expression across the conference room more than once during the briefing.

A pair of familiar voices pulled her attention away from her musings. She found the source not far away. A motorcycle and sidecar sat just at the end of the building. Newly promoted Sergeant Malarkey and Alton More stood chatting a bit louder than she imagined they knew. The beers each held made her roll her eyes, but she couldn't help her smile.

"Hey! The key's still in it."

"It's like they wanted us to borrow it, Don."

Sveta pushed herself off the bricks. She started over, not sure exactly what she was going to do. But the appearance of a glaring Staff Sergeant made up her mind for her. As they climbed onto the motorcycle, he started shouting.

"What's the matter, Sergeant," Sveta demanded. Hands on her hips, Sveta glared down at the man who stood no taller than Harry. Her gaze moved to the two Easy Company men behind him as the Sergeant spun around. "Is there a problem?"

"I've got it handled, ma'am."

Sveta let her arms fall from her sides. Cocking her head a bit to the side, Sveta narrowed her eyes. "Since when is it military protocol to address a superior officer without a salute, Sergeant? And I use that title loosely."

He snapped to attention. "No excuse, Captain."

She smiled, but not with her eyes. If she'd gotten good at anything over her years in Russia, it was knowing how to flash false smiles. "These two men are under my command, Sergeant. You will not interfere with them."

"But, ma'am."

"That's an order, Sergeant. Or do I need to remind you again that you're speaking to a Captain in the United States Army and the official 506th PIR liaison to the Red Army?"

He pursed his lips, but didn't object again. Sveta dismissed him. Like a dog with its tail between its legs, the Staff Sergeant hurried away still clutching the clipboard he'd hid behind. Sveta smirked as she watched him go. Too easy.

"Captain!"

Sveta turned back to Malarkey and More. The former had spoken, watching her with a grin and a nod. She just waved him off. "You're dismissed as well. Get out of here, Sergeants."

"Aye aye, Captain," Malarkey added.

More snorted out a laugh, shaking his head as he turned the key in the ignition. Sveta stepped back as the motorcycle sped off. The smell of gasoline lingered in the air.

At the sound of a few voices, she turned around. Ron and the other two Dog Company Platoon Leaders came out of HQ with cigarettes hanging from their mouths and brows furrowed.

She retreated back towards the nearby wall. Watch from the shadows. Pull the strings. Being the one to pull the puppet strings again felt so good, like a drug. But she knew it couldn't last. No matter how much power she had here, it would disappear someday. That much she knew.

Ron caught sight of her. He nodded, and then his little group paused in their step. The other two laughed at something he said before carrying on. She stood a bit straighter as he made his way over.

"Surprised you're not out drinking with Welsh," he told her, "after the news we just got. Or are you excited to get back to the fight."

"Excited?" She scoffed. "No. I need another three weeks of sleep. Then I'll happily jump back into Europe."

He agreed with her. "We've just barely got back replacements for the men we lost in Normandy. The Brass are stupider than I expected to send us back so fast."

"I don't even get my replacement rifle until tomorrow."

He smirked. "Well, you shouldn't have lost it in the jump."

"I didn't know Americans had selective memory, though that would explain a lot about your disrespect," she said, "but I recall you being weaponless on D-Day too, Ron."

"My rifle isn't special issue."

Sveta shrugged. "I don't need a Russian one. The Mosin-Nagant is familiar, but not essential." She looked around. If Sveta was honest with herself, she wasn't sure she wanted to hold the reminder of home in her hands. She loved Russia with all her heart, but it brought only pain. Especially the further into the summer she got. "American weapons are effective."

"That may be the closest you've ever come to admitting that we can compete with you Ruskies." He turned to her. "Was it a compliment?"

Sveta tried not to smile. She really tried. But she could see Ron watching her and it made her chest burn, her heart beat a bit faster. Her words caught as she tried to refute the obvious bait.

She couldn't afford this.

She couldn't afford feelings, not for an American.

So she just took a deep breath through her nose and pretended to laugh. She moved a bit apart from him. She hoped it wouldn't be obvious. Her masks had been crumbling with each day that passed since August 1940, and even though she'd begun to repair them, to regain that skill of hiding behind posturing, Ron Speirs seemed to have a knack for tearing them down. Sveta shrugged. "We're allies Ron. I can't fight the Americans and the Krauts at the same time. Not if I want to win."

Before he could respond, Nixon and Winters came bounding down the steps. They looked as irritated as she'd felt in the meeting. Sveta pushed off the wall. Offering Ron a quick nod and smile, she hurried to join the other two.

"Are you two heading to the Mess Hall?" she asked.

They turned to her as they reached a jeep. With a quick nod, Nixon climbed into the passenger seat next to Winters. "Coming, Samsonova?"

"I hear Gordon's got a surprise planned." She wasted no time in getting into the second row of seats. Running her fingers through her long hair, she tried to get out the knots that seemed to just accumulate. "Wouldn't want to miss that," she deadpanned.

Winters gave a small laugh. With a turn of the key, the engine roared to life and he started the jeep down the road. The open air didn't help the tangles, so she pulled a rubber band out of her pocket and did her hair back in a long braid. She would worry about pinning it up later.

"Is Ron more stimulating conversation than the rest of us?" Nixon asked, turning around. The army jeeps didn't move very fast. The wind couldn't drown out his questions. "You two seem to get along well."

She bit her cheek. "He's certainly better company than you, but that's not hard to do."

At his side, Winters shook his head but Sveta could see the small smile he tried to hide. She turned back to Nixon in triumph. He just rolled his eyes and took a drink. With a wink, he screwed the lid back on his flask before flashing it in front of her. "Just for that, you don't get any alcohol."

"What makes you think I would want yours?"

He turned around to look her in the eyes. "You spent enough time digging through my stash in Normandy, I just assumed. Or are you really that obsessed with stealing? You might want to find a less illegal past time, Captain."

Sveta glared. But before she could form a response, Nixon spun back around in his seat.

"Alright, both of you knock it off," Winters ordered. "It's not productive to have you two fighting when we need to focus on jumping back into Europe."

Nixon shook his head. "I don't know, Dick. The plans don't sound very concrete. I wouldn't be surprised if they don't change it before long."

Sveta had to agree. She hadn't seen as much detail as Nixon and Winters who had stayed behind for a smaller, more thorough briefing. But the way the Brass had been talking, it had seemed less concrete than she would've expected from a full airborne jump. Especially after the intense preparation for D-Day.

"Well whatever happens, we need to proceed assuming we're jumping back into France." Winters turned to them as he parked the jeep near the massive building where Easy took their meals. He got out and pointed to the barn. "Let's break the news."

Sveta followed Nixon and Winters more slowly. They were always together, inseparable. She didn't have anyone like that. Not even Zhanna. She always fell into step behind, not beside, no matter what.

As she entered what basically amounted to a massive barn turned into a gathering hall, Sveta was hit by the smell of sweaty bodies and alcohol. She wrinkled her nose. Noise assaulted her too, laughter and dissonant voices all around. Sticking to the walls, Sveta tried to take in the scene.

Smokey Gordon, standing atop a long wooden table, gestured for the crowd to settle down. As their voices fell, he smiled. "As you weren't wounded by the enemy and thus didn't qualify for a Purple Heart, we've taken matters into our own hands." He unpinned a medal from his chest and held it out. "Tab, this is for you."

Sveta smiled as the men heckled him. She hadn't spoken to Talbert since Normandy. But Spina's words always came back, that he'd been grateful to her for her help after being stabbed. It was true that morphine messed with the brain, but she chose to think it had been genuine.

Lipton stood up from a chair and moved to take the spotlight from Gordon. "Couple of announcements!"

He knew. Sveta could tell that Winters and Nixon had told him just based on the way his shoulders hunched. He tried to hide it, the depression. He couldn't.

"First, the training exercise scheduled for 2200 has been cancelled." A chorus of cheers and hollers rose from the men who had no idea what would be coming next. Lipton shushed them. "Secondly, all passes are hereby revoked. We're heading back to France. So pack up all your gear. We will not be returning to England, boys."

Hearing those words out loud made her stomach drop. As much as combat meant less stress over Beria and the possibility of spies, she had no desire to live in it forever. She didn't want to shut the door on England. Not yet. Not while she could still enjoy being away from the NKVD.

"Anyone who has not made out a will, go to the supply office. The trucks depart for Membury at 0700."

Death hung over them like a cloud. The men quieted, muttering curses as they finished their beers. Sveta felt a bit sick. They'd only had about a week. Only a week to rest and recuperate.

She felt safe here. England had started to really feel safe. Safer than a warzone, at least. And suddenly, she didn't want to leave.